The Waltzing Widow/Smith (17 page)

“That’s as good as any.”

“We’ll go there first and hire fresh nags. I hope you brought plenty of blunt, Uncle, for I meant to go to the bank today. My purse is as flat as a spinster’s bosom.”

“An edifying simile. I can afford a room and a nag at least.”

“We’ll hire the room first. I wish I had brought a change of shirt and cravat with me. We shall look like a pair of ruffians, going after Carlton with the dust of twenty miles on us.”

Avedon spared a glance for his companion and realized that he must look as bad himself. It was not dust that splattered them both from head to toe but mud. Every carriage they passed, and they passed many on this well-traveled thoroughfare, left its traces on their buckskins and boots. In low-lying areas where water stood in puddles, the splatters reached up to their jackets.

“Damme, I wish I had driven my curricle,” Bigelow said a few times. “Carlton will look as fine as ninepence. Lucy will be ashamed to know us.”

These were minor irritations, but together with the more serious problem of finding and rescuing Lucy (if necessary), they made for a thoroughly miserable ride. The riders were as fagged and as dirty as the horses by the time they entered the city. Bigelow insisted on hiring a room and repairing his toilette before continuing on his quest. Avedon waited only to get a fresh mount before beginning a systematic search.

“Don’t be too long about this cleaning up,” Avedon said. “I’ll check the inns on High Street. You take Palace Street and Burgate. We’ll
meet back here when we’ve finished.”

“I shan’t be two minutes,” Tony assured him.

Avedon found it a depressing business, going from place to place and always hearing the same answer. No one matching Carlton’s and Mrs. Percy’s descriptions had checked in.

He realized he should have brought a dozen servants with him to assist in the search. It was by this time well after noon. He was tired, dirty, hungry, dispirited, angry with himself and Lucy, and more anxious than ever to find her. Hoping Tony had had better luck, he repaired to the Rose. He found his nephew enjoying a leisurely luncheon in a private parlor, looking as good as the inn’s valet could make him. He had got hold of a clean cravat and had the filth of travel brushed from him.

“By Jove, Avedon, you look like something the cat dragged in,” he said. “I’ll order you a beefsteak while you wash your face and comb your hair. You don’t want Lucy to see you looking like a scarecrow.”

“Did you have any luck?” Avedon said, and sat down with a weary sigh.

“Eh?”

“I’ve done the inns on High Street. Did you check the ones along Burgate and Palace Streets?” he asked impatiently.

“Not yet.”

“When did you plan to start?” Avedon howled.

“Damme, I could hardly eat a bite of breakfast. I was famished, if you want the truth. And besides, I don’t think he even brought her to Canterbury. I mean, if you was abducting a woman, Avedon, would you tell her chaperon where you was taking her? Devil a bit of it. You’d head off in the other direction. I daresay they’re halfway to London by now, while we make fools of ourselves looking for them in Canterbury.”

Avedon tried to ignore Tony’s harping on seduction, but if Lucy had not convinced him of the truth, it was just such a stunt as Morton would try, to repay her. Frustration grew till he could hold it in no longer. “Why the hell did you bother coming, then, if you only mean to recline at your ease, swilling ale and stuffing your face?”

Bigelow gave one of his sulky looks. “You convinced me at the time, but now I’ve thought it over, I realize we ran off half-cocked. Have a glass of ale, Uncle. You’ll feel better.”

Avedon took his nephew’s glass and drained it. The cool, bitter brew felt good against his burning throat. He set down the glass and said, “Since we’re here, we might as well check out the cathedral. That’s where they said they were going.”

“That’s exactly where they won’t be, then,” Bigelow replied. “And anyway, you can’t go into a cathedral looking like a pilgrim.”

“Don’t display your ignorance. Pilgrims and the cathedral have a long association.” He took a piece of bread from Bigelow’s plate and ate it as he returned to his mount.

He felt, in his bones, that it was futile to continue searching in this city, but decided just to try the cathedral, then return to the inn and take lunch. Like Tony, he had eaten little breakfast and was feeling the want of food. As he approached the cathedral, he saw masses of well-dressed tourists and felt all the shame of being so disheveled himself.

As he stood looking about for Carlton’s carriage in the churchyard, he heard the cathedral bells ring out. Their joyful peal told him it was not a funeral. Was it a saint’s feast day—or perhaps a wedding? A tremor ran up his spine. No, Miss Percy would be with them if it were a wedding. If they were here, it was for a license. He walked on past a pretty Elizabethan-fronted house, which someone had told him was the Deanery, where distinguished guests sometimes stayed—perhaps even Lucy’s uncle Norris, the bishop. A frown pleated his brow. Was it possible the bishop was visiting Canterbury? Could that be the bishop she was going to see? If Carlton knew she had an uncle who was a bishop, he would realize she was no lightskirt, but a true lady.

As he glanced at the Deanery, he saw a black carriage parked in the shade of a spreading elm. It looked like Carlton’s. He hastened forward and confirmed that it was. The joyful wedding bells pealed from the tower. Wisps of fact and possibilities reeled around in his mind. Lucy, Morton, gone to see the bishop—and wedding bells.

Had they come to be married, and Lucy kept it hidden from her chaperon? It seemed pointless. Morton was an entirely eligible suitor, and not of an age to be making an adolescent runaway match. But the awful possibility remained that they had been married while he futilely racketed around from inn to inn, thinking to rescue her.

Lucy’s trip to Canterbury was much less harrowing. In a well-sprung chaise and with a charming companion to beguile the hours, she had no greater weight on her mind than that she would not be at home if Avedon called. She took some petty pleasure from considering his surprise when he learned she was away for the day with Morton. They drove directly to the Deanery, where her uncle stayed when he was at Canterbury.

“Come in and meet my uncle, Morton,” she invited. “He will give us luncheon.”

Morton knew his duty and was happy for the opportunity to butter up this potential benefactor of Dr. Rutledge.

Bishop Norris was cheered to see his niece in such improved spirits. “How are you, my dear?” he asked, and put his arms around her. “And where is our Mrs. Percy?”

“You know how she dislikes travel, Uncle. Mr. Carlton was coming to Canterbury on business, and was kind enough to deliver me and let her stay home. She is busy bringing order to the chaos of an abandoned garden. I would like you to meet Mr. Carlton. He is visiting my landlord, Lord Bigelow. They are cousins.”

Such close kinship to the nobility was taken as prima facie evidence of good character, and Mr. Carlton was greeted with warmth. The bishop thought Lucy had found herself a new beau and was happy for her. The lad was a little long in the tooth but by no means an antique. Of course his character and financial condition must be looked into closely.

“I daresay you are both ready for a bite,” he said. “I’ll just tell Mrs. Stapleton to lay another plate. Bishop Redding came as far as Canterbury in my carriage with me, but he has continued on his way. There will just be the three of us.”

Mr. Carlton graciously accepted and put the luncheon to good use. Before long, the name of Lord Avedon joined that of Lord Bigelow in his conversation.

“I have the pleasure of his sister’s company,” the bishop said. “She is married to one of our deacons in Hampshire, Dr. Rutledge. We have lost our archdeacon there and must appoint a new man. Our problem is one of too many fine candidates. They are all good men.”

Mr. Carlton was too cagey to push his own candidate forward at this time. That would be for Sal to do more cleverly when she entertained him. “Lady Sara is at Chenely now,” he said. “I’m sure she will be delighted to hear you are visiting your niece.”

“She has often asked me to visit Chenely when I am in the neighborhood. I must stop by and say how do you do,” the bishop said. “Is Dr. Rutledge with her?”

“Oh, no. He would not forsake his ecclesiastical duties for so long,” Mr. Carlton replied cagily. “Lady Sara usually stays a month. The family is very close.”

The bishop nodded, untouched by the deacon’s rectitude. “I expect he has his hands pretty full, with our archdeacon gone. The more so if his wife is also away.”

The conversation turned to other topics, and Mr. Carlton made no effort to prevent it. After lunch he prepared to take his leave, claiming a few business matters to attend to. “I leave you in good hands, Miss Percy,” he said with a smile at Lucy and a bow to the bishop.

“When will you be returning to Milhaven?” she asked.

“Today. My business won’t take me long.”

“I shan’t invite you to call till tomorrow,” Lucy said. “My uncle will be tired this evening after the trip. Shall I look for you tomorrow?”

“Certainly. Lord Bigelow and his mother will also wish to pay their respects to Bishop Norris,” he added with another bow to the uncle.

“Don’t get up, Uncle,” Lucy said when the bishop began to rise. “I’ll see Mr. Carlton to the door.”

In the hallway she turned a laughing eye on Morton. “I know what you are up to, sir!” she charged. “You hope to land that promotion for Dr. Rutledge. My uncle is not at all susceptible to titles, you know.”

“Let us hope he is susceptible to the flattery of noble matrons, then. He’ll have the silver butter boat dumped on him at Chenely, if I know Sal.”

“Is Rutledge a good man for the job?” she asked. It pleased her to have some slight sway over Avedon’s sister.

“He knows his Bible by heart. A quotation leaps out of his mouth every time he opens it. He is obviously a saint; he’s lived with Sally for two decades without strangling her. Whether that makes him a good candidate is not for me to decide. He’ll do as well as the next man, I expect.”

They were at the door. “Thank you for bringing me, Morton. I had a lovely time.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said with a gallant bow.

They said their farewells, and he went out to his carriage. As the groom held the door for him, Lucy stepped out to the porch to wave good-bye. From the corner of her eye she noticed a dark and ill-kempt form loitering across the yard. He began stalking forward in a purposeful manner. She felt a little spurt of alarm, looked again, and recognized Lord Avedon, looking as if he had just crawled out of a dustbin. She and Morton exchanged a questioning look, and each advanced toward the other, meeting at the end of the walk leading into the Deanery.

Avedon continued toward them at a stiff-legged gait. What could he be doing here? He looked so wild-eyed and angry that Lucy could not imagine what had happened to him. Morton followed her gaze and had to quell down a burst of laughter. It did not occur to him that he was about to be accused of marriage, but he knew Avedon well enough to know that he was in a great pelter about something, and nothing seemed more likely than jealousy.

“Cousin,” he said with a bow. “If Sal has sent you here to try your hand at cajoling Bishop Norris, I suggest you take a brush to your jacket before calling.”

“I am not here to see the bishop,” Avedon replied with a sneer. “I leave that to you two.” He turned a menacing face to Lucy. “This was very sudden, was it not?”

She stared in confusion. “Not in the least. The trip has been planned for some days.”

“You’ve kept your plans very close to your chest. But then, that is nothing new for
you.”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your concern,” she answered hotly.

“You might have told me.”

She lifted her chin haughtily. “I might, had I thought it any of your business.”

He clenched his jaws and asked in a hoarse voice, “Is it already done?”

Lucy looked to Mr. Carlton in confusion, then back at Avedon. “We have already met my uncle.”

His words lashed like a whip
,
and sparks shot from the banked fires in his eyes. “I mean the clandestine wedding.”

She stared a moment, shocked into silence. “There was no clandestine wedding. And if there were, I should like to know what you are about, lurking outside the door like a hedge bird in that filthy jacket to make a mockery of it. I suggest you return to Chenely and devise some other ruse to make my stay at Rose Cottage untenable. Hire a pack of Gypsies to camp in the garden. Set up an abbatoir. You are not at all imaginative, milord.”

“Are you married yet?” he demanded.

Lucy turned abruptly away from him. “Pray take your cousin away, Morton, before the housekeeper has the dog set on him.” She turned back to Avedon. “Not that you don’t deserve it!” she added.

“You’d best run along, Avedon,” Mr. Carlton said, biting back a grin to see his stiff-rumped cousin so disgraced.

Avedon felt, for the first time in his life, the degradation of being turned off, and to complete his humiliation, it was done publicly, in front of a friend and relative. His whole family would hear the story before nightfall. After his long day’s worry and exertion, this was enough to finish him. The last vestige of common sense fled when he saw Carlton’s smirking grin. “Who’s going to make me?” he asked in a challenging voice.

“Avedon, for God’s sake!” Carlton laughed.

“What’s the matter, Carlton?” he taunted. A blood lust had risen up in him. If he didn’t hit someone, his head would burst open. It felt swollen, like an inflamed tooth, throbbing, aching

Carlton looked a question at Lucy. “He must be foxed,” he said in confusion. This was not the Lord Avedon he had so long known and admired. “Do run along, Avedon.”

“I’m as sober as you are,” Avedon replied. He dared not look at Lucy. She must think him a yahoo. Yet he couldn’t stop. He was like a charging horse, run out of control. “Well, Carlton? I repeat, who’s going to make me?”