Alethea grimaced. “Her importunate husband—a most unpleasant man—has arrived in Bath. A note found her here; he demanded her presence at home.”
“So she is not a widow? Everyone in Bath seems to be a widow or widower.”
“No, sadly she is not a widow.”
“Alethea, how naughty!” Anne cried, smothering a laugh. “One would think you had a dislike for poor Mr. Hughes.”
“He’s a bully and a domestic tyrant,” she said, more seriously now. “You saw how gentle and unassuming she is? How beauteous, how sweet? She is an angel and he takes advantage, Anne; he truly does.”
“That is unfortunate,” Anne said absently, watching across the room as Lady Sharples stalked her prey, which was always whomever she did not know enough gossip about. “I was speaking with Lady Sharples. We were both wondering how you came to know Mr. Doyne or Mrs. Noakes?”
“I don’t know them at all,” Alethea replied. “Or . . . let me rephrase that. I know them as nodding acquaintances at the Pump Room, when we accompany Quin there.”
“I see. How about Bertie? Perhaps he knows Mr. Doyne from a club or some such?”
Alethea looked over her fan at Anne and frowned. “What is this about? Why the sudden interest in Mr. Doyne?”
“No reason. You know me . . . I get curious.”
“What did you mean by a club?”
Anne stared at her friend, whose tone was sharp and full of suspicion. “Gentlemen belong to clubs. I simply thought that would explain the invitation to Mr. Doyne and Mrs. Noakes, if Bertie knew the gentleman from a club.”
Alethea nodded and her frown disappeared. “I believe it was Bertie’s friend Lonsdale who invited them.”
“That elucidates the mystery, then. I didn’t realize Bertie and Alfred were so close that Mr. Lonsdale would feel free to invite someone to your home.”
Alethea gave an elegant shrug. “I don’t mind the extra people, as long as they are sociable and moderately elegant.”
The lady in question was neither, according to Lady Sharples. “I was more surprised to see Mr. Graeme here after hearing Bertie’s opinion of the fellow. He said the gentleman had light morals; coming from Bertie that is criticism indeed.” Bertie didn’t mind a little scandal, as long as it was in good taste. The couple had hosted, in their home, many a lady or gentleman recovering from a disgrace in their life. Their own social standing was so high they could afford to loan some to a friend in need. “He does not consider amorous adventure to be shameful, I recall, so the gentleman must be scandalous indeed to earn such censure.”
“You know my husband; he can abide many scandalous attributes but will not suffer a liar or gambling table cheat. Perhaps that is Graeme’s story. I cannot say. One cannot avoid people of light morals in London, and perhaps that is now extended to Bath,” Alethea said with a shrill laugh. She bustled off to speak with a maid, who was lingering by a doorway looking for her mistress.
Anne watched after her a moment, then turned to find Alfred Lonsdale close by. Curious now about many things, she moved to his side. “Mr. Lonsdale, how are you this evening?”
She had caught him in a brown study and he appeared startled, but he recovered and bowed. “I’m well, my lady. How are you?”
“In perfect health, thank you. And how is your cousin Mr. Roger Basenstoke? I have seen your aunt since I arrived in Bath, but not that gentleman.”
“Roger was to attend this evening but was called away. We were going to travel here together.”
“What could have taken him away in the evening?”
“He owns property in Bath, and there have been problems with tenants recently. He’s serious about infractions against his lease; he is an Inner Temple man, you know,” he said, referring to one of the four law schools in London. “And is assiduous about enforcing the leasehold terms.”
They chatted a moment, then Anne said, “I saw you speaking with Mr. Graeme earlier. He seems a pleasant young man. You’ve known him for a long time, I suppose?”
“It depends on how you quantify time, my lady, but not so long.”
“I thought you were at Eton together?”
“Ah . . . there is my cousin now!” he said.
Mr. Roger Basenstoke had just come in and was bowing to Alethea, perhaps making his apologies for being late. He was a handsome man in a sinister way. In a world that valued fair abundant hair, or at least the wigged appearance of it, he made no concession to fashion and wore his fine black hair short and combed back off his high forehead, away from his sharp-featured face.
He caught sight of her and Lonsdale standing together and crossed the room, bowing to acquaintances along the way. Finally he stood before them and summoned a wintry smile that did not diminish the severity of his appearance. “My lady, how delightful to see you here. I was regrettably not able to secure your hand for a dance at the Assembly Rooms. I count myself fortunate to see you this evening, given my delayed attendance.”
“Mr. Lonsdale says that it was business that took you away from company this evening.”
“Trouble over leasing terms. I am plagued by complaining tenants who want to change wall coverings and move furnishings. It seems a leased residence is absolute perfection until the moment a tenant moves in.”
Lonsdale bowed and murmured that he was being beckoned from across the room, though Anne saw no one beckoning. However, she knew the two gentlemen did not get along overwell, and assumed the younger man was making a polite escape. “Mr. Basenstoke, I am fortunate you did come this evening. I was asked by an acquaintance if I knew anyone who understood the rental market in Bath at the current time. I was hoping to speak with Birkenhead, but he’s taken up with his guests. As my acquaintance is seeking a house to rent for a short period, I thought our mutual friend, searching the market himself, might have a good idea of what is available, but you may know better.”
“I am at your service, my lady.”
“You must know other property owners who lease their townhomes?”
He nodded. “How can I be of assistance?”
“I have an acquaintance who is seeking to rent, for a period of some months, an elegant townhome near the center of Bath. His secretary had visited several, but because of the eminence of his employer, as soon as he mentions the name every place is suddenly available, even when it appears to be tenanted. For his employer’s convenience, it seems many landlords will break the lease terms of their tenants, despite a risk of legal action. Knowing his employer will not approve of such concessions, the secretary wishes not to evict someone, but is sorely troubled by how to know what is truly available. Do you have advice?”
“Not advice, but I will gladly help. As you say, I know many of the other owners of property in Bath. Have the fellow call on me at my office on Monday,” he said, giving Anne the direction of his commercial office.
Anne bit her lip. Should she tell Basenstoke about Osei? She was caught in a dilemma; for the world she would not see Osei hurt by any bad reaction on the part of someone she had heard of in a negative light, and yet . . . the marquess’s secretary was stalwart and had faced with humor and unusual grace prejudice in England against his African origin. It was not her place to “explain” him to anyone. In fact, it was presumptuous of her to think it, she decided, given what Mr. Boatin had been through with Mr. Hiram Grover recently. “I will tell him. Thank you, Mr. Basenstoke.”
He nodded, but his attention was elsewhere, she could tell, and when she followed his darkening gaze it was to see Mr. Thomas Graeme and Mr. Alfred Lonsdale in a whispering conference. “Excuse me, my lady.”
She nodded and watched him stalk toward his cousin, who broke away from Graeme and faced Basenstoke. The two had words, but Bertie Birkenhead intervened and guided Lonsdale toward Alethea. He swiftly returned to Mr. Graeme and the two spoke briefly; the young man whirled and stormed out the door, into the passage and staircase.
Puzzling over the acrimonious pantomime, she drifted to the window and loo
ked out over Pierrepont Place. It was a dark evening but lanterns were lit, illuminating the street below. The Birkenhead residence overlooked, across the narrow street, a home with ornate Ionic pilasters on either side of the door supporting decorative depictions of urns bearing pineapples. There was some movement below, on the pavement; as she stared into the gloomy shadows she noticed someone emerging from the front door of the Birkenhead home. He paused and looked up at her window. She drew back into the draperies. His face illuminated by the oil lamp sconce mounted by the door revealed his identity. It was Thomas Graeme, his expression one of baffled fury. He whirled and pulled a cloak about him, then strode away.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” Alethea asked.
Anne emerged from the folds of the draperies and smiled. “I am hiding away, what do you think?” She passed it off with a laugh, and accompanied her friend, who led her to Mrs. Noakes and Mr. Doyne. Both seemed uncomfortable and isolated in a room where it appeared they knew few people.
“Please help me entertain these poor souls,” Alethea whispered as they approached the couple. “They look like ramshackle skiffs adrift in a harbor of yachts.”
After introductions and light chat, Alethea was called away once again by her maid, and Anne began the delicate probe of what acquaintance they might have in common. Mr. Doyne, a salt importer and widower, meekly acknowledged that they were unlikely to have any acquaintance in Bath in common. He was there for a few months staying with his sister and her husband while he recovered from a feverish illness he had suffered during his family’s time in the West Indies. That same illness had claimed his wife and left his brood of three young children—who were staying with their mother’s family in the north—motherless. His illness had left its mark on him in a feverish complexion and a yellowish cast to his protuberant pale eyes.
Anne turned to Mrs. Noakes, an attractive woman of about thirty with a frowzy wig from under which peeped ginger sprigs of hair. “Are you a native of this city, Mrs. Noakes?”
“No, I am from another place, of course,” she said in a careful accent. “Most of us in Bath are not from here, is that not true?” She tittered politely, and beamed a smile that betrayed her gaps in teeth.
An answer that gave no illumination, Anne noticed. “I am Kentish, myself. My mother and grandmother reside in Bath. Do you have family here, then?” She bordered on being rudely over-inquisitive, but she was curious.
Mr. Doyne looked on, beaming with an approving smile.
“No, I am quite alone in the world, I fear,” the woman said with a mournful sigh.
“Perhaps you stay with friends?”
“No, I do not.”
Another answer with little information. “How did you and Mr. Doyne meet?”
“Through mutual acquaintance in the Pump Room, your ladyship,” Mr. Doyne said, bowing low.
“What acquaintance would that be?” she probed relentlessly.
“A young gentleman I have come to know in Bath,” the gentleman replied.
“And who would that be?” Mrs. Noakes was looking at her with something like fright, Anne observed, and indeed, her questions were pointed. Too pointed for courtesy, but her curiosity was roused and would not be quieted.
“A young gentleman . . . mutual acquaintance, you see . . . he is the most genteel fellow, with a sweetness of temperament I have rarely met in my years.” Mr. Doyne had lost his way again and named no name.
Anne bit back a sharp question. “Perhaps he is one of my acquaintance. Would that be Mr. Lonsdale?” she said, risking the name.
“No, oh, no, for I only met Mr. Lonsdale when Mr. Graeme, the estimable young man I spoke of just now, introduced us.”
“Mr. Thomas Graeme! How interesting. He was here but has now departed.” Mrs. Noakes appeared miffed at her betrothed, and Anne wondered why. “I met the gentleman the other day. He introduced himself to me.”
Mr. Doyne looked shocked at such a breach of polite manners. Even a salt importer, be he of a polite frame of mind, knew how outrageous that was. “He introduced himself to you?”
“Yes, in fact not just me, all of us. He approached us on the street—I was with Mr. Lonsdale, Mrs. Venables, and Mr. and Mrs. Birkenhead—and made himself known. It was disconcerting, I’ll admit, though Mr. Lonsdale was a common acquaintance between us.”
“It was presumptuous of Mr. Graeme to push himself forward, though. A shocking breach of manners. As Mr. Lonsdale was with ladies unknown to Mr. Graeme, he should have waited for his friend to greet him and introduce him to you all if he so decided.”
“True.” Anne thought of the expression on the young man’s face as he left. “What do you know of him, Mr. Doyne? Is your acquaintance with Mr. Graeme of longstanding?”
“I would not say that, no; he introduced himself to me, too, in the Pump Room. Not the done thing, but not so bad to another gentleman, you know.” Mrs. Noakes sagged against the gentleman and he noted it with concern. “Are you well, madam?”
“I am parched, sir, and the heat in this room . . . could you find me a place to sit so I may have a cup of punch?”
He took the hint and led her away, after excusing them to Anne. She watched them make their way through the crowd. It was not so heated in the room, certainly not enough to make a lady faint. For some reason Mrs. Noakes had not been happy about their conversation. Why? What did she have to do with Mr. Thomas Graeme? It was a puzzle, and she did not like puzzles except as an exercise for her brain.
She chatted with other acquaintances, and lingered near the pianoforte for a particularly affecting performance of “Blest Be the Tie That Binds,” a newer song by John Fawcett, a vicar. It was a pretty air, and sweetly sung by a young gentleman to whom she had been introduced, though she couldn’t recall his name at the moment. She then drifted on feeling out of sorts. The room was noisy, and she was weary. Quin did not need her; Susanna and he were thick as inkle weavers now, with eyes only for each other. Lady Sharples had cornered Mr. Doyne and Mrs. Noakes, new food for her voracious appetite for gossip. The lady was looking perturbed and tugging on the gentleman’s arm, perhaps ready to depart, but her ladyship was not letting them go for the moment.
Anne found a spot to sit by the window, near a door that led to the staircase. As she filtered out the noise and tumult of singing, piano and chatter, she could hear two male voices in urgent, muttering anger nearby, outside the door. One was Bertie, the other was Mr. Lonsdale.
“. . . shocking breach of trust to bring him here, Alf. How could you after . . .” He broke off, then continued, saying, “What were you thinking? You know I do not like the fellow, nor do I trust him.”
It must be Graeme of whom they spoke; Anne recalled the young man’s thunderous expression as he stomped away from the Pierrepont Place home.
Sullenly, Lonsdale muttered, “You had no right to order him gone.”
“I had the perfect right. This is my home, as much as I have invited you to make us your refuge, and do not forget it.”
“Can I have no friends of whom you do not approve?” Lonsdale cried.
Anne frowned. That sounded for all the world like a son’s lament to his father, oddly familial.
Bertie muttered some expletive, but Anne could not understand him.
“You’ve made trouble for me,” Lonsdale continued. “I’ll suffer—”
“Suffer how? What hold does that fellow have on you? Is it . . . tell me what it is!”
“I can’t!” the younger fellow wailed. “You don’t understand, Bertie. I have made a terrible mistake, and now—”
There was a clatter and an outcry near the refreshments; a maid had dropped a tray and spilled some food on Mrs. Noakes, who was plaintively wailing in exaggerated horror. A footman rushed to her aid and tried to help tidy the mess, but she made it worse by weeping and flapping her hands.
Lady Sharples, who had been close by, edged away from the woman, who was now in near hysterics at the incident, loudly complaining that it wa
s Mrs. Noakes’s own fault, for she had jostled the maid. Alethea called out for her husband to manage the situation. Bertie and Mr. Lonsdale entered the room together, both dark red of face, both with obstinate expressions. The host soon had the problem sorted and the maid was banished, sobbing, from the room while a footman took over. Mrs. Noakes was guided to the ladies’ withdrawing room; Mr. Doyne said he would make sure she got home and was comfortable with her maid.
Anne watched the tumult in abstract thought, as Lonsdale bolted from the place and clattered down the stairs. What was his and Bertie’s angry confrontation about? Why was it Bertie’s place to disapprove of Lonsdale’s friendship with Mr. Graeme? And why did he disapprove?
The puzzle deepened.
Chapter Nine
Sleep eluded her for most of the night, and when she did slumber, it was to be chased by clumsy maids, angry young men, and a haunting vision of Darkefell, asking why she hadn’t yet announced their engagement. She tried explaining how different it was for a woman than for a man, especially one so accustomed to having everything her own way, to give it all up and commit to a man being put over her, in charge of her life, her fortune and her body. Why was she considered something between a beloved pet and a valuable carriage? And yet even in her dreams there was no explaining it adequately in terms he could ever understand without walking in her uncomfortable shoes for a day.
Sunday morning dawned bright and warm, a golden Bath autumn day. Though she would see him at church, before breakfast Anne sent a note to Osei with Mr. Roger Basenstoke’s direction and his kind offer to share information about the Bath leasing market, along with a separate note to forward on to Tony. She then sat at her dressing table as Mary did her hair for church. They talked over the night before, and Anne pondered aloud the various interesting mysteries she was wondering about. What was at the root of the tension among Bertie, Alfred Lonsdale and Thomas Graeme? Why did Bertie behave like an angry father and berate Alfred about his friendship with Graeme?
Lady Anne and the Menacing Mystic Page 8
