by M. C. Beaton
Josephine was stirring something in a pot over the fire. She brushed back a damp lock of chestnut hair from her forehead and said, “But she is! I meant to tell you, but we were so very busy today, and… and… I saw a young man walking along Milsom Street, and he looked so very like Mr. Clifford that I began to feel miserable again and could think of nothing else but him.”
Henrietta licked her dry lips. “When did you see her?”
“This morning, walking past the shop. I am not exactly sure it was she, for as you know I never met her, but one of the customers exclaimed, ‘Surely that is Lady Clara Sinclair.’”
“Do you think,” said Henrietta, “that Lady Clara might have dressed as a Gypsy woman and put something in the centerpiece to discredit me? Something to make the countess ill?”
“No,” said Charlotte. “I am sure she tried to burn down Bascombe’s because she was jealous of you. It was well-known she had hopes of marrying Carrisdowne. But… well, dear Henrietta, no one could possibly believe Carrisdowne has the slightest interest in you now.”
“I suppose not,” said Henrietta.
But worry nagged at her mind. And where was Miss Hissop? Henrietta decided to walk up to the Royal Crescent and just look at the house and perhaps watch the guests leave. If they appeared normal, happy, and animated, then she would know nothing bad had happened. And she could look for Miss Hissop on the way.
Not wanting to frighten the others with her worries, she murmured something about going out to get a breath of air. She took off her apron and, still wearing her shop outfit of striped cotton gown and frilly cap, she set out through the rain-washed streets.
People were beginning to move about again. As she turned into the circus, she heard herself being hailed from a sedan. The aged face of one of her regular customers, Mrs. Cunningham, peered out. “Miss Bascombe,” she called. “How is Miss Hissop?” Miss Hissop was a great favorite with the elderly ladies who visited the shop.
“I hope she is well,” said Henrietta. “She has not yet returned, and I admit I am becoming anxious.”
“I think the poor lady has had some sort of brain seizure,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Just when the storm broke, as Mrs. Brockett and I were sheltering under the colonnade, Miss Hissop ran past. She looked quite deranged, and she was muttering ‘Arsenic… poison…’ as she ran.
“Thank you,” gasped Henrietta. She set off at a run, the streamers of her cap flying. The Gypsy woman! Miss Hissop must have found something out.
Panic lent her wings. She did not stop to look at the countess’s house as she had planned but hammered with her fists at the front door.
The butler opened the door, and Henrietta flew past him into the hall, shouting, “The centerpiece. What happened? Have they eaten it?”
“No,” said a cool voice from the shadows of the hall. “No, Henrietta. Come here. It is I. Carrisdowne.”
She flew toward him, questions tumbling one after the other from her lips.
Quietly he said, “Miss Hissop saved us all from poisoning. Come into the study, and I shall tell you all. Miss Hissop is abovestairs resting. She has had a bad fright.”
They stood in the study, facing each other in front of the fire, each thinking how very different this was from the meeting of which they had both dreamed.
The earl looked very grand and formal. Henrietta, amid all her worries, wished in a very feminine way she was wearing something other than her shop clothes.
In a cool, steady voice the earl told Henrietta of Lady Clara’s crime. Henrietta sat down suddenly, her legs shaking.
“It is as well I recognized her,” said the earl. “For she did look deranged. Had I not been there, then I am sure my mother would have succeeded in getting the servants to throw her out.
“Although she succeeded in smashing the centerpiece, little parts of it had gone flying about the table, and someone like my greedy sister Sarah might have picked a piece up.
“The authorities have gone to arrest Lady Clara. The centerpiece has been taken to the apothecary’s. I am sure traces of arsenic will be found. She is mad, quite mad. I began to suspect as much when I saw her in Brighton. And yet, earlier this year, I was happy to enjoy her company.”
“She was the one who arranged for Bascombe’s to be burned down,” said Henrietta. “I would have told you, but I only learned that evening… that evening you…” Her voice trailed away, and she looked miserably at the fire.
“Ah, yes, that evening,” he said. His voice sounded stiff and cold. “I met your servant, Esau. It was he who told me you had already sold yourself to Brummell and Gillingham.”
“Esau? Nonsense. Esau is devoted to me. What reason would he have to tell such monstrous lies? And what reason had you, my lord, to believe such stories even if he did tell you such things? Perhaps because that monstrous pride of yours was all too ready to believe the worst of a woman who stooped to run her own shop!”
“Listen,” he said desperately. “I admit—”
The door opened, and the countess walked in. “There you are!” she cried. “Ah, Miss Bascombe, you have no doubt come to collect Miss Hissop. Rupert, the watch, the constables, and the magistrate are all in the hall to see you. Lady Clara and her brother have somehow managed to escape out the back door of their lodgings, and no one can find them.”
“Very well, Mama,” said the earl. “Miss Bascombe…”
“I shall attend to Miss Bascombe. Please hurry, Rupert, and see to those gentlemen.”
The earl left. His mother signaled to Henrietta to follow her upstairs.
“I am sure you will find her quite recovered,” said the countess. “What a drama! My dinner party will be the talk of Bath.”
Which, reflected Henrietta bleakly, was one way of looking at attempted mass murder.
Miss Hissop, attired in one of the countess’s best gowns and pelisses, not to mention one of the countess’s smart bonnets, chattered the whole way back to the shop about her adventures. She seemed more overwhelmed by the countess’s condescension than by any of the drama of her heroic rescue. “Put in the best bedroom, my dear, and attended by the countess’s own lady’s maid… not put in the kitchens, which one would have expected them to do, considering our class of person… or rather the class of person we have become by being in trade. And Carrisdowne! So opportune that he was there. No one else recognized me, for although some of the ladies were our customers, I was so wet, so wild, my own sainted mother would not have recognized me!”
“Yes, we are that class of person now,” said Henrietta bleakly. “It was indeed condescending of Carrisdowne to entertain me in the study when I was dressed in my shop clothes.”
“Yes, wasn’t it?” said Miss Hissop brightly. “And the clothes the dear countess gave me. I would like to be buried in them with a little note, you know, pinned on my bosom giving the name of the donor. I might get a better place in heaven that way, don’t you think?”
“I can’t think,” said Henrietta crossly. “My head aches. Oh, Miss Hissop, you are a heroine, and I have no right to snap at you. I am an ungrateful girl.”
“Not at all. No one can call Henrietta Bascombe ungrateful. Think how this affair will help our trade? Bascombe’s will be crowded tomorrow.”
“I have no doubt,” said Henrietta wearily, thinking that they must prepare extra cakes and sweetmeats.
“And Carrisdowne,” said Miss Hissop, peering at Henrietta’s face in the darkness. “Had you not told me of his insolent behavior to you, I would not have believed it. So courteous, so nice in his manners!”
“Miss Hissop, it appears for some reason Esau told him I was a slut.”
“Esau?”
“Yes, Esau.”
“Well, blood will out. That sort of low person always betrays their origins.”
“Not another word about Esau until I question that young man,” said Henrietta firmly.
But when they arrived at the shop, Henrietta had to wait patiently while Miss Hissop showed off he
r clothes and told the astounded Josephine, Charlotte, and Esau of their adventures. Esau was white to the lips at the thought of what might have happened if Miss Hissop had not overheard Lady Clara and her brother. He went even whiter as Miss Hissop began to babble on about the Earl of Carrisdowne.
They were all standing in the shop. “Why do you not take Miss Hissop up to the parlor,” said Henrietta, “and hear the rest of the story in comfort. Not you, Esau. You stay with me.”
“Got pots to wash,” said Esau, edging toward the kitchen door.
“Wait, Esau,” commanded Henrietta sharply. The others threw her curious looks as they made their way out.
Henrietta waited in silence until she was sure they were all settled upstairs in the parlor. Then she turned to Esau. “Why?” she said. “Why did you tell Carrisdowne those filthy lies.”
Esau fell to his knees, a miserable-looking figure.
“I am waiting,” said Henrietta sternly.
“I was frightened,” said Esau. “I thought if you married, then I would be sent back to the workhouse. I wasn’t to get me wages until June. All I wanted to do was to put off the engagement until then. Oh, mistress, you don’t know the fear o’ the workhouse, the smell, the hunger, the cold. How was I to know you wouldn’t cast me off? I never met anyone like you afore. In the workhouse, we’re mean and savage like beasts cos that’s what being poor does to a body. You got to care for no one but yourself. For if you don’t, you die.”
He burst into tears, bending his head to the floor and covering his face with his hands.
“You did wrong, said Henrietta. “You must never tell lies again, Esau.”
Tears were spurting through Esau’s fingers.
“Oh, don’t cry, Esau,” sighed Henrietta. “If only you had told me… . But he believed you, and I do not want any man who would believe such things of me.” She walked over to him and drew him to his feet. “Do not cry anymore. Go to your room, and pray that tomorrow will bring a new life, new hope, and a new Esau.”
When Esau had stumbled from the room, Henrietta took off her cap and tossed it on the counter. With her hands on her hips, she surveyed the shop. “This is my domain,” she said aloud. “I never really accepted it. But here I am, Henrietta Bascombe, spinster of Bath, and shopkeeper for life.”
She went into the kitchen, took her sheaf of recipes, and sat down at the kitchen table and began to read through them.
She had not been so ambitious in Bath as she had been in London with her confections. But tomorrow would be a bumper day. She was a shopkeeper. She must cash in on her notoriety.
Josephine and Charlotte came in, asking if they could help, but Henrietta wanted to be alone and sent them to bed.
Josephine stopped outside the door of her room. “She looks so grim,” she whispered to Charlotte. “When I heard Carrisdowne was there, I could not help hoping…”
Charlotte miserably shook her head. “There is no hope in Henrietta’s face, and that means no hope for us.”
Henrietta worked on, glad to be alone, glad to have her work to keep her thoughts at bay. It was approaching midnight when she heard a gentle tap at the shop door.
Lady Clara! That was Henrietta’s first terrified shock. Then she told herself that with the law looking for her, it would be unlikely that Lady Clara would call at Bascombe’s. But Lady Clara must be mad, and who knew what a madwoman would do next?
Henrietta walked softly through the open kitchen door into the shop. She had turned the back shop into a kitchen rather than to have to work in the original kitchen, which was in an airless basement.
“Who is there?” she called softly.
“Carrisdowne.”
Henrietta opened the door.
“What do you want, my lord?” she demanded, barring the way. “The others are asleep.”
“Oh, let me in,” he said wearily. “I have much to tell you.”
“Very well.” Her voice was curt. “Come into the kitchen. I can continue my work while you talk.”
He followed her into the kitchen. Lips primed into a firm line, Henrietta stooped over the fire, stirring hot sugar and fruit juice in a pot.
“Turn around,” he commanded. “I must see your face.”
Henrietta carefully removed the spoon from the pot and laid it on the hob. She turned about, arms folded. “Yes?” she said coldly.
“What I want to say to you is… what I must tell you. Damn it, Henrietta, my heart has been breaking, and you must say you will be my wife, because I love you; so don’t stand there glaring at me, or I will shake you.”
“You believed all those lies Esau told you.”
“Pride. Wretched pride. What did I know of you? Henrietta, let me put it another way. If you do not forgive me and marry me, I shall wring your neck!”
Henrietta stood staring at him. He strode up to her and took her by the shoulders. “Well, what is it?” he said harshly. “A wrung neck, or marriage.”
“Oh, Rupert,” sighed Henrietta. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” he said formally. “Now, take note of my restraint, Henrietta. I am not about to kiss you and maul you. I respect you.”
“When will we be married?” asked Henrietta, her eyes like stars.
“Just as soon as I can arrange it. Send all this,” his arm encompassed all the pastries and jellies, “to the workhouse. Bascombe’s will not open tomorrow. You can take down that golden pineapple over the door and keep it as a souvenir.”
“What of Josephine and Charlotte?”
“I have already written this evening to Charles and Guy. I am sure they will arrive with all possible speed.”
“But Esau?”
“Surely you are not still concerned with that miserable, lying whelp!”
“Oh, Rupert, only hear why he did it.” Henrietta told him Esau’s morbid fear of being sent back to the workhouse. “And I still plan to let him run the business,” said Henrietta stubbornly.
“My sweeting, you may do as you please. I think one day I may be able to forgive Esau.”
Henrietta, suddenly shy, turned back to the fire and began to stir the pot again.
“Lady Clara has been found,” he said, and that brought Henrietta about to face him again. “There was no sign of Lord Alisdair. Clara was found wandering in the fields outside Bath. It appears she has completely lost her senses.”
“But Lord Alisdair is still at large!”
“Lord Alisdair did what he did out of love of his sister. He is weak and shiftless.”
“Was she in love with you? Is that why she tried to ruin me?”
“I believe that to be the case. You would have been up on a charge of murder if it had not been for your intrepid Miss Hissop.”
“I have not yet had the full story. I know she smashed the centerpiece. Did she do it with her fists.”
“No,” said the earl. “She… sh-she…” He collapsed in gales of laughter.
“Rupert! What did she do?”
The earl pulled himself together with an effort. “She took a flying leap and landed right in the center of your confection and hung on to the table like grim death. Bath has never seen anything like it.”
Henrietta began to laugh.
“How wonderful to see you happy again,” he said softly. “Come here until I kiss you.”
“You respect me,” said Henrietta, her eyes dancing. “You will not kiss me or maul me or… oh, Rupert.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her breathless. Then he sat down at the kitchen table and took her on his knee and began to make love to her with single-minded thoroughness, taking them both off into the dizzy realms of passion while the golden pineapple outside the confectioner’s creaked in the rising wind, and the syrup boiled over on the stove.
Part III
The Education of Miss Patterson
For Harry and Charlie
With love
Chapter 1
“What do you think, Simpers?”
Miss Patricia Patte
rson held up the silk purse she had just netted.
Her governess, Miss Simpkin, smiled indulgently. “Beautiful. Quite beautiful, Miss Patricia. You are so clever. I declare I have never met a young lady who could do so much. Is that not true, Miss Evans?”
Patricia’s old nanny, who had been dozing in a rocker by the nursery fire, came awake with a start and said automatically, “Prettiest girl for miles around is my little miss. None to touch her,” and fell asleep again.
The nursery fire crackled cheerfully, and well-trimmed oil lamps cast a rosy glow over the small room.
Patricia was sixteen years of age and could have used any of the magnificent rooms downstairs, but she much preferred the shabby comfort of the old nursery, not to mention the doting compliments from her old nanny and governess.
She was a pretty girl, rather on the plump side. Her hair, a true strawberry blond, was her greatest beauty, but she also had wide, pansy-brown eyes, a small straight nose, and a perfect mouth.
Although her parents had died the year before, Patricia considered herself the luckiest of girls.
Her parents had been elderly—her birth coming as a great surprise to her mother when the late Mrs. Patterson had found herself with child at the great age of forty. She had not seen much of them, but when she did they had always praised and petted her and told her she was wonderful. They had both died in an influenza epidemic and although, for a while, she had felt their loss keenly, that loss was quickly healed by her ever-present companions, Miss Simpkin and Miss Evans.
Miss Simpkin had never really exerted herself to teach Patricia very much, and since Patricia detested lessons, they both got along very well. Patricia adored all kinds of gossip and frivolity and Gothic novels.
A certain Lord Charles Gaunt had been appointed her guardian in her father’s will. Patricia had never met Lord Charles, but her father had often spoken of him, praising him as a young man of remarkable good sense. Patricia thought he was probably a bore.
