by Joan Smith
“Plenty, and don’t think I would ever marry you, for I would not.”
“Your papa will manage to give your blunt to that curst commoner he married. Don’t know what he sees in her. Ain’t even pretty. Pity he hadn’t had the wits to die, before he went soft in the brain.”
“Papa is not soft in the head.”
“A hard heart and a soft head. Whole neighborhood says so. Well, trying to unload you on old Croft. Certainly soft in the head. I say, Perdie, did Croft ever try to make up to you?”
“Yes he is always telling me I am beautiful.”
“No, I mean get his arms around you, and kiss you?”
“Yes, and that is when I decided to make a run for it, and why Papa sent me to Aunt Agatha to change my mind, but I cannot believe that even Bath could be as bad as being kissed by Mr. Croft.”
John was frowning in a more intense way than usual. I wondered if he was considering offering for her, out of spite and pity; but when he spoke, his true strategy was revealed. “I’ll tell you who you would find a capital fellow is Tony Hall,” he said.
We dismounted and looked at Mrs. Cosgrove’s house. Since the Prince had brought Brighton into fashion, the place had been modernized by having a pair of bows thrown out in front, with a new pediment and columns added on to give it elegance. John stepped up and banged the brass doorknocker. After a suitable wait, he repeated the action. A few minutes later, the door was opened, not by the butler, but by a very junior footman.
“Mrs. Cosgrove ain’t home,” he told us, then closed the door.
John did not bother knocking this time. He opened the door and barged in. "These ladies are her cousins. They’ll wait till she comes. Just as well pleased she ain’t here,” he explained aside to me. “Means I won’t have to step in and do the pretty. I’m late at Grifford’s as it is.”
“She isn’t coming back,” the footman said.
“What do you mean, not coming back! Of course she is coming back, cretin,” John said angrily.
“Not for a week she ain’t. She’s gone off to Swindon to visit relatives.”
“Swindon! Moira, she has gone home!” Perdita exclaimed, then fell into an unlady-like fit of giggles at the perversity of Fate.
“Has she gone to Sir Wilfrid Brodie’s place?” I asked.
“That’s it. Are you the young lady . . ." he asked, turning to ogle Perdita in open admiration.
“What did she say, exactly?” I asked him.
He examined us in a suspicious manner, then plunged into his story, when Perdita smiled at him. “She got a letter from a Miss Greenwood that the old gaffer was forcing his gel into a match with a man-milliner, and lit out posthaste to rescue the young lady, and bring her here to us. A rare bad skin she was in, hooting and hollering all the morning long.”
“She did get your letter then, Moira. How nice!” Perdita said. “I knew dear Aunt Maude would not let me down.”
I examined the letters unopened on a hall table, and saw amongst them my last missive from the inn at Chippenham. She had been spared that useless stop at least. “When did she leave?” I asked.
“Five days ago.”
“I expect she has gone to Bath by now,” I said, thinking aloud. Brodie would not be tardy in getting rid of her. She would go to Bath, learn we were not there, go back to Swindon. The fat was in the fire now! There would be parties out scouring the roads for us.
“What should we do?” I asked John. “We could wait here for her. She will return eventually.”
“You can’t stay here unchaperoned, in case you-know-who manages to follow your trail. And I ain’t about to turn my rig around and go all the way back to London, either. You’ll have to come to Grifford’s with me for a day or two.”
“I cannot like to land in uninvited at a stranger’s house party.”
“They ain’t strangers; they’re the Griffords. Know ‘em very well. Come along. Dash it, we’ve wasted I don’t know how many hours with this foolishness. Tony Hall will convince em I ain’t coming. And if she’s accepted him, I will tell them I want them to meet my fiancée,” he added, with an angry scowl at Perdita.
“No, you must not!” I said hastily. “She doesn’t need a broken engagement on top of the rest.”
“I am hungry,” Perdita said.
“Have you got any food?” John asked the footman.
“Naught but a fitch of bacon and some cheese. I am alone here with my ma. The mistress gave the other servants a holiday to visit relatives. I can boil you a cuppa tea if you like.”
“You could cook for us, Moira,” Perdita suggested.
“Don’t be a sapskull!” John chided, still not believing I had cooked for the actors. “Damme, now she has got me hungry. It is always the same. The minute you set foot into a carriage, you get hungry. We’ll try an hotel. With the half of London jauntering here every day, there must be a good dining room.”
“It is too early for dinner. Let us have tea,” I suggested.
"We cannot end up at Grifford’s half an hour into dinner and expect to be fed. We’ll eat now. There’s no saying we’ll find a decent spot between here and Bromley Hall.”
We ate dinner at four o’clock, not very long after taking luncheon, then it was back on the road to Grifford’s, while John discussed aloud varied and improbable stories to account for taking two uninvited ladies along on what he hoped would be his engagement visit.
* * *
Chapter 9
Bromley Hall lay halfway between Brighton and Eastbourne, on the south coast, just bordering the sea, though the water was not visible from the front of the house. Arriving as we did shortly after the sun had set, very little was visible but for several rectangles of light from the windows, where the lamps within threw some illumination on the ground. I was keenly aware of what a shabby stunt we played on the hostess, arriving with John. Mrs. Grifford was up to it. John’s boast that the girl favored him obviously had some truth in it, to judge by the extraordinary kindness we received. I think the family had about given up hope of seeing him.
The dame could not quite hide her surprised chagrin when Perdita first came into the full light, but her words were at least polite. John entered into a jumbled explanation. "I was taking the ladies to visit their aunt at Brighton, but Perdie is such a widgeon she got the dates mixed up. Next week she was supposed to go—her aunt ain’t even home. There was nothing for it but to bring them along. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Grifford.”
“I am very happy to have them. What was the name, again?”
“Miss Brodie and Miss Greenwood, her chaperone. Is Tony Hall here?”
“Yes, you will find him in the saloon with Millicent. Which is Miss Greenwood, did you say?”
"The old one.”
Mrs. Grifford looked her commiseration at me, at this plain speaking. She took our hands to make us welcome, while John craned his neck towards the saloon. “You are John’s cousin, did he say?” she asked Perdita.
"No just friends,” she answered, causing the poor woman to frown in sorrow.
“Neighbors,” I threw in, trying to add much more to the word, a suggestion of careless camaraderie that eliminated any romance.
“I don’t see Tony,” John said, looking back with a worried face.
“Did you want to see him in particular, John? I can send for him, if you like,” Mrs. Grifford offered.
“No, what would I want to see that caper merchant for!”
“Millie will want to know you are here. Call Millicent, Tobin,” the hostess said to her butler.
A young female came bustling to the hall. Her first welcome was for John. I think she would have been wiser to conceal some of her relief and joy at his arrival. But then, Miss Grifford was obviously not a scheming girl. Neither was she the least bit pretty, though she did not squint. In fact, her eyes were her most pleasing feature, being large and well-fringed. For the rest, she was plain. Plain brown hair, a plain face, a plain figure, a little on the dumpy s
ide. Her best years, too, had passed her by. She was younger than myself, but not by much.
“I was so afraid you weren’t coming,” she told him frankly. “I thought you must have changed your mind.” When she got around to looking at Perdita, she said, "Oh, dear!” in downright harried tones. Her mother made the introductions. “John never mentioned you, Miss Brodie,” she said, crestfallen.
"‘Course I did. I have told you a dozen times about Perdita. Lives a stone’s throw from me, back home.”
"Are you Perdie?” she asked, blinking. I cannot imagine what John had told her, but certainly he had omitted the fact that the neighbor was outstandingly beautiful.
"He never mentioned you either,” was Miss Brodie’s ambiguous reply.
A gentleman peered his head around the archway into the hall, his eyes brightly curious. John glanced at him, and pokered up like a ramrod. “I neglected to offer my congratulations on your betrothal, Millicent,” he said, in a hearty way, as though it were a matter of infinite indifference to him in any personal way. “Hear you have accepted an offer from Hall. I’m sure I hope you’ll both be very happy.”
"Tony Hall?” she asked, blinking. “Oh, no! Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Why they are shouting it from the street corners in Brighton, and along the road. Huxley told me. When are the two of you to tie the knot?”
“I have not accepted any offer. I cannot imagine where Huxley beard it.”
“Did he ask?”
“He—he did mention something to Papa, I believe, but—oh, I am not engaged, John!”
“Knew it was all a fudge. Huxley has never got a story straight in his life. Well, shall we step in and say how do you do to Tony and the others?”
“Why do you not take the girls up and show them a room first, Millicent?” her mother suggested. There was some meaningful look on the mother’s face, conveying, I suspect, a command to discover what she could of the relationship between the neighbors.
“We have neighbors coming in for a party, ladies,” she continued. “You will want to change, and make your preparations.”
“I’ll just toddle on and make myself at home. Ah, there is Hall, hiding behind the doorjamb like a monkey. I say, old chap . . .” He was off, beaming from ear to ear, to roast Tony Hall about the refused offer.
Millicent took us above, up a stately set of broad oaken stairs, to a wide hallway with two dozen doorways opening off it. We were shown into rooms standing side by side. She left Perdita off first, then took me on to my room.
“Miss Brodie is very pretty, is she not?” she asked. “I cannot think why John never mentioned it.”
“He does not realize it. You know how it is when people grow up next door to each other. They never think of appearance. Why, they are practically like brother and sister.”
"Brother and sister?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes, good friends, in a purely platonic way,” I assured her, making the statement freely, to save her the shame of drawing it out of me. I felt, too, our welcome would be warmer if this fact were established. “John was very worried about Tony Hall,” I added, to clinch our acceptance.
“He need not have been. He is not at all . . . not that I mean to disparage him, you know, it is only that . . ."
“Yes, I understand.” He did not appear very different from John, only fairer of complexion. What magical element was it that caused the strange attraction we call love? And why did it forever go on eluding me?
Miss Grifford pointed out the conveniences of the room, expressed her pleasure at seeing us, and concern at our having missed our aunt at Brighton.
“Such a stupid mistake really,” I said. “But we shan’t billet ourselves on you for long. We can return to London tomorrow.” Actually I was not sure John would take us, nor that the Griffords would be happy to lose him so soon, either.
"I hope you will stay longer than that!” she said, quite warmly, then she fled back downstairs to find John.
I was coming to see that we must notify someone of our whereabouts. I was consulting with myself on the advisability of writing home to Sir Wilfrid versus writing to Aunt Maude. I preferred the latter, but knew not where to post a letter. I should have left word at Brighton of our new destination.
As soon as she saw Millie pass by the door, Perdita came in to join me. “Is she not an ugly squab?” she asked.
“About the same size as yourself—perhaps a few inches taller.”
“I cannot fancy John ever offering for her.”
“She seems very nice. How do you think I should let Aunt Maude know we are here, Perdita?”
"Write and tell her,” she answered simply.
“Yes my dear, but write where?”
“You will know what it is best to do” she said airily. Her present interest was to devise a coiffure that would cast the ladies belowstairs into the shade. While she discussed this with herself, I sat down to dash a quick note off to Mrs. Cosgrove, at all the possible places she could be. Bath, Swindon and Brighton must each have a message awaiting her. She would surely turn up at one or the other of them before long. I was still at this chore when our pitiful bit of baggage was brought up. One small case held our one decent evening dress each, and the nightgown and linens borrowed from Mrs. Alton, along with Perdita’s foolish purchases from the Pantheon Bazaar.
Perdita hung up our gowns, while I finished the letters. Then I indulged her in the wish for a new hairstyle, one seen on the streets of London, but that did not suit her in the least. Her hair had not been up in papers the night before, and lacked a curl. This being the case, it looked better pinned up, though the older style was not the optimum one for her face. It made her look a little like a child aping her elders. Neither was the hastily ordered gown ideal for a young lady. The bows were too numerous and too dazzling a shade of pink, close to red. I was not entirely pleased with my own gown, either, though it was attractive enough. Normally I would have worn a scarf around the neck, or at least a piece of lace tucked in at the front, for Miss McGavin had really cut it a good inch lower than I liked.
With so few accessories on hand, I was obliged to go belowstairs as I was, and maintain a rigidly erect posture, for propriety’s sake, assuring myself a small country party was not crucial for us. The guests were arriving in two’s and three’s when we descended to the hallway. They were of the very primmest. The vicar’s son and daughter came in, the girl wearing a gown cut up to her clavicle. She was amazed to see bare arms on the two of us. She actually bit her lower lip in astonishment, and turned a startled countenance on her brother.
She was followed by a squire’s brood, two girls and two young men. Perdita alone exposed more flesh then the two girls together. “You had better run up and get that shawl you bought at the Bazaar,” I said to her. It was, unfortunately, a shade of robin’s egg blue that would clash hideously with either her outfit or my own, but jarring colors were coming to seem preferable to flesh tones.
John came sauntering out to the hall as we prepared to make our grand entrance. “Well, Perdie, don’t you look fine as ninepence,” he congratulated, ogling her shoulders. “You don’t wear that sort of a getup when you are at home, by the living jingo. Very nice. You will make Mil—the other ladies sit up and take notice. You don’t look as dowdy as usual either, Moira. Must be the provincial company throws the two of you into a fashionable light. A rum do,” he cautioned. He was being cosmopolitan, to repay Millicent for scaring him. Now that he knew she still cared for him, he would mete out his revenge. But really he was as merry as a grig, beneath his condescension. “Two of the girls squint like a barrel of nails, and t’other is a squealer for looks. Of course they scraped the bottom of the bucket to find the ugliest ones they could, to make Millie look well. Better lookers might show up later. They are just beginning to come in. Tony says they are threatening a game of all fours, but Mrs. Grifford has promised some dancing later on. He says they have been in a pelter all day looking
out for my carriage. Can’t imagine why.”
He latched his arm through ours as he spoke, to lead us in to meet the much maligned company. There was another knock at the door as we turned to leave. He looked over his shoulder to appraise whatever female entered. There was a muffled wheeze deep in his throat, followed by a crippling pressure on our arms. Before I could see what had come in, he tore into the saloon.
“What is it, John?” I asked. Oh, but I knew! I knew before I finished the question who had come in. Who else but our old nemesis could have affected him so deeply?
“I’m done for. It’s Stornaway!”
Perdita coo’d in pleasure, unlatched her fingers from John’s arm, and turned to leave us. I tightened my hold, and expect John did the same, as she emitted a little scream.
* * *
Chapter 10
Stornaway was detained a few moments in the hallway with the hostess, presumably making some explanation for his precipitate entrance at her party, uninvited. “He can’t be here! He wouldn’t know Millicent from Adam,” John protested futilely. “I made sure I was safe once I got inside . . . He cannot be staying. He has come to the door asking for directions, just to get a peek and see if we are here. Some of my friends must have tipped him the clue I was coming. That flap-jawed Huxley is out causing mischief again. Never gets anything straight.”
“He got this straight at least,” Perdita said happily. Despite John’s harried protests of impossibility, it was soon known in the saloon that Lord Stornaway was here, and was to remain, at least overnight. Our informant was Miss Grifford, her face white with astonishment. “Lord Stornaway has come,” she said. “His carriage has lost a wheel just in front of our place, and he came to ask if he might stable it, and cadge a drive to the nearest inn, so Mama invited him to remain overnight. She is acquainted with his mama, you see, and once he learned you are here, John, he accepted an offer to join our party tonight. I did not know he was a friend of yours.”
