The little Frenchman closed his eyes tightly, shook his head, and set his wooden ladle carefully down upon the table. “Impossible, my lady. And so,” Dancell lifted his ladle again and looked authoritatively about him, “we will have the turtle soup, my lady, and the smoked salmon, followed by the Beef à la Moderne and the Portuguese ham, with the cauliflower and the boiled potato and the pea chick with asparagus, and for dessert the Turkish dates in redberry sauce and the trifles, and the caramel tarts for which his lordship, he so truly wishes. It is a small dinner, no? It is not so very much trouble, my lady. It is only I who am nervous to be seen, and that I shall survive.”
“Yes, but will Henri and Jules and the roasting boys and the confectioner survive?” Simpson queried good-naturedly.
In the end, they all survived admirably. The earl, with his mama on his arm, led the laughing exodus from the drawing room, down the main staircase, all through the Great Hall, down a shorter staircase, and into the kitchen. His Uncle James escorted Miss Mapleton, Mr. Brummell, bemused, followed with Abby’s little hand clinging tightly to his fingers. Behind them came Kit and Lord Bristol swinging Davey down the steps between them, the quizzing glass attached safely to his buttonhole. Northampton, Bear, and Gentleman Jackson, all grinning widely, tried the entire route to persuade Jesse to give Cribb over to one of the footmen, but he refused to do so, saying again and again that the earl, himself, had invited Cribb to join them. Talbot, David and Coffee brought up the rear, David and Coffee comparing notes on various military campaigns that one or the other of them had survived, and Talbot listening with interest, Simpson held the kitchen door wide, and the long, oaken table, bleached nearly white from years of scrubbing, stood ready to welcome them.
Never before had Rutlidge House seem such a rambunctious, energetic, and thoroughly uninhibited group of diners. The footmen having been dispensed with, Mrs. Ware, and Simpson, Dancell, and even Henri and Jules set the dinner before them.
“There’s ale, B-Bear, if you d-do not l-like wine,” the earl called, in a voice that reached to the middle of the long table.
The countess, tempted to remind him about the propriety of speaking only to his nearest neighbours and not the entire rom, thought better of it when a moment later Mr. Brummell shouted down the length of the table, “John Jackson, if that side of beef arrives here divested of all but bone, I shall be forced to divest you of your plate at knife point!”
“Ho!” grinned Jackson, “I wish I may see the day!”
“Me, too,” giggled Jesse as Gentleman Jackson bestowed a bit of beef upon him to pass to a drooling Cribb beneath the table.
Abby, who had refused her own chair to settle herself comfortably on Mr. Brummell’s lap and share his dinner, frowned down the table at her brother and declared that Mr. Brummell at least ought to get his dinner before the dog, an observation with which the Beau concurred so heartily that even Mrs. Ware and Simpson were sent into peals of laughter.
Talbot, who through a strategic bit of manoeuvring on the part of the Mapleton brothers, Northampton, and Bristol, found himself seated next to Amelia, helped that young lady to a portion of salmon, and murmured softly, “Look around me, Miss Mapleton, to my little neighbour.”
Amelia did so. “Whatever does he find so very intriguing about that quizzing glass?” she asked, her eyes aglow with mirth.
“I have not the least idea,” chuckled Talbot and, turning to the boy who was busily surveying every item on his plate with the glass before his eye, whispered in his ear.
“Well, it ain’t a’tall th’same, though, Mr. Tony,” Davey responded loudly enough to draw the countess’s attention. “It’s ’ceptional looking, ’specially the green stuff with the strings.”
“Strings?” Talbot asked, grinning. “Dancell! Do you know your asparagus has strings?”
“Non, monsieur, it cannot be so,” the chef protested as he hurried past to check upon the confectioner’s progress.
With a grave look from Davey to the asparagus and back to Davey, Talbot lifted his own quizzing glass to his eye and studied the “’ceptional-looking green stuff” on Davey’s plate for himself. The sight of man and boy, quizzing glasses held over the asparagus, brought Amelia and the countess both to giggles. “Tony, really,” laughed his mama, “you are the height of impropriety.”
“Yes, madam,” replied Talbot, peering at his mother through the glass and then directing it back to Davey’s plate, “but Master Davey is correct. Dancell,” he added, as the chef scurried back in his direction, “come and see the strings for yourself.”
Dancell came to a frustrated halt behind Tony’s chair, and Tony grinned up at him, winking. “Have a look, Dancell,” he chuckled. “It’s the most amazing thing.”
“Yes, ’tis,” agreed Davey seriously without looking up.
Dancell, a smile beginning to curve his lips as Tony passed him his quizzing glass, peered down through it at Davey’s plate. “Mon Dieu! It is more rope than string!” laughed Dancell. “But eat it you shall, little one, yes?” The chef passed Tony back his quizzing glass, took Davey’s knife and fork in his own hands, and cut the boy a bit of asparagus. “Taste, my titbit,” he urged, bringing the fork to Davey’s mouth. “The strings, they are magnifique, non?”
“It’s good,” agreed Davey happily.
By the time the tarts and trifles and dates in redberry sauce appeared, no awkwardness of rank or reputation separated the diners from each other, or from the servants for that matter, for Geordan had demanded that Simpson, Mrs. Ware, Dancell, Henri, Jules, and the rest of the help should join them in devouring the sweetmeats. Ignoring Mrs. Ware’s protestations, he and Jess and Tony went to swipe some of the chairs from the upper servant’s dining room, and everyone shifted around to make space for the purveyors of the excellent meal. “I knew it would b-be the greatest thing,” the earl declared proudly. “I wish we c-could always eat in the k-kitchen.”
“Heaven forbid!” Dancell sighed, his eyes wrinkling with laughter and a caramel tart halfway to his lips.
The countess reasserted her rank and authority, however, at the end of the evening, insisting that Coffee, Bear and the children be driven back to their lodgings in her own travelling carriage, crest and all, and accompanied by four outriders. “For I will not have you attempting to find a hack at this time of the night, Bear, especially not with the children to tend to. Abby is already asleep in Mr. Brummell’s arms, and Davey is so drowsy he cannot keep his eyes open. Even Jesse is finally giving in. No, you will go in my coach, and I will hear no more about it.” She went on to satisfy herself that each of her other guests had a safe way home and bid them all a very fond goodnight.
Once they had departed, she sent Geordan off in Tyler’s keeping to be tucked away and ushered Tony and James into the back parlour. “I know it has been a trying time for you, Tony, with Geordan missing, but I hope you will not take it upon yourself to ring a peal over your brother because of it.”
“No, ma’am,” Tony replied, carrying a glass of brandy to his Uncle James, and then pouring one for himself. “I shall not do so if you do not wish it. But someone must make it clear to the scamp that he may not wander about London as of it were Westerley. He was extremely lucky that it was Bear that found him and not a group of footpads. He might have been kidnapped, Mama, and held to ransom, or even murdered.”
“Yes,” frowned the countess, “I am very aware of that, Tony. But you are his brother, his younger brother, and it is not your place to be reprimanding him. Your Uncle James and I will discuss the matter with him tomorrow. Will we not, James?”
“Certainly, m’dear,” James nodded. “Tomorrow. And I shall discover what caused him to run off as well. You may believe it.”
When finally Mr. Talbot made his way to his own bedchamber and slipped into his nightclothes, he was amazed at how bone-weary he felt. It was the relief that overwhelmed him, coming as it did with such a great suddenness. The shock of it did more to exhaust him than had the tensio
n itself. The bedclothes already turned back, Tony was about to settle between the fresh sheets when he heard a scratching at the door. He crossed the room to open it and smiled tiredly. “What is it, Geord?” he asked, tugging his brother into the room. “Are you not tired?”
“N-No, Tony.”
“Well, you certainly ought to be.” Talbot tossed his pillows against the headboard and urged his brother to slip beneath the covers. Then he settled himself next to him. “Now, talk to me, rascal. What is it keeps you awake?”
“I am w-worried, Tony.”
“You are?”
“Y-Yes.”
“About what, Geord? Are you afraid of having a peal rung over you? I doubt Mama and Uncle James will say anything much, except to warn you about what might have happened. You must just promise not to go off on your own like that again.”
“B-But I did n-not go off on my own, Tony,” the earl said, his hands moving restlessly in his lap, his dark blue eyes staring at the far wall. “And, and, they will ask m-me, you know, why I w-went out in the middle of the n-night. And I do n-not think I ought to, to t-tell them.”
“You did not go off alone?” Tony asked, the need for sleep suddenly abated. “Who went with you, Geordan?”
“You d-did. I f-followed you.”
“You followed me? How far, Geordan? How far did you get before Bear found you?”
“B-Bear was at the meeting. You are n-not a highwayman, are you, T-Tony? C-Coffee thought you m-might be a highwayman.”
Tony grinned and took one of the earl’s restless hands in his own. “No, gudgeon, I am not any sort of highwayman.”
“I d-did n-not think so.”
“Why did you follow me, brat?”
“You k-kept sneak-sneaking out at n-night. I thought you were in t-trouble. I w-wanted to h-help you.”
Tony sighed. “I had no idea you even knew, Geord. I thought you were always asleep when I left. I did not want you to know.”
“Why n-not?”
“Well, because, because… Geordie, can you not just believe that I am not in trouble and think no more about it?”
“N-No.” The auburn curls swished against the headboard as the earl shook his head. “Why did you g-go to that meeting? Is that where you always g-go?”
“I am looking for someone, brat.”
“B-Bear?”
Tony laughed. “No, not Bear. I am very glad that you found him, however. He is a fine man.”
“Yes, I know. He d-did not t-tell on me about f-following you. N-Not even tonight. Who are you l-looking for then?”
“A man named Justice,” Tony murmured, putting an arm around the earl’s shoulders. “Do you remember when Papa died, Geordie?”
“Of c-course I do. I am n-not a s-sapskull, T-Tony. Who would n-not remember when their papa d-died?”
“No, of course you are not a sapskull. It was a stupid thing to ask you. It is just that, well, everyone says that Papa was killed in a robbery, Geord, and I do not believe them. There are some things Papa wrote in his journal, things that make me think someone planned to murder him. And I think the man who planned to do so was this person named Justice.”
“And you w-want to ask him?”
“Yes, Geord,” Tony answered with a sad smile. “That is just what I want to do. I want to ask him if he planned to murder Papa. But first I must find him, you see.”
“Oh,” the earl said quietly, and Tony could tell from the little frown line between his brows that he was giving the matter a great deal of thought. “I b-bet Bear could f-find him for you, T-Tony,” he said at last. “Bear knows almost ever-everybody.”
“Yes, then perhaps he could. I will ask him, shall I? And Coffee knows the man as well. Perhaps they will both help me to find him. Would that be all right with you, rascal? You would not be worried about me if Bear and Coffee were helping me?”
“N-No, not as m-much worried. B-Bear is very strong and C-Coffee is smart. But you d-do not want me to t-tell on you to Uncle James, d-do you, T-Tony? He will ask why I w-went off in the n-night. You do n-not want me to say about f-following you?”
“Definitely not, scamp.”
“I d-did n-not think so. B-But I have been t-trying to think what to t-tell him, and I c-cannot. What should I s-say?”
“Well…” Tony sat thinking for a moment.
“You c-cannot think what t-to say either, c-can you?”
“Perhaps you could say that you just meant to take Mouse for a run and got lost?”
“No, T-Tony, I cannot say that. I p-promised Mama a long t-time ago that I would n-not exercise Mouse alone. She said if I d-did that she would t-take him away from m-me.”
“Well, we cannot have that happen. I know, Geordie. You must say that you did not leave at night but very early in the morning... that you thought it was the day you had promised to go riding with Miss Mapleton and could not find Martin, so you set off on your own for Brook Street to ride with her.”
“And then I got lost?”
“Yes, exactly. Can you say that, do you think?”
“Y-Yes, Tony,” said the earl, brightening. “That is a g-good thing to s-say. I am always f-forgetting which d-days are which, and I am t-terrible independent. Mama and Uncle James will n-not in the least s-suspect that I am t-telling them a wh-whisker.”
“Good,” said Tony, “then that is what you will say. And you must never follow me again, Geord. It is dangerous at night in London, particularly if one is an earl. Uncle James will tell you so, and you must be sure to listen to him. Can you go to sleep now, do you think? Shall I light your way back to your room?”
“N-No, there are c-candles lighted in the h-hall. Mama lit them j-just like at h-home. T-Tony?” the earl asked as he slipped out of his brother’s bed and started for the door.
“What, terror?”
“Wh-when you r-read from Papa’s j-journal, is it l-like Papa t-talking to you?”
“Yes, a great deal like.”
“Then will you r-read some of it t-to me some-some-t-time? P-Please? I m-miss Papa.” The earl then slipped soundlessly out the door and left Mr. Anthony Andrew Talbot to snuff out his own candle and lie on his back in the darkness with a heart-wrenching sympathy stirring inside him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE Conover sisters, regally seated in their brightly painted and papered morning room, were jolted from their boredom by the appearance of their butler bearing an engraved card on his golden tray. “A morning caller, madam,” he murmured, offering the card to Miss Clarissa, the elder of the spinsters.
“Oh my goodness! Portia! The Countess of Ruthlidge is at our door! Whatever is she doing here?”
“She says she wishes to speak with you, madam,” said the butler. “Shall I admit her?”
“Oh, yes, Princeton, immediately,” cried Miss Portia.
That Cecily Talbot, one of the more glittering and influential members of the ton, should bestow the honour of her presence upon the Conover sisters, whose fortune smelled more than faintly of the shop and whose claim to gentility was suspect, was unthinkable even to the sisters themselves. As much as they liked to pretend to a certain confidence, they were quite aware that among the ton their existence was significantly less important than what awaited on the breakfast sideboard.
“The Countess of Rutlidge,” Princeton announced, bowing that lady into the morning room. Both the Conover sisters rose immediately and curtsied as well as two rather stiff old ladies could be expected to do. The countess, her eyes sparkling, very prettily discovered which sister was which, sent Princeton off to his own environs, and seated herself in a Louis XIV chair.
“I am come, my dears, to discuss a matter of ton with you. I hope you do not mind.”
“Ton?” Miss Clarissa laughed, noticing how the sleek, austere lines of the countess’s Bishop’s blue morning dress became the elegant figure.
“It is a little thing,” smiled Cecily condescendingly. “You will think me most interfering and audacious.”
<
br /> Miss Portia, who was amazed that the countess bothered with them at all, coughed nervously, bringing Cecily’s great blue eyes to rest on her little mouse-like countenance. “Surely we shall not, Lady Rutlidge.” Miss Portia’s awed voice trembled.
“Well, it is only that it has come to my attention that you have a girl who works for you,” sighed Cecily, with a rather languid tilt to her lips. “Molly something or other…”
“Molly?” asked Miss Clarissa anxiously. “What is it she has done, Lady Rutlidge? Has she offended you in some way?”
“Oh, it is all quite complicated,” Cecily sighed with a wave of her hand and a very good imitation of boredom. “May I ask, my dears, what is her position in your household?”
“She is one of our chambermaids, ma’am, but how you should come to know her…”
“Well, I truly do not wish to discuss it, but you will permit me, I think, to suggest that you would be most circumspect to turn the girl off.”
“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed Miss Portia, her voice squeaking with excitement. “She has done something terrible!”
“I do not mean to imply anything against her character, my dears. Still, I thought you might like to know that should it become known that you employ the child, it could considerably lessen your acceptance in—certain circles.” The countess’s threat was clear. Even the insignificant position they now possessed on the edge of the fashionable world placed them far above most of their acquaintance.
Miss Clarissa nodded silently, then bestirred herself to ring for Princeton. “You will ask Molly to come to us,” she announced upon his arrival.
“Molly?” he asked, wonderingly. “But, madam, do you mean Molly the chambermaid?”
“Yes, exactly, Princeton.”
“Yes, madam,” bowed the entity, and he set off, puzzled, in search of the girl. When at last he escorted her into the morning room, the Conover sisters had made a decision. No sooner to Princeton disappear from sight that Miss Clarissa announced that due to information obligingly furnished her by the lady present in the room, Molly was to consider herself immediately dismissed.
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