The Bath Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

“Oh, I am so glad,” Sybilla said, jumping up to hug him.

  “Here, don’t do that! You’ll muss my coat. And don’t say anything else to me. You ain’t making a lot of sense, and though I know you’ve been ill, that’s no excuse.”

  “No, you are perfectly right. It is no excuse whatever.” She dared not tell him what she had thought, so she said the first thing that came into her head. “What will you do today?”

  “I’m meeting Sitwell. We’ve got errands to attend to, because we are going out of town for a day or two.”

  “Out of town! But I am sure you never said a word—”

  “Didn’t know. And don’t ask me any questions. You never like the answers, and I’ve no intention of standing about while you make my headache worse with your reproaches.”

  “But if you think I’ll reproach you—”

  “No, Sybilla, you won’t, because I ain’t going to be here.”

  And with those words he slipped out the door and shut it behind him, leaving her to stare after him and wonder what on earth he was up to now. She was relieved to know she had been wrong to think him capable of taking money from the marchioness, but his attitude disturbed her nonetheless, for he seemed to think of no one but himself. It was as though her worries were of no concern to him, nothing more than petty distractions that he did not wish to discuss.

  She remembered what an engaging little boy he had been, a scamp, always into mischief. He had been her special charge. She had adored him, and he had idolized her. It was hard, now, to see that same engaging child in the self-centered young man who had just left her, and not really surprising that she had been able to think him capable of duping the marchioness.

  With her suspicions eased, it was with pleasant anticipation that she head her mother-in-law’s name announced several hours later. “Our plan must have gone off,” Sybilla said as she hugged her, “for I received no message from your Mr. Grimthorpe.”

  Lady Axbridge put a hand to her plump bosom. “I have been on needles and pins all the morning long. Indeed, I nearly wished I had told the wretched man to come to me last night, despite Axbridge, who went to White’s, for all that he insists he is worn to the bone. But it would not have answered, for I went to a card party at Emily Rosecourt’s, but the stakes were shockingly high, so Lady Leveson and I went on from there to see the new pantomime at the Lyceum. I do so adore the theater, you know, and I have not been to a good play this age. I think that when Axbridge leaves, as he begins to talk of doing, I will accept Lucretia’s invitation to visit her in Bath to see that odd young man do his Romeo. But how are you feeling, my dear?”

  “Perfectly stout, ma’am. ’Tis as though I was never ill. I scarcely ever take so much as a cold, but you must know that Ned and I visited Charlie and Clarissa, and the girls were ill.”

  “Yes, Edmond told me,” the marchioness said, “and I had a letter from Lucretia as well, before I came to town. She keeps me tolerably well informed about some things.”

  Sybilla chuckled. “If anyone could have put our marriage back together, I am certain it would have been Lady Lucretia, for no one has been busier on our behalf. I never see her but what she asks after him, and he told me he receives letters from her demanding to know why he does not take his rightful place at my side. If you want to know what I think about her interference—”

  “I am sure I know already,” Lady Axbridge told her, laughing, “but you cannot blame us for meddling, my dear. You are the very best thing that ever happened to my son, and I believe he is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Sybilla felt warmth entering her cheeks, but she shook her head. “I did think so at one time, but later, you know, when I knew why he married me—”

  The marchioness said gently, “He might have let Axbridge push him up to scratch, my dear, but he does not bend without wanting to, even to his father. Edmond cares for you. He would not otherwise become so angry when you displease him.”

  “He thinks of me as a possession,” Sybilla said. “Lady Mandeville would have done as well as a wife.”

  “Never say so,” the marchioness said vehemently. “That female! I wouldn’t have her as a daughter-in-law, for she has no more notion of the proper way to behave than … than a cat. No, that is wrong, for that idiotish tom that Lucretia says has adopted her has better manners than that Mandeville woman has. That fool husband of hers ought to lock her in a closet. Then, if only he were not too old and weak to do so, he might yank her out once a week and beat her senseless!”

  “Ma’am!” Sybilla stared, shocked to hear her express herself so forcefully.

  “Well, he ought to. She only married him for his title and his money, though he cannot have much of that left, I daresay, after the way I’m told she spends it. I should be distressed to learn that any daughter of mine had behaved as Fanny Mandeville does—if I had any daughters, which I am thankful I do not, for their father would have driven them all to run off with footmen or worse before they were old enough to make their curtsy at court, and that’s a fact.”

  Sybilla burst into laughter. “Oh, ma’am, I should think any daughters of yours would be delightful people to know. ’Tis a pity you never had but the one son.”

  “It was a great sorrow to me,” the marchioness said in a more subdued tone. “It would have done Edmond good, too, I think, to have had brothers. Or sisters, for that matter. He was a lonely child, I think, even after he went away to school. Ah, but here is Grimthorpe now, on time to the minute.”

  Sybilla would have liked to continue their conversation or at least to have had a moment or two to think over the marchioness’s words, for she had never before thought of Ned as a lonely person. If he was, she had done little to change that.

  But the marchioness gave her no time to think. “What news, Grimthorpe?” she demanded at once. “Who is the villain?”

  The thin, elderly man whom the butler had taken it upon himself to show into the drawing room bowed gracefully, but waited until the butler had withdrawn again before he answered gravely, “As to that, ma’am, I cannot say.”

  “What! What can you mean? Surely, you were able to arrange the meeting! Here, sit down. This is my daughter-in-law, Lady Ramsbury. Forgive me, Sybilla, I know it is your house, but I am all impatience. I cannot wait for amenities.”

  “It is perfectly all right, ma’am,” Sybilla said, nodding pleasantly to Mr. Grimthorpe and echoing the marchioness’s suggestion that he sit down.

  “Thank you, m’lady. In answer to your question, ma’am, I did certainly arrange a meeting, this very morning, and the young man who came to see me was quite interested in hearing more about an allowance for—as I was to suppose—Lady Ramsbury.”

  “Young man!” Sybilla and the marchioness exclaimed together.

  Grimthorpe nodded. “Indeed. He told me he was cousin to Lady Ramsbury, meeting with me on her behalf.”

  Sybilla, her suspicions rushing back to haunt her, said weakly. “Tell me, sir, what did this gentleman look like?” She held her breath.

  “Medium height, I think, and slim, with lightish hair and eyes of a sort of a greenish color.”

  “Never mind what he looked like,” declared the marchioness, clearly taking no notice of Sybilla’s sudden pallor. “Where is he and what has he to do with all of this? Surely, he must have known you would never give money to a stranger!”

  “He thought precisely that.” Mr. Grimthorpe pushed his spectacles higher onto his nose as he added, “Expected me to advance him a generous portion of the allowance out of hand and then to send regular amounts to ‘her ladyship’ at a particular address each month. I showed him into an office and asked him to wait while I drew up the papers, but I am afraid I most foolishly suggested that an account at Child’s Bank would be me usual thing, and he must have smelled a rat, for before I could hail a constable, he escaped out a window.”

  The marchioness said tartly, “No doubt he simply came to his senses and realized that as my agent, you could ask any n
umber of questions he would not be able to answer. Sybilla, this is someone with a great deal of effrontery but very little sense.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sybilla said no more, but her emotions were threatening to overwhelm her.

  Mr. Grimthorpe appeared to believe that no more would be heard from the villain and that they might all rest easy. Lady Axbridge did not entirely agree with him, but she was clearly more concerned by then with getting him off the premises before her son returned from his club to dress for dinner than with discussing the matter any further. Thus it was that, ten minutes later, she bade the solicitor farewell with undisguised relief.

  When he was well away, she said to Sybilla, “How very perplexing. Who can that young man have been, do you think?”

  Having no wish to tell her that she thought it must have been Brandon, Sybilla responded glibly that she did not know. The marchioness was willing to discuss the matter at length, but although Sybilla was not spared that ordeal altogether, it was curtailed without any conclusions being drawn by the arrival of Ramsbury twenty minutes later.

  “You are looking very fine, Mama,” he said, striding forward to kiss her. “What have you found in town to amuse you?”

  She looked slightly taken aback at this direct question, and for a moment Sybilla feared she would blurt out something a little too near the truth, but the marchioness recovered quickly and said she had been to the theater the previous night.

  “Vastly entertaining it was, too,” she said. “Have you had a pleasant day, Edmond?”

  “Very pleasant,” he replied, but he was looking at Sybilla and beginning to frown. “You look burnt to the socket, my girl,” he said bluntly. “Been going the pace a trifle hard, I think, so no doubt bed is the best place for you.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed,” she said. “Don’t cosset me, Ned, or play the tyrant, either. There is nothing amiss with me now that cannot be cured by activity. I have been moped to death here. Indeed, I’m so bored that I am beginning to think fondly of all the things I might be doing at home, and Mrs. Hammersmyth has written twice, wondering when I mean to return to Bath.”

  She saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, and his lips pressed tightly together for a long moment before he said carefully, “This is your home.”

  “Not really.” But she said the words gently and was conscious of a certain sadness in her heart as she added, “You know what I mean. I do not come to London to stay in bed, or to do fancy needlework. The servants here are accustomed to seeing to their work without supervision, so I must look to other things to occupy my time. No one called today except Mally and Sydney, and your mama, of course. I begin to fear that my cicisbei have all deserted me.” She was glad to see him smile.

  “That cannot be true,” he said, smiling. “No doubt they have heard there is a husband living here these days and fear to annoy him. If you are truly on the mend, however, there is no reason for me to stay. Mama would probably thank me for moving back to Axbridge House, now that she has come to town.”

  “Well, you’re out, if that’s what you think,” his mother told him. “You will only come to cuffs with your father, for he has been tired and crotchety of late, and that is not what I like at all. You ought to stay here, where you belong.”

  When Ramsbury said calmly that she was mistaken, Sybilla suddenly, and without precisely knowing how it came about, found herself interrupting him. “You can stay if you like,” she said.

  He turned sharply toward her. “Do you mean that, Syb? You said before that it wouldn’t answer, that we should do nothing but quarrel. Very likely, you are right about that, you know.”

  “I’m sure I would rather quarrel with you than have no one to speak to at all,” she said tartly, irrationally annoyed with him, and wondering what had possessed her to ask him to stay.

  He looked at her long and hard, until the silence in the room had grown nearly tactile. It was the marchioness who broke it, saying happily, “There now, I am persuaded that if you will only take the trouble to mend things, everything will be pleasant again in a twinkling.” When neither of them responded to this gambit, she smiled, rose from her chair, and said with unimpaired geniality, “I will leave you now to talk things over.”

  They stirred themselves to bid her farewell, but when she had gone, Ramsbury turned back to Sybilla at once. “What is amiss, Syb? You have been as blue as a megrim since I walked into the room.”

  “It is nothing, Ned. Don’t tease me.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. They felt warm, and there was warmth in his voice as well. “I won’t, Syb, only tell me if this mood is lingering because of your illness, or if it is due to some other worry. I want to help if I can.”

  She saw the truth of his words in his expression, but she could not tell him she suspected Brandon of defrauding the marchioness. For many years she had protected her brother from the consequences of his mischief, and the habit was a hard one to break. But if Ned wanted to help, perhaps there was a way. She swallowed, then said carefully, “ ’Tis only that London prices seem to have gone up and up since last I was here. I fear I will outrun the constable, just as you predicted I would.”

  His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But the look vanished so quickly that she could not be sure, and he said, “You need more money?”

  Perhaps it would be easier than she had thought. “Do you mind? The dresses I ordered before Christmas will not be suitable for the Season, so I shall need any number of new ones, and”—she remembered the excuse given in the letter to the marchioness—“there may be a drawing room soon, too, you know. I have nothing suitable to wear.”

  “You said you meant to return to Bath.” His hands tightened on her shoulders, and remembering his temper, she nearly had second thoughts. If Brandon’s folly were discovered, it could mean prison, but it would do no good to pretend she meant to stay in London, since she had to return very soon. Mrs. Hammersmyth’s letters had made it clear that the household in Bath could not go without her guidance much longer.

  Swallowing again, she said, “I shall have to go back, of course, but I mean to spend a good deal of time here, and I thought perhaps you would not mind increasing my allowance.”

  He was still watching her closely. “I could put a further twenty pounds per quarter into your account, I suppose.”

  “Twenty pounds! Good gracious, Ned. A court dress—”

  “True, a court dress is exceptionally expensive. Very well then, have that bill sent directly to me, and in addition I’ll increase your allowance by fifty pounds a quarter. I don’t think you will need more than that, certainly.”

  The offer was extremely generous, but after some rapid calculating, when Sybilla realized that it would still take a year or more to pay back the marchioness, her face fell.

  Ramsbury gave her a shake. “Just as I thought, my girl. This isn’t a matter of court dresses or high prices, is it? Suppose, just for once, you tell me the truth.”

  She couldn’t. Suddenly the whole frightening business overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t imagine what to do. Blinking back tears, she tried to step away from him.

  His voice sterner than ever, he held her and said, “You might begin by telling me why my mother suddenly decided to post up to town, a thing she hasn’t done in years.”

  Sybilla exerted herself to sound bewildered. “Why, I suppose she simply wished to come. Why else …” But her voice trailed away, for he was shaking his head.

  “A poor attempt,” he said. “Not worthy of your skills, my dear. You forget that my esteemed father is in London. Mama does not willingly, or for small cause, go searching him out when he is safely out of her hair for the moment. Try again. Is she in the suds, somehow?”

  “Of course not. I don’t know why she came,” Sybilla said, unable to meet his gaze, To her own ears her response sounded glum, if not sulky, so she was surprised when he chuckled.

  “Poor Sybilla. Shall I tell you what I think?”

&nbs
p; She looked at her toes. “I suppose I cannot stop you.”

  “I think she came because she had another letter from you, asking her for money, and since one of her cronies had no doubt favored her not only with a rollicking description of your encounter with the footpads but with an account of the scene at Heatherington House, she knew you were here and ill, and no doubt wondered why on earth you were concerned with … what? Court dresses? Is that where that notion came from?”

  Sybilla flushed, appalled at how easily he had hit the mark, but she rallied quickly, raising her head to look at him. “I did not write to your mother, Ned. Not this week, nor before.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes widened. “You do?”

  “Yes, so why do you want the money, Syb?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  He frowned. “It cannot be on Brandon’s account this time, so … Why do you look like that? No, you don’t,” he added quickly when she turned her face away again. “Look at me, Sybilla.” He caught her chin and turned her face to his. “It is Brandon who concerns you, isn’t it?”

  “No,” she exclaimed, “he wouldn’t!”

  “I didn’t mean he was the one who wrote Mama,” he said. “I know he didn’t.”

  “How can you know?”

  “So you do think that.” He frowned. “Is that why you wanted the money, Syb? To pay back what you thought he’d taken? But he hasn’t taken a sou. I paid all his outstanding bills for him. Besides, despite his penchant for outrageous behavior, his mischief is rarely harmful to others. I doubt he would do anything to hurt you.”

  But Brandon had already done a great many things to hurt her, she thought. His lack of concern for anyone other than himself, his casual assumption that she or Ned would always be there to protect him from me consequences of his actions, to pay his debts, generally to fix things he had broken. “How can you be so certain he did not do it?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I tore a strip off him the other night at Brooks’s, and when I suggested—I thought, tactfully—that he ought not to think he can so easily borrow from the members of his family to pay his debts, that young scamp came right back at me, telling me he knew all about my accusing you of taking money from Mama on his behalf and that he didn’t thank me for thinking such stuff. Said that even if he was such a loose screw as to take money from a woman that you were too proud to humble yourself to anyone. I wish he might have been able to see the affecting little scene you played for me not five minutes ago.”