by Joan Smith
He sent Sally a note telling her in a disjointed manner of their error and adjuring her to say nothing against Mrs. Percy. It was a long, soul-searching morning and half the afternoon before Lady Sara returned, her eyes large to hear the meaning of his cryptic message.
“Avedon, is this not the strangest thing? What have you discovered about them? Your note was such a scratched and blotched thing, I could not make head nor tail of it.”
“I have incontrovertible proof that Mrs. Percy is exactly who she says she is. I never felt such a fool in my life. The only discrepancy is that her husband was killed at Salamanca, not Ciudad Rodrigo.”
“Tony mentioned something of the sort when it came up at Milhaven yesterday. I was sure he had got it wrong.” Her brow creased in concentration. After a moment she brightened and said, “Well, that explains it, then.”
Avedon, watching her, wondered at her sudden change of mood. “There is nothing to smile at,” he said testily.
“My dear, it is marvelous!”
“Marvelous, when I have just hurled every insult I could lay my tongue to at the woman?”
His sister gave a chiding look. “You cannot mean you have insulted that sweet child, Adrian!”
Avedon’s voice was high in outraged disbelief. “It is more than half your doing!”
Lady Sara poured herself a glass of Madeira and prepared her speech. “I had a letter this morning from Mrs. Nivens, the widow of the late archdeacon.”
“This is no time to start harping about that,” Avedon snapped.
She gave one of her patient, forgiving smiles. “Wait till you hear what I have to say before you go flying off at the handle. So underbred, dear. You really ought to try to polish up your manners. Mrs. Nivens had been gossiping with Mrs. Wesley—-just like them—they have nothing better to do than discuss every move I make. She, Mrs. Nivens, I mean, wrote me saying that the Percys from Dorset are closely related to Bishop Norris on the maternal side. Now, Bishop Norris, you know, has a great deal to say about the appointment John is seeking. The P.M. will certainly consult with Norris, and I have been at my wit’s end to ingratiate him. I thought it the worst luck that Mrs. Percy was not who she said she was, for if she were, you see, and now we know she is—why, she is Bishop Norris’s niece by marriage. And she is indeed the captain’s widow! It is fate. No, it is God’s doing. My prayers are answered, to send that wonderful, brave woman here, right when I need her.”
Avedon stared at this about-face. “It was the work of Satan for me to lay into her as I just did.”
“But what did you say to her, my dear?” she asked apprehensively. “I cannot believe you were abusive. There was no call for that. You are always a model of tact. I’m sure she was only a little displeased that we misunderstood the matter....”
“More than a little,” he told her bluntly. “You cannot go down there buttering her up. She hates the lot of us.”
“Hate has no place in the Christian heart,” she said piously. “The niece of a bishop must know that.” Then she added in a more secular vein, “At any rate she don’t hate Morton. He will turn her up sweet. I almost wish I could let him marry her. If Tony does not offer for Prissy, I shall.”
Avedon shook his head at her delusions. “Come down to earth, Sal. Tony has no more intention of offering for her than I have.”
“Do you really think so, dear? If I were to believe that, Morton might as well marry Mrs. Percy, for his money would only do us any good if he left it to Tony and Tony married Prissy. Otherwise it hardly matters. If Morton is to marry anyone, he could not do better than to get us connected to Bishop Norris.
“We shall just have to wait and see which way the cat jumps. I mean, which dear boy Mrs. Percy prefers, not that I mean to call her a cat. Imagine that sly Miss Percy not telling me she was related to the bishop when I mentioned him. Dear, I hope I didn’t say anything to displease her and destroy John’s chances. The archdeaconry is only the beginning of it. We might talk Norris into an early retirement, and John would be bishop before he is an old man. Why, we might even see him archbishop—it is all nepotism in these matters.”
“You don’t miss a trick, Sal. I’ll say that for you, but you botched it up when you sent me down to Rose Cottage to make a fool of myself.”
Lady Sara listened to him with an impassive countenance. “Did you mention my name?” she asked.
“I may have mentioned it was you who received the letter from the Wesleys,” he said vaguely.
“Beast! Why must you go dragging my name into it? Not that she can blame me for what my neighbors say. And how is it possible Mrs. Wesley was wrong? Imagine that ninny of a Tony, knowing all along Captain Percy was killed at Salamanca and not telling us.”
“Have you run out of people to blame?” Avedon asked, and in his state of distraction, he poured himself a glass of Madeira. One sip of the syrupy brew showed him his error. He gagged and set it aside.
“No, my dear, I know exactly whom to blame.” She smiled a sly smile. “You. I shall have to blacken your character a little to bring the widow round my thumb, but you shan’t mind that.”
“No, indeed, why should I mind that? Feel free to denigrate me as much as you like if it will get John his appointment.”
Lady Sara patted his fingers. “Don’t sulk, Adrian. It is so unbecoming in a grown man. One step at a time. First I get on terms with her; then I have her here and let you ingratiate yourself—if you can manage it. Then we have the Percys invite Norris down here for me to work on. A dinner party, perhaps,” she said in a musing way. “At least two courses and two removes, with all the best silver and china to impress him. Bishops are not above worldly considerations. I must discover from Mrs. Percy what meat he likes.”
“Good luck,” Avedon said, but his tone belied the kind words. He sat silent a moment, considering. “You told them at Milhaven that we were mistaken about Mrs. Percy?” he asked.
“I couldn’t make head or tails of those few scrawling lines you sent me. I just slid the note into my reticule for you to decipher when I returned. As I had already had Mrs. Nivens’s letter, however, I told them about the real Mrs. Percy’s relationship to Norris.”
“But they still believe Mrs. Percy is an impostor?”
“So I would assume. We must notify them at once. It would not do for Morton to jump in and revile her, too. We must save Morton.”
“I’ll go to Milhaven at once,” Avedon said. He had no interest in saving Morton but was glad to have an excuse to do something. He really wanted to return to Rose Cottage but was too embarrassed to show his face.
“And I shall just slip down to Rose Cottage and see Mrs. Percy. Morton mentioned she liked dogs. I’ll take her one of your pups.”
“She doesn’t want one,” Avedon said over his shoulder. He was already at the door.
The trips to Rose Cottage and Milhaven both had to be postponed. The weather had worsened during the afternoon, and a storm was about to be unleashed on them. Black clouds gusted in. The wind tore at tree branches and whipped dust and debris along the ground.
“There is no danger of anyone from Milhaven striking out in this weather,” Lady Sara said.
“No, and in any case, Mrs. Percy is so upset, I doubt she’d see them today.”
“I cannot think they meant to go at all. Tony makes less than nothing of her being a lightskirt, but Morton is very cut up.”
“What had he to say?”
“You know how satirical he can be when he chooses. He said he would give her a good piece of his mind and agreed with us that she should be whipped at the cart’s tail. He also said a good many things about the muslin company that he should not have said in front of Isabel and myself. He was amazingly disturbed. I really think he meant to have Mrs. Percy. Perhaps he still does, as a chère amie.”
Avedon paced the hall impatiently, occasionally opening the door to check the weather. The rain was pelting down hard now, slanting into the hallway. The storm promised to be a long on
e. Its first violence eventually subsided to a quieter but steady downpour. It was so dark that lamps had to be lit in the middle of the afternoon.
At dinnertime it was still raining steadily, and concern for getting to Milhaven was changed to concern for the roads being washed out and the crops drowned. By late evening the downpour petered out to a light sprinkling, but by then it was too late to go calling, and the unsettled business was shelved till morning.
* * * *
Morton Carlton beat the storm to Rose Cottage by leaving as soon as Lady Sara departed from Milhaven. As he whipped his team along the road, his annoyance turned to mischievous pleasure. He enjoyed his bachelorhood, and while he was at that age where he wished to marry, he was not too old to enjoy one last fling with a pretty dasher. So, Avedon had been right all along, he mused. It was that prim and proper chaperon that had fooled him, but he had soon figured that out.
The dasher’s present patron had shuffled her off to the country for some purpose of his own and didn’t want her interfered with while away from him. The patron’s wife had probably learned of the liaison and cut up stiff. If the patron was some well-inlaid duke or marquis, the dasher would very likely show a mere Mr. Carlton the door, but it was worth a try.
Mr. Carlton was told at Rose Cottage that Mrs. Percy was indisposed, but he thought he knew how to get past her defenses. He wrote a few lines and handed them to Higgs to deliver.
Lucy read the note and smiled to herself. “Put me out of my misery. Is it true? As ever, Morton” was all he had written. It was enough to pique her interest. She had to discover what he had heard, and how.
When she appeared at the parlor door, her tears had long since fled. She wore a brightly curious eye and a tentative smile. “So you have come to have a look at the impostor,” she chided.
Morton examined her closely and felt his opinion waver. “I have come to learn the truth of the bizarre rumors that are buzzing around you,” he parried.
“So you shall,” Lucy said. “There is no one I had rather tell.” She was eager to have the truth known and relished the idea of Avedon hearing it secondhand. That would teach him to go flying off when he said he was getting her a glass of wine. “The story is a long one, so I shall call my chaperon,” she added, and asked Higgs to call her.
“Well, Mrs. Percy?” Morton said archly.
“Actually Miss Percy,” she corrected, and when her aunt arrived, Lucy explained the story from the beginning. She sensed that Morton was not entirely disposed to believe her, and showed him the letters she had shown Avedon. He examined them and shook his head, finally convinced.
“But why did you do such a thing?” he asked in confusion. “I can see posing as a wife to rid yourself of unwanted suitors, but why then transpose yourself into a widow? You take on the burden of a false identity with nothing to gain from it, no protection from the very sort of pestering you hope to avoid.”
“Immediately after Mr. Pewter’s attempt at my fortune, I took the decision to be a married lady to be rid of fortune hunters. I had begun to recover by the time I got here, and decided widowhood suited me better, as it offered some protection without making me totally ineligible,” she explained, and went on to relate the gradual steps by which it had come about. He thought her a shatterbrain but no worse. And when he discovered the approximate size of her fortune, he found being a shatterbrain was entirely forgivable.
“So, Avedon and Sally have been sent flying into the boughs with this Banbury tale,” he said, shaking his head.
“I meant to tell Avedon the truth, but he said such things to me—well, it is his own fault.”
“Shall we keep the truth from him awhile, for a joke?” Morton suggested.
“No, indeed! I wish you would tell him at your earliest convenience.” That would bring him running!
“I shall tell him at the first opportunity,” he agreed, but he would take care no opportunity arose in the immediate future. He would just sit back and enjoy the confusion. It would be a good lesson to Avedon. Too toplofty by half, and it was clear as a pikestaff Miss Percy had tumbled for him. Let him simmer—and her too. “Will you come to Milhaven for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“It is tempting, but impossible. I am very busy tomorrow,” Lucy said. “My uncle is coming to visit me. He has been attending an ecclesiastical meeting in London and will spend a few days here before returning to his diocese.”
“Diocese?” Mr. Carlton asked with raised brow. “Then you are referring to a bishop.” He didn’t reveal by so much as a blink that Bishop Norris was of importance to his family.
“My uncle is a bishop,” she replied proudly.
“What is his name?” Morton inquired quite unnecessarily.
“Bishop Norris,” she answered calmly.
“Lady Sara’s husband is one of his deacons,” he said blandly, as though it were of little importance.
“My uncle is stopping at Canterbury. Aunt Percy and I had planned to meet him there and bring him here for a visit, but now—” Lucy came to an abrupt stop. She disliked to say that now she did not want to leave till Avedon came, and used her other excuse. “My aunt is a little fagged. She has been working like a Trojan in the garden. Uncle Norris knows she dislikes travel and will not be surprised if we fail to be there. He had wanted to show us around the cathedral.”
“It is well worth the trip,” Morton said with the keenest enthusiasm, and earned a rebukeful glare from the chaperon. “Have you seen the cathedral?”
“No. Uncle often speaks of it. We shall certainly go while we are in the neighborhood,” Lucy replied.
“He is expecting us,” Mrs. Percy reminded her. “We should send our own messenger if you don’t plan to go, Lucy. There is no counting on the post to get a letter there in time. I daresay I can stand up to the trip if the weather is good. I don’t like the looks of those clouds,” she mentioned, glancing out at the lowering sky.
“Perhaps we shall go,” Lucy said. She was confused and hurt that Avedon tarried so long in returning and wished to punish him.
Morton had some notion of how a lady’s mind worked, and was all for egging her along. “If you are not looking forward to the trip,” he said to the chaperon, “I will be happy to accompany Miss Percy. It happens I have business in Canterbury tomorrow and am going in any case.” This was totally untrue, but a little mendacity never bothered him.
Lucy and Mrs. Percy exchanged questioning looks while each considered the desirability of this scheme.
Lucy imagined Lord Avedon arriving at the door and hearing she had gone to Canterbury with Mr. Carlton. That would show him she was not sitting cooling her heels while he vacillated. The chaperon’s thoughts were equally selfish. She did not at all relish that long drive, and if she sent along one of her own trusted footmen, the bishop could find no fault with her guardianship. Mr. Carlton was a gentleman of unexceptionable breeding and reputation. He would certainly never do anything to jeopardize the reputation of a lady.
“You could return with your uncle,” Miss Percy said encouragingly to her niece.
“Do come with me,” Morton urged. “The trip will be a bore if I have to go alone. My team of bloods will get us there in two hours, just a nice outing.”
“Very well,” Lucy said.
“That is very kind of you, Mr. Carlton,” Mrs. Percy added, with genuine feeling. “You must come to dinner while the bishop is here. We want to entertain him and have only a small circle of friends to call on as yet.”
Morton rose and began making his bows. “You will have no trouble getting your noble neighbors to that dinner,” he said, and laughed in a way that Mrs. Percy found peculiar till she remembered that Lady Sara’s husband was a deacon. Perhaps the families were churchy. “Shall we say nine tomorrow morning, Lucy?”
‘That’s fine. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“And now I shall rattle home before that storm breaks,” Mr. Carlton said, and left.
The storm did not break for anoth
er half hour. Plenty of time for Avedon to call, but he did not. Lucy was irritable over dinner. A long afternoon dragged along endlessly, with the rain first streaming, then sliding down the windowpanes. Lucy spent half the evening at the window, monitoring the rain and the lighted windows of Chenely, visible up on the hill. It was only half a mile away. Why did he not come?
Mrs. Percy was more gainfully employed making up a list of invitations for the bishop’s dinner party. Now that the whole truth was out, there was no problem about inviting anyone she wished. “Two from Chenely and three from Milhaven,” she said to Lucy’s back. “With ourselves and the bishop, that makes eight. I would like to have ten. The local vicar and his woman, perhaps ...”
“We’ll not invite anyone from Chenely,” Lucy said mulishly.
Mrs. Percy’s pencil hovered over the names, but she did not strike them off her list.
Chapter Thirteen
After passing a restless and troubled night, Lord Avedon was up at dawn, pacing the house and watching the clock’s hands drag slowly toward ten, the earliest hour he felt he could decently call at Rose Cottage. At nine o’clock he thought nine-thirty was not too early, and at ten past nine he decided nine-fifteen was not straining the bounds of propriety. As it would take him more than five minutes to get there, he had his mount saddled up immediately and went ripping down the road. He avoided the meadow, as he did not wish to arrive splattered in mud.
It was twenty minutes after nine when he tapped on the door and waited. Higgs answered promptly and said affably, “Good morning, milord. That was quite a downpour we had last night.”
“It certainly was. Is Mrs. Percy up yet, Higgs?”
“Hours ago.” Higgs smiled.
“I would like to speak to her for a moment, if you please.”
“I’m afraid you’ve missed her, milord. She drove off with Mr. Carlton.”
Avedon’s eyebrows drew together in a quick frown. “Mr. Carlton—at this hour?”
“Yes, milord.”
“When will she be back?”
“Not soon. They’ve gone to Canterbury.” Lord Avedon looked so stunned that Higgs added a word of explanation. “To meet the bishop,” he said.
