by Sandra Heath
“Where is she? I don’t know what she looks like.”
“Over there, helping herself to those meringues.”
Bodkin saw the brownie in question. She was matronly, and still very pretty, with her fur curled exactly the way Nutmeg curled hers.
“I’m going to speak to her,” Ragwort declared purposefully.
Bodkin held him back, for in his present state. Ragwort wasn’t likely to endear himself. “Will she like it if you do? I mean, you’ve never said why you and she fell out, but—”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense, I’m going to her.” Shaking himself free, Ragwort wove his way unevenly toward his former ladylove. Bodkin followed.
Caraway blinked and almost choked on her meringue. “Why, Ragwort!” she gasped, watching him sway from side to side as he beamed at her.
“When did you return?” Ragwort demanded. “Are you coming back to Royal Crescent? Have you given that scoundrel Bindweed his marching orders?” The last was added on a note of remembered resentment.
Caraway flushed. “Bindweed wasn’t a scoundrel.”
“Oh, yes, he was. He knew you were mine, but still he crept all around you, showering you with presents, and even naming his new honey after you.”
“And why shouldn’t he name the honey after me?” she replied indignantly. “It was a very charming gesture, and as for creeping around me, he was merely there for me when I was upset about you and your drinking. Look at you now—you’re three sheets to the wind, and the evening isn’t halfway through yet! Don’t you ever learn?”
Oh, dear, thought Bodkin, deciding to pour what oil he could on waters that threatened to become very troubled indeed if Ragwort continued on this particular tack. “Er, hello. Caraway, I’m Bodkin,” he said, bowing.
She looked hesitantly at him, but then bobbed a little curtsy. “Hello, Bodkin. Are you Ragwort’s friend?”
Ragwort nodded. “Yes, he is, and very fine friend, too!” Then he belatedly realized she’d spoken of the hated Bindweed in the past tense. “So Bindweed’s gone? For good?”
She gave him an arch look. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” she replied.
“Oh, be fair. Caraway, just tell me he’s gone,” Ragwort begged.
“Seeing you in your cups again doesn’t please me. Ragwort. I came back in the hope that you’d learned your lesson, but it’s clear you haven’t. Right now you don’t compare very well with Bindweed!”
Ragwort’s face fell. “But I’ve been very good since you left, Caraway,” he protested. “Tell her, Bodkin. Tell her I wouldn’t have any mead with you.”
“It’s true. Caraway,” Bodkin said. “I invited him to share my mead, but he said such things did not agree with him.”
She hesitated. “You wouldn’t fib to me?”
“Certainly not,” Bodkin replied earnestly.
“And this is the first time he’s gotten in this state since I left?”
“I haven’t seen him like this before,” Bodkin answered honestly, omitting to mention that he’d known Ragwort only for a day.
She drew a long breath, and then her eyes softened as she looked at Ragwort. “Well, maybe I’ll overlook this lapse,” she conceded.
Ragwort’s face brightened again. “You will? Does that mean you’re my sweetheart again?”
“Don’t rush. Ragwort, it merely means I’m prepared to speak to you again.”
“Dance with me,” he begged.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Please,” he implored.
“All right, I’ll partner you for the next contredanse, but only provided you behave yourself between now and then,” she said, and with that he had to be content, for she turned and pushed away through the press of humans and brownies. In a moment she’d vanished from view.
Ragwort gazed after her in rapture. For a long moment he could not move for joy, but then an unstoppable tidal wave of exultation swept over him—to say nothing of the continuing surge of rashness from the punch he’d consumed—and suddenly he felt he had to do something! The urge to laugh, skip, jump, and leap was too much to resist, and with a whoop of delight he bounded from the room.
Caught unawares. Bodkin stared after him in dismay. “Oh, no! Ragwort, Caraway said you had to behave’“ he cried, then gave chase.
Ragwort was oblivious of plunging into the very misbehavior Caraway abhorred. He threaded across the octagon as fast as he could, and hastened into the ballroom, where he rushed around and around the edge of the floor until he should have been out of breath. Except that he wasn’t. He was still so overjoyed about Caraway that his energy and emotion was irrepressible. Suddenly his glance fell upon a fine arrangement of flags, one of which had a particularly long pole. His eyes lit up, and he grabbed it in order to vault in all directions, using the pole as a lever. Higher and higher he went, forgetting that the flag’s strange antics were bound to cause a stir. As the flag jerked here and there, apparently of its own volition, many ladies screamed in alarm, while others fainted clean away. Gradually the orchestra stopped playing, and there was an uneasy buzz of conversation as everyone pressed back from the seemingly possessed flag. The master of ceremonies was too startled to do anything except flap his scented handkerchief, and the Duchess of York, highly strung at the best of times, was so rigid with shock she had to be tended by her ladies, who were all of a bother themselves. The duke seemed as bemused as he had been at the review.
Dominic and Polly were just returning to the ballroom, numerous stolen kisses further on than they had been before, but a sliver of overdue wisdom had crept into Polly’s wonderful glow of rash happiness. He’d avoided answering her anxious question about Georgiana. “I was wondering about your feelings for Lady Georgiana,” she’d asked. “What feelings?” he’d replied. What feelings indeed. She should be wary. Georgiana wasn’t a distant memory, but was very much in the present. Polly knew she should keep him at arm’s length until she was sure Lord Benjamin’s sister no longer meant anything to him, and that in the meantime, she had to display considerably more decorum than she had so far. But decorum was not going to come easily when she was prey to the most beguilingly treacherous emotion of all, desire. These were her thoughts as she and Dominic reached the entrance to the ballroom, but then they both immediately halted in amazement as they saw the weird scene within.
As invisible as ever, Ragwort was now in ecstasy, and with a huge effort he vaulted up to the first chandelier. Dropping the flag to the now deserted floor, he began to swing wildly to and fro, so beside himself with delight that he whooped at the top of his lungs. More ladies screamed, and the beginnings of panic rippled through the elegant onlookers.
Dominic stared. “What in God’s own name—?”
“It’s Ragwort,” Polly said without thinking, for she recognized the brownie’s voice.
Dominic eyed her. “Who?”
Polly blushed. “Oh, nothing ...”
“Would this Ragwort have anything to do with the mysterious Bodkin?” he inquired shrewdly.
Her cheeks went even pinker, and she didn’t reply. The second chandelier began to swing, then the third and fourth as the invisible brownie hurled himself from one to the next, and so on.
“Well, if there is a cat on those chandeliers, I’ll eat my best top hat,” Dominic murmured dryly, glancing at her. “How eloquent is your silence, Polly.”
Ragwort was now well into the rhythm of it, traveling from chandelier to chandelier like a chimpanzee, then all the way back again. Droplets of crystal fell to the floor and shattered, and the candle flames smoked and flared, many of them extinguishing in the draft he caused. Dominic quickly drew Polly into the space behind the tiers of sofas as he guessed what would happen next. He was right. As more and more candles went out, the ballroom darkened noticeably, which proved too much for the hitherto rather bemused audience. Mayhem broke our as, led by the musicians, who discarded their costly instruments with a confused clatter, everyone stampeded either toward the octagon, or the
passage that went around the outside of the building. There was much indecorous elbowing and shoving, even from the duke, although the duchess had such a fit of the vapors that she had to be carried out.
It wasn’t long before the ballroom was empty, except for a considerable number of dismayed brownies, but Ragwort remained blissfully unaware of the disturbance he’d caused. He continued to swing deliriously on the chandeliers, heedless of Bodkin, who now stood below him, imploring him to come down. More brownies crowded the door from the octagon, among them Caraway, who did not look at all amused; indeed her face was very stormy as she watched Ragwort make a spectacle of himself.
Suddenly one of the chandeliers gave way and came crashing to the floor, bringing Ragwort with it. The ballroom became shadowy as shattered crystal flew in all directions, for there were now only a few candles still burning, and most of the light came from the doorway to the octagon. Ragwort landed with a bump he didn’t seem to feel at all, for he sat up with a stupid grin on his face and waved a hand at Bodkin “G’night, Bodkin, my friend,” he said, and promptly lay down to go to sleep.
Dominic and Polly emerged from behind the sofas, staring in dismay at the broken chandelier, which glinted like diamonds in the darkened ballroom. Dominic looked at Polly. “I think it’s time you explained a thing or two,” he observed quietly.
Chapter 29
All the brownies rushed forward to Ragwort, who was already snoring very loudly indeed. Only Caraway remained behind. With a toss of her head and a disparaging sniff, she turned and stalked back to the tearoom, her tail bolt upright with outrage.
Dominic heard the patter of numerous bare feet, and ran his fingers through his hair. “All right, Polly. I know they’re there, whatever they are, so would you please explain? Who or what are Bodkin or Ragwort? And don’t say they’re cats!”
She knew she had to tell him. “They’re brownies,” she said simply.
“They’re what?” He stared at her, his gray eyes quizzical in the dim light.
“Surely you know what brownies are?”
“The same as elves, pixies, fairies, and bugaboos, and as mythical,” he replied.
“If they’re mythical, how do you explain all this?” She waved a hand at the flag and fallen chandelier.
He couldn’t answer.
She smiled then. “Well, at least one thing is proved, you cannot have had anything to do with Nutmeg’s disappearance.”
“I don’t understand.”
Briefly she related the astonishing tale of Bodkin’s furious departure from Horditall House, and did not spare her uncle or Lord Benjamin.
Dominic listened in amazement. “Is this really true?” he asked.
“Every word of it. What happened at the review was Bodkin’s work. He was angry with me because he thought I’d betrayed his friendship, and when you found me on your terrace, I was chasing him to try to explain.” She looked earnestly at him. “Dominic, when I was with you in your drawing room, something helped me adjust my shawl. It had to be a brownie. A belt buckle was found in your room, and Ragwort insists there hasn’t been a known brownie in your house since Caraway left, so we’re certain it must have been Nutmeg.”
“And you suspected me of involvement?”
“You could have been.”
“But now I’m exonerated?”
“Yes.”
He smiled in the semidarkness. “Forgive me, Polly, but what if I’m a superb actor? What if my apparent ignorance of brownies is all camouflage?”
“I don’t think it is. Indeed I stood up for you when it was first suggested that you might be in league with my uncle and Lord Benjamin.”
He put a sudden hand to her cheek. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
He put his lips lingeringly to hers. “What a fair champion I have,” he whispered.
She drew away, aware of her decision to be more careful where he was concerned.
He looked inquiringly at her, but did not pursue the point. “So Beddem has a mysterious page from Nostradamus, does he?”
“He’s purchasing it, but I don’t think he has it yet. If he did, I think he would have used it by now in order to make money out of Nutmeg and rid himself of all duns.”
“Your uncle doesn’t have financial problems, so why is he involved? Just to make more money?”
“That’s all I can think, unless ...”
“Yes?”
“Well, I’d like to think he doesn’t know about Lord Benjamin’s plans. Maybe he’s been gulled in some way.”
“Is he gullible?” Dominic asked doubtfully.
“Well, yes, very much so where titles and royalty are concerned,” Polly said, listening to the scuffling and low urgent whispering coming from the middle of the ballroom floor, as Ragwort, still snoring, was extricated from the heap of splintered crystal that had once been an exceedingly valuable chandelier. From the nearby card room came the sound of human voices as the more daring of the male guests plucked up courage to see if the ballroom was safe to enter yet.
Dominic caught Polly’s hand. “Come on, we’ll go to my house and talk more. Maybe we’ll find Nutmeg,” he said.
“I... I don’t think I should go to your house ...” she began.
“Why? Because it would be improper?”
“Yes. Look, Dominic, I know how shockingly I’ve already behaved, and I don’t want to make it worse by going to your house again.”
“Which is more important? Your reputation, or Nutmeg’s rescue?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh, yes it is.”
She hesitated. “Nutmeg’s rescue, of course,” she conceded.
He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m glad you said that, for it confirms my opinion of you. Besides, I’ve already said that if the worst come to the worst, I’ll make an honest woman of you.”
She caught his glance. “If you say that again, sir, I will consider it a definite proposal,” she warned.
“If I say it again, it will be a definite proposal,” he replied, leading her toward the door to the octagon.
She glanced back to where she knew Bodkin would be with the other brownies. “Bodkin, I’ve told Sir Dominic everything, and we’re going to his house to search for Nutmeg!” she called in a low voice.
“I’ll come as soon as Ragwort has been put to bed,” Bodkin’s voice answered.
Dominic’s face was quizzical. “Oh, Polly Peach, when I think of how you were all innocence when you swore it was a cat!” he murmured, beginning to usher her across the octagon, but suddenly she halted on hearing her uncle’s voice in the card room. He was complaining loudly about the interruption, which he neither understood nor cared about, because he’d been in the middle of a very promising hand.
Polly glanced at Dominic. “I had best give a convincing and acceptable reason for my departure,” she said, and slipped into the crowded room, where it seemed most of the gentlemen at the ball had now congregated. Hordwell was just inside the door with Lord Benjamin and several other gentlemen, and she noticed how careful Lord Benjamin was to avoid her eyes.
Hordwell saw her, and his frown deepened. “Ah, miss, and what do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.
“If you are referring to the so-called betrothal to Lord Benjamin, I expected him to explain that he’d completely misunderstood me. I will never marry him.” Her tone was clear enough to interrupt the general discussion about returning to the now silent ballroom. Heads turned, and Lord Benjamin’s neck went very red, but other than that he gave no sign of even being aware of her presence.
Hordwell’s displeasure intensified. “This is very ill done, Polly.”
“My sentiments exactly,” she replied, giving Lord Benjamin an accusing look.
Hordwell shuffled slightly, not wanting the rather delicate discussion to continue in public. “That’s as may be, that’s as may be,” he muttered, raising one of his walking sticks to prod his cards, still lying facedown on the green baize.
“This ghost nonsense has ruined my game,” he complained.
“Ghost?”
“That’s what is believed to have brought the ball to a standstill.”
“Oh.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“Er, no, I was in the tea room,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back.
“Well, I want you stay safely by my side now, in case we have any more spectral goings-on. Sit down here, my dear.” He indicated a chair.
“Actually, Uncle, I came to ask you if it would be all right if I went home. I have one of my headaches and feel quite unwell.”
His lips parted in dismay. “Go home? But I want to finish this hand!”
“By all means do so. Uncle. I’ll be safe enough in the carriage, and will be sure to send it back here again afterward.”
“I don’t know ...”
“Please, Uncle, for I would hate to ruin the rest of your evening.” She smiled winningly.
“Oh, very well.”
“Thank you. Uncle.” She gave him a very quick kiss on the cheek, and then hurried away before he could change his mind.
As she and Dominic made their way quickly through the deserted vestibule to the cloakroom, she explained what she’d told her uncle. “I’ll get what I need of my things and leave a note for him. I know what he’s like when he plays cards—he doesn’t come home until sunrise. I’ll be at the hotel by the time he reads it.”
“Hotel?”
“I’ve taken a room at the Sydney Hotel,” she said, and explained that even before tonight, Lord Benjamin’s disgraceful behavior had made it quite impossible for her to remain in his house. “It was very silly of me to allow my uncle to persuade me in the first place, and even sillier for me to have remained once Lord Benjamin returned. In a way it is all my own fault,” she finished.
“Your fault?” Dominic was aghast. “Don’t ever think that, Polly, for the blame lies entirely with Beddem. A lady should be able to enter his house without fearing his unwelcome attentions. What is your uncle thinking of? How can he permit such things to take place?”
“Uncle Hordwell is too beguiled by titles to believe Lord Benjamin would do anything wrong, and he puts my protests down to unreasonable female moods. He thinks that once I’m married, I will be the happiest creature in England.”
