by Joan Smith
“I don’t know,” she replied glumly. Before more could be said, there was a racket in the doorway of the study. Three people came out, one well in advance of the others. Prissie led the way, her blue eyes flashing. Behind her straggled Oglethorpe and a blond Incomparable, hanging possessively on his arm and looking as smug as a cat with a new litter.
“I must speak to you, Mama—alone,” Prissie said, and jostling past the others, she pulled her mama into the study and slammed the door after them. She promptly burst into tears and declared that if Miss Muldoon did not leave the house that instant, she would—the consequences were lost in sniffles, but it was obviously some such dire fate as suicide or breaking off the marriage or perhaps murder that she had in mind. Lady Lucker comforted her as best she could and rashly promised to be rid of the girl.
The scene on the other side of the door was less melodramatic, but hardly more pleasant for Clara.
Allingcote and Oglethorpe were slightly acquainted; Miss Christopher and Miss Muldoon had to be introduced to each other. The meeting was accomplished with the liveliest curiosity on Clara’s part, and very little on Miss Muldoon’s. The girl, Clara soon saw, was the eighth wonder of the world.
She put every female Clara had ever met in the shade, and she had met a great many pretty ladies in her travels. The most surprising thing about Nel was her delicacy. She looked like a finely wrought porcelain statue. Her skin had that white, translucent quality of fine china, with a light pink tinge on the cheeks. A tousle of blond curls fell free about her face in a wanton way. Her little pink lips opened to reveal faultless teeth, and her diminutive body was gowned in a pale blue lutestring creation inspired, Clara thought, by Watteau, and executed by some latter-day French wizard.
The word “apparition” came to mind upon first seeing her. She seemed more a celestial vision than crude, mortal flesh and blood. When Clara had gazed her fill, she glanced at the two gentlemen and noticed that they too were struck into muteness by her beauty. Oglethorpe was regarding her with his mouth hanging slack, a highly unappetizing sight, quite apart from his position as Prissie’s groom. Allingcote looked bewitched as he inquired in tones of mock severity, “What have you been up to now, Nel, to get Prissie in an uproar?” The speech suggested her standard way of behaving was to cause an uproar wherever she went.
“I can’t imagine why Prissie is upset,” Miss Muldoon said innocently. “We were all having such a nice coze, were we not, Oglethorpe? I was just recalling how Prissie had such ugly spots in school, though she has nearly recovered.” She spoke in the soft, breathless voice of a child, but there was mature feminine guile in her flashing eyes that smiled a secret message at Oglethorpe.
Oglethorpe turned beet red. “Miss Muldoon tells me you are taking her to London, Allingcote.”
“Yes, we are on our way there,” he replied.
That was his only excuse for having imported this piece of mischief into the household. At least he had enough sense not to repeat the taradiddle that Nel and Prissie were bosom bows. London was only a few hours away, whereas the wedding was still three days off. Why did he not take her to London and return alone? It was the only sane course, and if Clara had been the hostess instead of a guest, she would have suggested it.
It was perfectly obvious that Nel Muldoon was a mischief maker of no mean proportions. She scarcely glanced at Clara. The smallest of curtsies was her only acknowledgment. Her attention was all for the gentlemen, three-quarters of it for Oglethorpe, though Allingcote received an occasional bat of the fan of ridiculously long eyelashes. She called him Benjie, in a drawling way. Clara was stymied to determine the relationship between them. They were on a very familiar pet-name basis, with an air of flirtation on the lady’s side at least. Allingcote’s attitude was more difficult to gauge. He clearly admired Nel, but his admiration had something of the avuncular about it. It was a sort of smiling tolerance that Clara thought might be an attitude developed to mask chronic jealousy.
When Nel latched onto Oglethorpe’s arm and tried to walk off with him, the tolerance was at an end. “That’ll be enough of that, Nel,” he said sharply, and taking her arm, he tucked it firmly under his own, patting her hand. Nel smiled up at him through her lashes. Clara felt a strong urge to strike her.
“I had best speak to Lady Lucker,” Clara said, and walked briskly toward the study door. Oglethorpe followed her, but was barred at the entrance by Prissie’s mama, who did not wish him to get a view of Prissie’s red eyes and angry face. Till the vows were exchanged, she could not relax her vigilance a moment.
“We shall be out directly,” Lady Lucker said. “Go and see if your mama is quite comfortable, Oglethorpe.”
He was not tardy to nip off and try to catch up to Miss Muldoon, who had walked off with Allingcote.
Lady Lucker pulled Clara into the room and closed the door. “Clara, what is to be done?” was her distracted salutation. “Prissie positively refuses to have Miss Muldoon under the roof, telling Oglethorpe about her spots. And how can I put the minx out? Ben’s special friend, fiancée very likely. And now Georgiana and Gertrude landing in on us unannounced, after sending a flannelette nightgown. It is really too much. I thank God I have no more daughters to be bounced off. This wedding will be the death of me.”
“We shall contrive somehow, ma’am, never fear,” Clara said with a calmness that took a deal of effort. It was the “fiancée very likely” that caused it.
“Really it is unthinking of Ben to bring her at such a time, and unlike him. The least he could do is keep her from flirting her head off with Oglethorpe.”
Prissie raised her head from her moist handkerchief long enough to wail, “She called him Oggie!”
“Hussy!” Lady Lucker fumed. In her heart Clara agreed, and disliked the girl as much as either of them.
“Let us put it to Allingcote,” Clara suggested. “He says he is taking her to London. He can take her and be back in time for the wedding.”
“She let on she was glad to see me,” Prissie said, surfacing once again from the depths of her pique. “She never liked me one bit. She only came to try to steal Oggie from me.”
“And such a pretty little wretch,” the mother commiserated unwisely. “But I think you have an excellent idea, Clara. I shall go and speak to Benjie at once.” In her eagerness to be rid of Miss Muldoon, it did not occur to her that a single young lady and gentleman could not well set out for London with dark approaching.
It proved unnecessary to seek Allingcote out. A light tap at the door was the preface to his entry, wearing a worried frown. “What a kettle of fish I’ve landed in on you, Auntie. I couldn’t be sorrier.”
“Where is Miss Muldoon? Where’s Oglethorpe?” Prissie asked sharply.
“Not together, love,” Ben soothed her. “I set Mama to guarding Nel, and Oglethorpe is with his own mama. But they’ll want sharp watching, the pair of them.”
Prissie broke out into a fresh concert of sobs, punctuated with indistinguishable mumbles of “kill,” “hate,” and “love.” The three looked at her with mingled impatience and sympathy, and uttered a weary joint sigh.
“The thing is, Ben,” Lady Lucker said, “we feel that as you are taking Miss Muldoon to London, the best thing is for you to get on with it and get rid of her. I mean for the time being. You can bring her back later.” A jerk of her head in Prissie’s direction told him clearly the reason for this uncivil suggestion.
“That would be best, of course,” he agreed, “but there is at the moment no one in London to receive her. The relatives I am taking her to are out of town for Christmas, and won’t be back till the thirtieth.”
A wail rose louder from Prissie’s handkerchief. Lady Lucker sat down and sunk her face in her hands. “It’s hopeless. She will have gotten away with Oglethorpe by then. Well, if she must stay, you’ll have to keep her fully occupied, Ben.”
“She is not in the least interested in Oglethorpe,” he said hotly. “It is only mischievousness on her part. S
he’ll stop when I tell her it bothers Prissie.”
How an otherwise sane gentleman could hold such a foolish opinion was a matter of deep mystery to the three ladies.
“She’s not staying here,” Prissie announced. “If she stays, I go.”
“My dear,” Lady Lucker clucked, and cast a desperate, pleading glance at her nephew.
“Is there any neighbor who might take her?” Clara suggested.
Lady Lucker considered this possibility, mentioning that neighbors were already putting up other guests.
“Actually,” Ben said uncertainly, “I would not like Nel to be packed off just anywhere. I mean a house with young gentlemen in it—well, she is so very attractive, you know.”
“We noticed, Ben,” Lady Lucker said in an acid voice.
“You see I am in—in rather special care of her,” Ben continued. “She is Anglin’s ward. He was a good friend of Papa’s, and—and I have offered—” Clara’s heart squeezed painfully. “Offered to look after her till her cousins, the Bertrams, return to London.”
Her heart resumed beating. His excuse was accepted and interpreted to mean it had not yet come to a definite proposal. Clara’s bland face denoted not a trace of being surprised or disappointed, or even disapproving that he should have been flirting with her quite outrageously half an hour ago. If Allingcote felt his position uncomfortable, he also concealed it.
He went to Prissie and put his arm over her heaving shoulders in an effort to conciliate her and get her to accept her sworn enemy at her wedding. “She’ll behave, Prissie. I’ll take care to keep her out of your and Oglethorpe’s way. She doesn’t mean any harm. It is only her friendly way.”
Prissie twitched away from his arm and turned her back on the whole group. This was taken to mean her ultimatum stood.
“It does seem hard that poor Prissie must be upset at this time,” her mother said, hoping still to get the hoyden out of the house.
“Indeed it does,” Clara said. She had been thinking furiously, and had come up with an idea. “Is there any reason why Miss Muldoon could not stay at the inn, with myself as chaperon?” she asked. “That would leave my room and Miss Muldoon’s free for Miss Georgiana and Gertrude, Lady Lucker.”
“No, really!” Allingcote objected.
He was overborne by Lady Lucker’s heartfelt, “The very thing! There, you hear that, Pris? Clara is taking her off to the inn.”
“No, it won’t do,” Allingcote said firmly. “She is the very devil of a handful, Miss Christopher. There is no reason why you should be put out of your room, put to such great inconvenience because of my stupidity in bringing Nel here. Mama will take her.”
“I don’t mind in the least,” Clara said, for she saw the idea appealed strongly to her hostess.
“I’ll pay for the rooms,” Lady Lucker volunteered, which told as clearly as words could tell how much she favored the scheme.
“No, I’ll foot the bill. Nellie is my friend,” Allingcote said promptly.
“I hope one of you will pay for Miss Muldoon at least,” Clara said frankly, “for I have exactly one guinea and seven shillings to my name till next quarter day.”
“Let Miss Muldoon pay for herself” was Prissie’s spiteful comment, but she looked definitely improved in spirits at the notion of getting the girl boarded out.
“My dear, run along and dry your eyes,” Lady Lucker said. “And see if you can find Oglethorpe.” Prissie left, and the other three remained behind to hammer out the details of the remove to the inn.
Chapter Five
“You cannot stay locked up with Nellie in an inn all day long, Miss Christopher,” Allingcote began. “She is so full of life she wants to be out and doing. And in any case, she will want to be with me, as we are—that is, as I am the only friend she has in town.”
As a perpetually floating houseguest, Clara had encountered many unintended slurs, but never one that stung so sharply as Allingcote’s. For a fleeting moment she had thought it was her ennui he was worried about. But no, she could stay locked up in an inn forever; it was Miss Muldoon, bursting with life, who must have livelier entertainment. And that entertainment must be provided by her escort, Allingcote. Clara was glad her hostess replied, for she could not trust herself to be civil much longer.
“Nonsense!” the dame declared. “Clara cannot stay away all day long. I need her for a million jobs. There is the seating arrangement for the wedding dinner to be finished, Clara. You were to do that for me, and helping in the kitchen to keep track of the food coming in. You must return as soon as you are up in the morning—not too late mind. And you, Benjie, must keep your friend out of our way. Take her for drives or walks, or into the village.”
Ben’s spine stiffened perceptibly. “I would prefer to keep her out of the village.”
“Why?” his aunt asked.
“Anglin would not like her to be traipsing about the shops.”
It was too paltry an excuse for serious rebuttal, but Lady Lucker repeated that in any case she must be kept away from Branelea.
“What time shall we go to the inn?” Clara asked.
“We can hardly turn Miss Muldoon away before dinner,” the hostess said regretfully.
“I’ll take you both over after dinner,” Allingcote told her. “I shall put up there myself, too, leaving the gold suite for Maximilian.”
“That is not in the least necessary, Ben,” his aunt said. “If Anglin does not want her to be seen in the shops, he sounds a proper Tartar. He would disapprove of her staying at the inn with her beau, with only Clara for chaperon.”
“I am not her beau,” he said, with an apologetic glance at Clara. “Why she’s only a child.”
“She is Prissie’s age. Prissie is getting married in three days,” Lady Lucker pointed out.
“Nel is only seventeen. She was behind Prissie in school.”
“Be that as it may,” the lady said with a disbelieving eye, “Miss Muldoon is no child.”
“There is no reason for you to stay at the inn,” Clara said. She had observed his apologetic glance and his quick assurance that he was not Nellie’s beau and was tingling with curiosity to hear more. “I shall pack a bag and clear my things out of my room. Oh, Lady Lucker—what about linen, if the room is to be used for other guests?”
“We have time to see to all that before you go. I discovered a batch of old sheets the servants had put aside for rags and have set a maid to mending them. They’ll do well enough for Gertrude, simple old ninny.”
Allingcote turned to Clara. “I shall take you and Nel to the inn after dinner. I’m very sorry I have caused you so much bother. And you, too, Auntie,” he added to Lady Lucker.
His aunt accepted the apology with a resigned sigh and hustled off to see to the mended linen. “You will all be wishing me at Jericho,” Allingcote said to Clara, with a self-disparaging smile that invited contradiction.
She murmured some polite denial. It was only Miss Muldoon they were all wishing at Jericho. Allingcote was wishing her at the same location at that moment.
“You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for,” he warned her. “I strongly recommend taking breakfast in your room in the morning, and I shall be there early waiting for you both belowstairs. I don’t mean to imply you must rise early, only that I shall be there early, waiting.”
Clara gave him a quizzing smile. “How pleasant for you.”
“I am used to waiting for Nel” was his very unsatisfactory reply.
“You haven’t got her very well trained, have you?”
“Her spirit is unbroken and unbent. A proper wild little filly. It is unpardonable for me to foist her off on to you. I still think I should stay at the inn. There is no impropriety in it, do you think?” His brows rose and his gray eyes, as clear as crystals, studied her.
Clara shrugged unhelpfully. “I am only an amateur chaperon—I haven’t even put on my caps. Your aunt thinks it undesirable; I rather think Anglin might feel the same.”
/> “I see your point. Who chaperons the chaperons?” he asked, rubbing his hands and leering facetiously. “But as to Anglin’s taking a pet over it, he is so relieved to have her off his hands he wouldn’t care if I locked her in a dungeon. In fact, he threatened to do it himself.”
“What did she do?” Clara asked, her curiosity reaching a new pitch at his thoughtless comment.
For a moment, she thought he was about to tell her. He looked on the edge of some interesting revelation, then as she watched, his face became passive. “Nothing so very bad, really,” he said vaguely. “She is merely high-spirited. And of course so damnably attractive she has all the beaux in a twitter, including Oglethorpe. Did you ever see such a mackerel? He on the verge of his own wedding—” He came to a conscious stop as he remembered her relationship to the groom. “I mean ...”
She let him stammer a moment, then said, “I know what you mean. Frankly our opinion of Cousin Oglethorpe does not run high. You must not desist from denigrating him only because he is my cousin. Between your aunt and myself, we agree the only wise move he ever made was to offer for Prissie.”
“Hardly an inspired piece of genius either. We all have our less-than-perfect cousins. She is hardly taking this contretemps like a lady.”
“I beg to differ. She is taking it exactly as most ladies would take it.”
“Not as you would take it, Miss Christopher, I think,” he said, and smiled warmly.
“Not so very differently.” She was every bit as jealous as Prissie, and she had no groom for Nel to flirt with. No, her pique was aroused that Nel chose to flirt with her own beau, and possibly husband-to-be. But what galled her even more was his lack of disapproval of Nel’s behavior. Everyone was held to blame except the troublemaker.
“You appear to have got on remarkably cosy terms with Aunt Charity in a short space of time. No hiding the skeleton sheets in the closet. Do you like her?”
“I like her enormously. We are kindred spirits.”
