by Tessa Candle
“I don't know who you're talking about.”
Lydia wrenched the arm further.
“For the love of God, don't break it! She's over there.” She gestured with her left hand toward a closed room at the end of the hall. “In that one. I was supposed to bring her your dress.”
“What does she want with my dress?”
“I dunno. She paid me to take you into this room and lock you in. But then she changed the plan suddenly, and she wanted me to get your dress, too, and deliver it to her in that room. I don't know nothing more, 'cause I don't ask questions about things what don't concern me.”
“I assume you have a key to the room you were to lock me into.”
“Yes.” She reached sullenly with her left hand into her apron pocket and produced a key. “What are you going to do with me? I was only trying to get a little extra money to help my family, Miss. I am no criminal.”
“I shall decide that later.” She flung the servant into the room and locked the door.
It felt odd to be getting into physical struggles and locking people into rooms while dressed in a ballgown. Lydia was strangely out of time and place, scrapping like one of the tenant children on her father's estate, when she should be downstairs filling her dance card.
She hadn't even seen the earl yet. But first she had to decide what to do about Miss Delacroix. She wished she had a key for that room, too, so she could lock in the odious young lady and leave her there.
“Lydia, there you are! Thank the heavens!”
She turned to see Tilly, dressed in a servant's uniform.
“But whatever are you doing in the back rooms? Should you not be dancing with Lord Aldley?”
Lydia's mouth hung open for a moment. “Tilly! You are a fine one to talk. You should not be here at all, much less dressed as a servant. What is the meaning of it all?”
“I met with Ms. Grey again, after you left for the ball, and received some information which made me believe you might be in need of assistance—you and Lord Aldley. As I told you before, it is just as easy for a woman to sneak in to a ball as a man.” She appeared to be enjoying herself much more than Lydia was.
Tilly looked down at Lydia's dress. “Let me guess, Miss Delacroix accidentally spilled red wine on you?”
“If that was an accident, I am the queen of Spain.” Lydia clenched her fists.
“It seems we both have some stories to tell. Me first.”
Chapter 38
Aldley found himself in the absurd situation of skulking about in the back rooms in search of Miss Norwood.
He had already searched outside, to no avail. He began to doubt Miss Delacroix's scant information. He hoped she was not on the path to becoming as bad a character as her brother.
Lady Goodram, who had ensconced herself in the card room, had not seen Miss Norwood, either. He had been reduced to questioning the house servants.
“I believe I saw her, my Lord.”
Finally Aldley had found a servant who might be of some assistance. “Well, spit it out, man!”
“Apologies, my lord. Your description sounds just like the young lady that some servants took back here to try to shift a red wine stain from her dress. It seems that someone had spilled it on her—beautiful white silk dress, too. A real shame.”
“Show me where she went.” Aldley's voice was a little more terse than he had intended, but he was growing increasingly frustrated with the night's events.
The servant led him into the back hall, where a small room stood to the right. “I believe they took her into this room. It is where they do the washing and mending.” He paused to open the door. “That is odd. This room is locked.”
“Miss Norwood, are you in there?” He knocked on the door. “Miss Norwood?” He put his ear to the door, but there was no answer. “Shall I fetch a key, my lord?”
“Yes. No, send someone else to fetch it. I want you to stay and tell me exactly what happened—everything you can remember.”
“Aldley! So good to see you!”
The earl gritted his teeth and turned to see Lord Essington sitting in a wheelchair next to a handsome older gentleman.
“Lord Essington.” He forced himself to unclench his jaw. “I did not think you were to attend.”
“What? And miss such a grand affair? Never! And only look who I met down at the club. This is my old friend, Sir Gerard Beauchamps. We knew each other when we were young bucks, didn't we, Beauchamps?”
Beauchamps looked embarrassed. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Aldley.” The bows were stiff. “Please pardon the departure from ceremony. Lord Essington expressed a desire that I conduct him here. I am afraid I did not realize—I should not have dreamed of intruding upon a ball.”
“Please do not let it trouble you.” Aldley forced himself to be courteous. “I thank you for your kindness to my brother-in-law in conveying him here safely.”
“I shall take my leave, then.” Beauchamps made to quit them.
“No, no, no! Why you cannot go now, Beauchamps!” Essington's arm flapping threatened to upset his chair. “You haven't even greeted Lady Aldley. We can't let him leave now, eh, Aldley? Why, he and your mother are old acquaintances after all.”
“Then I am sure my mother will welcome a visit,” Aldley addressed Beauchamps. “But perhaps you would both prefer a time when you can have a good chat, without the constant interruptions of a ball.” It pained Aldley to speak of constant interruptions.
“Indeed, my lord. It is just as you say. And really, it was a very long time ago when we last saw each other. She was a friend of my cousin's.” Beauchamps's ears were turning quite red.
“Oh that is laying it on pretty thick.” Essington tried to slap Beauchamps' back, but could not quite reach high enough from his wheelchair, and, with no compunction, patted his backside instead. “A friend of your cousin's, indeed.”
“Perhaps you would like a servant to find you a room, so you can change for the ball, Essington.” Aldley had to end this excruciating spectacle.
“Not at all. I have travelled light, you see, with the post. No change of clothes.”
“With the post?!” Aldley could scarcely conceal his shock.
“Yes, well, there was a problem with my carriage.” Essington winked at Aldley.
The earl knew very well that the servants at Essington Hall had been instructed and bribed to make any excuse not to take Essington to town.
Essington went on, “But when I arrived at the club, Beauchamps was obliging enough to give me a lift here. I just thought I should step in for a glass of something and greet your mother, and then step back out to the club for some cards.”
“It is good of you to interrupt your evening's amusements to call on my mother.” Aldley was not fooled. This was Essington's way of embarrassing Aldley as revenge for the officious interference of saving the miserable bounder's life. “I am sure she will be most pleased, but I have not yet seen her, myself.”
“Well, I do not wish to intrude.” The viscount blinked innocently.
“No, of course not,” Aldley forced a smile.
“She has her obligations to the guests, of course,” the wastrel cheerfully continued.
Clearly Essington just wanted drink and a mode of travel about town, with the added delight of humiliating his relatives. The knave cared not about visiting his mother-in-law.
“However,” Aldey said, “I have another matter to attend to at the moment. Perhaps one of the servants can bring you a glass of champagne, while I get Mills to fetch a carriage around for you. If I see my mother, I shall ask her to come to you.”
“That would be most obliging.” Essington smiled broadly, revealing his sparsely populated gums. “Perhaps we might make that a bottle of champagne. Riding post is thirsty travel.”
“Of course.” Aldley turned to Beauchamps. “Sir Gerard.” They bowed their adieus, and Beauchamps left.
Aldley went to instruct the servants. “Bring Lord Essington a bottle of champagne, then ass
ist him to my mother's carriage and take away his wheelchair. Lock him in that carriage, and get Collins to drive him back to Essington Hall, immediately. No stops.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Aldley paused. “On second thought. Give him a bottle of whiskey to keep him company in the carriage. But make sure you secure the doors before you leave.”
Just then another servant came with a message. “The messenger said it was urgent, my lord.”
It was trying Aldley's last ounce of patience not to yell at the servant that he should not deliver any more ruddy messages. But he constrained himself.
It was not as if the servant had any idea about the prior missives. And it was not the servant's fault, after all, that the entire world was conspiring to prevent Aldley from proposing marriage to Miss Norwood. He had to find her. But first he had to deal with Essington.
When Essington was safely on his way to the carriage and merrily drinking his whiskey directly from the bottle, apparently in the happy belief that he would be driven to the club shortly, Aldley relaxed, slightly. At least this one of many frustrations was almost out of the way.
He only wished that they had not brought around the carriage with the Aldley colours on it, for he would have preferred to be more discreet in the removal of his unwanted relative.
But he did not care to risk relocating his brother-in-law to another carriage, lest the little rat should escape somehow. Much better to get him out of London as quickly as possible. He wondered where the driver had gotten to.
While he waited, Aldley stepped back into the torch light by the steps to read his missives.
The most recent message, that was apparently so urgent, was another letter from M. Boulanger, again in French.
This time the man claimed to be in town, desiring to visit him immediately, and proposing to do so at his mother's ball, which he assumed the earl would be attending. He proposed to keep the consultation private by meeting discreetly in Aldley's carriage.
The entire thing stank of a fraudulent scheme, for how should a man so recently arrived in town have any idea that Aldley would be at his mother's ball? And for what cause could the meeting be so direly urgent?
However, the earl was angry enough to want to meet the scoundrel. The challenge would be to limit himself to merely turning him over to the authorities, and not exacting his own punishment first.
He looked at his watch, it was a quarter of an hour to the proposed meeting time. He hailed a servant to have his carriage brought around.
In the meantime he read the other letter. It was from Rutherford. He cursed himself for not reading the address before shoving it in his pocket earlier.
My dear friend,
I am not sure whether to apologize for not properly clearing up this misunderstanding before (though I was practically on my death bed, in case you had not noticed), or to further blacken my image in your mind by informing you that you are perhaps the greatest of all the bacon-witted fools I have ever met.
Let me simply state the facts as they are, and let you come to your own surmises about whether you deserve the apology or the insult.
On the day that you first came to call on me at Nesterling and left without seeing me, though I was gravely ill (infidel), you clearly came at an inopportune moment which led you to a most erroneous conclusion about Miss Norwood and myself.
What actually transpired was that I had been foolish enough to disobey the doctor's instructions, and went wandering about the library. This resulted in a reopening of my wound and a sudden bleed (which a more caring friend might have noticed).
Miss Norwood, who was helping me back to my chamber as quickly as she could, was not quite strong enough to support my full weight when I fainted (which was not very manly of me, and you are forbidden to ever speak of it).
This resulted in the entanglement that you witnessed just before you ran off in a huff like a spoiled little school lad.
On your second visit I believe you completely misinterpreted what I was saying—or rather, of whom I was speaking.
In short, you do a grave injustice to the character of Miss Norwood, and indeed to mine (but having been your friend all these years, it is the kind of shoddy treatment I have come to expect from you).
I hope this clarifies the situation, and that, by now, you have gathered the small amount of wits you possess about you, and have proposed to Miss Norwood.
I believe you owe me another case of champagne, but I am willing to forego this debt, if you promise to invite both me and the delicious Miss Ravelsham to the wedding.
Don't invite the fiancé, though. He is a very stupid fellow, most inattentive to her, and, frankly, wholly undeserving. I intend to steal her right out from under his oblivious little nose.
Try not to get married until I am able to remove to town again. The doctor says it should only be a few days.
Until then, I remain always your faithful, mistreated friend,
William Rutherford.
Aldley chuckled to himself as he refolded the letter. So it was Miss Ravelsham that Rutherford was chasing.
The insult was definitely what he deserved, and he could not but be diverted at his friend's words. He felt such a great giddy surge of relief and of care for jolly old Rutherford. It was good for an earl to have someone who sets him on the right path when he is being an idiot.
Of course Rutherford would be invited to the wedding. If Aldley could ever find his prospective bride, that is.
The earl's new equipage rolled up. His plans for marital felicity would have to take yet another detour while he dealt with this swindler, whoever he was.
“Go get another two servants, preferably big lads, and wait at the back for further orders. Be at the ready. I may need sudden assistance.” Aldley would be prepared for this miscreant.
He settled himself into the carriage to wait for the scoundrel to reveal himself. He would prefer to have this person safely on his way to prison before he proposed to Miss Norwood. Aldley wanted no shadow cast upon the moment.
He smiled to himself as he returned to thoughts of her lovely red curls tumbling around her bare shoulders.
Chapter 39
Lydia angrily paced the worn stone floor near the servants' entrance of the Aldley ballroom.
She was incensed by the story Tilly had just told her. Miss Delacroix had actually purchased a red wig and paid Miss Grey to style it in imitation of Lydia's hair. Unbelievable, insufferable, scheming little minx.
Tilly waited with Lydia for the delivery of a second gown, calmly admiring the artwork on the ceiling which was in the renaissance Italian style, and depicted popular Biblical vignettes.
Lydia's maid, who had been led off on some pretext by another of Miss Delacroix's assistants, had found her way back to Lydia, and stood quietly in attendance, concerned about her mistress' mood.
“It is quite a grand household that decorates even the servants' areas with such exquisite artwork.” Tilly rubbed her neck, which was sore from staring upward for so long.
Lydia was oblivious to Tilly's comment, and scowled as she paced. “I still cannot believe the audacity of that little witch. When she spilled claret on me, I thought she was just being a spiteful beast. But to have ordered up a wig and embroiled Miss Grey to imitate my coiffure, all so that she might impersonate me to the earl—it is reprehensible!”
“Yes.” Tilly smiled despite obvious efforts not to.
Lydia frowned. “Try not to sound so enthralled, or I shall think you have mixed allegiances.”
“I understand your anger, truly I do. But really, this is sort of exciting, is it not?”
“I cannot look at it that way.”
“No. I suppose not.” Tilly sighed. “In any case, it does no good to fume. Her scheme, though somewhat elaborate, is dreadfully ill-conceived. It was never very likely to succeed. You will soon have your revenge. Let her pursue her mad obsession and make a total fool of herself.”
Just then the Norwood servants entered,
burdened with the gown and other parcels.
“At last!” Lydia went to the locked room, and opened it.
“Don't worry.” Tilly waved Lydia into the room. “I shall take care of Miss Delacroix's hench-woman.”
Lydia and her lady's maid went inside the room to attend to the wardrobe change, and Miss Delacroix's accomplice stepped out, looking apprehensive.
“Do not think of running.” Tilly's face was stern. “We outnumber you, and things will not go well if you do.”
The woman looked down.
“What is your name?”
“Mary Wheeler.”
“Well, Mary Wheeler,” Tilly tilted her head, “I propose a way in which you can help yourself out of a trip to the nick.”
“What did you have in mind?” Mary Wheeler did not look convinced.
“We shall give you the dress. You will take it to Miss Delacroix and pretend as if nothing is amiss. If she asks about the delay, just tell her Miss Norwood wanted to wait for her other dress to arrive. Then you will leave. And you will never try something like this again.”
Tilly thought for a few moments. “Miss Delacroix may not be very forthcoming with the second part of your payment—I assume she did not pay you the full amount in advance?”
“No, she didn't.”
“How much is outstanding?”
“Twenty quid.”
“Twenty? You drive a hard bargain. Very well.” She handed a card to the woman, who looked at it and then at Tilly in disbelief.
“I know I look like a servant,” Tilly sniffed, “but I am not. I have the means. Come see me at this address at seven o'clock on Sunday, if you are not too busy attending an evening mass.”
“I shan't be.” The servant looked hopeful and oblivious to Tilly's sarcasm. “Thank you, Miss. I don't know how to repay this kindness.”
“By doing as I say.” Tilly waved an imperious finger. “And by using the money to help your family, as you said you would.”
“That I shall.” Her mood had lifted enough to bob a curtsey.
When Lydia emerged, she looked only a little bit flustered. The deep wine coloured silk gown suited her very well indeed. If only she had been wearing it in the first place, the claret stain would hardly have shown.
