by Joan Smith
“I’ll have to get a message to him,” she decided.
“And you think he is at Bath? I cannot imagine what led him to go there. He must have known I would not be at Bath.”
“Yes, particularly as you told him you were coming here.”
“Even if he didn’t think I was coming here, I should think he would have gone home—to my papa’s home, I mean—or to Lady Siderow’s, but not to Bath.”
“Do you have some reason to suppose he would think you weren’t coming here, when that is the word you left him?”
“Well,” she confessed, “he knew I was a trifle nervous of meeting you...”
“Scared the wits out of you, did he?” she asked with satisfaction.
“No indeed, it was Joan—oh, not actually scared me, you know....”
“I see.” The Dowager nodded. So Lady Siderow had stuck her oar in, had she? Well, perhaps she had a bit of a reputation in London. Never one to keep her tongue between her teeth. She understood her son enough to know he would have warned Ellie to expect a chilly reception. He underestimated the girl, though. More bottom than he’d given her credit for. He, obviously, had overestimated the quality of their little quarrel, and supposed Ellie had flown to hide herself.
But still, why Bath? Was it possible Homberly had come from London, and not from Bath at all? Yet he had stated quite positively that Ellie was not in Bath. He was such a ninny, he would have let something slip if he had come from London. She still placed her hopes on Clay’s being at Bath. Lord, known by every quiz in town, too, and making a cake of himself by mooning around, very likely.
“Tell me,” she went on, “though I promised I wouldn’t pry, and don’t intend to, what excuse did you make to the servants to account for your leaving alone, before your husband? I should think Meecham would have thrown a rub in your way.”
“I’m afraid I dragged your name into it, ma’am,” Ellie admitted, with a fearful glance. “I hope you are not dreadfully angry with me, but I said you were fallen suddenly ill, and I was going on ahead to save time, as Claymore had to see your solicitor before he left, and could easily overtake me.”
“So that is the story that is around London by now, is it? Princess Esterhazy will have me in my coffin with the lid nailed down, and she dancing on top of it, if I know anything. She was always jealous of me, silly creature. At least it accounts for your being seen leaving the city alone, as I make no doubt you were.”
“I don’t think anyone recognized me.”
“Would have recognized the carriage; everyone knows the crest,” she was told. “Besides, you were two nights on the road. It is too much to hope you were not seen and recognized. We’d better wait and hear what lies Clay’s spinning before we settle on a story to tell the world.”
It was a new experience for Ellie to find herself a subject for discussion by the “world,” by which, of course, the Dowager meant only polite London society. “I still can’t imagine why he went to Bath. I fear he cannot be looking for me at all.” She looked so woebegone that her hostess feared she would turn into a watering pot in a moment, and sought to reassure her.
“And didn’t send that great lummox of a Rex Homberly here to find you either, I suppose? No, my dear, for some reason he took into his empty head that you were at Bath, and that is where he has gone looking for you. I wonder if Meecham got it mixed up, and told him I was taken ill at Bath. I do go there every year, and am usually there before this. No doubt that is what has happened.”
“No, for Claymore knew you were here. He said you would be here waiting for us.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’d forgotten that.”
“He is not looking for me at all. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear he is gone to Brighton.”
“No indeed. He never goes there. He is much too young for Prinny’s set you must know.”
“That was not the set I had in mind.”
“Was it some particular set you had in mind, then?”
“I was thinking of Everleigh’s set,” Ellie replied, being unaware that her mama-in-law knew all about Clay’s infatuation with the Rose.
“No, he’s not pining over her,” she replied. “I know my son well enough to know he had forgotten her by the time he offered for you. I couldn’t get a rise out of him at all with her name.”
“Oh!” Ellie gasped involuntarily at this maternal show of mischief.
“Wicked, ain’t I? Still, I am not a fool, like my son, and will send for him at once.”
Ellie repeated once more that she could not think Clay was at Bath. The Dowager charitably assumed she was tired, and not really witless, and suggested a lie-down before dinner. Her guest was only too happy to comply. To add to her uneasiness, she had to listen to Pritchard’s worries about what was keeping his lordship while she disrobed. She offered no idea at all. Some other story would have to be woven to fob her off. Bad enough that the Dowager was showing not the least sign of being ailing, and a near miraculous cure invented for her. “I’m burnt to the socket, Miss Pritchard,” she said, and escaped to her bed.
Sleep did not come, nor even much rest. Half of Elinor’s perturbations were banished at having survived the ordeal of meeting the Dowager. Not so bad as she feared, yet a sadly unfeeling parent, when compared with her own dear papa. And mama, too, she added dutifully. She almost seemed happy at the difficulties her son was confronting, and hadn’t asked about him at all as regards health or happiness. A strange, protective feeling swelled in her breast at this poor treatment her husband was receiving. And where was he? Surely not at Bath... There was no conceivable reason for him to be there; none having to do with her, at least She enjoyed a good spurt of tears, but stopped in time to descend to dinner without the disgrace of red eyes.
Ellie was not looking forward to a formal dinner tête-à-tête with the old Marchioness, but like their first meeting, it went off better than she had dared to hope. The discussion turned to family lines and genealogy, for of course it had to be determined exactly who Claymore had brought into the family, and there was little chance of discovering it from him. Her writing of the family history was a support in this catechism, and when she could mention names going back to the sixteenth century and decorate the names with a dab of history and lore along the way, she was judged to be a better than average sort of girl.
“I hope you will induce my son to take his place in Parliament,” the Dowager suggested. “With your interest in politics, you might have some influence with him. He has taken his oath, but has never spoken in the House, and it is high time he did.”
Ellie goggled to hear such weighty matters were to make up her new life, and confided diffidently that Papa was not at all political.
“He has a large conservatory, I hear.”
This was good for the second remove, and was finally terminated by the suggestion that Ellie might be able to do something with that scraggle of weeds in the yard that was supposed to be a rose garden. She observed that her new life was not to be an easy one, and any talents she possessed were to be put to good use.
It was over the sweet that the first mention of Clay’s absence was raised, it being tacitly understood between them that they wouldn’t let him ruin their dinner.
“I have sent a note off to Bath while you rested,” Ellie was told. “I doubt we will see him before morning.”
“I cannot think he is there.” If she had not just distinguished herself by knowing more history and horticulture than her mama-in-law, she would have been considered quite a wet goose. As it was, she escaped with a curt “We’ll see.”
The note had been dispatched by a footman within minutes of Ellie’s first retiring to her room. One copy was taken to the Dowager’s quarters at Laura Place, where servants were in residence, and a duplicate to Homberly’s place on Gay Street, but, of course, none was delivered to the Pelican. In fact, the Dowager had never heard of it. The York was part of her world, but the Pelican was unknown to her.
It would have done no
good had it been sent to this den of outer darkness, Clay and Rex were both there, but in no condition to be reading, or hardly even sitting up.
The two gentlemen, disgruntled by their wasted afternoon, drowned their woes in brandy and a futile discussion of what they ought to do next. It was well past midnight when they reeled from the room, and were put to bed in the inn by a servant.
Chapter Eighteen
Claymore was furious with himself when he awoke in such sad disarray in the morning. He had wasted a whole night when he might have been out looking for Ellie. But where was there left to look now? He had been to the obvious places, the less likely ones, and finally to the Hall—the unlikeliest of all. The affair was taking on a new seriousness in his mind; no longer a prolonged game of hide-and-seek, instituted by a piqued bride. Ellie was gone, vanished entirely, and he had to find her. He made a hasty toilette and was about to go below stairs for breakfast when a light tap sounded on his door. His hands trembled, and be whispered the word that was uppermost in his mind—”Ellie.”
The door opened before he reached it, and a puffy-eyed and extremely disheveled Homberly shuffled in.
“I seem to have spent the night here,” he said, yawning.
“We drink too much, Rex, you and I. You are your own man, of course, and I don’t mean to dictate to you, but I mean to limit my drinking to a reasonable level.” He walked to the dresser and handed his friend a clean shirt and cravat. While these raiments were put on, the lender delivered a short sermon on the evils of drink and general dissipation, none the less sincere for being hackneyed.
As Homberly put the finishing touches to his ensemble, he said in a hushed tone, “Clay, you ain’t setting up to become a Methodist, are you?”
“Certainly not. Order breakfast, then come back.”
Rex was so impressed with the austere countenance of his reformed friend that he went without a single complaint. Over breakfast they discussed their next move in the search for Clay’s wife—a phrase never uttered between them without restraint at the wording thereof.
“I shall return to London,” Clay said, but he sounded by no means confident that he was doing the right thing.
“Can’t think she’s there.”
“No more do I, but if she means to try for a divorce, you know—”
“Or an annulment,” Rex threw in slyly, reminding his friend that his marriage was unconsummated.
“Or an annulment, I expect that is where the papers would be prepared.”
“Lord yes, her mother’d never let her do it at home. But you don’t think it will really come to that?”
“I hardly know what to think. Clearly, she is hiding herself from me. It doesn’t seem to me that she has any thought at all of ever living with me. I expect it will be better to legalize the estrangement.”
“I can’t picture little Ellie being a divorcee. Seems so dashing, you know, and her such a shy little country-bred girl.”
“I cannot picture myself in the role either.”
“Oh, suits you well enough,” Rex replied heedlessly. “Ain’t so bad for the man, but a woman ... well, gives a girl a bit of a fast reputation, if you see what I mean.”
“I don’t intend to divorce her.”
“No, she’d never give you the grounds. Not the crim con sort. Take Wanda now...”
“The devil take Wanda! But if Ellie wants to leave me, I expect some sort of hoaxed-up arrangement can be made. I will be happy to stand as the offending party.”
“That’s big of you, Clay. ‘Pon my word, that’s very broad-minded.”
“It is not what I want, of course.”
“That makes it all the bigger. Really, I don’t know how she can have the heart to divorce such a thoughtful fellow. If she only knew how reformed you’ve become, I doubt she’d divorce you at all.”
This taking of his divorce for granted set up Clay’s hackles, and he said stiffly, “It is by no means certain there will be a divorce. I shall try for a reconciliation first.”
“I’ll be your second.”
“I said reconciliation, not duel.”
“That’s so. Very true. Still, I’ll act as your go-between if you like.”
“Thank you, Rex. You have been a true friend through all this ordeal. I have to find her first, though. I must go to London.”
“That’s where we started, ain’t it? And I still don’t think you’ll find her there.”
“I don’t think I will ever find her. It is become a nightmare, as though the earth had just opened up and swallowed her.”
Rex’s eyes were on the verge of spilling tears. They were swimming, but had not yet overflown. He sniffed, and said, “Thing to do is start all over again. She’s just a simple little girl, Clay, and there’s no point thinking she’s gone slipping off to Paris or something, for she wouldn’t even think of that. She’s with some of her family. Her papa, or Joan, or Caroline. Retrace your steps and you’ll find her at one place or the other. Easy enough to have missed her on the road. If her carriage was in an inn yard or what not when you passed by, you know, you’d never know you’d passed her. Take my word, she’s sitting right at home now, waiting for you to come and fetch her, or at Joan’s or Caroline’s.”
“I’ll start at London then. First the Siderows’, then the Tamesons’.”
“That’ll be my job, I fancy,” Rex said with resignation.
“No, it is my job, and I shall do it.”
“Lord, but you’ll feel a fool, Clay, telling ‘em what happened.”
“I’m past all that. I should have told them the truth on the first day, and they might have told me where to find Ellie. It is this damned pride that has hampered my search. Four whole days I have wasted. I can’t stand it anymore. If I don’t find her by today, I will put an advertisement in the papers, and let the whole world know she has left me, and see if someone can find her.”
“Can’t think your mother would like that.”
“She would be delighted to see me sunk so low.”
“There’s the Bow Street Runners. Could call them in to help. Townshend’s boys are very good at finding a lost person.”
“Them, too. I’ll try anything.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“It might be better if you stay here, on the off chance that she shows up in this neighborhood. You might ride over to the Hall and tell Mama the truth, and tell her to notify me in London immediately if Ellie goes there.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Good. I’m off then. You’ll keep an eye peeled, and an ear, too. Don’t bother sending me every rumor you hear, though. If you discover any facts, let me know.”
Clay arose and was soon leaving. Rex sat behind to finish the coffee and make his own plans. First, go home and change into some decent duds. Looked like a hooligan in this outfit he’d slept in. As Rex left the inn, Clay’s curricle was just setting out. He raised a hand in salute, and Clay tried to smile at him. Poor devil. Looked like death warmed over. Face white as a sheet, and his eyes all circled in smudges. Taking it very hard. Be an old man before he was thirty at this rate.
Rex had his own curricle harnessed up and rode over to Gay Street to make a fresh toilette. It was quite as an afterthought, some half-hour later, that Rex asked the butler if there was any mail for him. He was handed the letter for Claymore, and asked where he should direct it, or if milord was expected at Gay Street.
“Well, if you ain’t a cloth-head!” Rex said to his butler, and snatched the envelope from his hand. He immediately recognized the writing and seal as belonging to Claymore’s mother, and wondered what to do. He first thought of setting out after Clay immediately and seeing if he could overtake him. Then he considered what the envelope might contain. No saying it had anything to do with Ellie. Might be no more than a request to get Laura Place ready for her arrival. Seemed to him she’d mentioned some such thing. Old devil of a woman, and after he’d told her half a dozen times Clay wasn’t at Bath. He deemed the cir
cumstances extraordinary enough to permit him to open and read the letter, and quickly did so under the disapproving eye of the butler.
The Dowager’s style of communication with her son did not allow of any misunderstanding: it was immediately clear where Ellie was. Told him so half a dozen times, and why must he go dashing off to London to get divorced? Rex had his curricle hitched up for the chase. Here was a rig very much to his liking. Clay would have an hour’s start on him by the time he got on. Wouldn’t let his horses full out, for he wasn’t half eager to go to London. Moseying along at a canter is what he’d be doing. Thing to do, spring his own team and try to catch Clay up as soon as possible. He set on Marlborough as the closest spot for overtaking Clay. That with good luck. With bad, it would be Reading, where Clay kept a spare team stabled. He’d be sure to stop there and freshen up and change horses. It was not till he was several miles out of Bath that it occurred to him he should have sent a note off to the Hall, to allay their fears. Still, if he’d done that, the old Tartar would know he’d opened and read Clay’s letter. What wouldn’t she make of that!
At the Hall, Ellie enjoyed all the lively humiliation of knowing that if her husband deigned to return to her at all, it would be at his mother’s command, a circumstance that did not augur well for their future happiness. When she sought refuge in her room from the Dowager’s painful attempts at entertainment, she was met with Miss Pritchard’s wounded countenance. Pritchard had patched together the true story from bits and pieces picked up from the servants, and from the evidence of her own eyes. She bustled about the room, muttering animadversions against “sly and deceitful creatures,” and “a viper in my bosom.” Gaining no response to these leading sallies, she said outright, “Had I know what lay before me, milady, I would have preferred doing for Miss Wanda.”
“Do be quiet, Pritchie!” Ellie exclaimed, and when her mistress burst into a flood of tears, the servant forgave all, and cuddled her in her arms as she had not done for ten years.
