Paging Miss Galloway

by Susanne Marie Knight

  She heard another growl, but this time it came from his stomach. “Hungry?"

  "Ravenous."

  Danielle glanced at the door. “Lord Tremaine will take care of you. He'll be back soon...” She bit her lip. “Benjamin, I cannot stay as his page any longer. ‘Tis a trifle awkward, you know."

  Her brother's eyes, green and glowing, narrowed. “Has he, er, has he made advances?"

  The image of her maid, Kate, came to mind, and her words about some men's tastes running to pretty laddies. Danielle brushed away the question. “Of course not. Edward—Lord Tremaine—is a fine gentleman. Plus he is unaware of my identity. He must continue to be in ignorance of it, Benjamin.” She pondered her dilemma. “And I must find another way to get home."

  Benjamin eased up onto his feet. He looked as if he'd slept in his clothes for several days running. “Yes, you are in a pickle, aren't you? If word got out, you'd be ruined."

  "Ruined?” She tilted her head. “Oh, reputation. Bother! I don't care a button about that."

  "Well, you should. No gentleman wants to wed a compromised lady. The scandal alone—"

  She also stood and glared up at him. “No one is to know, Benjamin. You must not tell Lord Tremaine."

  "I'm not bird-witted, sis. What's your plan? Do you send word to Father?"

  "No, if I intend to reach my one and twentieth birthday, I cannot let Sir Ambrose know. But I've been thinking.” Danielle darted her gaze to the door again, hoping against hope that Edward would not yet appear. “I believe I saw Mother's old friend today. You remember Lady Yancy? I didn't recognize her at first, however the more I consider it, I am positive."

  Benjamin scratched at his head. Fingers crossed that no vermin had taken root there. “Now that you mention it, I believe I do remember a lady friend of Mother's living in Bath."

  Fingers also crossed that Danielle's memory hadn't played tricks on her. The older lady in the carriage stopping at Number Twenty, the Circus, had to have been Lady Yancy.

  "Yes, I do believe it was she.” Danielle returned to the window and reopened it. “So I'll just slip away and throw myself on the lady's mercy. Be sure to tell Lord Tremaine I've left to..."

  She thought furiously. “...to procure some medicines for you. Don't let him suspect that I'm gone for good. Agreed?” She extended her hand.

  Benjamin shook it. “Certainly. As long as you don't inform Sir Ambrose of my slight fall from grace."

  After giving her brother a quick kiss, Danielle straddled the windowsill. It wasn't such a long way down, only two stories with a few ledges to grab onto. “Our father would tan our hides if he could see us now. Good thing he cannot! See you back in Leeds."

  "God speed, Danielle. And be safe."

  She nodded. As soon as she reached the ground, she walked as fast as she could toward city center and the Circus.

  * * * *

  Dealing with Opal, the abbess, was akin to wrangling with Beelzebub's own. She had neatly extracted ten guineas from Edward with nary a twinge to her conscience.

  Walking up the stairs to the second story, he frowned. Although it was money well spent, he only hoped his solicitor had good news for him concerning his own finances.

  He opened the door to Benjamin's room, held his breath, then stepped inside. The man stood by a looking glass, trying to comb his matted hair with his fingers. A pitiful sight. Dirty clothes hung on his gaunt frame. No doubt about it, Benjamin Galloway was worn to a shadow, without an extra ounce to spare.

  Edward glanced around but young Danny was nowhere to be seen. His frown deepened. “Where is my page?"

  Benjamin coughed. “Splendid chap, my cousin. He offered to get me Balsamic Elixir. I've a touch of consumption, you know. The physic does me a world of good.” He coughed again.

  "Medicine?” Edward lifted an empty whisky bottle. “Are you certain that is what Danny is procuring?"

  "Absolutely.” Benjamin's laugh sounded genuine. “Danny boy poured the contents of that bottle out the window. Wretched lad."

  Edward went to the window, raised it up, and spotted a wet surface. “I see. You gave him money to purchase this elixir?"

  "Indeed I did.” Benjamin lowered his voice. “Had me a bit of luck last night. Or was it the night before? Flush in the pocket. Don't tell Opal."

  Edward gave the fellow a dispassionate perusal. Was he telling the truth?

  The noise of Benjamin's stomach growl spurred Edward to action. “The sooner we leave this den of iniquity, the better. How is Danny to return to the White Swan Inn?"

  The man picked up a carpetbag and slung it over his shoulder. “Gave Danny more than enough blunt to cover his transportation.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and removed three farthings. “See? This is all I have left now."

  What Benjamin said might have been the truth, but then again he could excel in telling Banbury stories. But Edward kept those thoughts to himself. While he didn't know Benjamin's character, he was very familiar with Danny's. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that she would be checking up on her brother. Perhaps even nursing him back to health. Edward had no cause to worry that she would not return to the inn.

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  Chapter Seven

  "Blast!” On hearing the repugnant news, it was a miracle no stronger exclamation escaped Edward's lips. But he restrained himself in deference to his solicitor's frail constitution.

  Mr. Hemsley's ghastly complexion paled further, and he dropped his watery gaze to the crisp papers placed in front on his crowded desk. Most likely to give his angry client time to compose himself, the solicitor rearranged those same papers with hands that shook from his affliction.

  Edward took pity on the man. “I do apologize for my outburst, Hemsley.” He took refuge from the cluttered office by glancing out the window. A dilapidated coach traveled down Frances Square at a leisurely pace. Most likely the driver had not a care in the world. Fortunate beggar. If only Edward could trade places with that unknown driver. Anything to escape this unpleasant situation.

  What an irrational thought. He turned his attention back to Mr. Hemsley. “I confess I was taken unawares by this stipulation. My concern these past few weeks has been for the financial condition of the Tremaine estate. Finding out I have no cause to worry has been a blessed relief. However, I had no idea...."

  Damnation! This was intolerable.

  The solicitor wobbled his head. “Yes, indeed. I'm afraid ‘tis good news and bad, your lordship. The estate is a rich one, true. But the catch concerns the old Earl's vehement desire to have his bloodline continue. Now that you have come into the title, you have but thirty days to wed a suitable lady."

  "One month.” Edward laughed harshly. “What is the rush and where am I to find a gently reared young lady on such short notice? One that I am not averse to bestowing my name? One that I might wish to spend the rest of my life with?"

  He leaned over and pounded his fist on the solicitor's desk. “I am not a hopeless romantic, to be sure, Hemsley. However, surely there is some contingency for me?"

  The man rested his shaking hands on his lap. The palsy he suffered seemed to worsen as the meeting progressed. “My regrets, your lordship. ‘Tis written in black and white. The will cannot be contested. Once you become aware of the terms, you have thirty days to enter into holy matrimony, or forfeit the title, along with the estate."

  Edward sank back in the chair. He had not wanted to inherit the title from his uncle. Indeed, he had been third in line for as long as he could remember. But his uncle's two sons had suddenly perished—one by disease, the other under a skittish stallion. Upon the deaths, the Earl had insisted Edward resign his commission in His Majesty's Royal Navy and return to the Tremaine estate in Gainford. But then the old man passed on as well.

  Leaving me with the dubious delights and monumental burden of a title.

  A need to escape consumed him, so once again he looked out the window. Never had he felt so trapped in his li
fe. The yoke of marriage was like a sentence. A lifetime of servitude at Newgate Prison.

  To sail the seven seas once more without an albatross ‘round my neck. Ah well.

  Mr. Hemsley cleared his throat. “If you don't mind me saying, your lordship, I have it on good authority that the New Assembly Rooms on Alfred and Bennet Streets are quite without equal for those gentlemen on the hunt for a wife. All the best families frequent these balls. Grand affairs, I'm told. My own granddaughter, Hettie, is daughter to Lord Fontaine—"

  Save me from matchmaking mamas and solicitors.

  Edward stood. “Thank you for the advice. Perhaps I shall attend a dance or two. For now I had best return to my rooms at the inn and look in on a young man of my acquaintance. Convalescing, you know.” He shook Mr. Hemsley's hand. “Please give my regards to your granddaughter."

  Who knew? Perhaps he would end up offering for young Hettie.

  No slight against Mr. Hemsley's granddaughter, but that thought troubled Edward in the extreme. Hurrying down the stairs onto Frances Square, he raised his arm to summons his rented curricle.

  * * * *

  For one second, fear constricted Danielle's heart. Then she took a deep breath and dismissed it. Stuff it all; she'd been through worse, hadn't she? The worst that could happen was that Lady Yancy would refuse to help her.

  Right. Brushing off her much abused leather jerkin and fixing her flyaway hair as best she could, she lifted the brass knocker and tapped it against the white paneled door at Number Twenty.

  A grand butler, resplendent in a black tailcoat and white gloves, opened the door. He gave her the once-over, then extended his lower lip in an alarming gesture. “Here now. The servant entrance for you, my lad."

  She stood her ground. “I am here to see Lady Yancy, sir. She was a friend of my mother, Lady Galloway."

  The butler lifted one eyebrow so high; it almost reached his grey hairline. “Indeed? Wait here while I inquire."

  The door was firmly shut in her face causing a myriad of thoughts to flit through her mind. What if Lady Yancy wasn't at home? What if she declined to see her? What if she refused to believe her? What if—

  Though the door was still closed, Danielle heard a barrage of words. “Carter, you simply must be mistaken. My dear friend has been gone ... oh; I do believe a decade or so. She cannot possibly—"

  The door abruptly opened. Next to the butler stood an attractive matron in her middle years dressed in a yellow satin tea gown. The lady stared at Danielle, then fluttered a handkerchief to her plump lips. “Upon my honor! You are not Lady Galloway!"

  The butler whispered in the lady's ear.

  Lady Yancy didn't miss a beat. “A thousand pardons. I misunderstood. One of Lady Galloway's brood, are you?” She took a step back. “Where are my spectacles, Carter? You know I cannot see without them."

  Danielle fidgeted.

  Lady Yancy squinted at Danielle, then she suddenly smiled. “Oh, there now, that is better. You do have the look of my dear friend about you."

  Danielle breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close.

  Lady Yancy dabbed at her blue eyes. “A child of my old dear friend! Come in. Oh do come in. You must be Benjamin, yes?"

  Danielle stepped inside the cool entryway, glad to be out of the afternoon sun. “If you please, my lady, may we talk someplace private?"

  "To be sure. To be sure. We shall have such a comfortable coze.” Lady Yancy weaved her arm through Danielle's and led her into a room to the left of the main door. “Carter, be a lamb and bring refreshments to the Gold Salon. You know how I adore Cook's sugar tarts."

  "Very good, madam,” came Carter's response. But by the tone of his voice, he didn't sound as if it was very good at all.

  Danielle couldn't blame him. He probably believed his mistress was going to be taken advantage of by some unknown street urchin.

  He was right, in a way. Not that she was a street urchin, but she was planning on imposing on Lady Yancy, if only for a little while.

  "There, there, have a seat, Benjamin.” Lady Yancy indicated a peach upholstered settee. She sat across in a wing-backed matching chair, then folded her hands in her lap. A second later, she waved her handkerchief around as if she couldn't keep her hands still. She used the handkerchief to punctuate her sentences. “You must tell me all that has been going on these past ten years."

  How to begin? No sense tip-toeing around it; Danielle had to just blurt out the truth. “Lady Yancy, I'm not B—"

  "I must say you are strangely dressed, dear sir,” her hostess interrupted. “Can it be that Sir Ambrose has fallen on hard times?"

  "No, no. Not at all, my lady. It is only that I'm not Benjamin, but Danielle.” Phew! Finally the truth was out.

  Lady Yancy pulled off her yellow turban, then shook her head so hard, her silver-streaked mahogany curls began to wilt. “Danielle? But that does not make sense, child. Why on earth do you wear breeches?"

  As delicately as she could, Danielle explained what had been going on the past few days. She left nothing out, from dressing as a boy, to traveling with Edward and Xavier, and to Benjamin's debauched condition.

  "Most irregular,” Lady Yancy clucked. “Most irregular, indeed. Acting as a page to an Earl? Outrageous! What Lady Galloway would have said, I simply do not know."

  Lady Yancy's misgivings didn't bode well. Danielle pulled a footstool over by her hostess, sat in front of her, and held the woman's hand. “Please, my lady, you must see that it was imperative for me to come to Bath and seek out my brother. I-I cannot imagine what would've happened to him if I hadn't found him."

  "Youthful folly.” Lady Yancy tut-tutted. “I daresay we all have had our share of peccadilloes. ‘Tis a blessing he is now under the Earl of Tremaine's wing. Indeed, I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Raleigh just this morning. A delightful fellow."

  The door to the salon opened. The butler entered, holding a silver platter filled with fruits, crumpets, scones, plus a pot of tea. He set the tray down on a side table, then handed his mistress a small object.

  "Oh, you found them! Thank you, Carter,” Lady Yancy exclaimed. She fitted a pair of gold metal rimmed spectacles over her eyes which now appeared large and owlish. “Finally. I can see you clearly, dear child."

  She waved the butler from the room. “We are not to be disturbed, Carter. My guest and I must have the utmost privacy."

  "Very good, madam."

  Again, by the butler's tone, Danielle didn't think he approved of her at all.

  As soon as the door closed, Lady Yancy whirled into action. “Stand up, girl. Let me have a look at you."

  Danielle did as she was bid. Her hostess poked and prodded her, inspected her hands and feet, and even smoothed her fingers over Danielle's cheeks. By the pleased expression on the lady's face, everything seemed satisfactory except for the hair.

  "My dear, what are we to do with these sheared off tresses of yours? Long locks are all the rage, you know.” Lady Yancy tut-tutted once more.

  Rebellion welled up inside Danielle. “I don't care a fig about fashions..."

  Her hostess lowered her dark eyebrows.

  Danielle struggled to recover. “What I mean to say, my lady, is I enjoy having short hair. So free and unpretentious, isn't it? Why, I do so admire your abundant curls."

  "Do you?” Lady Yancy touched her wavy hair now released from the turban's confinement. She walked to the fireplace and looked up at a family portrait hung over the mantel. Her younger self gazed down at her, along with the images of an older man and two children.

  "My hair was unfashionably short then, as well. But Lord Yancy loved my curls, and I have not had the desire to change the style.” She sighed.

  Her reflective frame of mind vanished, and she dashed over to Danielle. Lifting a lock of hair, she laughed. “My dear, there is hope for you! Indeed there is. Your hair has put me in the mind of a Society beauty—Lady Caroline Lamb. She is so stylish and celebrated. Not only does she sport short
locks, she has a slim figure similar to yours. Indeed, she also has an eccentric habit of dressing as a page as you do."

  "Lady Lamb?” Danielle tilted her head. “I believe I've heard some gossip about her."

  "Of that I am quite sure. Married, six years now, but last I heard, she is in the throes of an adulterous affair.” More tut-tutting. “Yes, to Sir Godfrey Webster, son of the great Lady Holland. Or perhaps the affair is over now. Who knows?” Lady Yancy shrugged. “Oh, the scandal. The outrage."

  Danielle gulped down her unease. If her own escapade became known—oh, the scandal. The outrage. She flushed with embarrassment.

  Lady Yancy sat back down and fanned her face with her handkerchief. “So, my dear, it certainly will not do to emulate Lady Lamb. She will have scandal permanently attached to her name, mark my words. But not to worry. Monsieur Philippe can work wonders. He can transform your straggly mop into a breathtaking riot of curls. I shall send for him immediately and you will look divine. Yes, divine—plain and simple. I shall take great delight in introducing you to polite society alongside my daughter, Millicent."

  Millicent had to have been the young lady in Lady Yancy's carriage. The one Xavier had called a diamond of the first water.

  Danielle's heart started to pound. “Please, my lady, I have no desire to mingle in Bath. If you could help me return home to Leeds—"

  "Faith! Put Leeds out of your mind for the nonce. Of course you must attend our dances here. ‘Tis the very least I can do for my dear departed friend.” Lady Yancy clasped her hands to her bosom. “My greatest wish is that you and Millicent will make splendid matches."

  Panic chilled Danielle's veins. Lady Yancy was a determined woman. Perhaps even more determined than Danielle.

  "Come now,” her hostess ordered. “We must have a cup of tea before it grows cold. Do you take cream and sugar?"

  With despair in her heart, Danielle nodded. She needed something to warm her icy insides. It might as well be tea.

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