Bath Scandal Page 13

  “How did he get into your room?”

  “I, like a greenhead, opened the door without asking who it was. I thought it might be you.”

  “Me?” he asked, with a conning grin. “Now that surprises me, that you would open the door to me.”

  “You or Miss Pittfield, with a message that Gillie was ill, since she stuffed herself with macaroons after the play.”

  “I am very sorry for that misunderstanding the night we arrived. I must have been mad.”

  She gave him a coquettish smile. “At least I cannot fault your taste, Southam.” She rose and took up her hatbox. “Now I really am going to pack. I asked Tannie to return early, so he should have Gillie here soon.”

  “A pity we must cut short our trip. But with Deborah landing in on us ...” He drew a weary sigh.

  If he felt any pleasure in anticipating Deborah’s visit, he was doing a wonderful job of concealing it. Bea was curious to see them together. “You must be eager to see her,” she said.

  “Yes! Yes, indeed. Very eager.” He looked about as eager as a man on the way to the tooth drawer.

  Beatrice left, and Southam sat on alone, wondering how he had got into this muddle. He felt a nervous qualm that he would not get out unscathed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Bea finished her packing, she went to Gillie’s room to see if she had returned from her drive yet.

  Miss Pittfield was there alone. “I’ve packed up Gillie’s things,” she said. “When she returns, all she will have to do is change out of her driving bonnet and she will be ready to leave.”

  “As soon as we have lunch,” Bea said, glancing at her watch. “I told her to return early. I had thought she’d be here by now.”

  “The girl is scatterbrained, and the duke not much better.”

  “As you have things well in hand here, Miss Pittfield, let us go downstairs and have a glass of wine while we await Gillie.” Bea wanted to be on hand when Tannie arrived, to give him the money.

  They went down to the private parlor, where Southam was pacing the floor. “I thought they would be here by now,” he said impatiently.

  “Youngsters take little account of the time,” Miss Pittfield said soothingly. “They’ll be along any minute.”

  “We mean to have a glass of wine while we are waiting, Southam. Why don’t you join us?” Bea suggested.

  The wine was ordered and brought. One glass was drunk, then another, while they took turns looking at the clock and assuring each other the youngsters would be along any minute. At their regular lunching time Southam said, “The duke is not exactly a youngster. You specifically asked him to return early, Cousin. This disregard for your wishes promises an uncertainty of character that I cannot like.”

  “They may have had some minor mishap—overturned in a ditch, or some such thing,” Bea said. “They are not far from civilization. If that is the case, they will either return soon or send us word. Have another glass of wine, and do stop pacing, Southam. You are making us fidgety.”

  Southam sat down to gulp another glass of wine. He was soon back at the window, pacing to and fro. At half an hour past their lunch hour, the ladies began to become nervous as well. “I hope they have not had a serious accident,” Miss Pittfield said.

  “Tannie is an excellent driver,” Bea pointed out. “He may be a bit slack in other areas, but he certainly knows his horses.”

  Southam turned on her in alarm. “What do you mean, slack in other areas?”

  “You know what I mean—a little careless of his appearance, hardly a great conversationalist. He does not care much what people think of him.”

  “You are not suggesting he might be taking advantage of her?”

  She just looked at him, astonished. “Of course not! That was not my meaning.”

  “He is a good deal older than Gillie and more infatuated than she. By God, if he’s trying anything—”

  “Don’t be such a ninny, Southam,” she said roundly. “The duke is a gentleman from the tip of his dusty hat to the toes of his boots. If he has inadvertently compromised Gillie, he will certainly marry her immediately.”

  Southam looked up, interested. Bea caught that hopeful gleam and leapt down his throat. “What a despicable creature you are! You would force Gillie to have him if you could. What you ought to do, if you are truly worried, is to go after them, as I plan to do.” She jumped up and headed for the door, forgetting in the upset of the moment that her carriage was sitting in its stable at Bath.

  “Do you know which way they went?” he asked.

  Miss Pittfield spoke up. “She mentioned Branksome Wood Road, to the northwest of town. ‘We haven’t been out toward Branksome Woods,’ she said. ‘We shall take that road today.’ Unless the duke was flinging dust in our eyes by having her tell us so,” she added ominously.

  “Not you, too, Miss Pittfield!” Bea exclaimed, chagrined.

  Yet as she darted upstairs for her bonnet and pelisse, she did experience just one stab of alarm. She had thought that today, of all days, Tannie would make a special effort to be home early. His uncle was waiting for his money. It was true, Tannie was a rather uncertain fellow. If Gillie had laughed at his offer of marriage, for instance, and if the duke had a temper buried under his outer shell of indifference ... No, she would not let herself fall prey to such imaginings.

  She had introduced the duke to Gillie; she had promoted and sponsored the whole idea. If anything happened to Gillie, it was her fault—and Southam would not hesitate to fling it in her face. At that moment she regretted she had ever met Lady Gillian.

  Southam had his carriage at the door when she came pelting downstairs. “Miss Pittfield will stay here in case they return. She knows which route we are taking and will have my valet hire a mount and come after us. How the devil does one get to the northwest edge of town from the east cliff?”

  “You had best ask someone before we go.”

  Southam just hollered “Spring ‘em,” to his groom, and they wasted a quarter of an hour lurching through city streets before they stopped for directions. They were told to go up Westover Road to Bourne Avenue, and hence out the Branksome Wood Road. As they proceeded on their course, Southam watched out his side of the carriage and Bea out hers, checking for a sight of the duke’s carriage in the ditch or at an inn.

  “It is so late, they might have stopped for luncheon. If Tannie has stabled the rig, we won’t see it,” Bea mentioned.

  “If that jackanapes is enjoying his luncheon while we are out scouring the countryside for him on an empty stomach, he will live to regret it.”

  “I am relieved to hear it. I thought you were going to say you would run him through.”

  “How well do you actually know the duke?”

  “I have known his family for eons. His uncle speaks of him in the highest terms.”

  “This is the same uncle who is in hawk to the blacklegs for a thousand pounds? The man who is in hiding, causing his loutish friends to barge into your bedchamber at midnight? A fine recommendation!”

  “Never mind ripping up at me, Southam! You were in alt to see I had got a duke interested in Gillie, and you need not bother denying it. You did not ask a single question about his character. You heard the magic words, ‘the Duke of Cleremont,’ and turned from a bear into a sycophant before my very eyes. It was disgusting.”

  “I am not a sycophant!” His objection was loud, for he knew there was a grain of truth in her charge.

  “And the duke is not a rake. He is staying with his aunt, Lady Sappington, in Bath. She is a regular pillar of propriety. If there were any unsavory scandals in his past, I would have heard. Everyone knows he is seeing Gillie. They know she is under my protection.” He gave her a leery look. “They have obviously had an accident, that’s all. Stop! What is that?”

  Southam pulled the check string, and the carriage slowed down to show them a pony cart pulled off to the side of the road. A young couple were eating sandwiches from a lunch box. Their carr
iage continued on its way.

  “We should have begged some food from that couple. I am starved,” Southam said wearily.

  “I see where Gillie got her bad habits. I had to scold her for saying she was starved when she first came to me.” She felt a fond nostalgia for those early, quiet days.

  “She always had a large appetite. She was a great favorite in the kitchen at home,” Southam replied, in the same nostalgic way. “I remember her sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on chicken legs or ham bones at nine o’clock in the evening. She often stayed in the stable over the dinner hour.”

  “That would be where she acquired her taste for ale.”

  “Yes, she preferred it to wine. I remember the first time I caught her taking ale with my head groom. She was sitting on a tree stump discussing what to do in case of a breech birth—of a foal, I mean.”

  “I wish you would stop these reminiscences, Southam. You’re making my flesh creep. You speak of her as if she were dead!”

  “That is not what I am thinking. You are right. I have been promoting this marriage too eagerly. Gillie is too young. She’s not ready for marriage. I shan’t send her to London this year, either. I shall let her have another year at Elmland, and next year I shall take her to London to make her bows.”

  “What will Deborah have to say about that?” she asked.

  He looked into the distance. “She can accept it or not. It is up to her. She cannot expect me to put my own little sister out of the house because she cannot get along with her. A man in my position has family duties that must take precedence over his own pleasure.”

  Bea regarded him with extreme skepticism. She thought that sounded remarkably like a rehearsed speech. That was what he would say to Deborah in an effort to shake her off. Knowing Deborah, however, she doubted that lady would give up her prize so easily.

  The carriage rounded a bend at a fast speed, throwing Bea across the seat. Southam reached a hand out from the opposite bench to steady her, and missed seeing his sister. Bea recognized Gillie’s bonnet and shouted, “Stop!”

  Southam looked offended. “I am not attacking you, Cousin. I promised there would be no more of that sort of thing. I was merely steadying you. John Groom is driving too fast. Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am all right, idiot! It’s Gillie!” She pointed out the window. There, twenty or thirty yards into a meadow, stood Lady Gillian. She appeared to be gathering wood for a fire. The carriage stood by the side of the road, leaning at a perilous angle that spoke of a broken wheel.

  “What the devil is she doing there?” Southam exclaimed.

  He stopped the carriage, and they both clambered down. Bea smiled to herself, not only at finding Gillie but at Southam’s hasty defense of his virtue. It indicated what was in his mind. He had certainly been behaving like a gentleman since that night in her room. She thought he had put any thoughts of that sort from his mind, but apparently his feelings for her were not quite dead, or he would not have leapt to his defense so swiftly. Bearing in mind his sudden decision to take Gillie home for a year against Deborah’s express command, she foresaw an interesting time in Bath.

  Gillie came running forward when she recognized them. Her face was coated in dust, her bonnet was askew, and her pelisse was destroyed. She went running into her brother’s arms. “Rawl, thank God you have come. I knew I could depend on you.”

  Bea watched in satisfaction as he cradled her in his arms, with all the proper love and concern of a brother. Then he put her at arm’s length and examined her. “Are you all right? What has happened? We were afraid you might be seriously hurt.” Not a word about fearing she had run off or been carried off by the duke.

  “I’m fine, but I fear I may have broken Tannie’s arm. It hurts like the devil, and he is as white as a bone, so he cannot be shamming it. We got to arguing, you see. He said I was driving too fast for such a cow-handed driver and pulled the reins right out of my hands. Naturally the team got excited and bolted when he made such a to-do. We both dropped the reins, so that we ended up in the ditch. I fear we have broken the shaft of his carriage.”

  “Why did you not send for help? There is plenty of traffic on this road.”

  “I had to look after Tannie first. He was quite unconscious, you must know, so I could not leave him. I stopped a rig half an hour ago. The man said he would send a wheeler up from Poole, but he hasn’t come yet, so I have been looking for a branch of a proper size to use as a splint for the shaft. I meant to secure it with strips from my petticoat. It need only last till we can get to a stable or wheeler. I think this one might do it,” she said, hefting a branch.

  “Where is Tannie?” Bea asked.

  “There is a little stream over there,” she said, pointing to a stand of willows in the near distance. “The horses needed water. I unharnessed them and took them up there for a drink, and to be out of harm’s way in case a carriage came around the bend too fast. I wanted to bathe Tannie’s face with water, too. He managed to walk that far, with my help. I got the blanket from the carriage and wrapped him up well in it. We are quite ravenous. I’m sorry, Aunt Bea, but we are really feeling a good deal more than peckish, even if you didn’t ask. I gave Tannie the three macaroons I had in my reticule from last night, for he was looking so pale and faint.” She looked quite noble at this sacrifice.

  “We’d best have a look at Tannie,” Southam said, and Gillie led them forth.

  She did not forget to holler at John Groom to pull farther off the road. The drivers here drove like lunatics. They found the duke rolled up in a horse blanket by the side of the stream. He was as pale and faint as Gillie had warned. He tried to rise, and Gillie ordered him back down.

  “My fault entirely, Lord Southam,” he said in a weak voice. “I am very sorry. Daresay you was worried sick about Gillie. And when you especially asked us to return early, too,” he added to Bea.

  “You are forgiven, as it was obviously unavoidable,” Bea replied. “Can you make it to Southam’s carriage, Duke? We must get that arm looked at.”

  “If Southam will lend me an arm to lean on, I’ll make it, but I cannot leave my team here.”

  “I’ll stay with the team,” Gillie said.

  “Can’t stay alone,” the duke replied sternly. “We could hitch the team to Southam’s rig and lead them back to town.”

  “What about the carriage?” Gillie asked.

  “Surely the duke is more important than the carriage, or the team for that matter,” Bea said. The two youngsters looked at her as if she were mad.

  Southam helped the duke up and assisted him to the intact carriage. It was arranged that Southam would drive his own carriage, and his groom would stay behind with the duke’s team and rig till help could be sent from Bournemouth, in case the wheeler from Poole failed to come.

  During the return trip Gillie was a perfect ministering angel, asking Tannie every two minutes whether he was comfortable and assuring him that his arm would soon be healed, and he’d be driving as well as ever. Bea had a sneaking suspicion that under cover of the horse blanket they were holding hands. Tannie’s vulnerability seemed to have aroused something akin to love in Gillie. Rather ironic, as Southam had decided against the match at this time. She doubted that his opposition would stand long against Gillie’s persuasions.

  They took Tannie to his own hotel, laid him on his bed, and called the doctor. When he came, the others went downstairs. Gillie would not leave the premises until she heard the doctor’s opinion.

  “If he is to lose that arm,” she said, eyes wide with horror, “I must be here to comfort him, Rawl. He would never be able to drive again. Not so well as he drives now, though I am sure he would manage it somehow with only one arm. And it is all my fault! He told me to give him the reins, and I refused.” Her lower lip wobbled, and her eyes filled with moisture.

  “Let us have lunch while we wait for the doctor’s verdict,” Southam said.

  “Oh, yes. I am weak with hunger,” Gillie agreed.
Her concern for Tannie had not deprived her of a hearty appetite.

  “We ought to send word to Miss Pittfield,” Bea said, and took care of that detail while Southam ordered lunch.

  There were a few other matters that needed attention as well. Tannie was obviously not in any condition to take Horatio’s money to him. That unfortunate gent was sitting alone in some room, afraid to stick his nose out the door. Bea decided she would have to learn the location and take the money to him herself. Another matter of considerable importance was the remove to Bath.

  She mentioned that over lunch. “When shall we leave for Bath?” she asked Southam.

  “It is pointless to set out so late in the day,” he said.

  “You will not want to leave Deborah there alone, though.”

  He clenched his lips. “I’ll send a message telling her what happened. She came uninvited. It is not our fault if an unforeseen accident detains us. What can we do? We cannot leave that poor boy alone, at least till we discover how serious this accident is. It is Gillie’s fault. We must stay.”

  Gillie burst into sniffles but gave him a thankful gaze and squeezed his hand.

  When the doctor came down, Southam invited him to take coffee with them, while he outlined the duke’s condition.

  “It is a very serious sprain, but thank God, no bones are broken. He will recover eventually.”

  “How long?” Gillie asked eagerly.

  “A month should see him back in fighting trim. I don’t want that arm jostled with rough driving for a couple of weeks, but he can be up and about in a day or two. I have bandaged up his arm and shoulder, and given him a draft of laudanum to deaden the pain. He will soon be sleeping like a baby. If you wish to have a word with him, best do it now, while he is still awake.”

  It was arranged that the doctor would return that evening, and meanwhile there was nothing more to be done. The duke’s valet would be with him to see to his needs. The doctor had already had a word with him.

  The party went upstairs to say good-bye while Tannie was still awake. He was already groggy. Bea did not think he would have called Gillie an angel and kissed her hand in front of them all if he had been perfectly alert. She managed to get Horatio’s address from him, a disreputable establishment called the Old Fox, on Littledown Road. She assured him she would see that Horatio got the money.