Amanda Scott (25 page)

He took a deep breath and sputtered, “S-saintly!”

“Exactly so, but I suppose it is always the case with a heroine, for she must be an example to the reader of all that is good and noble, must she not?”

Sir Mortimer snorted.

Nell grinned at him. “Dear sir, are you attempting to tell me that she can have faults? I own, one of the things I particularly enjoyed in Miss Austen’s
Emma
was the fact that even the title character was not flawless, but that book is unique, I think, for in my experience, heroines of most modern romantical novels are very sweet and good. And indeed, you said yourself that your books are quite different from Miss Austen’s.”

With difficulty, Sir Mortimer gave her to understand that small faults gave the characters something to rise above. The conversation after that was distinctly one-sided, as Nell continued to read the list of brief comments and question him, but after a time, she discovered that she could anticipate some of what he wanted to say from what little he had communicated to Borland, and by the time his eyelids began to droop, she was feeling much more confident about their story. He had obviously listened carefully to all she had read to him and had had some excellent notions, including several ideas regarding minor characters that would enliven the action and enrich the plot.

When she arose to take her leave of him, he was looking very tired, but she thought he was pleased, too, and she knew the time had been well spent. Not only did he believe that once again he was contributing substantially to his novel, but she believed she had gained enormously from his help. Bidding them both a good day, she tucked the notes she had made into her reticule and took her leave. Her mind was alive with new ideas as she made her way downstairs again. Unconsciously drawn to the sound of a concerto being skillfully played upon the pianoforte in the drawing room, she nearly passed Mr. Lasenby on the landing without seeing him.

“Miss Bradbourne!”

Startled, she exclaimed, “Oh dear, what you must think of me, sir! I beg your pardon. My mind was in the clouds.”

“Been waiting for you,” he informed her.

“Have you? Oh, and I have been such a time, too. My aunt must have long since given me up.”

“Gone home,” he said. “Said you was not to concern yourself with her but to look after the old gentleman, because she meant to stop in Queen Square to visit with a friend.”

“That will be Mrs. Prudham, I expect,” Nell said. “She was set upon by footpads not long ago, in the middle of town, right at the top of Avon Street. I expect Aunt Flavia wishes to assure herself that she is completely recovered from her ordeal.”

“Avon Street,” Mr. Lasenby said, shaking his head, “is a back slum and not a good place at all, ma’am, though it ain’t the center of town but the lower part, you know, and without you count the new development across the river, it would be the very edge of town, to my way of thinking.”

“True enough, for my great-aunt has said the place is flooded, like as not, at least once a year. But what did you wish to say to me, sir? You said,” she prompted when he appeared to be at a loss, “that you had been waiting for me. Surely it was not only to tell me that Aunt Flavia has gone home.”

“No, no, it was something else altogether, but dash it, I cannot call it to mind,” he said, flustered. He looked around the landing. “Wonder where Bran has got to. He might recall.”

Nell thought she had begun to understand Mr. Lasenby’s particular shortcoming a trifle better in the past weeks, and she said gently, “Had it something to do with Miss Wembly, sir?”

His eyes widened. “Aye, that’ll be it, I expect. Dash it, of course it is. Wanted to ask … that is … you said you thought she might forgive me for forgetting her deuced ball, ma’am, that my letter’d turn the trick.”

He paused, and something in his demeanor gave her clearly to understand that, for reasons known only to himself, he was hoping she would deny it, but she said, “I believe it might, sir, if you explained the matter clearly. Anyone may be expected to suffer a lapse of memory from time to time, and by now Miss Wembly must realize that you suffer rather more than most. And she will not know, after all, that you forgot to mail your letter.”

“Bound to know,” he said despondently. “Put the date on it when I wrote it. Always do.”

“Oh, dear,” Nell said, struggling against an irresistible urge to laugh. “But it does not do to repine before the fact, sir. You must strive to keep your spirits high and hope that Fate will reward you. Goodness,” she added in dismay, “I sound just like a character from a novel, do I not?”

He nodded. “Comes from working so hard to put words in character’s mouths, I expect, in that one you and the old gentleman are writing.”

“No doubt you are right. Is that Lady Axbridge playing the pianoforte in the drawing room? I must say my farewells, I’m afraid. I’ve a deal of work to do.”

“Daresay it is,” he said. “She’s in there with Axbridge and Bran, at all events. Not musical m’self. Think I’ll step down to Meyler’s Library for a bit, look at the papers, don’t you know. Tell Bran, will you, ma’am?”

She agreed, and he took his leave. When she entered the drawing room, Manningford got quickly to his feet, and Sybilla, seeing him do so, stopped playing and turned on the stool.

“Oh,” Nell said impulsively, “please, do not stop! You play amazingly well. That was Mozart, was it not?”

“It was,” Sybilla said, smiling at her, “and I thank you for the compliment. I have not been able to play as much as I like these past weeks, while we have been on the Continent, and I am glad to have the opportunity again. Are you leaving us now, Miss Bradbourne?”

“Yes, I must go. Your father seems rather better, but I think he is tired and wants to sleep.”

“Good gracious,” Sybilla said, “have you been working all this time on his book? I thought he could not speak, and surely you did not bring work with you.”

“He has recovered some part at least of his power of speech,” Nell told her. “Borland said he worked very hard to do so. I am not surprised, though, for I daresay it was particularly trying to him not to be able to communicate.”

Sybilla held out her hand. “I spoke out of turn a while ago, Miss Bradbourne, and I want to apologize. It is not your fault that my father behaves so dreadfully, and I was wrong to speak as I did to you.”

Nell’s gaze flew to Manningford, but he shook his head, and she turned back to her hostess and said, “You have nothing for which to apologize. I took no offense, I assure you, and I do understand that your father’s eccentricities must be extremely difficult to live with.”

Sybilla laughed. “You may say so,” she said, “but I want you to know that I look forward to your visits. You must come as often as you wish—or as he wishes—and do not be thinking you must run away afterward. I know that after having been such a time today, you will not want to linger, but do come again soon. Ring for someone to see her to the door, will you, Brandon?”

“No, for I mean to see her home myself,” he said.

“That is not necessary, sir,” Nell said, rather shaken.

“Nonsense,” he retorted with a quizzical gleam in his eyes, “you cannot be walking unattended across Bath.”

“Oh, piffle, as Aunt Flavia would say,” she said, giving him look for look. “I can very well hire a chair, you know, and even if I did choose to walk, ’tis broad daylight.”

“Women cannot always be certain of being allowed to go unmolested, even in Bath,” he said, and since she could not, in view of Mrs. Prudham’s recent experience, argue the point, she said no more, having, in any case, no real desire to dissuade him. And when he informed her that since Max had returned to Bath they might as well take him along to protect them both, she laughed at him but made no objection.

A
WARM BREEZE WAS BLOWING
soft white clouds across an azure sky when they stepped outside, and the only thing to mar the peaceful afternoon was Max’s vociferous determination, once Manningford had freed him from confinement, to gambol ahead of them, straining at the lead. Ruthlessly calling him to heel, Manningford apologized to Nell for the dog’s bad manners.

“I sent him down to Westerleigh, you know, to my brother, but he refused to eat, Charlie said, and Clarissa insisted he be sent back to me, so I am quite puffed up in my own esteem, for I am sure no one has ever cared so much for my company before as to starve without it. Still, I suppose, it is the outside of enough to foist his company onto you, particularly since our respective visitors’ arrival has postponed, for the moment at least, our plan to see more sights and take that ride on the downs.”

His casual attitude giving her instantly to know that he had no intention of teasing her anymore about her outrageous behavior in the study, Nell smiled at him, tucked her hand into the crook of his free arm, and said, “I assure you, sir, I have not the least objection to Max’s company, though he is not the sort of dog one is accustomed to see on the streets of Bath. Generally, such animals are the fat, spoiled, very rude companions of dawdling elderly ladies. Max is worth any number of them.”

“He is, isn’t he? Yes,” he added when the dog’s ears perked up, “we are discussing you. Try, if you will, at least to affect the manners of a gentleman, and do not disgrace me.” They walked in silence for some minutes after that until, upon reaching the top of Gay Street, Manningford said, “There was one small matter I wished to discuss with you, if you don’t mind.”

She glanced up at him and said warily, “No, of course not, though I hope I have done nothing to vex you.”

He smiled and said, “Not in the least, my dear, though you have certainly given me food for thought. But that is not the point at hand,” he added when she blushed and looked away. “As you know, I’ve been looking after my father’s private affairs since I arrived here, and because of that, something occurred to me this morning that I ought to have realized some time ago. You once told me that your father’s cousin had made a number of changes at Highgate, did you not?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him curiously. “But I must tell you, sir, that the alterations he has made are nothing less than commendable. One of Jarvis’s more vexatious traits, in fact, is that he frequently does admirable things, especially where the family is concerned, that make it difficult to continue to detest him as thoroughly as one wishes to do. Of course, one instantly wonders why he does them.”

“Well, but that is precisely the point,” Manningford said. “If he has been putting his own money into the estate, there is nothing more to be said, though anyone would be curious about why he would do such a thing when the land is not yet his own.”

“Oh, but he has not,” Nell said. “I know, for he is quite puffed up over having shown, as he believes he has, that good management makes all the difference. Moreover, I am certain that the allowance he makes me is from Highgate money, for he said so, and he must know that I should refuse to take any of his.”

Manningford nodded. “Then it is as I suspected. I daresay you know nothing about this sort of thing, for I didn’t myself until recently, but one cannot simply take over another man’s affairs so easily as that. My father had to provide me with his power of attorney before I was able to attend properly to his affairs or to those of the house, and I have had to produce it on more than one occasion before being allowed to act. Jarvis must likewise have got your brother to provide him with one.”

“He did get some sort of authority,” Nell said. “I thought I had told you. ’Twas only a note of hand and not sufficient for all he wants to do, but he has had it since that fatal night, for he told me it was a good thing he had had the foresight to get it before Nigel left the country.”

“But why should it have occurred to him then that such a document might be necessary?”

“Why, surely because—” Nell stopped short on the flagway and stared at him in dismay. “Good God, Papa was still alive then, and Jarvis could not possibly have known that he would kill himself! The only reason he could have had for demanding Nigel’s permission to act on his behalf was that he knew he would need it. Jarvis
did
murder Papa, just as I have long suspected!”

“Gently, gently,” he said, urging her onward. “Not only are you leaping rather impulsively to conclusions, but you’ll soon have all the quizzes ogling us. No, Max, you may not cross the square. We are turning toward the bridge now, if you please.”

“It is of no more use to try to silence me, sir,” Nell said grimly, “than to try to convince Max that he should walk tamely at your heel. If that odious man killed my father, I mean for the entire world to know about it.”

“I’d have thought, in the event that Jarvis had murdered anyone, he’d have been more inclined to have murdered your brother,” Manningford said in a musing tone, “for with Nigel dead and Jarvis the heir, your father would have been unlikely to have argued with him any further over that idiotic wager. Indeed, I have been wondering about that for some time now. I cannot think why he didn’t kill him.”

“Well of all the things to say!”

“I meant no insult to your brother, but since Jarvis did not kill him, one must think it unlikely that he killed your father either. Indeed, his having exerted himself to get your brother out of the country makes no sense at all.”

“It would if you had a single ounce of family feeling,” Nell said tartly. “No one can be surprised that you have none, of course, but you might at least try to understand those of us who do. For all his faults, Jarvis has a proper sense of his duty to protect the family name.”

“If that is indeed so,” he said thoughtfully, “one begins to wonder if your father’s death was not even more of a shock to Jarvis than it was to everyone else.”

“Well, I don’t believe it was,” Nell retorted. “You may talk ’round the point all you like, but now I am convinced that he killed Papa. Or can you tell me why he might have got that paper from Nigel before Papa had killed himself?”

Manningford did not reply at once, and when he did it was to say slowly, “Your brother may well have an explanation for that, you know, but if he doesn’t and Jarvis did commit a murder, I am rapidly coming to agree with you that we shall be unable prove it at this late date.”