Anne Barbour (5 page)

The maid giggled shyly. She laid the nightshirt on the bed and made as though to leave the room, but John spoke quickly.

“Surely, you don’t have to go so soon? And me fretting myself to flinders with loneliness.”

“Oh, no, sir. I mustn’t stay,” she replied with a smile, but she advanced to the bed.

“Ah. Will your mistress beat you if you spend a few minutes with a poor, wounded fellow?”

The maid giggled again. “Oh, no, sir, but I have my duties.”

“One of which, I’m sure, is to see to the needs of a guest in the house.”

“Oh, now, sir, and what is it you’re needing?” she asked archly.

“Why, just a bit of company.” He patted the bed suggestively and, after a moment’s hesitation, the girl hopped up to seat herself on the edge.

“And how are you feeling, sir?” she asked, a little breathless at her own temerity. “They say belowstairs that you don’t know your—that you can’t remember—”

“That I’ve somehow lost myself,” John said with another smile. “They’re perfectly right; I can’t remember so much as my own name, but I’m told it will all come back to me with a little time. Tell me something about you. What’s your name, pretty miss? Have you worked here long? Is it a good place?”

The girl giggled once again. She seemed much given to giggling. “I’m Called Doris, sir. I’ve been here about two years, sir, and yes, it’s a good place to work. Lady Catherine is all that’s kind. Mrs. Marian can be a bit of a tartar sometimes, but she’s a nice lady.”

“How is it Miss Meade owns this big place all on her own?”

“As to that, I couldn’t say. It used t’belong to the old one—that is, Lady Jane.”

“I see,” said John thoughtfully. “And the three ladies live here alone? I shouldn’t think that would suit them—at least the two younger ones.”

“Well, I’ve wondered about that meself,” said Doris confidentially. “But, I think something happened a long time ago to Miss Meade. Something real bad that made her hide away like a scairt child. I think some of the older servants know what it was, but they don’t say much.”

The girl seemed to recollect herself suddenly. “I don’t know what got int’ me t’be chattering away like this.” She slid off the bed. “I really do have t’go, now, sir, but I’ll be bringin’ yer dinner up in a while, so maybe we can talk more then.”

John flashed a practiced smile. “I’ll look forward to it, Doris.”

The little maid whisked herself out of the room with a flip of her skirts, and John donned the nightshirt. This accomplished, he lay back once more.

So, there was a mystery surrounding his lovely hostess. Too bad, he could not stay around to unwrap it. Even more, he would like to unwrap Miss Meade. He had a notion that one might find something under her cool, patrician exterior well worth investigating. A fleeting memory shot through him of an emerald gaze connecting with his in a sudden, unexpected moment of intimacy.

He waggled his foot experimentally. And winced. He would be going nowhere for a day or two at least. Well, a lot could happen in a day or two, if one put one’s mind to it. If her ladyship had been shut away by herself without masculine attention for years, she ought to be ripe for a spot of dalliance.

Unless, the good doctor was attending to her needs. Somehow neither conveyed the impression of an amorous relationship with each other, but impressions could be deceiving. Mmm. One would see what one would see.

In the meantime, it would be a good idea to make one’s way down to the stable to examine the stallion that supposedly belonged to him. He could not manage this on his own as yet, but perhaps if he were, oh, so charming, a crutch might be forthcoming, or a stalwart footman or two to tote him about.

His hopes in this direction, however, were doomed to failure. To his pleased surprise, it was not Doris who brought his dinner tray, but Miss Meade herself.

“Absolutely not” was her response to his request for conveyance to the stable. “Tomorrow or the next day, perhaps, but for today, you must rest, Mr. Smith.”

He put out a hand as she prepared to leave the room.

“Can you not stay for a few moments?” he asked plaintively.

She hesitated. “I’m afraid not. Mariah and Grandmama are waiting for me downstairs to go in to dinner.”

He assumed an expression of humble resignation. “Of course, ma’am, I realize I have no claim on your attentions. Perhaps if you could have someone bring up a book or a journal after a while, I could while away the rest of the evening in a relatively pleasant occupation.”

She burst into laughter, and John found that he very much relished the sound of it.

“You are the most complete hand, Mr. Smith. I wonder if you are ever at a loss—or if you ever exit a conversation without obtaining what you want.”

He bent a stare of wounded innocence on her, but found he could not maintain it. Instead, he found himself chuckling guiltily. “Was I successful this time?” he asked.

Still smiling, she replied, “No, I’m afraid not. I do not wish to keep Mariah and Grandmama waiting. However, I shall send up some books, and after dinner, we will come up to keep you company.”

He would rather have had Miss Meade all to himself, but he murmured a suitable expression of gratitude.

“Now, is there anything else we can do for you, Mr. Smith? I’m afraid we are unused to gentlemen visitors.”

“You are far from a city here?” he asked carefully, and she dropped her gaze.

“Actually, no. We live in Hertfordshire—near Buntingford, and we are a scant thirty miles north of London.”

John drew in an involuntary breath. Somehow he felt this information was important.

“Ah.” He hesitated for a moment. “Earlier, you asked if I had come to visit you? Was I indeed on your land when we first, er, encountered each other?”

“Yes, I had been out for a ride, and Silk accompanied me. She had run into the shed in pursuit of some small creature. You were evidently riding along the track that runs by it. It’s just a path, really, and it’s quite a way into my estate from the main road—and not a great distance from the house, which is why I thought you must have made your way there purposely.”

“But, if I am unknown to you, why would I be visiting you?”

“Indeed, Mr. Smith.”

Neither referred to the fact that, in view of his humble raiment, the possibility loomed large that he might have been a trespasser on Miss Meade’s land.

“I shall see you later, then.” Miss Meade bestowed another of her charming smiles on him and left the room.

Shrugging philosophically, John addressed himself to his dinner, which proved to be a simple meal, but well prepared. He had finished his broiled chicken with vegetables in an Italian sauce and had just tucked into a
pupton
of fruit, when a footman entered, bearing several books and an armful of newspapers.

Setting the books aside, he casually perused the
Times.
The front page bore today’s date. Evidently, living so close to London, the family was able to receive the current journals in a timely fashion. The stories dealt mainly with the progress of the war in the Spanish peninsula. There was also a piece on the king’s health, which appeared to be unimproved. Last was a report that the authorities were still looking into the matter of the escape of the French General Rivenchy, captured after the Battle of Salamanca. It appeared, that the initial suspicion that he had been assisted in his flight by a British officer, one Major Lord Justin Belforte, was now confirmed by the discovery of a body, identified as that of the major, just beyond English lines. Justin. The traitor had apparently died in the escape, and any coconspirators in the operation were still at large.  The report closed with a description of the villain, which Justin skipped with a yawn.

There was little else of interest in the paper, and a quick glance at the books revealed them to be two volumes of poetry and an alarmingly thick history of Rome. Lord, had they been Miss Meade’s choice for his entertainment, or merely a random selection on the part of the footman?

Pushing back the fray, he settled back for a further contemplation of his predicament.

Downstairs, Catherine and the other two ladies were also just finishing their meal.

“So you still do not trust him?” Catherine asked Mariah.

“It’s not that I don’t trust him—precisely. I just think it would be wise to keep an eye on the silver while he’s here.”

“But what is there about him to arouse suspicion?” Catherine asked the question, well knowing that she hoped for a reply that would answer her own uneasy reflections on the stranger with the polished-metal eyes.

“I don’t know. He speaks and acts like a gentleman but he dresses like a peddler. And then there’s that devil with four feet in the stable. The grooms tell me he’s wild as bedamned and won’t let anyone near him. They had a time of it just getting him into a stall. I just think we ought to watch the fellow,” she concluded, more or less coinciding with Catherine’s own assessment.

“Well, we can do that starting this evening. I promised him we would visit him after dinner.”

“Excellent,” interposed Lady Jane. “I do love a mystery, and dredging up that young man’s past may prove vastly entertaining.”

Catherine’s face shadowed momentarily. “Perhaps that would be unfair. I mean, sometimes one’s past is better left uninvestigated. I would not want to cause the man needless discomfort if there is something in his history he’d rather forget.”

“Catherine, really.” Lady Jane spoke with asperity. “If you are going to bring up all that tedious nonsense—

Catherine smiled warmly at her grandmother. “No, of course, I’m not. How could I repine over a dismal little episode that occurred so long ago, when I have so much happiness in my life now?” She reached to grasp the hands of the other two ladies.

“You’d be a lot happier,” said Mariah dryly, “if you’d let a man in, as well. Adam Beech has been very patient, Catherine, but he deserves—”

“We’ve been over this ground before—many times, my dears. Adam deserves a woman who will love him unreservedly, which I cannot. He is my friend, and for that I am grateful, but I do not wish more from him.”

“Bah,” Lady Jane uttered a barely stifled snort. “You can’t let one unhappy experience with love discourage you from dipping into the pool again. Lord, if I’d let that sort of thing stop me, I never would have married Carstairs. He wasn’t much of a husband, but he was malleable, and I did enjoy being a countess—and he did give me four beautiful children.”

Catherine and Mariah exchanged grins. “And how about Mister Winter?”

Lady Jane’s expression softened. “Ah, dear Charlie. My only regret is that I never had any children with him—although—” She glanced about her with satisfaction. “I was left with Winter’s Keep.” She chuckled. “Lord, what a rumpus there was when I told my family I was going to marry a cit! But there wasn’t a thing they could do about it. If you want to talk of love matches—well, the real thing came to me late in life, as it may do for you, Catherine. But you’re not getting any younger.”

“And, as I have told you, Grandmama,” retorted Catherine, “if I die an old maid, I will not count it a tragedy. I am pleased that matrimony brought you happiness, but, as you can see, I have achieved that state by remaining single.”

“Well,” interposed Mariah judiciously, “I like being single—but, I liked being married, too; and if I were to stumble across the right man, I could be persuaded to try it a second time.”

Lady Jane shot a glance at Catherine before replying to Mariah. “Spoken like a sensible woman. Now, if you could just persuade your friend to set foot in London again, the odds of your finding the right man to stumble across would increase considerably.”

“Grandmama, we have been all over that, and—”

“Yes, and I realize I’d be wasting my breath to point out—again, that your precious scandal has long been forgotten, and you still have friends there who—well, never mind,” she concluded at the signs of real anger that were rising in Catherine’s eyes. “I shan’t say anymore.”

“Good,” said Catherine firmly. “And now, if we’re finished, shall we rejoin our patient?”

When they entered Mr. Smith’s room a few minutes later, they discovered that a servant had just come into the gentleman’s room to light the candles in the wall sconces and to set a taper alight on his bedside table. Smith had just taken the draft left for him by Dr. Beech, and they found him dozing over the history of Rome. His delight at their appearance was patent. The visitors grouped themselves in chairs around his bed, and Catherine and Mariah addressed themselves to the needlework they had brought with them. After a desultory exchange of conversation, John said lightly, “I do apologize for not being able to tell you more about myself, but won’t you ladies tell me something of your histories?”

The three women exchanged wary glances, and Lady Jane spoke first.

“I am a widow, Mr. Smith. I was married at eighteen to George, the fifth Earl of Carstairs. After twenty-seven years of marriage, he died—took a tumble in the hunting field—and I remarried two years later, this time to Charles Winter. He passed away three years ago, after thirty-two years of happy marriage. I had four children with the earl-—my oldest daughter married Catherine’s father, and my son is now the sixth earl.”

“And now,” said John gravely. “You have retired to the country?”

“Yes,” replied Lady Jane tightly. “Although—well, that is neither here nor there. I am happy here and surrounded by people whom I love and who love me. What more could I ask?”

“What more, indeed, my lady. And you have a lovely home—or, no, you said this is Miss Meade’s house, did you not?” He turned a carefully casual glance on Catherine, who flushed slightly.

“Yes,” replied Lady Jane. “Winter’s Keep was getting too much for an old lady to maintain, and, since I had been planning to will it to her, I simply signed it over in advance, a year or so ago.”

“Perhaps, I might be allowed to see more of—what is it?—Winter’s Keep—tomorrow. I should need a crutch, of course, but—

“We shall see how you go on tomorrow, Mr. Smith,” interposed Catherine, “before we speak of crutches and tours of the house—or visits to the stable.”