Carola Dunn (11 page)

“Do you get cramps in your hand?” he asked in a low voice. “I’ve no wish to cause any such discomfort.”

“No, I cannot claim to suffer. Mr. Sagaranathu suggested some exercises for the hand which I daresay have helped.”

“You must show me. And you must tell me if I work you too hard!”

Miranda smiled at him. “I shall, but you know I enjoy it. Now watch. It is quite simple.”

Intrigued, Mr. Bassett came to join them, and soon they were all three stretching and clenching their hands, circling their wrists, pretending to play upon an imaginary piano. They were inured by now to Lady Wiston’s yoga, only speaking softly so as not to distract her.

“Good Lord, ma’am!” Lord Snell’s voice rang out in the quiet room. “What are you about?”

Miranda and Mr. Daviot exchanged a brief glance of dismay. His lordship would never understand, Miranda thought, turning towards him, her finger to her lips. Lady Wiston, upside down in a perfect Candle, smiled an upside-down smile but said nothing.

“Her ladyship is concentrating on her breathing,” Miranda explained, crossing swiftly to Lord Snell. “Pray do not interrupt, sir, or she may lose her balance and hurt herself.”

She ventured to put a hand on his arm and urge him over towards the others. Looking grave, he complied.

“My aunt is an enterprising lady, is she not, Snell?” said Mr. Daviot. “Never fear, she knows what she is about.”

“Is she not amazing?” Mr. Bassett put in eagerly. “Elderly ladies in general don’t have much opportunity to benefit from vigorous exercise, but Lady Wiston makes her own.”

“Her ladyship already feels the benefit,” Miranda assured Lord Snell, “though she has been practising yoga only a fortnight or three weeks.”

He continued to look grave. “I am sure she has convinced you, Miss Carmichael, of the benefit, or else you would have made every effort to dissuade her from such extraordinary and undignified behaviour. What can have put the notion into her head?”

“This is what Mr. Sagaranathu teaches her. You recall asking me the other day? I had no chance at the time to explain.”

“Ah. I was certain the fellow was taking advantage of her in some fashion. No doubt he pockets exorbitant fees for teaching this nonsense. The charlatan has bamboozled her.”

Miranda was again impressed by his readiness to protect Lady Wiston, though in this case she believed him incorrect. As she hesitated, wondering how to contradict without offending him, Mr. Daviot took up the challenge.

“You’re quite out in your reckoning there, old chap,” he jeered. “Sagaranathu is an excellent fellow, a natural gentleman and learned to boot. You’re too quick to value a man by his looks. We can’t all patronize Weston and Hoby.”

Lord Snell loftily ignored the imputations of error and overhasty judgement. “Learned, is he? Cambridge? Oxford? Paris, perhaps, or Bologna?”

“He’s learned in the ways of his own people, and has increased his learning by wide travel and acute observation. Bassett will join me in attesting to the broadening effects of travel on the mind.”

Mr. Bassett nodded with an air which suggested he would have much preferred to be left out of their dispute.

“Indeed, my lord,” said Miranda, “Mr. Sagaranathu is most gentlemanlike and knowledgeable. He spoke little when he took luncheon with us the other day, but his manners were perfectly unexceptionable, were they not?”

“A charlatan must needs adapt his manners to his company.” Lord Snell glanced thoughtfully at Lady Wiston, now sitting on the carpet with her forehead approaching her knees. Turning back to Miranda, he smiled at her with a slight bow. “But I should not dream of contradicting a lady. I will concede that he appeared inoffensive.”

She returned his smile. The baron was a most gallant gentleman. Mr. Daviot would do well to emulate his good breeding instead of seizing every opening to gibe at him.

On the whole, the cousins-by-marriage contrived to conceal their mutual antipathy from their aunt. Nonetheless, Miranda was astonished when, at dinner that evening, Lord Snell addressed Mr. Daviot with an affability which was almost jovial.

“You must have had a great many interesting experiences in America, Daviot. How goes the book?”

Mr. Daviot raised his eyebrows. “Quite well,” he said tersely.

“I suppose you are a member of the Explorers’ Club? Or has the name been changed to the Travellers’ Club? There was some talk of it, I believe.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t aware of its existence.”

“You must join, Peter,” said Lady Wiston at once. “Only think what fascinating people you are bound to meet at a club with such a name.”

“I daresay, Aunt, and I confess I should like to, but I imagine one must know some of them before one can become a member.”

Lord Snell nodded. “I am acquainted with several members, two or three of whom are quite likely in Town at present. If you wish, I shall introduce you and vouch for your being qualified. The chief prerequisite, I understand, is having travelled at least five hundred miles in a straight line from London.”

Mr. Daviot gave him a curious, mistrustful look. “That I have done,” he said guardedly.

“Five hundred miles,” Mr. Bassett guffawed. “‘Tis little enough, by my faith!”

“Nothing to you seafaring men,” his lordship agreed. “You must find life ashore tedious. Would you like me to put in a good word for you at the Admiralty?”

“Thank you, my lord,” the young lieutenant stammered. “I have recommendations from Lord Derwent and Lady Wiston, but another just might speed them up. It’s deuced obliging of you.”

“Not at all. The nation cannot afford to waste a good officer’s time. The peace with France makes little difference, considering England’s interests all over the world.”

Lady Wiston beamed at him. “I did not realize you had such an excellent grasp of naval matters, Godfrey. Sir Bernard was used to say that the Army could go hang, for it is the Navy keeps England strong.”

“Sacrilege, Aunt Artemis,” Mr. Daviot teased, “since Wellington’s great victory at Waterloo.”

“Not at all! The Duke could not have fought and won that battle if the Navy had failed to keep Buonaparte from invading our shores for so many years.”

“Nor had they failed to let him escape from Elba!”

Her ladyship continued her lively defence of the vital importance of the Royal Navy. Miranda noticed that Lord Snell watched and listened with a slight frown. She hoped he did not disapprove of females holding opinions on serious subjects, or at least expressing them—and with such vigour. Though it might be considered forward, even indecorous, conduct in a young woman, surely a certain license must be granted at Lady Wiston’s age.

No doubt his lordship simply disagreed with her ideas. Unlike Mr. Daviot, he was far too polite to argue with his aunt, though she was thoroughly enjoying the debate. She had a supporter in Mr. Bassett who seconded her with enthusiasm whenever called upon.

At last Mr. Daviot appealed to Miranda. “Come, Miss Carmichael, don’t let me be outnumbered. Will you not uphold the supremacy of the Army? Only think of their dashing scarlet coats!”

“If a scarlet coat were infallible proof of superior excellence, sir,” she retorted, laughing, “you might buy one for yourself.”

“And how am I to take that, ma’am?” he asked with a grin. “Are you saying a scarlet coat is not infallible, and if I donned one I should remain my imperfect self? Or do you mean that I am perfection’s self and only want a scarlet coat to prove it?”

“You may take it as you please, Mr. Daviot, but do not expect me to uphold the Army in the Admiral’s house.”

“Bravo, ma’am!” cried Mr. Bassett.

“Alas, I am outgunned, I fear. The Admiral’s shade cannot be denied. Aunt, I concede.”

“Very good, dear. Have another veal cutlet to console you.”

Lord Snell passed the dish of cutlets. “If you are not otherwise engaged tomorrow afternoon, Daviot,” he said, “shall we approach those Explorers’ Club members I spoke of?”

Miranda rather wondered at his persisting when his first offer had received so ungracious a response. His motive could only be to give his aunt pleasure, for he had no possible reason to conciliate her nephew.

Indeed, Mr. Daviot seemed surprised. The gaze he turned on his would-be benefactor was momentarily penetrating. Somehow it reminded Miranda that he had survived among the fierce Iroquois for several years.

Then he smiled and was his usual irreverent self. “You are too kind,” he said. “Yes, I am free tomorrow.”

“Then name the hour, and I am at your disposal.” Their outing arranged, Lord Snell turned to Miranda. “That will leave me time to try out the new curricle I am disposed to purchase. Will you do me the honour, Miss Carmichael, of joining me for a turn in the Park?”

“M-me?”

“It will be job-horses, I fear, as I left my team in Derbyshire, but I hope that will not deter you. I am accounted a tolerable whip, ma’am, and will engage not to overturn you.”

“Of course not, but....” Overwhelmed by the honour, all on her side, Miranda turned a gaze of entreaty on Lady Wiston.

“You must certainly go, dear. You have been getting too little fresh air recently. We cannot allow the roses to fade from your cheeks.”

Miranda blushed, the heat in her face intensifying as all three gentlemen looked at her. Lord Snell’s expression was enigmatic, Mr. Daviot’s ironical, Mr. Bassett’s frankly admiring. She hastily lowered her eyes.

“Thank you, my lord, I shall look forward to it.”

Was it possible his lordship did not consider a hired companion beneath him? Her father had been a gentleman, after all, though a happy-go-lucky and improvident one.

She called herself severely to task. A drive in Hyde Park was not a proposal of marriage. During the Season, when London was full of elegant, accomplished, and well-dowered young ladies, Lord Snell had scarcely noticed her existence, she reminded herself. No doubt he simply liked female company when taking the air, perhaps just to admire his handling of the ribbons. A touch of vanity was an endearing crack in the shell of his superiority.

It was excessively generous in him to offer his assistance to Mr. Daviot and Mr. Bassett, especially since Mr. Daviot had been anything but cordial. He ought to be ashamed of himself, but Miranda knew him too well to imagine him in the least abashed.

He would enjoy belonging to the Explorers’ Club, no doubt. Miranda only hoped it would not keep him too much from home. She...Lady Wiston would miss him.

* * * *

“What the devil does the fellow mean by it?” Peter fumed, pushing away the port decanter as the dining-room door clicked shut behind Lord Snell. “He has something up his sleeve, I’m convinced of it.”

“You won’t catch me looking a gift horse in the mouth.” Bassett refilled his glass. “Another titled gentleman putting my name forward can’t hurt. I’d say his lordship’s devilish obliging.”

“And I’d say the devil’s in it somewhere all right. He barely knows you. How can he puff off your competence as an officer?”

Bassett laughed. “Promotion has less to do with competence than with one’s friends. Come now, Daviot, how can you quarrel with his offer to introduce you to the Explorers’ Club?”

“It’s not the offer I quarrel with, it’s his motive in making it. Lord knows, I’ve not been conciliating to his high-and-mighty lordship, let alone toad-eating him.”

“I hope you don’t think I’ve toad-eaten him!”

“Gad no, old fellow, but at least you have treated him with a proper, dignified respect.”

“In my position I can’t afford not to,” Bassett said candidly, finishing his port. “Shall we join the ladies? It’s my belief Lord Snell’s generosity is in compliment to Lady Wiston.”

Or to Miranda Carmichael? No, Peter’s and Bassett’s welfare was no concern of hers, whereas Snell might hope to please his aunt by attentions to her nephew and the naval guest in whom she took such an amiable interest.

And by attentions to her companion. A drive in the Park, forsooth! Peter returned to the two equally disturbing alternatives: either Aunt Artemis was right and Lord Snell strove to fix Miss Carmichael’s affections, or he was buttering her up for unguessable and probably blackguardly reasons.

Buttering them all up, come to that. Perhaps tomorrow Peter would find out why.

The first part of the next afternoon’s outing went exactly as proposed. Lord Snell presented Peter to Thomas Legh, M.P., of Lyme Park in Cheshire, a young man who was writing a book about his travels in Egypt and Ethiopia; and to the Honourable Mountstuart Elphinstone, first British envoy to Kabul and author of a work on Afghanistan shortly to appear. Mr. Elphinstone, eager to return to India, talked fretfully of the iniquities of publishers and printers, but he added his approval to that of Mr. Legh.

Though Peter could not be elected to the Explorers’ Club until a quorum was assembled—unlikely at this season—by the agreement of the two he was granted a temporary membership. With a note from each of his sponsors, the club’s premises, in North Audley Street, were at his disposal.

“Most convenient to Portchester Square,” said Lord Snell with satisfaction as they left Mr. Elphinstone to his misprint filled galley-proofs and strolled up the sunny street. “I daresay it will not take you more than five or ten minutes to walk thither. Shall we go that way now?”

“Yes, I’d like to take a look.”

“You will find it a peaceful place to write, free of the disturbances of my aunt Wiston’s house.”

Was his purpose, then, to separate Peter from Miss Carmichael, the better to pursue his own suit?

“I’m quite happy writing at home,” Peter demurred, “and Miss Carmichael’s assistance is invaluable to me. But I am grateful for your introductions,” he added reluctantly. “It will be agreeable to have somewhere to meet gentlemen of similar interests, especially once Bassett has his ship.”

“Ah yes, the worthy Bassett. I called at the Admiralty this morning and was informed of the sloop
Adder
’s being near ready to leave Deptford dock yard after refitting. I have some hopes of Mr. Bassett being appointed into her. A small, antiquated vessel, I believe, but he will not expect more for his first command.”