Carola Dunn (16 page)

“Oh no, dear. It does not tire me. Indeed, it quite renews my energy. I have something new to show you this evening.”

Miranda smiled at her. “I am going to take Mudge out now before it starts raining again,” she said, “but I shall be back in plenty of time to watch.” And to endeavour to keep the crows away, she added silently.

She was too late. It was a windy day and Mudge took exception to a scrap of paper blowing across their path in Hyde Park. He yanked the lead out of Miranda’s hand. Chasing him, she broke a bootlace. When at last she hobbled home, Eustace informed her that her ladyship and the two medical men were all above stairs in the green sitting room.

Miranda hurried up to her chamber, threw off her bonnet, kicked off the wretched boots, and scarcely pausing to don slippers, sped along the passage.

In the centre of the room, Lady Wiston sat cross-legged in her green and beige Cossack trousers, neatly matching the carpet. Her eyes were closed and in a tranquil voice she intoned, over and over again, a string of incomprehensible syllables: “
Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum
.”

By the window, the black-clad physicians stared and gravely shook their heads. Lady Wiston appeared serenely oblivious of their presence. Miranda was not.

Crossing to them, she said softly but with all the courteous firmness at her command, “Do come down to the drawing room, gentlemen, and take a glass of Madeira.”

The fat man licked his lips. “That’s very kind of you, miss,” he said in an unctuous undertone. “However his lordship’s already promised us a glass and he asked us to wait here while he dresses for dinner.”

The skinny one, his gaze still fixed on Lady Wiston, nudged his fellow in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Look!” he gasped.

Miranda realized the chant had ceased. Turning, she saw her ladyship’s legs rise slowly and smoothly into the air and stabilize in a perfect, wobble-free Candle.

“Lady Wiston is wonderfully limber for her age, is she not?” Miranda said quickly.

The doctors glanced at each other and exchanged portentous nods.

“The daily exercises are doing wonders for her health,” she gabbled on. “So very sensible of her to take steps to avoid the ills which so often undermine the constitution of the elderly. I am half inclined to adopt the same regimen.”

Though they neither interrupted nor contradicted her, the two men paid little attention to Miranda’s lecture on the benefits of yoga. In fact they looked right past her, eyes alight with avid curiosity absorbing every detail of Lady Wiston’s contortions.

Miranda gave up in despair. They had made up their minds about Lady Wiston. All that remained was to cram as many of her friends as possible into the court when the time came for the committal hearing.  If Mr. Daviot was right about Lord Snell’s intentions. But he must be wrong!

Chapter 13

When Miranda went down to the drawing room after changing for dinner, only Lady Wiston, Lord Snell, and Mr. Bassett were there. Lord Snell came towards her.

“I must apologize, Miss Carmichael,” he said. “I fear my guests have disrupted your domestic arrangements. A patient in whose treatment they are both involved took a turn for the worse and a messenger arrived to fetch them.”

Miranda simply could not force herself to say she was sorry. She was not even sure she believed in the declining patient, or that his lordship had ever intended to sit down to dinner with the carrion crows. The invitation could have been a ruse to explain their staying on after the at-home to see the yoga.

“Does Twitchell know?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I informed him myself.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Did she dare request an explanation of their visit? He would have every right to take snuff at being interrogated by his aunt’s companion. While she was summoning up the nerve, he changed the subject.

“I regret that we have had no opportunity these last few days to drive in the park again. The weather appears to be improving. If it is fine tomorrow afternoon, will you honour me with your company? I promise not to spring the horses,” he added with a smile.

Perhaps he wanted a chance to explain to her in private. “If Lady Wiston can spare me, sir, I shall be delighted.”

“Splendid.” His smile suddenly vanished. Looking over Miranda’s shoulder he gave a chilly nod.

She glanced around. Mr. Daviot had just entered. Not having seen him for two days, Miranda was struck by his tall, elegant slenderness in evening clothes, black coat, buff breeches, and spotless white linen. In contrast, Lord Snell seemed lamentably thickset, even beginning to run to fat about the middle.

Thank heaven Peter Daviot had come, Miranda thought. She must talk to him, find out more exactly what Lord Snell had said to him, tell him about the crows.

He bowed to her coldly and went on to join his aunt and Mr. Bassett. Miranda wondered if he had heard her express delight at the prospect of driving out with Lord Snell. He had vigorously and convincingly denied any possibility of jealousy—not that she had suspected him of it for a moment, she thought wistfully—so he must suppose she had gone over to the enemy. Did he trust her so little?

The impulse to consult him shrivelled and died.

Though one of the company was not on speaking terms with two others, under the influence of champagne dinner was almost a convivial occasion. Mr. Bassett’s high spirits bubbled like the wine, and Lady Wiston, less oblivious of discord, remained steadfastly cheerful. Following her example, Miranda did her best to hide her chagrin at Mr. Daviot’s disapproval and her wariness of Lord Snell.

Mr. Bassett was loud in his thanks to Lord Snell and Lady Wiston for their recommending him to the Admiralty.

“What is influence for if not to be wielded?” said his lordship with a condescending complacency which set Miranda’s teeth on edge.

In contrast, Lady Wiston beamed at the young officer and said, “I should be glad to think I had a hand in helping a friend, but I am persuaded your promotion is entirely due to your merits, dear boy. What a pity it means you must go away so soon.”

“Jove, yes,” said Mr. Daviot. “You’ll be sorely missed, Bassett. I trust you won’t forget us when you return loaded with honours.”

“You must promise to come straight here next time you are in London,” Lady Wiston affirmed.

“And I shall write a book about your adventures when I’m finished with mine!”

As he spoke, Mr. Daviot did not so much as spare Miranda a glance. His lack of acknowledgement told her her part in his work was over. Their friendship was over.

She wanted to cry, but instead she said brightly, “Don’t forget, Mr. Bassett, you have already promised a letter from every port.”

For some reason this simple statement earned her a glare from Mr. Daviot. She could not decide whether his inexplicable anger or his indifference was the more apt to throw her into the dismals.

* * * *

Unable to consult Mr. Daviot, Miranda was the more determined to attempt to extract the truth from Lord Snell. At home, even supposing she succeeded in cornering him, the risk of being interrupted was too great, so she was relieved when a fine day permitted their drive in Hyde Park.

To her dismay, after joining her in the curricle he told his groom to get up behind. Still, if they spoke quietly the sound of wheels and hooves on gravel would cover their words. She decided to go ahead anyway.

The trouble was, every time she began to turn the conversation towards Lady Wiston, Lord Snell deftly returned it to commonplaces. They talked of the weather; the latest exhibition at Somerset House; the rumours that Waverley and Guy Mannering were written by the poet Walter Scott; Napoleon’s being exiled to St. Helena and the restoration of the monarchy in France. When they left the park after a leisurely circuit and trotted along Oxford Street, his lordship was holding forth upon the folly of republicanism.

At last, in desperation as they approached Portchester Square, Miranda broke in. “Sir, pray excuse me, but I must ask: What are your intentions towards Lady Wiston?”

“Why, simply to see that she is properly cared for.” He flashed her a smile. “Your loyal concern does you credit, Miss Carmichael, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself. Lady Wiston’s welfare is the responsibility of her family, and the duty will not be shirked, I assure you. Ah, here we are. You will forgive my not getting down, but I am looked for elsewhere.”

Handed down by the groom, Miranda stood on the pavement watching the curricle circle the garden and turn south again. For all her boldness, she was none the wiser.

Despite the smile, the commendation of her loyalty, she felt she had been put firmly, if politely, in her place. She was not to trouble herself—Lady Wiston’s future was none of Miranda’s business. After such a set-down, she doubted she would ever have the courage to question him again.

But if he thought so little of her, why had he taken her driving in his new curricle? He must hope to buy her off with a few crumbs of gallantry to add to his promise to ensure her welfare if anything happened to Lady Wiston.

And that wretch Peter Daviot thought she had succumbed to his lordship’s flattery!

Yet if Lord Snell wished to lull her into compliance with his nefarious aims, surely he would not risk giving her a set-down. She was not to trouble herself—perhaps he simply wanted to relieve her from anxiety, to assure her that broader shoulders were ready to carry the burden.

Which might mean he was genuinely attracted to her.

Everything he had said was open to interpretation. Taking care of Lady Wiston could mean seeing to her comfort. Or it could mean subjecting her to dreadful tortures in the name of treatment for her presumed madness.

Slowly Miranda mounted the steps and entered the house. One thing was certain, there was no point attempting to broach the subject again. If Lord Snell meant well by his aunt, her enquiries were sheer impertinence. If not, he was obviously not going to reveal his plans to her as he had to Mr. Daviot.

According to Mr. Daviot—and she had called Mr. Daviot a liar. She knew very well he was not, however fantastical his imagination. She could not blame him for refusing to speak to her, but oh, how it hurt!

* * * *

“What a pity, it is beginning to rain,” said Lady Wiston, glancing out of the study window. “No drive in the park for you today, my dear.”

“I am not so spoilt as to expect it, ma’am! There, that letter is finished. Have you the list for me?”

“Here it is. I have crossed off Miss Mellings, you will see. It was very honest of her to tell me she has taken another lover, but it simply will not do to continue to invite her. Actresses are lamentably exposed to temptation, I fear.” She sighed, but then brightened. “I have added the Tuttles. Such a delightful family, the children so well-behaved. Ah, I hear the door-knocker. That will be Mr. Sagaranathu.”

She went off to her lesson, leaving Miranda to address the cards of invitation for next week’s at-home.

Finishing the last, Miranda rang the bell. The butler stumped in. “Yes, miss?”

“I need one of the footmen, Twitchell, to deliver these cards.”

“They’re both out, miss,” he said apologetically. “Eustace went with Mrs. Lowenstein to market, and his lordship sent Alfred on some errand.”

“He did? That goes to show how well you have trained Albert already. I shall never forget their first meeting. Well, send me whichever returns first, if you please. I have one or two more letters to write for her ladyship.”

It was not long before Alfred came in. His livery now fit quite well and his speech and bearing were much improved. An impassive face was more than he could contrive, though. He grinned at Miranda.

“Mr. Twitchell said you wanted me, miss? Sorry you ‘ad to wite...wait. I weren’t loafing, honest. His lordship ‘ad me running all over, Limmer’s ‘Otel wiv a note for Mr. Redpath, and the Crown and Anchor for Mr. Fenimore, and Ibbetson’s for the Rev. Jeffries. Blimey, miss, that place is full of parsons as a brewhouse is of barrels.”

“Fenimore, Redpath, and Jeffries?” Miranda asked in surprise. “Are you sure of those names?”

“Dead sure, miss. I don’t read ‘andwriting that good yet—leastways, yourn is clear as a bell, miss, but ‘is lordship’s ain’t—so I arst ‘im to read ‘em over to me and I memorized ‘em.”

She frowned. All the Admiral’s nephews were in Town, three of them without making their presence known to his widow, though in contact with the fourth who was staying in her house. Miranda recalled Lord Snell requesting their directions. She had thought it odd at the time.

“‘As I done summat wrong, miss?” the footman asked anxiously.

“No, Alfred, on the contrary. I am very glad you told me about his lordship’s errands. In fact, I am going to ask you to inform me if he sends you again to those gentlemen. And please tell Eustace to do the same, but don’t let anyone else know. Will you do that?”

Alfred’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Cor, miss, course I will. You know who them gents is? The names sounded kind of like I might’ve ‘eard ‘em afore.”

“I believe they must be Sir Bernard’s nephews. The names are the same.”

“That’s it, miss! When ‘is lordship first come, they was talking about ‘em, all four, in the kitchen. But what I ‘eard is, ‘is lordship’s too ‘igh and mighty to give ‘is cousins the time o’ day, and the rest can’t stand the sight of each uvver. That’s what Mr. Twitchell said.”

“Other,” Miranda corrected absently. “Did he, indeed!” Yet Lord Snell had said he corresponded regularly with his cousins.

Servants’ gossip, she reminded herself. But as soon as Alfred had gone off with the at-home cards, she started to draw up another list.

Elizabeth Fry would testify to Lady Wiston’s sanity. So would the governors of the Foundling Hospital and St. Bartholomew’s, and the doctors, and the directors and matrons of several other orphanages, all highly respectable people. The servants all adored her, but if they were questioned in court they might inadvertently let slip something to damage her case.

Miranda herself, though, must surely be reckoned to know her employer as well as anybody. Her testimony ought to count for a great deal. So would Mr. Daviot’s. His quarrel with Miranda would not be allowed to stand in the way of protecting his aunt.