Carola Dunn (9 page)

She ran down, bursting into the room from the hall just as Alfred dashed in from the dining room next door. With great presence of mind, the new footman flung a napkin over the pug’s head. Startled by his unexpected blindness, Mudge stopped yapping and started whining. A moment later Lady Wiston puffed in with a handful of comfits.

The dog was bribed into temporary complaisance; Alfred was congratulated, Mr. Bassett apologized to, and they all went in to dinner.

Lady Wiston asked the lieutenant about his voyage with the Admiral, and then about his travels since. “And what brings you to London?” she enquired at last.

“I’m waiting on a promotion and a posting, ma’am. Lord Derwent has recommended me to a command—Captain Hurst as was; I sailed under him—but the Admiralty moves slowly, especially since the peace. One must keep reminding them.”

“I remember very well! So you are tied to Town for the present. Where do you stay?”

“I have taken a room in a lodging-house in Westminster, ma’am.”

“Is it comfortable? Do they take good care of you?”

“Not very,” admitted Mr. Bassett, his expression saying not at all, “but I don’t care much for that. I should be very happy with such quarters in Portsmouth or Plymouth, or anywhere where there are plenty of our fellows about. The worst of it is, I have small acquaintance in London and most of them gone down to the country for the summer. I count it mighty good fortune to have fallen in with Daviot, and dev...dashed kind in him to present me to you, ma’am, and Miss Carmichael.”

Her ladyship gave Miranda an odd, considering look. What was she up to now? She glanced at Mr. Daviot, then turned back to Mr. Bassett.

“I have a splendid notion,” she said briskly. “Why do you not come and stay here?”

“Oh but, ma’am, I couldn’t dream of imposing—”

“Fiddlesticks. When Sir Bernard was alive, we often had young officers to stay.” She overruled Mr. Bassett’s admittedly half-hearted protests. “Miranda, after dinner, pray tell Mrs. Lowenstein to have a bed made up in one of the spare chambers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Miranda agreed, hiding her qualms. After all, what did they know of Mr. Bassett? He seemed a charming, shy, ingenuous young man, but Mr. Daviot had scraped up an acquaintance with him only yesterday—and in any case, Mr. Daviot’s approval could scarce be regarded as evidence of trustworthiness. Inviting him to the at-home, even to dinner, was one thing. Having him stay in the house was quite another.

When she and Lady Wiston retired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to the Admiral’s port, Miranda ventured a mild remonstrance.

“A naval commission is no guarantee of respectability,” she pointed out.

Lady Wiston’s eyes twinkled. “No, indeed, dear. I have known some far from respectable officers in my time! But Mr. Bassett is an amiable young man and, besides, he sailed with Sir Bernard. I have no fear of our being murdered in our beds. Should he decamp with the silver, well, I daresay his need is greater than mine.”

With that Miranda was forced to content herself. She had no opportunity to broach the subject with Mr. Daviot that evening, for he and Mr. Bassett went off to fetch the latter’s things from his lodging.

Not being murdered in her bed, Miranda was down early next morning as usual to take Mudge out into the square, a task which could not be delegated as he refused to go with anyone else. Twitchell did not report the silver vanished. Her misgivings had been for nothing.

When she and the pug returned to the house, she found Mr. Daviot alone in the dining parlour.

“I’m sorry about Bassett,” he said. “I saw last night you weren’t quite happy about his removing hither.”

“Oh dear, was it so obvious?”

“You hid it well. I very much doubt the others noticed, but I made a point of observing your reaction. I trust you don’t hold me responsible? When I asked him to call, I never for a moment expected Aunt Artemis to add him to the household.”

“With Lady Wiston, it is as well to expect the unexpected. Still, I cannot hold you to blame. Mr. Bassett is a great deal more presentable than many of those she invites to the house on a moment’s whim! I daresay he will make a pleasant addition to our company.”

Mr. Daviot looked as if that was not quite what he wished to hear, but all he said was, “He’s a good enough fellow. We must hope he is not shocked by my aunt’s whims, or not so much as to show disrespect.”

Miranda laughed. “That is highly unlikely. He held the Admiral very much in awe, I believe. I doubt he is capable of seeing any fault in Sir Bernard’s widow, even had he no cause for gratitude. He plainly considers himself very much obliged.”

“His garret was certainly far from a desirable residence,” Mr. Daviot admitted. “I’d a thousand times rather live in an Iroquois long-house. Are you at liberty to assist me this morning?”

“Certainly. You know Lady Wiston has released me from other duties for that purpose.”

“I don’t wish you regard it as a duty,” he said roughly, to Miranda’s surprise. “If you prefer not to, I shall make all right with my aunt.”

“That is not what I meant. I am perfectly content to help you, and certain it will be interesting. I did offer my services, did I not?”

“Yes.” He grinned ruefully. “After I backed you into a corner. Promise you will tell me if you begin to find it tedious? Today, at least, will not be all transcribing my scrawl. I want to consult you as to the best way to combine information about the customs of the Iroquois with lively incidents, so as not to send my readers to sleep.”

Lady Wiston and Mr. Bassett came in together just then. Miriam soon found it was indeed pleasant to have a bashfully admiring gentleman about the house. He went off to the Admiralty while she was working with Mr. Daviot, but he made a point of returning to escort her when she took Mudge to the Park. Mudge resigned himself to the lieutenant’s presence, and attacked his ankles no more often than those of the rest of the household.

Life settled into a new pattern. Mr. Daviot bought a horse, and thereafter devoted somewhat less of his time to his
magnum opus
. Also, he and Bassett went out on the town now and then, as the state of their thin purses allowed. Nonetheless, the piles of papers in the study continued to grow in a most satisfactory fashion.

Late one morning, a fortnight after Mr. Bassett’s advent in Portchester Square, he was at the Admiralty as usual. Lady Wiston, above stairs at her lesson with Mr. Sagaranathu, was “not at home” to callers. Mr. Daviot and Miranda were in the study, laughing over one of the misunderstandings which had dogged his early days among the Iroquois when someone knocked on the door.

Orders had been given that they were not to be disturbed short of an emergency. Miranda jumped up, convinced Lady Wiston must have injured herself attempting some exotic pose.

“Come in,” she cried, starting for the door.

It opened to reveal Twitchell. “Beg pardon for interrupting, miss, but....” He stopped and glanced around as impatient footsteps sounded in the passage behind him.

“She will not deny me!” said an imperious voice.

Twitchell turned back to Miranda, his shoulders rising a fraction of an inch in an almost imperceptible shrug. “Lord Snell,” he announced.

Chapter 8

Godfrey Aloysius Snell, Baron, of Northwaite Hall in Derbyshire, was a tall, fair, well-built gentleman something above thirty years of age. His superbly fitted blue morning coat, snowy linen, buff pantaloons, and glossy Hessians became him to perfection. In general a haughty expression somewhat marred his otherwise handsome features, but as he entered the study that July morning, he was smiling.

“How do you do, Miss Carmichael.”

“My lord.” Miranda curtsied, flattered by the smile and by his recalling her name. “I regret that Lady Wiston is unable to receive you just now. May I present her nephew, Mr. Daviot?”

Bowing, the gentlemen eyed each other assessingly. Peter Daviot was the taller by an inch or two, but his lanky frame was unimpressive next to Lord Snell’s powerful figure. Though new, his clothes could not match those of Weston’s make. His fingers were ink-stained, his brown hair rumpled where he had clutched his head in the throes of composition.

“I fear I have interrupted your labours, Daviot,” said Lord Snell, gracious yet dismissive.

“A brief respite is seldom unwelcome, Snell.”

His lordship’s lips tightened, whether because of the pointed “brief” or because he had expected to be addressed by his title.

Miranda hurried into the breach. “Mr. Daviot is recently come from America, Lord Snell. He is writing about his experiences.”

“Admirable.” The sarcastic inflection was unmistakable.

“Lady Wiston will be down in half an hour or so for luncheon. Do you wish to wait, sir? May I offer you some refreshment in the meantime?”

“Thank you, ma’am, a glass of my late uncle’s excellent Madeira would not come amiss.” Again he smiled at her. “And I was hoping to speak to you privately before I see my aunt.”

“Shall we go to the drawing room? Pray excuse me, Mr. Daviot. I shall catch up with the work this afternoon, I promise you.”

“Pray do not feel obliged, Miss Carmichael,” said Mr. Daviot ironically. “I see you have other fish to fry.”

She gave him a hurt glance. Surely he must understand that her first duty was to attend to her employer’s noble relative? “I shall catch up,” she repeated and preceded Lord Snell to the drawing room.

Eustace brought the Madeira. Miranda, perched slightly nervously on the edge of her seat, was glad the competent footman had not yet left, for the ramshackle Alfred would have given the baron a lamentable shock. His lordship sniffed the wine, tasted it.

“Aah.” He breathed a sigh of satisfaction and sipped again. “Sir Bernard knew how to choose his wines. I’ve nothing better in my cellars.”

Miranda uttered a polite murmur.

“Miss Carmichael,” he continued, “I must tell you that I am just this instant arrived in Town. I wish to enquire of you as to whether it would inconvenience my aunt Wiston to accommodate me for a few days. I know her hospitable notions! She will never admit to any impediment once she discovers that my alternative is an hotel. My town house is all shut up for the summer, you see.”

Miranda would have found it impossible to deny him even if every chamber in the house were occupied, but how considerate of him to ask! Why had she ever thought him more than a trifle top-lofty?

 “Lady Wiston will certainly not allow you to go to a hotel, my lord,” she said. “Even with Mr. Daviot and Mr. Bassett, we have a chamber available for you.”

“Mr. Bassett? Another relative?”

“Lieutenant Bassett is a naval officer.”

“Ah, an old friend, no doubt.”

“He did sail under the Admiral, sir, but Lady Wiston never met him, nor heard of him that she recalls. He is a recent acquaintance of Mr. Daviot.”

Lord Snell’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed!” he said with displeasure.

“Her ladyship, not Mr. Daviot, invited Mr. Bassett to stay while he is in London,” Miranda hastened to assure him.

“Indeed,” his lordship repeated more reflectively. “I fear report has understated matters.”

“Report?” she asked uneasily.

“Miss Carmichael, I find I must take you into my confidence. Perhaps you are aware that Lady Wiston’s solicitor, Bradshaw, called upon her recently, at her request?”

“Yes, I wrote the note summoning him. But I was not present at the interview.”

“Then you cannot know that my aunt harangued—yes, I believe harangued is the proper term—harangued Bradshaw on the shocking conditions inside Newgate, of which she claimed personal experience.”

“Not experience exactly, my lord. We visited the prison in company with Elizabeth Fry, the Quaker reformer, and found conditions to be truly shocking.” Miranda had tried to drive from her mind the memories of ragged, half-starved women and children crammed pell-mell into dark, filthy, overcrowded cells. Debtors and prisoners on remand, not yet convicted of any crime, rubbed shoulders with prostitutes, thieves and murderers.

“It is certainly not a fit place for a gentlewoman to visit!”

“It was dreadful. I believe her ladyship gave Mrs. Fry a large donation.”

“So Bradshaw informed me. He felt, and I must agree, that criminals are no fitting objects of charity. You must understand that I am joint trustee with him of the funds left by my late uncle. Bradshaw is alarmed lest Lady Wiston find herself outrunning the constable, as the phrase goes, and in need of broaching her capital, an expedient both of us should be loath to permit. Diminished capital means diminished income. I should hate to see my uncle’s widow struggling in straitened circumstances.”

The sentiment did him credit, Miranda thought. “You need have no fear of that, sir. Lady Wiston is prodigious careful never to overspend her income. She entrusts me with the keeping of her accounts, so I am in a position to reassure you.”

“Splendid,” said Lord Snell, but then he frowned. “However, this prison business, together with her inviting a complete stranger to reside with her, makes one wonder whether one may rely upon her to continue in her sensible course.”

“Her ladyship is perfectly sensible, sir, in spite of her little quirks.”

“You are admirably loyal, Miss Carmichael. We all of us want only what is best for Lady Wiston. At least, I daresay Mr. Daviot’s chief concern is that she should remain able to support him.”

“I believe Mr. Daviot to be sincerely fond of his aunt, my lord,” Miranda said, jumping to his defence although she acknowledged to herself some truth in Lord Snell’s surmise. But whatever his other motives, Mr. Daviot did hold Lady Wiston in great affection, of that she was convinced.

His lordship appeared unconvinced, but forebore to press the point.

The drawing-room door opened and Lady Wiston trotted in. “My dear Godfrey,” she cried. “Twitchell told me you were come.”

Mudge scuttled past her and with a bellicose yip assaulted Lord Snell’s gleaming boots. Jumping to his feet, his lordship yelled. Miranda sprang up and lunged at the pug. Lady Wiston scattered comfits across the carpet with liberal abandon.