Mayhem in Bath (18 page)

Bodkin grinned an evil boggart grin as he set off to resume his search for Nutmeg. But although he went over every inch of the house with a fine-tooth comb, he found nothing. Glumly he left again, going out through the front door just as Dominic—clad in fresh breeches— left to ride with Harry Dashingham in Sydney Gardens, it being as much the thing for gentlemen to show off their superb mounts at the Bath Vauxhall, as it was in Hyde Park itself. As Dominic rode off on his mettlesome bay, Bodkin strolled dejectedly across to the common, wondering where to search next. Oh, it seemed an impossible task, for he didn’t know where to begin, and even if he got close. Nutmeg wouldn’t be able to communicate with him because someone had her belt. His tail began to swish as he glanced darkly back at the crescent. Hordwell and Lord Benjamin knew where she was, and so did Dominic and Polly. They would pay, oh, how they would pay! The swish became an angry twirl as he went down the sloping grass to see what was what, which in boggart terms meant what trouble he could cause.

It wasn’t long before the peaceful common was peaceful no more. Two dogs that hated the sight of each other had their leads tied together, some children were robbed of their ball, two young mothers had their hats snatched off, and a temperamental artist, who was painting a delightful view of Bath, suddenly found that a thick black line had appeared across his little masterpiece. With a cry of anguish, the unfortunate painter shot to his feet, in the process knocking over his easel, paints, brushes, and other paraphernalia.

Bodkin the Boggart couldn’t have cared less as he strolled smugly back to the crescent, tail still atwirl. His need to be naughty pacified for the time being, he was now in the mood for some hot sweet coffee, a sticky bun, and a chat with his new crony, Ragwort. It was during this chat that at long last he learned Polly wasn’t disloyal to him after all, even if the discovery of Nutmeg’s belt buckle suggested she was wrong to trust her uncle. Bodkin was delighted to know he’d wronged her, and his spirits soared, although he was a little ashamed of his recent misbehavior. He eagerly awaited her return from shopping so he could make himself visible to her again.

Chapter 22

Polly’s route to Milsom Street took her past Zuder’s, where the atmosphere of concern and outrage told her Bodkin had paid another overnight visit. He must have seen her note, she thought, yet he hadn’t sought her. It had clearly made no difference at all. He was now quite beyond redemption, she decided, and walked on by, determined to never again bother with brownies.

Milsom Street sloped downhill from George Street toward the abbey and Pump Room, and was lined with shops that were temples of fashion. The pavements were crowded, carriages rattled on the cobbles, and sedan chairs bobbed hither and thither. Street traders called their wares, albeit discreetly, for to bellow the qualities of hot meat pies or the season’s first roast chestnuts would have been most unseemly in such gracious surroundings.

Polly browsed along the shop windows, her mood gradually lightening, but it wasn’t until she came to Miss Pennyfeather’s haberdashery, its doorway draped with stylish English and French tulles, that she espied something she simply had to purchase. The display of fripperies was astounding, but in the midst of it all she espied a small lace day bonnet that was made of exactly the same lace as the collar of one of her gowns. She knew her regret would be eternal if she did not snap it up.

The shop bell tinkled agreeably, and the pleasant smell of leather, cloth, and perfume enveloped her. Miss Pennyfeather’s establishment bulged at the seams with shawls, handkerchiefs, lappets, ribbons, artificial flowers, buttons, buckles, gloves, and parasols; indeed there was said to be a greater choice here than in Piccadilly. A number of other customers were already queuing, because Miss Pennyfeather’s two assistants were ill, and there was only the owner herself to serve. So Polly took up a position at the end of the oak counter and waited patiently for her turn. Her attention was upon the heavily laden shelves and neat little drawers lining the wall behind the counter, so she did not at first recognize anyone else in the shop. It wasn’t until a loud, affected female voice complained about the unendurable wait that Polly glanced along in dismay to see Georgiana and her marquess standing only six feet from her.

Lord Algernon was in his uniform, and Georgiana was superb in a turquoise silk pelisse and matching gown. She wore a wide-brimmed, dark blue hat, around the crown of which a gauze scarf trailed almost to the floor, and the inevitable white curl fell elegantly to her shoulder. A dark blue folded parasol was clasped in her gloved hands, and she resembled one of those serene illustrations from
La Belle Assembles,
except there was nothing at all serene about her mood. Dominic’s love was clearly more disagreeable than ever this morning, for her lips were turned down pettishly, and she fidgeted with an impatience that was completely out of proportion to the situation. Clearly her overnight hours of stolen passion had not improved her temper, Polly thought, wondering what the unfortunate marquess would have said if he knew of her infidelity. It didn’t occur to Polly that Georgiana might not have been unfaithful; indeed such a possibility was out of the question, for the nighttime visit to Royal Crescent indicated only too glaringly what she’d been up to. Polly drew back toward the door, deciding that not even the lace bonnet was worth the risk of coming face-to-face with Lord Benjamin’s termagant of a sister.

But Georgiana turned and recognized her immediately. “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Parasol,” she declared acidly.

Everyone else turned as Polly reluctantly responded. “Good morning. Lady Georgiana.”

“It is a relief you have no javelin to hurl at me this time.”

“I did not hurl anything at you. Lady Georgiana. Besides, you would appear to be the one with such a weapon today.”

Miss Pennyfeather became a little flustered, realizing a scene was imminent. She was a plump little woman, with her gray hair in a bun, and spectacles perched on the end of her snub nose. She smoothed her starched apron, and tried to carry on dealing with the lady she had been serving. “Now then, that was two yards of the pink ribbon, wasn’t it?” she said, trying to keep her hand steady as she picked up the scissors.

“No, three yards of the blue,” the lady replied, her attention more on what was happening behind her than upon her intended purchase.

Georgiana tilted her head a little haughtily, her disparaging glance taking in Polly’s peppermint-and-white gown and green velvet spencer. “I did not know that green stripes were in this year,” she murmured, every word clearly audible because of the hush that had descended over the shop.

“And I did not think anyone with such a sallow complexion would wear that particular shade of turquoise,” Polly retorted, never one to back down when provoked.

There were gasps, and Miss Pennyfeather’s hand trembled violently. “Oh, dear,” she muttered, cutting three yards of the pink and realizing her error. She reached for the blue, and promptly cut two yards of it. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed again, and paused to take a huge breath to steady her nerves as she saw Polly and Georgiana drawing themselves up for more, like angry cats.

Georgiana’s dark eyes flashed with loathing. “You are very presumptuous, Miss Peach,” she observed coldly, her knowledge of Polly’s surname revealing that she’d gone to the trouble to find out.

“I’m merely following your example. Lady Georgiana,” Polly responded. More gasps greeted this, but when she glanced at the marquess, to her astonishment, he gave her a slight smile, although he took care that Georgiana didn’t see.

Georgiana flushed. “You clearly have no idea how to go on, Miss Peach,” she said scathingly.

“If you are anything by which to judge. Lady Georgiana, I’m relieved not to know,” Polly retorted, standing her ground like a bantam cock. The marquess smiled again, and she felt quite awkward.

By now Georgiana had realized Polly wasn’t quite the easy victim she’d thought, so she brought the confrontation to a close. “Come, Algie, we’ll go where the company is more gracious,” she declared airily, and caught him in the act of a third sly smile. She struck his arm sharply with her parasol. “Algie!” she breathed, then marched from the shop. He grabbed his gloves and helmet from the counter, and hurried after her. The bell jangled, and then there was silence.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Miss Pennyfeather, thinking of the customer she had just lost.

All eyes were upon Polly, who did not quite know what to do. Her instinct was to scuttle out and have done with it, but then her spirit rebelled against such a craven act. She still wanted that day bonnet, and she was going to purchase it! Holding her chin up, she resumed her place at the end of the counter, and as she gazed steadfastly at the shelves once more, the other customers gradually returned to their own business, although there was a great deal of whispering.

Ten minutes later, Polly emerged in triumph. The lace bonnet was wrapped in brown paper in her reticule, and she’d found some very pretty buttons that would go very well on another gown she had at Horditall House. But anger with Georgiana still simmered beneath the surface, and Polly knew that the best way to deal with it would be to go for a long walk. Seeing a notice advertising the Halloween attractions at Sydney Gardens, she decided to see what the Bath Vauxhall was like, for although she’d been to the town before, she had never actually been to the gardens.

To get there, she had to cross the Avon by beautiful Pulteney Bridge, which was lined on either side with little shops. From there she traversed Laura Place to proceed down residential Great Pulteney Street, the long prospect of which was closed by the handsome facade of the Sydney Hotel. Behind the hotel stood the autumn trees of the Vauxhall, which was laid out on rising land at the extreme eastern boundary of the town. High walls enclosed the hexagonal gardens, beyond which there was open countryside.

Admittance was through the hotel itself, the entrance being beneath a lofty portico supported by four fine Corinthian columns. The hotel was much frequented by Bath society, and the coffee room was consequently very full. The refined surroundings and undoubted dignity of the establishment made her think how excellent it would be if for any reason she was unable to leave Bath today. No sooner had the thought occurred, than she wisely decided to see if a room was available. She was in luck, for a gentleman had canceled his booking barely five minutes before. Apart from this one room, the hotel was completely full because of the expected presence of royalty at the Halloween celebrations, so without further ado she booked and paid for the room—just in case.

Chapter 23

From the double doors at the rear of the hotel, Polly emerged beneath an orchestra balcony into a wide semicircular area that was framed by private alcoves where meals could be enjoyed. A broad walk, crowded with people, ascended up an undulating slope toward a classical temple. Bowling greens, shrubberies, flowerbeds, groves, and waterfalls flanked the walk, and apart from the temple there was a sham castle and a labyrinth. Directly adjacent to the perimeter walls were broad rides, where many ladies and gentlemen exercised their fine mounts. Preparations were in hand for the Halloween bonfire and fireworks display, and from the size of the bonfire it was clear it would be a very elaborate affair indeed.

She strolled up the walk, enjoying the surroundings. Autumn leaves rustled underfoot, a blackbird sang its heart out in a silver birch tree, and the contretemps in the haberdashery now seemed a trivial affair that had ended most satisfactorily in Georgiana’s defeat. She even managed to banish Dominic to the far extremity of thought.

On reaching the top of the walk, she came upon the new cut of the Kennet and Avon canal, which sliced through the gardens by way of a conveniently steep dip in the land. The cut had only been built that summer, and there was a paved path along the water’s edge, then a retaining wall to hold back the sharp incline of the land. Two gleaming wrought iron bridges spanned the water, and little canopied pleasure boats could be hired, in which it was possible not only to row into the heart of the town, but also right out into the countryside toward the village of Bathampton.

Polly leaned over one of the bridge parapets for a while, watching the ripples and reflections on the water, then she turned to go, because she wanted to give herself enough time to prepare for her surreptitious departure for Horditall. But as she descended the walk close to the temple and heard voices and giggles coming from the labyrinth behind it, a chance glance across at the nearest ride revealed the unwelcome sight of Dominic and Harry Dashingham coming her way.

She froze, wondering if they’d seen her, or if the direction they took was mere coincidence. To her relief, they reined near the edge of the ride to take leave of each other, and then Harry rode down toward the gateway provided for riders. Dominic remained where he was, but although his attention was upon his departing friend, Polly knew that at any moment he might turn toward her. Knowing she wasn’t ready to speak to him, she glanced around. The temple and labyrinth both offered shelter. Which should she choose? She decided on the labyrinth, and ran toward it without further ado.

After going some way in, she paused by a wrought iron seat, sat down, and toyed restlessly with her reticule, wishing she’d never heard of brownies or set eyes upon Sir Dominic Fortune. She would wait about ten minutes. He would surely have gone by that time.

“I have the strangest feeling you’re trying to avoid me, Polly,” a voice said suddenly. Dominic was standing a few feet away, his riding crop tapping the back of his gleaming top boots.

Her heart tightened, and she could only stare mutely at him.

He came a little closer, his expression quizzical. “I’m right, aren’t I? You
are
hoping to avoid me?”

She found her tongue. “What makes you think that, sir?”

He could not mistake the deliberate formality. “I would appear to be in your bad books for some reason. May I know why?”