My Lord Murderer (19 page)

“Not at all, ma’am,” Drew said politely. “My house is at your disposal.”

“Thank you. I’m very grateful. I … Lord Jamison, I must apologize for suggesting that you had … shot my brother. It was inexcusable of me.”

Drew got up and turned away from her, so she did not see the mocking sneer on his face, but she could not miss it in his voice. “Don’t apologize, ma’am, for I have no doubt you will regret having done so in a very short time.”

“Will I?” Gwen asked in bewilderment. “Why?”

“Because, my dear,” Drew answered drily, “there are details of this matter you have yet to learn. When you learn them, I’m certain you will—how shall I put this?—you will
resume hostilities
with a vengeance.”

“Indeed? What are these details I have yet to learn?”

“Let us not discuss them now. This is not the time for our personal animosity. You have already endured much tonight. The rest can wait.”

“I take it this has nothing to do with my brother’s condition.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Am I right in assuming, then, that you had some part in this accident, other than taking my brother in and helping to see to his wound?”

“Gwen, let us not discuss this now. You are coming to stay at my house. Hostilities between us had best be postponed for the present.”

“But I must know! If you didn’t want to tell me, you should not have opened up the subject.”

“Yes, you’re right. Hang my blasted tongue! I was too angry to think.”

“No matter what it is you have to tell me, it cannot be worse than what I will imagine if I’m left in ignorance. I will agree to a temporary truce while Tom is in your house, no matter what it is you have done. So you may as well tell me now.”

“Very well. It has to do with the pistols the boys were using. They were dueling pistols.”

“Is that all?” Gwen asked in relief. “I had surmised as much.”

“That’s
not
all,” Drew said bluntly. “You see, ma’am, the pistols … they belong to
me
.” And he met the look of dismay in her eyes with an expression of defiance in his own.

Chapter Eleven

M
R
. P
LUMB SURVEYED HIS
dining room dubiously. Perhaps he should not have left the arrangements for tonight’s dinner for Sir George Pollard in his wife’s hands. Martha Plumb was a spirited woman and a satisfactory wife, but she had had a hand-to-mouth existence before she hooked him, and now she seemed to want to make up for her years of deprivation by spending his blunt on every possible female frippery and household embellishment that money could buy. The table was a perfect illustration. All day long she had had the servants frantically fetching and carrying and polishing to get it ready. It was covered with the finest figured damask and set with gold plate. At its center the table was adorned with an enormous silver epergne overflowing with fruit and flowers. The epergne was flanked by two candelabra, each bearing six candles. Arranged around the centerpiece were a number of decanters, salt cellars, pickle dishes and relish trays, all either crystal or silver. And at each place—in addition to the gold utensils, the gilt-edged serving plates, the crystal stemware, and the serviettes in their little gold rings decorated with multi-colored stones—the ostentatious Mrs. Plumb had placed a china figurine, each one glazed in bright colors and each completely distinctive.

Mr. Plumb shook his head. “Good heavens, Martha,” he said disgustedly to the chubby woman who stood behind him in the doorway, “it’s only a family dinner. The five of us and him is all. This fancy stuff on the table will do nothin’ but make us all nervous.”

“Family dinner indeed!” Martha Plumb retorted. “I suppose we ’ave a peer of the realm to dinner every night! I only want to make a good impression on ’im. Y’wouldn’t want us to use the every-day, now would ye?”

“I dunno,” Mr. Plumb said grumpily. “It’s good enough for me, ain’t it?”

“You ain’t no baron,” his wife said flatly. “Take a look at y’r wife, Mr. Plumb. Do y’think I look right?”

He looked at her as she turned slowly so that he could see her from all sides. Her dress of red-and-white cherryderry was cut low over her ample bosom, and to Joshua Plumb’s way of thinking it was plain indecent. But he knew too well what the result of saying that would be—a half hour at least of recriminations and water-works, and he had not time for that. “Looks right enough to me,” he muttered, “though I ain’t no judge of women’s fripperies.”

“Don’t know why I bothered to ask ye,” Martha said crossly, and flounced off to harass the cook.

Joshua made his way to his daughter’s bedroom and knocked at the door. Anabel opened the door warily. When she saw who it was, she uttered a cry and cast herself into her father’s arms, bursting into long-suppressed tears.

“Anabel, love, don’t take on so,” said her father awkwardly. He was perfectly comfortable handling a business crisis—he could usually solve it with logic or bluster—but when the women turned on the water-works, shouting or reason were equally ineffective. “You haven’t even seen the fellow! You’ll be real taken with him, see if you ain’t.”

“I won’t, papa,” she sobbed. “I know I won’t.”

“See here, Anabel,” her father blustered uncomfortably, “I won’t have a scene. I promised the man a look at you, and a look he’ll have. And if he likes what he sees, you’ll take him, hear? You’ll take him. You’ll be a fine lady and live in a fine house and have fine friends, and you’ll be pleased as punch you listened to your old dad.”

“But, papa, I d-don’t want to be m-married. I w-want to stay here with you.”

He patted her shoulder fondly, but his jaw was set. “Can’t be done, girl, as you well know. You can’t live with your dad all your life.”

“But I don’t l-love this man!”

“It’ll come in time, you’ll see. Many’s the girl who has cried on her wedding day and come back from her bride-trip all smiles.”

“I won’t! I couldn’t! Not when I’ve already…”

Her father looked at her sharply. “Already what?” he barked. “Has some sly skirter been nosin’ round you behind my back?”

“Oh, no, papa, no one. Only…”

“Only what?”

“Nothing. Nothing. But I know I can never love this person you’re forcing on me.”

“Don’t tell yourself I’m an ogre, girl. You’re almost twenty. It’s more ’n time you had a life of your own. Now, go and dry your eyes and make yourself pretty for Sir George. You’ll be glad one day, see if you ain’t.” And he made a hasty retreat.

Anabel threw herself on her bed in despair. There was no budging her father. And certainly it would be completely useless to appeal to her stepmother. She was doomed. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the face of a heroic gentleman in a brown greatcoat and a beaver hat. Oh, where was her rescuer now?

After George’s arrival, Anabel’s father had to shout for her three times, to no avail. Finally, a servant was dispatched to fetch Anabel to the table. Sir George was looking decidedly irritated by the time the girl made herhis young protege. Tom appearance. He had been subjected to effusive toadying by the talkative Mrs. Plumb, and was forced to make conversation with her two simpering, giggling offspring. They had inherited their mother’s plump figure, but not her lively spirit. They had nothing to say for themselves, and covered the emptiness of their conversation with much high-pitched, embarrassed laughter. All three women had dressed their hair with crimped curls hanging over their ears, and wore brightly-colored dresses and a profusion of bracelets, brooches and necklaces. The effect on Sir George was of such overpowering vulgarity that he had almost decided to extricate himself from the entire situation.

When Anabel appeared, he quickly changed his mind. She was as quietly lovely as her half-sisters were ostentatiously plain. Her hair was simply dressed in neat braids twisted into a knot at the back of her head, her complexion (except for some redness around her eyes) was smooth and creamy, and her expression calm and intelligent. She was slim, well-formed, and her dove-grey dress trimmed with white lace was modest and tasteful. Sir George leaned back in his chair and picked up his wine goblet, scrutinizing her carefully over the rim. Her looks were too unobtrusive, perhaps, for his taste, and her manner too demure, but she would do. She was no Gwen Rowle, whose spectacular beauty turned every head when she walked into a room, but Miss Plumb was certainly lovelier than he had any right to expect. When he considered that she brought with her a large fortune, he had to admit that he was indeed a lucky dog.

Anabel, on the other hand, sat opposite Sir George at the table convinced that she was the unluckiest girl in the world. One foolish little dream had sustained her during the past week—the dream that somehow, through some divine intervention, a miracle might occur and the man her father had chosen for her would turn out to be the man in the brown greatcoat. She knew the dream was preposterous, but, like someone drowning, she had grasped at the only twig she could find. Now the dream was over. The face across the table was not the face she had prayed to see. But she was neither dramatic nor rebellious. She might
think
of running away or killing herself, but she knew she would not. She also knew that her stepmother was delighted and her father adamant. There was no way out. With a heartbroken sigh, so quiet that no one at the table heard, she let her dream die and surrendered to the inevitable.

After dinner, the ladies excused themselves and left the men to their port. George picked up his glass and sipped contentedly. “An excellent dinner, Mr. Plumb,” he said graciously.

“I thank you. My wife put herself out a bit in your honor,” was Mr. Plumb’s artless reply.

“I must certainly thank her for that.”

“Well, sir, tell me,” Plumb inquired eagerly, “what did you think of my girl? Did I not tell you the truth of it?”

“She is even more lovely than you said. I’m completely taken with her. As far as I’m concerned, you have a bargain!”

Joshua chortled. “I told you Joshua Plumb’s word’s as good as his bond. Let’s shake and have a drink on it.”

“Just one small matter before we seal the pact,” George said. “You’ll want me to clear up my more pressing obligations and to make certain preparations before the marriage, like renting a town house and furnishing it. I’ll need some ready cash.”

Joshua indicated by a flippant wave of his hand that the request was a mere detail. “Will a few monkeys do?”

“Quite nicely,” said George, smiling. “You’re a generous man, Mr. Plumb.”

“Until a man crosses me, Sir George. You’d best remember that.”

George was silent. Then he looked across the table at his host. “There’s one other request I must make,” he began diffidently. “I must ask that our … arrangement … be kept secret for six weeks. After that, you may make the announcement public.”

Joshua lowered his glass. “May I ask why?” he asked belligerently.

“For two reasons. One, I would like your daughter to get to know me a little. Two, I would like to break the news to … certain persons … in my own time and my own way. I would not like them to see an announcement before I had had a chance to break the news.”

“Certain
persons?
” Joshua eyed him shrewdly. “Certain
ladies
, you mean!”

“Mr. Plumb,” George said in a tone of intimacy, “you and I are men of the world. I did not live in a glass bottle before I met you and your daughter. I only ask for a little time to clean the slate. To come to her completely unencumbered.”

Mr. Plumb rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s honestly admitted, at any rate,” he said. “I suppose I can go along with you. As long as you deal straight with my girl and don’t cause her grief, I’ll not hold your past against you. Very well, six weeks. I’ll tell the family to keep mum til then.”

Gwen had come to Drew’s house intending to sit with her brother through the night and return to Rowle House in the morning. But Tom, exhausted by the loss of blood, slept the clock round. When she emerged from the sickroom at ten the following morning, he was still asleep. She found Mallow waiting for her with a message that Drew had removed to his club and that she was to use the house as her own. She wanted to remonstrate. She could not put Drew out of his own home. But her head felt so heavy she could not hold it up, and she yearned for an hour or two of sleep. So she held her tongue and followed Mallow down the hall to the lovely bedroom that had thoughtfully been prepared for her. When the butler withdrew, she pulled aside the curtains of an elegant four-poster and, without taking off her dress, she fell down upon it and was instantly asleep.

When she awoke, it was dark. She learned that Tom had awakened during the afternoon, that Drew and the doctor had called on him, and that the doctor had found his condition good. Drew had played backgammon with Tom for more than two hours and, before he returned to his club, had left instructions that Lady Rowle’s dinner was to be served at her convenience. Lady Hazel had also paid a call on Tom and had left various items—nightclothes and fresh linen—for both Tom and Gwen.

Gwen went to see her brother, and when she saw him sitting up in bed smiling at her sheepishly, she burst into tears. “Oh, Tom, you idiot, you’ve given me the devil of a scare! How could you behave so stupidly!” she said, hugging him. But after those first words, she did not refer again to the shooting. She merely sat beside him reading aloud or conversing on unexceptional topics. She had made up her mind that she would not dwell on the incident. He had been punished enough. She hoped that he had learned a lesson concerning the danger of using firearms, a lesson far more dramatic than any words of hers would be.

By the second day of Tom’s convalescence, her days at Drew’s house had settled into a routine. She sat at Tom’s bedside all night and supervised his care throughout most of the day. During the afternoons, however, when the maids and Mallow could be relied upon to do what was necessary, she retired to her room and slept. At that time, Tom received visitors, and they filled the afternoon quite pleasantly for him. Quent and Ferdie showed up every day and entertained him hugely with their boyish jocularity. Drew also visited every afternoon and could be counted on to bring in the backgammon board or a deck of cards. Hazel and Hetty were also frequent visitors, each of them supplying him with generous quantities of bonbons and sweetmeats.