The Savage Marquess (16 page)

Her face glowed; her glance was caressing. She leaned across her carriage and whispered something to the marquess, who gave an abrupt nod, picked up the reins, and drove off.

She has made an assignation, Lucinda thought bitterly.

Once more, Mr. Dancer’s handsome face came back into her mind. Now, there was a man who loved her, who would cherish her.

Undecided as to what to do to ease the pain at her heart, she prepared to go out.

As she was putting on her bonnet, Humphrey came in to say that Mr. Carter had called.

“Tell him I cannot see him,” said Lucinda crossly.

“But, my lady,” said Humphrey, “Mr. Carter says it is not a social call. He has called in reply to your advertisement about Kennedy in the
Morning Post!
”

Mr. Carter had been frightened to death when he had seen that advertisement. Benson had disappeared, never to be heard of again. Now it appeared Kennedy, the maid Benson had used to elicit information, had disappeared as well.

He was suddenly sure Maria had finally run mad and killed them both, or had them killed. He knew Maria often took more opium than was good for her. The drug must have turned her brain. Now Rockingham, surely, must know of his wife’s concern for the missing maid, and Rockingham would get to the bottom of it. If he accused Maria, then Maria would bring him, Zeus Carter, down with her.

In his ears, Mr. Carter could swear he heard the tolling of the great bell of St. Sepulchre’s and in his mind’s eye, he could see himself mounting the scaffold outside Newgate, looking down into the avid, greedy faces of the watching mob. Maria and her friends, he knew, enjoyed a public hanging as much as they enjoyed the playhouse. Mr. Carter had accompanied them once and had disgraced himself by being violently sick.

He waited in Berkeley Square until he saw Rockingham leave. The sight of Maria driving up caused Mr. Carter to whimper with terror and dive behind a tree for shelter.

He waited and waited until he was sure there was no sign of either his cousin or Maria Deauville returning to the square. Feeling breathless and sick, he called on Lucinda.

Mr. Carter felt Lucinda was growing more like a haughty marchioness every day. Her height lent her dignity and there was a cold, arrogant look in her eyes as she stared down at him. She did not ask him to be seated, but in icy tones demanded the reason for his visit.

“I saw your advertisement, ma’am,” said Mr. Carter. “’Pon rep. I was struck all of a heap.”

There was a silence while Mr. Carter pulled out a little fan and fanned himself vigorously. Lucinda said impatiently, “If you know something about Kennedy, pray tell me.”

Mr. Carter looked at her pleadingly. He tried to think of some light and airy way to phrase it; some way to cover up the intense dread he felt. But he blurted out, “I saw Kennedy, your maid, often in the company of Benson, Maria Deauville’s lady’s maid—a servant who has also gone missing.”

“I cannot believe Kennedy would have gone off with someone—no matter how great a friend—without telling me. Since Mrs. Deauville is a friend of yours, did you not ask her what had happened to
her
maid?”

“Not a friend of mine. Not
at all!
I did ask and she said that Benson—let me see how she put it—she said, ‘Benson is, or was, my maid.’”

“No further explanation?”

“To be frank with you, I found I dared not ask.”

Lucinda frowned. “What would Kennedy be about, to strike up a friendship with the maid of a woman who has shown she dislikes me and is jealous of me?”

“Perhaps Kennedy did not know that Benson was maid to Maria Deauville, or perhaps it could be the name meant nothing to her and she imagined Mrs. Deauville to be a respectable lady with no, um, connection with your family.”

Lucinda looked down at him sharply. “You appear remarkably acute at guessing what Kennedy might or might not think.
I
am beginning to think that perhaps Benson was sent to befriend Kennedy and therefore spy on me.” Lucinda suddenly blushed with mortification. The horrible Maria would know of the lock on the bedroom door, of the scenes.

“I cannot tell you more,” cried Mr. Carter, backing away. “The reward you promised in your advertisement…?”

“As you know, I have no money of my own, and such money as I do have is Rockingham’s. I shall tell him of your visit and no doubt he will call to see you.”

“No, no. Pray do not tell him. Forget the reward.”

“But, as I remember,” Lucinda said, advancing on him, “you are Rockingham’s cousin and boon companion.”

“I lied,” squeaked Mr. Carter. “Rockingham despises me.” He burst into noisy tears and ran from the room.

Rockingham should be here to help me with this, thought Lucinda. But he is no doubt safely in the arms of his scheming mistress. Bah! There is one who would aid me.

She called a footman and sent him with a note to Mr. Dancer’s lodgings and then sat down to wait.

Mr. Dancer came very promptly, since Lucinda had had the foresight to put in her note that Rockingham was not at home.

When Lucinda had explained the problem, Mr. Dancer’s eyes narrowed. He did not want Maria to be found guilty of anything or she might turn on him and tell Lucinda about the plot to ruin her. He decided to help Lucinda track down her maid and see if he could find some opportunity during the day to press his suit. Maria’s reward was no longer the incentive. Mr. Dancer was convinced he loved Lucinda to distraction.

He told her that he had seen Maria in Oxford Street. Since she was gone from home, he would take the opportunity of calling at Manchester Square and questioning her servants. He promised to return as soon as possible.

He was absent only a half-hour. On his return, he said that on the night Benson had disappeared, Maria had driven off with her to an inn somewhere off the Richmond road. Find what happened to Benson, said Mr. Dancer eagerly, and then you will find what happened to Kennedy. He had obtained the name of the inn from one of Maria’s grooms. Furthermore, Quinton, Maria’s butler, had said that Kennedy had called to try to find out what had become of Benson and had looked most upset.

“And what is the name of this inn?” asked Lucinda.

“The Red Lion, near Syon Park. Allow me to take you there.”

Mr. Dancer hoped to have a chance of awakening some reciprocal passion in Lucinda’s bosom before the expedition was over.

“Very well. I shall go and put on my cloak, for the day has turned cold.”

Lucinda was about to leave her bedchamber when she turned back. She should not really be driving anywhere with Mr. Dancer. Trying to revenge herself on her faithless husband by appearing to behave the same way did not give her any satisfaction. On the other hand, she was determined to solve the mystery of Kennedy’s disappearance.

She sat down at a little desk in the corner and wrote a note of explanation, saying that as she badly needed help to be driven to the Red Lion near Richmond in order to find out what had become of Kennedy and because he, Rockingham, was no doubt
otherwise engaged
, she had called on the services of Mr. Dancer. She sanded the letter, rang the bell, and told Humphrey to give it to the marquess when he returned.

As they drove out of London, Mr. Dancer reflected that had Maria been stupid enough to murder her maid, then she would surely have covered her tracks. He expected the investigation to come to a dead end. The inn sounded secluded. Perhaps a good place to woo Lucinda.

The day was humid with a busy, bustling wind. Dust from the road blew into Lucinda’s face and she wished she had brought a veil and defied the fashion critics who damned veils as vulgar.

Lucinda kept thinking about her husband and Maria, and the more she thought about it, the more wretched and miserable she became. Long before they reached the inn, Lucinda had decided to ask the marquess for her freedom. She cast a sidelong look at Mr. Dancer. He appeared as handsome and pleasant as ever. And yet Lucinda felt there was something vaguely sinister about him. Against the backdrop of the West End of London, he looked very urbane and sophisticated, one of many fashionable men. Now, against a view of summer fields and grazing cattle with great puffy clouds like galleons being tugged across the sky above on a high wind, he looked out of place, wrong… false.

All Lucinda decided she wanted to do was to find out what had become of Kennedy and then return to her father away from this bewildering world of vicious, idle people.

Having reminded herself that all she had to do was to flee from both her husband and Mr. Dancer as soon as possible, Lucinda felt more composed as the carriage swept into the inn courtyard.

* * *

The Marquess of Rockingham stood at the counter of Rundell and Bridge’s turning necklace after necklace over in his fingers, holding first one and then another up to the light. After Maria had whispered to him in the square that she bore him no ill will and wished him well in his marriage, the marquess—not knowing that Maria had said the first thing that came into her head because she knew Lucinda was watching and wanted to create a picture of intimacy—felt like celebrating. He had anticipated a scene. To his surprise, he found his ideas of celebrating seemed to have changed. He wanted to buy his wife a present.

Everything about Lucinda hit him in a sort of rush—her spirit, her gallantry, her courage, her elusive charm. He began to feel light-headed, almost as if he
had
been drinking.

He could not remember her wearing any jewelry at all. So he stood in London’s most famous jeweler’s, looking carefully at necklaces, determined to buy the most beautiful one in the shop. Diamonds were out of fashion. Semiprecious stones were all the rage. And yet there was one magnificent necklace the marquess found he favored above the rest. It was made of huge rubies set in old gold. It was heavy, almost barbaric, but the stones were magnificent, burning in the gloom of the shop with a red fire of their own.

“Buying another bauble for one of your mistresses?” came a voice from behind him.

The marquess turned slowly around and found himself facing his mother. He turned back. “I shall take this one,” he said, stuffing it in his pocket. “Send me the bill.”

Without another look at the duchess, he opened the shop door and went out into the noise and racket of Ludgate Hill.

The old restless feeling came back and with it all the old misery. But the weight of the necklace dragging at his pocket was a comfort. A smile curved his lips. Would his incalculable wife accept it with grace or throw it in his face?

He sprang into his carriage and set out for home, looking forward to seeing Lucinda’s face when he gave her the present.

The inn was deserted. Sounds came from abovestairs. Mr. Dancer saw the green of the garden at the back and suggested to Lucinda that they wait out in the fresh air until the landlord appeared.

The table Maria had had shifted about was still placed at the edge of the pond. Mr. Dancer thought it looked a romantic spot. He would wait until she had asked her tiresome questions and then he would get down on one knee—he hoped the grass was not damp—and swear everlasting love.

The landlord came into the garden. “Good afternoon,” he said, bowing low. “I thought I heard someone arrive. What is your pleasure?”

“Let us order some wine first,” urged Mr. Dancer, “and you may question this fellow when he returns.” Lucinda said she would prefer lemonade. Mr. Dancer ordered a bottle of burgundy. The landlord bowed and left them alone.

The irritating, gusty wind had died down and a mellow golden light bathed the pond and garden. A blackbird sang with aching sweetness from the branch of a lilac tree. Lucinda’s eyes filled with tears.

Mr. Dancer seized her hand. “My lady, your distress cuts me to the quick. Pray forget about this folly of looking for a tiresome servant, and—”

But Lucinda snatched her hand away. “I am in no mood for dalliance,” she said. “I wish you had let me question the landlord right away.”

“I think that you forget I love you passionately,” said Mr. Dancer in a low voice.

“Please do not go in this strain,” said Lucinda. “
You
forget, I am married.”

“And yet, in your trouble, you sent for me.”

Lucinda bit her lip. Oh, if only she could return to town, tell her husband she was leaving him, and retire back to the country and forget about Kennedy! But she must try to find out what had become of her lady’s maid. Mr. Dancer’s beautiful blue eyes were surveying her sympathetically, and yet for the first time Lucinda seemed to catch a glimpse of something lurking in the brilliant blue depths, something predatory. For the first time, she began to feel a little afraid of Mr. Dancer.

“I should not have traveled with you,” Lucinda said. “Mr. Dancer, I fear I can never return your love.”

There came a chinking of bottles against glasses from the direction of the inn. Mr. Dancer muttered something under his breath.

It was not the landlord who was approaching the table, but a tall, angular woman in cap and apron. No doubt the landlord’s wife, he thought.

Then he realized Lucinda was staring at this female, her face white.

The maid put the bottles and glasses on the table and curtsied. “Can I fetch you anything, sir, madam?”

“Kennedy,” whispered Lucinda. “It’s Kennedy!”

The maid looked at Lucinda with a puzzled expression in her eyes. “Beg pardon, mum?”

“Kennedy, do you not know me? It is I, Lucinda, Marchioness of Rockingham.”

Kennedy put a work-worn hand up to her brow. “Silas,” she called suddenly. “Silas, come quick!”

The landlord came running out of the inn. “What have you been doing to upset Jane?” he demanded.

“But this is Kennedy, Amy Kennedy, my maid,” said Lucinda.

“My love,” said Mr. Dancer smoothly, “it is obvious you have made a mistake.”

“No,” said Lucinda stubbornly. “She must have lost her memory.”

“Well, that may be the case,” said the landlord. “I am Silas Snodgrass. This woman I call Jane came wandering into the inn one night—’twas the night of that fearsome storm. She was soaked through and had a huge lump on the back of her head like she’d been struck by something, and she didn’t know who she was or where she came from. I’m a widower, see, and I need a housekeeper here bad. So after she recovered her health, I asked her to stay on so’s she could earn her keep till her memory come back. We suit very well, me and Jane, and fact is, we was going to get spliced come next Martinmas.”