Amanda Scott (26 page)

Sobered by a conviction that he was right, Nell debated the point no further, but when they reached Laura Place to find Nigel alone in the drawing room, solacing boredom with one of the more lurid gothic tales in his great-aunt’s collection, she demanded as soon as she had performed the introductions to know if he had given Jarvis his power of attorney.

“Some such thing, certainly,” he said, watching Max flop gracelessly to the carpet and begin to lick his paws. “I say, does Aunt Flavia allow you to bring large dogs into this room?”

“Of course she does,” Nell said. “Nigel, Jarvis must have murdered Papa, and that’s all there is about it.”

“Good God,” he exclaimed, staring at her in astonishment, “what makes you say such a thing?”

“Because he had no reason to ask you to provide him with authority to act until after Papa was dead and you had become master of Highgate,” Nell said. “Until then, you had nothing to do with the affairs of the estate.”

Relaxing, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, Nigel said, “There was, however, the small matter of my affairs in town. Even such a nipshot as I was, my dear, had a flat and horses to dispose of, servants to pay, and a banker and creditors to placate.”

“Oh,” Nell said, deflated, “then I suppose it was not so odd of him to ask for a note of hand before you boarded the packet.”

“Well, no, particularly inasmuch as he also gave me every farthing he had on him—a considerable sum, I might tell you. Dashed generous I thought him, too, for I need scarcely tell you that my pockets were all to let at the time.”

Anger flashed in Nell’s eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that Jarvis has been franking you all this time, that in fact, though he has insisted he had not the least notion of your direction, he has known where you were all along?”

“Of course he has not been franking me all this time!” Nigel said indignantly. “A pretty fellow you must think me!”

“You needn’t snap her head off,” Manningford said sharply. “Not only has your cousin continued to insist that your direction was unknown to him, but it was certainly unknown to your sister. Before you take offense, Bradbourne, you might at least admit that you ought to have written to inform her of your safe arrival and to notify her of your whereabouts.”

“Jarvis thought it better that I write to no one,” Nigel said, glaring at him, “so I did not.”

Nell thought his excuse a weak one, but he had never been a good correspondent; and, in fact, she had fastened upon another point. She said, “Nigel, you cannot have had enough money to have kept you these eight months past, certainly not in such style as you appear to have commanded.”

“Well, it ain’t so difficult as you might think,” he said sulkily, “for I had more than one run of luck at the tables, and I scarcely ever dined in my own flat. A single gentleman, you know, is always welcome somewhere or other. I doubt Jarvis realized how well I should contrive, especially since he’d advised me to stay clear of Paris, but that would not have suited me, for there is nothing to do anywhere else, so to avoid any more jobations, I simply neglected to tell even him my exact whereabouts. Thus, you see, he told you no more than the truth.”

“I begin to think,” Manningford said, “that it was just as well for you that he did not know where to find you.”

“Good God, do you think he’d have tried to murder me? I doubt it. It would not have disturbed him to have learned of my death, I daresay, but I doubt he would have actively sought it.”

Nell glanced at Manningford to see that he was looking thoughtful, but if he had more doubts about her cousin’s behavior, he said no more about it then. Nor did she have the benefit of his counsel the following day when the Marquess of Axbridge’s man returned from London to inform his master that, after a full but necessarily discreet inquiry, he had been unable to discover a single charge laid against Lord Bradbourne with the Chief Magistrate at Bow Street. Even more surprisingly, none had been laid against him in the County of Somerset.

Axbridge carried the news to Nigel at once, and so although Nell had spent her usual time with Sir Mortimer that afternoon, it was from her brother, at home, that she learned of it. She wished she might have discussed it with Manningford, but since she had spent a good part of her time in Royal Crescent that day attempting, unsuccessfully, to induce Sir Mortimer to admit Sybilla to his bedchamber, she rather thought it as well that the other gentlemen had been out when she left him. In any case, she had more opportunity than she wanted to talk about Axbridge’s news, for Nigel seemed unable to discuss anything else and continued to speculate long after his great-aunt and sister had tired of the subject, without arriving at any new conclusions.

“I should like to know just what Jarvis thinks he is about,” he snapped suddenly halfway through dinner. “In point of fact, I should like to know where he is hiding himself, for there is more than one home question that I should like to put to him.”

It was not the first time he had made either statement, and since neither lady wanted to encourage him to list his questions, Lady Flavia said matter-of-factly, “Dear boy, one knows just how you must feel, but I remind you, once again, that it will not do to be seeking him out. We know you are not mentioned by name in any charge; however, we know, too, that his lordship’s man, fearing that to mention the incident so soon after naming you might link the two in someone’s mind, did not inquire into the known details of Mr. Bygrave’s death. And you promised his lordship that you will remain quietly here until he has had time to set additional investigations in train.”

“Well, I’d just like to speak to Jarvis, that’s all.”

Nell, tired after her long afternoon, roused herself to say, “I told you before, Nigel, that he has gone to London to see about getting the wager honored by a Court of Chancery.”

“Well, I can stop that nonsense,” he retorted.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, “if we discover that you need not fear the hangman. But I am beginning to wonder if the Chancery Court has been only a bogey to frighten me into agreeing to marry him, for I cannot believe he sets as much store as he pretends by that wager. And you need not snort like that,” she added tartly, “for having taken it into his head that my life was ruined by Papa’s suicide, if not your exile, I think he really did believe that accepting his offer of marriage was the only way left me to protect my good name. It ought not to surprise you that he might think that way, you know.”

“What surprises me that no word of my supposed doings appears to have got about, even here in Bath. At all events, I can scarcely be said to have ruined you.”

Lady Flavia said, “But my dear Nigel, no one has said that; however, people do know that your father blew his brains out, and that alone is enough to make them look askance at your sister, even if they do not know why he did it. Indeed, that they do not know may make it all the worse, for then insanity must be suspected, you know, and no man of sense wishes to ally his house with one of tainted blood, particularly where there is no great fortune to offset the risk.”

Nigel could not remain interested in Nell’s problems when his own seemed to him to be much more pressing, but though he might rail at his cousin’s continued absence and deplore his own forced inactivity, she was grateful to discover that he had no immediate intention of flouting Axbridge’s advice. He did refuse the marquess’s invitation to enjoy the hospitality of Axbridge Park until the whole business might be resolved, however, declaring that he was not going to allow Jarvis to send him into hiding. And since she was certain that he still wanted nothing so much as to confront his cousin and demand explanations from him, she could only be grateful that Jarvis continued to remain absent from Bath.

In the days remaining before Lady Flavia’s presentation to the Regent, Nell continued to spend a portion of each afternoon in Royal Crescent, but though she frequently saw Manningford, neither he nor Axbridge had additional news to disclose. She did manage at last, however, by the simple means of declaring her refusal to sit with Sir Mortimer again until he had admitted his daughter to his presence, to convince him to do so.

Having told Sybilla only that he had asked to see her, not why, and then having left them alone together, Nell had second thoughts about the wisdom of interfering when she discovered that Sybilla was greatly shaken by the meeting.

“He is so very altered,” she said when Nell, having wondered if all was well, came upstairs again to find her, much subdued, sitting on the padded bench on the landing. “He did not even shout at me, Nell. Indeed, he apologized for being such a paltry parent—his very words, and though they are true, I found I did not like to hear them upon his lips. I have made of him a sort of beast behind a cage door, you see, for I have rarely seen him since Ned and I sorted out our own troubles and I agreed to put my marriage ahead of my duties here. Now, for all Father tries to seem the same, he speaks so haltingly and looks to be such a sickly old man that it is quite dreadful. I own, I never looked for a responsible thought in Brandon’s head and was astonished—perhaps even resentful—to learn that he had taken control of this household, but now I am grateful that he has done so, and even more grateful that Ned is to take me home again tomorrow. I do so long to see my children.”

Sir Mortimer appeared to be no more thankful for their reunion than Sybilla was. In fact, he did not speak of it, and when the Axbridge party departed the following day, Nell was more relieved than sorry to see them go—and not only because Axbridge had promised to go on to London as soon as he had got Sybilla settled, to see if he could discover what Jarvis was up to.

Having arrived as they were departing, she found herself, some minutes later, alone with Manningford in the front hall. Encountering a speculative look that made her remember rather guiltily that he might have cause to be vexed with her, she was not surprised, when the porter and a young footman came in behind them, to hear him suggest gently that she accompany him upstairs.

She remained silent until they reached the library, but when she heard him shut the door behind her, she said without turning, “I know you must be displeased, sir, but indeed, I had to try what I could do, for both their sakes.”

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and when he turned her to face him, she could see no anger in his expression, only resignation, touched with amusement. “What I think,” he said, still in that gentle tone, “is that you simply have not yet learned to trust me.”

“You are not vexed?”

“No, my dear, only a little disappointed.”

He did not look angry, nor even distressed, but his words shook her, and when he said that he perfectly understood that she had done only as she thought best and that perhaps she ought now to go to Sir Mortimer, since he was no doubt impatiently awaiting her, she went, wanting to cry and not knowing precisely why.

She collected herself before she reached the top floor, and was able to present a cheerful face to Sir Mortimer. She had managed each day to find time for her writing, knowing that he looked forward to hearing her read what she had written, and to discussing it with her as well as he was able. And contrary to his daughter’s opinion, he appeared to be regaining more strength each day. His speech had improved, he was able to sit up against the pillows in his bed again, and he began to speak of getting out of bed one day soon to sit in a chair by the window; however, the doctor had so strongly warned them all about the dangers of allowing him to exert himself that there could be no thought of his attempting to do more just yet.

He seemed content to let Nell do all the writing, merely to advise her; however, as a result of his newfound stamina, he soon insisted upon reading his own correspondence—letters collected from the receiving office for Clarissa Harlowe and his personal letters, as well—and it was one of the latter that nearly led to their undoing.

Nell had long since discovered that his vast personal correspondence was responsible for his seemingly uncanny knowledge of what went on in the
beau monde
, and it was just such a correspondent who saw fit, in a letter delivered two days later with the afternoon post, to inform him of the Regent’s visit to Bath. Having obeyed a surprisingly sharp command to enter his bedchamber when she arrived, Nell found the old gentleman sitting bolt upright with Borland trying unsuccessfully to persuade him to lie back against the pillows.

“What is this?” Nell demanded. “Be calm, sir, I beg of you, lest you bring on another of your attacks. Only tell me what has occurred and I will do what I may to set it right. Borland, do you stop pushing at him and fetch a glass of his tonic at once. And do not you, sir, attempt to tell me anything whatever until you have drunk it down and lain back peaceably again, or I shall not listen to a word you say to me.”

These severe words having their effect, she waited several minutes until the old man was calm, then said, “Now, tell me.”

“The Regent,” he muttered. “Coming here!”

“Why yes, so he is, sir, to visit Mr. Saint-Denis and his wife at Bathwick Hill House. I am told he frequently does so.”

“Encroaching fellow,” he muttered. “Popinjay. He’ll want to meet his pet author, damn him. I won’t!”

When she tried to reassure him, he grew so agitated that she finally decided there was nothing to be done but to confess that such a request had already been made. Borland gasped when she added matter-of-factly that Lady Flavia was to pose as Miss Harlowe, and since Nell had feared nearly as much as he did that the news would bring on one of Sir Mortimer’s attacks, she was equally astonished when, with a bark of laughter, the old man fell back against his pillows instead.

“Flavia?” he said a moment later. “She agreed?”

“It was her own notion, sir, and she has been rereading your every book, in fear that his highness might catch her out with a question about some scene or character she does not remember.”

“Don’t remember ’em, m’self,” he muttered. “Tell her not to fret.” He paused. “You’ll be there?”

She had not planned to make one of the party, for she had no wish to draw the notice of the Prince Regent, whom she cordially despised for his treatment of his wife and daughter, as well as the scandalous flaunting of his aged and corpulent mistresses, and his unending extravagance; however, Sir Mortimer insisted, and by agreeing at least to confer with the others, she was able to persuade him to work for a time. As she was preparing to take leave of him, he informed her that the manuscript would soon be ready to send off to London.