“There’s the Bow Street Runners. Could call them in to help. Townshend’s boys are very good at finding a lost person.”
“Them, too. I’ll try anything.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“It might be better if you stay here, on the off chance that she shows up in this neighborhood. You might ride over to the Hall and tell Mama the truth, and tell her to notify me in London immediately if Ellie goes there.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Good. I’m off then. You’ll keep an eye peeled, and an ear, too. Don’t bother sending me every rumor you hear, though. If you discover any
facts,
let me know.”
Clay arose and was soon leaving. Rex sat behind to finish the coffee and make his own plans. First, go home and change into some decent duds. Looked like a hooligan in this outfit he’d slept in. As Rex left the inn, Clay’s curricle was just setting out. He raised a hand in salute, and Clay tried to smile at him. Poor devil. Looked like death warmed over. Face white as a sheet, and his eyes all circled in smudges. Taking it very hard. Be an old man before he was thirty at this rate.
Rex had his own curricle harnessed up and rode over to Gay Street to make a fresh toilette. It was quite as an afterthought, some half-hour later, that Rex asked the butler if there was any mail for him. He was handed the letter for Claymore, and asked where he should direct it, or if milord was expected at Gay Street.
“Well, if you ain’t a cloth-head!” Rex said to his butler, and snatched the envelope from his hand. He immediately recognized the writing and seal as belonging to Claymore’s mother, and wondered what to do. He first thought of setting out after Clay immediately and seeing if he could overtake him. Then he considered what the envelope might contain. No saying it had anything to do with Ellie. Might be no more than a request to get Laura Place ready for her arrival. Seemed to him she’d mentioned some such thing. Old devil of a woman, and after he’d told her half a dozen times Clay wasn’t at Bath. He deemed the circumstances extraordinary enough to permit him to open and read the letter, and quickly did so under the disapproving eye of the butler.
The Dowager’s style of communication with her son did not allow of any misunderstanding: it was immediately clear where Ellie was. Told him so half a dozen times, and why must he go dashing off to London to get divorced? Rex had his curricle hitched up for the chase. Here was a rig very much to his liking. Clay would have an hour’s start on him by the time he got on. Wouldn’t let his horses full out, for he wasn’t half eager to go to London. Moseying along at a canter is what he’d be doing. Thing to do, spring his own team and try to catch Clay up as soon as possible. He set on Marlborough as the closest spot for overtaking Clay. That with good luck. With bad, it would be Reading, where Clay kept a spare team stabled. He’d be sure to stop there and freshen up and change horses. It was not till he was several miles out of Bath that it occurred to him he should have sent a note off to the Hall, to allay their fears. Still, if he’d done that, the old Tartar would know he’d opened and read Clay’s letter. What wouldn’t she make of that!
At the Hall, Ellie enjoyed all the lively humiliation of knowing that
if
her husband deigned to return to her at all, it would be at his mother’s command, a circumstance that did not augur well for their future happiness. When she sought refuge in her room from the Dowager’s painful attempts at entertainment, she was met with Miss Pritchard’s wounded countenance. Pritchard had patched together the true story from bits and pieces picked up from the servants, and from the evidence of her own eyes. She bustled about the room, muttering animadversions against “sly and deceitful creatures,” and “a viper in my bosom.” Gaining no response to these leading sallies, she said outright, “Had I know what lay before me, milady, I would have preferred doing for Miss Wanda.”
“Do be quiet, Pritchie!” Ellie exclaimed, and when her mistress burst into a flood of tears, the servant forgave all, and cuddled her in her arms as she had not done for ten years.
The Dowager bore up well, for she enjoyed a good set-to, and there would be a fine one before this day was over. Yet she became fidgety as the day progressed, and still no signs of Claymore. Shouldn’t have taken him more than a couple of hours to come from Bath. In assorted attempts at conversation with her daughter-in-law it came out that the marriage settlement had been twenty-five thousand, not hundred, as she had thought. She choked on the sum, and was more convinced than ever that Clay
must
love the girl, so why did he not come? Then she fell to wondering how he had contrived to purchase a large diamond in the circumstances to which the settlement must have reduced him. She understood for the first time his eagerness to get ahold of his jewels. She could not but feel culpable, and thought it might be politically wise to turn the heirlooms over to the bride now, before Clay returned.
With an anguished heart she did so, only to have Ellie look at them blankly, declare them very fine, and shut the lid of the chest without so much as lifting one of them up to try on, or admire. Whatever else the girl was, she was not grasping. The young mawworm of Clay’s had been right about that at least.
By dinnertime both women were distracted with waiting and worrying. When the meal was finished, they retired to the Blue Saloon and Ellie offered her services to work one corner of the tambour frame, on which a canvas firescreen was being embroidered. “This is for my Dower House,” she was told. “I’ll be removing there after I return from Bath. I don’t intend to billet myself on you and Clay.”
Ellie had already been assured of this by her husband, but was happy to hear it confirmed. “I hope it is not too far away,” she replied, by way of appearing friendly.
“Only a mile. Close enough, but not too close.”
“Just a pleasant walk.”
They worked on till ten, both with one ear to the door, and not even half the other on their conversation. “He won’t be coming tonight,” the old lady announced as the clock chimed ten dolorous clangs. “Might as well toddle off to bed.”
Ellie was happy enough to do so. Even if he
did
come, she would prefer to have the first meeting take place in private. The Dowager sat up alone, long after Ellie retired, thinking about the scrape, how to disentangle them all, and later fell into a reverie of her future life. Much as it pained her to admit it, she was getting old. Couldn’t hack the London round anymore, and this great rabbit warren of a place was too much for her. The gardens were a disgrace, and she hadn’t been up to the third floor for two years. Her little brawls with Clay were becoming more of a nuisance than anything else as well. She’d be glad when this one was over. Lud, she hoped she didn’t become one of those
mellow
old ladies, smiling at her children and grandchildren, and slipping them money and sweets, respectively, on the side. She was forced to admit, though, that she felt a very unaccustomed pity for Clay’s young wife. Actually thought she might turn out to
like
her, which she had not counted on. She had rather liked Lady Siderow, whom she knew a little the year she was married to her Polish lord, or whatever he was.
She got up and went to examine the corner of the tambour frame Ellie had been working on. Well, she was a nice little thing, but she was no needle woman. This pleased her rather than otherwise, for she was a bit of a dab in that line herself, and didn’t much relish competition. Bad enough to be put to the blush by the girl’s knowing so much about history and gardening. One had to maintain one bastion of supremacy. She was not ready to abdicate completely. The girl was no musician either, if that one off-key little song she’d strummed tonight was any example.
She was just putting away her threads and needles when she heard a clatter of hooves on the drive, going round to the stables. She was finished when she heard a footfall in the front hallway, and went out to see who it was. She hardly recognized her son, he looked so pale and worn.... She expected some sort of rip-up from him, but he said only, “Hallo, Mama,” and pecked her on the cheek. “I got your note. Thank you for sending it. Is Ellie all right?”
“Yes, gone to bed long since. Come in and have a glass of something. You look dead beat.”
“I am. I have been riding since morning.”
“Lud, Clay, Bath is only twenty-five miles away.”
“Yes, but I was at Reading when I received your note.” He sank into a chair, and she bustled off for refreshments. Looked as if he needed more than a glass of wine. She had a servant bring cold meat and bread into the Blue Saloon, for she hadn’t the heart to ask him to stagger into the dining room.
“Ellie is asleep, you say?” he asked when she returned.
“Yes, gone to bed hours ago.”
“I won’t disturb her then. I suppose she told you...”
“I ain’t blind, Clay. She has told me enough.”
“Yes, I know I acted the fool, Mama. Pray don’t scold me. I will be in fitter trim to spar with you tomorrow.”
Again she felt that weakening stab of pity, and for her own son, too. She softened her barb. “Why did you not follow her on, as she seemed to expect you to do?”
He raised his two hands, palms up, and shrugged his weary shoulders. “I didn’t think she was coming here. We had had words, you see.”
“Pooh! A lovers’ quarrel. She expected you to go after her.”
“Mama, I have been ‘going after her’ these four days past. Chasing all over England looking for her. I didn’t think she’d have the bottom to face you alone. I made sure she had gone off to her papa.”
“She showed more sense than you then, for she came here, just as she ought.”
“I hope you like her.” The son cast a wary eye on his mother as he uttered this hope.
“Yes, we go on very agreeably. She is not in the least a dowd, as that friend of yours said, but very elegant, and with excellent conversation for a
young
girl. She is nothing special with a needle I find, but then one can’t expect all accomplishments to be hers at so young an age.”
“She is rather shy, and I suppose I warned her you are—”
“Yes, I make no doubt you gave me a ferocious character, and it seems Lady Siderow backed you up, but we got on in spite of that. I would not say she is
shy
precisely, by the by.”
“Well, not
precisely,”
he agreed, with a strange smile on his wan face.
“I take it this breach between you two is not irreparable?” the Dowager asked, eyeing his smile.
“Since she is come here, I have some hopes it may be repaired.”
“Yes, and if you saw her eyes light up every time your name is mentioned, you would have no doubts of
her
feelings at least. Very fine eyes, incidentally. Rather like Lady Siderow’s.”
“Better than Lady Siderow’s,” he pointed out.
“I can see I’ll have to step up my comparisons, or eliminate them entirely if she is to be an Incomparable.”
“Just so.”
“And well she might be, with a settlement of twenty-five
thousand
pounds!”
“Ah, you have discovered that, have you?” he asked, with an arch glance, not completely devoid of horror.
“I have, but it’s
your
money, and you may squander it as you please. It is nothing to me. Well, it’s all in the family, as far as that goes. And had you told me the
truth
of the matter, I should naturally have given you your ring, and other things. Gave ‘em to her, by the way.”
“Thank you, Mama,” he said, feeling the words hopelessly inadequate to the occasion. Truth to tell, he was so tired the whole conversation was like a dream.
“Don’t thank me. They’re yours. Not that they made much of an impression.”
“Did she not like them?” he asked, surprised. There were some fine and costly pieces among the Claymore heirlooms.
“Hardly glanced at them, to tell the truth. Your foolish friend mentioned something about your buying her a diamond ring.”
“My foolish and
well-meaning
friend, Mama. You underestimate
Rex. He has bent over backward to help me all through this awful business.”
“Let’s see the ring. Do you have it?”
“Yes, I have it here.” He pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to her.
She did not quite whistle, but her lips took on the look of it. “Very fine. Must have cost you a bundle. How did you swing it with the settlement to make?”
“I haven’t. Paid for it, I mean.”
“Maybe you could take it back, since she’s got the others now. Your
well-meaning
friend told me you’d already given it to Ellie. Wondered that she wasn’t wearing it.”
“I’m sure he thought he had a reason for telling you so. No, Mama, in a way this ring is responsible for our—altercation, one way or the other, and I mean her to have it. Now if you would care to
lend
me—”
“I haven’t given you any gift yet. If you would care to consider it as your joint wedding gift, I’ll make a present of it to Ellie.” Good God! Here was she, slipping her children money, as she was determined she would not do. “And you can give me back my pearl,” she added, to salve her conscience.
“It would be highly appreciated, Mama. I don’t mean to make a habit of outrunning the grocer, if
that
is what has got your brow wrinkled.”
“Very well, that’s settled. Give me the bill when you get it. I shan’t ask the price, for I want to get some sleep this night. Now we must consider what to do about the scandal broth that I make no doubt is brewing, what with you two dashing all over the countryside in separate carriages. Ellie tells me I am ill, and she came on ahead here to tend me, while you followed behind.”
“And Rex told someone or other I came here by way of Bath to pick some medications up for you. It is such a tangled skein there is no hope of unraveling it. I doubt any two people think the same thing on this matter. And for myself, I don’t care a tinker’s curse what anyone thinks, except Ellie.”
“But for the looks of it, Clay, I was thinking whether we couldn’t all go together to Bath for a few days. I’ll lay low to lend credence to my illness, just letting a few crones in to see I am really there. If you and Ellie are seen about together, it will give the lie to the stories. I’ll even make an appearance at the Pump Room and have a glass of that awful water, to prove I am not well, though the stuff would be enough to really sicken me.”