Anne Barbour (20 page)

“My dear Thomas,” she began. “I told you, I shall explain— oh!” she broke off, catching sight of Jem. “My lo—I mean, Jan—um...” She concluded by simply extending her hand to him.

“Now what?” exclaimed Thomas, as Jem strode forward to grasp her fingers in a light salute. “What is your butler doing here?” His gaze flicked suspiciously from Claudia to Jem, dressed in his sober servant’s garb, and his eyes widened in horrified accusation. “Claudia!” Her words spilled ponderously from tightly pursed lips. “I am seriously beginning to believe that there is something going on here. Have you developed a
tendre
for your own butler, for God’s sake?”

Jem turned and smiled pleasantly at Thomas. “Of course she hasn’t. Not that it is any business of yours if she had.”

For an instant, Claudia thought Thomas would simply go off in an apoplectic stroke. His complexion, she noted interestedly, exactly matched the purple shawl arranged with precision about Aunt Gussie’s shoulders.

Rose squeaked agitatedly and plucked at Thomas’s coat, while Fletcher provided a background accompaniment of faint “Here, I say’s” and “Upon my word’s”.

“The impertinence!” roared Thomas, when he was at last able to recover his voice. “My good man, you may consider yourself discharged at once—without a character. And you may feel yourself fortunate that I don’t kick you down the stairs.”

Jem stepped forward, only to be grasped firmly by Claudia. “Thomas, that will do,” she said icily. “You seem to believe yourself in a position of some authority here, but you are very much mistaken—more so now than ever.” She looked for a moment at Jem, her brows lifted in silent query. At his nod, she turned back to her brother-in-law and continued. “I fear you have been laboring under a slight misunderstanding. Allow me to present you to Jeremy Standish, Lord Glenraven—and current master of Ravencroft.”

Chapter Fourteen

A profound silence greeted Claudia’s statement. For several moments Thomas stared at her, uncomprehending, while Rose stood, mouth agape. Aunt Augusta folded her arms, smiling grimly.

“Wh—wha’?” asked Thomas at last, swiveling to stare at Jem as though he had just been introduced to a being from the netherworld. Jem smiled sunnily and extended his hand. Thomas simply stared at it. Abruptly he came to himself and swung again to Claudia.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, this gentleman is Lord Glenraven, and he has returned home to live here permanently.”

“But—but this is nonsense!” Thomas had swelled until there seemed the very real possibility of a horrible explosion. “Emanuel Carstairs was the owner of Ravencroft, and he left it to you. You are the owner now!”

“Ah, I had rather thought you’d forgotten that fact, Thomas. You are right, of course, but I learned recently that Emanuel acquired the estate by, er, highly illegal means. Lord Glenraven is the rightful owner, so I have transferred the title to him.”

“You cannot be serious! Do you mean to tell me that you have given away our—your home to this—this”—he waved wildly at Jem—”this jumped up jackanapes merely because he says it rightfully belongs to him?” By now, Thomas had gone as pale as he had been empurpled before. His wife seemed unable to understand what was taking place and gazed from one to the other of the combatants in bewilderment. Fletcher Botsford remained apparently stunned and speechless.

“I suggest,” said Jem smoothly, “that we repair to the emerald saloon. We seem to have acquired an audience.”

Indeed, every maid and footman in the house appeared to have found some urgent business requiring his or her presence in the upstairs hallway, and the group gathered there found themselves the target of several pairs of curious eyes. Thomas opened and closed his mouth several times, but with a great effort refrained from comment, merely stalking off in the direction of the staircase.

Several moments later, however, when all concerned had assembled in the emerald saloon, he experienced little difficulty in finding his voice again.

“I cannot have heard you right, Claudia. Not even you would do such a buffle-headed thing as—”

Claudia held up her hand.

“I will say this once more, Thomas. Lord Glenraven has offered proof of what I had long suspected, that Emanuel virtually stole Ravencroft. He tricked his lordship’s father and then murdered him. Being convinced of this, I could do no other than to return Ravencroft to him.”

“I never heard such nonsense in my life!” roared her brother-in-law. “Of course you can do something other than turn the place over to him.” He whirled on Jem. “I see what it is. You’re a scheming scoundrel who crept in here under pretense of being a butler and cozened an innocent, gullible female. Well, it won’t work, you thieving rascal. You’re not dealing with a helpless widow, now. No, indeed. Now you have Thomas Reddinger to deal with, and if you think for one minute that I will allow this poor child to be turned out of her own home--“

Again Claudia interrupted. “Thomas, once and for all. You have nothing to say about any of this. I accompanied Lord Glenraven to Gloucester yesterday, and we signed the papers. The deal is done. Ravencroft is his.”

Once again Thomas was bereft of speech. Rose, apparently realizing at last what was transpiring, began to moan softly.

“You signed papers?” Thomas gasped incredulously.

“Yes, she did, old fellow.” Jem chimed in. “Her signature was notarized by William Scudder of Scudder, Widdicombe and Phillips, and he is now clearing up whatever formalities remain to complete the transaction.”

Thomas’s eyes widened at the mention of one of the most esteemed attorneys in the county, and he drew a hand across his mouth.

Rose collapsed into an emerald-striped armchair, a shaking hand pressed to her bosom. “I am having palpitations,” she quavered. No one so much as glanced at her.

“I see.” It was quite obvious Thomas did not see at all, but remained undeterred by that fact. “Nonetheless—old fellow—I do not choose to recognize whatever proof you have managed to concoct.” His small eyes fairly glittered with rage.

“What you do or do not choose to recognize,” said Jem in the kindest of tones, “is immaterial to me. As is the case, if I am not mistaken, with Mrs. Carstairs.” Claudia nodded vigorously in agreement. Thomas bent his attention on her.

“I can still scarcely comprehend all this. It is beyond my understanding that you would let this confidence trickster gull you so completely. Look at him! Lord Glenraven, indeed.”

“Indeed,” murmured Claudia. “Mr. Scudder had no difficulty in recognizing him.”

Again, Thomas’s eyes widened, and his expression as he gazed at Jem was unreadable.

“Be that as it may,” he blustered. “The man has no claim to Ravencroft. I demand to see whatever papers he provided in evidence.”

Jem unfolded his length from the settee upon which he had been sitting very much at his ease. He moved to stand before Thomas.

“Reddinger,” he said softly. “You grow tedious. What you think or recognize or demand is of absolutely no consequence. As Mrs. Carstairs has told you, Ravencroft is mine.”

Thomas rose also and gazed up into the gray eyes that met his with a maddeningly indifferent but somehow menacing coolness. He took a step backwards. He attempted a return to his blustering self-consequence, but his voice was high and unsteady. “We’ll see about that!” he shrieked. “I can gather attorneys about me, as well, you know.”

“Go right ahead,” returned Jem in a bored tone. “But be so kind as to do it elsewhere. You have overstayed your welcome, Reddinger, as you’ve done, if I am not mistaken, from the moment you set foot here. Please gather up your stricken wife and your fatuous friend and your detestable children, and remove yourselves from the premises with all possible speed.”

Thomas’s neck swelled like that of a striking cobra. “What! Now see here, you can’t—”

“With all possible speed, Reddinger,” repeated Jem. He had not raised his voice, but Thomas, starting forward with clenched fists, halted suddenly and once again stepped back.

“And what if I refuse,” he snarled.

“I don’t think that would be wise.” Jem’s voice held nothing but friendly concern, but there was that in his tone that caused Thomas to hesitate. Swinging about, he barked at his wife, “Come, Rose.” To Mr. Botsford, he said nothing, but that gentleman perspicaciously chose to follow him silently toward the door.

As he made to leave the room, Thomas turned back once more. He pointed a finger at Claudia. “And you needn’t think you’ll be coming with us, my girl. You’ve made your bed”— here an ugly, suggestive grin spread across his face—”and you can lie in it”

“Oh, but Thomas,” cried Rose protestingly. “She is my sister. We cannot just let her starve in a gutter.”

“Never mind. Rose,” interjected Claudia, and in a few brief words, she described the arrangement she had come to with Jem.

Rose screamed faintly. “You cannot! You cannot remain here, virtually under this man’s roof. At least—under what he claims ...” she trailed off unhappily.

Thomas grasped her arm. “Let her do whatever she damn well pleases,” he snapped. “I wash my hands of her.”

He stormed out of the room, a sobbing Rose at his heels, and Fletcher bringing up the rear.

“Would that were so,” said Claudia, dropping into an armchair. She glanced at Jem. “Well, I think we brushed through that fairly well, don’t you?”

“Mmm. I suppose so. Though I seriously doubt we have heard the last of—” He was interrupted by a scream coming from the hallway outside the emerald saloon. Jem rushed through the door, with Claudia and Miss Melksham in his wake. In the corridor, they found Rose, her voice still rising in piercing screeches. Before her stood Nanny Grample, wringing her hands in her apron.

“Oh, mum! It’s true! The young master has killed hisself!”

At this. Rose, with a loud moan, fell to the floor. Fletcher fell to his knees beside her, but Thomas grasped Nanny Grample by the arm, shaking her until her spectacles were in danger of sliding from her nose.

“What do you mean?” he bellowed. “Stop that infernal sniveling and tell me what happened.”

“The children were in the nursery,” blubbered the nurse, throwing her apron up to her face. “They was doing some schoolwork. I turned me back for the merest instant—going into the next room to—to find my mending, when all on a sudden I heard a dreadful crash.” She was once more taken by a spasm of weeping strongly reminiscent of the braying of an army mule. “I rushed to see what had happened,” she continued, “and found that the little dev—the little dear had been climbing up the wall.”

“Climbing up the what?” queried Thomas and Rose in unison. Rose had by now recovered from her swoon and was sitting on the floor, listening in horrified fascination to Nanny Grample’s tale.

“Oh yus, mum. He had bet Miss Horatia that he could go around the room without touching the floor, and he had begun by clambering up one of the bookcases—and he’d reached a window. He was walking along the valance, when it gave way.”

Rose moaned again, faintly.

“Well, where is he now?” This from Thomas, who was still barking like an enraged mastiff.

“I left him with Kettering, the upstairs maid,” wailed the nurse. “He’s hollerin’ fit to lift the roof.”

“I thought you said he was— Never mind,” concluded Thomas angrily, shouldering past Rose and the nurse, who, with Fletcher Botsford, followed in some disarray. Claudia, Jem, and Miss Melksham, after a startled exchange of glances, hurried after the group.

The sounds of Master George’s distress could be heard long before the party reached the nursery floor. Kettering’s distracted sobs and Horatia’s gusty bellows added to the cacophony, but it was seen at once that Master George lay far from death’s door. Red-faced and screaming, he clutched wildly at his foot, which was bent at an unnatural angle.

Jem at once beckoned a footman attracted by the commotion, and bade him go for the doctor, while Claudia, sharply adjuring both the maid and Nanny Grample to cease their lamentations, sank to her knees beside the boy. Thomas, for once appeared to be at a loss, and stood aside, ineffectually attempting to silence his wife.

Claudia gathered the terrified boy in her arms.

“George, I have something to tell you.” She spoke in a whisper, whereupon the child ceased his wild sobbing, turning to her in attention. “I know your foot must hurt horribly,” she continued soothingly, “and I just want to tell you I find it amazing that you can be so strong about it. You have cried a little, but I can see that you are ready to stop. I don’t know when I have ever seen such a brave young man.”

To the surprise of all, George promptly closed his mouth and, gritting his teeth, assured her that though it did indeed hurt something awful, he wasn’t a crybaby, after all.

“I can see you are not,” replied Claudia admiringly. She gestured to the remaining two footmen, and together, they lifted George in their arms and carried the boy to his room.

Rose followed with arms outstretched, her voice still raised in unceasing lamentation. Thomas followed, and Fletcher Botsford, after standing uncertainly for several minutes in the center of the hallway, followed. By mutual consent, the remainder of the little group, Jem, Claudia, and Miss Melksham tiptoed away.

Much later, the three sat in Claudia’s former study, their faces set in gloomy reflection.

Miss Melksham commented acidly, “If I didn’t think it were pretty much impossible, I would suspect Thomas of concocting this whole episode to prevent his leaving Ravencroft.”

“Indeed,” said Jem. “I could hardly order the family to leave with Master George brandishing a broken ankle—much as I was tempted to do so.”

“I suppose it could have been worse,” added Claudia. “The doctor said that within two weeks the healing process should have gone forward enough so that he can travel home in a carriage. In the meantime,” she sighed, “you will have to put up with Thomas and Rose.”

“For two weeks, a man can hang by his thumbs,” Jem said with a smile, “or so I’ve heard. At least, we have been relieved of Mr. Botsford’s presence.”

Claudia chuckled. “Not without protest, however. I’ve never heard a man offer so many excuses for staying put—everything from not having transportation to the need of the family for his support to feeling terribly unwell himself as a result of all the uproar.”