Edwardian Candlelight Omnibus (25 page)

“My dear boy,” trilled Lady Fanny. “And you are our best at sports. And so small. Are you
small
, boy?”

“Yes, my lady. Please, my lady,” said Joseph with wide-eyed wonder.

“Marvelous,” breathed Lady Fanny, staring at Joseph’s red mouth. “Now, Joseph, you will give Lady Fanny a nice big kiss, won’t you?”

The boy looked wildly around at his scout master for help but the scout master’s face was like wood. Lady Fanny swooped down and kissed the horribly embarrassed boy on the mouth.

A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. Lady Ann Abbott gave tongue. “What’s the matter with you, Fanny?” she hissed.

“Nothing,” said Lady Fanny, turning one pale, cold eye on her rival. “You’re just jealous because of my smart suit.” This was said in such accents of concentrated venom that the rest of the dignitaries could not find the courage to stop her ladyship. But Lady Fanny’s pink cloud had dwindled away, leaving her with a nagging ache behind the eyes and a sudden hatred of the whole world.

A small, thin, cross-eyed scout was standing waiting. “Henry Beddings. Fire-making,” said Molly desperately.

Lady Fanny stared down at the scout with hatred. “Fire-making!” she exclaimed bitterly.

“Of all the stupid things to give a prize for. I know you. You’re the one who tried to set fire to my hedge last autumn. I’ll fire-make you, you little pyromaniac.” She tried to swipe Henry with his prize and missed. The boy scuttled down from the platform, and Lady Fanny threw his prize after him. Then suddenly feeling very weak, she collapsed into her chair and fell sound asleep.

Molly realized that she must do something to save Lady Fanny’s reputation. She moved quickly to the front of the platform.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” she cried. The unexpected American accents caught everyone’s attention. “Lady Holden is suffering from a very bad cough. She should have stayed in bed. But she is very conscious of her duty and took some very strong medicine so that she would be able to perform the prize-giving. The medicine is extremely strong and, as you can see, Lady Holden is suffering from its effects. It takes great dedication to duty and to the welfare of Hadsea to attempt to speak despite the influence of a strong drug. I suggest we give three hearty cheers for Lady Holden.”

Molly had never looked more beautiful. The crowd, glad to have a little excitement, and the dignitaries, glad to be relieved of embarrassment, cheered wildly.

Molly held up her hands for silence. “And now,” she cried, “I would like James Benson, Joseph Willicombe, and Henry Beddings to receive three cheers for behaving like true Boy Scouts in unusual and embarrassing circumstances.” More wild cheers.

Then Molly delivered her master stroke. “We are, however, fortunate in having with us today Lady Holden’s dear friend who, I feel sure, will be glad to stand in for her. Lady Ann Abbott.”

Lady Ann Abbott sailed to the front of the platform, her bosom heaving with gratification. She pulled down the front of her sensible tweed jacket, casting a pitying look at her fallen rival. She, Ann, had been looking forward to telling Fanny exactly how badly she, Fanny, had behaved. But enough was enough. Lady Abbott was having her moment of triumph and could afford to be magnanimous. Poor, dear Fanny should never hear of her disgrace from
her
. Which was exactly what the clever Miss Molly Maguire had planned.

Lord David and his friend, Roddy, Marquess of Leamouth, walked thoughtfully away from the prize-giving.

“She’s divine, you know. Absolutely divine,” said Roddy. “I wouldn’t do anything to upset her for the world.”

“She’s a militant baggage,” snapped Lord David. “Didn’t you see the way she stood up and made that speech? Not a feminine nerve in her whole body.”

“Oh, not
that
one,” said Roddy. “Her sister. The quiet one who stood at the back. What’s her name?”

“Mary,” replied Lord David, who had made it his business to find out as much as possible about the Maguire sisters.

“Mary,” breathed Roddy.

Lord David smiled at him indulgently. “You’re always falling head over heels in love with unsuitable females.”

“This one’s not unsuitable,” said Roddy. “She’s an angel.”

“An angel who sounds as if she hailed from one of the less salubrious parts of New York,” said his friend dryly.

“Snob,” said Roddy, turning back for a last look at Mary. “I’ll lay siege to Miss Mary Maguire, David, but my intentions will be honorable.”

Lord David smiled to himself. Roddy’s intentions were
always
honorable. That was part of his charm.

“And,” Roddy was going on, “when do we get a chance to get close to the girls?”

“After today,” replied Lord David, “I think that Lady Ann will send them a hurried last-minute invitation to her daughter’s ball. She had no intention of asking them, you know, but after Miss Molly’s performance today I have no doubt she will be all over them.”

Roddy looked slyly at his friend. “Don’t you think you’re going to have a bit of a hard time with the fair Molly?”

“Oh, she’ll come around,” said his lordship with maddening assurance. “I’ve never had any difficulty before.”

Despite all his much-vaunted assurance, Lord David found himself strangely nervous as he stood at the edge of the Abbotts’ ballroom and waited for the arrival of the Maguire sisters.

The long French windows of the ballroom were open onto the gardens. Brightly colored lanterns were strung through the trees. Vincent and His Melody Makers, specially imported from London, were playing a Viennese waltz with gusto. Great banks of hothouse flowers bloomed against the walls of the ballroom. All the most elegant members of the county were present and even a few sprigs of the nobility had traveled in from other summer parts, drawn by Lady Ann’s well-deserved reputation for lavish hospitality.

The band hit a triumphant last chord and the voice of the majordomo could be heard announcing, “Miss Molly Maguire and Miss Mary Maguire.” He looked eagerly around.

The Maguire sisters were coming slowly down the red-carpeted stairs. They were dressed in ball gowns of white and silver gauze, and real white rosebuds were threaded through the glossy black curls of their hair. With their startling blue eyes, creamy complexions, and high cheekbones, they looked strangely exotic—two foreign birds come to ruffle the plumage of the gray English doves. They made every other woman look colorless.

Roddy was already hurrying to the foot of the stairs to meet them. Lord Toby and Lady Fanny followed behind. Lady Fanny was wearing a ball gown of heavy crimson satin, which vaguely hinted at military discipline by having things like epaulets on the hips. She carried a lorgnette with a very long handle, which she brandished like a swagger stick, and her feathered headdress suggested more the scarlet crest of a warlike Roman than a feminine adornment for the dance.

For once, however, Fanny was looking as hunted as her husband. She could not remember one thing about the prize-giving, although everyone had informed her in such
kind
and sympathetic tones that she had done very well.

Lady Ann had been particularly sugary. Lady Fanny had been on the point of refusing the invitation to the ball but the stupendous news that none other than Lord David Manley was to be present had forced her to change her mind. The Maguire girls were looking enchanting and Lady Fanny knew where her duty lay. If only Molly would curb her sense of humor and if only Mary would learn to keep her mouth shut, then they might be married before the summer ended. Mary had quickly adopted the English accent and manners of the aristocracy but the context of her conversation was still pure Brooklynese.

Roddy gloomily retired from the Maguires’ crowd of admirers. “I only managed to get two dances,” he said to Lord David. “All these other damned chappies are scribbling away in the girls’ dance cards. How did you get on?”

“Not any better than you,” said Lord David. “Don’t worry. I have a plan. Before the next dance starts, plunge in there, laddie, and ask to see their dance cards. Tease, you know. Say you can’t believe they’re fully booked. Make a note in that brain of yours of the names of the chappies who have them signed up for the supper dance. Then we’ll take it from there.”

The marquess plunged back into the crowd of admirers. He started chatting and laughing. Lord David noticed that Mary looked at the marquess with glowing eyes and that Molly was even smiling at him with open friendliness. The young Americans had not yet learned to school their expressions.

Vincent and His Melody Makers struck up once again and Lord David was joined by Roddy. “Cuthbert Postlethwaite has got yours,” he said, “and Alfred Bingham has mine.”

“Oh, good,” said Lord David matter-of-factly. “I hate Postlethwaite. I’ll go and get rid of him directly.”

“Hey, what about me?” cried Roddy. “I like old Bingham.”

“Appeal to his better nature,” laughed Lord David, striding off.

Refreshments were being served under various marquees on the lawns. Beneath one, draped inside in great swathes of pink silk, only champagne was being served, and it was into this one that Lord David saw Cuthbert Postlethwaite’s broad back disappearing.

Cuthbert had his large face in a silver tankard. Lord David slapped him heartily on the back and said cheerfully, “And how are you, you silly little man?”

“Quite well, you old turd,” said Cuthbert amiably. Ladies were not present.

“Last time I saw you was at Cannes,” said Lord David, staring at Cuthbert’s frilled shirt. “That gigolo at the hotel must have been a damned decent chap.”

“Why?”

“I see he gave you his shirt,” said Lord David, helping himself to champagne.

Cuthbert’s broad face became puce. “If your lungs weren’t rotting in your chest, you’d answer for that,” he said wrathfully.

“I got the all clear from the hospital. Everyone knows that,” said Lord David. “Of course, a lot of chaps pretend not to know it. You know the sort. Frightened they’ll get hurt.”

Cuthbert was smaller in height than Lord David but he was powerfully built. He put down his tankard and stared at his lordship in blank amazement.

“Are you calling me a c-coward?” he stammered.

“Y-yes,” mimicked Lord David. “I am calling you a c-coward.”

“Outside,” said Cuthbert. “I’ve wanted to smash your face in for years and now I’m going to do it.”

They marched outside the tent and into the shrubbery while the band played on.

Molly swayed elegantly in the arms of her partner and assured herself that she was glad that that horrible Lord David had chosen to disappear. Perhaps he would stay away and not turn up to claim his two dances after supper. She was conscious of a faint sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She put it down to worrying about her sister. Mary was floating in Roddy’s arms, looking like a child at Christmas. Molly distrusted Roddy. First, of course, because of his friendship with Lord David. Secondly, because he seemed somehow insincere. It was rather like watching someone flirting in a play, Molly decided.

She whirled to a stop and gave her partner an abstracted smile and refused his offer of refreshment. She wandered over in the direction of the chaperons, meaning to have a word with Lady Fanny. Then she saw a young girl sitting forlornly on her own beside a pillar. She was dressed in a very dashing Paris gown that was much too old for her and much too daring for her obviously retiring manner. She had a very young, freckled face that bore the traces of tears. Molly’s warm heart was touched. She plumped herself down beside the girl, ignoring the fact that her next partner would be searching for her, and asked, sympathetically, “Are you all right?”

”Yes, thank you,” said the girl in a faint voice.

“I guess we haven’t been introduced, and you British set such store by introductions so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Molly Maguire, and the one out on the floor that looks like me is my sister, Mary.”

“I know who you are,” said the girl in a low voice. “
He’s
done nothing but look at you all evening.”

“He? Who?” asked Molly somewhat incoherently.

“Lord David.”

“That bully,” scoffed Molly. “Oh, here, for land sakes don’t start crying again. Tell me all about it. Start by telling me your name. Come on. I’m not going to eat you.”

“My name is Jennifer Strange,” said the girl, speaking in such a low whisper that Molly had to bend to hear. “I have been sent down here to stay with my Aunt Matilda, only because Lord David is here. My—my mother is very ambitious and—and—persuaded my aunt that there was a good chance of me marrying Lord David so they bought me a dashing new wardrobe and—and—sent me here—and—and he won’t even l-look at me.”

“But your mother can’t
force
you to marry just anyone,” exclaimed Molly.

“N-no one is f-forcing me,” said Jennifer, hiccuping. “I
love
him. He’s s-so strong and masterful.”

At first Molly thought this a bit theatrical but then she put it down to the British attitude.

“Well, you won’t attract his attention sitting behind this pillar,” Molly couldn’t help pointing out.

“H-he won’t even see me with you and your sister around. And—and—my aunt’s so furious, I’m hiding from her.”

Another bully! Another dragon to fight. Molly’s blue eyes gleamed. “You just relax,” she said, laying a comforting hand on the girl’s knee. “Leave everything to Molly.”

Jennifer raised adoring eyes to this new, strong personality in her life. Molly smiled down at her. She was really very engaging. Rather like a small Pekingese. Resisting an impulse to pat her on the head, Molly returned to the floor just as the supper dance was being announced and found herself looking up into the tanned and somewhat battered features of Lord David.

She forgot her dislike of him as she stared at his face. “You look as if you have been in a prize fight,” she exclaimed as he led her unresistingly into the steps of the waltz. And then, “Say, isn’t this someone else’s dance?” She tried to tug her hand free to look at her dance card but he kept her hand in a strong clasp.

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” he murmured.