The Magnificent Masquerade (7 page)

Greg lifted his head and glared at her.
"No, Mama, I did not. I was trying to spare her feelings."

"Nonsense," his mother said, waving
away his annoyance with a flick of her wrist. "There's nothing in it to
hurt the child's feelings. You see, my dear, Toby promised to be here early to
greet you, but his man arrived about an hour ago and told us that Toby stopped
off at Manningtree to call on a friend. He should not have done so, I admit,
but our Toby is notoriously unreliable."

"Is unreliability supposed to be an
excuse?" Edgerton asked irritably. But he bit back the other angry words that
rose to his throat. His brother was behaving like a damnable loose screw, but
his own good manners prevented him from showing his annoyance. It was
inexcusable of Toby to have delayed his arrival, especially when he'd been
clearly informed that his presence was necessary. Edgerton would certainly give
his brother a dressing down as soon as the fellow showed his face.

And to make matters worse, his sister, too, had
failed to make an appearance to greet their guest. What a harum scarum family
they must seem to poor Miss Jessup! "I must apologize for both my
siblings, Miss Jessup. My sister, too, seems to be missing. Where is Alicia,
Mama? Why hasn't she joined us for tea?"

Her ladyship's face fell. "She was taken
with a migraine again, I fear. It came on her quite suddenly, just before
luncheon. The pain was so severe that she took immediately to her bed. My poor
little Alicia is very delicate, Miss Jessup. Her health has always been
precariously balanced." She took a handkerchief from her bosom and sniffed
into it. "I sometimes think she will not long be with us. I don't know how
I sh-shall bear it if she is taken from us."

"She will not be taken from us,
Mama," Edgerton said, gritting his teeth. He usually listened to his
mother's babblings with patient endurance, but today he was feeling on edge.

"Please don't indulge in these waterworks
in front of our guest. Besides, Dr. Randolph assured you only last week that
your daughter is likely to outlive us all."

Emily, not having shared Edgerton's long
experience with his sister's hypochondria, couldn't help being touched by

Lady Edith's tears. "Have you tried a
licorice tisane?" she offered shyly. "Miss Marchmont uses it at the
school whenever one of the girls complains of the headache. It seems to work
wonders."

"Licorice?" The damp handkerchief
fluttered from her ladyship's fingers to her lap. "You can't mean it! Why,
we've tried all sorts of tisanes-fennel in the barley water, and prunes, and
sometimes even the rind of lemons, boiled and pushed through a sieve. But I've
never even heard of using licorice."

Lord Edgerton stared at Emily in surprise. It
had been astounding enough to find that the girl-whom her father de scribed as
wild, unpredictable, and given to scandalous behavior-looked and behaved like a
frightened little wren, but to observe her sitting there opposite him with her
hands nervously clasping her saucer and her elbows primly pressed against her
sides while she exchanged recipes for medicinal draughts with his mother ...
well, that was completely beyond his expectations. The only explanation he
could think of was that she was teasing them. "I think, Mama, that Miss
Jessup is cutting a wheedle. Licorice sounds very much like a hum to me. You
are shamming it, aren't you, my dear?"

"Shamming it?" The girl appeared to
be sincerely shocked. "Oh, no, my lord, of course not! I would never joke
on matters of health."

"Really, Greg," his mother chided,
"that was most unkind of you. Anyone can see that Miss Jessup is nothing
if not sincere. Do you think, Miss Jessup, that you might concoct one of your
tisanes now? I could have Naismith bring the ingredients to Alicia's room, if
you'd be so obliging as to mix them for us."

"I'd be most happy to be of service,"
Emily said eagerly. "We shall only need a bit of dried licorice root-or a
teaspoon of extract, if you have some-and the juice of two lemons. And the
barley water should be quite hot, of course ..."

"Licorice extract, lemon juice, hot barley
water," Lady Edith echoed, rising from her chair. This caused her
forgotten handkerchief to flutter to the floor. "I shall tell Naismith to
bring them to us in Alicia's room. There's no need for you to hurry your tea,
my dear, but as soon as you're ready we can go upstairs."

"Oh, I'm quite finished," Emily said,
jumping up. She placed her cup and saucer on the table and automatically knelt
down to pick up her ladyship's handkerchief. Just as she reached for it, she
remembered Kitty's warning: Don't pick up anything anyone drops. Quickly, she
withdrew her hand. But she was too late. Lord Edgerton, who had risen when she
did, had already bent down and was picking it up himself. When they both stood
erect, she couldn't fail to notice that he was looking at her with an intent
stare, as if she were a puzzle he couldn't quite unravel. Her face reddened
painfully. "I'm ...

sorry..." she mumbled.

"Whatever for?" he asked, holding out
the lacy kerchief. "Oh, no, it's not mine. It's ... it's your
m-mama's," she explained, feeling breathless and very stupid. "I only
meant to g-get it for her. Have I ... committed another faux pas?"

"Faux pas?" Lady Edith asked, looking
round. "Whatever can you mean? I am not aware of your committing
any."

"Neither am I," his lordship agreed.
He handed the handkerchief to his mother but continued to address his visitor.
"You are, I venture to say, the most proper guest ever to have graced this
room."

"My son is quite right, my dear. You
mustn't feel ill at ease among us, you know. We're a very ordinary, unaffected
family. And you've done nothing at all out of the way, I promise you. You
aren't discomfitted by having to take leave of my son so abruptly, are
you?"

Emily hadn't even been aware of that solecism.
"Oh, dear," she muttered miserably, "I didn't think ... that is,
I

suppose I should have ... I mean, perhaps his
lordship would prefer me to remain ... ?"

"Not at all, Miss Jessup, not at
all," Edgerton reassured her. "You must make yourself completely at
home. By all means go along with Mama, if that's what you wish to do. Don't
give me another thought."

"No, indeed," his mother agreed,
"don't worry about Greg. He's only too happy when we females leave him to
his own resources. Whenever we're fixed here at Edgerton, he involves himself
in estate business to the exclusion of almost everything else. He keeps himself
busy from mom 'til night, unless we order him to cease and desist. If he had
his way, he'd never join the ladies at all."

"That is an outright calumny, Mama,"
the maligned son said as he opened the door for them. "I'm always pleased
to join you at dinner."

"Perhaps so," his mother retorted as
she passed him by, "but whether it is for the pleasure of our company or
the taste of the roast I couldn't say."

Emily, hurrying after her hostess, dropped him
an awkward curtsey. "Pray excuse me, my lord," she mumbled.

"Until dinner," he answered with a
smile and a bow. "When you've finished with your tisane, Miss Jessup,
Naismith will show you to your room. Please ask him for anything you might
need. You'll have plenty of time to rest, for I've put off dinner for two
hours. We dine at seven tonight, if that is satisfactory to you. Toby's bound
to have arrived by then."

"Oh, yes, my lord, quite satisfactory.
Thank you, my lord." And with another quick bob, she scurried after Lady
Edith.

Edgerton watched after her until she rounded
the stairway landing, his brow knit in confusion. Could this be the same girl
that Lord Birkinshaw had described-the one who made her schoolmates drunk, who
flirted with a footman, who ran up enormous bills at her shoemaker's, and who
pawned her mother's emerald? In appearance and manner, she certainly did not
seem the sort. She seemed too timid to have even thought of such deviltry.

It was possible, of course, that she'd been
sternly warned to be on her best behavior. If so, the girl was making a valiant
effort. She'd given no sign, thus far, that there was now or had ever been a
mischievous thought in her head. She'd been polite to a fault. In fact, she
seemed always to be begging pardon for behavior that needed no apology.
Edgerton couldn't understand it.

But there was no cause for concern, he told
himself. After all, the girl was to spend a fortnight under this roof. If she
truly was wild, could she possibly hide her natural roguishness for fourteen
days and nights? Could the notorious Kitty Jessup spend an entire fortnight
concocting tisanes, blushing shyly at compliments, making sick calls on his
sister, and generally being obliging and obedient? He doubted it. No one, not
even Kitty Jessup, could dissemble for so long. It was not possible. In that
length of time, her true colors were bound to show themselves.

Thrusting his hands comfortably into his
pockets and whistling softly, he strolled down the hallway to his office. There
was something amiss here, but he felt surprisingly exhilarated by the challenge
of the mystery. He smiled to himself at the prospect of solving it. The next
couple of weeks might prove to be more amusing than he'd expected.

Chapter Seven

"And what. may I ask, are you doing
hanging about the Rotunda as if you had nothing in the world to do but stand
there and gape?" the butler demanded, having been distracted from his
mission (carrying a covered china teapot of hot water and a plate of freshly
baked raisin biscuits to the Blue Saloon) by the sight of Kitty, who'd just
come into the house and was interestedly studying her surroundings.

Kitty, unaccustomed to hearing that tone of
voice from a servant, reflexively put up her chin. "I'm not hanging
about." she said coldly, "and I wasn't gaping. I was merely admiring
the way the light slants in from those windows. Do you always greet guests in
this rude fashion?"

"Guests? Since when does an abigail
consider herself a guest?" Naismith looked her up and down, frowning in
disapproval. Although he never smiled in any circumstances, he found frowning
to be an efficacious expression in dealing with underlings. Thus, though his
lips would never turn up, they quite often turned down. "Lord Birkinshaw
must run a ramshackle household. I must say."

Kitty, reminding herself that she was now a
servant and had to watch her tongue, nevertheless couldn't help taking offense.
"Oh?" she asked, trying not to show her anger. "Why do you say
that?"

"Judging from your deportment and
appearance, my girl. I would guess that the Birkinshaws have a shockingly
careless staff."

"I don't see what's wrong with my
deportment. And as for my appearance,"- she looked down at herself
uneasily-"this is only my traveling dress, after all."

"You've a very free and easy way of
speaking, my girl. Too free and easy for this establishment, I can tell you.
I'll cure you of that soon enough. You mayn't have learned anything in the
Birkinshaw household, but you'll learn something here. How so ever, I haven't
time to deal with you now. Go upstairs and unpack your mistress's things. And
report to me downstairs in one hour." Having delivered these orders in
what he considered a sufficiently threatening manner, the butler turned his
back on the girl and proceeded on his way. "But wait!" Kitty cried, following
him. "I don't know where-"

Naismith turned round as furiously as his
butlerish self control allowed-that is, angrily enough to jiggle the cover of
the china pot he carried but not so precipitously as to dislodge it. "You
will address me properly, if you please. I am Mr. Naismith to you." He
glared down at her, imperious as a lord.

"You will say 'Please, Mr. Naismith,"
and wait to be acknowledged before you say anything further." Then,
rolling his eyes heavenward (for he often felt that the gods above took
particular delight in making his life troublesome), he added, "Didn't they
teach you anything where you come from?"

"But..."

"Please, Mr. Naismith," he prompted
in disgust. "Please, Mr. Naismith, I don't know where-" The butler
reddened in frustration. "Didn't you understand me? You were not
acknowledged! Don't you know how to wait?" His eyes turned heavenward
again. "Why am I always afflicted with gowks like this to deal with?"
The volume of his voice rose to an unaccustomed level and reverberated in the
cavity of the dome above him. The echo, like a heavenly reprimand, reminded him
of the inappropriateness of scolding a maid in a public room. He winced and
forced himself into calmness by taking two deep breaths. "What is your
name, girl?" he asked, still disdainful but much more subdued.

"E-Emily, Mr. Naismith. Emily Pratt."

"Well, Emily Pratt, I can see we shall
have our hands full with you. But I have more important tasks at the
moment." He turned again to go.

"Please, Mr. Naismith ... ?"

He stopped in his tracks but did not turn.
"Yes?" She hesitated. "Is that an acknowledgment?" He
glared at her over his shoulder. "Of course it's an acknowledgement. What
did you expect, a bow from the waist? Well, girl, speak up. I haven't all
day."

"I don't know where Miss Jessup's room
is."

"Then ask, for heaven's sake, ask!"

"I've been trying to ask ever since I came
in," she retorted. "Saucy puss!" he muttered, shaking his head
in exaggerated hopelessness. "I shall have a great deal to say to you
later, you can 4e sure of that. Meanwhile, ask one of the footmen at the bottom
of the main staircase to show you up.

What do you think they're stationed
therefore?" And he disappeared down the hall, shaking his head and
muttering to himself about the shocking decline in the quality of servants in
these godforsaken times.