Chapter Sixteen
“It was gracious of the queen to have a personal audience with you,” Corbyn said, as he led Lady Beatrix into the dining room. He did not wish to let on that he’d heard any of the gossip, but could not help being curious over what had been said.
“Gracious, yes, that is exactly how I would describe it. The queen was very kind.”
They took their places at table, with Lady Beatrix to his right.
Corbyn was satisfied to see Monroe much further down the table and seated next to Lady Clyburn, a rather dotty old viscountess.
She was harmless enough, but she could not stop talking about her dog.
She had a Pekinese that allegedly understood her every feeling and went everywhere with her.
Corbyn presumed that remarkable dog was currently in her room or down in the servants’ hall dazzling the staff.
As Corbyn remembered from other years, the queen sat in the hostess’s chair with Lady Dudmore to her right, while her nearest neighbor in Kent, Lord Hartford, hosted the lower end.
The footmen brought round wine. Lady Beatrix said, “I understand the gentlemen are to be hard-pressed over the next two days.”
Corbyn nodded. “Any gentleman who fears embarrassment ought to pack their bags and be off.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Beatrix said. “Well, I do think there is something in being a gracious loser and I imagine this will be something similar.”
Corbyn laughed. “Indeed, no gentleman will be accused of winning.”
Lady Dudmore dinged her glass with a spoon and the table fell to silence. “Welcome all, and especially our dear Majesty.”
“Hear, hear,” was murmured round the table.
Lady Dudmore turned to the queen. “Ought we to alert our guests as to what they might look forward to over the next days?”
The queen was looking very entertained already. “We must, I think. Is not the anticipation half the fun? Do proceed with it, Lady Dudmore. I will add commentary as needed.”
“We will begin on the morrow with an archery contest,” Lady Dudmore said.
The queen snorted. “With blunt tips dipped in charcoal.”
“Yes, of course they must be blunt tips,” Lady Dudmore said.
“Tell them why,” the queen said, laughing into her napkin.
“Because you are the targets!” Lady Dudmore said. “You see? You will be shooting at each other!”
Corbyn glanced at Lady Beatrix. Her eyes were rather wide. He did not know what she’d been expecting, but he was certain there was worse to come.
“And then, tomorrow evening we will have a billiards tournament.”
“One-armed!” the queen said.
“Of course, one-armed,” Lady Dudmore said. “Where would the fun be if the competitors could use both hands?”
There were various groans around the table. Corbyn did not bother. He’d come knowing it would be ghastly and so it would be ghastly. He would just put up with it. It was only a few days, after all.
“On Thursday, while I take the ladies to the village for some shopping, the gentlemen will be at their leisure and may rest.”
“They will need it!” the queen said.
“Indeed they will. Thursday night brings the highlight of the festivities. A moonlight regatta where the game will be to collect hollowed out chicken eggs floating on the lake.”
“That will be painted black!” the queen said.
Corbyn could not quite imagine how that would be done. How was a person to find small black eggs on a dark lake?
He supposed he’d jump off that bridge when he got there.
“Now, when you return to the drawing room, you will see a drawing of the layout of boats and which you are assigned to. Feel free to make any preparations you like ahead to the regatta.”
“And you will be given torches on the night,” the queen said, “to see as best you can.”
“Directly after the regatta we will have our traditional Wilderness Ball. Ah, here is the soup. Enjoy the evening everybody. Gentlemen, be on the bowls green on the morrow at one o’clock. Do not wear clothes you are afraid to get charcoal on!”
“I believe I understood most of it,” Lady Beatrix said. “At least, I think so. I did not know there would be a ball though.”
“Do not concern yourself if you did not bring a gown for it. Everyone will be expected to dress as forest animals, courtesy of Lady Dudmore’s mishmash of costumes. We will all appear ridiculous.”
“Even the queen will dress in costume?”
“The queen will do as she likes,” he said.
Suddenly, Lady Beatrix looked startled, as if something had just occurred to her. “Gracious, I was so nervous to speak to the queen I managed to entirely forget something she said. She is across the corridor from me, directly. What if I make a sound that disturbs her?”
“I very much doubt that will be a concern. The queen’s quarters here are rather extensive.
Everybody knows of the queen’s long friendship with Lady Dudmore and Lady Dudmore long ago broke through walls to make three rooms into a set of apartments for the lady.
I imagine what is across from you is a sitting room. ”
“I am relieved to hear it!”
“By the by,” Corbyn said, not entirely certain he should mention it, “my valet tells me that below stairs they are calling Lord Monroe “the lurker.” I hope he has not inconvenienced you in any way.”
Lady Beatrix nodded. “I know what they refer to. It was very odd. He lingered at his door while I and my mother and father were led to our quarters.”
Corbyn stiffened. “I do not like it, that is ungentlemanly. I’d like to know why he did it. Perhaps I will ask him.”
“Oh, no need. My mother took care of it. She sent me into my mother and father’s room and they went into mine. She said if Lord Monroe had any ideas to knock on my door for conversation, he would find himself staring at the earl.”
Corbyn felt his hand tighten on his fork. He presumed the countess had phrased it as “conversation” as she did not care to startle her innocent daughter. Miss Sprite would have said nothing about rakish gentlemen slipping down dark halls at house parties. “Keep your door locked, in any case.”
“Indeed, that is what my mother has advised. I would have thought of it myself in any case, as it feels odd to be sleeping in someone else’s house. Not unsafe, but somehow…odd.”
Farber had not taken Lord Monroe as a rake. Neither had Corbyn. However, wishing to know which room Lady Beatrix stayed in was concerning. Monroe was desperate. Was he desperate enough to attempt to compromise Lady Beatrix?
Or if not compromise the lady in truth, make it appear as if she were compromised.
Monroe had made a great show of mentioning the gossip, and how a wedding stopped wagging tongues. Would he be base enough to try to pressure Lady Beatrix into an engagement?
Corbyn would propose as soon as he found his moment and put an end to Lord Monroe’s hopes and plans. He imagined the ball would be a particularly opportune time.
In the meantime, when they all went back to the drawing room, he would have a look at the sketch Lady Dudmore had mentioned and identify his boat. He had some idea of the preparations he would make. He intended to win at every contest and ensure Lord Monroe failed miserably.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lord Chester had spent a tedious night creeping around the dark and peering in windows.
The queen’s guards were nowhere to be seen.
They seemed far too comfortable to find themselves once more at Lady Dudmore’s house.
All he’d been left to dodge was an old watchman who had walked round the house once, satisfied himself that all was well, and took to smoking his pipe under the fruit trees.
He'd peered into the drawing room and been satisfied to see Monroe by Lady Beatrix’s side.
Less satisfied to see Harrelston there too.
He’d watched the queen arrive, and then seen Lady Beatrix and the queen leave the room for some minutes.
He did not know where they went or what they talked about, but he assumed Monroe would find it out.
After that, he’d slipped round the house to see into the dining room. He was annoyed to see Harrelston seated next to Lady Beatrix and Monroe far down the table. Precedence was not helping the cause.
As the hours dragged on, Lord Chester began to feel a certain amount of resentment at being out of doors, excluded, peering in windows.
It was not as if he'd ever wished to attend Lady Dudmore’s ridiculous house parties.
It was not as if he was one of the sycophants who were forever crawling into the queen’s orbit.
It was just annoying to contemplate that when the queen and Lady Dudmore put together the invitations, his name was never mentioned.
Nevertheless, he’d stayed until the bitter end and watched as the light went out in Lady Beatrix’s window.
Now he was back in the mid-morning, as Lord Monroe was to have left him a note under the rock to outline what he had so far discovered. He slipped into the stand of trees and picked up the rock. At least Monroe had remembered to leave something.
Chester—
Harrelston is getting in my way. He’s always right there and also, he insulted me last night. Said I was an old woman with not enough to do when I was hinting about the gossip like you said. I’m thinking about a duel.
For God’s sake, Monroe could not challenge Harrelston. He’d be dead five minutes after he turned up on the green. Lord Chester read on.
Here are the “entertainments.” We will shoot at each other at one o’clock on the green. Tonight is one-armed billiards. Tomorrow we are free until sunset. Then we will have a nighttime regatta to look for eggs? Then the ball afterward.
We were assigned our boats. Harrelston’s is the green one, closest.
Write back about what you think about a duel. I’ll need a second.
Lord Chester ignored the stupidity about a duel and looked down the line of boats. There were three boats painted green. He supposed he could rule out the one in the middle, but of the other two? The closest boat to who or what?