Chapter Sixteen #2
He must suppose Monroe meant the closest to the stand of trees.
He’d already developed an idea on how to foil Harrelston and make him look a fool.
He would strategically make holes in the bottom of his boat and fill them with a paste of flour and water.
Once the boat was out on the lake, the flour would dissolve and Harrelston would sink.
Lord Chester snorted. Hopefully the fellow could swim.
Writing a note back was going to be awkward, as he would need to sit in a wood to do it, but he’d brought his writing things in a satchel. He walked further into the wood and found an old fallen tree.
He set up his things as best he could, dipped his pen, and wrote.
Monroe—
Stop talking about a duel. It’s stupid. You won’t get out of your current predicament if you’re dead.
Do everything you can to make Harrelston look bad. Beat him at the entertainments using any means. Tell her bad things about him. Tell her that you saw him lurking near her door late at night. Whatever you can think of. Find out why Lady Beatrix was alone with the queen.
I will attempt to find a hiding place to view the shooting (I assume you mean arrows and not pistols). I will definitely try to view the billiards. If you can manage it, take a swipe at him and make it look accidental.
I have something planned for the regatta to make Harrelston look incompetent. You will be set up for your moment at the ball. Propose and do not take no for an answer.
Chester
It was not his neatest bit of writing, but readable and the best that could be hoped for from a letter written in a wood. Lord Chester threw some sand on it and shook it off.
Harrelston had to be moved out of the way if Monroe was to have any chance of success.
Lord Chester hurried away as gentlemen were coming down to the lake. He presumed they came to examine their boats. Harrelston could examine his all he liked, but it would be altered when he got in it to set sail for the regatta.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beatrix had woken up in very good spirits. The evening before had been lovely. The queen had thrown her considerable favor behind her and there was no danger of being thrown out. She’d sat next to Lord Harrelston at dinner and they’d talked and talked.
She discovered he was mad for pineapples and willing to foot the expense of them, even though the cost was ridiculous.
Beatrix had never tasted one and he thought that was both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because never tasting them avoided the ongoing cost of them and a curse because God had never made a better fruit.
He was determined to attempt to grow them in a hothouse.
Beatrix told him about the Copperstone dairy and their renowned cheddar. Their cook made a Tartarian cherry compote to go with it.
After that, they talked a great deal about their horses.
Beatrix described her grey, aptly named Cake, as she was always making a cake of herself.
She routinely backed up in her stall and then scared herself when her haunches bumped into the far wall.
Cake also did not seem to ever recognize a leaf blowing across her path, though she’d seen such a thousand times, and acted as if she was under attack by a deadly creature in a very dramatic fashion.
Lord Harrelston had a slew of horses, though he’d brought his favorite to Town. Vulcan was a fine chestnut who was game to go anywhere at any time. No fence or stream was considered an impediment.
They spoke of their home counties. Lord Harrelston’s seat was in Sussex, a large estate that ran all the way down to the sea.
From the house, one could only get glimpses of the water from the upper windows.
However, his father had built a small cottage that sat overlooking the shore.
He spent a lot of time there when he was at home.
Beatrix thought it sounded marvelous. So far, she’d only seen paintings of the sea. And then Miss Sprite was very against large bodies of water. She said a person had something wrong with their mind if they thought putting themselves in water deeper than a bathing tub was a good idea.
Though they were talking of things that might be said to anybody, it felt as if they were talking of important, personal things. As if perhaps Lord Harrelston had not told anybody else about the cottage by the sea. She could not quite describe it, but so it had felt.
She really did not have much confusion over her feelings regarding the gentleman.
She had resisted them on account of Lord Chester, but Lord Chester had solved that problem for her via Annie Wister.
Once that impediment had been removed, well, was there a better man in England?
She could not think so. He was so handsome she felt as if she would like to lean closer to him.
In the drawing room, they’d had a look at the sketch of the boats for the regatta.
Lord Harrelston’s was green and situated near the end closest to the house.
He remarked that he had a plan for the strange nighttime regatta though he did not say what it was.
He then very cleverly whisked her away to play piquet, a two-person card game.
He’d been surprised at how skilled she was at the game.
When she told him Miss Sprite was mad for it he’d laughed and said Miss Sprite was a lady of hidden depths.
Lord Monroe looked down in the mouth about it and hung around a bit before finally moving off. Beatrix wished he would just turn his attention elsewhere. He’d be much happier for it, she was sure.
When she’d retired for the night, she felt odd going to sleep in a strange room.
It was decided that Lydia could sleep in her bed with her, which Lydia said she was delighted to do.
According to the maid, it was exceedingly crowded in the servant’s quarters and she was expected to share a bed with another maid she’d never laid eyes on.
The only maids who got their own beds were the queen’s two maids.
Those two shared a room that was larger than the others and they made sure everybody knew it.
Some of the other maids were steaming over it.
After Lydia had returned with her nightclothes, Beatrix carefully locked the door and snuffed the last candle. She tiptoed around as she did so, as she had already warned Lydia that the queen was across the corridor and must not be disturbed.
She drifted off to sleep with Lydia recounting the power struggles below stairs.
The two royal maids were always threatening to speak to the queen over the slightest perceived insult and the housekeeper was sick of the whole thing and said it happened every year.
Her own bedmate, Alice, had been delighted to discover that she would have the bed to herself.
Alice said Lady Beatrix honored Lydia by inviting her above stairs and that she planned to throw that in the queen’s maid’s faces at breakfast.
The morning had dawned bright and Beatrix had her first experience of breakfast coming to her, rather than her going to breakfast. It was an enormous tray of eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, rolls, a selection of cheeses, sliced ham, dressed orange wedges and a pot of tea.
She shared it with Lydia as her maid speculated that everyone downstairs probably only got a slice of dry bread.
As for Beatrix, she liked this style of breakfast in one’s room. She could sit on the windowsill and watch the changing colors of the lake as the sun made its way higher on the horizon. Some of the gentlemen were down there already, examining the boats they were to sail for the nighttime regatta.
Lord Harrelston was down there, by his green boat. He did not stay long though. As he walked back up the rise to the house, he shaded his eyes and looked up to its windows.
Beatrix hopped off the sill, as she was still in her nightclothes, though Lydia claimed he could not possibly have seen her with the sun in his eyes.
The countess came through the connecting door and said, “You have breakfasted. Lydia, I think it is time we dress.”
“Yes, my lady,” Lydia said, picking up her clothes and going behind a Chinese painted screen to change.
“Mama,” Beatrix said, “the entertainment does not begin until one o’clock. What are we meant to be doing until then? What do people do with themselves at these parties when there is nothing scheduled?”
“I know what your father will be doing. He has already gone down and will go directly to the billiards room and challenge anybody he can find. As for us, I believe a walk will be efficacious, and then we may read in the drawing room.”
“Read? I did not think to bring any of my books.” By books, Beatrix meant the handful that Miss Sprite allowed her to call her own.
Fordyce’s sermons, books on flora and drawing, and a local history of Hertfordshire.
Though, as regards to the history of Hertfordshire, Miss Sprite had blacked out a section.
Lynette Watson claimed to have the same book and said it was about a mysterious cave in Royston that was shrouded in mystery.
Beatrix tended to believe Lynette, as Miss Sprite thought mystery was the devil’s work.
“That is no matter,” the countess said, “Lady Dudmore has an extensive library, just choose something.”
Beatrix did not mention that Miss Sprite would have an apoplectic fit over the idea that she was to just choose something.
Lady Dudmore might have novels in her library.
She might have gothic novels. If she did, Beatrix was going to choose one and finally discover what Lynette Watson had always been going on about.
Lynette was allowed to read anything she liked and she said there was nothing so delicious as scaring oneself silly.
Lydia emerged back in her clothes and got them dressed as quickly as it was possible to dress two ladies.
Beatrix’s day dress was a simple muslin as the countess was in full agreement with Miss Sprite on the matter.
A young lady had no need to excessive decoration while the sun was up in the sky.
A ribbon round the waist was quite enough.
Fortunately, Miss Sprite had packed Beatrix’s sturdy leather boots for walking.
They arranged their bonnets and tippets and made their way downstairs.
They did not encounter anybody but for a footman at the door.
Beatrix thought they must be rather late risers and most of the guests were well on their way to whatever they’d chosen to do.
Or maybe they were still lounging over their breakfasts.
She really did not know what people did at a house party.
“There is a charming path through the fruit trees, if I remember it correctly,” the countess said. “Then we can walk down to the lake.”
They set off across the lawn, the grass still wet with dew, passing by workers who were preparing the arrows for the afternoon’s event.