Chapter Seventeen #2
Corbyn took it and slid it behind some old boards. We’d best return to the house. I did not breakfast and Lady Dudmore would have put out her sideboards by now.”
They made their way back and Farber went off to wherever he was going to observe and talk to whoever would talk to him.
Wherever people had been through the morning, they had all come like pigeons to roost to see what Lady Dudmore had on her sideboards.
And her dining table too, which was filled with dishes.
Corbyn filled a plate of roasted beef with a generous spoonful of horseradish, fresh-baked rolls, and heaps of butter.
Lady Dudmore had set out all sorts of delicacies, but he was perfectly satisfied with his choices.
There was nothing better than meat covered in horseradish and then bread and butter to take away the heat on occasion.
He toured the drawing room, but Lady Beatrix was not there. He had a look in the music room. He finally found her in the library in a grouping of furniture at the far end. She was with the countess and, blast it, Monroe was there too.
He wondered if Monroe had been following her around all morning.
“Lady Copperstone, Lady Beatrix,” he said. He ignored Monroe and did not particularly care that it was rude.
“Lord Harrelston, do join us,” the countess said.
Monroe was forced to shove over on the settee. Corbyn looked over Monroe’s plate with disdain. What man subsisted on jellies, Shrewsbury cake, and shrimp paste sandwiches? It looked as if he’d made up a plate for somebody’s grandmother.
“Lord Harrelston,” Lady Beatrix asked, “are you prepared for the archery…I’m not sure what to call it? The archery event.”
He nodded. “Indeed. I have a plan. Whether it finds success or not remains to be seen.”
“A plan?” Lord Monroe said, sounding aghast over the idea.
“Do not you have a plan, Lord Monroe?” Lady Beatrix asked.
Corbyn was certain he noted a bit of a twinkle in the lady’s eye.
“Oh, well, yes, of course, anybody is going to have a plan. A man cannot attend an archery…event…without a plan.”
“Goodness, yes I see,” Lady Beatrix said. “What is the plan?”
“The plan?” Lord Monroe said, looking cornered. “Harrelston, what is your plan?”
“I’ll keep that to myself for now,” Corbyn said.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Monroe said, “you see, Lady Beatrix, that is the thing, we must keep our plans secret. For now. But rest assured, all will be revealed!”
“Very mysterious,” Lady Beatrix said with a smile.
Corbyn really did not know why Monroe went on with his pursuit. It was clear enough that Lady Beatrix was not bowled over by him. Monroe was not built for wooing a lady. He ought to take his shrimp paste sandwiches and go home.
“That is quite the helping of horseradish, Lord Harrelston,” the countess said, looking amused. “Does it not burn?”
Corbyn nodded. “It does,” he said, “I suspect that is why I like it.”
“You are very brave,” Lady Beatrix said. “I cannot tolerate it myself.”
Corbyn well knew Lady Beatrix was joking to name him brave. It did not seem as if Monroe knew it though.
“I enjoy heaps of horseradish myself,” Lord Monroe said. “I even sometimes put it on my eggs.”
Corbyn suppressed his laughter and said, “That sounds ghastly.”
“Maybe that’s why I like it,” Monroe said stubbornly.
The fellow really was absurd.
Lady Dudmore came into the library. “Gentlemen, the time grows near.”
Corbyn set his plate down. “Well now, all plans will shortly be revealed.”
“That’s right,” Monroe said. “All the plans. Revealed. Shortly.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mr. Feldstaffer tried to keep his pacing and fretting to a minimum.
While the earl was away, Miss Sprite considered herself the de facto head of house.
When the earl returned she would make a full report on everybody’s movements, what they said, and what she thought about it.
Just now, she was forcing Lady Caroline to suffer through another game of piquet.
It was very hard not to pace just now though.
The League had known that Lord Chester had told his family that he was off to Lady Dudmore’s house party, though they also knew he’d not been invited.
Mr. Feldstaffer had made the fatal mistake of assuming Lord Chester had slipped off to be with his actress.
The fates had since laughed in his face.
Just this morning, Mr. Browning had hurried to catch up with him as he strolled the square.
It turned out that Mr. Browning was a cousin to the Marchioness of Bath’s lady’s maid.
That lady had written him an endless letter of gossip, as she often did.
She kept in close touch with Mr. Browning as she felt that of all of their extended relations, they were the two most elevated.
This particular letter recounted how the marchioness had encountered Lord Chester at an inn nearby Lady Dudmore’s estate and how it drove her mad to see him, as she would never get over last year’s “incident.”
Mr. Browning had no idea what the incident had been, as he paid little mind to his cousin’s gossipy ramblings unless they were some inside look at the workings of the royal family.
It hardly mattered. What mattered was Lord Chester had not gone to see Annie Wister. He was lurking nearby Lady Dudmore’s house.
Why? What was he doing there? It felt dangerous, though Mr. Feldstaffer could not quite pin down the cause. All he could be sure of was that Lord Chester did not go there for no reason.
“Gracious, Mr. Feldstaffer,” Miss Sprite said, “You are white as a linen sheet.”
Mr. Feldstaffer did not answer, as he did not think Miss Sprite had captured how he must appear. If he were as white as a corpse, he would not be surprised.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lady Dudmore’s guests had made their way out to the green.
Beatrix found herself unaccountably nervous.
There did not seem any risk to serious injury, but nevertheless.
She thought it must say something about her feelings for Lord Harrelston that she had a knot in her stomach over it.
Gentlemen were to shoot arrows at him, even if they were blunt tips.
Their hostess had advised them to stay well back, lest their clothes be stained by an errant arrow. The threat to her clothes seemed to give the countess more pause than anything else.
Lord Harrelston had said he had a plan. She could not imagine what it was. Lord Monroe had claimed he had a plan too, but Beatrix could imagine what that was—no plan.
The gentlemen were all taking their places around the wide circle. Beatrix noticed Lord Harrelston watching Lord Monroe and then taking a spot opposite him. She was not certain what it meant, if anything. Did he want to shoot at Monroe, or just not care to stand next to him?
Lady Monroe walked to the center. “Gentlemen, I will step out of the circle and count one, two, three, shoot. At that moment, the contest begins and you may start removing and shooting arrows from your quivers. The queen will judge the winner. Good luck to everyone.”
Lady Dudmore exited the circle and stood next to the queen. “Prepare yourselves, gentlemen. One, two, three, shoot!”
The circle of gentlemen began fumbling to get an arrow out of their quiver, which was really a large bucket wrapped in leather.
Except Lord Harrelston. In what Beatrix must suppose was his plan, he had his first arrow notched and let it fly at Lord Monroe. It hit him on the shoulder, leaving a dark mark before falling to the ground.
Lord Monroe looked up in shock, but another arrow was coming his way. And then another.
“Stop it!” Lord Monroe cried. “Give a gentleman a chance to fire!”
Another arrow hit him as Lord Harrelston called, “No.”
As the queen laughed, Lord Monroe fumbled with an arrow, had it notched, and then lost hold of it as another arrow hit him in the forehead. He held his hand up to rub it, smearing black soot all over his face. That was just in time to fend off two more arrows.
Lord Harrelston’s quiver was emptied, he held his hands up and stepped back.
The other gentlemen had not got very far with the whole thing. But then Lord Kellway finally got one of his arrows in the air, directly at Lord Monroe.
Lord Monroe shouted, “Why?”
“You’re already covered in soot,” Lord Kellway said. “Why sully somebody else’s clothes?”
“Why not?” Lord Monroe answered.
Regardless of his wish that the soot be shared around, the rest of the gentlemen seemed to see the sense in Lord Kellway’s reasoning. They all began to fire at Lord Monroe.
Lord Monroe threw his bow and arrow to the ground and covered his face.
“Gracious,” the countess whispered, “this is rather a rout.”
Indeed it was. While Beatrix knew she had no claim on Lord Harrelston’s victory, she was nonetheless very proud. He had been magnificent.