Chapter Three
The trip to London was not quite as comfortable as it could have been.
Leland was confounded that he’d ended up trapped in a carriage with his grandmother when he’d imagined he’d taken every precaution against it.
He’d arranged for the lady to have her own carriage, but Miss Wilson currently occupied that vehicle quite alone.
Once he’d seen the dowager climb into his own carriage, he’d declared he would ride his horse.
That idea sank like a stone after various clutchings of the heart and wonderings if she was to die alone, unaccompanied and ignored.
His grandmother claimed they needed to ride together in the same carriage so they could, as she said, “put their heads together.” This had seemed to translate to she would talk and he would listen.
“To my mind,” the dowager said, “you require a lady who is comely so you do not lose interest—there can be no grandchildren if you lose interest. I presume you know how that all works. Then, of course, she must be tolerably intelligent, I have no patience for a dullard. She must play the pianoforte, or a harp if that’s all we can dig up.
Do not present me with a lady strumming on a guitar!
I like to listen to music, except a guitar, and my own fingers are too arthritic for it these days.
And do not bring me a picky eater! Nothing more tedious than an over-delicate type turning her nose up at wholesome country dishes.
She must have a tolerable seat on a horse.
It is pleasant to view a lady rider. Then of course, I presume you will have some of your own requirements. ”
Leland did not answer this long and considered opinion regarding who could be dug up. He was mystified as to why she was so against a guitar, though that and everything else on her list was irrelevant.
“We’ll start with Almack’s and see the lay of the land there,” the dowager prattled on. “Though, I will not confine myself to it! There will be plenty of suitable young ladies who do not attend, for one reason or another.”
“I have not purchased a voucher for Almack’s,” Leland pointed out.
He generally avoided it as he had little use for the formality of the place, the rules, the drinks, the food, and a few of the patronesses.
There was something inherently unpleasant about people who’d taken on the mantle of being arbiters of taste and rulers of society. It put his back up.
“Fear not,” the dowager said. “I’ve arranged it. Remember? I told you I needed money?”
“You said that was for clothes,” Leland said.
The dowager shrugged. “Some of it was and some of it wasn’t. Oh, and guess what else? Gracious I forgot we have another appointment before Almack’s. You know I have long known the queen.”
Leland waited for her to expound on the point of mentioning the queen. “And?”
“And I’ve wrangled us invitations to the reception after the next drawing room.
You see? We do not even bring anyone for a curtsy to the queen, but we will go.
It is rather ingenious, we will get a bird’s eye view of all the Lady So-and-So’s who come to bend their knee.
We’ll be ahead of the pack, as it were, in having a look at them all. In any case, it’s tomorrow.”
“Grandmama,” Leland said, “I really cannot have you interfering in my personal life just because you’ve decided you want grandchildren.
I will marry when I choose to marry to who I choose to marry and that is the end of it.
Maybe my future marchioness plays the guitar and maybe she does not.
Do not attempt to arrange my calendar or carry on in this highhanded manner. ”
He’d made some version of that speech a dozen times before with no effect. He really needed her to take it in though. He would not be pushed to the altar.
The dowager dramatically whipped out a handkerchief and wept into it with surprising gusto.
“Do not even bother with that,” Leland said.
She promptly dropped her handkerchief to reveal entirely dry eyes.
“All I will say at this moment, is that we have an invitation to St. James and vouchers and tickets for the opening ball at Almack’s.
I pray you will escort me, as if you do not I will be forced to advertise far and wide that I, a weak and decrepit old lady, limped to those places all alone.
My grandson, who I had thought had a care for me, was too busy to bother with it.
And then, who knows what sort of trouble I might stir up were I to go marauding through St. James and Almack’s entirely unsupervised? ”
Leland folded his arms. That was a nice bit of blackmail, and unfortunately true.
He was grateful to note that they’d entered the environs of London.
It would not be too long before he could escape the carriage.
He would repair immediately to his room and she would have no luck attempting to follow him in there.
The Hanover Square staff had been instructed to install a hefty lock on his door so his grandmother could not barge into it.
Or perhaps he ought to just turn the carriage around and go home. This season might prove to be far more trouble than it was worth.
But on the other hand, he was looking forward to meeting with Lady Winsome Nicolet again, now that she was to be properly out.
He wondered if she would attend the queen’s drawing room.
He also wondered how he could steer his grandmother well clear of her, as he would not appreciate any meddling in that direction.
*
Mrs. Right hid her trepidation as the carriages approached Grosvenor Square. Winsome and Valor were already in a state and Sir Galahad had picked up on it and was panting heavily.
Nobody knew what they were to find when they arrived.
Lady Marchfield had been religiously dependable about sending a letter ahead of time informing them that she’d hired another butler for the house.
She often sent information about the fellow she’d hired that had been helpful to Mrs. Right’s plans to get him out.
This year, she had been ominously silent.
Silent. Lady Marchfield was never, ever, silent.
Had she given it up? Mrs. Right would like to think so.
But she also knew that Lady Marchfield was crafty and that she would not like to admit defeat.
Especially after last year’s debacle. Last season, they had arrived and found her jubilantly standing outside the front doors so she might witness their surprise at being inflicted with Mr. Klonsume, the American.
Mrs. Right peered out the windows. There was no sign of the lady. Was that good or bad?
“What if she did something scary?” Valor whispered.
“Do not you fret about it, love,” Mrs. Right said. “If there is not a butler waiting for us, that is good news. If there is, I will make short work of him, as I always do.”
She soothed Valor with the idea, though she was not certain she had soothed herself. She had an unaccountable sense of foreboding. Her instincts were like embroidery needles pricking at her from all directions.
Their carriage had stopped just behind the duke’s own. He and his valet, Reynolds, were already on the pavement. Charlie hurried to open their door, peering at Mrs. Right as if he might divine something from her expression.
“Let us proceed,” she said, with all the confidence she could muster.
They entered the house and all was quiet.
Mrs. Right sent Thomas and Charlie downstairs to see if Cook had heard any word of a butler or seen any sign of Lady Marchfield.
As Winsome and Valor raced up the stairs to claim their bedchambers and the duke poured himself a brandy in the drawing room, Mrs. Right peered around for any sign that a butler had been there.
Nothing was out of place. Maybe Lady Marchfield had really given it up. If she had, she would not write the duke about it. After all, the countess was a proud woman. She’d just drop the matter and pretend she’d never had anything to do with it.
Thomas and Charlie ran back up the stairs from the kitchens. “Cook says he’s not seen hide nor hair of a butler,” Thomas said breathlessly. “But, he’s convinced there is something awry.”
“Awry?” Mrs. Right asked. She did not like the sound of awry.
“A few days ago,” Charlie said, “he began to suspect that someone was in the house. He’d hear a sound but could not determine where it was coming from. He’d look around and there was nobody.”
“He began to doubt the amounts of food he had in the kitchens, as if somebody was taking things,” Thomas said. “All the doors and windows were secured so he could not work it out. He was beginning to imagine he was going mad.”
“Then last night, before he retired, he measured the length of the loaf of bread on the counter.” Charlie took in a deep breath. “This morning, the loaf was shorter.”
Mrs. Right felt a chill down her spine. They all gazed round as if the mystery was somewhere waiting to be discovered nearby. “Have you checked the men’s quarters?” she asked.
“Cook says there is no sign of anybody having been there,” Charlie said.
“He says he’s checked everywhere,” Thomas said. “Now, I don’t like to say, but could it be…a ghost?”
“A ghost who steals bread?” Mrs. Right asked. “Now, if there is someone in the house, they cannot stay hidden forever. I reckon it is some poor street urchin who has slipped in for warmth and food and will slip out again now that the house is full.”
This seemed to greatly relieve the footmen, though Mrs. Right was not nearly as confident in the idea as she sounded.
She hurried down the stairs to the servants’ hall, determined to speak with Cook directly. Perhaps the fellow was going mad? It could not be a rational idea to go round measuring loaves of bread, after all.
“Did they tell you, Mrs. Right?” the cook said, twisting his hands together. “Did they tell you that something is awry in this house?”
“They did,” Mrs. Right said. “But you are sure? You are sure that someone is—”