Unexpected Danger Page 6

  Christopher knew his butler was saying something, but he could not seem to concentrate on the other man's words. “I must speak with her, Brenlaw.”

  “The chambermaid informs me the storm knocked the telephone out of service again.”

  “Damn! There’s only one thing for it. I must go to her house.”

  “How will you do that, my lord? The carriage is in no state to go anywhere. The blacksmith is still working on it.”

  “Then we’ll have to ride.”

  Brenlaw raised one telling eyebrow, a familiar expression of incredulity. “The road to her house goes past the village square.”

  At this, his lordship balked. He hadn't ridden through the village in over fifteen years, and, if there was anything he hated, it was to feel people staring. “Brenlaw, you could go to her and plead my case.”

  “Indeed I could. Since she does not blame you in any way for how things ended last night, I believe a letter from you may suffice. I will deliver it personally when I go into town later today.”

  “You think that will work?”

  “I am quite certain of it.”

  “Thank you, Brenlaw. I do appreciate it.”

  “Just doing my duty, my lord.” He paused. “If I may be so bold, I would suggest keeping the letter brief and to the point. And, perhaps, restrict the self-loathing to a minimum. It may make her uncomfortable to read such words coming from someone she barely knows.”

  “Excellent idea, Brenlaw. I’ll do that.”

  Chapter 7

  Dawn was barely a half-hour old when Margaret pulled in behind her house. The roads were very muddy and slick from the storm, so it took her a bit longer to get home than she'd expected. She was tired and irritated. Stepping inside, she shut the door behind her. As she did this, the telephone rang.

  She stepped to the stand and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Margaret. It’s Teresa Houseman. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, and you?”

  “Don't be funny,” her friend snapped. “I tried to call you last night, but I got no answer.”

  “I went to Lord Yawron's last night, remember?”

  The older woman didn't answer immediately. “Lord Yawr… Well, where have you been? I saw your car pass in front of my house just now, and I simply had to know what happened.”

  “He insisted I stay in a guest room overnight, because of the storm. He felt the country roads weren’t safe to drive in the rain. Considering their state today, I think he was right.”

  “Well, I suppose he should know.” Teresa paused. “How was he?”

  Knowing what she was fishing for, Margaret decided not to bite. “Well, healthy and strong.”

  “Margaret!”

  If the other woman insisted, who was Margaret to deny her? “Teresa, no matter how much you’d love to hear that the house was something out of a penny-dreadful, and that the earl was a ghoul of the worst shade, I can’t say it. The house, though mostly unused, is beautiful and could be quite exquisite if fully lit and open. His lordship is considerate and pleasant if a bit out-of-practice in conversation. He has a refined, pre-War gallantry about him that I found quite charming. I stayed the night due to the foul weather, and nothing unusual or shocking happened.”

  “Well, that’s a mercy anyhow. Still, you ran a serious risk staying there.”

  “I know. But I’m sure with you, Lara, and Brenlaw at my back, I’ll be perfectly protected from any mud that is slung my way.” She paused as a thought struck her. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me yesterday was his lordship’s birthday?”

  The silence on the other end seemed both stunned and somehow resentful.

  When Teresa spoke, it was only to mutter, “I didn’t remember.” After another pause, she asked. “Did you see his face?”

  “No. He wore a cloak with a heavy hood. I didn’t make a point to try and see it. He didn't want that, and I didn’t wish to spoil the evening by embarrassing him.”

  There was another silence. It was longer than before. This time, it was unmistakable; Teresa Houseman was angry.

  Margaret frowned. “What is it, Teresa? What did I say?”

  “Nothing,” Houseman replied tightly.

  “I thought you’d be happy to know I was safe and well and that the night wasn’t a horror.”

  “I am.” She hardly sounded convincing. “Let’s meet at the teahouse at eleven. That way, I can hear the whole story.”

  “Certainly. I’ll invite Lara, if that’s all right.”

  “Perfect.” Her voice was clipped and sharp. “Be seeing you.”

  As she hung up the phone, Margaret frowned. Something was wrong. Teresa should be relieved that the night wasn't a total disaster. Instead, she seemed to resent it.

  Shaking off the uneasy feeling, Margaret went to her bedroom to sleep for a few hours. At nine o’clock, she awoke and dressed quickly. Ringing up Lara, she invited her to the get-together. Lara, by contrast, was delighted that the night hadn't been too dangerous, stressful, or frightfully boring. She seemed excited to hear all the details.

  Margaret arrived at the teahouse promptly at eleven. Lara was already there. They were both surprised to find that their older friend had not yet arrived.

  Unlike many of the affluent gentry, Teresa never followed the rule about being fashionably late. She always arrived like clockwork, believing that it was an insult to have one’s friends wait for her. Inexplicably, today, she wasn't on time.

  “What do you think of this?” Lara asked excitedly. “The queen of punctuality has not shown her face. And she was the one who suggested the time as well.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Margaret replied. “Hell must be having a blizzard.”

  “Let’s find a table. She knows where to find us.”

  When they had been shown to their table, Lara begged to hear about the night at the estate. As the morning tea was laid out, Margaret told her the whole story of the night’s events. The younger woman’s eyes widened when the true reason of the invitation was revealed.

  “You mean, he actually asked you, a total stranger, to his birthday dinner?”

  “Yes. I can’t explain why. Perhaps he felt I was the only one without a set idea about him, and therefore, I’d be more willing to take a chance. Perhaps he thought he'd be less upset if a stranger said no. I’m not sure.”

  Lara glanced across the room and leaned over conspiratorially. “Look who just walked in.”

  Margaret followed her friend’s gaze. Teresa saw them at the same instant. With a signal to the waiter, she came over and sat down. She greeted Lara warmly and nodded at Margaret.

  “Look who decided to join us!” Lara teased.

  “I’m sorry.” Teresa said with an apologetic smile at her young friend. “I lost track of time.”

  “We’ll forgive you this time, but not again.” Lara grinned.

  “That's very good of you,” Teresa replied. She looked directly at the younger woman, deliberately turning her shoulder to close Margaret out.

  “We were just talking about Mags’ adventures at Chez Tobias.”

  “I missed it? What a pity. But then, I never was one for idle gossip.”

  Rocking back, Lara laughed aloud. “You’re the expert at it! We always discuss the latest rumors and skulduggery. You say, rather unfairly, that it’s the only thing that makes living in this village bearable.”

  “Well, I suppose I’m not in the mood this morning, that’s all.” When the waiter arrived, Teresa ordered her tea.

  As Margaret reached for the heavy cream, Teresa took it quickly. If the older woman meant to seem casual about it, she failed miserably. Margaret asked her to pass the butter. The older woman didn't acknowledge her, handing Lara the jam pot upon request.

  A long uncomfortable pause followed. Margaret quietly gritted her teeth. Teresa tucked into the meal as if nothing had happened.

  Lara glanced from one friend to another, frowning. After a few abortive attem
pts at livening things up, the young woman gave in. They ate in silence.

  As they were finishing their tea, the cashier arrived. “Miss Taylor?”

  “Yes, George, what is it?”

  “There's someone wishing to speak with you at the front door.”

  She glanced toward the entrance. “Thank you, George, I’ll be right there.”

  As Margaret rose to her feet and followed the waiter, Lara and Teresa turned toward the newcomer. The Tobias’ butler stood waiting near the cashier’s station. Unflappable as ever, he smiled politely and stepped back as patrons passed in front of him.

  Seeing Brenlaw, Lara muttered, “What do you know about that? Pity it wasn’t the earl himself. And yet, why would his lordship feel the need to contact her so soon?”

  “Or ever again,” Teresa muttered under her breath.

  “Oh, Teresa, really!”

  As they watched, the older man handed Margaret a note. She read the letter carefully. Slipping the note into her handbag, she thanked him and returned to their table.

  Lara was bursting with curiosity when her friend arrived. “What did he say?”

  “Lara, don’t be nosy,” Teresa chided.

  “I’m just asking.”

  “Well don’t. It’s common.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Teresa,” Lara retorted, “educated or not, I'm officially ‘common.’ If Mags tells me it is none of my affair, I won’t pursue it. But it's up to her to decide whether or not I’m snooping.”

  “Lara, you’ve always proven to be a woman above your station. I expected more of you. If you wish to dive to such depths, I won’t stop you. However, I don't need to witness it either.” With that, Teresa put her share of the check on the table, stood up proudly, and strode out of the teahouse.

  Lara looked at her remaining friend with raised eyebrows. “My goodness! She’s never been that imperious with us before.”

  “I agree.”

  “What did he say, in the letter, I mean? If I’m not prying, of course.”

  “You’re not prying, at least not that much, given the contents of the message. He apologized for his behavior last night and hoped that we could remain friends.”

  “But you said you were the one who behaved badly.”

  “I know. I should have realized that my game might disturb him. He didn't know what I'd noticed. When he became upset, I did act rather childishly. He seems to think that his natural reaction was bad form, and he worried it might have caused a rift which resulted in my leaving so early this morning.”

  “You know the upper class,” Lara remarked airily, “natural reactions are meant to be hidden and kept under control.” She paused. “So what did you reply?”

  “I told Brenlaw essentially what I told you. I assured him that there would be no long-term damage.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be seeing him again?”

  “That’s up to him. I wouldn’t say no, if asked.”

  Lara’s expression became grave. “Just be careful. He may not be on his best behavior next time. And be aware that he may read more into your friendship than you intend.”

  “I'm very cognizant of that fact. But tell me, Lara, when did you become so wise in the ways of the world? You’re beginning to sound like Teresa.”

  “Yes, well, she’s not always wrong, you know.” Lara grinned.

  Their tea over, they rose, paid the bill, and walked outside. It was a crisp day, but the wind didn't steal one's breath too much. Strolling toward Margaret’s house, they continued their conversation.

  “Mags, what is going on between you and Teresa anyway? She was cold and unresponsive to you like the top of Mount Kilimanjaro.”

  “I honestly don’t know. It seemed to have started after I came home from Lord Yawron’s this morning. She seemed genuinely annoyed that last night wasn’t a freak show.”

  “Maybe she was upset that a woman of her stature was passed over for an invitation, but you weren’t?”

  “She never cared that she wasn’t invited. And it’s been fifteen years.”

  “True, but no one else was asked before either.”

  Margaret paused in thought. “That’s possible. The whole thing was rather quiet. The servants were the only other company. I would have thought that the festivities wouldn’t have been to her taste.”

  “That’s not really the point, is it? It’s about respect for her position.”

  “I suppose.”

  They reached Margaret’s cottage soon afterwards. Entering the quiet yard, they continued to speculate as to their friend’s behavior. When they reached her door, they said their goodbyes and made plans to meet the following afternoon.

  Lara retraced her steps. The gray flagstone path led through the deliberate chaos of a traditional English country-style flower garden. Suddenly, Teresa appeared beside her.

  “What’s going on?” the older woman demanded.

  Lara jumped back with a gasp. “Teresa, you frightened the life out of me!”

  “I thought I made it clear from my behavior that we were to keep that woman at arm’s length.”

  “All you made clear was that you plan to do so. I have no such inclination. And her name is Mags or Margaret or Miss Taylor.”

  Teresa blinked, shocked at Lara's reply. Her lips slowly curved into a conciliatory smile. “I suppose I deserved that. I’m sorry, Lara. I was being very high-handed. Still, when tales of her exploit last night get around, and they will, we’ll see how comfortable you feel with her friendship. I’ll be keeping a safe distance from now on to avoid the blast.”

  “If that’s your decision…”

  “It is. And it should be yours too.”

  Teresa’s words were eerily prophetic. By the next morning, the entire village was abuzz with the tale of the newcomer’s nighttime visit with his lordship. Some of the gossip was speculation based on Brenlaw's appearance at the tearoom. Some seemed based on the mere fact that she stayed overnight. Much of it was dead wrong, implicitly or explicitly indicating a sexual liaison of some kind. In such stories, the details were often obscene. Even those who had the story correct seemed to view Margaret in the worst light.

  When Lara tried to defend her friend’s reputation, she found herself fighting against a brick wall. One longtime resident, Mrs. Vassernatch, informed her, “Even if she did sleep in the far wing, a respectable woman does not stay the night in a bachelor’s house. I don’t care what the reasons. Considering the rank of the gentleman in question, you have to consider her motives in accepting an invitation from a complete stranger.”

  “Gold digging? Mags isn’t like that.”

  “I’m only saying that you have to wonder.”

  Mrs. Vassernatch’s opinion wasn’t unique, as Lara soon found out.

  “I warned you,” Teresa told Lara when they met for lunch.

  “Yes, you did,” her companion replied miserably. After a thoughtful pause, she asked, “You knew the earl. Would he have acted in the deplorable way people suggest?”

  “When I knew him?” The older woman thought a moment. “No. He was always fastidiously correct, almost to a fault. But who knows what fifteen years of loneliness can do to a person. A man of the best character wouldn’t invite a single woman to his house at night, nor would he have her stay overnight.”

  “Possibly. But, if the drive was truly dangerous, he was being conscientious when he let her stay in the far wing.”

  With a derisive sniff, Teresa sneered. “He acted quite selfishly in my opinion.”

  Surprised, Lara asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Whatever happened up there—and I’m not saying anything untoward did—he doesn’t have to deal with the social consequences. He’s on his estate, protected and isolated from any of this rumor-mongering. Any effect on his reputation doesn't really touch him. Margaret, on the other hand, has to live in the village. She’s the one who has to deal with the whispers and sidelong looks, as well as the ostracism and alienation. He’s safe
from all that.”

  “You’re right, Teresa. Whether he considered the issue or not, he's immune to any shrapnel. How horrible for Mags!”

  “Yes, how horrible for Margaret.”

  Something in her companion’s tone made Lara stiffen, suddenly on the alert. She could have sworn she saw a flash of satisfaction in her friend’s eyes. A moment later, it was gone, and Lara convinced herself that she was mistaken.

  Chapter 8

  The rumors spread and mutated like a disease. The Spanish Influenza had not traveled faster or been more virulent. As the day progressed, Lara lost track of all the versions of the “goings on” at the manor house, but it seemed that each retelling was worse than the last. When she tried to explain, she either received patronizing comments about her youth and naïveté or disgusted looks for defending such a profligate.

  That afternoon, Lara went to Margaret’s house for tea. She wanted to see how her friend was getting along. She also wished to provide whatever support the poor woman needed. When they made the arrangements, they both agreed that the village teahouse was probably not the best place to be at that moment.

  Looking tired and frustrated, Margaret opened the door. Her hair was loose and a little wild. Her eyes were red and swollen. She had obviously been crying, but she tried to keep a smile on her face for her friend’s sake.

  After a few inanities and several false starts at conversation, Lara decided to broach the subject they were studiously avoiding. “How are you holding up, Mags?”

  “I’m plodding along. I’ll be all right. And yet, there is…” she paused, swallowing. “There is one thing about exclusion and malicious gossip, no matter how many times you deal with it, it still hurts.” As she spoke, her eyes filled with tears and her voice caught.

  “You’ve been through this before?”

  “Yes. It was because of stories and falsehoods that my mother and I moved to London. Of course, the topic was very different, but the self-righteous attitude and hypocrisy were the same.”

  “What happened?”