Mayhem in Bath Page 11

  Polly drew her shawl more closely around her shoulders and returned to the library. There she sat on the sofa opposite her uncle and picked up her volume of The Castle of Otranto. At last she was able to put her worries aside, and was soon lost in the tale of gothic horror. Several hours passed, broken only by Hordwell’s snores and Giles bringing her the tray of tea she rang for. She was just about to pour herself a cup when she became aware of a faint noise from the sugar bowl. A sugar lump rose into the air and disappeared as someone ate it. As a second lump followed suit, she sat forward urgently.

  “Bodkin?”

  The second lump was hastily dropped, and she heard footsteps pattering toward the door. In a trice she got up to follow. “Bodkin!” she called. “Please stop, for I must speak to you! Didn’t you go to Zuder’s? Haven’t you seen my note?”

  But the footsteps ran down the stairs toward the kitchen basement. Polly followed, paying no heed to the startled servants as she pursued the invisible brownie to the back door, the handle of which rattled as he tried to get out. For a moment she thought she had him trapped, but then the door opened, and he dashed out into the rainswept night. Without hesitation, Polly ran out as well. “Bodkin, come back! I have to talk to you!” she called, following the wet squelch of his footsteps on the flagstone path. The wind stirred through the trees, and she lost the sounds he made in the rustle of leaves. “Bodkin?” She glanced around, hardly aware of the rain.

  Suddenly the door in the garden-wall banged, and she knew he’d gone out into the lane. Impulsively she gave chase again, even though her hem and shoes were already soaked. Lamps shone above each garden door along the seeming deserted lane, and raindrops flashed their pale arcs of light Puddles filled deep ruts, and water poured from the eaves of some sheds. She listened carefully, trying to hear the brownie above the loud patter the rain made on the ivy against me wall. Then she saw one of the puddles splashing quite violently as Bodkin stumbled and fell.

  The brownie scrambled to his feet and fled toward the nearest door, which happened to be that of Dominic’s house, although he didn’t realize it. George the gardener hadn’t noticed the broken catch, so Bodkin slipped into the garden beyond, and set off toward the kitchens, where a little shelter seemed likely. But he hadn’t gone more than a few yards when a familiar droning sound caught his attention. He looked quickly at the mulberry tree in the comer. Bees! A swarm of them! His eyes lit up for a moment, but then Polly called again, and he ran on to the basement, where he hid behind an enormous rainwater butt that stood against the wall, directly below the rooftop terrace.

  Polly had seen the door to Dominic’s garden being pushed open, and knew where Bodkin had gone. That particular garden was the very last in the crescent that she would have chosen to enter, but having come this far in pursuit of her prey, she didn’t intend to give up now. After a tentative glance inside, she followed the brownie. By now she was so wet right through that her woolen gown clung to her like a second skin, her hair hung in rats’ tails around her shoulders, and the fringe of her shawl was dripping as if it had just been hauled out of the washtub. She, too, heard the sound of bees coming from the tree in the comer, but she hardly gave them a thought as she advanced slowly through the icy downpour. Then a slight sound drew her attention to the house.

  There were lights in the kitchens, and another in the dining room above, where she guessed Dominic and Major Dashingham were now enjoying postprandial cognac, mayhap smiling about the lesson that had been taught the Peach’s Bank heiress! The sound came again, like a slight shuffling on gravel, and this time it seemed it came from the terrace on the kitchen roof, where she could see a line of orange trees in large pots. If Bodkin was there, he was right outside the French windows of the dining room, only a thickness of glass away from Dominic and his friend. Dismay struck her, for the likelihood of those gentlemen being alerted was rather too great for her peace of mind. She gazed intently at the orange trees, and became sure she could make out a telltale shudder of leaves on the one that stood above the large water butt by the kitchen door. Dominic and Major Dashingham or not, she had to reason with the infuriatingly obstinate brownie. Reluctantly, she approached the steps that led up from the garden to the terrace.

  Harry Dashingham had just left the house because he was duty officer at midnight. As his carriage followed a linkboy into the murk of rain and darkness, Dominic returned to the candlelit blue-and-gold dining room to collect his glass of cognac, intending to adjourn to the drawing room. As he reached across the table for it, he heard a low voice from beyond the window. Puzzled, he straightened, but there was only silence. Thinking it was a trick of the rain, he reached for the glass again, only to pause once more as he distinctly heard a female voice speaking in a low, urgent undertone.

  “Bodkin! If you don’t listen to me, so help me I’ll...” Whoever it was refrained from describing the intended punishment.

  Wondering what on earth was going on outside, Dominic went to the heavily draped indigo velvet curtains and peeped through the crack between them. The window ran with rain, so he couldn’t see anything, but he heard the voice more clearly now.

  “Bodkin, I think you are the most aggravating, awkward, unfair, judgmental thing in all creation, and I’m beginning to be sorry I ever thought you my friend!”

  Dominic’s eyes cleared a little, for he knew to whom the voice belonged—Miss Peach! Now what was the astonishing creature up to? Turning back, he extinguished the candles on the table, then stepped behind the curtains and waited until his eyes were accustomed to the dark before softly undoing the window catch. He flung the windows open without warning and stepped out into the rain. “What’s afoot here?” he demanded loudly.

  Polly, who had just realized she was calling to a cat hiding by the orange trees, was so startled that she tottered against the pot and knocked it over with a crash. The terrified cat erupted from hiding with a yowl like that of the Devil himself, and poor Polly lost her balance completely. With a scream, she fell over the edge of the terrace and landed with a huge splash in the water butt below. Now it was Bodkin’s turn to get a fright, for the butt rocked to and fro, threatening to topple backward against the wall, crushing him in the process, so he fled down the garden, then out into the lane again.

  Appalled, Dominic ran down the steps to rescue Polly, who was splashing and choking in the water butt. The servants rushed out to see what was going on, and two of them helped him to pull her safely out He gathered her strongly into his arms and carried her into the warm kitchens, where Mrs. Matthews quickly wrapped her in a warm blanket.

  Dominic waited as the cook pressed a glass of hot milk into the bedraggled intruder’s trembling hands; then he spoke. “Miss Peach, as soon as Mrs. Matthews has something dry for you to put on, I wish to receive your explanation for this latest escapade. I will await you in the drawing room.” Without waiting for her reply, he left the kitchens.

  Polly sipped the hot milk. She was freezing cold, but her cheeks were on fire with humiliation. What on earth was she going to say in her defense? There simply weren’t any mitigating circumstances to offer for her having trespassed as she had. He must think she’d been eavesdropping at the window upon his conversation with Major Dashingham, but then she realized the major had been nowhere in evidence. Clearly he’d already departed, for which she was thankful, as it meant she had only Dominic himself to confront. As if that were not bad enough!

  Judging Polly and the maid Jinny to be more or less the same size, Mrs. Matthews dispatched the latter to get her best dress and shawl from her attic room, and then the menservants were banished as Polly received a second soaking, this time one that was warm and soapy, and in front of the fire. Half an hour later, her wet hair clean again, but still left loose, she was as ready as she was ever likely to be for facing Dominic. After thanking Jinny most sincerely for the loan of the simple pink dimity gown, and promising to more than recompense her and the kind cook for their trouble, she reluctantly ascended to the dr
awing room on the second floor.

  Chapter 17

  The drawing room was splendid, with gray brocade walls and a gold-and-white ceiling. Portraits gazed down from every wall, and firelight danced on gilded French furniture. A single candle illuminated the mantelpiece, and Dominic stood beside it, the light burnishing his dark hair to copper. He wore the formal attire he’d donned for dinner, and the diamond pin flashed at his throat as he turned when she entered.

  “Ah, here you are at last,” he declared.

  “You should not have ordered me here at all,” she retorted, having decided that the best form of defense was attack. “I admit to having trespassed outside your property, but it ill becomes you to oblige me to be alone with you again. Perhaps you intend to inflict another humiliation?”

  “You seem to do that very well by yourself. Besides, as I recall, you invited me to join you in your carriage.”

  “And what a monumental error of judgment it was, given your atrocious behavior when we parted,” she fired back. “I trust you mean to be more of a gentleman this time, Sir Dominic?”

  “It was a monumental error of judgment I do not intend to repeat. Believe me, Miss Peach, you are absolutely safe.”

  She colored. “I note the complete absence of an apology.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Would that you meant it.”

  Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Your attitude suggests a fully recovery from your unfortunate drenching.”

  “A drenching that could easily have been avoided if you had not leapt out at me like that,” she retorted.

  “Leapt out at you? Oh, come now, the fault was yours for being there in the first place, for I certainly have not given you carte blanche to enter my property as and when it pleases you. By the way, what were you doing there?” he added.

  “I... I was looking for the cat,” she said, relieved to have thought of a reasonable explanation. “I thought I’d found her, but it seems it was yours.”

  “It’s Mrs. Matthews’s cat, not mine,” he replied, swirling, the glass of cognac he’d now successfully retrieved from the dining room.

  “Yes, well I suppose cats aren’t really the usual choice for gentlemen.”

  He searched her face in the moving glow of soft light from the candle and the fire. “You intrigue me, Miss Peach.”

  “The feeling is not mutual, I assure you.” Oh, liar! He intrigues you so much you want to know everything about him!

  “I’m neglecting my duties as host. Please be seated.” He gestured toward a chair that was close to the hearth, and she sat down rather unwillingly, for by accepting the invitation, she felt she was allowing him a point of some sort. Another faint smile played upon his lips. “It is mere politeness. Miss Peach, nothing more.”

  She forbore to reply.

  “Bodkin is rather a strange name for a cat, don’t you think?” he said then.

  “I... I suppose it is.”

  “How even more strange that I’ve just recalled hearing you call the same name at the review, just before the buffet was obliterated.”

  “Please do not accuse me again, because I assure you I didn’t do the obliterating!”

  “No, it was a street urchin, was it not? To return to the mysterious Bodkin, am I to presume you took the cat to Claverton Down?”

  Her cheeks were uncomfortably warm again. “You are mistaken to think I called for Bodkin on that occasion. Sir Dominic.”

  “I think not. Miss Peach, for I definitely remember the name.”

  “You misheard,” she repeated, and then looked stonily at the fire in an effort to bring the subject to a close.

  He raised an eyebrow. “So it’s to be petulant lack of cooperation now, is it?”

  Polly’s lavender eyes were angrily bright as they swung toward him. “Sir Dominic, I would much prefer to go home than stay here and suffer your incivility!”

  “Oh, I’m sure you would, but I have yet to receive a proper explanation for your intrusion upon my property!” he replied with equal rancor.

  “I’ve already told you, it was—”

  “I know, it was Bodkin the cat,” he interrupted on a long-suffering sigh. “Miss Peach, I do not believe in the existence of any such feline!”

  “That is your prerogative, sir.”

  “I would dearly like to shake you,” he murmured conversationally.

  “Lay one hand upon me, and I will scream the house down!”

  “Yes, I rather think you would.”

  “It would be no more than you deserve, especially after—” She broke off, not wanting to mention what had happened between them earlier.

  “—after the kiss?” He laughed wryly. “I rather enjoyed that, actually.”

  Polly’s cheeks flamed to crimson. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

  He became more serious. “Yes, I suppose it was,” he said quietly.

  She drew back. “Don’t even think of repeating the exercise, because I will scream this time!”

  “You see before you the very model of male restraint.” He regarded her. “Miss Peach, can we resume the truce we enjoyed in your carriage? It would make life very much easier, I fancy.”

  “By all means, although I doubt it will survive any longer than its predecessor.”

  “Come now, Miss Peach, can’t we at least pretend to be amiable?”

  Polly shivered suddenly as a slight draft chilled her shoulders, which were damp from her wet hair. She was about to pull the shawl closer once more, when something pulled it up for her, flicking her hair deftly aside in the process. Polly froze with surprise. Bodkin? No, he was still in a towering huff with her, so who could it be? Nutmeg? Almost immediately she felt guilty for even thinking the latter thought, because she’d accepted her uncle’s explanation regarding the missing brownie. No, the explanation was obvious. The house’s resident brownie was attending to her needs.

  “Is something wrong. Miss Peach?” Dominic inquired.

  “No, I... I was just a little cold,” she replied, still glancing around. She knew the signs to look for, the faint chink of invisible keys, imprints on the carpet, the occasional patter of bare feet on floorboards, and the faint fragrance of cloves. All but the chink of keys were present now.

  “Please allow me to draw your chair closer to the fire,” Dominic said, stepping toward her.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly, “for I’m sure the increased heat will do no favors to Lord Benjamin’s fine French walnut.” She’d looked away for a second, and when she looked back, there were no imprints on the carpet, and the scent of cloves had gone. She saw the door swinging slowly to.

  He looked at her. “Please feel free to sit the rug in front of the fire,” he invited suddenly.

  She was a little taken aback. It was something she’d love to do, but was afraid that such an act would consign the remains of propriety to oblivion. “I prefer to remain seated,” she said.

  “As you wish, but I intend to make myself comfortable.” To her further surprise, he sat on the floor and leaned back against the chair opposite her, his one leg bent, the other stretched out.

  She was suddenly uneasy, because anyone entering the room now would see a very cozy scene. “Is my good name in fresh peril, Sir Dominic? Have you perhaps sent a footman for the Marquis de Torkalotte?”

  “How swiftly you’ve perceived my plot. Miss Peach,” he replied, meeting her eyes with cool steadiness.

  Chapter 18

  Polly’s heart lurched with horror. “You monster!” she breathed, starting to get up.

  Suddenly he began to laugh. “Be easy, Miss Peach, for no one is about to arrive.”

  “But you said—”

  “Yes, I did, and it was no more than you deserved for suggesting I’d stoop so low.”

  She hesitated. “I already know how low you’ll stoop, sir. Besides, the Marquis de Torkalotte might just as well be here to record this, for he will have seen to it that this afternoon’s escapade is all o
ver Bath by now.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I have called upon Torkalotte, threatening to expose a certain dark secret of his if he says so much as a word.”

  She stared at him. “But, why? I thought you wanted the story to get out, so that Lady Georgiana would be made jealous.”

  He rested his right wrist on his raised knee and swirled his almost empty glass. “Do you really think I would do that?”

  “As far as I was concerned, you did do it,” she replied,

  “I knew Torkalotte was the only witness, and that he could easily be silenced.”

  “Windows have eyes, too, sir, and there are thirty-three houses in this crescent.”

  “I would be very surprised if anyone observed us, for to be sure most of the crescent was at the review, and those who remained would have been more intent upon the strange business of the runaway horses. Rest easy. Miss Peach, for your good name is safe.”

  She was perplexed. “Then why do it?”

  He met her eyes. “I don’t really know,” he confessed.

  “You have an easy charm, sir. Too easy by far, in fact.”

  “Meaning that you think me a practiced seducer?”

  She colored. “I... I wouldn’t know about that...”

  “It’s what you think, nevertheless.”

  “Are you such a person?” She made herself look at him again.

  “I’ve had my triumphs. Miss Peach, but I’m certainly not a womanizer.” He smiled into her eyes. “May I know your first name?” he asked suddenly.

  She stiffened. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Certainly not for an improper reason. It was merely a polite question.”