A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (37 page)

“So the tank should be filled three times a week?” she asked.

“Yes, Lady Maybury,” Mistress Ossington said.

“And that pipe rising up?”

“To a pump in the kitchen, ma’am.”

“Ah.”

There’d been no pump in Belling Row. The servants had gone to the tank with buckets to get water. Georgia wished she’d known better. She would in her next home.

Dracy had mounted some wooden steps and was looking into the tank. “Nearly empty, and in sore need of cleaning out.”

“Let me see,” Georgia said.

He came down and handed her up. The bottom was thick with slime. “No wonder no one drinks the water from a tank. Do you have drinking water, Mistress Ossington?”

“No, ma’am. We all drink small beer.”

In her house Georgia had paid for barrels of both small beer and good drinking water, which had been brought from the chalk downs. She was about to say she’d
pay for a supply to Danae House when she remembered how little money she had access to.

Dracy was tapping the incoming pipe. “It’s possible the turncock neglected to turn on your water when he should, but I suspect something’s flowed in to block your pipe, Mistress Ossington. I was told fish and eels sometimes make their way through.”

“Lord save us all!” Mistress Ossington exclaimed, seeming more bothered by that than by the sludge.

Georgia remembered she was supposed to be in charge of this crisis. She descended the stairs. “I’ll make sure the company comes to check the pipe, Mistress Ossington. How are you managing for now?”

“The girls are going to the open pump in Black Bull Lane and bringing water in buckets, ma’am.”

“I’ll arrange for pump water to be delivered in barrels for now. I can authorize that expense.”

She led the way upstairs, feeling she’d executed her duty, and relieved to return to clear light and fresh air. As she passed through the kitchen, she paused, then went to where a plump girl of about seventeen was slicing quince for preserving. “It must be thinner,” she said gently, “or it won’t preserve well. Watch,” she said, and took the knife. She cut a very thin slice.

She gave the girl the knife back and observed. “That’s it exactly.”

She left the kitchen suspecting that the girl would return to cutting thick slices as soon as she could. It was a sad fact that some didn’t want to be diligent and hardworking, no matter how kindly they were treated. One girl had run away from Danae House, taking a pile of shifts from the laundry room with her. Diana Rothgar had refused to pursue and prosecute, but she’d had locks installed on most storage rooms.

Georgia promised to send a report to Lady Rothgar and to order the water, and then left the house, Dracy at her side. “Fish in the water pipes?” she asked.

“
So I’m told.”

She paused by the chair. “How do you know about such things?”

“I’ve become interested in the way this great city works. London is riddled beneath with sewers, streams, and conduits for water.”

She looked down. “You make me feel that this pavement is only a thin crust.”

“Over the foulness that washes down from the streets.”

“And a country farmyard is sweet?” she challenged. “Or the air, when the muck’s being spread in the fields? At least there’s amusement here and a variety of company, which you admit to have enjoyed.”

“I confess it. Now tell me the purpose of Danae House.”

“It’s a charity specifically for younger servants who become pregnant. In many cases it’s through seduction or even rape by the men of the house. That tank should be cleaned out regularly. I believe I can authorize that too.”

“How very brisk you are. And surprisingly knowledgeable about domestic management.”

Georgia took her seat in the chair, tucking in her skirts. “A lady should understand her servants’ work, even as a captain, I assume, should understand the meanest tasks on board his ship. That doesn’t mean that the captain has any desire to scrub the decks.”

He smiled. “You won’t be making quince preserves?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“Thank you for a tour of an unexpected part of London. May I reciprocate and take you to a place you do not know?”

She looked up at him. “I doubt there are many of those that are decent.”

“My naval friends introduced me to an excellent place where we can dine on pie and ale.”

“
Dine on pie and ale?”

“My poor Lady May, you have not lived.” He gave the chairmen the direction.

Three hours later, Georgia left Dolly Pott’s Pie House arm in arm with Dracy, in high spirits, which might have had something to do with the strong porter served there. One way or another, she felt spun around. She hadn’t always stayed within the confines of aristocratic London, but she’d never before dined on steak pie and strong ale at a long plain table in the company of a dozen or so naval officers.

The men had been startled by her arrival, and indeed, there’d been few ladies eating at Dolly Pott’s. They’d been even more startled when Dracy had introduced her. Her being a countess would explain the surprise, but she could see some also knew she was Lady May, and perhaps the layers of her scandalous reputation.

No one had been discourteous, however, or even cool, perhaps from good manners, or perhaps from consideration for Dracy. It had rapidly become clear that he was liked and admired.

She’d delighted in that, as if she could take credit for it, which she certainly could not. She’d also delighted to see him at ease in his own milieu, even though it was far, far from hers.

She’d soon come to feel at ease, which could well have been the ale. It had been dark and strong, an odd taste at first, but she’d quickly become accustomed. The men had flirted with her a little, but none had crossed the line. She felt they’d have behaved the same with any young woman out of good manners, for no woman likes to be ignored, but that overall they’d treated her as if she were a male friend Dracy had brought along. An outsider, a landlubber, but welcome.

She’d been fascinated by stories of naval life and foreign lands, though aware that they were selecting those
suitable for a schoolroom. The pie was delicious, as was the ale, and the atmosphere cheerfully uncomplicated. Heaven.

She’d sent her chair home from the pie house, so now they strolled down Pall Mall toward Hernescroft House.

“I enjoyed that as much as anything I can remember,” she said.

“Then reward me with a hint about your costume.”

“Certainly not!”

“As we’ll travel together, there can be no secrecy.”

“Which is why I intend to make my own way.”

“Cunning, but I’d lay a thousand I’ll know you.”

“Do you have a thousand?” she challenged, smiling at him.

“Not that I can afford. What fair terms should we put on our wager, then?”

“Wager?”

“That I recognize you before the unmasking.”

“To be fair, it would need to be a wager over who recognizes whom first.”

“True, but hard to pin the prize.”

“We’re so unequal,” she agreed. “Male, female. Poor, rich…”

“We each have an equal amount of time,” he said.

“Time?” Georgia became aware that this conversation might be drifting into danger, but she was too ale addled to be sure how.

“The winner gains fifteen minutes alone with the loser, to do with as they wish.”

That sobered her. “Definitely not.”

Instead of argument or persuasion, he said, “Wise lady. We should put a limit on it. The loser must not be distressed.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“You
want
to be distressed?”

“I might hope to be excited.”

He smiled. “Indeed, what other point in a wager? You
could hope to be excited as winner too. What might you demand of me for fifteen minutes?”

It was a challenge, a dare, so she spoke the most outrageous thing imaginable. “Would you strip naked for me?”

“Here, if you wish.”

She looked around the Mall with its scattering of people of all ages. “You wouldn’t!”

“You mean
you
wouldn’t.”

“Of course not. I’d be ruined.”

“I wouldn’t. And nor, I think, would you for seeing it if you screeched loudly enough.”

“I’m very tempted to call your bluff, sir.”

“It’s not a bluff. Men strip all the time among themselves—after battle if all bloody, or to swim, or in some sorts of bagnios. It means nothing to me.”

Georgia knew she should be screeching at this conversation, and running away too, but it was irresistible, as was the wager. Only a quarter hour, after all, and she was not to be distressed.

Good sense fought with her ale-loosened mind and lost.

“Let’s have the stakes clear. If I detect you before you detect me, I will have fifteen minutes alone with you during which you’ll do all I command.”

“As long as I’m not distressed,” he reminded her, but with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Stripping for her would not distress him, which had her heating from her own thoughts, perhaps even sweating. She’d never seen a naked man in the flesh.…

“And if I win,” he said, “I will gain the same from you.”

Strip?
No, he couldn’t mean that. After all, it would distress her a great deal. All the same…

She’d held a bird once whose heart had raced like this.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of a new, unforgivable scandal.

But above all, fear of the very excitement burning through her.

Good sense won. She walked on. “I can’t afford more scandal.”

“We live in the same house,” he said, “and your parents sleep some distance away. No one will know, and even if I win I won’t distress you. I would never do that, Georgia.”

She glanced at him and saw truth. In fact, she’d always known it. She could trust Dracy in every respect, which made the adventure possible.

“Very well,” she said. “After all, I’m sure of victory. You are quite distinctive, and I defy my mother to detect me.”

“You do realize you’ve just narrowed the field.”

“Perdition, but I’m still sure I’ll win. And thus, if I wish, I can dictate the fifteen minutes be spent reading sermons.”

“You could,” he agreed, “but you won’t.”

She tossed her head at that, though the damnable man was right, and the outrageous wager lent the night ahead a lot more spice.

But then she remembered. The masquerade. Her costume.

“What time is it?” she asked.

He took out his watch. “Half past four.”

“Gemini! Only four hours before I must leave for the masquerade. Hurry,” she said, switching directions. “I must go to my mantua maker for a final fitting. You’ll leave me at the door, Dracy,” she said severely. “I won’t risk you learning the smallest detail.”

As they hurried in their new direction, Dracy asked, “What’s the cleverest masquerade costume you’ve ever seen?”

“Apart from my own?” she said. “A river maiden, complete with the illusion of sitting on a rock.”

“
An achievement, but difficult to manage, I suspect. Like the one I saw in Naples where a man attended as a galley.”

“However did he manage to dance?”

“He didn’t. Nor did the two who dressed themselves as a camel.”

“Poorly thought out.”

“Will your costume allow you to dance?”