A Tall Dark Stranger (12 page)

If I had had the slightest inkling how events would turn out, I would have claimed a sick headache and gone to bed. But I didn’t know, so I put on my best mint green
peau de soie
gown with the lace insets at the bodice and went forth, all unknowing, to a perfectly hideous party.

It was a ghastly party. The Murrays, with more money than taste, decided to show the provincials the proper way to entertain. The table looked like a silver-shop display, with a half-dozen epergnes parading down the center and silver candlesticks crowding the dishes off the board. The food served looked like works of art and tasted rather like paint and canvas as well. The meat was as dry as leather and the rancid butter sauce tasted quite like linseed oil.

I could see Auntie frowning in confusion at a dish of shrimp arranged in the shape of a whole shrimp, with ruffles of parsley sticking out on the tail end like lace on a gown. Olives provided buttons along the front of the gown.

“It looks so pretty I hate to disarrange it,” my aunt said when it was passed to her.

The fowl wore not only lacy anklets of shaved paper but waistcoats of ham and buttons of capers. Another fowl dish had the creature’s feathers reassembled and stuck into its tail piece. I personally would have enjoyed the ham more without the boiled pig’s head sitting on the same plate. As to arranging little cauliflower teeth around the beef tongue! But enough.

I would probably have found it amusing were it not for the fact that both Maitland and Renshaw sat at the table, one on either side of the hostess, vying for her fickle attention. It was no surprise that Maitland was there; he was a neighbor after all. But how the deuce had Renshaw got himself invited? He hadn’t glided in on Beau’s coattails, either. Beau wasn’t there.

I was seated halfway down the board. Mrs. Murray, with no real social graces, gave me my own brother for a partner on my right side and Mr. Lazenby, a retired solicitor, on my left. The only other young lady there was my friend, Addie Lemon. Her partners were Mr. Davis, the vicar, and her uncle. She and Lollie were usually placed side by side.

When Mrs. Murray rose at the dinner’s end to lead the ladies to the saloon while the gentlemen enjoyed their port, she said playfully to her husband, “Don’t keep the gentlemen too long, Archie.”

Then she waved a kiss in the general direction of her two partners and we followed her out. I had refrained from looking at Renshaw during dinner—one of the epergnes had impeded my vision in any case—but I couldn’t control my eyes as we left. He was looking at me in a most guilty fashion. His ears were bright pink.

“Some hostess!” Addie scolded as we left. “Keeping both the young gentlemen for herself, I wonder she didn’t have Lollie sitting on her lap.” Did I mention Addie has a
tendre
for my brother? I am all in favor of the match, in a few years, when Lollie has matured. “But the dinner was fine, was it not?” she added.

Mrs. Murray received numerous compliments on her cook’s ingenuity.

“I brought my French chef, Pierre, down from London with me,” she said. “A man handles dinners so much better, don’t you think?”

The ladies, every one of whom had a female cook, seconded this idea eagerly. For fifteen minutes Mrs. Murray was kept in good humor by compliments on her dinner and gown.

The gown was a splendid affair of sequined gauze over a silk petticoat, very décolleté. Pale blue, to match her eyes and the ribbons in her hair. (Not the same shade as the one found in the hut, however.) I wager her gown would have been the fanciest one at any London ball and was much too ornate for the present society.

When the ladies had run out of compliments, Mrs. Murray moved over to Addie and myself. “Mr. Maitland was singing your praises all through dinner, Miss Talbot,” she said. “There is an excellent
parti
waiting to be snapped up. He tells me he plans to buy Chalmers’s farm, next door to his own place, you know. He’ll be the largest landowner around, next to Lord Hadley.”

I immediately began to wonder how Maitland could afford to buy Chalmers’s place. It was said to be going for fifty thousand pounds. Surely he wasn’t so naive as to be broadcasting at this particular time that he had fifty thousand pounds to spend if he had come by it dishonestly.

Addie asked about Fifi, Mrs. Murray’s missing dog.

“That rascal of an Isaiah found her for me. Well, ‘found’ is one word for it. It wouldn’t surprise me much if he lured Fifi away and hid her for a day to increase the reward. I know she smelled of the pigsty when she was brought back, and the Smoggs keep a few pigs out back. He’s sharp as a tack, that Isaiah. He’ll amount to something one of these days if he isn’t thrown into Newgate first.” She smiled in approval of his criminal cunning. I bit my tongue on the suggestion that he ought to take up politics.

Mrs. Murray could no longer tolerate the company of ladies. She rang for her butler and said, “Just remind Mr. Murray that the ladies are waiting, Logan.”

The ladies were accustomed to waiting not less than an hour for the appearance of their menfolk, often longer. Indeed, this period without the gentlemen talking loudly about horses and politics was most of the ladies’ favorite part of the evening. Looks of astonishment were exchanged at having it curtailed so arbitrarily.

The dame certainly had her husband firmly under her club thumb. Within two minutes the tread of footsteps heralded the gentlemen’s arrival.

“They wouldn’t have had time to finish their cigars,” Aunt Talbot said quietly aside to me.

I noticed that neither Maitland nor Renshaw headed straight toward the hostess. Maitland stopped for a word with Lady Anne Travers, Lord Hadley’s sister, and Renshaw looked all around then headed toward me.

I felt my face stiffen, yet I was flattered that I could draw him away from Mrs. Murray.

“Miss Talbot,” he said, bowing. “May I?”

I was sitting on the sofa with Addie. The idea was that Lollie should occupy the empty seat on her other side. As Renshaw didn’t wait for permission, however, he got the place, and Lollie took the chair next to my end of the sofa.

Lollie leaned forward and said, “By the living jingo, did you ever see such a dinner as that, Addie? Amy ought to have done a painting of it.”

“Wasn’t it lovely!” Addie exclaimed. She also had to lean forward.

After a few more of these awkward exchanges, it was made clear to Renshaw that he had occupied the wrong seat and he switched with Lollie.

“And what did you think of the dinner, Miss Talbot?” he asked.

“The universal opinion is that it was marvelous,” I replied discreetly.

“Highly decorative,” he said, also discreetly. “I expect you’re surprised to see me here.”

I stared coolly. “Why should it surprise me that Mrs. Murray invites a friend to dinner, Mr. Renshaw? I am only surprised that Beau wasn’t invited as well.”

“He was. After he had accepted on both our behalfs, he was called to visit his aunt. She is in worse case than before. He will spend the night with her. Actually, it is Beau who is her friend. I only met her once.”

At that moment Mrs. Murray came smiling forward. “Renny, will you do me a teeny favor?” she asked, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.

He flashed one angry glance at me, then turned smiling to Mrs. Murray. He rose and said, “Certainly, ma’am. It will be my pleasure.”

“I want you to suggest to my husband that we ... you youngsters would like to dance. I invited Mrs. Davis on purpose to play for us. She’s quite tolerable on the pianoforte. It’s so boring, listening to this endless prattle of politics.”

Addie and I exchanged an indignant glance on Mrs. Davis’s behalf.

“Perhaps we should see first if the young ladies do wish to dance,” Renshaw said with a leery look at us “young ladies.”

I looked away.

“Oh, yes! I should like it of all things,” Addie said at once.

“Well, in that case, I shall accompany you, Mrs. Murray,” Renshaw said. I could see he disliked to put himself forward so far as to make the request on his own.

“Mrs. Murray?” she asked, and laughed. “We are very formal all of a sudden,
Mr.
Renshaw. You always used to call me Marie in London.”

Renshaw’s expression reminded me of an animal caught in a trap. He forced a weak smile and allowed himself to be led off.

“I didn’t know Mr. Renshaw and Mrs. Murray were friends,” Addie said.

“Yes, very good friends, I believe,” I said. That intimate “always” resounded in my ears.

“If she dances with him, you’ll have your chance with Maitland,” Addie said, smiling.

Maitland no longer pleased me, but I did, in fact, have my chance with him for the first dance. Mrs. Murray would allow no music but the waltz, despite Mrs. Davis’s not being very familiar with the tempo. As a few of the not-so-old couples came along to the ballroom, we could quite easily have made up three squares. When the Olsens and the Carruthers saw there was to be nothing but waltzes, they returned to the saloon. Lollie danced with Addie.

Maitland displayed quite as little interest in me as I then felt in him.

“I’m surprised to see Renshaw remaining so long in the neighborhood” was his first speech.

“Yes, he’s visiting his friend, Sommers.”

“He don’t spend much time with him,” he said. Then he gave me a smile that would have sent me into alt a week ago. “It seems you are the attraction, Miss Talbot. I must commend him on his taste.”

“I believe Mr. Renshaw has catholic tastes where ladies are concerned,” I replied.

His eyes strayed across the floor, where Renshaw and Mrs. Murray were swooping about like a pair of swallows.

“Like that, is it? Marie should watch herself. Chilton Abbas isn’t London. She’ll come a cropper.”

Maitland showed no sign of jealousy. I began to wonder if Renshaw had either invented that story about Marie Murray being in the hut with Maitland or if Isaiah had been mistaken.

“Have you heard any new reports on the mysterious Lord Harry or the money he was after?” was Maitland’s next speech.

“It seems McAdam suspects Jim Figgs, the poacher, of complicity.”

Maitland emitted a snort of laughter. “I heard that one. They searched Figgs’s place and found nothing but a brace of partridges. They have no idea who the thief is, in other words, and are looking about for someone to arrest. Figgs has never stolen more than a rabbit or a partridge in his life.”

I noticed he was looking in a suspicious way in Renshaw’s direction. “I can think of a likelier person,” he said.

He didn’t go on to name names and I didn’t ask, but it occurred to me that Mrs. Murray might have learned of the shipment of money to the navy from her husband. And if Renshaw had known her in London, as she said, then he might have learned of it from her. Why else had he lied about knowing her before? What possible reason could he have, unless he was guilty?

“How long has Renshaw been back from India?” Maitland asked a little later.

“A little over two weeks.”

“That’s odd. At dinner Mrs. Murray mentioned waltzing with him at Lady Siberry’s ball. That was over three weeks ago.”

“Oh.” It was all I was capable of saying. My mind was busily scanning the events leading up to Lord Harry’s murder. The money, Murray said, had been stolen three weeks ago. Was that why Renshaw claimed to have been in England for only two weeks? He was beginning to look more guilty by the moment.

Yet it was Maitland who was said to be thinking of buying Chalmers’s place. I asked him about it.

“I looked it over. I think he’s asking a pretty stiff price, but if I can arrange a mortgage, I might buy it.”

Mrs. Murray hadn’t mentioned a mortgage.

Suddenly the music was over, and Renshaw and Mrs. Murray were coming toward Maitland and myself. I turned to Maitland and began some bantering flirtation.

“Change partners!” Mrs. Murray said gaily, and seized Maitland’s arm.

I looked around the room hoping for rescue. Not an eye was turned my way. Without a pause Mrs. Davis began another waltz. Renshaw took my hand and pulled me into his arms.

“Now this is more like it,” he said.

I glared. “More like what?” I asked.

“Don’t be like that. I’ve waited too long to get you alone. I couldn’t even
see
you all through dinner. You’re angry that I interrupted your flirtation with Maitland,” he said in a soft voice.

“We were not flirting. It happens we were having a very interesting conversation.”

“What is more interesting than flirtation? If that is not why you’re glaring like an angry giraffe, my pet, dare I hope you’re annoyed that I didn’t stand up with you first? I wanted to, but one’s hostess has certain priorities.”

“I quite understand that Mrs. Murray has a prior claim on you, Mr. Renshaw.”

His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “What nonsense has Maitland been telling you?”

“Oh, it wasn’t Mr. Maitland. It was our hostess herself who mentioned your familiarity with her—in London.”

“I can explain—

“I’m not asking for an explanation, Mr. Renshaw. But in the unlikely case that you and I should see each other again, please don’t feel it necessary to lie to me. I’m not really that interested in your doings.”

“I met her once, at Lady Siberry’s ball.”

“And once at several other balls, I assume, since you
always
called her Marie.”

“I don’t remember. One meets so many people in London. Perhaps she’s confusing me with someone else.”

“And what is confusing
you
about the time of your arrival in England? Lady Siberry’s ball was over three weeks ago.”

“I said I returned about two weeks ago! It was a few days ago that I told you that. I may have been in England for more than two weeks.”

“So it would seem, unless you have a double calling himself by your name. An identical twin, perhaps,” I said ironically.

I hadn’t noticed he was waltzing me to the side of the room. Until he waltzed me right out the door, I didn’t realize what he had in mind.

Once we were in the hallway, he stopped dancing and released me. He leaned one arm against the wall, barring me from returning to the ballroom. His lips opened in a smile and he said, “You’re jealous, Amy. Don’t trouble to deny it. I’m delighted. Why else would you be in the boughs at my calling Mrs. Murray by her first name?”