Amanda Scott (14 page)

“No, indeed, ma’am,” Sylvia agreed as she moved to obey, “but do tell me about this latest news. I know you said only last week that you wished to do up the crimson drawing room in gold and white and that MacMusker had declined to provide funds for the project, but surely you are not financially dependent upon either his lordship or your steward. Do you not have money of your own?”

“Well, of course I do, but you would scarcely believe the paltry jointure my husband expected me to get on with after his passing. What on earth I shall do when Greyfalcon marries and I am packed off to the dower house to make do for myself, I assure you I do not know.”

“I am persuaded that Greyfalcon would never behave meanly toward you, ma’am,” Sylvia said, setting down the teapot and moving to take her seat in the brocaded, claw-footed chair opposite her hostess.

Lady Greyfalcon sniffed. “Much you know, my dear. I have his answer right here.” She flicked a sheet of gray paper lying upon the table near her hand. “He informs me that the crimson drawing room could no longer be called so if we changed the hangings. Of all the absurd … Well, you may laugh if you choose, but it is no matter of amusement to me. The responsibilities I have, with this great house to look after and my health being so fragile, as you know it is … Well, really, Sylvia, how can Francis expect me to get on without money?”

Having heard his lordship’s views on this very issue more than once during his stay in Oxfordshire, Sylvia was hard-pressed to stifle her amusement. Greyfalcon had not minced his words, saying that his mother would change the color of her bed curtains daily if he would but agree to frank her in such nonsense. And she could not fault his opinion, for she had seen for herself over the passage of years that Lady Greyfalcon had not the slightest notion of economy. That lack was evident in this present issue, for the crimson drawing room was scarcely in a decrepit state. Moreover, Sylvia knew as well as Greyfalcon did that his parent would but change her mind again if he were so foolish as to give her carte blanche. She attempted to change the subject.

“Does he include any London news in his letter, ma’am?”

“Not a bit, which is really most inconsiderate, for he must know that we are completely dependent upon him for the latest
on-dits,
but his letter is quite brief—only the bit about renaming the drawing room. Really, Sylvia, ’tis quite absurd of him, when he has the use of all that money. But MacMusker, really a most intractable man, insists that he can not spend a groat without Francis’s approval or your papa’s, and of course one knows better than to ask Lord Arthur to approve of spending money on anything other than books. I daresay he spends a good deal there, however.”

Sylvia smiled. “Indeed, ma’am, I suppose he does. At present, however, though the Assizes begin on Monday next, he is still immersed in the books sent him by my Uncle Lechlade. Piles of them cover his desk and a good portion of the floor. I believe my uncle must have done some house-cleaning, for there were two large crates delivered. Uncle has often sent Papa books before, of course, but never so many at one time.”

“No doubt Lechlade feels it is one way to make up to your father for being fourth in line for the title,” Lady Greyfalcon said sympathetically. “It must have been a sad disappointment to Lord Arthur once he was old enough to recognize the dreadful blow Fate had dealt him.”

“Not a bit of it, ma’am. You mustn’t believe Papa would have preferred to be a marquess, for I promise you he wouldn’t have liked it a bit. Only think of all that responsibility. Why, my uncle never has a quiet moment. At the present, I believe he must be in London, for he nearly always is there the entire time that Parliament is sitting. You know he is a rabid Tory, friend to the prime minister, and one of those who is most distressed by the Prince Regent’s unfortunate spending habits, for while my uncle is not nearly so careful of his money as Papa is, he deplores seeing other people spend what is not theirs to spend. Indeed, he has always been kind to me, if not particularly generous. I am persuaded that if only he were married, and his wife willing to sponsor me, I should have no trouble convincing Papa to let me have a second Season in London, for he would be certain that my Uncle Lechlade would provide the ready.”

“But would he not provide enough funding for you to stay with your friend, if you were to ask him to do so?”

“No, ma’am, for that is quite a different matter and none of his responsibility, you see. He believes Papa ought to look after that, whereas if I were under his roof and in his wife’s care … Well, surely you see the difference.”

Lady Greyfalcon nodded. “’Tis a pity, nonetheless, for you are simply withering on the vine here, Sylvia. If only my own circumstances were different—”

“Now, ma’am, you mustn’t distress yourself,” Sylvia said, knowing perfectly well and without resenting the fact in the least that if her ladyship’s circumstances were altered, she would still find reason for not being able to help. “There is nothing to be done, and I am content as I am.”

If that last sentiment did not honestly reflect her feelings in the matter, she was at least able to disguise this fact well enough to convince Lady Greyfalcon. Convincing herself was quite another matter, but there were always chores to be attended to at the manor house, and if one threw oneself into one’s work, it was possible to forget for hours at a time that one would much prefer to be in London. Thus, she responded to Lady Joan’s letter, politely refusing her invitation and giving only a vague description of her journey into Oxfordshire with Greyfalcon. And on Monday morning, she allowed Sadie to talk her into tackling the library, which chamber had so far been allowed to escape their spring cleaning.

“For ’tis a disgrace, miss, that’s what it be, and no mistake. That hearth is clean enough, for ’is lordship do let us clean out the ashes from time to time, though he frets over the dust we raise. I’d like to raise a real dust, I would.”

“Very well, Sadie. Since Papa has had to ride into Oxford to begin the Assizes, he will be away until suppertime, so if we are ever to manage the thing, let us begin today.”

Accordingly, they retired to the library, where Sadie shook her head in disgust. “Dust everywhere, Miss Sylvia. What would people think? When I think of the times ’is lordship—Lord Greyfalcon, that is, not Lord Arthur—sat in this room, I blush to think what his opinion of the help here must have been. I daresay I can count myself fortunate that I needn’t apply at the Park for a position. I doubt he would consider me suited even for the scullery after sitting in all this dust.”

The reference to Greyfalcon’s scullery was an unfortunate one from Sylvia’s point of view, and her voice was a trifle tart in consequence. “The dust is not so bad, Sadie. You are too hard on yourself. Why, I daresay it has not been a month since someone was last in here with the duster in hand.”

“Aye, and had me head bitten off for me troubles, for ye needn’t think I’d send any of the others in to do this room,” retorted the young woman, settling her mob cap more firmly over her smooth brown hair. “Only look at it, miss. Books everywhere, and practically no proper place for them.”

Sylvia saw immediately that Sadie was perfectly right. Books had been crammed into every bookcase, and there was no space left for the piles of books stacked on the desk and floor. “Papa needs more shelves,” she said thoughtfully. “I shall ask MacMusker to recommend someone to build them for him. There is room on that front wall if we move the tables away and take down the curtains.”

“What? Would you cover the window, then?” demanded her companion, wide-eyed.

“No, of course not, just the walls, with perhaps a shelf or two above the window. We’ll need new curtains. But for now, you dust the furniture and brush the carpet, and I shall see what I can do about tidying these books.”

Thus, as Sadie dusted side tables, Sylvia followed along behind stacking books neatly wherever there was room for them, and soon Lord Arthur’s desk and the floor were clear enough to clean. She took careful note of those books stacked upon the desk, so that she might replace them and thus escape some of her father’s certain wrath at her having invaded his sanctum; however, she paid little heed to any of the other books she moved. Thus, it was by the greatest good fortune or by some trick of her subconscious that she noted one particular title out of the lot. However, when she did so, it was enough to cause her to pause, book in hand, with her mouth wide open.

Sadie, plying her feather duster with energy over an ornately carved side table, the designer of which would have been most distressed to see the state it had been reduced to after many years of having items shoved aside in order to pile books upon it, noticed her mistress’s astonishment at once. “What is it, Miss Sylvie?”

“Sadie, you’ll never credit what I’ve found. Just sitting here among Papa’s books, like any other, as though it were the merest trifle. He’s only tossed it aside without reading it, too, for the pages have not even been cut.”

Sadie eyed the dark-blue leatherbound book suspiciously. “Looks like any other book ter me, miss.”

“Well, it is not like any other book,” Sylvia told her, “but I cannot tell you more about it until I am sure, for it wouldn’t do to raise a dust. Moreover, you wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you. Indeed, I am not entirely certain that I believe it myself, for I am persuaded it must have been no more than an idiotish rumor. Nonetheless, this book may well provide my ticket to London. Oh, why does Papa not come home?”

But he did not arrive until darkness had fallen, and by then Sylvia was nearly crazy with impatience. It was no use, however, for he was in an uncertain mood after a day of dealing with his fellow man and wanted no part of conversation either upon his arrival or across his supper table.

“But, Papa, you must hear what I discovered—”

“Not now, daughter. Let a man relax and enjoy his supper in peace, won’t you? There can be nothing important enough to disturb me tonight. I want only silence, if you please, and after I have supped, I intend to retire to my library, so be sure to order the fire lighted, if you love me.”

Thus, she held her peace until he had entered his library. But then, knowing that there would be an explosion as soon as he did so, she had merely to wait in the hall until he roared her name. Then, quickly, she hurried into the tidy chamber.

“What has been going on here?” Lord Arthur demanded, his gray hair fairly bristling, his cheeks as red as the fire. “I leave the house for one day, and look at this place, Sylvia. You may give that impertinent Sadie woman her notice at once, for I know full well that no other servant would have dared.”

“No, Papa, I cannot, because I ordered this room to be turned out. We have done every other room in the house, and this one was a disgrace. We did it today so as not to inconvenience you.”

“Well, you are out there, my girl, for I am certainly inconvenienced. How the devil am I to find anything now? Answer me that if you can.”

“Certainly, sir,” she replied calmly. “The books that were on your desk are still there. The others, on the side tables, have been arranged alphabetically by their authors or, in the event that the author is not named, by their titles. I have already sent word to Mr. MacMusker at Greyfalcon Park, asking his advice with regard to having some shelves built around that window, so that you will have a proper place to put all these books soon. In the meantime, only I touched them. Sadie did not. She cleaned and dusted, polished and brushed till there was no more to be done, and right well pleased she was to have got it done at last, I promise you.”

Somewhat appeased once he realized that order had been created out of chaos, his temper nevertheless remained uncertain until he had assured himself that she had made no attempt to do anything to the books on the shelves other than to allow Sadie to dust them. Even so, Sylvia felt as though she was taking her life in her hands when she approached him and held out the volume she had discovered.

“Will you look at this, Papa?”

“What is it?” Lord Arthur peered at the volume through his spectacles. “
The Delicate Investigation
? Can’t think how this came to be among the volumes John sent me. Naught but a damned novel, for all I can see.”

“No, Papa, Lady Reston showed me an article about this book in the
Times.
The prime minister had paid five thousand pounds for a single copy. ’Tis said to be a collection of the evidence against the Princess of Wales, gathered at Mr. Perceval’s request.”

“Pack of nonsense. Why would he wish to do such a thing? Whole business was a blot on the English system of justice, and since Perceval fancies himself the great potentate of the people, I can’t think why he’d wish to bring it up again.”

“Well, I don’t know that he does wish to bring it up, sir. Seems he would prefer to keep the content of the book from becoming public. Other copies have been burnt, Joan said.”

Lord Arthur shook his head. “A travesty, that’s what it was. Can’t say I’ve much regard for her highness, but she ought to have been allowed to be present when others testified against her. And she certainly ought to have had someone to defend her, not to mention a proper jury to hear the evidence. Prinny’s Whig counsel could find nothing to substantiate a single claim against her, though they’d have liked nothing better than to tell the world she had had a baby that was not fathered by the Prince. Instead, they refused to make a judgment at all, left it to the king.” Lord Arthur frowned, musing, “I daresay that if Perceval did collect the evidence, it would have proved embarrassing to the Whigs. Would have been a nice sword to hold over their heads. No doubt it helped the Tories gain power and then proved to be as much of an embarrassment to them, so he burnt what copies he could find.”

“I don’t remember very much about any of it, Papa, because of course it has been four years, nearly five, since the scandal, and I fear I didn’t pay it much heed at the time, but don’t you think we ought to find out if this book is worth as much as the paper claimed it might be?”

“Pack of nonsense,” said Lord Arthur. “No book is worth so much, though I daresay it wouldn’t help Perceval in his current dealings with the Regent if the book were to be made public now.”