Simply Scandalous (2 page)

"I know it," Cary rasped, his jaw clenched against the
pain. With his right hand, he began clawing at his
cravat. Stacy, who had questioned his friend's wisdom,
if not his sanity, at the time this purple-spotted neckcloth had been purchased, nonetheless saw its usefulness as a sling or a bandage, but before he could help
Cary unravel its knot, they heard the Watchman's bell.

Stacy froze. When he had called for the Watch, he
had never supposed that anyone would actually
answer. It was deuced embarrassing. He saw his friend's hat and stick lying in the street and hurriedly scooped them up.

"Help me to my feet, for God's sake!" cried Gary.
With sheer force of will, he beat down the pain and
climbed to his feet. "Get me away from here before
the Watch-"

He broke off as a figure emerged from the fog, and
a lantern swung before their eyes. "'Ere now!" cried
a lusty voice not unlike that of Cary's attacker. "What's
all this then?"

The Watchman, despite the unusual diligence he
had shown in responding to their cries, had arrived
too late to intercept the miscreants, but he was just
in time to embarrass the Gentry.

"Nothing to concern you, Watchman," Stacy Calverstock said coldly. "You may go."

"This gentleman don't appear well," the Watchman
observed with less concern than satisfaction. "I'd be
remiss in my duty-

"Quite right," Stacy said crisply. "My friend is ill. He
fell down and broke his head, as you see. I am taking
him home. Good night." With Cary leaning heavily
on his arm, he turned to go.

`Just a minute, guy!"

Stacy swore under his breath, but his injured friend
managed a wan smile. "Yes, Watchman?"

"Would these be your eyeglasses, sir?"

Cary gingerly accepted the miraculously unbroken
spectacles with his right hand. "Thank you, Watchman," he said, his voice faint but steady. "Sorry to trouble you on such a cold night. Heaven knows you
should be safe in your box with a hot cup of tea."

The Watchman stiffened. "I'd be remiss in my duty,
sir-

"Yes, yes!" Stacy said impatiently and tossed the
man a silver coin. Then, half-carrying, half-dragging his friend, he turned into an alley leading back toward
Piccadilly. "You need a bloody doctor," he told Cary,
panting.

Cary sagged in his arms. "I may need a doctor, but
when I have done with Swale, he will be needful of the
undertaker!" The bravado cost him; his legs gave
way, and he sank to the ground.

"Where do I take you?" Stacy demanded. "Not back
to White's-"

"Lord, no!" Cary forced his eyes open. "Take me to
my sister, to Julie," he managed just before fainting
for the first time in his life.

Miss Juliet Wayborn, Stacy knew, was currently
lodged with her aunt, Lady Elkins, at Number 17
Park Lane. Indeed, he had often taken tea at that excellent address, sometimes as late as eight o'clock in
the evening, and had reason to believe he was a favorite of both the young lady and her aunt. All the
same, Lady Elkins was unlikely to welcome the sight
of his white-topped boots on the Axminster carpet in
her front hall at half-past two in the morning.

The Apricot Salon, so named for the pattern on the
silk panels adorning its lofty walls, was soon bathed
in the light of a hundred candles as curious servants
brought their bedroom tapers down from the attics.
Mr. Calverstock had never seen so many nightshirts
and lace caps in all his life, and it seemed to him that
every servant in all of Mayfair had joined the throng
in Lady Elkins's salon before Huddle, her ladyship's
maid, abruptly made the executive decision to wake
Miss Juliet. Lady Elkins should not be disturbed, of
course, for she was a lady of advancing years, much
celebrated for her authentic tremors, megrims, and
palpitations, but her niece was a young lady of stout constitution and steady nerves. Miss Juliet would best
know what to do.

As Cary was brought in, Mademoiselle Huppert,
Miss Wayborn's very dashing French maid, wept singlemindedly into the curtains. The footmen formed a
grave cabal at the mantelpiece, while Parker, the
butler, regarded Stacy Calverstock with open hostility.

"Not that sofa, if you please! " Parker exclaimed coldly,
having mistaken Mr. Wayborn's deplorable condition
for a drunken stupor. "It has just been recovered by
Mr. Soho!"

Another sofa untouched by the famous Mr. Soho
was made available, and a footman brought a branch
of candles. Cary's face was white as cotton wool, and
streaked with blood.

"He's been murdered, Mr. Parker!" cried a footman.

Parker, shocked into civility, at once sent Tom for
her ladyship's cognac.

Huddle, meanwhile, had tiptoed past Lady Elkins's
room to the smaller chamber currently occupied by
her ladyship's niece and was approaching the bed.

Miss Juliet Wayborn was by no means the ranking
beauty of the Season, but the servants were proud of her
all the same. She was a tall, dark-haired young lady
whose intelligent gray eyes and patrician good looks
tended to intimidate rather than attract the opposite sex.

"She's not pretty," Huddle was fond of saying.
"She's handsome." It was Huddle's considered opinion,
based upon years of study, that serious young ladies
like Miss Juliet tended to make better marriages than
the more sensational beauties the society columns
raved about. A quiet, elegant, dignified young lady like
Miss Julie would appeal to men of sense, education,
and property, and she would not be bothered by the
rakes, wastrels, and frivolous young gentlemen with
more hair than brains.

A draft from the open door awakened Juliet, and
she sat up, shivering. "Huddle?" she murmured,
squinting at the figure holding a candlestick in one
hand. In the next moment, she had thrown back the
covers. "Is my aunt unwell?" she asked anxiously,
reaching for her purple dressing gown.

Huddle, usually such a sensible woman, lost no
time in telling Juliet that Master Gary had been
brought home to die. According to Lady Elkins's
maid, there was neither a drop of blood left in his
veins nor a bone in his body that hadn't been broken.
To send for surgeons seemed futile, but perhaps
there was still time to fetch a priest?

Fearing the worst, her heart pounding, Juliet fastened her dressing gown and ran down the steps in
her bare feet.

Stacy Calverstock jumped as she entered the salon
and discovered, to his surprise, that he could not
take his eyes from her. He had always regarded Juliet
as a well-behaved, feminine version of his friend
Cary, and on those occasions when he found himself
in her company, he had willingly accepted her as an
amiable substitute for his friend, but never before had
it struck him so forcefully that she was a desirable
young woman of nineteen. He had always understood her to be seven years Cary's junior, and the
mathematics of the situation were not beyond him,
but seeing her in a silk and lace dressing gown with
her rich dark hair unbound unaccountably threw
him into confusion. Her wide gray eyes, usually so
steady, were wild and fearful. He had never seen her
looking so vulnerable or, he was forced to admit, so
appealing.

She made him wish that he were taller, handsomer,
and, above all, richer.

"Stacy!" she cried, rushing past the servants to take
his hands. "What has happened to Cary?"

Before he could answer, she caught sight of her
brother. Cary, who was still bleeding freely from the
head and clutching his left arm, was trying to sit up.
"Don't worry, Julie," he croaked. "Don't ... make a
fuss. Not as bad as it looks."

She was at his side in an instant. "You priceless
ass!" she remonstrated with all the fury of a devoted
sister who has been given a bad fright. "What have you
done to yourself? Lie down! You'll only make it
worse."

Her words proved true. Cary fell back onto the sofa
and could not be roused again.

"Has anyone sent for Mr. Norton?" his sister
demanded.

"No, Miss Julie," Parker said. "That is, Master Gary
has just arrived."

"Right!" said Juliet, recognizing that they were all
looking to her for guidance. In just a few moments,
she had the situation in hand. Tom was sent to fetch
Mr. Norton, the surgeon, and the female servants were
instructed to boil water and prepare bandages.
Huddle was dispatched to her ladyship's medicine box
for laudanum and antiseptic. Stacy and the second
footman were enlisted to carry the injured man up
to his sister's room, there being no fire lit in any
other bedroom, with the exception of that of Lady
Elkins. Juliet's clearheaded command of the situation
impressed Mr. Calverstock greatly, and the servants
seemed relieved to be given something to do.

Stacy saw his friend laid on the bed, then hastened
to assist Juliet in lighting a branch of candles. "Why
do you stare at me as though you've never seen me
before?" she asked him suddenly, frowning.

"I beg your pardon! " he exclaimed, blushing. 'Was I?"

"Help me get his boots off, for heaven's sake," she
ordered him, hurrying over to the bed. When this task
was accomplished, she calmly handed the footwear to
the manservant. "Take them away and give them a
good polish, Arthur," she instructed, as though her
brother's prized high-topped boots were spattered
with mud rather than blood. It was not to be doubted
that the Wayborns knew how to carry on in the face
of adversity. "Do what you can with his coat and hat."

"Yes, Miss Julie."

"Now then, Stacy," she said, turning to her brother's
friend. "Come with me." Leaving Cary in the care of
Huddle and Mademoiselle Huppert for the moment,
she led her brother's friend down to the first floor.

In the Apricot Salon, she spied the brandy on the
tea tray. "Put the cognac away, Parker," she angrily
commanded the butler. "You know perfectly well
that's only for emergencies!"

Mr. Calverstock, who could have done with a cognac
at the moment, made as though to follow the butler
from the room, but Julie rounded on him furiously.
"I should very much like to know what you mean by
bringing my brother home in this condition!" she said
sharply.

"My dear Miss Wayborn," he said feebly, acutely
aware that he was addressing an attractive young
female dressed for bed, "I feel certain that Cary
would prefer to tell you himself when he is recovered."

"Sit down at once, and tell me what happened," said
Juliet in a tone that a rhinoceros would have obeyed.
Stacy sat on the sofa recently recovered by the famed
Mr. Soho and gave her a very spare and sanitized version of the evening's events. "I ran back as soon as I
heard the noise," he finished. "By the time I got
there, the damage was done, I'm sorry to say."

Juliet exploded. "These murderous thieves must be
captured and hanged! I shall write to Benedict at once."

"No, don't! " Stacy cried, alarmed. It was said in Parliament that Sir Benedict Wayborn could shear the
flesh from a man's body with a glance, and Stacy
had reason to believe it was true. "On the whole, I'd
say that Sir Benedict would rather not know."

"You're right, of course," she agreed as Parker left
the room. "And now, I think," she went on coldly, "I
should like to hear the truth."

His cheeks burned. "I assure you, Miss Wayborn-"

"Nonsense!" she interrupted. "I know you are lying
because you are calling me Miss Wayborn. Very odd,
don't you agree, since we have been Christian-naming
each other since you were ten and I was five? Of course,
if you want me to call you Mr. Calverstock-"

%,No!" he exclaimed. Suddenly, it was very important that he forever remain Stacy to her.

"Very well then, Stacy," she said gently, "if Cary is
in trouble, you must tell me. I'm smarter than both
of you put together, though I admit that isn't saying
much. I'll be able to tell you what to do."

He could not help but smile at the notion that
even so accomplished a young lady as Juliet might
have anything to teach Mr. Cary Wayborn and Mr. Eustace Calverstock, two experienced men of the world.
"The situation is well in hand," he assured her. "I know
who is responsible for this night's work, and he will
be held accountable."

"Stacy!" she cried, her eyes lighting up with so
much admiration he felt his heart begin to thud.
"You caught the man who did this?"

"Er ... no," he said.

The admiration was replaced by annoyance. "You
let him get away?" she cried in disgust. "Never mind!
Who is he? Who is responsible for this outrage?" Suspicion suddenly entered her range of expressions. "Is it-is it gambling debts? Does Cary owe
insane amounts of money?"

"Certainly not!" he protested, his pale skin turning
bright pink.

She shook her head impatiently. "There is something you're not telling me. They did not even take
his watch! And footpads and cutpurses do not typically
beat their ... their victims with Turkish brutality, you
know. "

"No, I didn't know," he said, attempting a lofty
tone. "Are you very well acquainted with the criminal
class?"

The lofty tone, never easy, became impossible as
Juliet's hand flashed out and took a very firm hold on
his nose. "I am holding your nose, Mr. Calverstock,"
she informed him. "I shall go on holding your nose
until you tell me what happened. You'll look pretty
silly going back to your rooms at the Albany with
Miss Wayborn attached to your nose. Better tell me,"
she added kindly, while tightening her hold. "Uncle?"

"Uncle!" he agreed.

She gave the Calverstock beak a vicious twist before
releasing it.

"The brutal Thuggee of India could learn from
your methods," he complained, rubbing his nose.
"All right! All right," he cried as she lifted her hand
again. "I don't think they were footpads."

She glared at him. "Well? What were they, Stacy?
Jealous husbands?"