Simply Scandalous (36 page)

Juliet had the pleasure of overhearing Serena's
conversation with Swale. The lady was chiefly concerned with complimenting his lordship on his new
head. "I have always preferred a cropped head, my
lord, and yours is such a handsome shape."

Juliet savagely stabbed the earth with her walking
stick and was horrified when she couldn't pull it out
again. A glance behind told her that Swale was much
too occupied with Serena to notice her struggles,
but Lady Maria was watching with amusement.

"It feels like I've been scalped," Swale complained,
running a hand over the short red stubble on his
head. "But ... anything to please the ladies." He
laughed pleasantly.

The stick pulled free suddenly, almost sending
Juliet sprawling. Grabbing it, she stomped off in the
direction of the village.

"Slow down, Miss Wayborn," Swale called to her
presently. "Serena's thrown a shoe."

Juliet waited, tapping her foot impatiently, as Swale
knelt and restored Serena's pretty shoe to her pretty foot. "Thank you, my lord," said Serena softly, coloring
up. "I didn't know I would be tramping through the
fields when I left home this morning." She laughed
prettily.

Juliet, for no apparent reason, laughed too.

"On a glorious day like this, with such pretty country all around you, the only place to be is outside,"
Swale told Serena. "Exercise and fresh air, that's what
you need."

"Yes, my lord," she agreed meekly, her lashes sweeping her cheeks.

"Look at Miss Wayborn-she's brown as a berry,"
Swale added. "I'd be willing to bet Miss Wayborn
could walk as far as Richmond without missing a
breath. Show me a milkmaid who can do that!"

Serena tittered. "I confess I am no milkmaid, my
lord."

"Perhaps my lady needs to sit down and rest now,"
Juliet said waspishly. "There's a bench just ahead if you
are feeling faint."

Serena, leaning heavily on Swale's arm, said she
would adore a bench above all things.

The bench, however, was occupied by a rather
grubby young man with a bucket. He grinned at
Swale. "Will you be needing any more newts, milord?"

"No, Master Billy, thank you," said Swale, and Lady
Serena hastily declared that she did not need to rest
after all. She had found a hidden reserve of strength.
The march continued, and several times, they were
passed by villagers. Lady Maria withdrew from a particularly bucolic farmer driving a wagon. He respectfully took off his hat and greeted Miss Wayborn,
guiding his mule off the track to allow them to pass.

"Good heavens!" Maria cried loudly. "Does your
brother know all these people are using his property, Miss Wayborn? I shouldn't allow it. That man looks
like a gypsy! "

"This is a common path, my lady," Juliet told her.
"It has been used by the local people for centuries.
Wexton is six miles out of the way by the King's road,
less than two by this route. And that good man is no
gypsy. That is Mr. Quince from our Home Farm."

"That excellent fellow is responsible for the little
white cheese?" exclaimed Swale. "I must speak to
him." Matching deeds to words, he abandoned Serena
and rushed over to the wagon, returning with a wheel
of cheese wrapped in brown paper.

"We'll add it to our picnic," he told Juliet as he
tucked it into his waistcoat. "It is the nicest cheese I
ever ate," he told the rest of them. "I'm sending
them to everyone I know for Christmas, and Farmer
Quince has promised to show me how they are made.
He likes his toasted on a slice of crusty brown bread."

Serena was clearly repulsed. "It has rather a strong
smell, does it not, my lord?"

"Wait until you taste it, my dear. It is exquisite."

Serena's smile was forced, and she could not suppress a shudder. Despite her earlier lack of enthusiasm, she was now only too pleased to reach the
church, having grown very hot on the walk. The
sanctuary was dark and cool. Juliet led them to the
small private annex where the Wayborns had honored
their dead for centuries, propped her stick in the
corner, and unlocked the door of carved oak. The
miniature chapel was bathed in the light filtering
through the brilliant stained glass windows showing
the Wayborn coat of arms. The effect was dazzling,
sheer drops of color dancing in the air like butterflies.

Serena balked at the entrance. "Are there ... bodies in there?" she whispered in horror, clutching
Swale's arm.

"The crypt is underground," Juliet told her curtly.
"This is our private chapel. These are merely statues,
monuments. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Extraordinary," murmured Colonel Fitzwilliam, followingJuliet into the chapel. "I have never seen anything like it. So well-preserved! The colors in the
windows are so rich. The blue is the true cobalt. It is
quite as lovely, in its way, as Chartres."

"Thank you, sir," Juliet said, rather surprised by his
interest. She had never been very interested in it
herself. She led him up to the altar where life-sized
marble statues of Baron and Baroness Wayborn lay
stretched at full length on a marble dais. Their hands
were clasped in prayer, and from above, the rose
window tossed dozens of brightly colored gems over
their peaceful faces.

"I detect a marked resemblance to the lady,"
Colonel Fitzwilliam said, looking from Juliet to the
marble sculpture. "It must be a wonderful thing to
have one's ancestors so close at hand. I have no
record of my own ancestors until the early part of the
last century," he admitted ruefully, "though my
mother is very keen on inventing stuff for Mr. DeBrett
and Mr. Burke! Don't believe half of what you read
about the Matlock Fitzwilliams in the Peerage," he told
her, chuckling. 'We are mere overnight mushrooms
compared to the Wayborns."

Behind them, Lady Serena sneezed, and Lady
Maria called, "You have the bar sinister in your coat
of arms, Miss Wayborn! Pray, why is that? Were not all
of your ancestors above reproach?"

"Evidently not," said Juliet dryly. "The name
Wayborn is as much a clue to our history as the bar sinister, Lady Maria. The first Wayborn must have
been just that, born by the way on the side of the road.
But it was an English road and by the Grace of God,
a Surrey road. For that, I'm thankful."

"Bravo, Miss Wayborn," said Fitzwilliam, which did
not endear him to his lady.

Serena sneezed again. "The smell of... of death is
everywhere," she complained.

"Have you seen enough?"Juliet asked Swale. He was
contemplating the crude medieval knights carved
into the pillars of the altar. "We've got rubbings from
those at the house, if you would care to study them."

"They look very stern, don't they?"

"Yes, and very short in stature, have you noticed?
One wonders where they found the strength to walk
around in all that chain mail."

"From what I hear," said Swale, "Fitz would have
been glad of a little chain mail at Waterloo."

Juliet's eyes widened. "Were you at Waterloo,
Colonel Fitzwilliam?" she exclaimed.

He bashfully averred that he had been, just as his
wife cried out in vexation, "I think we had better go,
Henry! The air here is very cold and damp. Poor
Serena is sneezing." It did not suit Lady Maria at all
to see Miss Wayborn monopolizing both gentlemen
in the party, and she demanded her due. "Geoffrey,
help poor Serena."

Swale caught Serena in his arms as the lady crumpled in a rather picturesque faint. `Julie!" he cried in
astonishment. 'Julie, she's fainted."

Miss Wayborn was unimpressed. "So I see," she
said coldly.

Swale lowered Serena, still holding her in his arms.
"Give me your hat, Julie," he said, reaching out a hand without looking away from his charge. "I'd
better fan her face."

"You'll get more wind from her ladyship's hat than
mine," Juliet objected sourly.

"Fork it over, miss! And look sharp doing it!"

Miss Wayborn angrily snatched at the green ribbons
of her old straw hat and flung it at him. After being
struck several times in the face during his lordship's
zealous fanning, the lady was revived and helped to
her feet.

The chapel was cleared, and by the time Juliet had
locked it up again and put the key back around her
neck, the rest of her party had walked outside into the
sunshine. Swale was speaking to Serena with real
concern. "You should not have gone from such a
warm place to such a cold place all at once, Serena,"
he scolded her. "You'll jeopardize your health."

"Oh, I can't bear places like that," she said. "It's so
dark ... so ghoulish! I can hardly breathe. Look! I am
trembling."

It took all of Juliet's restraint not to swat the silly
peahen. "We'd better dispense with the picnic then,"
she said, "if you're trembling, my lady, though I daresay you'll be excessively disappointed not to sample
the cheese! Here is my aunt now. I'm sure she'll be
pleased to convey you all back to Silvercombe in the
barouche."

"Yes, I think you're right, Miss Wayborn," Serena
said faintly. "I hate to spoil the afternoon, but my head
does ache so."

Lady Elkins's driver brought the barouche up to the
wall of the churchyard, and Juliet went to explain to
her aunt that Lady Serena was too ill to consider picnicking in the nearby meadow. Lady Elkins, who had
been looking forward to driving through the village in her barouche with Lady Serena and Lady Maria in
full view of all her friends, like a Roman general at his
triumph, gave up her carriage with very bad grace.

"Help Serena into the carriage, Geoffrey," Lady
Maria commanded, as if Lady Elkins's barouche were
not equipped with a driver and two footmen.

"Oh, you mustn't all forego the picnic just because
of me," cried Serena. "Go and enjoy yourselves."

"Geoffrey will see you home," said Maria. "Poor
Serena! Make her lie down, Geoffrey, when she gets
home, and bathe her temples in violet water. And send
the carriage back to fetch us." Her instructions continued at length as Lady Elkins was handed down from
her vehicle. The footmen unburdened the barouche
of two large picnic baskets, and Swale and Serena set
off for Silvercombe. "I do love a picnic," said Lady
Maria, smiling meanly at Juliet. "What a treat!"

The picnic was set out in the nearby meadow, and
Juliet was obliged to help her aunt assume an undignified pose on the cloth spread on the ground. The
pain had returned to Lady Elkins's legs with the relentless cruelty of a nemesis, and there was now absolutely no reason for Aunt Elinor to mention that her
niece had made the salmon mayonnaise herself.

Lady Maria's landau arrived before Swale returned
with Lady Elkins's barouche, and Juliet was forced to
endure another of that lady's triumphant smiles. "I
daresay my brother is reluctant to leave dear Serena
in such a fragile state. He's very protective of her, you
know. When a certain happy event takes place, I
daresay he will never leave her side."

She was pleased to see Miss Wayborn flinch. Sweetly,
she offered to convey Juliet and her aunt back to Wayborn Hall. Lady Elkins, complaining of an evil pulse
in her head, heart flutters, and shooting pains in
her legs, readily accepted, but Juliet, with a toss of her
head, declared her intention of walking home.

Lady Elkins halfheartedly tried to persuade her
niece that it was not at all the thing to be seen walking through the village without a hat, but her own suffering soon overcame any thought of Juliet, and she
sank back onto the bleached leather cushions of the
landau. Colonel Fitzwilliam made a more sustained
effort, but Juliet, clutching her walking stick, started
down the High Street in the opposite direction taken by Maria's carriage, all but daring anyone to say a word
to her.

Someone took the dare as she was passing the
White Hart. The upper window was suddenly flung
open, and a young man with a cropped, dark head
stuck the upper half of his body out so far he was in
danger of falling into the street. He was in his shirt,
which was open at the throat. "Miss Wayborn, we
have just been talking about you!"

Juliet was startled, to say the least, never having been
shouted at by a young man hanging out of the upper
window of a country inn. With a great deal of embarrassment, she recognized Budgie St. John Jones,
a London acquaintance and a nincompoop if ever
there was one. She walked on.

"Oh, I say!" he cried, slamming his head against the
casement in his eagerness to withdraw. To Juliet's
amazement, a few minutes later, he was on the street,
pursuing her and struggling to put his coat on over
his shirt. Another gentleman followed at a more
sedate pace.

Not wanting to quicken her pace to escape a mere
flea like Budgie, Juliet walked steadfastly on, her eyes
fixed ahead, preserving the icy, depressing silence of
a lady as Budgie overtook her. She knew him from the
drawing rooms of London, and she very quickly had
determined he was too stupid even to be trusted to
fetch lemonade at Almack's.