Maggie MacKeever by Strange Bedfellows

Author:Strange Bedfellows
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Returning home from her expedition to Oxford Street, Lady March was met by her butler in the great hall. “Oh, milady!” groaned that haughty individual, in a more emotional state than his mistress had ever witnessed him. “It is the most dreadful thing!”

“What is dreadful, Benson?” Eleanor was visited by an appalling conviction that during her absence Marriot had been dragged off to gaol. “Answer me, pray!”

In response, the butler shuddered. “In the solar, milady—” In a disapproving, distinctly ghoulish manner, he explained what had so recently transpired. “Oh, perdition!” muttered Nell.

“I knew it!” crowed Henrietta, plump face alight with triumph. “I knew that chit was no better than she should be! Yes, and I warned you not to leave her alone with Marriot, if you will recall. Poor Lady Katherine will be in a taking! I must go to her immediately!”

“You must not!” retorted Lady March in such grim tones that Henrietta paused mid-stride. “This business is largely of your making, and I do not intend that you should meddle more.”

The butler, who was no fonder of Henrietta than any other member of the household, cleared his throat. “If I may say so as shouldn’t, milady, it wasn’t my impression that the master and Lady Amabel were—er.”

Henrietta roused sufficiently from her mistreatment, the shock of which had caused her to lean against a suit of armor for support, to award the butler a look of keen dislike. “Impertinent! Of course they were.”

Wistfully, Lady March eyed the rack of spears set upon the ancient walls. Resolutely she turned and mounted the great staircase with its carved balustrades and newel posts. She did not trust herself to speak to Henrietta.

Meantime, in the solar, Lord March was the target of a great many words, most noteworthy among which to date had been “hussy,” “baggage” and “jade.” Marriot could not fail to admire Lady Katherine’s invective, even while regretting the situation in which he had been placed. In the delivery of verbal levelers, Lady Katherine would have few equals. She was fast on her feet and quick to pop one in over an opponent’s guard. Marriot—who in his salad days had been a great deal addicted to sport—thought he would have liked to have the handling of her in the ring.

Currently, Lady Katherine was standing up for a round or two with her own son, with whom it had been bellows to mend after the first onslaught. “I do not think you should call Lady Amabel a trollop, Mama,” he persisted, battered but still game. “Nor do I think you should call me a loose-screw. In fact, Mama, I wish you would cut line!”

“You wish I would—” Lady Katherine’s raddled features turned an ugly mottled shade. “Shall I tell you what I wish, you young jackanapes? I wish you had never met this scheming little minx! You were a dutiful and obedient boy until the chit turned your head with her caressing ways. I do not blame you, son! The hussy set her cap at you.

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