Scandal Above Stairs_A Below Stairs Mystery by Jennifer Ashley

Author:Jennifer Ashley [Ashley, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

14

Lady Cynthia leaned out the window of a carriage halted on the east side of Bedford Square. The line of fine houses behind her hid the bulk of the British Museum.

I recognized the landau Lord Rankin left to be the Bywaters’ town coach. As I approached it, Paul the footman leapt from a perch on the back and opened the door so Lady Cynthia could step out.

She wore a gown of dove gray trimmed with black, her pillbox hat a creation of light and dark grays adorned with feathers that swirled elegantly around the hat’s crown. A net that covered her forehead and eyes, and her coil of blond hair neatly offset the millinery concoction. Lady Cynthia looked this afternoon like the aristocratic daughter she was.

“Ladies can’t stir a step out of doors without their maid, aunty, or a male relative to guard their reputations,” she said as she let Paul help her down—no leaping out on her own today. “Thought I’d be contrite this morning and dress to Aunt Isobel’s taste and agree to take the town coach instead of striding about on my own. But as you’re here, you can be my chaperone.”

So speaking, Cynthia landed beside me, shaking out her skirts and brushing soot from the sleeves of her short-waisted jacket. She noticed me staring at her head and frowned. “What is it? Is my hair falling down?”

“I am admiring your hat. It’s quite lovely.” I owned only two hats that I kept as well as I could, but they were aging and soon would be too far out of fashion to wear. I always admired a good hat and wished I could indulge in buying them when I pleased.

Cynthia yanked up the veil. “It’s ridiculous. Makes me see spots in front of my eyes. But mourning bonnets are even more ridiculous. Don’t know how the Queen, God save her, can stick them. Your hat is plenty nice,” she finished generously.

“Thank you,” I said, flattered. I always wore my best black straw while visiting Grace or going to church. “Shall we see if we can locate this pub for scholars? I suppose they will let two ladies into its snug?”

“I know exactly where it is.” Cynthia pointed down Gower Street in the direction opposite the one I’d chosen. “Mr. Thanos told me. He should be there, by the way. That’s why I need a chaperone. Paul.” Cynthia pulled a coin from her pocket and flipped it to the footman. “Find yourself some grub. Don’t wander too far or get into any trouble.”

Paul snatched the coin from midair, flashed a smile, and said, “Yes, my lady,” before sprinting away.

“You might as well have some dinner too,” Cynthia called up to the coachman, who was new, as Lord Rankin had taken the last coachman to the country with him. “No drink, mind.”

“He can hardly leave the coach and horses,” I pointed out.

“’S’all right,” the coachman said affably. “Paul will see me well. I’ll wait here, my lady.” He nodded down at me.

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