A Lady's Secret Read online

  He shot a glance from the tumblers to the girl’s eyes. She met his, but only for a second. It was enough to see she was overwhelmed by the effect of the smoky room. She was a small figure, but even a larger person would eventually succumb to the drug. They needed to leave as quickly as possible.

  “As you say, Greendick.”

  Will chose the tumbler nearest the edge of the tray. He raised it to his face, put it beneath his nose, and inhaled. He did not touch it to his lips. Instead, he lowered the glass and leaned close to the maid.

  “A rather indelicate question, I fear.” He hesitated, looking down at his feet in what could only be called the greatest show of acting since the prior evening’s theater production. “Ahem…I find I am in need of…that is to say, I would be in a better position to drink this rather appealing potion if I were to first…well, I’m sure you understand…”

  Oliver could not help himself. He leaned close to the girl, winked, and announced, “Lord Gasbag does not have the greatest capacity for holding his water, I’m afraid. If we don’t get him to the proper spot soon, I fear for Lady Panda’s beautiful Persian carpet.”

  The girl motioned to the far end of the room.

  “Through that door, gentlemen. Two doors down, on the right.”

  “Thank you.” Oliver gave her a very small bow. “Your lordship, this way. Time to allow your little friend the chance to let the water fall.”

  As they threaded their way through the room, he noted that several gentlemen seated on the low settees scattered around the room held young, buxom women in their laps. Many smoked, both from conventional pipes as well as water-glass hookah pipes. It was no wonder the air was so thick.

  The necessary room was, thankfully, unoccupied. They squeezed in the space, which was as gilded and ornate as the other room had been. Apparently Lady Panda believed her guests should be not only inebriated and in a smoky stupor but also pampered as they attended to the less elegant business.

  Neither needed the room for its intended purpose, of course. There was so little room that they stood nearly nose to nose.

  “Lord Gasbag? Did you truly just call me that?” Will grinned, not at all affronted by the title bestowed upon him. “I’m quite sure I don’t mind that nearly as much as your implication regarding the size of my so-called ‘little friend’—goodness, whatever were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that you called my friend green. Did you see the maid when you said that? I thought she was going to die trying to hold the laughter inside.”

  “Poor thing is probably discombobulated from being in that room.” Will shook his head. “I know my mind is not nearly as clear as it ordinarily is, and I do not have to stand there hour after hour.”

  “I could not do it.” He wished for a glass of water to wash the taste of inhaled smoke from his throat, but the only libation available to them was the glass the other still held. “You should dump that out. God only knows what it contains.”

  A collision with Oliver’s elbow when he turned to put the tumbler on a wall ledge splashed onto Will’s pants in a rather embarrassing spot. They both looked down at his crotch for a moment, too stunned to move.

  Oliver chuckled. “Well should anyone see us in the hallway they will think you were too foxed to get yourself properly liberated.”

  “It is good that you are so amused. I certainly hope it dries without leaving a mark, or my wife will wonder what I’ve been up to.”

  “We could always use some of the water from that jug to, ah, wash the area.” He pointed to the wide ledge running waist high around the room. Two china jugs held water for cleaning purposes. Not potable for drinking, since it was more than likely that the water had been drawn from the rain barrels, but it would work fine in this situation.

  “It would make the spot considerably bigger. I will pass, and hope Vivian does not take notice.”

  “Just as well. We need to find that maid and get out of here.” Oliver peeked his head out of the doorway. The corridor was empty. They exited and took it at a near run down the hallway away from the public room.

  The house was not grand. It was not large, either. Finding the service areas was so much more straightforward than it would have been had they been at the Gregory estate.

  They skidded to a stop in a kitchen that was tiny by comparison to the one at Willowbrook. Polished wide-plank floors and scrubbed preparation tables were wholly occupied. Staff moved about like a legion of worker bees, sidestepping and reaching as if it were a dance they performed to music only they could hear. The action stopped when they made their entrance.

  All heads turned and everyone stared. Even the child polishing boots near the doorway paused, boot brush mid-swipe.

  Oliver looked from person to person. None was the one they searched for. Botheration! So many maids, and none the one they wanted? Where was the justice in that?

  It was only a matter of time before someone realized Lord Gasbag and his manservant had disappeared, so he smiled and asked, “Has anyone seen a maid?”

  They all looked at each other as if the pair were Bedlam escapees. Shrugged.

  A man spoke up. “Your Lordship, we all see several maids. Don’t you, sir?”

  “Of course he does.” Will rolled his eyes and gave them a conspiratorial wink. “His Lordship has, um, well, he’s imbibed a good amount of Lady Panda’s potent potable. So, you see…”

  He spread his arms wide, a gesture of helplessness but as he did, his coat parted and the wet splotch on his crotch came into view. All gazes dropped. The little shoeshine boy laughed and pointed with the shoe on his hand.

  Will turned red-cheeked but went on like one of the King’s guards. “We seek a young woman who came in off the street a short while ago. A scant half-hour ago, perhaps. She has a position with a dear friend of ours, and we simply wish to ask a favor of her.” When the manservant frowned, he added, “A perfectly respectable favor, I assure you. We are…ah, we are planning a surprise for her employer and wish to know some of her favorite foods so our kitchen may prepare the best birthday feast imaginable. Makes life easier, doesn’t it, when one knows what another likes best?”

  The feebleness of explanation left the servants silent for several long minutes. Then, the child pointed to a doorway.

  “She went in there, she did. Came to see Old Dorinda, just like the others.”

  “Hush.” The cook flapped her white apron at the boy, but he batted it with the shoe.

  “Well she did. Just like the rest of ’em, coming for the potion.”

  “Quiet, child,” the manservant said but before the words left his mouth they were at the plain wooden door.

  Oliver did not knock. He pressed the latch, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

  An old woman looked up from a scarred pine worktable. She crushed something in a rough wooden pestle with a mortar held by a gnarled fist. She looked to be a hundred, although that was hardly possible.

  Her voice was soft and gentle, the sound of a stream over worn rocks. Nothing prepared Oliver for the melodious words or the lack of outrage over being burst in upon.

  “Well, well. What have we here? Two fine gentlemen coming to see Old Dorinda?”

  Will closed the door behind them when it seemed the manservant would follow. He placed his back against the door.

  Crossing the room, Oliver searched for something to say. There was no one in sight save the potionist. A door leading to what he presumed to be a back alleyway was the only egress from the space aside from through the kitchen door they’d just used. And since the child indicated the maid went in but said nothing of her going back out, he deduced she had exited through the alleyway door.

  She crushed some dried green leaves. Others, mostly the same variety but a few of different shape, as well as a pile of desiccated red berries were heaped beside her mortar. Oliver did not recognize any of them but he was totally unskilled in the art of potion-making. He had witnessed the effects of some rather harsh concoctio
ns during his dark time, but he had never cared to sample any. It was one of the only substances he declined, although he had no idea why he had done so. Now he wished he had even a rudimentary knowledge. He had no idea what to ask the old woman, aside from the obvious.

  “Excuse us for barging in the way we have, but time is of the essence.” When she did not respond, he went on. “We are in search of a young woman. She came in off the street, and we are fairly certain she came to see you.”

  “You are not planning a party, are you?”

  How did she decipher their faradiddle? They weren’t speaking loudly in the next room, and the walls were brick—and probably ten inches thick. It was improbable she overheard yet she knew their fib. How?

  No time to ponder. Oliver shook his head. “No. We are not arranging a party. We just need to ask the woman a few questions.”

  “Are either of you involved with this young lady?” She paused, gave her attention to the mixture. The rasp of wood on wood as she ground leaves was a soothing, rhythmic sound. She did not look up when she spoke. “If you are part of the situation…well, I have the means to render you unable to bring this occasion upon yourself—and the poor woman you’ve assaulted—again.”

  “Now wait a minute! I did not—”

  She cut him off, airily waving the pestle through the air as she added berries to the mixture.

  “I did not say I would render you incapable of performing, your lordship. Rather, it would be impossible to get a woman in a certain predicament as long as you ingested my potion.” She put the instrument down, wiped her hands down the front of her serviceable brown work dress and met his gaze. Oliver saw the wisdom of many years in those eyes.

  Once, while on safari on the African continent, he met a wizened medicine man whose knowledge danced behind ageless eyes. This was the second time he’d seen the world behind a gaze. If he were the quickly frightened type, he would have backed away but he wasn’t so he stood his ground.

  It crossed his mind the woman might be toying with him. To assume she told the truth would be foolish.

  “Oh, yes.” A sage nod. “You are not the man responsible. Well, no matter. I can offer the same service to you. Your servant as well. He seems predisposed to troubled emissions.”

  Oliver grinned, remembering the wet patch on the other’s trousers. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t need to turn to know Will was nearly beside himself with indignation and embarrassment.

  “Your offer is generous, but neither of us has need for that service.” He glanced at the door. “She went that way, didn’t she? And you are chatting us up so she has adequate time to disappear into the crowd on the street, aren’t you?”

  Old Dorinda shot him a contented smile. “I had you picked for a keen wit. You have caught my motivation. By now, the woman you seek is lost to the morning foot traffic. You, sirs, have wasted your time on a fool’s errand.” She rapped the pestle on the tabletop. “And that is the job of fools, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 3

  Willowbrook Manor was situated far enough from Town that it felt like the country, yet was close enough that social events, shopping expeditions and ordinary business ventures were a short ride. Oliver’s father, the aged and somewhat infirm Lord Gregory, kept a house in the city regardless. It proved convenient when affairs ran late or the weather was especially troublesome.

  Will and Oliver had spent the night in the London house. After a couple of hours watching Lady Panda’s entrance from a concealed spot a few doors down Bond Street, they had been tired and hungry, but no closer to speaking with the maid. A quick dinner at a loud pub, where they were prepared to continue the charade of Greendick and Gasbag had anyone inquired. They were both somewhat disappointed that no one did ask, so they were reduced to referring to each other with the mildly inappropriate monikers at every opportune moment.

  Oliver drove like he did everything else, with purpose and complete capability. He handled the horses without effort, and the animals recognized his touch as that of a true horseman so they responded in kind. The ride, taken on such a sunny morning, was a pleasant one.

  “I do wish we had located that young woman last night.” Will removed his hat and turned his face to the sky. He closed his eyes. “It would have saved us a lot of trouble if she had returned.”

  “How so?”

  He rotated his face slightly and opened only the left eye. “We both know that you are like a dog after a bone and will not give up. You mean to find out what that woman is about. And, I know I am going to be dragged along on the adventure.”

  Oliver snorted. Had their lots in life been different, he and William Fulbright would be best friends. Better yet, that they might have been brothers. But Will was not a peer, so the best they could achieve was close-as-brothers when alone, and lord with manservant in public.

  When he had been overcome with his addictive tendencies and nearly lost his life to drug usage, Will had been the one to pull him from the clutches of his deviant behavior. He had taken him back to Willowbrook when he had been so afflicted he was reduced to screaming like a madman and two steps from being admitted into an asylum. His life had been saved by the man beside him. And that was a debt that could never be repaid—peerage, social standing and propriety be damned.

  “Will, you know me well. I do intend to find that maid and get the truth from her.” He gave the reins a quick twitch. The horses responded instantly, quickening their pace.

  “And I am your cohort.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  Will’s eyes remained closed, his head tilted to the sun. “Certainly not.”

  “I am sure I can find another manservant, if you are.” That his companion looked as relaxed as a young boy on holiday crossed his mind.

  “Bite your tongue. Oliver, you know I am on you like sticking glue on dentures.”

  He chuckled. They were at the edge of the property, so he turned the horses onto the wide, tree-lined lane. Will sat up straight and put his hat back in place. It would not do to have a stray grounds man see the future of the estate driving his carelessly-clad assistant about.

  Propriety, the bane of the upper class, dictated they appear distant in front of prying eyes. But the family and their closest friends knew the truth: Oliver couldn’t love Will more if he had been born his blood brother.

  “Are you saying I am tooth powder?”

  Will shook his head, smiling as he elbowed him. “Quite the contrary. I am the tooth powder. You, Mister Greendick, are the dentures!”

  He had learned the hard way not to take any day for granted, so now he threw his head back and let his amusement surface. They pulled up to the front of the manor that way, he laughing like a man who had just heard the merriest joke in the pub and Will concealing his own smile behind a hand.

  He tossed the reins to the boy who waited to claim them. They climbed down and went inside. Instantly the sound of female voices met their ears.

  Oliver turned to Will. “It seems your bride is here. I hear that lovely tinkling laugh she possesses. You are a fortunate man to have made such a brilliant match.”

  The other did not try to hide his love. He nodded, his smile bigger than ever. “Indeed I am.”

  ****

  A fire roared cheerily in the grate and brought the temperature of the room so high the windows were opened to admit a breeze. Still, the air did not blow away Amy’s feeling that the world was about to fall in on her. Living with the trepidation that nothing was as it should be was taking its toll. Too, hiding the truth from those she loved most dearly was a burden almost too heavy to carry.

  Her sister, Miranda, sat closest to the door so when the men entered, she saw them first. And since Oliver led the way into the room, she acted in typical Miranda fashion. How one could fall so obviously at a man’s feet when the man in question had made it demonstrably clear her affections were not reciprocated was beyond comprehension.

  Still, Miranda tittered.

  “Ladies, goo
d morning to one and all.” Oliver bent at the waist, extended a leg and acted as if they were at Almack’s rather than the front sitting room. He nodded to each of them in turn.

  “Lucie, looking lovely this morning. Is my brother-in-law expected home today?”

  Lucie placed her embroidery on her lap. “Nick should be back sometime this afternoon. I cannot wait; Mother is hovering over me in uncharacteristic fervor. It makes me quite cross, all this fluttering and flapping.”

  The ever-solicitous older sibling, Oliver brought his brows together. “Whatever has her going on about? You look perfectly healthy to me, and you are certainly accustomed to your husband’s comings and goings. He does have vast holdings to attend, after all.”

  “You and I know that, but apparently Mother does not. It is, I am sure, just that she is habitual about hovering over someone. With Father feeling better, she has turned her attention onto me. Do a sister a favor, won’t you? Capture some of her attention for yourself. I am nearly done in assuring her I am fine. Well fed. Happy. I beg you, Oliver, let her dote on you for a bit. She is killing me with this kindness.”

  “I will do what I can.” He turned his gaze on Vivian, their distant cousin who had married his best friend. Will stood behind his bride’s chair. She had dropped her sewing onto her lap and had a hand on her husband’s where it lay on her shoulder.

  They looked happier than any two people had a right to look. Vivian shone, pure radiance coming from her in waves. Amy hated herself, but she was jealous.

  “How are you, cousin? Keeping well, I hope?”

  Vivian blushed, ever-so-slightly. She and Will had let it be known there would be an addition to their family by the New Year. The only indication she was with child was the glow in her eyes when she looked at her adoring husband.

  Amy’s own stomach flip-flopped dangerously. The grippe she had been battling for the past two weeks threatened to return so she swallowed hard and concentrated on not being sick.

  “I am, thank you. It is such a beautiful day…how could anyone be anything other than hale and hearty?” When Oliver made a deliberate show of leaning forward to examine the scrap of fabric in her lap, Vivian giggled. Holding the tiny garment up for inspection, she sighed. “I suppose it is no secret that I am hoping for a boy. Will urges me to make the newborn clothing either green or yellow, or even white, but I favor blue. It is to be a boy; I am certain of it so why waste time with neutral fabric?”