Regency Masquerade

Chapter Fourteen

"What did Hartly do this afternoon?” Moira asked Jonathon when he returned to change for dinner.

"He was riding about the countryside, poking into ditches and haystacks and barns looking for brandy. Then he sat on the cliff with a spyglass, watching the smuggling ships for a bit. When he returned to the inn and went into the taproom, I took a run down to Cove House. Cousin John tells me he has brandy hidden all over the countryside. If Hartly moves tonight, he will recover some of the cargo, but he will not be able to tie Marchbank to it. Cousin John means to lie low."

"That is the main thing, that Marchbank not be arrested. He will have to suffer the loss in silence."

"That is what Marchbank said. I am to continue watching Hartly.” He looked at his sister and said, “I say, Moira, why are you wearing the emeralds?"

"Major Stanby wants to see them. He has taken the bait, Jon,” she said, and laughed a nervous laugh.

"By the living jingo! Tell me all about it."

She outlined her afternoon's work. “We are to dine at his table this evening,” she said in finishing her tale.

"Well done! I wonder you could bear to let the old goat touch you. I should rinse myself off with bleach if I was you. Do you think he will know the stones are paste?"

"God only knows. If he asks me to take them off and looks at them under a loupe, we are lost. I shall just have to claim Sir Aubrey left me a box of strass glass and depart with my tail between my legs. Run along and change. It is nearly time for dinner."

The major wore the smile of a suitor when he met Moira and Jonathon at the door of the Great Room. His eyes went straight to the necklace even before he looked at her face. Expecting to see a fabulous emerald necklace, he found no fault with the stones.

Moira put her hand on his arm and began speaking at once, to distract him. She said in a low voice, “Say nothing in front of David. He does not know of my plan. Did you write that letter to your friend?” she asked.

"Indeed I did. It is on its way to London. We will have an answer by morning."

She spoke more loudly then, including Jonathon in the conversation. “Shall we take our seats?"

The major led her proudly to his table, holding to her arm as if she were a prisoner, which was exactly how she felt.

"I shall sit next to you, Major,” she said with a bright smile. He would not have such a good view of the necklace from her side as he would if she sat across from him.

Stanby drew her chair and they all sat down.

Stanby said, “I have ordered champagne, knowing it is a treat for you youngsters."

"David may have only one glass. That will leave the rest for us, Major,” she added, smiling flirtatiously.

The champagne was brought and poured.

The sight that greeted Hartly's eyes when he arrived was Lady Crieff and the major, sitting side by side, laughing and sipping champagne, while David was completely ignored. Hartly could not make heads or tails of it. Lady Crieff spoke of mistrusting Stanby. Why had she elected to make a special friend of him? He bowed stiffly, then took up his own seat.

He already knew Lady Crieff's jewels were paste. If she knew it, too, then she might be making a play for a wealthy bachelor. She could hardly have chosen worse than Stanby. It was only her fortune he was after. Yet she was in no real danger; the worst Stanby could do was relieve her of her paste jewels. It might prove a salutary lesson for her. Having settled this, he hoped to forget the matter.

But his mind would not leave him alone. It was aggravating to see her flirting her head off with that old goat of a Stanby. Good God, had she no taste, no scruples at all? Having sold herself to one old man, was she about to repeat her folly?

By dint of outrageous flirtation, Moira managed to keep Stanby from making too close an examination of the “emeralds.” Every time his hateful gooseberry eyes turned to look at them, she set up a new round of flirtation. She touched his hand, she smiled and chattered and teased, she leaned forward to let her gown reveal a little more of her bosoms, and generally behaved like a hoyden. All this kept the major in spirits but so annoyed Hartly that he left halfway through his dinner.

Jonathon gobbled down his mutton and said, “May I be excused, Lady Crieff? I have had enough dinner. I would like to go for a ride before it comes on dark."

"Very well, David, but be back before dark."

Stanby turned and seized her fingers. “Alone, at last,” he said in dulcet tones.

Moira's heart rose to her throat. What would come next? She never thought she would be happy to see Mr. Ponsonby, but when he stopped at their table, she was so relieved, she greeted him like a lost-lost friend. She teased him about how much he had drunk and asked if Bow Street had discovered him yet.

"Did you know Mr. Ponsonby is a murderer, Major Stanby?” she asked.

"I have heard the tale of Noddy.” Stanby smiled.

"Are you on for a friendly game this evening, Major?” Ponsonby inquired. “We missed our game last night because of the assembly."

"Later, Ponsonby. Lady Crieff and I plan a tête-à-tête by the fireside first."

Stanby was smiling at Lady Crieff and missed the brief flash of intelligent interest that shone in Ponsonby's eyes. Moira caught it and wondered if Ponsonby was as foolish as he let on. His loose smile hardened to cynicism. Then, so quickly that she was not sure she had not imagined it, his stupid, expression was back in place.

"Do I smell April and May?” he asked coyly.

"You are too foolish,” Moira scoffed.

''Business, Ponsonby. Purely business,” the major said. “We shall meet around, say, nine? I look forward to it. See if you can round up Hartly as well. I am feeling lucky tonight.” He directed a telling look at Moira on the last sentence.

Ponsonby wandered out the door and on outside for a stroll. He spotted Hartly standing alone, gazing balefully at the water, and joined him. “I have just had a word with Stanby,” he said. “He is keen for a game later. Are you on?"

"Yes, why not?"

"You noticed who Lady Crieff was dining with? Something brewing there, eh? Romance, do you think, or business?"

"I doubt there is much distinction in their minds."

"I teased them a little. He claimed it was just business."

"If the lady plans to sell him her paste gems, someone ought to warn the bleater.” His concern had nothing to do with Stanby's welfare. He was afraid there was not enough money for him to be conned twice.

"You think the collection is not genuine?” Ponsonby asked.

"I know it."

"I did wonder how she got hold of it."

"Getting hold of it was no problem. Sir Aubrey left it to her in his will."

"Oh, no,” Ponsonby said, smiling from ear to ear. “He left it to Lady Crieff. The raven-haired beauty is not Lady Crieff. I visited my aunt at Rye this afternoon. She has a sister in Scotland. She tells me Lady Crieff is a bran-faced, red-haired gel, dirt common. Strangely, the real Lady Crieff did take the collection and make a bolt for it. She was caught at the border and hauled back. The story was hushed up for the sake of the family. Auntie heard Lady Crieff settled for ten thousand and has taken up with the head groom. Interesting, eh?"

Hartly stood like a statue, staring in disbelief while a dozen questions buzzed through his head. He gave tongue to the most pressing of them. “But if she is not Lady Crieff, who the devil is she?"

"A dashed pretty adventuress."

"Lady Marchbank acknowledges her."

"That is another odd thing. My aunt has never heard of any connection between the Marchbanks and the Crieffs, and she has known the Marchbanks from the egg. No, Hartly, the hussy read the story somewhere and decided to make gain of it. What I have been puzzling over is the Marchbank connection. How did she bribe or con the Marchbanks into lending her countenance?"

"I have no idea,” Hartly replied in a stunned voice.

"And why did she choose Stanby and no one else as her victim? I mean to say, I have been acting the rich fool, throwing myself at her head, and she did not try to sell me her collection of paste. Or you, come to that. You are not entirely indifferent, I think. Why him?"

A slow smile moved across Hartly's lips. “I don't know, but I shall ask her."

Ponsonby frowned. “What, just come right out and ask her? She will lie her head off."

"She hasn't much choice but to give an explanation. I shall insist on it."

"I shouldn't like to do that. I mean to say, she may not be Lady Crieff, but she is a lady, don't you think?"

"Either a provincial lady or a damned fine actress. While we are speaking of explanations, Ponsonby, just what the devil are you really doing here? A man don't hide in Blaxstead when he has killed his man. He rusticates at his estate. There has been no mention of that duel in the journals."

"I daresay Noddy recovered. He was not a bad fellow. I am happy for it, to tell the truth."

"The truth? We have not heard much of that. Come now, I know you were in Stanby's room last night."

"I was bosky."

"No, my friend, you were as sober as you were the night you arrived. I do not think you and I are at odds. I suspect we have something in common, and I could use a colleague."

Ponsonby thought a moment, then said, “Say you are right, just for the sake of argument-what did you have in mind?"

Hartly looked around to see they were not overheard. “There are too many ears here to suit me. Let us walk along a little. I have a story-and a proposition-that might amuse you, Mr. Ponsonby. Or should I say Lord Everly?"

"How the devil did you know that?"

"I did not know it. It was my man, Mott, who recognized you. You were at Harrow with Mott some years ago. You might remember him better by the name Lord Rudolph Sinclair."

"So it is Rudy! I thought he looked very like, but it was so many years ago. What the deuce is going on, Hartly?"

"That is what I am about to tell you."

They turned and walked off, away from the small throng around the estuary.