Page 15 of Lady Impatience (A Series of Senseless Complications #3)

Marcus made good time back to London. He’d not expected to see Lady Monroe so early in the morning before his departure, but she had been up and dressed. She’d also gone through Lord Monroe’s things, as was her habit, and pressed on him a yellowed neckcloth and tortoiseshell comb.

He did not wish to take those two items, but he knew he’d spend an inordinate amount of time on the drive attempting to refuse them. He thanked Lady Monroe and packed them in his panniers.

Bellows, her lady’s maid, and Lady Monroe herself stood on the drive to see him off. He could not say any of them were particularly sorry to see him go. He suspected they’d long fallen into a quiet routine and he’d brought a disruption to it.

After wrenching another assurance from him that he would replenish her wine cellar and would not send cheap stuff, Lady Monroe wished him Godspeed and sent him on his way. Bellows even gave his horse a little push on the rump to get him going.

Marcus was determined to go to his house before rushing off to see Lady Patience. He had a lot to explain, and then a momentous idea to propose, and he would not show up looking travel-worn and shabby. Considering what had happened, he already had a very steep hill to climb. It would be well to look as presentable as possible, or at least appear to have made an effort.

He presumed Radler had exaggerated the problem of moths getting into his coats. His valet would have seen one small evidence of a moth’s existence and raised the roof over it. He would not be surprised to find half his wardrobe hanging out in the garden being treated by whatever sunshine there was to be had. But surely, he would find undamaged clothes to put on.

One of his footmen took his reins and he jogged inside.

Whatever he’d thought he would come upon in his house, it had not been pandemonium.

Servants ran back and forth under the direction of the butler. Mr. Jennings whipped round at his entrance. “My lord,” he cried, “they are everywhere!”

“What?” he asked.

“The moths!”

His butler had cried out as if French soldiers had invaded the house. Marcus did not know what to make of it, Jennings was usually so regulated.

Cresswell appeared at the top of the stairs. “Everywhere!” his valet shouted. “They’ve come from that old case that was sent to you which I’ve since buried in the garden. Why would Lady Monroe inflict them upon you?”

“I do not think that case came from Lady Monroe,” Marcus said.

“Then this is is sabotage!” Mr. Jennings cried. “You have a devious enemy, my lord. Just this morning, I found a telltale hole in the velvet of the drawing room sofa!” Mr. Jennings wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “They’ve made it downstairs, though we tried to hold them off.”

So he supposed Radler had not, after all, exaggerated the moth problem. “I imagine Lord Radler decamped already?”

“At the first word of it, my lord,” Cresswell said derisively.

“And Lord Kendrickson too,” Jennings said dismissively. “They flew out of here like bats at sunset!”

Marcus sighed. “What are we to do about this?” he asked.

“I have called for a specialist, my lord,” Jennings said. “I sent the word out to my network of acquaintances and got the word back that there is only one person who can be relied on to solve a problem of this magnitude. Mrs. Crumdek. She should be on her way even now.”

“I see,” Marcus said. “And what is Mrs. Crumdek to do about it?”

“I have no idea,” Jennings said, looking at him quizzically. “If I did, I’d do it myself.”

“Cresswell, do I have any coats left that I can actually wear?”

His valet seemed to be weighing his answer. “Sort of, my lord. I’ve patched up one of the coats that was not too badly damaged and wrapped it up in sheets with cedar chips to protect it from the devils.”

“Very well,” Marcus said, making his way up the stairs. “I will need a bath, and then I will wear that coat. Let us get on with it, I have somewhere to go and would like to get there as soon as possible.”

Cresswell set off to arrange for bath water to be heated. Marcus hoped he did not drop dead of apoplexy over the moths. His valet’s complexion was white as new-fallen snow. He supposed that for a valet, finding the clothes one was meant to be tending riddled with holes was a disaster of momentous proportions. Considering what most of Marcus’ coats cost, he would not be far wrong.

“Also, my lord,” Jennings said, “these two letters were dropped off by some fellow out of his livery. My instincts told me he was a footman by trade, but he was out of uniform and refused to say where he’d come from.”

His butler handed them over and Marcus took them above stairs to read while he waited for his bath water.

And what letters they were. One was short and direct, wishing him to the devil, signed by a certain Mrs. W. The other was longer, had dispensed with his title, and hinted that the writer had sent the moths. Who were these people though?

Both letters had been delivered by the same footman out of livery. He did not know a Mrs. W. The second letter certainly emanated from the duke’s household as it hinted it knew all about what had happened at the masque. How else would they know, if not told it by Lady Patience? Who in that house would dare such a missive and own sending moths into his house?

Marcus could not put it beyond reason that the duke might have sent the moths, as there really was no telling what that gentleman would get up to. But why? They had arrived well before the disastrous masque. Further, the letter did not sound like him. The handwriting suggested a woman, it was close and neat and felt like a woman’s hand.

Marcus put them aside, as he was getting nowhere attempting to divine their authors. All he could gather from them is that while he imagined he’d had a steep hill to climb, it seemed he had a mountain to climb. Climb it he would, though. He had a quick bath to take and a misinformed lady to see. Somehow, he would convince her of the truth of things, and then if she were to see the truth of it, he supposed he did not care where the letters came from. Or the moths, assuming they could be got rid of.

A half hour later, Marcus leapt on his horse and set off for Grosvenor Square. He had never bathed or dressed so fast in his life. The water had not been topped off with hot to make it tolerable, but he could not wait. Poor Cresswell had dressed him with shaking hands, and it finally occurred to Marcus that the man might be expecting to be dismissed. Once he’d cleared that up, his valet instantly settled into a better frame of mind.

Marcus wore the coat Cresswell had “saved,” and if one did not examine it too closely, one might not notice where his valet had made attempts to weave over the small holes near the bottom of it. It would require an expert weaver to repair his clothes, if any could be saved, but there was no time for that now.

When he arrived at the duke’s house, he dismounted, but no footman or groom came to get his horse. It was exceedingly odd. How did one run a household without keeping somebody on the watch at a window to look out for visitors?

He ended paying a boy to hold the reins, warning him of an unholy death if he tried to make off with his horse, and went to the doors and knocked.

Marcus had expected that the door would be opened at once. Whoever was meant to be keeping an eye out the window had likely dozed off. The knocking would rouse him.

Somehow, nobody came. It was unaccountable.

He knocked harder and finally heard some sound behind the door. It swung open, revealing an older fellow in an apron. Where was the butler? Where were the footmen?

The man bowed. “Can I help you, my lord?”

“I have come to see Lady Patience,” he said.

The fellow shook his head and murmured, “No, no, no.”

Marcus pushed his way into the house, as obviously something was very wrong here. The servants had disappeared and this person who did not seem as if he belonged to the household seemed to be the only individual about? Had the family been taken hostage? Was there some other disaster unfolding? “Excuse me, who are you? Where is the duke’s butler?”

“Oh, aye.”

“Oh aye, what? I demand to know who you are.”

“Me name’s Rider, which is funny I always think, as I don’t have me own horse to ride. The rider who don’t ride, as it were.”

“Are you in the duke’s employ?” Marcus asked, ignoring the man’s speculations of the irony regarding his name.

The man nodded. “I’m the watcher. I wander round here and watch things, so nothing don’t go amiss. Good job of it I do, too. Been years at it and nothin’ has gone amiss.”

Marcus was beginning to think that this man suffered from some sort of derangement. “What is going on here?” he asked.

Rider, as that was the name he claimed, looked round as if to ascertain what was going on. “Nothing goes on, my lord. That’s me job—to see that nothing goes on.”

“Where is the duke? I demand to know where the duke and his family are this instant.”

“Where is the duke? How should I know? He don’t confide in me. Be right funny if he did. When he’s here, I ain’t, and vice versa.”

“I demand you tell me everything that you do know!” Really, Marcus wished to throttle the fellow.

“Aye, well I best sit down then. I’m a watcher, you see. Me old body is used to sitting.”

“Well, then, sit down!”

Marcus did not know where the man planned to sit, but he was taken aback by the audacity of it when Mr. Rider let himself into the drawing room and sat heavily down in the duke’s chair.

“It’s a whale of a story,” Rider said. “Seems like we ought to have tea, but it’s such a palaver. Nothing more aggravatin’ then waitin’ for water to boil. I always said so. Seems like there ought to be a better way to do it. But what do I know? I’m just a poor working man.”

“Just get to it,” Marcus said between gritted teeth.

“Right you are. You see, good sir—”

“Lord,” Marcus said.

“Oh, aye. I should’a known, what with the fine clothes that only been patched up a bit.” The fellow’s eye’s drifted down to the bottom of Marcus’ coat, examining it. Whatever else this man was, he had sharp eyes.

“Never mind that, go on. Get to the point,” he said.

“The point, yes, everybody does like a point. Well now, the point is I weren’t supposed to be here just now. I was to come in a month so I was staying with my sister just outside of Wembley. That’s my habit when the duke’s in Town. She, meaning my sister, likes my company and I help around her little place with the chickens and such when I’m not here watchin’ for the duke, you understand. She’s got five chickens at the moment, if I’m countin’ them up. She’s got a fine rooster what keeps the whole thing thrivin,’ if you understand me. I like chicken, but then I reckon everybody does so nothin’ special about it. Anyway, right out of the clear blue sky, a fellow from the duke’s household comes barreling up in a carriage and says I’m wanted. Well, what was I to do? When the duke wants a fellow, that fellow has to go. So I say my goodbyes to Aggy, that’s my sister, and I got in the carriage. No wait, Aggy packed me a piece of ham and an apple, for the journey and then I got in the carriage.”

Marcus clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to kill this man. How had he just talked for so long and only managed to get himself inside a carriage at Wembley?

“Then I heard all about the situation while I was ridin’ in the carriage. That’s what they’re all callin’ it—the situation. I was ridin’ with one of the duke’s footmen and he had a story to tell about why I was wanted before my time.”

Rider gazed out the window, as if reflecting on that remarkable conversation.

“Well? What story were you told?” Though Marcus asked, he could well guess the story about the ‘situation’ was the story of the ill-omened masque and his alleged part in it.

“Oh, aye. Turns out, one of the young ladies has suffered a tragedy of the heartbreak variety. Seems there is this rogue lord what made the whole family, even the duke, believe he was inclined toward the lady. His problem, they all thought, was he was of the foot draggin’ variety of lords. ‘Tis my understandin’ that foot draggin’ ain’t unusual in those that has lots of funds. ‘Course us workin’ folks don’t have time for foot draggin,’ we’d starve if we tried it.”

“I do not care what you have time for. Get to the point.”

“Oh, aye, I’m honin’ in on the point like an arrow to a bullseye. Ya see, disaster struck at some kind of fancy party where they was all dressed in costumes. I hope you don’t mind me sayin’, but that’s the sort of thing that makes us workin’ folks think lords and ladies got too much time on their hands. Anyhow, he acts very badly and she collapses on the floor. What was said between ‘em to cause it? That I don’t know—working folk like me got no time to be bangin’ about a place in a costume. What I did hear, is that the rogue ran away. Ran , mind. Shameful business.”

“The lady collapsed?” Marcus asked. Radler had not said anything about Lady Patience collapsing. Had she fainted? What a picture that must have made! Radler running away and Lady Patience falling to the floor. This was worse than he thought.

“Oh aye, I understand the duke, her father, put it off as some kind of fainting disease, as rich ladies are prone to. Mind you, I never seen my sister faint in her life—we workin’ folk don’t have time for dropping on the ground at a moment’s notice. Maybe we would if it were convenient, but it ain’t. ‘Course, I understand that high-flyin’ ladies carry round vinegar for just such emergencies so I reckon they’re well-prepared for it. Now, I understand the lady sees herself badly used, as does the duke. They’ve scrammed out of London and that footman told me it was just as well. He couldn’t say what the duke would do if they stayed, but ‘parently he’s an excitable sort of fellow. That seems a dangerous situation—an excitable duke. Though I don’t know him personally so I’m just goin’ on hearsay and good luck passin’ that by a judge—they don’t like it.”

Rider took that moment to pause and stare at a portrait on the wall. Then he laughed.

“What is funny in all this?” Marcus demanded.

“It’s just that the rogue what broke the lady’s heart ain’t getting off as easy as he might hope.”

“What does that mean?” Marcus asked. He had a very bad feeling about what that might mean. As far as the duke was concerned, his daughter had been treated abominably. Had he some plan of revenge in the works?

Rider leaned forward and laid his forefinger along the side of his nose. “It’s the duke’s housekeeper what’s at the bottom of it, she’s a bold sort. I can confirm the truth of it as I met the lady several times. Don’t cross her, no do not cross her ! She arranged it so that rogue of a lord what broke the girl’s heart gets overrun with case moths. She went into the attics to find ‘em and she did find ‘em and sent them on their way. Grimsby, that was the butler, even helped her do it. Why shouldn’t he? He was leaving to open his own shop. At least, that’s what the footman said. ‘Parently, Lady Marchfield, that’s the duke’s sister, is mad as a hornet over it, though I can’t claim to know why she cares about somebody else’s butler. I don’t even fathom why anybody needs a butler. A man should really question himself when he can’t open his own door no more. Anyway, back to the point. Women can be inquirin’ more than is right, in my experience, don’t know if you’ve noticed that yerself. My sister Aggy is forever peering into her neighbor’s business, even though I say, ‘Aggy, leave them people alone.’ For all that, we get on well enough. Me and me sister, that is.”

Marcus would be very lucky if he were not guilty of a murder before he left this house. The man was positively enraging. “I presume, by that roundabout answer, that the duke and his household have set off for Yorkshire.”

Rider shrugged. “I can’t know it for certain, as they don’t tell me where they go, but it seems to me they must have done. If I were a duke and I had a big estate to go to, that’s where I’d go. I wonder how many chickens they have—more than five, I’ll bet!”

Marcus could go no further with this irritating gentleman and assumed he’d got all the relevant information out of him that was to be had. The impression Radler had left behind him in his flight was ruinous. Lady Patience had been so struck that she’d collapsed. The housekeeper had sent the moths into his house, though he still could not account for why. The duke had taken his family out of London, most likely to Yorkshire.

Marcus was in no doubt that there was still plenty of irrelevant information Mr. Rider would like to offer up if he chose to linger. However, he already knew more about the fellow’s sister and her chickens than he ever cared to know.

“When did they set off? What time?”

“I reckon it was coming on eight o’clock. Early for them, though gettin’ late in the day for us working folks.”

Marcus stared at the man. “You have mentioned ‘us working folks’ several times now. I really do not see what could be so onerous about the position you currently maintain. Nobody is here to boss you about the place. You just sit here and watch things.”

Mr. Rider nodded his head. “Aye, because I’m the watcher. The duke would hardly employ me if I weren’t watching.”

“By the by,” Marcus said in a low and deadly voice, “ I am the rogue lord in question.”

He’d thought this might embarrass the fellow. Instead, Mr. Rider leapt up from his chair and said, “You haven’t brought moths into the duke’s house?”

“If I have, I have only brought them back from whence they came!” Marcus shouted. He turned on his heel and strode out. He would leave London at first light and follow the duke and his household—all the way to Yorkshire if necessary.

He hoped it would not be necessary to allow that much time to pass. He would be on horseback and they would travel in a caravan of carriages. He should be able to catch them on the road. Then he would fix this disaster. This disaster that was far more serious than he’d thought when he’d received Radler’s letter. His friend had relocated himself to Bedford Square, but considering Marcus’ mood at the moment, America would be a safer place for him.