Lady In Waiting Part 12

No, there was more to Callum than the Featherton ladies were telling her.

And she planned to know what it was.

Ten pots were still left in the basket that morn. Ten! Jenny came back inside and closed the kitchen door hard behind her. But as she did, she caught notice of the scullery maids grinning.

"Did you put the extra stones into my basket?" she asked.

They only cackled gleefully, then grabbed up their ash buckets and dashed out of the room.

Seething mad, Jenny slammed her basket down on the table.

Those conniving wretches had better run. They'd played a jolly good trick on her, they had. Made her stay up at least an additional two hours last night filling their false orders.

Oh, they made her so bleedin' angry! Why, she would certainly be within her rights if she was to wring their thick necks.

Today was not the time for the maids to pull their little stunt. Jenny's mood had been blacker than soot for two days already, for since her day jaunt to Dyrham Park there had been no card or communication of any kind from Callum. None.

Thankfully for her, however, the ladies were well aware of this, and had already taken matters into hand.

Yesterday, they had sent around invitations to an intimate dinner party. Lord Argyll was the first on their guest list, but the ladies also admitted to extending their hospitality to at least one other. It wouldn't do to have it appear the rout was merely a ploy to position Callum before Jenny again. Which it was, of course.

A spinet player and a small quartet had been engaged to provide just the music to showcase Jenny's newly acquired dance steps. Yes, the ladies had already gone to quite a lot of trouble to bring Jenny and Callum together.

Most amazing, however, was the new gown that had just arrived from Bristol.

When Jenny opened the parcel, she had to applaud Lady Viola's cla.s.sic sense of style even if she never seemed to ply it on herself. The luxurious gown was made of fine dove-gray silk, and had short puffed sleeves as light and sheer as summer clouds. A gossamer overdress, iced with silver threads and tiny fresh pearls, overlaid the bodice and skirt that seemed to sparkle and shimmer in the candlelight.

Still, even the surprise of such a wondrous gown did little to lighten Jenny's mood. And she knew nothing would, until she was sure of her standing with Callum.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Jenny looked at the ten gallipots with disgust at first, but then her outlook suddenly brightened. Dashing into her bedchamber, she pulled open the drawer in her bedside table and drew out a slightly dog-eared but still serviceable piece of foolscap, as well as a frayed quill pen and a gla.s.s pot of ink. Within moments, she had penned her message.

Lady E. regrets that she will be unable to fulfill more than ten orders this eve.

Smiling for the first time that day, she affixed the note to the handle of her order basket and set the lot outside the kitchen door.

Jenny nearly skipped back to her chamber and plopped down on her bed. Finally, she would get some sleep this eve.

As she lay on her back, she reached over, picked up her oval looking gla.s.s, and peered into it.

Oh, my word. Her face was as wan as a ripening rain cloud! She could not wear the dove-gray gown this eve. The "just risen from the grave" look wasn't apt to draw Callum back to her.

What could she do?

Jenny sat bolt upright in her bed as the solution occurred to her. The cream.

s.n.a.t.c.hing up her ink-soaked quill, she raced outside the kitchen door and scratched through the phrase "ten pots" on her foolscap note and changed it to "nine."

Then she lifted a pot of the cream and carried it to her chamber. If a dab could bring back youthful vigor to the Featherton sisters' ancient faces, then a palmful might be just what was needed to raise her from the realm of the dead.

Gleefully, she scooped out a handful and smeared it over her cheeks, under her sleep-deprived eyes and across her forehead. Since she could not go about her daily ch.o.r.es with the tingle cream looking like white wave caps all over her face, she decided to lie down on her bed and rest for ten minutes while allowing the cream time to do its magic.

Who would miss her a mere ten minutes anyway?

"What in the king's name are you doin', gel? You can't be sleepin' the day away when there is a party to prepare for this eve!"

Jenny blinked her lids open. Criminy. Her eyes were stinging something fierce. Must have gotten a bit of the cream in them.

"Good heavens, Jenny. What have you got slathered all over your face?"

"Oh, a bit of my cream. Thought it might put a glow in my cheeks for the rout this eve."

But the horrified look on her mother's face told her the cream had done much more than that.

Hurriedly, she grabbed the oval gla.s.s and looked into it. Peering back at her was a red, swollen-faced beast, the like she'd never seen before! The oval slid from her hand and shattered on the floor.

"Oh, Mother, what shall I do?"

The housekeeper shook her head. "I don't know, child. You're the chemist. But whatever you decide, you best do it quickly. The ladies... they've sent me to fetch you."

Lady Viola gasped loudly as Jenny entered the drawing room. "Lord have mercy, child, what have you done to your face?"

"I-I was... testing my own blend of the cream. You know... the below stairs cream," she fibbed.

Lifting her quizzing gla.s.s to her eye, making it appear like a blinking bulbous fisheye, Lady Let.i.tia studied Jenny's face from close range. "Oh, dear. Doesn't look good. Not good at all. Have you tried cold water to bring down the swelling?"

Jenny nodded futilely.

"Course you have." Groaning her displeasure, Lady Let.i.tia returned to the settee to sit beside her sister.

Lady Viola wrinkled her brow and chewed her lower lip. "But why were you testing it... on your face?"

Why indeed? Jenny wondered. "Um, you see... Oh! I peered into the cauldron while the extract was steaming. Yes, that's it. I had no idea the blend was as powerful as it was."

"Oh, of course," the two ladies chimed in unison.

Jenny glanced at the j.a.panned chair near the fire, and Lady Let.i.tia motioned for her to take it. "I cannot see Lord Argyll like this," Jenny complained. "I just cannot."

Rising from the settee she and her sister shared, Lady Viola caned her way to Jenny. "But, my dear, 'tis too late to withdraw the invitation. Our guests will arrive in a few short hours."

Bobbing her head, Lady Let.i.tia agreed. "Cook's nearly finished preparations for the meal. I am afraid the party must commence as planned, gel."

"Perhaps there is something we can do." Lady Viola's eyes brightened. "The rout can be an Arabian Nights party and we can all wear veils." Her eyes were large as she nodded her head, hoping to gain consent.

"Don't be daft, Viola." Lady Let.i.tia gestured to Jenny. "Look at her swollen eyes. Veils would not conceal them. Besides, how would we eat?"

"Well, I do not hear you coming up with any solutions," Lady Viola muttered in a decidedly hurt tone.

"Give me a moment, if you will." Lady Let.i.tia lifted her full bottom from the settee and began to pace. "Darkness is our only option, the only cloak that will conceal her face."

"What? Beggin' your pardon, my lady, but how can anyone entertain in the dark?" Jenny asked, for as far she could see, this was not a possibility at all.

Lady Let.i.tia grinned mischievously and laughed from deep within her belly. "Oh, there is a way. Have no doubt."

A shiver of foreboding raised the wispy hairs on Jenny's forearms.

Just what wild scheme did the old lady have in mind this time?

Jenny, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the near total lack of light, watched helplessly as Mr. Edgar opened the door to Lord Argyll, who promptly stumbled in the darkness across the threshold.

"Spare a candle, me good man?" he asked, glancing into the drawing room where a lone candle burned.

Lady Let.i.tia burst through the shadows and suddenly appeared behind him. "Welcome to our night of mystery and the metaphysical."

Visibly startled, Callum whirled around. "Lady Let.i.tia. Good eve. An evenin' of... what did ye call it?"

Lady Viola, dressed in ghostly white, suddenly appeared at his elbow, which caused him to start.

"The metaphysical, my lord." She took his arm then, and giving a quick glance at Jenny, who still lurked in the gloom of the corner, escorted his lordship to the drawing room.

Oh, she couldn't follow them. Heavens, with all the powder and rouge the ladies had coated her face with, she had to look positively ghastly, even in the dimness.

"Come on," Meredith whispered to her. "I am going to read Lord Argyll's fortune. I can't wait to see his face when I mention you as his future bride."

Jenny breathed an exasperated sigh. "Oh, yes. I am sure he will believe the notion came upon you as a result of contact with the infinite."

"I've been practicing my trance in the cheval gla.s.s for twenty minutes. Do you want to see? I roll my eyes back in my head, then I just..."

Oh, my word. When would this night be over?

When Jenny glanced into the drawing room, she could just make out Lady Let.i.tia waving at her to join them. So Jenny did the only thing she could, and ignored her employer, pretending instead that she didn't see her.

"Oh, there you are, Lady Genevieve." Lady Let.i.tia beckoned again. "Come, come in. You too, Meredith, for our own Lord Argyll has arrived."

When Jenny smiled, however, she was sure she felt the powder and cream mixture on her face crack, and a small wedge detach. Oh, no. Her face was falling off!

Callum turned, but somehow in the thin light, she missed that he had bowed and she continued to walk forward.

"Oof!" she bellowed as his head raised up and punched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s skyward.

"I do beg yer fergiveness, Lady Genevieve. Most clumsy of me. Ye're not hurt are ye?" She felt his gloved hands on her arms, and she became aware of him looking her up and down.

"I am quite fine, my lord. No need to trouble yourself over me."

Just then, the bra.s.s doorknocker slammed against its rest, and the entire party turned to see who had arrived next.

Mr. Edgar collected the guest's wrap and directed her into the darkened drawing room.

"Good eve," came a familiar woman's voice. "I have come."

Jenny stood frozen to her spot. It was inconceivable. What were the Featherton ladies thinking?

It was the offensive widow from next door! Her evening of horror was now complete. Nothing else could possibly go wrong. There was nothing left, was there?

Then one of the scullery maids appeared at the door, candle in hand, and crooked her finger to Jenny.

Mr. Edgar, long legs taking abnormally lengthy strides, was bearing down on the girl fast. Even in the darkness it was clear the girl was worried, and no doubt would not have dared near the drawing room if something wasn't terribly wrong.

Jenny raced through the door and pulled the maid toward the pa.s.sage to the back stairs before Edgar could reach her.

"Oh, Jenny, you're in it now." The maid's eyes were wide.

"What's wrong, Erma?" Jenny asked quickly, before Mr. Edgar could nab the scullery maid and pull her below stairs.

"It's Mr. Bartleby, from the shop. He came in through the kitchen door and is waitin' for you below stairs."

Jenny froze.

"He said, if I didn't find you and bring you to him, he would come above stairs and hunt you down 'imself."

"Surely he is having you on," Jenny rationalized.

A low nasal voice broke through the darkness behind her making her skin freeze.

"I a.s.sure you... Lady Eros, I am not."

Chapter Nine.

"Lady Eros?" A painful throbbing drummed beneath the thin skin of Jenny's temples.

Hearing Bartleby's words, Erma spun around and dashed down the stairs, taking with her their only source of light. In the retreating candlelight, Jenny could see little more than a pale blur of the man's face before her. A twinge of fright raced across her scalp, making the roots of her hair p.r.i.c.kle and raise up.

"I-I don't know to whom you are referring," she managed to add, but her words were thin and her voice shook with panic.

"I think you do," Bartleby replied evenly.

Mr. Edgar's tall lanky form cut abruptly between them and he spun to face Jenny, protectively shielding her from the rude shopkeeper. "My lady, you are wanted in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Mr. Edgar. I shall come presently."

Mr. Edgar pivoted slightly and stared down at the shorter man for several long seconds. Jenny heard Bartleby nervously wet his lips as Edgar hovered over him before stepping away and heading back to the drawing room.