"Who is in there?" came Lady Viola's voice from the direction of the high-backed wing chair.

Jenny froze. She hadn't noticed her when she came into the drawing room. The lady must have entered only belatedly. And so, for a moment, Jenny thought not to answer, in hopes that the old woman might think she had imagined the movement she evidently saw behind the curtains.

"h.e.l.lo. Is that you hiding in the draperies, Meredith?"

Reaching out her left hand, Jenny pushed the curtain aside and stepped out from behind them. "No, 'tis Jenny," she answered guiltily.

"Whatever are you doing behind there? It must be dreadfully cold standing so close to the gla.s.s. Come away from there, child, before you catch your death." Lady Viola coaxed Jenny forward with a crook of her finger.

Jenny came to stand before her lady, her eyes sc.r.a.ping the floor. "I-I saw Lord Argyll just now."

Lady Viola sat up straight. "Argyll, here?"

"No, my lady. I believe he meant to have an interview with the widow."

Lady Viola brought her fingers to her lips, and her eyes began to shuttle back and forth in her head. "This is not good, child. Something is afoot."

Something about the frail woman's tone unnerved Jenny. "What do you mean, my lady?"

"Let.i.tia suspected something after all of the widow's odd questions yesterday, but I told Sister she was just chasing a feather in the air. But she was right all along." A walking stick shot up from beside the chair and plunged into the carpet. "Some a.s.sistance, please, Jenny. Help me stand."

Jenny looped her forearms under the old woman's armpits and hauled her from the wing-backed chair. "Is something amiss, my lady? Please, you'd let me know if there were."

A pale, withered hand sluiced through the air, dismissing her question outright.

"Let.i.tia!" Lady Viola cried, startling Jenny so much that she nearly fell backward into the fire.

"My lady, please. What is wrong?"

But Lady Viola was already halfway into the pa.s.sage, screaming for her sister every second step. "Let.i.tia! Let.i.tia, come quickly, Sister! We've got trouble. Immense trouble!"

Chapter Thirteen.

Within minutes, both Featherton ladies were bundled in their wraps and charging, in their own way, out the front door.

Jenny and Meredith rushed down the pa.s.sage to catch the two old women. Instead, they snared only a scattering of words trailing behind the ladies in the frigid night air on silver scarves of vapor.

"Never you fear, Viola, she'll not turn us out into the cold. So we'll just remain until Argyll takes his leave," came Lady Let.i.tia's booming voice as the two made their way to the widow's front walk.

"What do you suppose is wrong?" Jenny asked Meredith, hoping that she, with her tendency to accidentally overhear private conversations, might have gleaned some enlightening bits and pieces.

Meredith's blue eyes glowed like cut sapphires in the candlelight and Jenny knew at once she had not been wrong. Meredith knew something.

"The widow came by yesterday and most urgently wished to see my aunts. When I sat down to join them for tea, she made it quite clear that she had a private matter to discuss with the ladies and that matter did not include me." Meredith gave Jenny a charged look.

So Jenny reacted as she guessed Meredith wanted her to. "How incredibly rude! Casting you out of your aunts' own drawing room."

Meredith smiled puckishly. "I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of treating me like a child, so I left the drawing room, walked down the pa.s.sage and straight into the dining room, where I listened to everything that was said through the open door."

Jenny took Meredith's hand and led her to the chairs, where they settled themselves, on either side of the drawing room hearth. "What did you hear?" she asked.

Meredith hesitated, which was very uncharacteristic of her nature. "I do not know what it all means. Her words were naught but a pile of puzzle pieces to me-but to you, Jenny..."

"I do not know the widow at all, so I am sure her words will mean little to me as well." Jenny grinned conspiratorially. "Still, I do love a good secret."

Meredith grinned back at her. "Very well. She was asking a number of questions about a woman named Olivia Burnett."

Jenny felt her eyes widen, and when they did, Meredith paused.

"You do know her," Meredith charged. "I knew it!"

"No, I do not. But I know of her." Jenny exhaled and looked back at Meredith. "She was Lord Argyll's mother."

"His mother?" Now Meredith looked astounded. "No, no, that doesn't make sense."

Jenny reached across the slate hearth and took Meredith's hand. "Why not?"

Meredith's face screwed up as if she were straining to carry a heavy parcel. "The widow was saying something about this Olivia Burnett woman being a relation of my aunts. A very close relation."

She released Meredith's hand then and sat upright. "When you say very close..."

"You needn't ask. I don't know what she meant. But Aunt Let.i.tia got roiling angry and told the widow she ought to get her facts straight before she dared make such accusations again."

"Really?" Jenny leaned near, and widened her eyes. "What happened next?"

"I don't know. Edgar walked into the room behind me, and... well, he gave me that look of his. You know, the one that sets your knees to quaking."

"Oh, I know it all too well."

"So, I had no choice. I had to leave." Meredith's eyes grew round and her pupils expanded, until the blue surrounding them was little more than a thin ring of vibrant color. "Do you suppose my aunts are hiding something important? A horrible secret maybe, or the locking key to a mystery, mayhap? Wouldn't that be terribly exciting?"

"I haven't a notion what is afoot." Jenny rose slowly, walked to the window, and peered outside toward the widow's house. "But something is not being said. Of that I am all too sure."

That night, Jenny forced herself to remain awake in her bed until she heard the front door close and the sound of footsteps and cane knocks on the marble entry floor.

Lifting the hem of her shift, she padded across the cold floor and crept up the servants' steps so she could watch and listen through the back pa.s.sage door, which she had purposely left ajar before heading to bed.

"Do you suppose she told him anything before we arrived?" Lady Viola was asking as she handed a weary-looking Edgar her wrap.

"There was no time. Besides, would he have been so gentlemanly and civil to us if he knew the truth?" Lady Let.i.tia asked.

"I suppose not."

"Well, on the morrow, I'll send a few coins over with that scullery maid, Erma. She's a crafty one, and if anyone can buy us a spy among the widow's ranks, it will be she."

"Oh, Let.i.tia, not a spy."

"I fear there is no other way. We must know if Argyll has been enticed over to Lady McCarthy's residence again-this time preferably before he arrives."

"Of course you are right, Sister."

On the other side of the door, Jenny sat down on the wood-planked floor and wrapped her arms around her knees for warmth. What was all of this about? She was aching to know. And blast it all, those old ladies should confide in her. For if it concerned Callum it also concerned her... what with she possibly being the mother of his child and all.

Well, in the morning she might ply the scullery maids with a few bob as well. Yes, she'd have her own spy at the McCarthy residence.

Just then, the door edged open. Jenny's head shot up and met the angry gaze of Mr. Edgar.

"Shouldn't you be abed... my lady? You have an early morning tomorrow, if you've not forgotten."

"Uh... yes, Mr. Edgar. I haven't forgotten." Jenny stood up and scampered down the stairs. But with all this hullabaloo concerning Callum, she had completely forgotten.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.

She had to try to get some sleep. There was so much to do in the morning. Lud, she had sleeves to attach to Meredith's gown and yards of satin skirt yet to hem.

For tomorrow was Miss Meredith's eighteenth birthday.

"Morning, dove..." sang her mother from the darkness. "Time to wake. Lots to do this morn. Up, up, up!"

Jenny groaned and covered her head with her feather pillow as her mother lit the stub of a candle at her bedside to break the darkness.

"Still no visit from your friend?" her mother asked sweetly.

"No, Mother," she murmured from beneath the pillow.

"What was that, dear?"

Jenny yanked the pillow from her head, causing her hair to stand on end from the friction. She scowled up at her mother's smiling face. "No."

"That's fine, dear. You shouldn't worry about it. I've learned that worry might delay visits at times."

"Please, Mother, do stop asking me about this every morn. I do not feel as though I am with child. I haven't lost my breakfast even once, and I am as strong as a chairman. Does that satisfy you?"

"Oh, of course, darling. Whatever you say," she said softly in a placating manner that made Jenny's blood sputter and bubble hotly as tingle cream over the fire.

"But if you are with child, remember, Lord Argyll did say he would offer for you."

"Not you too?" Jenny pressed the pillow atop her face and screamed into it. Then she sat straight up in her bed, letting the pillow fall to her lap. "Are the ladies awake yet?"

"Goodness no. 'Tis still dark."

"What about... Erma? Is she about?" Jenny asked casually.

"Indeed, tending the fires in the kitchen just now." Then her mother's left eye began to narrow. "I hope you haven't got any idea about getting her to help you with the cream this morn. Like the rest of us, she has work to do-and so do you, my clever miss."

"Oh, I would not dream of potting any cream today, not with it being Meredith's birthday. I just wanted to have a word with Erma, that's all."

Jenny pulled open her bedside drawer, palmed two gleaming guineas, one for each surly scullery maid, then pecked her mother's cheek and hurried into the kitchen.

That eve, the Featherton house glowed like a lantern, with nigh on eight score beeswax candles lit, some in sconces, others hoisted to the ceiling in sparkling crystal chandeliers, to help make Meredith's birthday rout bright as it could be.

"I can't bear this," Jenny complained as she laced Meredith into a horrid black evening gown.

Jenny could not abide black bombazine. She didn't care if it was all the crack. It looked awful. She opened Meredith's tiny jewel box and withdrew a pair of ear pendants of deepest jet. And while her mistress attached these to her ears, Jenny swept up her curly red locks in a bandeaux, allowing several tendrils to fall prettily about her face.

"You do realize," Jenny began as she tossed black silk gloves to Meredith, "the eye is naturally drawn to color. Though I know you, like all of England, grieve the death of our princess, can't you forgo swathing yourself in ebony? It is your birthday after all. 'Tis a time for celebration, not mourning. Other ladies will certainly wear lively color this eve, and I do not believe you would wish to remain unnoticed."

"You are wrong about that. I do wish to remain unnoticed, so that I may observe the rogues and rakes in action."

Jenny's mouth fell agape. "But it's your rout. Please do not spend it spying... I mean observing others."

Meredith chuckled. "While I do enjoy spying from time to time, tonight I am conducting research for my guidebook for ladies. I might even try a few social... experiments." The edge of Meredith's pink lips lifted mischievously.

Jenny rolled her eyes. Meredith's plans were not her concern, but rather the Featherton ladies' problem. She, after all, had to prepare for the rout herself. "There you are. You look stunning-despite your color choice." And she did. With her creamy ivory skin, startling blue eyes, and brilliant copper hair, Meredith had been blessed with enough natural color to balance the solemn weight of the wretched ebony gown.

"Oh, Jenny. It's just a small rout. I swear I'll don the emerald gown for my birthday ball next week." Meredith pulled a few more tendrils of hair from the bandeaux. "While tonight will be utterly dreary, I own that the ball will be wickedly exciting."

Jenny had started from the chamber, but turned around. "How shall this ball be any different from others?"

"Oh, then you've not heard!" Meredith rushed to Jenny and grabbed up her hands. "My aunts wanted to share my celebration with the world... and I daresay garner a little attention for themselves. My sisters, you see, are both too far along in their confinements to travel to Bath for my ball. So, my aunts, thinking I would be greatly saddened by my sisters' absences, distributed a public invitation to all of elevated Bath. Staid old matrons and horse-faced daughters won't be the only guests ringing the floor at my ball. But people we've never met before. Rogues, viscounts..." Meredith winked at Jenny. "Maybe even the mysterious thieves! Won't it be exciting? La, I simply cannot wait!"

Jenny could not believe what she was hearing. If the Feathertons had truly issued a public invitation, of course the thieves, and their likely ringleader, Hercule Lestrange, would attend. Every member of the ton would be at risk of being bludgeoned and robbed.

Jenny sucked her lower lip into her mouth and bit into its soft flesh. "The thieves might well attend." She looked into Meredith's glittering eyes. "Therefore you should wear paste jewels, nothing more."

"I agree, but you will never convince my aunties. They love their baubles too much to miss a chance to wear them," Meredith said. "Now, you'd better go and dress. Take care to look your best this eve," she called out as Jenny strolled down the pa.s.sage. "I saw Lord Argyll's name inked on the rout's guest list."

Every crystal bob, dripping like ice from the chandelier in the Feathertons' drawing room, glowed as if lit from within, Jenny noted as she entered the room.

The gold damask silk on the walls reflected the light and warmed the wan complexions of matrons, while gilding the rosy countenances of those of fewer years.

Jenny smiled to herself, for her opulent ivory gown drank in the flickering light. She looked luminous and she well knew it.

At once her eyes swept the room for Callum. It was yet early in the eve, but she had hoped to see him by now. b.u.t.terflies tumbled inside her stomach and her skin tingled in nervous antic.i.p.ation. Somehow, if only she might speak with him privately, Jenny knew she could bridge the gulf that had opened between them. She had to. Her heart would have it no other way.

"You look right fine this night, Jenny. Delicious in fact," buzzed a hoa.r.s.e whisper near her ear. "Good enough to eat."

She looked up to see George, one of the footmen, standing beside her with a sterling salver of crystal gla.s.ses filled with amber sherry. Jenny reached out and lifted a small gla.s.s from the tray, not bothering to reply.

A b.l.o.o.d.y rake in footman's garb, he was. Why, Meredith's guidebook could devote an entire chapter to George alone.