Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [158]
“We have not,” Marsh said.
“That feeble Paul woman is the most useless governess. I should have left them in London.”
“If they come here, I shall ask them to report to you instantly,” Marsh told her.
She turned a glare on him, her forehead puckering with the suspicion that he was laughing at her concerns. Some other thought seemed to occur to her as well, triggered by her belated awareness that her brother was in an unusual state of mind, and that on a day such as this, any new factor could prove catastrophic.
“Are you all right?” she asked sharply.
“I am feeling very well indeed.”
“You’re not drunk? Oh, God, Marsh, you can’t be drinking today! Iris, can’t you—”
“I am not drinking, I have not drunk, I will not drink.”
“Look, Marsh, I know you must be concerned about tonight, but really, there won’t be anything to it. Sidney will stand up after dinner and introduce you, you’ll say thank you for coming, and then everyone will get back to the dancing. Just a brief moment so as to introduce formally the seventh Duke. I know how you hate a crowd, but you can do that, Marsh, can’t you?”
“Alistair will make the introduction.”
“No, no; Sidney’s got his speech all ready.”
“Phillida.” That was all Marsh said, but the unaccustomed note of complete authority in his voice got her attention. She blinked, and took another step inside the room as if to see him more clearly. Her antennae were quivering; she knew something was up here, just not what it was, or how it would affect her.
“But Sidney—”
“No. I want Ali.”
“I don’t have the time for this,” she fretted. “Oh, very well, Alistair it is. Just tell him that all he has to do is introduce the seventh Duke of Beauville. Surely he can handle that.”
“Don’t worry,” Marsh told her. “The seventh Duke will have his introduction.”
Now she was certain that he was hiding something from her, and it worried her deeply. “Marsh, what do you have planned? You’re hiding something. I swear, Marsh, if you do anything to spoil this evening, I’ll—”
“Phillida, I will not spoil your evening. Your guests will go away happy.”
She might have pursued the matter—not that it would have done her much good, since her brother clearly had no intention of explaining further—but shouts and a crash from somewhere back in the house caught her attention. “Oh, Lord, what’s happened now? I have to go. Iris, Mary, keep an eye on him,” she pleaded, an attempt to enlist the sensible minds in the room onto her side—a futile attempt, as our faces told her. She threw up her hands, left the library, and then stuck her head back inside. “If you see the children, tell them to go to Miss Paul instantly, or I shall be quite angry.”
The door banged shut, and I made to go as well, but stopped when Marsh said, “Angry with me, do you suppose, or angry with the children?”
“Both, I should think,” Iris told him.
“In that case, perhaps I should have mentioned to her that they’re in the conservatory.”
Iris and I turned sharply in our chairs, to look through the billiards room to the glass house beyond. Indeed, after a few seconds, the anaemic vine jerked as if its roots were under attack.
“I merely told her that I hadn’t seen them,” Marsh explained placidly. “Which I hadn’t.”
“Marsh, you’re terrible,” Iris scolded.
The liberated duke just shrugged. He looked so pleased with himself, I could have hugged him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Taking pity on Lady Phillida, Iris and I went out through the conservatory. A rattle of half-dead shrubbery followed our opening of the door, followed by an exaggerated stillness.
Iris spoke into the damp, mildewed air. “Your mother wants you to go back to your nurse.”
“She’s our governess,” protested a voice from the dead palm.
“I don’t care if she’s your headmistress, your absence is troubling your mother, who has quite enough on her mind without you two adding to it.”
After a minute of whispered consultation, the bushes disgorged two very untidy children, leaves in their hair, soil to their knees, and rebellion on their grubby faces.
“They