Megan did not expect to sleep again after that, but to her surprise her head could barely have touched the pillow before she was deep in dreams. She was awoken the next morning, Saturday, December 20, by the sound of Evangeline's gardeners complaining to each other about the gravel on the lawn. She lay warmly in bed, thinking about the eventful night. She would have to face Oliver again soon, and she knew he was not the sort of man to be deterred by just one setback. He would seek her out again, and it would not be a pleasant experience. At least she was prepared for him next time, and had Rollo's promise of assistance, but there ought to be something more. It was something she had to dwell upon very carefully.
When it was time to get up and go to Evangeline, the last thing Megan wished to do was read Gil Bias. She was bursting to talk about Rollo, but because the ghost had been adamant about her silence, she knew she could not say anything. It was most frustrating, for she and Evangeline together might be able to discover what it was the spirit required to be done. At least if it was connected with the church she knew where to begin, and she could only hope it wouldn't be too long before she had time to go there again. After dressing in her new apricot-and-white-striped muslin morning gown, and pinning her hair up in a tidy knot, Megan went along to Evangeline's rooms to read to her. The bank of low cloud she had noticed in the night now covered the sky from horizon to horizon, a breeze was blowing, and there was a dusting of snow on the Downs. She thought about Mrs. Fosdyke's bunion, and wondered if it was accurate enough to ensure Evangeline the kudos of driving out in the royal sleigh.
That was what Evangeline was wondering too; indeed all thought of Le Sage's masterly novel was abandoned because she could think only about the sleigh, concerning which she had already dispatched Fosdyke to the Marine Pavilion, Prinny's written consent firmly in his hand. Well, perhaps it wasn't quite true that the sleigh was all she could think about, for the costumes for Twelfth Night were also very much on her mind. Apart from her jester suit, the contents of her theater wardrobe no longer pleased her. Everything was too gaudy, too drab, too flimsy, too heavy, too anything one cared to mention, except acceptable.
Megan was glad when the time came to go down to breakfast, but first she sought Rollo in the theater. There was no sign of the ghost, however, nor had he gone to breakfast as he had the previous day. A very wan and nervous Edward was in charge of the sideboard, and whenever he brought something to the table, he hobbled because his shins were so sore. He also appeared to be in some discomfort from his rear end, which was hardly surprising, Megan thought with some satisfaction. She wondered how Oliver was this morning. Virtually laid up, she hoped.
Edward avoided catching her eye, indeed he seemed so intent on keeping well away from her that he could barely stretch to place her plate before her. She realized that he thought she had a mysterious ally, with whom he had no desire to risk another encounter. Let him go on thinking it, for it was true!
At first she was alone at the table with Rupert, who had a guilty conscience about the undue attention he had paid her the night before. "Miss Mortimer, about my conduct last night…"
"Please think nothing of it, Lord Rupert, for I quite understand," she replied with a smile.
"You do?"
"Of course, and when I go shopping with Miss Holcroft this morning, I promise to do all I can to promote you."
"You are an angel, Miss Mortimer."
"No, sir, I am just someone who hopes Miss Holcroft will soon see the light where Mr. March is concerned, and that she then grants you your heart's desire." Megan glanced at Edward, who must have heard everything, and who would, she trusted, relay it all to Oliver. She had decided upon a way to keep her cousin at arm's length, and she was so pleased with her idea that she did not care if Oliver knew what she said. It was seeing Greville at the writing desk that had provided the inspiration; all she had to do was write a little letter of her own, to be opened in the event of anything unpleasant happening to her, and then let Oliver know of its existence. With that and Rollo, she was surely safe.
Rupert sat back. "Do you think I made Chloe just a little jealous last night?"
Megan smiled again, ruefully this time. "I do not think she will ever be jealous of me, Lord Rupert, for she is beautiful and sought after, and I am neither. Besides, what lady is ever going to be jealous of a companion?"
"Greville's mother was," Rupert murmured, then sat forward again. "Miss Mortimer, although you may not aspire to out-and-out beauty, you are nevertheless very attractive, and I think you most charming."
"You are too kind, I fancy," she replied, and reached for a slice of toast from the silver rack.
"Good morning, children," said Greville's voice suddenly, and they both turned with a start to see him standing in the doorway, from where he had heard all they'd said. He raised an eyebrow at their openmouthed silence. "Where are your manners? You are supposed to say good morning in return."
"Good morning, Greville," Rupert replied guiltily, wishing he hadn't made the observation about the late Lady Seton.
"Good morning, Sir Greville," Megan said, and quickly returned her gaze to her toast, but she watched as he went to examine the contents of the domed dishes on the sideboard. He wore a dark blue coat and cream breeches, both of which colors were repeated in the stripes of his waistcoat. His top boots were impeccably polished, a sapphire pin was fixed to the knot of his neck cloth, and some seals hung from his fob. From the thickness of his lashes and ideal proportion of his nose, to the steadiness of his gray eyes and the way his hair curled softly at the nape of his neck… She drew herself up in horror, for an unexpected warm sensation had begun to stir treacherously through her veins. This wouldn't do at all! He was too unpleasant to be admired! She buttered the toast so vigorously that it disintegrated, leaving her with little more than a plate of crumbs.
Greville shook his head at Edward and helped himself from the sideboard dishes, then came to sit directly opposite Megan. "Well, Rupert," he declared, "I think you have damned poor Miss Mortimer with faint praise; indeed you were less than gallant. Charm she certainly has, but beauty also."
Megan was astounded to hear a compliment from him.
Rupert was dismayed. "I say, Miss Mortimer, I didn't mean any insult, indeed quite the opposite."
"I saw no insult, Lord Rupert."
Greville looked at her. "You seem taken aback that I should praise you, Miss Mortimer."
"I confess I am, Sir Greville," she replied, deciding that honesty was the best policy.
"Would you like me to revoke my words?" He smiled a little. It wasn't exactly a warm smile, but neither was it cold. Just somewhere in between. "Perhaps I will be able to convince you of my sincerity when I escort you to the ball tonight. I vow I will show you every attention."
The ball! After the excitement of the night, she had quite forgotten it!
"Now I appear to have put you at sixes and sevens again," Greville murmured.
She blushed, and reached for another slice of toast, which she buttered with more care this time. Chloe was so impatient to commence the shopping expedition that she called for Megan at half past nine, which was rather earlier than agreed. Megan had been just about to write her secret letter, but had to abandon it to hurry upstairs for her new dark green cloak.
A bright buttercup-yellow pelisse trimmed with white fur was Chloe's choice today, and it was very cheerful and sunny when the skies were so cloudy. Megan felt quite dull beside her as they walked down the Steine past the Marine Pavilion, outside which the German band was once again playing carols. A small crowd had gathered to listen, and a woman roasting chestnuts on a brazier was not short of business. With only five days to go till Christmas, the spirit of the season was almost tangible. Children's faces shone with excitement, and among the adults there was a liberal sprinkling of footmen carrying an assortment of presents from various fashionable emporiums.
Megan and Chloe passed the Castle Inn on the corner into Castle Square, where Oliver's lodgings stood next to a silk warehouse. Megan saw the name Duchess Place above the fanlight of the door, and commented upon it.
"Isn't that where Mr. March has rooms?"
Chloe nodded. "Yes, and very tolerable they are too." She blushed then. "I-I only know what they are like because Papa visited Lord Palmerston there about five years ago. They are most comfortable and well appointed for two and a half guineas a week."
"Mr. March is a very fortunate gentleman to have found favor with you," Megan said.
"It is most kind of you to say so, Miss Mortimer."
Megan wondered how far she could go. "It is the truth, Miss Holcroft. It is also the truth that Lord Rupert is heartbroken."
Chloe halted. "Lord Rupert has only himself to blame."
"Yes, he says that too."
Chloe eyed her suspiciously. "Has he primed you to sing his praises?"
"No, I primed myself," Megan replied honestly.
Chloe's lips parted, then she went off into peals of laughter. "You are incorrigible, Miss Mortimer!"
Megan smiled too, and pressed on now that she had started. "I know it is not my place to say so, Miss Holcroft, but I do not like Mr. March at all."
Chloe searched her face. "Papa does not like him either, nor does Lady Evangeline; indeed, I think I am his only admirer, but then to me he has been all that is attentive and chivalrous."
"Maybe, but Lord Rupert is in love with you, Miss Holcroft."
"Is he?" Chloe recalled how Rupert had fussed around his aunt's companion the evening before.
Megan read her thoughts. "Miss Holcroft, if his lordship paid attention to me last night, it was only to make you jealous."
Chloe smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose I know it really." She played with the strings of her reticule. "I'm afraid I find it very hard to forgive him for turning me down as he did. I sobbed for weeks on account of it, and I have no intention of letting him hurt me again."
"He would never hurt you again," Megan replied.
"Maybe. Anyway, it will not arise, because I intend to accept Mr. March."
Megan gazed at her in dismay. "He has asked for your hand?"
Chloe gave her a slightly wicked look. "Not yet, but he is on the point of it."
"Miss Holcroft, do you feel the same way toward Mr. March that you did toward Lord Rupert?"
Chloe lowered her eyes, and didn't reply.
Megan feared she had gone too far. "I-I should not say any of this, Miss Holcroft, for it isn't right that a companion should presume."
"Oh, but I like talking to you, Miss Mortimer," Chloe said, putting a reassuring hand over hers. "Besides, it gives me the excuse to quiz you."
"Me? What about?" Megan was startled.
"Why, Sir Greville of course."
Megan drew back. "But he and I are barely acquainted."
"That is not how it seemed to me at Donaldson's yesterday," Chloe replied. "I saw how tenderly he took your hand and drew it over his arm. I could scarce believe my eyes, for you are a companion, and I know how he has always felt about-" She broke off in embarrassment. "Forgive me, I-I didn't mean to offend you…"
"I am not offended, Miss Holcroft, for he has left me in no doubt as to his opinion on that score. Please believe me when I say that at the library yesterday, his sole purpose was to deter Lady Garsington," Megan pointed out.
"On account of Sybil?"
"Yes."
"And that is all?"
"Of course." But Megan flushed as she remembered her reaction to him at breakfast.
"How becomingly pink you have gone, to be sure," Chloe observed dryly.
"Only because I am dismayed at what you think."
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Well, I stand firm, for I know there is something going on, and that it is very much to do with you. To begin with, you appear to be the reason why Lady Evangeline curtailed her stay in Bath to return here, and for a companion you are really clothed rather well, don't you agree? Please do not misunderstand, for I do not mean to be rude in any way, I am just making the observation. And now Sir Greville and Lord Rupert have arrived as well, and the former not only singled you out most particularly yesterday, but is to partner you tonight at the ball. If they attend such an occasion at all, companions usually sit meekly on the sidelines, they are certainly not escorted by one of England's most eligible gentlemen. I smell a mystery of some kind, Miss Mortimer, and I am not easily put off a scent."
"There is no mystery," Megan said, but she couldn't help recalling the odd interview in the Wells lodging house, when Evangeline had asked her some very strange questions. And since then there was no denying that this particular new employee had been treated very generously and considerately indeed. First the blue chamber, then joining the family for meals, then the clothes from Mrs. Fiske's, and now tonight's Christmas bal masque at the Old Ship. Chloe was right, there had to be a mystery of some kind. But what could it be? What possible reason could Lady Evangeline Radcliffe have for seeking her out?