Chapter Eight
Grace had beenshaken by her encounter with Mr. Jacobs in the park and had hurried into the drawing room to see Lady Heathway and apprise her of the meeting.
After recounting the ghastly details, Lady Heathway said, “George was quite right to give him a firm set down. Finely done, I expect.”
“But,” Grace said, “what Mr. Jacobs said. That I am namedMiss Sprinter.”
“I had heard it wasThe Sprinter, but either way it is unfortunate,” Lady Heathway conceded. “However, I believe the duchess and I have thrown a wet cloth over Mr. Jacobs’ merriment. And perhaps a wet cloth on anybody who chooses to indulge him. We have let society know that if they wantus, they’d better dumphim.”
“Can you do that?” Grace asked, not at all certain that she could.
“Of course we can do that,” Lady Heathway said, “Between our extended families, we have more than twenty-five high-placed people, including a duke. What hostess will face that sort of united front, all to accommodate one fellow with a lowly title? Mr. Jacobs may have money, but that isallhe has.”
Grace was at once frightened and relieved. She was under the protection of powerful ladies and that carried with it a soothing sense of safety. But on the other hand, how angry would Mr. Jacobs be if he saw that he was being excluded and discovered she was to blame?
Ranston came in with the tea and Grace was surprised to see him risen from his bed so soon. When he caught sight of her, he had almost a look of terror.
Grace smiled encouragingly.
“Now Ranston,” Lady Heathway said kindly, “you’re not to look at Miss Yardley as if you’ve just seen a ghost because, fortunately, she has not been made a ghost.”
“No, my lady,” he said, setting the tea tray down. “Miss Yardley, accept my humble apologies for…firing off my gun precipitously.”
“Please do not apologize, Mr. Ranston,” Grace said. “There was no reason you should have known it was me up there. The fault was my own.”
“I did rather think that!” Ranston said. “Mrs. Redwiggin tried to blame it on my imagination getting away from me, but as I told her, a figure was on the house! Where is the imagination in that?”
“You are quite right,” Grace said.
Mr. Ranston, rather than seeming satisfied that he was proved right, got a faraway look in his eyes. He stood motionless in the middle of the drawing room.
“You’d better go have a lie-down now, Ranston,” Lady Heathway said.
As if his mistress could call to him in the deepest reaches of his mind, Ranston came back to the present. He nodded and wandered out of the room.
Lady Heathway poured the tea and shook her head. “It was the war, you see. One shudders to think what that poor man witnessed. I have heard from my maid that he sometimes has terrible nightmares and can be heard shouting,“I’m in the linen closet.”None of them dare ask him about it, lest they bring a horrific memory to the fore.”
Grace nodded. Betsy had yet to hear it for herself, but she had been told of the circumstance by Mrs. Redwiggin. The housekeeper thought it wise to prepare the lady’s maid, lest she awake some night and think someone really was in the linen closet. There were a few other frightening things Mr. Ranston shouted from his nightmares, none of which anybody could make heads or tails of. He sometimes yelledskin, which seemed almost gruesome if he were dreaming of the war, but then sometimes it came out,the skin is on the gravy.
“I suggest you wear the white muslin with the embroidered lily trim to Lady Redfield’s musical evening. Lilies signal purity and will send just the right message.”
Grace was taken aback. Somehow, she’d thought she would hide in the house until the story about her died down. “We go, then? This evening? So soon?”
“We do,” Lady Heathway said. “You are not to fret about it. Neither Mr. Jacobs nor any of his friends had been invited and so do not need to be disinvited. It will be a smallish party with dinner and then all the young ladies will be invited to play.”
Lady Heathway paused, suddenly looking alarmed. “You do play? I have come to the conclusion that Louisa only pretended that Miss Wilcox could play. You do play, though?”
“Yes, indeed I do,” Grace said, smiling despite herself.
“In front of people? What I mean is, you play well?” Lady Heathway asked, peering at her intently.
“Well enough, I believe,” Grace said.
“You believe…I see…hmmm,” Lady Heathway mumbled.
“Perhaps I ought to play now? To put your mind at ease?”
“Excellent notion!” Lady Heathway said, likely unaware that she was clutching the gold pendant she wore round her neck.
