Tattleton nodded. Of course, he would be. The butler had never set foot inside the stables either in Town or in Somerset.
“In general, Mr. Sandren, I prefer us all to stick to our natural milieus. I don’t expect to find you serving dinner in the house and you do not expect to find me wandering round your horses.”
Sandren nodded.
“But I fear we are approaching some sort of crisis situation and I would be remiss if I did not take steps.”
“Steps?”
“The very steps that have led me to your door,” Tattleton said, sipping his brandy. “I wished to ask you about a certain carriage ride that seemed most unusual. A certain carriage ride in which I believe Miss Mayton saw fit to glue dog hair on her face.”
“Aye,” Sandren said, nodding. “That was a strange one.”
“But am I correct in thinking that Miss Mayton disguised herself as a man?”
“Right you are. And a strange-looking man at that.”
“Why? Do you know why? This all seems very irregular!”
“That’s what I thought myself,” Sandren said. “It was a shock when I turned round and there is this fella sitting in the carriage with rather wild-looking sideburns. Then the fella speaks and it’s Miss Mayton.”
“Where did they go? What did they do? What was the purpose of this strange behavior?”
Sandren held a hand up. “Whoa, that’s a lot of questions. Give me a moment and I’ll tell you how it was.”
He drained his brandy and poured himself another one.
“I was told to go to 38 Grosvenor Square. The Duke of Conbatten’s residence. Then Miss Mayton attempts to sound all gruff and manly and hands the footman coming out to the carriage a note. She tells him she will wait in the carriage for a written answer. Oh, and the other ladies were all crouching under blankets.”
“Crouching!”
“Aye, hidden away if you like. Anyway, who comes out but the duke himself and Miss Mayton is waving her hands around and telling him to go back but he don’t pay her mind. He says something about Archibald—”
“Archibald!” Tattleton cried. “Who is Archibald?”
Sandren shrugged. “Some fella who wanted his brother dead, as far as I could gather.”
Tattleton drained his brandy.
“Anyhow, the duke says he won’t oblige. Something about not helping this Archibald become the fifteenth baron and that duels were held too early in the morning.”
“A duel!”
“Yep, so the duke keeps coming toward the carriage and Miss Mayton waves a cane at him and shouts to me to be off. Off I go and have to drive to Piccadilly so Miss Mayton can get out of her men’s clothes and then I drive them home.”
Tattleton hardly understood what he was being told. Some strange man named Archibald, a challenge to the duke, Miss Mayton dressed as a man?
“I can hardly comprehend…why on earth…what does it add up to?”
“It was all to do with Mrs. Ellington’s goose chase is what they said.”
“Who is Mrs. Ellington?” Tattleton whispered.
“How should I know?”
“But did you not think to speak to the earl about this circumstance?” Tattleton asked.
Sandren shook his head. “They was all led forward by Miss Mayton and I don’t know nothing ’bout goose chases. What would I have said about it?”
