A Little Mischief (3 page)

Isabella liked to think she’d helped them all to feel more confident and to be more accepted in a Society that seemed to demand beauty above all else.

“Ladies,” Isabella said, rising from her chair. “I suggest that you don’t miss Thursday and we’ll see what the author has to say about the shadow. Now, Aunt Pithany is standing at the door with Mrs. Dawson who has your cloaks and gloves. Your maids have had your carriages brought around front, and they are ready for you.”

One by one, the elegantly clad young ladies strolled to the front door. Isabella and her aunt spoke with each of their guests as they donned their wraps and left. After a final wave to the last girl, Isabella closed the door against the chill and leaned against it with a shiver.

She looked at her aunt and smiled. “I do enjoy the group, but it seems to take longer and longer to get them out of the house.”

“That’s because they have such a delightful time, dear. They are in no hurry to leave. Remember one of the reasons they are here is because there is no pressure on them to please or impress anyone. They feel free to chat and be themselves.”

Miss Pithany Winslowe was the best liked spinster in all of London. Tall and robust, she always had a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her face for everyone she met. After more than two years living with her aunt, Isabella was still trying to attain Pithany’s sunny disposition.

Isabella absently nodded to her aunt as something niggled her mind. Instinct told her something was wrong. Suddenly she realized what it was. Auntie Pith was still holding a dark blue cloak. She opened the door again and looked out. Cold air stung her face.

There were two carriages left on the front street. She watched Amanda Wright climb into one of them. The driver shut the door, jumped up on the driver’s seat, and they left. The other carriage, a handsome landau, remained. Amanda was the last young lady out the door, so why was one carriage and one coat left behind?

Could one of the ladies from her reading group still be inside the house? That seemed unlikely.

She turned back to her aunt. “Did someone leave without taking her wrap?”

Auntie Pith looked down at the cloak in her hands. “Oh, my. I didn’t realize I was holding this. I thought we said good-bye to everyone, but who left without their cloak and gloves?”

“I think one of the ladies must still be here. There’s a carriage outside.”

“Let me see.” Auntie Pith hung the items on the hall stand and peeked around Isabella and out to the street. “That’s odd. You stay here, I’ll find out whose carriage it is. Maybe there’s a reason the landau hasn’t left.”

Isabella watched as her aunt walked to the coach and spoke to the maid inside before returning.

Auntie Pith had a puzzled expression on her face. “It’s Lady Gretchen Colebrooke’s carriage. She must be somewhere inside the house. I told her maid to stay by the coach and we would see the young lady out.”

“I suppose it’s possible she wandered away from the group,” Isabella said, refusing to be alarmed, but knowing something wasn’t quite right. “You check the bedrooms. Perhaps she felt a bit faint and—”

“Without letting anyone know?” Auntie Pith said, aghast at such an idea.

“Perhaps she asked Mrs. Dawson. Just look and I’ll check the rest of the house.”

The four ground-floor rooms were empty and the kitchen held only the housekeeper and a scullery girl who was washing teacups.

“Have you seen anyone in the house, Mrs. Dawson?”

The stout Irish woman gave Isabella a curious look. “When, miss? Not five minutes ago there were a dozen ladies in the house.”

Isabella smiled at her. “Yes, of course, but I meant since we’ve been standing at the door seeing them out.”

“No, miss. I’m sure they are all gone,” Mrs. Dawson said and moved to retrieve a kettle from the fire.

Auntie Pith called out, “No sign of her up here.” Which meant there was only one other place to look. The back garden. Isabella opened the door and immediately saw Gretchen standing over to the side near a bench, her back to Isabella.

Curious about why she would be on the grounds without her cloak on such a cold afternoon, Isabella stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

“Gretchen,” she called as she started down the four steps. When Gretchen turned toward her, Isabella’s steps faltered. Gretchen’s face was white, and her eyes wide with fear. She held a small marble cherub in her hand. A man lay sprawled at her feet.

A man in her aunt’s garden? Where did he come from and why was he on the ground?

“Gretchen, what’s wrong?” Isabella asked in a calm voice. “What happened?”

Gretchen’s pale face registered shock. “I was angry with him.” She looked down at the statuette in her hand and suddenly dropped it as if she’d been holding a hot poker. “I hit him, but I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Two

Isabella gasped, then rushed down the steps and stared at the man sprawled on the grass. He lay on his back with his arms and legs stretched wide.

“Sweet mercy! It’s Mr. Boswell Throckmorten.” Isabella looked back to Gretchen. “You say you struck him with the cherub?”

Gretchen nodded.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he accost you? I don’t know how he could have gotten inside. The garden gate is always secure,” she said as she glanced toward the alley that led to the stable block. “Good heavens!” she declared, spying the latch that was disengaged.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Gretchen said again, seeming oblivious to the unlocked gate.

“Piffle, Gretchen, get hold of yourself. Surely he’s not dead,” Isabella said, seeing no outward sign of a gash or swelling on the man’s face or forehead. “Maybe he’s just sleeping. Although why he would have chosen our garden, I have no idea. He’s not bleeding, and I don’t see a bruise.”

“He’s not moving.”

“That much is obvious.” Isabella bent forward and looked him over more closely. “Perhaps his neckcloth was too tight and he fainted. I’ve never seen one so elaborately tied. Mr. Throckmorten, wake up.”

Not even an eyelash fluttered. Perhaps he needed a bit more stimulation.

Isabella took a deep, cold breath and lowered herself to her knees. Hesitantly she put her hands on the man’s shoulder and shook him. There was no doubt from the smell of him that he’d been into the bottle. But if he’d just passed out from too much wine, surely she would have been able to rouse him.

“He’s not waking up,” Gretchen said.

“I can see that, but it doesn’t mean he’s dead.” Isabella shook him again. Harder this time, and she called his name again louder.

The man remained unresponsive. Isabella glanced up at Gretchen. “Where did you hit him?”

She pointed with a shaky hand. “There on the side of his head above his ear.”

Not a hair on his head seemed out of place, but there must have been a lump the size of a goose egg beneath all that thick brown hair because he was definitely unconscious. His lips had lost all color, too.

A sinking feeling attacked the bottom of her stomach. “Wake up, Mr. Throckmorten. You must wake up.”

When there was still no reaction, Isabella laid her ear to his cold chest, but could detect no heartbeat nor any rise or fall of breath.

Isabella knew she had to keep a calm head as she got to her feet and faced Gretchen. This was horrible. This was madness. This was an impossible situation!

“Gretchen, do you know what he was doing in my garden? How did you happen upon him? Why did you hit him? Tell me, did he accost you?” she asked again.

Isabella felt she couldn’t ask the questions fast enough. But Gretchen made no attempt to answer. She only looked at Isabella with pale, trembling lips and wild, teary eyes that were made even larger by her spectacles. Isabella was perceptive enough to know the answers to some of her questions without Gretchen saying a word.

Maybe she should be more specific. “Did you plan a rendezvous with Mr. Throckmorten in my garden?”

Gretchen nodded.

“Sweet mercies. This is scandalous. We will both be ruined if your brother doesn’t kill us first. How could you do this? Why did you—?” Isabella stopped herself. She didn’t want to make things worse.

She needed to think, but for the moment her mind seemed blank. Reluctantly she looked at Mr. Throckmorten again. His body appeared so lifeless. What was she going to do?

“Why did you strike him? Did he try to compromise you?”

That seemed a foolish question the moment she asked it. Just meeting the man in the garden would compromise Gretchen beyond saving if the right people found out about it.

“You must answer me,” Isabella insisted firmly.

Gretchen’s eyes remained wide with fear. “I don’t know why I hit him.”

“Of course you do,” Isabella said, trying not to lose patience with Gretchen and trying not to panic. “Did he try to kiss you or… or force his attentions on you?”

“I just remember being so angry that I picked up the cherub and swung it. The next thing I knew, he was lying on the ground just like that.”

Isabella saw she was getting nowhere with the young lady. She had obviously arranged a tryst with Mr. Throckmorten and for some reason had struck him. Why didn’t matter right now. They had bigger concerns.

“What are we going to do?” Gretchen asked in a childlike voice.

We?

Yes, Isabella supposed she was a part of this misfortune whether or not she wanted to be. She had to concentrate on what they should do now.

She took another deep breath and rubbed her icy hands together against the chill. First, she should alert Auntie Pith, and then she must tell Gretchen’s aunt, but both those ideas were frightening. What would she say to them? What would they think? Would she and Gretchen be thrown in Newgate?

No, Isabella wouldn’t let that happen.

Gretchen was the sister of an earl. Best she let Gretchen’s family handle this. They would want to be the first to know, and they would see to it not a word of it got out. Besides, Isabella was quite eager to turn this situation over to someone else. And on further thought, perhaps she should keep this from Auntie Pith, too, if possible.

“I must take you home immediately and tell your aunt what has happened.”

“Not her,” Gretchen said. “She won’t know what to do. My brother arrived last night. We can tell him. Danny will know what to do.”

Isabella hesitated. A dry lump swelled in her throat. She’d seen the impressive-looking Lord Colebrooke two years ago at a party, but she’d been much too shy to gain an introduction to him. This was not how she wanted to meet the new earl, but did she have a choice?

“All right, we’ll go to your brother. Is he at your town house in Mayfair or does he have a house of his own?”

“He’s with us now because he just arrived, but he is arranging for his own place.”

“Good. Your aunt will be there in case he wants to tell her about this.”

She had to think quickly. Should she try to cover the body or hide it? No, it would be easier to leave him be and to find a reason to send Mrs. Dawson, the other servants, and her aunt away from the house so they wouldn’t happen upon the dead man lying in the garden.

“Let’s go back inside and get our wraps. I’ll ride with you to your home, and we’ll tell the earl what happened.”

“Danny will take care of everything,” Gretchen said, as if she were trying to reassure herself.

They returned to the house, and as soon as they stepped inside, Isabella told Mrs. Dawson to take the rest of the afternoon off and to dismiss the servants as well as Isabella’s maid. The housekeeper was surprised but pleased to do this because it gave her an opportunity to visit her ailing sister. Isabella met Auntie Pith as she was walking into the foyer.

“Oh, I see you found Gretchen.” Auntie Pith glared at the young lady. “Dear girl, you shouldn’t wander off that way. We’ve been searching the house for you. Why, you’re pale as a ghost. And you’re shivering. Are you unwell?”

“Yes, Auntie Pith, she is feeling poorly. I think I should see her safely home. If you don’t mind, I need you to run an errand for me.”

Auntie Pith questioned Isabella with her eyes. “What’s that, dear?”

“I told Mrs. Hollyfield I’d collect the new gown she made for me today, and I forgot about it until just now. Would you take the coach and get it for me? I fear I won’t have the time.”

Her aunt hesitated. “Well, I’m not sure. I hadn’t planned on going out this afternoon with it being so cold and so late in the day.”

Using a ploy she’d learned from her aunt, Isabella walked over to the stand where Auntie Pith’s cloak hung and took it down.

“Oh, I know, and I’m sorry to ask it of you on such a dreadful day, but I do so want to wear the gown to the parties tonight.” She draped the cloak over her aunt’s shoulders and began tying its ribbons into a bow under her chin.

“Mrs. Hollyfield is on the other side of Town, dear. It will take me the rest of the afternoon to get over there and back.”

Isabella let go of the ribbons and stood back. She clasped her hands together under her chin. “Of course, you are right. It is too much trouble. I shouldn’t have asked.” She started to remove the cloak from her aunt’s shoulders.