Bluestocking Bride (24 page)

Catherine watched in puzzlement as the men maneuvered the canvas down the stone steps, carefully avoiding the wrought iron railings, and into the entrance of the adjacent house, and after one quick scrutiny Catherine alighted. She advanced upon the little fat man, and he turned smartly at the tap on his shoulder, startled to see a lady of such fashion at his elbow. His hooded
lizardlike
eyes flitted quickly over her elegant person and the carriage with liveried coachmen standing by, and his manner
became
 
immediately
alert.

"My lady, you are looking for Mr. Henderson
,-
perhaps?" The sly, knowing smile that spread across his lips offended Catherine greatly, and she turned to snap an order to her disapproving groom.

"Wait here, Simpson, I shall return directly." She moved toward Henderson's house, pushing brusquely past the beady-eyed man with the intolerable sneer, but he followed her footsteps with dogged persistence.

"But my lady, Mr. Henderson is not here. I am his landlord, Mr. Kemp."

Catherine halted on the threshold and turned a haughty face upon him. "What is going on here?" she asked in her most imperious manner. "Who gave you permission to remove these canvases from Mr. Henderson's house?"

His small lizard eyes blinked at her rapidly, as if he could not understand her overbearing manner, but his mind was quickly calculating how he could best turn this chance encounter to his advantage.

"My lady," he began again, smoothly trying not to give offense, "the law is on my side, I do assure you. I am impounding Mr. Henderson's chattels for nonpayment of rent and board. I am quite within my rights." He noted her attentive expression and pressed on. "He is fortunate that he has a few assets, otherwise he would have found himself in debtors' prison. If he has other creditors, and I have no doubt that he has—for what young man isn't in debt to his tailor or
bootmaker
—he may yet find himself in the Fleet."

Catherine's rising anger was quelled by the sinister words, and her face paled. Many a young man, she knew, was frequently left to cool his heels in jail until his friends relieved him of the burden of his debts, and if his friends or relations were
unobliging
, then he might be left there to rot.

She became aware of several pairs of eyes watching her speculatively and the indelicacy of her situation began to embarrass her. "Mr. Kemp, I would speak with you privately." The words were exactly what Kemp had been hoping to hear, and he gave his best bow of servility, almost prostrating himself, and with a wave of his hand indicated that Catherine should enter his "humble home."

It was then that Simpson coughed discreetly in an effort to gain her ladyship's attention, but she appeared not to hear.

"Your ladyship," he broke in apologetically, embarrassed to have to call her to a sense of her indelicacy, "you wish me to accompany you?"

"Don't fret, Simpson. This will take only a moment. Why don't you walk the horses or
something.
" And turning her back on her shocked coachmen, she entered Kemp's house without benefit of a chaperone.

She was shown into a small office on the ground floor, and refusing the proffered chair, came to the point directly. "How much does Mr. Henderson owe you?"

Mr. Kemp looked pained at such preemptory, unladylike tactics, and withdrawing the account of Henderson's debts from his desk, prattled on about rentals and laundry, wines and dinners, cleaners and hackneys, until Catherine called a halt.

"How much?" she asked again, bluntly.

"A little over three hundred pounds!"

"Three hundred pounds?"
Catherine repeated stupidly, appalled at such a vast amount, and she listened vaguely as Henderson's landlord gave her an itemized account of the arrears that Henderson had accumulated in just over a year.

She had no money of her own, apart from small sums of cash that she could draw on, for like all ladies of quality, Catherine simply charged anything that took her fancy and left her husband to pay the bills. Nor could she touch a penny of her marriage settlement, and she did not see immediately what was to be done to help Henderson.

"Mr. Kemp," she cut in rudely, as he was still talking, "if you give Mr. Henderson a little time, I am sure he will clear his debts. He is not without friends."

"If only I could, my lady, if only I could." He sighed and shook his head morosely, as if it pained him to be the harbinger of bad news. "But you see
,
I have creditors of my own who are pressing me for payment. I am sorry to have to tell you, but I find myself quite embarrassed at my own lack of funds." He waited for a moment before continuing. "Now if your husband were willing to . . . ?"

"No!" Catherine exclaimed emphatically.

"Ah! Well, perhaps not."

Each was lost in thought. Kemp knew that all society ladies were usually short of the ready, but careless of other valuable property that could be easily disposed of. He played his last card.

"Now if your ladyship had some small trinket or other that could be exchanged for Mr. Henderson's account, I would be glad to call it quits."

Catherine remained unmoving, her brow furrowed in thought. Kemp's suggestion had come almost immediately after she had thought of her pearls, so that she evinced no surprise. She had already made her decision, and 'with calculated deliberation, reached into her reticule and extended the blue velvet

box
. She would think of some way of getting them back, she reasoned, but she had no choice if she wanted to protect Henderson from ruin. He was her friend, and she would find a way to make
Rutherston
understand.

"Will you accept this in payment?"

He opened the box and regarded the pearls with avaricious eyes. The lady, he observed to himself, was an innocent. She had no conception of what they were worth. He could tell that they were of the finest quality and perfectly matched, probably worth twice as much as Henderson's debts. He had no doubt that Catherine's husband would pay very handsomely to have them returned.

He knew better than try to dispose of them elsewhere. All that he had to do was to take them to the firm of jewelers whose name was conveniently emblazoned on the box, and they would negotiate for him. He should come out a couple of hundred ahead on this little enterprise, he thought gleefully.

Nor did he doubt for one moment that this supercilious lady who was so high in the instep would be soundly horsewhipped by her husband for her rash behavior, and the thought cheered him greatly. How he detested these aristocratic
toffs
who gave themselves airs and graces, while all the time they were no better than they should be. He smiled benignly at Catherine.

"Yes, my lady. I would be happy to accept this little trinket in payment of Henderson's debts. I shall probably still be out of pocket, but beggars can't be choosers."

"In that case, Mr. Kemp, would you please mark Mr. Henderson's account paid in full, and sign your name to it. I shall, of course, keep the receipt." Catherine spoke coldly, her dislike obvious in her
disdainful tone.

He could hardly restrain the laughter on his lips. So the little baggage thought that she was a shrewd businesswoman, did she? Well, let her think it! In a few days her folly would come home to roost and then she would think of him with a new respect!

"But of course!" he replied obligingly, and signed his name with a flourish. Catherine scanned the account and thrust it into her reticule with a sigh of relief. Kemp extended his hand. "It is a pleasure to do business with you Lady . . . ?" Ignoring the proffered hand, and the inquiry in his voice, Catherine moved to the door.

"See that all Mr. Henderson's belongings are returned forthwith," and giving Kemp the slightest of nods, she swept out to her waiting carriage.

The desire to continue to Richmond Park had left Catherine, and she told a granite-faced Simpson that she wished to return to Berkeley Square, and as the carriage moved off sedately along the embankment, Kemp followed its progress with his eyes, lost in a delightful reverie, contemplating the retribution that would befall a proud lady within a few days at the latest.

In this, Henderson's landlord was mistaken, for Catherine's movements were observed by
Rutherston
as he made his way home from Richmond and his interview with Lady Pamela. He recognized his livery and carriage moving slowly ahead of him on the road, and he reined in hard, making his fidgety grays rear violently in their traces, almost oversetting the unsteady curricle.

He cursed under his breath and turned them aside to an inn that lay just off the road. He had no wish to overtake Catherine with his faster team, for it would take her only a moment to guess that he had
come from Richmond. He was compelled to delay for an hour or so, and he fumed in impatience.

"Where the devil has she
come
from?" he wondered to himself. Certainly not Richmond, for he would have overtaken her on the road out, and there had not been enough time for the slow-moving barouche to make it out there and back. He gave the matter some consideration, and was not well pleased with the result of his speculations.

It was a grim-faced
Rutherston
who returned his sweating team to the stables and sought out his equally grim-faced groom. Nor was Simpson voluble on his mistress's movements that
afternoon,
but after much thrust and parry,
Rutherston
learned some small part of the story, and when he had given his orders to harness a fresh team, he set off once more toward Chelsea, with a reluctant and reticent groom perched behind.

Her ladyship, thought Becky as she helped Catherine dress that evening, was in a distracted mood. She had watched her jump at every small sound, as if she expected disaster to strike at any moment. Nor did her ladyship show the slightest interest in what she should wear to go to the theater with the Earl and Countess of Levin, and Becky had been left to choose her gown.

She had selected a pale yellow silk with ivory
underslip
and matching ribbons tied under the breast and embroidered profusely at bodice and hem with the same matching thread. Lord
Rutherston
had excellent taste, thought Becky approvingly, for left to
herself,
her ladyship would never take the time or trouble to dress herself well. She would spend hours traipsing through libraries and bookshops, but ask
her to give up one afternoon for fittings and to choose and match silks or ribbons and she became restless and bored. It was Lord
Rutherston's
doing, Becky acknowledged gratefully, that in her mistress's wardrobe there was nothing that did not suit her ladyship to perfection — not that Miss Catherine cared overmuch.

Becky stood back to survey her handiwork and offered a small suggestion.

"The pearls, I think, my lady?"

Catherine's hand flew to her throat and her cheeks turned a guilty pink.

"Good heavens, Becky, I am sick of the pearls! If I wear them one more time, I'll be put down as a pauper. Fetch me my grandmother's sapphire brooch."

There was not much to choose from in her jewel box, thought Catherine wryly, but the small trinkets that any young woman collects throughout her maiden years. She knew well enough that the
Rutherston
jewels, although by rights belonging to her husband, remained temporarily in the keeping of the dowager marchioness.
Rutherston
had never discussed when or how the collection would pass to his wife, and Catherine had to acknowledge that until that moment she had never given it a thought.

Should she produce a son and heir for
Rutherston
, she observed disconsolately, he would probably give her the famous
Rutherston
emeralds, but if you, poor child, are only a girl, her thoughts ran on mournfully, your mother will probably be deemed worthy only of more pearls.

She smoothed her abdomen with a tender motion of her hands in a protective gesture, and into her mind came a picture of
Rutherston
, through a long wedded life, presenting her with one set of pearls after another, and the humor of the situation made her giggle nervously until the tears ran down her cheeks.

"My lady?" asked Becky in astonishment.

Catherine shook her head, consumed in uncontrollable mirth. "It's nothing Becky.
Just a foolish notion that caught my fancy!"

Becky attached the sapphires to Catherine's bodice. She did not think that his lordship would approve the adornment, but she knew her place and said no more.

At that moment they were informed by the butler that the earl and countess awaited below, and Catherine made haste to find her fan and a suitable wrap should the night air turn chill.

Rutherston
entered the room soundlessly, unobserved by Catherine, and with a curt nod to Becky indicated that she should withdraw. Catherine was in the process of extracting her fan from a drawer low on her dresser, when some sixth sense made her conscious of a threatening presence. Although her back was still turned upon him, she knew that he was there and in a dangerous mood, and her heart began to hammer unevenly against her ribs. She had time to compose her features, and turned to face him with a semblance of confidence.