Authors: Lady Rascal
‘Thank you for your concern, mademoiselle. My work at home keeps me fully occupied.’
At that point Sir Edwin’s shadow fell across them, bringing the conversation to a halt.
‘My turn, I believe.’ He gave Philip a look of triumph and grasped Madeleine’s hand. Without bothering to ask, he hauled her on to the dance-floor. As luck would have it the musicians had decided it was time for another gin break and were clattering to a standstill, but that didn’t stop Pickersgill seizing the opportunity of having Madeleine to himself for a few moments.
‘And how about you? You can’t afford to say anything out of place either, mind, miss!’
Madeleine was genuinely bewildered. ‘Why not?’
‘Little Bella’s told me all about it!’ Sir Edwin chuckled unpleasantly. ‘What she saw. You and Adamson. And there’ll be no smoke without a bit more fire behind it...’
Madeleine’s mind flashed back to that early morning in the orchard. Philip’s attempt to keep Willowbury in the dark about his lapse by sending Bella away had only spread the potential for gossip further.
This was disastrous. Madeleine could see that Sir Edwin was not the sort of man to let an advantage pass without making considerable use of it. If any more proof were needed, it was in the oily way he was nudging her back towards a seat.
Philip half rose as they approached, but was interrupted by Mistress Constance and Jack strolling back to the chairs. They were still laughing from their attempt at a reel and immediately began mocking him as a spoilsport for not joining in.
Others were more inclined to raise the party spirit. Mr Pettigrew had been dancing with his wife, but now seemed to be after a change of partner. He was bearing down on Madeleine at full speed until Jack managed to deflect him.
‘That’s a splendid spinet you’ve got there, Pettigrew. Why don’t we have a spot of more homely music? Perhaps Mademoiselle Madeleine could play for us?’
Although relieved at being saved from a close encounter with another of Philip’s creditors, the resulting chorus of delight filled Madeleine with horror. She had never seen a spinet until the sub in Paris, let alone played one.
‘Er—I would be the first to admit, ladies and gentlemen, that music is no friend to me. I can barely recognise a tune, let alone play one...’
‘The lass is that modest!’ Pettigrew clapped Madeleine on the arm in delight, nearly knocking her into Philip’s lap in the process. ‘Never known a young lady that couldn’t stroke a fair note from an expensive instrument. Go on, give us a tune!’
‘On the contrary, sir,’ Philip smiled quietly at his host. ‘Far too many these days leap up at the first chance of exhibiting their so-called talent. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the alleged virtuoso turns out to be tone-deaf. The lady’s reticence is admirable.’
‘You show them how it’s done, then, Phil!’
Jack extended his arm in the direction of the spinet while Philip looked distinctly uncomfortable.
‘The spinet is a lady’s instrument. I’m sure our hostess or Mother would be far happier to play. Besides, I’ve brought no music,’ he finished with sudden relief.
‘Enid can’t play. I’m paying someone to teach her, though,’ Pettigrew said cheerfully. ‘And as for music— take your pick. There’s a room full of the stuff next door. One copy of everything in the shop—you’re bound to find something you like, young Philip!’
Jack stood up and laughed. ‘He won’t need it. We used to pick out our own versions well enough once upon a time, didn’t we, Phil? Let’s see if we’ve still got the knack.’
He went over to the spinet and plonked his fingers down anyhow on the keys. A jarring chord twanged through the room, causing Pettigrew to gasp in agitation.
‘Is it all right? It didn’t do that in the shop...’
Pickersgill’s guffaw at this remark did the trick. Philip got up and strolled towards his friend and the keyboard.
‘One tune, and one only.’ He caught at Jack’s sleeve as his friend backed off with a grin. ‘Don’t think you’re getting away with it, either. We’ll do it together, as in the old days.’
Swinging a rout chair over to place beside the spinet stool,Philip sat down. Jack took his place next to his friend and the other guests drew around.
After a brief consultation, their own version of Scarlatti’s Sonata in E was decided upon. It wasn’t exactly a duet—Jack was to play the right-hand parts while Philip filled in with the left.
‘Jack and I had an old spinet in the rooms we used to share. It’s amazing what distractions can be devised to avoid studying,’ Philip explained with a smile, but Madeleine noticed that he looked about at everyone but her.
Their amusement was short-lived. Once the first notes began dancing through the air all talk stoppedd. Even without sheet music to follow, the performance was good. The volume rose and fell with real feeling, with long practice and concentration keeping both players in strict time.
There was a pause in the music, and in that pause came a different sound. Another carriage was rumbling down the drive towards the house. As Scarlatti whispered back to life from the spinet so Pettigrew looked up sharply, turning to the window. In the same instant that Mrs Pettigrew gasped in recognition. Jack stopped playing and stood up.
With barely a hesitation Philip picked up Jack’s part and continued alone. No one apart from Madeleine was listening now. While Philip concentrated upon his playing, the others were looking out of the window with a mixture of delight and anticipation.
He finished the piece, laying his fingers on the keys for a final sweet refrain. As the notes evaporated, so an unmistakable squeal of girlish laughter rose from outside.
Madeleine knew that sound. She swung around to follow everyone else’s gaze and saw Kitty Pettigrew tumbling out of a pink-painted coach and waving at them all.
Music had started again. Philip began a second piece, the economical movements of his fingers over the keys bringing an even sweeter sound from the instrument.
He began to hurry the tune a little, timing it to finish as the Pettigrews’ butler formally announced Kitty’s return. As Philip’s fingers spread over a last chord, Kitty burst into the room, all fluttering feathers and ribbons and outlandish bonnet.
‘I’m home! Oh, thank goodness—I’m home!’
Everyone, including Madeleine, cooed their delight. English hypocrisy was evidently catching, for Madeleine had rarely felt less like cooing. Nor did she want to be kissed by Kitty Pettigrew, who after half smothering her parents was now doing the rounds in expansive style.
Madeleine watched her let Sir Edwin ooze over her and felt positively sick. He was nothing but a horrible old villain—the girl must be unnatural. Fortunately, in the round of greetings Kitty reached Philip first, which saved Madeleine from having to be nice to her at close quarters.
‘Philip! How absolutely lovely!’
He stood, and they embraced. Madeleine noticed there seemed little of his usual reticence in the way he sealed his friendship with Kitty. Albert Pettigrew beamed with delight at the intimate little scene.
After gazing at Philip for several moments, Kitty extracted half a dozen jewelled hat pins from the confection on her head and tossed it on to a chair.
‘How about some more music, then? A bit of Bach, like at the sub we all went to in Paris, Philip?’
‘Oho,’ Mr Pettigrew beamed with delight, ‘that was what you two young things got up to, was it? You’ll have to tell me all about it, Kitty!’
Kitty was dancing with impatience as she hopped around Philip, waiting for him to play again. Everything about her was perfect—tiny hands and feet, a cloud of blonde curls and a little rosebud pout. Even the colour of her gown exactly matched the china-blue of her eyes.
Philip seemed generally unmoved by events. Sitting down once more, he played as a soft accompaniment while Kitty told them all how Paris was nothing but a den of brigands now.
‘Foreigners—can’t trust half of them!’ Kitty looked at Madeleine as she spoke. ‘I’m surprised Mistress Constance took you in, mademoiselle. We English are usually so particular about fraternising with the natives. Oh, come on there, Philip—you’re as bad as Michael, messing about. Let’s have a proper tune!’
She clapped her hands on to his shoulders and bent to peer at the spinet. No one spoke, and in that instant a cold and horrible thought gripped Madeleine. Kitty and Michael?
Kitty?
Very slowly, Philip stood up. ‘Later, perhaps,’ he said with a smile, stepping away from the spinet. ‘I think you should have some refreshment first, Miss Kitty.’
‘Tea—yes, it must be time for tea!’ Pettigrew flapped, fanning conversations into sudden and noisy life. With a whistle and clap of his hands footmen were sent scurrying out to bring in the tea trolleys.
Madeleine had thought she was quite prepared to give up her place in Philip’s sphere without a fight. She might love him, but his sort married girls like Kitty, or Leonora Wright. Nice girls, without a stain on their characters or a fib to their names. Now Madeleine was wondering if she wasn’t the only one hiding a secret past.
That hesitation when Kitty mentioned Michael’s name...Madeleine remembered something similar from Mistress Constance’s talk of Kitty’s abandonment. Surely Kitty and the girl that Michael had ruined couldn’t be one and the same?
Things like that didn’t happen to girls like Kitty.
Madeleine watched the little blonde girl wrinkling her nose and giggling at Sir Edwin Pickersgill’s whispers. She felt distinctly uneasy. Not at what might be said— even if Sir Edwin told everything he knew. Madeleine hadn’t had a good reputation to start with, although he wasn’t to know that.
No. What made Madeleine uneasy was Kitty Pettigrew.
Madeleine took refuge in strolling about the room with Jack. As they filled their tea plates, she couldn’t help but toss a casual question into their conversation.
‘Miss Kitty doesn’t have any qualms about bringing up Master Michael’s name?’
Jack laughed as he served Madeleine with some salmon slices from a distant plate. ‘I don’t think Kitty is in the least bit sensitive about the matter. Others keep silent because of their own embarrassment rather than hers, I think.’
Knowing that she had to tread carefully, Madeleine thought out her next words before speaking.
‘If Master Michael had a reputation for the ladies half as formidable as yours, Jack, then perhaps she always expected him to stray!’
‘Michael? Stray?’ Jack was incredulous. ‘He was absolutely besotted with her. She was certainly the only girl for him. Kitty can be a bit of an acquired taste, it’s true, but I can’t think what she could have done to make him jilt her out of the blue—mademoiselle, it’s a very sad story! Why are you smiling?’
Madeleine at once put on a soulful expression. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I was only thinking how changed Master Philip’s life would be if only his brother could be found and brought back to the farm.’
‘Little hope of that, I think. There’s nothing left in England for Michael now. Only Mr Pettigrew’s wrath at having had Willowbury snatched from Kitty’s grasp. Still, old Albert’s pretty determined to snaffle Phil for her now, instead!’
He grinned, but Madeleine’s mind was too busy with plans to make much conversation as they went back to their seats. If she was cunning, there might be a way to rid Philip Adamson of the burden of Willowbury and settle his debts at the same time.
The fact it would also finish Mr Pettigrew’s dreams of Philip Adamson marrying his daughter was a delicious bonus.
Her plan would mean, too, that the way would be clear for Leonora Wright to become the future Mrs Adamson. If Madeleine had to lose him at all, at least it could be to someone half decent.
The tea-party struggled on for another uncomfortable hour. Madeleine spent her time trying to avoid the clutches of Sir Edwin Pickersgill, and hoping Philip could see for himself what a scoundrel the old roué really was.
Everyone was glad to leave, although they took care not to show it. Only when the carriage was safely away from Highlands did Jack, the parson and Mistress Constance all heave a huge sigh of relief. The three started to talk at once, but Madeleine had far too much to think about to join in.
To judge by his bleak expression Philip was doing a lot of thinking, too. He was silent for the entire journey, and spoke only to bid farewell to Jack and the parson when they left Willowbury.
‘Oh, thank goodness that’s over!’ Mistress Constance laughed as they struggled through the mass of dogs greeting their return. ‘At least Jack and Reverend Wright were willing to put themselves out. Without them, I don’t know what we should have done!’
‘It’s shameful the way the county treats Pettigrew,’ Adamson muttered, handing his hat to Betsy before crossing to the library door. ‘I have an idea for making amends, though. If we might discuss it, Mother—’
‘Not now,’ Mistress Constance dabbed her forehead in a flutter. ‘After such a frightful afternoon I simply must rest if I’m to do justice to my dinner...’
‘Very well.’ Swinging the library door open, he gave Madeleine a penetrating look. ‘In that case you will have no need of mademoiselle for an hour or so. I had it in mind to catalogue all our books—’
‘I don’t know if Madeleine’s English is quite up to that!’ Mistress Constance giggled again. ‘Entertain her by all means, Philip, but there’s no need to feel duty bound to work. We’ve done a few little lessons in reading and writing, but—’
‘It will be copying. Serious matters, but necessary.’
Madeleine wasn’t going to argue with that tone. She walked smartly into the library while Mistress Constance teased her son for needing an excuse to spend time alone with a young lady.
The library was still, and very quiet. Madeleine had left her fan with Betsy, so she had nothing to occupy her hands. It was bound to be an apology for doubting her about Sir Edwin. As the sound of the library door shut out everything but Philip’s steady footsteps on the tiles she looked down at the tangle of crumpled lace that had once been her neatly ironed handkerchief. Now it was damp with embarrassment.
‘I don’t know what to say, mademoiselle. Sir Edwin...’