Chapter Six

It had been two days since the alarming line of men had appeared outside their doors and Mr. Penny had braced himself for every hour of it. The earl came and went from the house and each time he returned, Mr. Penny wondered if he’d heard something. So far, nothing had been said. Or shouted, as the case was likely to be.

The butler took to pacing the house but he did not walk the square, lest he encounter one of his colleagues. He waited for the emergency summons from The League that he knew would come eventually.

And then it had come.

He was in no doubt as to what the emergency summons was about. If there had been any hope that somehow all those men at the door had gone unnoticed, that hope had not lasted long.

Mr. Penny had seen for himself the signs of gossip in the air, though the family appeared blithely unaware of anything untoward.

Twice, when he’d been looking out a window, he’d noted a carriage of finely dressed people slowly passing by the house and staring. A lady in one of the carriages had even pointed.

They were sightseeing. They had taken a special route to view the house that had just recently seen an alarming line of men in front of it.

What the associated story going round was, he did not know.

What he did know, though, was gossip always sprung up like spring flowers. Ladies going from drawing room to drawing room were the bees—pollinating with new invented facts and wild ideas and stinging as they saw fit.

Whatever the prevailing story, he could assure himself that one or more of his colleagues in The League had heard it and was poised to inform him of it.

Mrs. Belkey had laid the tea and closed the door behind her.

“Gracious!” Mr. Rennington cried. “What are we to do?”

Mr. Penny was alarmed at Mr. Rennington’s alarm. The fellow was always nervous, what with the housekeeper he had to put up with, but now he seemed on the verge of collapse.

“It’s all up for Lady Madeline, I’m afraid,” Mr. Feldstaffer said.

All up? What on earth—

“I presume you know what is being said, Mr. Penny,” Mr. Browning said gravely.

“What do the earl and countess say to it, I wonder,” Mr. Harkinson said, seeming, as always, satisfied to be examining someone else’s disaster.

“I do not know what is being said,” Mr. Penny said, “other than to know there is some story going round. I have seen people…driving by.”

“Sightseeing!” Mr. Wilburn said.

“Yes, I am afraid so,” Mr. Penny said. “But the earl and countess have heard nothing, nor have I.”

Mr. Feldstaffer shook his head sadly. “The parties involved are always the last to know. Everybody else likes to talk to each other about what they heard, but nobody wants to look the people involved straight in the eye about it.”

“Perhaps we might remedy that by somebody looking me straight in the eye?” Mr. Penny asked, his tone more acerbic than usual.

Mr. Browning nodded gravely. It occurred to Mr. Penny that Mr. Browning was almost always nodding gravely. He must have been a terribly grave child.

“Very well,” Mr. Browning said. “It seems the prevailing story is that Lady Madeline put an advertisement in the newspaper for herself, as she is determined to wed a schoolmaster. It is said she is obsessed with the idea of running her own school.”

“Becoming a schoolmistress, as it were,” Mr. Harkinson said.

Mr. Penny took a moment to allow that idea to settle in his mind. As with all gossip, there was a small thread of truth woven into the weft. The cloth produced was not factual, but it would seem so.

The outrageousness was not so much in wishing to run a school, though that was ludicrous enough, but for advertising for a suitor! The daughter of an earl advertising for a husband…it was, well it was outrageous.

What would the earl do when he heard this preposterous story? The countess had ensured that he knew nothing of any men lining the square. He’d been safely away at his club when it had all transpired. How long would it hold?

They could not stay in London with such talk going about. But then, if Lady Madeline were taken back to Norfolk, she’d end up right back at the village school, which was the root of all this nonsense.

“Mr. Penny,” Mr. Wilburn said, “we have always had an idea of how to proceed on any particular matter, but I do not think we do at this moment.”

“It’s hopeless,” Mr. Feldstaffer said.

Mr. Penny ignored that sentiment, as Mr. Feldstaffer found everything in the whole world hopeless. He also ignored Mr. Harkinson, who was chewing on a biscuit and seeming to enjoy himself.

There must be something they could do. How did one fight gossip?

Mr. Penny squeezed his eyes shut to better think. In all his experience, the only time he’d ever witnessed what he called a tables-turned moment in retaliation for gossip had been years ago.

The two butchers in the village had always been in fierce competition. Mr. Lightman and Mr. Reppart were very different fellows. Mr. Lightman was lithe and persnickety and gave off the idea that he considered himself a gentleman, despite being a butcher. Mr. Reppart was a great beast of a man who would pick a person up by the neck if he were irritated and whose apron was forever bloodstained.

Mr. Lightman put it about that Mr. Reppart was dealing in poached rabbits. Nobody particularly believed it, or even cared if it were true. The story might have drifted by as just an annoying whisper in the wind.

Mr. Reppart was not at all inclined to allow it to pass by. He answered the gossip by positing that Mr. Lightman was always thinking of poaching because his wife had been poached on account of his inability to perform his husbandly duties.

It had been a very heavy-handed response! However, people found it amusing so it was oft repeated and Mr. Lightman ended being nicknamed Mr. Limpman, which made Mr. Penny blush even thinking of it. The couple moved out of the area in a matter of months.

Mr. Penny had always supposed the point to be understood in that story was ‘do not tangle with Mr. Reppart.’ But now a new idea came to him. Hit gossip with more gossip and hit back hard.

“Mr. Penny,” Mr. Rennington said, “are you ill? Or falling asleep for some reason?”

Mr. Penny opened his eyes. “What I believe we need in this case, gentlemen,” he said, “is a villain.”

“A villain!” Mr. Rennington cried.

“Mr. Penny,” Mr. Browning said, “I fail to see why The League would look for a villain. We do not approve of villains, as a general thing.”

“Just adding fuel to the fire, in my view,” Mr. Harkinson said.

“Perhaps Mr. Penny could elaborate on why we would look for a villain?” Mr. Wilburn said. “That way, we can understand if our esteemed colleague has had an epiphany, or is experiencing an unfortunate derangement of the mind.”

Mr. Penny nodded. “We must fight gossip with gossip. What if a mysterious villain was the one who put that advertisement in the newspaper? An unsuccessful suitor who sought revenge?”

“Oh I see,” Mr. Browning said thoughtfully. “We turn Lady Madeline into a hapless victim.”

“Just so,” Mr. Penny said, thinking the lady was rather hapless. His thoughts began to pick up speed like a carriage on the downhill. “A powerful man, used to always getting his way, is enraged that his suit is denied.”

“And he did it to embarrass her and show her the sort of man he thought she deserved,” Mr. Wilburn said.

“A lot of awful men,” Mr. Harkinson said. “I saw them all out there.”

“We all saw them,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “I’m surprised they left without robbing somebody.”

“I did not stay out of doors to risk it!” Mr. Rennington said. “Though, Mrs. McFarland was out there staring with her beady eyes. She’s got very beady eyes!”

Nobody made comment on Mr. Rennington’s housekeeper’s beady eyes.

“We will call him Lord M, just as the newspapers often disguise a name,” Mr. Penny said.

“We can put it out far and wide,” Mr. Browning said.

“Perhaps we even tip off the newspapers?” Mr. Wilburn said. “After all, this story is now widely known so we would not be revealing anything that could still be hidden.”

“We will just be providing the explanation for it all.”

“I suppose you’ll have to tell your earl,” Mr. Feldstaffer said.

“Gracious, I will do no such thing,” Mr. Penny said. “I will leave it to the countess to explain why she never mentioned the line of men who turned up that morning. I am certain she’ll think of something clever.”

“Yes, that’s what I would do,” Mr. Rennington said. “Keep one’s head down to avoid the swinging broom.”

Of course, everyone knew Mr. Rennington spoke of Mrs. McFarland again.

Mr. Penny was not altogether relieved to have come up with a plan, but he supposed he was as relieved as he could possibly be at such a moment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Henderson,” Owen said, “none of it makes sense. I mean, all right, Lady Madeline is a bit obsessed with impoverished pupils and her charity, but she has not uttered one word about wishing to be a schoolmistress. As for advertising for a schoolmaster to wed, the whole idea is too absurd.”

“Do women ever make sense?” Henderson said.

“Yes, they usually do, in my experience.”

“I was only thinking of the duchess’ roses. Every spring…”

It was true that his mother was obsessed with her roses and that she had trained the duke to seem equally interested, though he did not give a toss about them. She was also a bit blinded by her son’s charms, such as they were, and prone to overestimate them. However, in most things his mother was sensible enough.

“My mother’s roses are not a very reliable yardstick to measure all of womanhood.”

Henderson rolled his eyes, as he was in the habit of doing when he wished to disagree but did not wish to state his disagreement.

“I suppose you might simply ask Lady Madeline about it,” his valet said. “Get to the bottom of this bit of gossip, as it were.”

“Well I’ll have to, won’t I?” Owen said. “For one, my mother and father have not heard this preposterous story yet—they certainly would have said if they had. But they will hear it and Lady Madeline is invited to dine here. I would not put it past the duke to wish her uninvited. She is already in his bad books for wanting to fund impoverished pupils.”

“Why should poor pupils put her in the duke’s bad books?” Henderson asked.

“The French nobility.”

“Ah yes, the French nobility,” Henderson said, nodding.

Everybody in the house knew of the duke’s opinion of educating working people—it could only lead to the guillotine. Most of the staff found it highly amusing, as they were working people and knew how to read and write. None of them had thought to set up a guillotine because of it.

Owen had since left the house and left strict instructions with Henderson to keep an ear to the ground about what the servants knew about the story going round about Lady Madeline. As soon as the duchess’ lady’s maid or the duke’s valet got wind of it, his mother and father would be speedily apprised.

He hoped to be able to get ahead of those two people and present the story as something less alarming than it currently was.

Owen had made his way to Lady Reddington’s house on horseback, and he was glad he did. The line of carriages was long for her Join Forces rout. Any self-respecting member of the ton must be seen to arrive with pocketfuls of coins and give generously. Nobody wished to be labeled stingy and uncharitable.

He’d handed over his horse and gone in, determined to speedily locate the room that hosted Lady Madeline’s charity, and locate the lady herself.

A footman had directed him. As he entered that particular room, he had a very odd feeling. The crowd parted for him and there seemed to be whispers all round, though he could not make them out.

He strode forward to her table, though Lady Madeline did not at this moment attend it.

There was the paper describing the charity, propped up and writ in large letters. The Fund for Impoverished Pupils—

Recognizing and Realizing all Human Potential.

Founded by Lady Madeline Cole, esteemed daughter of the Earl and Countess of Winthrop, this fund will be judiciously applied to the schooling supplies and fees for promising pupils who without such financial support could not continue with their studies.

There was a bucket placed nearby for the coins.

The bucket was surprisingly full. Owen had been a little concerned that it would not be. After all, the lady was newly arrived in Town and would not be well known. Then, there would be some who would take views similar to his father’s own—that educating people who would not usually have access to it was dangerous. And worst of all, the gossip going round about the lady may have reached far.

He reached into his pocket and put in two guineas.

“Returning to the scene of the crime, eh?” a voice behind him said.

He turned and found Lord Gentry there. What was the fop going on about?

“What?” Owen said.

“Come now, you know,” Lord Gentry said laughing.

“I am afraid I do not,” Owen said coldly. Was he somehow hinting about the gossip going round about Lady Madeline? Did he somehow accuse her of some crime? If he did, well, Owen might be forced to threaten the buffoon with an early morning meeting on a green.

Behind Lord Gentry, his friend Sir Jonathan appeared. “Souderton, I would speak with you a moment.”

Owen looked at him expectantly.

“In private.”

Owen was a little perturbed by several things—how amused Gentry seemed, how serious Sir Jonathan looked, and how it appeared that everybody else in the room was staring at him and attempting to listen.

What was going on? Whatever it was, he could at least depend upon Sir Jonathan to inform him of it, rather than hint around like Gentry was doing.

He nodded, and Sir Jonathan had him by the arm and led him out of the room.

Owen thought they might stop in the hall, but Sir Jonathan insisted on going out on the dark balcony.

“I wonder if you have heard the story going round about Lady Madeline?” Sir Jonathan said.

“I have heard it and it is ridiculous. Certainly, nobody believes that she was advertising to find herself a schoolmaster husband.”

“No, nobody does believe that.”

“Excellent. I was hoping society would see the nonsense in it.”

Sir Jonathan stared at him. “My God, you haven’t heard all.”

“All? What is all?”

“The initial story that went round was that of Lady Madeline wishing to wed a schoolmaster. That, however, has been replaced by another version. It is said that a failed suitor placed the advertisement as revenge.”

“That is dastardly! Who was it?”

Sir Jonathan sat down on the balustrade. “The who in this case is presumed to be…you.”

Owen sank down next to Sir Jonathan. “Me? How can it be me? I would never do such a thing.”

“I know it, but not everybody knows it. Or, if they do know it, they have chosen to ignore it in favor of entertaining gossip. Apparently, a story turned up in The Morning Post. The villain in question was named as Lord M.”

“There, it cannot be me that is accused. I would be named Lord S.”

“Yes, so one would think. As it was explained to me, there is no Lord M of suitable age and so the leap has been made to assume the M stands for marquess. It seems this makes a deal of sense because it is also said that she insulted you at Almack’s and you were angered by it.”

“I will not deny that we got off to a somewhat rocky start at Almack’s, but she did not offer an outright insult and I was only irritated, not angered. In any case, all of that has been smoothed over. This story is preposterous.”

Sir Jonathan rubbed his chin. “You could always use my house in Brighton, if you wished to get out of Town and lay low somewhere.”

“Lay low?”

“Until this nonsense dies down. It will, you know. There is always the next bit of gossip to come along. You did wish to confound your parents’ matchmaking schemes this season, so perhaps it is a blessing in disguise?”

“No, certainly not,” Owen said, “I will not run away and hide. And, as to my wishes regarding anything to do with my future, well, my attitude may have shifted somewhat.”

“Has it?”

“Perhaps.”

“If that is the case, the lady you have settled on, and her mother and father, will need some sort of explanation for how you got tangled up in this mess with Lady Madeline. I do not suppose whoever you have in mind will like to hear of her intended being connected to this particular gossip. She will not like to believe that her gentleman was just recently in pursuit of Lady Madeline, became incensed over being rebuffed, and took such a lowly action to punish her. She will have to think of herself as a second choice, and she will have to think of you as unreliable and of dubious temperament.”

“Yes, well as to that…actually…the ladies you refer to are one and the same. They are both Lady Madeline.”

“Really?” Sir Jonathan said, looking very surprised to hear it. “I thought you did not, well I assumed…how did it happen?”

“I have no idea, really,” Owen said. “It’s just that she’s so interesting and pretty and there is something about her—well I find myself thinking of her all the time.”

Sir Jonathan nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly how it starts. When I saw Lady Michaels for the first time last season, my mind said this lady is drowning in ruffles and bows. She was Miss Semper then and appeared faintly ridiculous. My heart, despite the ruffles, was slayed.”

“And it’s worked out all right? Lady Michaels has proved a genial wife?” Owen asked.

“More than all right, I would say,” Sir Jonathan said. “Yes, if you prefer Lady Madeline you must get on with it and not allow this gossip going round to stand in your way.”

“It does not stand in my way, but what do her parents say to all this? What does she say to it? Who actually put an advertisement in the newspapers and seemingly included her address? Certainly, she would not have done it herself.”

“No, it seems unlikely,” Sir Jonathan said. “Why would a young lady invite dozens of strange men to her home? But that raises the question—it was not you, so who was it?”

They sat on the balustrade, both thinking of who might wish to damage Lady Madeline’s reputation.

Owen’s head snapped up. “What if the advertisement was not meant to ruin the lady, but to weaken her standing? What if someone who knew he was not quite up to snuff wished to take her down a peg or two and then step in as the rescuing hero?”

“What gentleman would stoop to such a thing?” Sir Jonathan asked.

“I can think of two offhand,” Owen said. “Gentry is as broke as a smashed carriage wheel and Lord Bumbledon, well he is not much to look at and as stuffed a shirt as they come. Both of those fellows might have an eye on Lady Madeline and decided to tip scales in their favor.”

“I never liked Gentry, he is a bit of a fop,” Sir Jonathan said.

“That’s what I think—foppish!”

“I do not know Lord Bumbledon.”

“Good for you, he is tedious. When I was introduced to him, he said we would not have encountered one another before because he traveled in intellectual circles, where he was quite well known.”

“I see, one of those.”

“Yes, one of those.”

“It seems we need a plan to uncover who is at the bottom of this,” Sir Jonathan said.

“Perhaps a visit to the newspaper’s offices that ran the advertisement and demand to know who placed it.”

“That is a very good idea. It may turn out to be the only idea we need. We could get right to the bottom of it. We visit the offices of The Morning Post and demand answers.”

“Agreed,” Owen said. “I will collect you at one o’clock on the morrow?”

Sir Jonathan rose and said, “Very good. I will be off to find Lady Michaels now. My dear wife is a very charitable sort of person and I’d best make sure she has not mortgaged our estate because her heart strings have been pulled.”

Owen nodded. “I will seek out Lady Madeline.”

“Should you? Before we have unraveled this gordian knot of gossip?”

“Why not? She cannot believe I would have anything to do with it,” Owen said. He hoped he was right about that. Lady Madeline had not known him as long as Sir Jonathan had, but she must see that he could never do such a thing.