Mistletoe Mischief

Chapter 31

On entering his lodgings, Oliver was startled to find Ralph waiting for him. The two friends looked bemusedly at each other's appearance. Oliver was taken aback by Ralph's colorful chin, and Ralph was astonished to see Oliver's soaking, muddy clothes, grazed forehead, battered nose, bruised chin, ashen face, and limping walk. To say nothing of the way he trembled from head to toe as if he had just seen a ghost.

'Oliver, what in God's own name has happened to you?' Ralph gasped.

Oliver's man had entered the room with him, intending to divest him of his wet clothes, but now Oliver waved him away. 'Give us five minutes,' he said.

'Sir.' The man withdrew, and closed the door.

Oliver went over to the decanter of cognac and poured himself a very large measure, which he drained in one gulp. Then he poured another, and closed his eyes as he tried to quiet the terror that still pounded through him. The cognac burned its way down his throat, and he began to master himself. He had imagined it all! Yes, of course he had. Ladders were inanimate objects! It was all the fault of Ralph's eastern tincture, a little of which he had found in his valise and had foolishly sampled before going out. What happened to Megan was the fault of the tincture as well. It certainly wasn't his fault…

'What happened?' Ralph asked again as he helped himself to the decanter.

'I might ask the same question of you,' Oliver replied, and flung himself on a sofa.

'Sophia happened to me,' Ralph said.

'And an overturn in the curricle happened to me,' Oliver murmured. 'When did you and Sophia arrive?'

'Ah, well, that's a vexing point,' Ralph replied. 'I'm here, but she isn't. I have decided she needs a little punishment.'

'More than the mere fact of being your wife? What can she have done?' Oliver remarked dryly.

Ralph colored a little. 'If you must know, it's about that business in Bath. Sophia thinks I pounced upon my dear mama's damned companion!'

'As if you would be guilty of such a heinous crime,' Oliver murmured.

'I can't believe I gave her a second glance, for she is a very drab piece.'

'A drab piece who just happens to be my cousin,' Oliver said.

Ralph stared at him. 'Your what?'

'My cousin. Oh, don't fear I will call you out on her behalf, for nothing could be farther from my mind. Indeed, I wish now that you had succeeded in having your way with her, for it is no more than she warrants. The little viper has caused me a great deal of trouble.'

'I-I had no idea she was your kinswoman.'

'Nor did I at first. When you originally told me about events in Bath, you didn't mention her name. I soon realized, however, when Lady Jane Strickland's former companion turned up here in Brighton, having been employed by Lady Evangeline Radcliffe, that she was in fact my cousin.'

Ralph's jaw dropped. 'Here in Brighton, you say?'

'I fear so, and doing very nicely, for she appears to have caught the eye of no less a fellow than Sir Greville Seton.'

'Seton? But he could have his pick!'

'I know. Quaint, is it not?' Oliver murmured, and shook his glass at Ralph to refill it. 'However, perhaps it would be prudent of you to keep out of his way for the foreseeable future, because one simply never knows what he might have been told.'

Ralph was liberal with the cognac, and then went to the window to look out. 'I intend to keep well out of everyone's way while I'm here, not just his. I wish him well of her.'

'My sentiments precisely,' Oliver said, swirling his cognac and thinking about Megan lying so very still in the snow. He didn't know if she was alive or dead, and now that the cognac was giving him courage, he didn't care. No one had seen him at Radcliffe House, so no one would connect him with what befell Megan Mortimer.

Ralph drew a long breath. 'Anyway, I've come here secretly, in the hope that you and I could enjoy an idle Christmas together. Unless, of course, you intend to mope around after that Holcroft wench to the detriment of all else?'

'My association with Chloe Holcroft is very definitely over. She has decided she wishes to be Lady Rupert Radcliffe after all.'

Ralph was pleased to hear it. 'So you are at a loose end?'

'Er, not quite.' Sybil's voice seemed to echo in Oliver's head. Cooee, cooee…!

'There is someone new?'

Oliver got up. 'In a manner of speaking. Oh, I'll tell you by and by, I'm not in the mood to stomach talking about her now.'.

Ralph looked at him in surprise, but said nothing more.

Oliver grinned suddenly. 'I have an excellent notion to cheer you up. What do you say to a little visit to Lewes, followed by a shampoo at Mahomed's Baths?'

'I'd say it sounds like an excellent notion.'

'Good. I'll clean up and change now, then we can leave immediately. I'll have my man go around to the baths to see that they expect us later.'

Fifteen minutes after that, they set off for Lewes in the curricle.

More than an hour had passed, and Megan lay very still in her bed. Her eyes were closed, and her nut-brown hair was brushed loose over the lavender-scented pillow. A footman had earlier been sent to those same baths that Oliver and Ralph later intended to grace with their dubious presence.

Sheikh Deen Mahomed was renowned for his skills with medicine because he had trained as a surgeon with the East India Company, and he hurried to Radcliffe House the moment the message arrived. He was a short, dark- skinned, dark-eyed man of fifty-seven, who always wore an embroidered blue satin robe, sleeveless emerald velvet coat, and golden turban. After attending to the wound at the back of Megan's head, he administered laudanum to make her more comfortable, and then declared that nothing more could be done except to wait. He was hopeful, however, and reassured everyone that he did not think Megan had come to any lasting harm.

Only when this had been announced did Greville leave to find Oliver, intending to exact full retribution for what had been done. He refused to permit either Rupert or Sir Jocelyn to accompany him, for this was something he needed to do alone. A chilling fury beset him as he strode through the snow in the fading afternoon light. The Steine was almost deserted now, except for a lamplighter and his boy going about their business, and a post chaise that had just arrived outside Garsington House. Tonight was the occasion of the soiree musicale, and the sound of Sigismund's hautbois could be heard because the door of the house stood open, the occupant of the post chaise having clearly just gone inside.

Suddenly Sybil's shrill voice shuddered out on to the quiet Steine. 'Cooee, Mama! Come quickly! And you, Thigithmund!'

The hautbois broke off mid note, and then there came a wailing female voice that was so like Sybil's as to be virtually indistinguishable. 'Oh, Mama! Mama! Walph hath left me!'

Greville recognized it as belonging to Sophia Strickland. So Ralph had upped and gone, eh? It was as well for him, because after Oliver he was next on the list of those due for reprisals. Megan had suffered greatly at both men's hands, and the time for just deserts had arrived! Greville strode on, his eyes hard with determination.

But when he reached Oliver's lodgings, he found his prey was not at home. Oliver's man, who was used to covering up, pretended at first that he knew nothing of his master's whereabouts, but when pinned to the wall by the throat with a fist of iron, he quickly divulged the visit to the Lewes bordello and the booking for Mahomed's Baths. Greville was pleased to learn that Ralph Strickland had descended upon Oliver. Two vile birds to be dealt with by a single stone, he thought. He decided to wait until the visit to the baths. Why endure the discomfort of a ride through the snow to Lewes when his quarries were going to obligingly return to Brighton? So, after warning