Mistletoe Mischief

Oliver's man not to mention his visit, Greville returned to Radcliffe House.

During his absence, Megan had stirred briefly out of unconsciousness. She saw the locket shining at Evangeline's throat as she leaned in concern over the bed, and the mistletoe posy lying upon the bedside table with the unfinished volume of The Castle of Otranto, but then the darkness returned.

Evangeline wasn't alone in the room, for Rupert, Chloe, and Sir Jocelyn were there too, as well as Rollo, of course, but only Evangeline knew he was there. Sir Jocelyn was furious that he had not only permitted Oliver to pay court to Chloe, but had actually offered him the hospitality of his house. With hindsight, Chloe's father was hugely sorry that he had not paid more attention to his instincts where Mr. Oliver March was concerned.

Chloe was very upset by the full extent of Oliver's misdeeds. 'Oh, how could I ever have been so naive as to actually think I loved him! Not even Sybil Garsington deserves such a monster!' she said, wiping her tears with her lace-edged handkerchief as she stood by the window, looking out into the gathering darkness.

Rupert went to her. 'You weren't to know, sweetheart,' he whispered, pulling her close and putting his lips to her short golden curls.

'How he must have laughed when he found me so easy to humbug!'

'Laughed? Chloe, the villain is in love with you!' Rupert replied, taking her face in his hands. 'The only good thing I can say of March is that he lost his black heart to a veritable jewel of womanhood.'

'Would that he had never set eyes upon me,' she whispered, and slipped her arms around his waist.

'Greville will make him pay his dues,' Rupert promised.

Chloe drew back at that. 'Violence is not the answer, we have only to look at Megan to know that!'

'Yes, but-'

'No, Rupert. I hope Greville does not find Oliver, and that when he returns here I will be able to dissuade him from further action.' She glanced tearfully toward the bed. 'Oh, please let Megan recover soon! Please let all be well again!' She hid her face against Rupert's shoulder.

Evangeline straightened from the bedside, and turned to Sir Jocelyn. 'I too am most unhappy that Greville has gone off after Mr. March as he has, Jocelyn.'

'He was impossible to hold back, my dear,' he reminded her.

'I know. I have never seen him in such an icy fury before. He was so controlled it was really quite frightening.'

'I hope he thrashes March within an inch of his miserable life,' Sir Jocelyn declared calmly.

'And be dragged before a court? What good will that do, pray?'

Rollo had been listening. ' 'Frailty thy name is woman,' ' he murmured, being in full agreement with Sir Jocelyn.

Evangeline rounded upon the sound of his voice. 'Better to be a frail but living woman than a rash but dead man!' she cried. 'Or an extinct Restoration actor!' she added.

Everyone turned to look at her, but this time without question, for they all accepted that Master Rollo Witherspoon was there after all. Before leaving to beard Oliver in his den, Greville had briefly told them all that Megan had been talking to the ghost as well, but he made no mention of Belle Bevington because Evangeline still had to perform her task without knowing why. However, he had informed Evangeline that the specter required her presence at the church.

Rollo was offended to be termed an extinct Restoration actor. 'Mistress, it ill behooves you to heap scorn upon my predicament.'

She was a little contrite. 'Well, maybe so, but you are a very annoying spirit at times. However, Greville has informed me that you need me to go to St. Nicholas's before Christmas Day is over, and I hereby give you my word that I will do so. Will that serve as recompense for my sharp tongue?'

Joy was evident in Rollo's reply. 'Oh, yes, mistress! A thousand times yes!'

Evangeline returned her attention to the bed, and put a tender hand to Megan's face. 'And when you are better, my dear, I will tell you all about your dear father and me,' she whispered, then looked at the others and added, 'But it is time to tell the rest of you now.'

Chapter 32

It was well into the evening, and guests had begun to arrive for Lord and Lady Garsington's soiree musicale. The family was in disarray, not only because Sophia had sobbed constantly since she arrived, but because Sigismund had disappeared. He had gone out earlier without saying where he was going, and had yet to return. His parents and sisters could only console themselves that he had not taken a carriage or saddle horse, and was therefore still in Brighton. There was hope yet that at the appointed hour the Garsington ensemble would be complete.

The arriving guests were agog to see how Sybil went on today after treating them to such a pantomime the night before. Brighton opinion had now generally settled into apportioning equal blame between Sybil and Oliver, deeming them to richly deserve each other. The trouble was that Sybil was simply not the sort of young woman with whom one could sympathize, for she seemed to go out of her way to make an exhibition of herself. She hadn't seemed in the least concerned by what had happened at the ball and, after her loud remarks about succumbing to complete temptation, had escaped her family's clutches to gleefully gallop her way through a boisterous country- dance. Then she had drunk several glasses of champagne in quick succession before her exasperated father and brother seized her. It was a sad but true fact that Ralph Strickland's eastern tincture was only the partial cause of all this embarrassing behavior, because Sybil Garsington was quite simply an awful young woman, and tonight she was still unabashed. She took Oliver's submission for granted, and spoke of him as if he would arrive at any moment.

Sophia was just as awful, and wore a puce taffeta gown that clashed most horribly with Sybil's vermilion satin. The sisters looked very alike, sounded alike, and shared a propensity for indiscretion. Sophia frequently sank into a chair or sofa, flapping her fan for a glass of lemonade, and sighing tearfully that Ralph was the very tragedy of her life, which meant that her marital difficulties were soon common knowledge.

The omnipresent Mr. Mellish-as ever first with the best tidbits of gossip-swore he had seen Ralph Strickland in Brighton that very day, driving toward Lewes with Oliver March. And, of course, with a little help from that same Mr. Mellish, everyone was soon hazarding an educated guess as to why those two gentlemen were en route for that particular destination!

It was as well that neither Sophia nor Sybil heard these gleeful whispers. Sybil stayed close to her sister, and from time to time could be heard above the babble of conversation. 'Cooee, Mama! Papa! Thofia ith in a decline again!' At which Lord Garsington's suppressed winces and Lady Garsington's fixed smiles were absolute models of silent fortitude. Not that they were due any sympathy either, because at the same time that whispers concerning their daughters were circulating in one direction, Garsington mere et pere were being exceedingly busy in the other direction with scurrilous comments about the denizens of Radcliffe House and the Holcrofts. And they pressed on throughout with their dreadful evening, keeping their fingers crossed that their daughters would not disgrace themselves too much, and their son would remember his duty and come home to his hautbois!

While all this was going on, Greville left Radcliffe House to make his way to Mahomed's Baths for his denouement with Oliver and Ralph. Neither Chloe nor his aunt had been able to dissuade him, for when he saw Megan lying so pale and still in the bed, his anger and thirst for revenge was too much to contain. His boots crunched through the ice-crusted snow, and his breath was white as he walked briskly down the Steine. He thought himself alone in his purpose, having strictly forbidden Rupert and Sir Jocelyn to come with him, but unbeknown to him they were following at a discreet distance. They had also defied Chloe and Evangeline, for they determined not to let Greville tackle the tricky likes of Oliver March and Ralph Strickland single-handed. Sir Jocelyn carried a bundle of things tied in a blanket, the exact nature of which he refused to divulge to Rupert.

The plain three-story baths building stood directly on the beach in sight of the old battery. Its pedimented main entrance was at street level, and at the windows there were green roller blinds that were always half lowered for the sake of propriety, although steam and condensation usually made peering in impossible anyway. A line of fly-