“Gentlelike?” Mary asked.
C.J. smiled for the first time since her return. The girl merely needed a bit of oil on the rusty gears of her untested mind. She had suffered others’ low opinions of her for so long that she believed herself stupid and incompetent. Once the subject was raised, Mary easily grasped the concept of affecting a concerned vigilance without raising suspicion.
“I cannot express enough gratitude to you, Aunt Euphoria, for releasing Mary from Lady Wickham’s employ. You will certainly have no cause to regret it, for she is good-natured, courageous, and most devoted. However did you manage it?”
“Will you think any less of me, Niece, if I confess I had nothing to do with the matter?”
“But . . . ?” C.J. was baffled. “If you did not convince Lady Wickham to release Mary, then . . . ?” Silence. Clearly, the countess was not willing to divulge the name of the hero or heroine responsible for Mary’s arrival in the Royal Crescent. It was the subject herself who revealed the Samaritan’s identity when she shyly mumbled a few words about his most handsome and generous lordship.
“Percy!” whispered C.J. Evidently, he had been paying considerable attention to her tirade that rainy afternoon in his salon. Was the man who had rescued the little maid from an aristocratic employer who routinely beat her the very same Darlington who had so vociferously defended the efficacy and inviolability of the English class system? She bade Mary fetch the earl and bring him to Lady Dalrymple’s bedchamber.
“How can I properly express the enormity of our gratitude?” C.J. said softly. “Your lordship has done all of us the greatest kindness.” She tugged lightly at his sleeve to draw him nearer. “What did you do? Pay the old bat off?” she whispered, curious about the possibility of some sort of sensational form of rescue, through bribery, extortion, or equally devious means.
“Miss Welles, if you and your aunt are pleased that Mary Sykes has come to reside under Lady Dalrymple’s roof and will now be in her employ, that is all the thanks I require. Please forgive my unwillingness to discuss the matter any further.” Miss Welles had no need to ever learn that he had paid the greedy old gimp handsomely with a hundred pounds in bank notes, the loss of which did much to further increase his debts on his already overmortgaged estate.
“VERY RESOURCEFUL, SAUNDERS. Very resourceful,” Lady Oliver praised, pressing a golden guinea into the servant’s eager hand. Suspiciously eyeing her benefactress, Saunders bit the coin before it disappeared into her apron with the speed of a sleight-of-hand trick. Saunders narrowed her small gray eyes in an expression of tacit thanks, with the complete understanding that there might be more guineas that would be freely parted with upon the exchange of such similarly valuable intelligence. She didn’t worry about the suspicion that might arise from trying to spend such a large denomination. Saunders had no use for feminine fripperies. Enough of Lady Oliver’s guineas, and she could kiss servitude good-bye.
Her ladyship pursed her lips thoughtfully. “How clever of you to keep a small pencil and a scrap of paper hard by so that you may remember such things as they occur. You have been most accommodating, Saunders. And quite observant.” She knocked on the bedchamber door. “I shall pay my respects to your mistress and collect my nephew. Clearly, his infatuation is far worse than even I had suspected. But,” she sighed, “something will be done about it, and if I have any say in the matter, the sooner, the better.”
“I AM WELL ENOUGH to walk on my own!” Lady Dalrymple announced days later, dismissing her chair carrier just outside the Pump Room. C.J. scrambled to keep up with her aunt’s morning constitutionals. To ensure Lady Dalrymple’s continued recovery, C.J. had confided in Mary, who was now the only one of the household staff on whom C.J. could rely to keep her counsel regarding the dutiful dispensary of her ladyship’s “magic pills.”
The countess had a renewed interest in life, following C.J.’s directives, not only with regard to the strange little tablets but also to the judicious taking of regular but moderate forms of exercise, which were chiefly borne out in daily visits to the Pump Room, and the taking of the waters both internally and externally, followed by extravagant shopping expeditions.
C.J. made certain that her ladyship drank her prescribed three glasses of water every day; and she herself was finally growing accustomed to the sulfuric odor and taste of the beneficial waters pumped directly into the elegant social hall from the source below and served warm to the patrons. It was quite an acquired taste for the modern palate.
When the crowd was thin, C.J. had the opportunity to admire the atmosphere of the room itself, finding the pale blue, cream, and gold interior restful and pleasing to the eye. But from late morning through the afternoon, the room bustled with the well-heeled ton of Bath, who came to the Pump Room every day to see the same circles of friends and cadres of enemies, and to catch up on the latest social scandals—all in the name of healthful pursuit. The quotidian excursions also provided the opportunity for couples to engage in flirtations under the protective noses of the young ladies’ chaperones.
The Miss Fairfaxes made excursions to the Pump Room an integral part of their daily routine, with their mother in tow clucking all the while like a hen about Lady So-and-So or Countess Whatnot as though they were intimates. In fact, Mrs. Fairfax appeared to be a repository for gossip, though where she got her intelligence, no one quite knew. Rumors abounded that the woman used the discretionary allowance provided to her by her gentle and
