Bath Scandal Read Free

Pittfield’s sharp voice rapped out. “Mind your manners. The girl is horse-crazy, Mrs. Searle. Always was, always will be.” She turned a sorry eye on her charge. “You look as if you’d walked all the way to Bath, missie. Where can I take her to tidy her up, ma’am?”
    “The servants will show you to your rooms. I hope you will both join me for sherry before dinner. We shall dine at seven.”
    Mrs. Searle saw them up the stairs before returning to her saloon alone. She looked at the expensive bouquets of flowers gracing the tables, at the fire glowing in the hearth; she thought of the elaborate dinner prepared for Lord Southam, and her heart hardened in anger. She had had Cook scour Bath for a turtle and ordered up a rack of lamb for this tomboy of a girl and her governess! This was infamous! Palming off an unwanted duty on her, whom he scarcely knew!
    She poured herself a large glass of sherry and drank it quickly. She must not let her Irish temper run away with her. There was—there must be —some explanation. Lord Southam was held up at the last moment on some estate business. He would be joining them soon. A pity that tonight’s preparations were wasted and must be redone another time, but still, it was a good investment. It would be a fine thing to be Lady Southam, wife of Lord Southam, with the dark eyes and reckless smile.
     

Chapter Two
     
    As Lady Gillian’s toilet was in sore need of repair, Mrs. Searle did not expect to see her before seven. This suited the hostess. An hour should be sufficient to recover from her disappointment and meet her guest with composure. In approximately one quarter of that time, the clatter of unladylike steps galloping down the stairs announced the return of Lady Gillian.
    “Oh, there you are!” she said in far from ladylike accents when she spotted Mrs. Searle on the sofa. “Have I got time to write to Rawl before dinner? Perhaps you would be kind enough to lend me some paper and a pen. Whoever thought I would be writing a letter the minute I arrived, for in the general way, I never write anything if I can help it.”
    “Is something the matter?” Mrs. Searle inquired politely. As her guest replied, the hostess scrutinized Lady Gillian’s toilet. Hair an utter mess. Naturally curly? It looked as if it had been trimmed by a footman and combed with a pitchfork. Her citron gown was too highly garnished for a predeb. That clutter of bows must go. Her manner was unpleasantly abrupt, and her voice was rough. Lemon juice and the constant use of a parasol might bleach those freckles....
    “No, what should be the matter? I want to ask Rawl to forward Penny immediately. I brought my riding habits with me, for I made sure I could borrow a mount from time to time if you did not ride. I must remember to ask him to send my tan gloves. I forgot them. What do you ride, ma’am?”
    “Just an old gray hacker I’ve had forever.”
    Lady Gillian did not wait to be asked what she rode, but rushed on to volunteer the information. “My Penny is not a thoroughbred, either, though there’s good blood in her. Some Welsh pony, with a strain of Arabian. She’s only thirteen hands high, but she has the long, low, straight stride of a thoroughbred.”
    Mrs. Searle interrupted this spiel long enough to offer her guest a glass of sherry.
    “Could I have an ale instead?” Lady Gillian replied.
    “I’m afraid I don’t have any.”
    “Perhaps the servants have some in the kitchen. I’ll ask the butler,” she said, and hopped up from her chair.
    Since Mrs. Searle was in charge of smoothing out the lady’s rough edges, she decided to begin her duties immediately. “Ale is not served to ladies in this house, Lady Gillian. Lord Southam sent you to me to polish your manners. Let us begin by taking the proper drink for a lady.”
    “But I hate sherry!”
    “A lady does not hate what is offered in the way of refreshment when she is a guest. If she fears the refreshment will actually make