A Kiss at Midnight
Page 31

“And queens and counting houses,” Lord Hathaway said. “Now what if Miss Starck had said, Tell me more about the Minotaurs . What would you think of me then?”
Kate laughed, and Effie tittered uncertainly. “I’d think that Miss Starck was five years old, and you were telling her fairy tales. But not everything fantastic would have the same ring. What would you think if she asked, Tell me more about the giant ?”
“I wouldn’t think about children’s stories,” Hathaway said, “but about the men who wrestle each other at the fair.”
“But Tell me more about the giantess ?”
“I’d think you were talking about Lady Dagobert,” Henry put in, with a wicked grin. The countess could not be described as slender.
Lady Starck shifted uneasily; her own figure rather resembled Lady Dagobert’s. “I think,” she interjected, “that my dear Effie was merely fascinated by your account of a plague of blackbirds, Lord Hathaway.”
“A plague of blackbirds,” Kate said, before she could stop herself. “It sounds like divine retribution, which is ominous. What have you been up to, Lord Hathaway?”
Hathaway laughed again, and Kate thought about how very nice he was. “It may be divine retribution,” he said, “but if so, I’m not sure to which of my many sins to attribute it. And it wasn’t a plague of frogs, may I point out.”
Effie turned to Kate, her eyes cool. “The blackbirds are causing a serious inconvenience to Lord Hathaway, Miss Daltry. They are roosting in his eaves and diving at the servants when they enter the kitchen gardens. And now they’ve started attacking his guests.”
Kate couldn’t suppress the little cynical smile on her face. It was one thing when birds attacked servants . . . but guests ? “It’s unlike blackbirds to be so aggressive,” she said to Lord Hathaway. “They’re acting like bluebirds. Could you have disturbed their nests somehow so they had to relocate to the eaves?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I hate to admit it, but I never gave the birds much thought, though there were some complaints from the housekeeper. But last week the vicar came to call and I’m afraid that . . . well . . .”
“What?” Effie asked, confused. “Did a blackbird swoop at his head?”
Lord Hathaway had turned a little red.
“I suspect they shat on the vicar,” Kate told Effie, putting His Lordship out of his misery. “All that black, marked with white. The man must have looked like a chessboard.”
Lady Starck drew in her breath with an audible sound of displeasure. “Well, I never!” she said.
Effie’s pink mouth formed a tiny, startled circle, but Henry laughed and said, “It proves that the plague of blackbirds wasn’t the work of heaven. I assume that the vicar did not react in a pious manner.”
“This is a remarkably vulgar conversation,” Lady Starck said, her eyes fixed on Kate.
“I shall make the birds into a pie,” Lord Hathaway said, coming to the rescue. “Thank you for that suggestion, Miss Daltry.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it,” Kate cried, feeling a pang of guilt. “You mustn’t shoot at them, Lord Hathaway. The creatures have no idea they were upsetting your servants; they were probably just protecting their babies. Nesting season must be over, so you could send up a man to clean out the nests.”
“They’ll build them again,” Algie said, affecting as authoritative a voice as his eighteen-year-old self could muster. “You’ll have to take a gun to them, though of course the young ladies will dislike the idea. My betrothed has very delicate sensibilities,” he stated, staring hard at Lady Starck.
Kate gave him a rather surprised smile; it was nice of Algie to come to her defense.
“Would you feel the same if I had suffered a plague of frogs?” Lord Hathaway inquired. “The French eat frogs as a daily affair, you know. They would likely count a rain of them as offerings from heaven.”
“I think,” Kate said, “that you should cook up any frogs that hop—or fall—onto your property, Lord Hathaway.” She added with a grin, “Just please don’t invite me to supper.”
“I don’t think the French put frogs into pies,” Effie said seriously.
Lord Hathaway looked at her and smiled. It was clear that he liked her earnestness. “In point of fact, I don’t like the idea of shooting around my house.”
Effie gave a little squeal. They all looked at her. “Well,” she said, “you might strike someone dead.”
“He’d presumably use birdshot,” Kate told her. “One of my footmen took a load of birdshot and he couldn’t sit down for two weeks, which caused a great deal of amusement in the household. His name was Barsey and—” She broke off.
“You have a lively sense of humor, Miss Daltry,” Lord Hathaway said, showing that he had realized exactly how close Barsey was to arse .
“I don’t inquire as to the names of my footmen,” Lady Starck said loftily. “I call them all John, which suffices well enough.”
Kate was appalled, but she bit her tongue. It was the last seven years, of course, living as half a servant and half a family member . . . it had changed her attitude toward the household. It took an effort of will not to snap at Lady Starck.
“I know all our footmen’s names,” Miss Starck said, showing that she wasn’t nearly as blind as her mother. She curled her hand around Lord Hathaway’s arm again. At this rate the man was going to start feeling as if he were wearing a mourning band. “Don’t you think that it is our providential duty to care for all those below us, whether they be birds or unfortunate degenerates?”
“Are your footmen unfortunate degenerates?” Henry put in cheerfully. “The only one of those in my household is my darling Leo.”
They all glanced over at Henry’s husband, seated opposite her. Leo gave Kate a naughty wink and said, “It takes a degenerate to keep track of my wife, I assure you. No one else would have the imagination.”
Lady Starck sniffed in horror, but Kate liked Leo, for all Henry’s complaints about his drinking. True, he seemed to be enjoying the champagne more than the fish, but for that matter, so was she.
Nineteen
T he evening’s entertainment was announced by Berwick; it was to be a display of naval prowess on the lake, designed by Prince Ferdinand.
“The gardens in the dark?” Lady Starck said, sniffing again. “My daughter will certainly not participate. We shall retire.”
“When one is older, one simply must rest one’s bones,” Henry said. “If you wish, I will chaperone your daughter for you.”
Lady Starck took a deep breath, which had the unfortunate effect of swelling her more-than-ample bosom.
“Darling,” Henry said kindly, “I’m afraid you’ve suffered a wardrobe malfunction.”
Lady Starck glanced down at her right nipple, which was staring like a fish eye over the ruffle edging her bodice, and slapped her napkin over her chest, surging to her feet. “Effie, come!” she said, with all the authority that Kate tried to use with Caesar.
It worked about as well for Her Ladyship as it did for Kate. “Mama, I should dearly love to see the naval display,” Effie said, her voice soft but firm. “I shall be perfectly safe under the chaperonage of Lady Wrothe.”