"You have gone quite flushed. Are you overly warm?"
The question was as effective as a pail of icy water being poured over her head. Maggie sat upright at once. Her expression stiffened, her eyes shooting to the plump, elderly woman seated across from her. Lady Barlow. Lord Ramsey's aunt.
Maggie had sailed out of the library, into the salon, and straight through, using the glass doors that led out onto the terrace overlooking the gardens to exit the room and the house itself. She had hurried for the stables, then--with every intention of stealing a damn horse if she must--to make her escape from Ramsey. Her only thought had been to quickly get as far away as she could from the site of this humiliation.
She had been so furious and caught up in her scattered thoughts that she hadn't realized that Lady Barlow--noting her absence from the salon and espying her furious flight for the stables--was hurrying after her. The older woman had caught up halfway between the house and Maggie's destination. When the woman had grabbed her arm, drawing her to a halt and asking anxiously where she was going, Maggie had not even hesitated to admit her intention.
Lady Barlow had hesitated, her gaze moving between Maggie and the house; then her expression had firmed. She'd turned Maggie around, urging her back the way they had come. But instead of marching her back into the salon, she had urged her past the glass doors and around the building to a carriage parked in the drive of Ramsey mansion. The carriage they were sitting in now.
Lady Barlow's footmen had been in the process of unloading several large, ungainly chests from the top of her vehicle, but the woman had ordered them replaced, announcing that she would not be staying after all. They would return to London at once.
The panting, sweating men had goggled briefly between their mistress and the half dozen trunks they had just managed to heft down, then had grumbled as they set to replacing them. Satisfied, Lady Barlow had urged Maggie into the coach. The two had waited silently while the vehicle shook and rolled slightly as all the chests were returned to the top and strapped down. Neither relaxed until everything had been put back in place and the carriage set out, rolling away from Ramsey. They had ridden in silence until now.
"Thank you, no. I am quite comfortable, my lady." Maggie managed a smile for the old woman across from her. Lady Barlow looked like an aunt, she decided. One of those soft, round, sweet-faced older ladies who would spoil her nieces and nephews, children, and grandchildren equally. She was probably kind to everyone, Maggie thought and felt dismay rumble through her as she realized the woman had heard everything. Lady Barlow knew that James had mistaken Maggie for a prostitute, and not just any prostitute, but the infamous Lady X. It was anyone's guess what the older woman thought of this whole debacle.
Lord Ramsey's aunt cleared her throat. "Are you really G. W. Clark?"
Maggie gave a start. "What? How...did you know?"
"I overheard that Mr. Johnstone person tell my nephew so, just before I entered the salon and found you gone."
"I see." Maggie shrugged. She supposed Lady Barlow's knowing was no worse than James's knowing. "Yes. I am G. W. Clark."
"Oh," the older woman said happily, her face brightening. "I have read every one of your articles. They are marvelous. So interesting and entertaining and--" She shook her head. "I can hardly fathom that you are a woman."
Maggie's mouth quirked, though she told herself she wasn't offended by the comment. No doubt most people would be shocked to learn that the intrepid G. W. Clark was a woman. No one would expect the reporter who wrote exposes on several of the most popular men's clubs, gambling hells, and brothels to be a female.
"How do you get your information, my dear? My goodness, those articles on the experiences of war...Well, they were so detailed. So realistic. One would almost believe you had actually been there, in the midst of the madness and the fighting, smelling the stench of charred and rotting flesh, hearing the screams of the injured and the moans of the dying."
"Yes, well, my brother wrote those. He was the original G. W. Clark. I have only taken over since his death."
"Ah." Lady Barlow nodded. "You are quite good. I did not even notice a difference in the writing."
"I try to stay as close to my brother's style as I can," Maggie explained. "I did not wish anyone to be aware of the fact that any sort of change had taken place, so I studied his work carefully before I attempted to draft my first article. I even had to write and rewrite it several times before it was quite perfect. Actually, maintaining his voice is the hardest part; gathering the information is a breeze in comparison."
"Really?" Lord Ramsey's aunt asked with fascination, then beamed. "I must say, I quite enjoy the articles. Everyone does. They are quite the talk of the ton."
"Thank you," Maggie said with real pleasure. This was the first time she had received comment on her work. It was one of the problems with writing incognito: one did not receive praise for one's endeavors. Oh certainly one heard others' thoughts in a secondhand sort of manner, when one came across the topic at teas or such, but...
"Good Lord!"
Maggie focused on the woman across from her in concern. The matron's eyes had widened in a sort of horror. "Is there something wrong, my lady?"
"No. Yes. I just realized...That article, my dear, on what men get up to in the lesser gambling establishments, exposing the tricks and traps Drummond was using to rob them blind? It was published after your brother's death, but surely you did not--"
"Yes," Maggie interrupted with a sigh. "I did visit Drummond's establishment a time or two."
"But...how?"
"I disguised myself as a servant and slipped inside."
"They have female servants in those...places?"
"Certainly," Maggie informed her promptly. Then, beginning to feel a bit uncertain, she added, "Well, the two I went to did, at any rate." It had never occurred to her that they might not, and things had gone without a hitch--other than an unpleasant moment or two where clients had been overly friendly to the servant they thought her. She'd had to be quick to avoid the gropings and such, but she had handled it well enough. Her surprise at the rudeness of men in such places had quickly faded.
"So...how did my nephew come to the mistaken conclusion that you are the infamous Lady X?"
"You know her?" Maggie asked.
"Of her, yes. Everyone in London has heard the whispers." The woman tilted her head. "Is that what your next article is about? Exposing Lady X?"
"No!"
"Whyever not, my dear? All of London is a-twitter about that woman. Exposing her would be quite a coup."
Maggie frowned at the suggestion. "I do not like to go after individuals. I do not wish to harm anyone."
Lady Barlow's eyebrows shot up. "But, my dear, what was that article on Drummond, if not an attack on an individual?"
"Yes," Maggie agreed. "But that was because he was ruining the unsuspecting. He served them alcohol with laudanum, then robbed them blind with his crooked tables. He had to be stopped. Men were losing whole fortunes. But Lady X...well, she is hurting no one except perhaps herself. Besides, having to make a living in a less-than-approved fashion myself, I cannot look down on how she does it. Nay." She shook her head firmly. "Even did I know her identity, it would be safe in my keeping."
"Oh." Lady Barlow looked terribly disappointed. She had apparently rather hoped for such an article. She got over it quickly, though, and sat up a little straighter, a determined expression entering her eyes. "So tell me then, if you are not investigating Lady X, how did my foolish nephew come to the mistaken conclusion that you were she?"
"Oh." Maggie flushed. "Well, while I was not investigating Lady X, I was investigating brothels in general--and Madame Dubarry's ladies in particular. I thought it would be interesting to find out what men sought there and how the girls themselves feel about it."
Amusement curved the older woman's face. "Well, my dear, what the men seek there is really rather obvious, is it not? My, you are naive, aren't you?" she added when
Maggie became flustered. "Five minutes in your company should have been more than enough to disabuse my nephew of his foolishness. Unless..." Her eyes widened incredulously. "Never tell me that you dressed as a servant and went to Dubarry's."
"Nay," Maggie assured the matron quickly. "Actually, I wore a black gown and thick black veil to interview the, er, ladies. But I fear there was some small difficulty getting out." Then Maggie reluctantly explained about Maisey hiding her in the cupboard and her own attempt to escape, only to be forced to hide by Frances's arrival, then Maisey's extortion of her dress.
Lady Barlow was laughing so hard by the time Maggie finished, there were tears in her eyes. "Oh dear. Well, I suppose James can be forgiven his initial mistake. Still, it should not have taken him long to sort it out once to Ramsey. And I must say, my dear, you took a horrible risk with your reputation."
"Yes," Maggie agreed. "I am always taking horrible risks with my reputation for these articles. However, I..."
Lady Barlow seemed to guess her dilemma. "Surely your brother left you well settled?"
Maggie grimaced. "He willed me his town house in London and enough money that, combined with what my mother bequeathed me on her death, if invested carefully, I could live the rest of my life quite comfortably. Frugally, but comfortably. Unfortunately, it is not enough to keep all the staff, and when it comes to deciding who to let go, I simply cannot do it."
"Ah, yes, that can be difficult." Lady Barlow nodded sympathetically. "In the end, that sort of decision comes down to necessity."
"I rather thought so, too," Maggie admitted. "So I cannot get rid of any of them."
The older lady blinked. "How so, dear?"
"Well, Banks--he is the butler and man of affairs, and he has served our family forever. He is too old to find work elsewhere, yet too young to retire. His job is very necessary to him, so I cannot release him. And Cook, well, she has children to support. She is a widow, you see, so I cannot put her out. The housekeeper is alone as well. Her job is very necessary to her well-being. Then there is Mary, my maid, and...Why, we grew up together! She is planning on marrying John, the stable lad. Well, I suppose he is too old now to call a lad, but they depend upon the wages, and as they plan to marry, I could not possibly put either of them out. And of course there are Mary's sisters, Joan and Nora. They are housemaids. I could hardly keep Mary but throw her sisters out! The three were orphaned around the same time as I was and must rely upon me now. Their little brother, Charles, works in the stables with John, and I can hardly release him and split up the family, you see? So it is all a matter of necessity. They all need their jobs. And it falls on me to be sure they each have one."
Lady Barlow stared, aghast, through her explanation, then blurted, "But, my dear, if you cannot afford them--"
"That isn't their fault, and they are all excellent workers," Maggie announced firmly.
"Well, yes...But you could give them a good reference. Perhaps help them find alternate positions."
"Oh, I could not do that," Maggie exclaimed with horror. "It would be like splitting up a family. These servants were all originally at our country estate. When our parents died, Gerald purchased the town house and decided to spend most of his time there. He handpicked the staff he would take with him. I grew up with all these people. Why, Banks was our butler in the country. He used to trip over my toys when I was a tot. And Cook used to sneak me sweets. And...Well, I grew up with Mary. They are family."
"I see," Lady Barlow murmured. Her forehead crinkled in agitation.
"Yes. I must keep them all together. And writing for the Express has allowed me to do that. It is the only way," Maggie said with certainty.
Lord Ramsey's aunt eyed her consideringly, then asked in a gentle voice, "Your brother was the last of your family, my dear, wasn't he?"
"Aye. Other than my cousin."
"Your cousin?"
"Victor. He inherited Gerald's title and Clarendon, the country estate, since it was the seat of the title," Maggie explained.
"Ah." Lady Barlow nodded, then asked delicately, "Could he not assist you? Perhaps he could take some of the servants back to the estate."
"Hmmm. I have thought of that. And he might be able to help. If they ever find him."
"Find him? Is he lost?"
"He went to America to make his fortune. The solicitor has men out looking for him, but it takes a while, you understand."
"Ahhh," Lady Barlow mused. Then she asked curiously, "If he isn't found, or isn't interested, or is found to be dead, would you inherit?"
"I am not sure. The title has always gone to the next male."
"Yes, but that is rather antiquated, my dear. After all, Elizabeth ruled the English throne for fifty years some two hundred years ago."
"Aye, but she was an exception. She never married and so was able to keep her power. Had she married, most of the power would have gone to her husband."
"It didn't go to Mary's Philip."
"He was a foreigner. We could hardly have had a Spanish king of England," Maggie pointed out. "Had she married a solid English cousin, things would have been different."
"Well, perhaps," Lord Ramsey's aunt conceded. "Men are so foolish with their laws."
"Hmm. Terribly greedy about power, are they not? I often wonder what they fear will happen when we gain it."
"That we should prove ourselves smarter than them, of course."
Her eyes wide, Maggie swallowed a bubble of nervous laughter that Lady Barlow did not miss.
"You doubt me? It is true. God gifted men with greater physical strength, but balanced it out by granting us greater intelligence." Spotting Maggie's doubtful expression, she asked, "Which creature would you say is physically stronger--the cat or the dog?"
"The dog. Well, most dogs."
"Which is smarter?"
"The cat."
"Just so."
"Oh?" Maggie felt uncertain. "Are you saying that men are dogs and women are cats?"
"Basically, yes, dear. Men are big, dumb creatures who lope about with their tongues hanging out. Nothing more ambitious on their minds than sniffing any likely bitch's behind."
Choking with scandalized amusement, Maggie covered her mouth. "And women?" she got out after a moment of struggling with her intense need to laugh.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I have encountered some pretty catty women in my time," Lady Barlow confided.
They both burst out laughing. Their mutual amusement faded after a moment; then the two sank back in their respective seats with small sighs.
Maggie eyed the older woman with fascination for a moment, then asked, "Do you count your nephew as a stupid dog, too?"
Lady Barlow's mouth puckered sourly. "The man who thought you a prostitute?"
Maggie was silent for a moment, then, much to her own amazement, found herself defending him. "That was not entirely without good cause. I was rather dressed up as one, and in a brothel, when he met me."
Lady Barlow made a face. "Oh, yes. No doubt he could be excused for it at first, but you were in his home for...How long was it? Two days?"
"Four days, actually, but only two with him in attendance."
"Plenty long enough for him to have realized that there was something wrong with his assessment. Of course, he might have been investigating further from what I saw."
"You saw?" Maggie echoed in a squeak of alarm.
The older lady smiled wryly. "I saw enough to know what was going on. Your hair was disheveled, your lips swollen, your eyes slightly glazed, and your gown off your shoulder...It was gaping open in front when Webster opened the door to the library to announce me! You recovered with commendable aplomb, though," she added to ease Maggie's mortification. "But did you really think that I wouldn't notice that my nephew was skulking around under your skirts...Or that I might believe it was for some good purpose?"
"You knew that, too?" Maggie asked in horror. She had rather hoped the woman thought he'd been skulking under the desk, not h
er skirts.
"Your state of dishabille and horrified glance downward were rather telling, my dear. Then, of course, when he crawled under the desk, I could see his feet and ankles." There was a brief pause, then the old woman finished, "I won't even mention that you left your fingerprints behind...quite literally."
Maggie bit her lip and glanced down at her knotted hands. She glanced up again only when Lady Barlow reached over to pat those hands reassuringly. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. It is obvious to me that, despite your adventurous career as G. W. Clark, you are quite naive when it comes to men. Your reactions have convinced me that you are still quite innocent. James, on the other hand, is anything but. He is quite experienced, and old enough to know better. Then again, he is a man, and men, like dogs, are easily distracted."
"Distracted?" Maggie asked in confusion.
"Yes. They can be the best of guard dogs one moment; then a pussy goes streaking across the lawn and off they go--tongue hanging out, ears flopping, caught up in the chase."
Maggie was silent for a moment as the image of Lord Ramsey rose in her mind. He was on his knees before her, his head burrowed between her legs. Then he lifted his head and smiled up at her, his features pointed and canine, his tongue lolling, his ears suddenly floppy dog ears.
"Dear God," she said under her breath; blinking her eyes open to see Lady Barlow's amused expression.
"I can tell that you have noticed the resemblance. Never mind, my dear. He shall behave himself from now on. I shall see to it. After all, I too am grateful to your brother for saving my nephew's sorry hide, and I feel I owe it to him to look out for you."
Maggie smiled a little uncertainly at those words. It seemed she suddenly had no end of people wanting to look out for her.
She wasn't at all sure that was a good thing.
"It would appear that your aunt decided not to stay after all," Webster announced, his face expressionless. "She had her trunks reloaded and left. Lady Margaret went with her."
"Damn." James plopped into his desk chair at his butler's announcement. He had set the servants to the task of finding Margaret as soon as he'd discovered her missing. He had not been as concerned with his aunt's whereabouts. Now he knew where they both were, and his heart sank. Either woman was trouble enough on her own; together, the Lord alone knew what they might get up to.