“I don’t know,” said Beth cheerfully.
“To Green Park, perhaps, milady?” offered Redcliff.
“Good heavens, no. That’s no distance at all. Perhaps to the Tower ofLondon.”
“What!” exclaimed the maid. “But that’s miles, milady. And through somenot very nice areas. You must take the carriage for sure.”
“I don’t want a carriage ride, Redcliff,” said Beth tightly. Perhapsthis house was a prison after all. What would happen if she just walkedout of the front doors? She imagined striding around the square with ableating train of anxious servants behind. Her sense of humor returned andshe smiled. But what was she to do? It would be no pleasure to drag anunwilling maid around London, and the woman was probably correct about thedangers. Beth knew little of London other than the circumscribed area ofMayfair.
“I know,” she said suddenly. “We’ll visit Clarissa. I need to talk toher anyway.”
“Miss Greystone? Where did you take her, milady?”
Beth could feel herself freeze in the face of this new problem. WouldRedcliff know the name? Blanche, along with other popular actresses, wasoften featured in the prints displayed in shop windows.
“To a Mrs. Hardcastle,” she said carelessly.
No reaction, thank heavens. “Do you want the carriage then, milady?”asked the maid with the clear implication that the answer should be“yes.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Apart from her desire for exercise, Beth didnot want more servants aware of her scandalous association with BlancheHardcastle. “It is not so very far ?” she said and then broke off.“Goodness, I don’t know the address. How foolish.”
Redcliff looked relieved, but Beth was not to be so easily deflected.This outing was assuming the nature of a major challenge.
“The boy,” she said triumphantly. “The stable boy called Robin. Heknows. Send for him.”
“A stable boy!” exclaimed the maid. “Here?”
“Very well, Redcliff,” countered Beth firmly. “We will go there.”
“To the mews, milady?”
“Yes.”
The maid obviously recognized that her mistress’s patience was at anend. They exited the mansion by the majestic front doors and then madetheir way around to talk to Granger, the head groom in Town.
Dooley was apparently off with the marquess and Viking, but RobinBabson was around. The wiry, sallow-faced man was considerably astonishedthat anyone wanted to speak with him.
“That varmint,” he muttered. “He’s here right enough, for all the usehe is. And the marquess saying he should sleep in. No right being out atnight, that’s what I say ?”
He broke off because Beth had had enough of contrary servants. For thefirst time she used a de Vaux look. His grumbles died.
“Right away, milady,” he said hurriedly. “Oy! Sparra! Come outhere!”
Robin came dashing out, a rough apron over his shirt and breeches. Hehad a piece of leather strap in one hand and a polishing rag in theother.
“Yes, Mr. Granger?”
“The marchioness wants to speak with you.”
The boy turned and gave Beth a cocky grin. “Yes, your ladyship?”
Beth drew him away from the listening groom. “Where did we go lastnight, Robin?”
“What?”
“The address. I want to visit the young lady there.”
“Oh, number 8, Scarborough Lane. But how you going to find it,milady?”
