“And take them with you.”
Polly’s ladies voiced their objections loudly, wrapping their arms around the gentlemen within their reach.
“Girls!” Polly admonished them sternly. “Don’t be greedy. You are not without your own guests this evening. They are bound to feel neglected by now.”
With varying degrees of reluctance, the girls let go of their gentleman friends and followed Polly out the door. The last thing any of them saw was Mrs. Miller hurrying up the stairs to assist the poor efforts of Linda and Katie as they attempted to help Lord Tremont make his drunken climb.
After waving away Tremont’s driver, it was a silent group of partially clad women who walked briskly down the street toward their own home. There were no congratulations and none of them dared voice the question as to whether they had been successful. They all were thinking along the same lines. Had they given enough time to Sheila and Loreta? What if they hadn’t been able to come in the back entrance? Had they even found Diana, and if so, had she been cooperative?
The house was as silent as they were when they walked in. In spite of what Polly said there were no gentlemen waiting for their return. She had closed her house for the evening to entertain one guest.
A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she remembered how overwhelmed Tremont and his driver had been when her girls diverted his barouche. The driver had offered only a token resistance after two of her ladies flagged him down and clambered aboard. Tremont had been harder to convince but four lovelies climbing in his carriage and all over him helped him see reason. Polly could see his mind spinning, thinking what harm would there be in a few drinks with these girls. They clearly had whetted his appetite as they allowed him to tease them with his quirt. Her smile faded as she pushed the door open to the kitchen, hoping it had not been for nothing.
Apparently it had not. The girls dogging her heels gasped as they saw the state of the usually pristine kitchen and scullery. A keg of flour had been overturned and the white powder dusted the floor and the table. A bucket of water had been spilled, mixed with some of the flour, and gooey footprints led into the pantry. Dishes were broken. Three pots and a kettle littered the floor. The cook’s chair was lying on its side.
Sheila was hopping on one foot, nursing a cut on the other and Loreta had her shoulder to the pantry door, bracing herself against it to keep it closed. She saw Polly and the others and pointed to the door, motioning to the noise inside. “She’s in there.”
Polly nodded and took command briskly. “Amanda, see to Sheila’s foot. Pamela, you and Renata, start to clean up this mess. We have to get Diana out of the pantry before Betty comes looking for her. Deborah, get some linens from the closet and make a room for her of sorts in that large cupboard in your chamber. Pad it well. We’ll hide her there until Betty’s done with her search. The rest of you, prepare for battle.”
“She was no trouble at all, quite docile in fact, until we got her outside in the cold. Then there was no controlling her. Sheila gave her a clip on the jaw and that settled her some, enough for us to drag her here anyway. The trouble began again when we were inside. She wants to go back for her medicine, she says.”
Polly glanced over her shoulder. “One of you get the potion we laced Tremont’s drink with. It will have to do for now. Hurry. We’ve got to bribe her with something. Step away from the door, Loreta.”
As soon as she did so, Kenna, who was on her knees on the other side, fists raised against the door, fell forward. Momentarily stunned, she shook her head weakly and looked up. The number of faces staring down at her completed her disorientation and she began keening softly, curling into a ball to ease the cramping inside her.
“Poor thing’s all but worn out,” Polly said. “Let’s take her upstairs while we can.”
It was awkward carrying Kenna through the kitchen which had not completely been restored to order but they managed it. She was taken to Deborah’s room on the second story and deposited on the bed. Polly took the vial of liquid when it was handed to her and showed it to Kenna.
“Just a little to help you sleep, Diana, until it is safe again. There’s time enough to rid your body of this wicked stuff.” She touched the tip of the bottle to Kenna’s lips and measured the dose carefully. “That’s enough, child.”
Kenna moaned as the bottle was taken away but her tongue felt thick in her mouth and she could not form the words to ask for more.
“As soon as she’s sleeping put her in the cupboard, pack some linens in front of her and lock it. We’ll hope Betty does not investigate, but if she does then we’ll pray Diana does not make a shambles of her hiding place.”
Mrs. Miller’s arrival was not long in coming and though she railed at Polly, swore she would ruin her, and searched the Flower House with the aid of her footman and two of her girls, in the end she had to admit defeat. Polly considered her own performance as the wronged innocent in this affair to be worthy of Covent Garden—she had been truly magnificent and her supporting players no less so.
Polly pulled Mrs. Miller to one side as she was making ready to leave. “What has Tremont to say about the missing Diana?”
“That young sot doesn’t even know. He passed out on the bed.”
“Has he paid you for Diana’s company?”
Mrs. Miller nodded, her eyes narrowing on Polly. “Handsomely. It was arranged days ago.”
“Then you’ve lost nothing.”
“But he’ll demand his payment. If I want to keep my house open, I’ll have to give it to him.”
“Not if he thinks he’s had her.” Polly smiled wickedly. “Tell him he whipped her to death. He’d like to believe that. No one need ever know your girl escaped…on her own, naturally.”
“Naturally.” Mrs. Miller pulled her cloak about her and stomped out the door followed by her retinue.
* * *
Rhys cushioned his head behind his arms and stretched out on Polly’s bed. Polly sat at his side, brushing back a few strands of dark hair that had feathered his forehead. She frowned, noting his haggard appearance, the rough growth of beard he had not bothered to shave. His eyes had a bruised, vacant look and there were lines about his mouth that had not been there before.
He closed his eyes at the gentle touch of her hand. “You should come with me to America, Polly.”
