“They have been having nothing short of Sodom and Gomorrah in The Garland.” Mrs. Warbler’s voice rang in the morning air.
“What?”Clarissa asked in surprise.
“She is being dramatic,” Ned answered, his voice as firm with complacency as he could make it. “Some of the lads were rowdy last night.” He didn’t include himself, and he prayed Mrs. Warbler didn’t say anything about his presence.
As if reading his mind, the old lady gave him a grim smile. “The ale and gin were flowing freely—”
“We don’t serve gin at The Garland.” He stepped between the two women, his back to Clarissa. With a hard look, he said to the matron, “I’m sorry your peace was disturbed. You are right when you say the lads may have been carried away. I will talk to them and I will hire Cora and Sarah Belks to clean the place up.”
“Cora and Sarah Belks? You would be a fool if you hired them. They were part of the goings-on last night and they looked as if they’d had a right good time when they left in the very wee hours of the morning counting their money.”
“Counting their money...?” Clarissa repeated, sounding confused. She truly was a lamb in this world.
“Oh, yes, those girls did very well for themselves—”
“Mrs. Warbler, there is no call to be crude,” Ned warned. “Especially in front of Miss Taylor.” God, he sounded like a prude.
“I’m not the crude one, sir. You should look to your members for that trait.”
She was right. When he saw the lads, he wasgoing to take them down a peg. And if his suspicions about Winderton were correct? How did one chastise a duke?
He swallowed his pride and addressed Mrs. Warbler. “I’m sorry for the disturbance. I will talk to everyone.”
She pointed a finger in his face. “You see that you do. We are not running a brothel in the center of this village.”
Clarissa made a shocked sound, her perfect mouth forming an “oh” of surprise, before she responded, “No, we are not.”
If this was London, everyone would be turning a blind eye. Not so in Maidenshop.“We aren’t.”And then he thought of Mrs. Estep’s complaints about the sheets. “The lads shouldn’t have become so rowdy,” he admitted.
Mrs. Warbler’s answer was a, “Hmmm,” as if she questioned his sincerity.
“I will see that it is all cleaned up.” An idea came to him. A wicked idea. He glanced at the still-closed tavern door and swallowed a smile. He needed to put his story out before Mrs. Estep could present hers. One could go a great distance with Mrs. Warbler and her network of gossiping biddies on his side. It was a diabolical plan but the Logical Men’s Society could not lose The Garland. Nor did he want to be remembered as the chairman whose inaction allowed the loss. He schooled his features into grave concern. “However, I havelargerproblems to address. We have a squatter in The Garland right now.”
Mrs. Warbler’s interest was immediately piqued. “What do you say, sir?”
“We have a squatter. There is a woman who claims to be related to Old Andy. She says The Garland is hers.”
The matron frowned. “He had relatives? I never heard him speak of one.”
“Neither have I. However,sheis in there andsheclaims she is here to stay.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, speak to the Reverend Summerall. She says he knows of her existence. We shall see about that.” In fact, he couldn’t wait for the conversation.
“And if he knows her?” Miss Taylor asked.
Ned frowned. “He won’t know her. She is a jade, an opportunist. I know her type—”
The door of The Garland opened. Mrs. Estep stood there and the fire in her eyes let him know she’d heard every word he’d just said.
Good.
And then, before he knew what was what, Mrs. Estep took control. She spoke like a town crier laying down the law. “The Garland is nowclosed.”
“Closed? What do you meanclosed?” Mrs. Warbler said.
“I mean the doors will be shut until I am ready to open them again.”
