What the devil?
Ned nudged his horse up toward a group of them. “Mrs. Ledbetter, what are you all about?”
The jolly woman flashed him a broad smile. “Why, a mission of mercy, Mr. Thurlowe. We’ve been called to clean The Garland.”
Alarmed, Ned kicked Hippocrates forward.
Mrs. Warbler stood in the tavern’s front door, welcoming everyone and giving instructions. As he rode up, the old woman stepped forward, her manner one of supreme command. A cadre of females flanked her.
He was outnumbered.
“Mr. Thurlowe, you can see we are busy here,” she said cheerfully.
“Aye, that I can. Where is Mrs. Estep?”
“Ah, the poor young woman is sleeping. She’s had a hard time of it.” She said this to the women around her who took on that look females had of interested commiseration. They were always ready to take up the cause of the indefensible—except he’d wager his horse Mrs. Estep could welltake care of herself. See what chaos she had already wrought?
“Unfortunately,” Mrs. Warbler continued, “the building has been basely used, asyouyourself know.” Her words sounded sweet but there were glints in her eyes. She held him responsible.
And he hated that she probably knew more about what had been going on than he did. Or that she was right to be outraged.
“We are giving the place a good cleaning,” she finished.
“A scrubbing is more like it. I’ve never seen such a mess in my life,” Mrs. Dawson declared. She stood like a master-at-arms beside Mrs. Warbler.
“Or smelled a worse one,” a woman said from the door, and Ned could have groaned when he recognized Mrs. Summerall.Deirdre.
She wore her silver hair under a sensible mobcap and had an apron around her ample waist and bosom. “We are going to turn The Garland into a tea garden like they have in London. It is an exciting venture.” Heads nodded their agreement. More women joined them.
And then he saw Clarissa.
She came around from the side of the building, a charming kerchief tied around her head. She held a broom and waved her hand in front of her face, coughing at the same time as if she needed some fresh air.
“The smell in the taproom—I can’t stand it,” shecomplained, her step slowing when she noticed Ned. She flashed him her prettiest smile. “Are you impressed with what we are doing? Everyone wishes to help.”
Not for the first time, Ned considered how little he knew of his intended. Clarissa Taylor was cleaning?
He hadn’t really thought of what she did with her days. He’d never asked, either.
And then, to his surprise, a wagon came down the road with the driver wearing the livery of the Duke of Winderton and none other than Lucy, the dowager herself, sitting on the bench beside him.
She, too, appeared ready to clean.
Ned looked to Mrs. Warbler. She smiled with the satisfaction of a general who had staged a successful coup.
He needed Mars. He needed the magistrate, and he needed himnow.
Putting heel to horse, Ned galloped for Belvoir, feeling the eyes of every woman in the village upon him.
Mars was not in. He was in London.
Ned cursed his bad luck. “I need him here,” he told Gibson, the Marsden butler.
“I would be happy to have a message delivered to him,” the always polite Gibson offered.
It was all Ned could do. He scratched out a quick post,Havoc reigns in Maidenshop. The matrons have taken over The Garland. Please return with all possible haste—T
And now what?
