Althea picked upthe ladies’ magazine Montsimon sent up and flipped idly through it again. The fashions were several years old, and the pages held even less interest than when she’d first perused them. No woman with taste would ever have been seen in that atrocity of a hat! She dropped the magazine and listened to the raucous sounds of laughter and bursts of song, which floated up from the busy taproom, on the alert for Montsimon’s return. Why did he come here? And what was he doing now? He had ordered her to stay in the room, in his annoyingly officious manner, trying to make her see the sense of it. But there were times when commonsense stifled one and should be ignored. Did he think her bird-witted and unable to think for herself? Might he behave toward all women like that or only her? It was insulting!
She narrowed her eyes. He’d expressed interest in the men who’d engaged the parlor. Might he have joined them? And if so, for what reason? He had not sought a solemn promise from her to remain here all day. She would have to visit the water closet again at some point. Had that not occurred to him? She opened the door a crack, determined to discover something for herself.
A surprised maid stood in the corridor holding a tray of food. “Your luncheon, your ladyship.” She entered and placed the selection of cold meats, pickled cucumber, crusty bread, and cheese upon a small table, and added the glass of claret.
The wine was Montsimon’s attempt to appease her. Well, she was grateful for it. “Thank you. What is your name?”
The ginger-haired, comely maid bobbed. “Sophie, your ladyship.”
“Is my husband about, Sophie? I have need of him.”
“Would you like me to give him a message?”
“No, that’s not necessary. Just tell me where he is.”
“His lordship was in the taproom moments ago. He instructed me to serve your luncheon. But I’m not sure where he has gone.”
“Where is the private parlor?”
“It’s the room at the end of the corridor, my lady.”
“Perhaps my husband is there?”
“He was not when I took the three gentlemen a jug of wine.”
“Just now?”
“No, it was closer to an hour ago, my lady.”
“I might know them. Can you describe them?”
The maid scratched her nose. “Can’t say, your ladyship. I’m not one to take much notice.”
Althea smiled. “You’re a pretty girl, Sophie. I’m sure they would take notice of you.”
Sophie giggled. “One man told me I had a nice smile. Gave me a silver coin, he did.”
“How kind. Did he say his name?”
“No, my lady. He was an older man. Quite the gentleman he was.”
“Older, how? Was his back bent? Did he use a cane?”
Sophie worried at her lip. “No. He was spritely. But his hair was gray.”
“What about the other two men?”
“Neither was gray-haired, my lady.” She rubbed her chin. “One had red hair, and the other was bald as an egg.” She giggled.
“I doubt I do know them. You’ve been most helpful, Sophie, thank you.”
Althea wished she could give the girl a tip. She sat and ate the food. It was tasty, and the claret was a good vintage. The meal quite replenished her energy.
More restless than ever, she opened the door. The empty corridor tempted her. After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped out to tiptoe along it. At the far end, she placed her ear against the door but heard nothing of the conversation beyond a murmur. A sudden scrape of chairs and the voices grew louder. Althea ran back to her room. Before she reached it, the parlor door opened. She glimpsed a man in the corridor before scuttling inside. She turned the key and leaned against the door, her heart banging against her ribs.
She stirred uneasily. She’d met that man socially although his name escaped her. Might he have recognized her? But why should it matter if he did? She wished she knew more of what went on there and wondered uneasily if she’d been foolish to go against Montsimon’s wishes.
Someone tapped on the door.
