Chapters (13)
Miss Fadden gave an inelegant shrug. “Someone’s got to. There’s a name for the likes o’ you that lives on females and I won’t bother to dirty my gab with it. But listen! Harkee to me, Sir Peregrine Dunster. If you so much as set a foot in this house again, I shall tell the whole of the ton how you have been sponging on my sweet lady. You great bag o’ starched wind. ’Course you ain’t going to marry her when you can get what you want for the asking. But you’ve finally killed the golden goose. They’ll be no more eggs for your breakfast, my darling.”
“You stupid old frump. I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Miss Fadden’s grating contempt made him wince. She came and stood over him, her eyes no longer vague and myopic but flashing icy fire. “A pox on your threats, cully. I could have the Runners down on you and have you driven from the country.”
Sir Peregrine rose to his feet, trying frantically to appear outraged and dignified and failing miserably.
“I shall pay back every penny,” he said weakly.
A single word dropped from Miss Fadden’s maidenly lips. The obscenity fell like a stone into the silent elegance of the drawing room.
“You,” sneered Miss Fadden, breaking the silence at last while Sir Peregrine mopped his brow. “How’re you going to pay? Always that lucky win, eh? Well, find some other chicken to pluck.”
“You, madam, are no lady,” bleated Sir Peregrine, retreating toward the doorway.
Miss Fadden gave a mirthless laugh. “I ain’t and that’s a fact,” she said. “Lucky for Alice, ain’t it?”
She stared up at him malignantly and Sir Peregrine fell back before her stare. He swung on his heel and fled from the room, hearing Miss Fadden’s sudden burst of horrid cackling laughter sounding in his ears.
Miss Fadden waited until she heard the street door slam and then she walked to the window and watched Sir Peregrine to make sure he was well and truly leaving the vicinity.
She was about to draw back from the window when she stiffened and leaned forward. Leaning against the railings of a house opposite were Webb and his friend, Mr. Russell. They seemed to be comparing notes. Miss Fadden frowned. She knew somehow that that pair spelled trouble. She had already heard rumors of Miss Snapper’s fate from her new friends who sat sewing and knitting with her at various parties.
After some time, she left the window and, crossing the room, rang the bell beside the fireplace.
When the butler answered the summons, Miss Fadden apologetically asked if she might have some tea if that was not too much trouble.
The butler inclined his head gravely in assent, privately thinking that Miss Fadden was a most tiresome mouse of a woman.