Unlacing Lady Thea

‘I never thought there was.’ Rhys had been very careful, Thea knew, although she supposed nothing was foolproof. Then something in Polly’s tone made her look at the maid’s face as she moved about the room tidying up. ‘Polly... Do you have something to worry about? Come and talk to me.’

‘Might have.’ The maid put down the gown she had been shaking out and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Not sure. But John will marry me anyway. He’s asked me.’ She fiddled with the tassel on the edge of the bed hangings.

‘Before you told him there might be a baby on the way?’

‘Oh, yes, my lady. I’d have married him whether I thought he was doing it out of love or duty, but I’m glad he asked before he knew. We women don’t have much choice, do we?’

‘No, not unless we do not mind a scandal,’ Thea said, thinking of Serena. ‘Has Hodge said anything to Lord Palgrave yet, do you know? After all, he employs you both. I am delighted for you, but he might think differently.’ She would have something to say to Rhys if he did.

‘He’ll ask him today. There’s sure to be an Anglican clergyman in Venice, John says, with all the English visitors.’

‘Excellent,’ Thea murmured, snuggling down. ‘I am sure it will all work out happily.’ Which was more than could be said for her entanglement with Rhys.

* * *

Thea insisted that Mr Edgerton join them for dinner. He was a professional man, after all, not a servant. The meal was excellent, with a wide range of seafood, and, with her backache subdued to a dull twinge, she was feeling considerably more cheerful.

Rhys, she suspected, was not. Despite conversing with apparent ease on a wide range of subjects, he was drinking more wine than he normally did and was picking at a superb dish of clams in cream sauce as though it was gruel.

Men always complained that women were complicated creatures, Thea mused as she speared the last prawn on her plate. In fact, she was certain that men were far more troublesome with their infuriating reticence about their true feelings.

‘If you would like to go out this evening, I will put one of our gondolas at your disposal with a reliable man who speaks some English. And I will find you masks, of course,’ Mr Edgerton said.

‘For both of us?’ Rhys queried.

‘It is usual for gentlemen who wish to be discreet. It raises no curiosity, as it might in England.’

‘Then I will take you up on the offer of both boat and mask. Thea?’

‘I will come, too,’ Thea said, reflecting that a mask would probably suit Rhys if he was in one of his enigmatic moods. He looked as though he was about to speak, but she put her hand on his wrist. ‘I am feeling quite rested now.’ Under her light touch she felt him tense, then he slid his hand away. No doubt she was being a trifle indiscreet in front of the secretary, but still, the subtle rejection stung. Before they had become lovers he would have accepted that passing touch without question, as from a friend. Now she was beginning to wonder what she was to him.

‘I will tell the boatman to take you for a tour of the main landmarks to start with,’ Edgerton said as the footman brought in a dish of sweetmeats. Thea was itching to ask him about Godmama and the prince, but she knew perfectly well that he was far too discreet.

She popped a marchpane-stuffed date into her mouth, resisted the temptation to demolish the whole plateful and stood up. ‘I will go and find my cloak and change into some more suitable shoes—I noticed the gondolas that we passed all had some water in the bottom. I’ll meet you on the landing stage, Rhys.’

It would be good to have a few moments to think about what she was going to say to him, Thea thought as she hurried along the corridor. She should reassure him that there was no chance that she was with child, which was embarrassing, although considering how intimate they had been, that seemed irrational. And then she must assure him that she expected nothing from him now other than his continuing friendship, which was going to be...tricky. It would be all too easy to protest too much, she suspected, trying out suitable phrases in her head as she went down the stairs to the entrance courtyard.

It was deserted, filled only with the sound of water lapping outside and the scent of jasmine from a tub by the ancient wellhead. The surface of the canal, lit by torchères on the landing stage, was reflected back on the vaulted roof of the internal colonnade, a shifting pattern of ripples that was almost hypnotic.

These past weeks have been very special, but it is as well we have... You know how much I... Rhys, we have always been such good friends, I hope we can continue...

There was the sound of voices from the canal, the slapping of the water became louder and a series of bumps heralded the arrival of a gondola at the landing stage. Thea drew back into the shadows under the stairs. Without a mask she felt vulnerable, and there was no telling who the visitors might be.

There was a low-voiced argument going on and she thought it was in English, but she could not make out any words. A man and a woman, by the sound of it. Through the grill she could make out figures, both cloaked. One of them tugged on the bell pull and almost immediately there was the sound of feet running down the stairs above her head. One of the footmen opened the gate.

‘Madonna is not at home,’ he said in heavily accented English before the visitors could speak.

‘Damn it, she must receive us!’ English, educated and strangely familiar.

There was a scuffle and the footman was forced back a pace. The visitors stepped through the grill and into the pool of light cast by one of the torchères as someone else came down the stairs.

‘Now look here, Edgerton, just go upstairs and tell our godmother that we are here, will you? This nonsense about her not being at home—’

But I know that voice....

‘Is the truth. Lady Hughson is not in Venice at the moment and is unlikely to return for some weeks.’

‘In that case, we’ll stay. Don’t tell me you haven’t room in this barn of a place.’

‘Mr Weston, Lady Serena, I have no instructions to receive or accommodate you.’

Thea sat down on the edge of the well, heedless of moss and ferns, and held on to the iron bucket winch for support as the torch-lit scene shifted and blurred in front of her. Paul Weston, Rhys’s once best friend, and Serena, his fiancée who had jilted him at the altar.

She was hardly aware of a soft tread on the stairs, of the brush of a cloak as a tall figure passed her, until another man loomed up in silhouette beside the secretary. Rhys. Serena gave a little scream and clutched at Paul. Thea got to her feet, knowing even as she moved it was too late.

Rhys stepped forward, flicked one edge of his cloak over his shoulder, clenched his right fist and drove it straight into the other man’s jaw. Paul reeled backwards, made a futile grab for the iron grill, slipped and fell into the canal with a splash that echoed round the courtyard. Serena shrieked and fainted into Edgerton’s arms, the footman stood with his mouth open, gaping, and Rhys turned on his heel and stalked back towards the stairs.

As a boy Paul Weston had never learned to swim. Thea knew that. So did Rhys. She only hoped he had forgotten that in the heat of the moment and had not intended murder. The gondola that had delivered the couple had gone, she realised as she slid to a halt on the landing stage. In the water Paul was floundering, sinking. She yanked a boathook from the wall and held it out to him. He grabbed for it, missed and sank.

‘Rhys Denham!’ she shouted without turning. ‘Come back here or I am going to have to go in and get him myself!’

For a moment she thought Rhys had not heard her, or did not believe her, or simply did not care. Then he was at her side, shedding coat and cloak, kicking off his shoes. He hit the dark water in a shallow dive and surfaced with his arms full of struggling man.

‘Keep still, you fool, or I’ll hit you again.’ He hauled Paul to the edge of the landing stage as Thea pushed the footman forward to help.

‘Give her to me,’ she told Edgerton, who was still clutching Serena. ‘It is a faint at worst, play-acting at best. Help Rhys.’ She pulled the other woman into her arms. Serena gave a faint moan. ‘Stop that. Go and sit on the steps or I’ll drop you,’ Thea warned.

Serena shot her a look of deep reproach and staggered to the steps. ‘Althea? Oh, how could you be so unfeeling?’

‘Very easily,’ Thea snapped. Paul was out of the water, gasping in a puddle like a landed fish. Rhys levered himself out with a strength that she spared a fleeting moment to admire, and sat in his own small lake, coughing.

‘Go and get blankets and brandy.’ She tugged at the footman’s arm. ‘Tell the kitchen to heat hot water for baths. Hurry.’

When she knelt beside Rhys he shook himself like a dog and spat into the canal. ‘Sorry, but that is the filthiest thing I have ever tasted. If we don’t come down with dysentery, I’ll be amazed.’

Servants began to run downstairs, flapping blankets, supporting the men and Serena up to the main floor. In the end they all found themselves in the main salon. Rhys and Paul dripped on the marble floor and tossed back brandy, Serena lay on a sofa, moaning, and was comprehensively ignored and Thea and Edgerton were left to organise baths, dry clothes and a room for Paul and Serena.