Page 2 of Weave me a Rope
“No one cares about the water, you idiot,” Miss Fairchild jeered. “You have got your glove wet. Look, ladies, Daffy’s glove is all ruined. She hasn’t even enough sense to take it off before she puts her hand in water.”
“Such a fool,” sneered Miss Wharton, and Miss Plumfield snickered.
The lady they addressed as Daffy looked bewildered.
“You want water?” asked Miss Wharton.
It took Spen a split second to realize what she was about to do. Before he could react, it was too late. Miss Wharton had given Lady Daffy a shove, toppling her off the edge. The poor lady shrieked as she fell sideways into the pool of the fountain.
As the three tormentors roared with laughter, Spen worked his way through the shrubbery until he could step onto the path behind them, saying, “What is going on here?”
Someone pushed past him and hurried to the side of the fountain, holding out her hands to the lady in the pool. “Lady Daphne! Here. Let me help you.” In the half-light, he could not tell her hair or eye color, but he could see that she was lovely. Not fashionably slender, like a half-starved boy. But curved in all the right places, and most pleasing to the eye and less decorous parts of his anatomy.
“You are not needed here, mill girl,” sneered Miss Wharton.
The newcomer ignored her, helping Lady Daphne to stand and clamber over the pool edge and onto the paving, where she wrapped the poor girl in a quick hug, ignoring the dripping gown. “There now, Lady Daphne,” she crooned. “You are safe now.”
Spen removed his coat and offered it to the unnamed lady, who said a distracted thank you, all her attention on Lady Daphne. She wrapped the coat around Lady Daphne, ignoring her own wet dress. Together like this, the two ladies were much of a height, and similar in their coloring, except that Lady Daphne’s hair was almost white and her eyes a blue so pale as to be nearly silver, whereas the unnamed lady was more vivid in every way.
He could not be certain until he saw her in a better light, but he was prepared to bet her hair would be a golden blond and her eyes that kind of blue that begged comparison to the sky. The vividness extended to her expression, which had all the intelligence and humor missing from the first girl’s.
“I have an ouchie,” Lady Daphne announced, holding up her hand for the other to inspect.
The new lady cradled it gently. “Poor little hand. Did you scrape it when you fell in?”
Lady Daphne untangled her other arm to point at Miss Wharton. “She pushed Daphne. Daphne has an ouchie.”
Miss Wharton blatantly lied. “I never did. She was sitting on the edge, and she lost her balance. You cannot believe a word she says. Everyone knows she is a moon baby.”
“You pushed her,” Spen said. He didn’t raise his voice, but he had been taught to speak with authority since he was able to toddle. The ladies turned towards him.
Miss Wharton sneered. It seemed to be her preferred expression. “I did nothing of the sort. Did I, girls?”
Miss Plumfield echoed her leader. “Of course not, Miss Wharton.”
Miss Fairchild, on the other hand, frowned and said nothing.
Spen was still seething at the sheer meanness of the three of them, but the most important thing was to look after Lady Daphne. “If you come with me, Miss,” he said to the unidentified angel of mercy who had come to the wet lady’s aid, “I will show you a way into the house without attracting attention.”
He couldn’t just let the three nasties off without putting a little fear into them. “As for the three of you, make your excuses and go home. As soon as I have seen Lady Daphne inside, I shall be speaking to our hostess about having you sent home. The way you picked on Lady Daphne was despicable.”
“I will have you know,” Miss Wharton declared, “I was invited to this ball by Lady Corven herself. I am staying until I have been introduced to Lord Spenhurst, Lady Corven’s nephew. Furthermore…”
She broke off when Miss Fairchild tugged at her arm, and whispered, loudly enough for Spen to hear, “Eloise, I believe this manisLord Spenhurst.”
Miss Wharton’s mouth dropped open and Miss Plumfield whimpered.
Spen’s angel of mercy, her arm around Lady Daphne, had given the three a wide berth and was on her way down the path back towards the house.
“You are correct, Miss Fairchild. I advise the three of you to be gone before I speak with my aunt. Miss Fairchild, Miss Plumfield. Miss Wharton.” Leaving them to worry about the fact he knew their names as well as their faces, he hurried after the unknown angel and the damp damsel.
The pair had turned the corner onto the main path back to the house and had been met by an older lady, who was fussing over them both. The mother or chaperone of either the angel or Lady Daphne, he supposed.
“…fell into the pool,” the angel was saying. “Lord Spenhurst is going to find us a quiet way into the house.” She noticed him coming out of the hidden corner. “Aunt Eliza, this is Lord Spenhurst. My lord, my aunt, Mrs. Walters.”
Mrs. Walters bobbed a curtsey, but otherwise showed little interest in Spen, being more concerned about the fact Lady Daphne was dripping so much she stood in a little pool of her own, and that the angel’s gown was damp, clinging to her form, and nearly transparent down one side.
Spen was having trouble keeping his eyes from devouring the curves so displayed and was grateful when Mrs. Walters pulled off her own shawl and wrapped it around her niece. “Oh dear, Cordelia, you shall both catch your death of cold!”
