The Bargain Read online

  “If I were, I should burst through this door and drag you down to hell,” roared Alan. “Now, let us out!”

  But the footsteps were already pounding away.

  “Well, you might have known that would frighten him,” Ariel Harding said. “When someone is coming after a ghost, you do not threaten to drag him down to—”

  “Be quiet.” The feel of her against him was becoming intense. He refused to give in to it. It was irrational; it was meaningless; it was the consequence of simple physical reflex and extremely awkward circumstances.

  “Are you really a lord?” asked Ariel. “What sort of lord?”

  “A courtesy lord,” he replied in clipped accents. “I am the sixth son of the Duke of Langford, and thus am technically Lord Alan.”

  “Sixth?” murmured Ariel. “Good heavens. Do you have sisters as well?”

  “I do not. And I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “Alan?” put in a voice from outside.

  “Father,” he replied with great relief. “Can you get someone to unlock this door?”

  “Unfortunately not,” was the reply. “There seems to be a problem about the key.”

  “The numskulls have lost it,” declared another voice. “But don’t worry, I have them fetching an ax. We’ll have you out of there in no time.”

  “Your Majesty! This is a cupboard. My back is right up against the door.”

  “Useless blunderers,” said the prince. “Someone will be sacked over this.”

  “Your Majesty!” called Alan again.

  “I heard you,” answered his father. “Don’t worry.”

  “This is like one of the French farces my mother used to act in,” commented Ariel.

  “I’m glad you are amused,” replied Alan tightly.

  “Oh, it’s not very amusing to be in it. It’s much more fun to watch.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Alan was listening to the confused noises outside. It sounded as if an entire army was gathering to effect their rescue. It was going to be damned embarrassing to emerge from a cupboard with an unknown young woman.

  “Why did the prince choose you?” asked Ariel.

  “What?”

  “Why did he choose you to unmask the ghost? Because you are the son of a duke? That doesn’t seem like a very good reason.”

  “He didn’t have a very good reason,” muttered Alan, remembering the conversation he had had with the prince five days ago.

  He had been summoned to London without warning, ordered to wait upon the regent at Carlton House. And wait he had, thought Alan bitterly. Prinny kept him kicking up his heels in a gaudy parlor for two hours before a liveried footman appeared and indicated that he should follow. Alan had to slow his athletic stride to keep from bumping into the man as they traversed the corridors and antechambers of the huge house, passing knots of curious courtiers and numbers of busy servants. Alan found the place like a giant anthill, teeming with creatures who had certain specified functions and did not seem to see any farther than three inches before their eyes.

  Finally, they had passed through a pair of carved and gilded double doors and into a large reception parlor that at first seemed to him crowded with people. At one end stood a loose group of ten or fifteen men dressed in the height of fashion and talking desultorily with one another. A servant with a tray wound among them offering wine. In the center of the chamber was a small circle of what appeared to be government officials. Most of them carried sheaves of papers, and all of them looked impatient. At the far end was a huge desk with a few armchairs scattered around it. Two young men sat at the corners of the desk bent over pen and paper, busily recording the pronouncements of the man occupying the main chair, and the center of attention.

  Alan’s eyes followed all the others toward George Augustus Frederick, Prince Regent of England and Ireland due to his father the king’s distressing illness, and found little trace of the handsome, laughing youth of an early portrait he had once seen. The prince was fat. His high starched neckcloth hid several extra chins. His extremely fashionable clothes couldn’t disguise his girth. He didn’t look very happy either, Alan thought. Of course, with workmen smashing power looms around the country and people marching in the streets of London to express their disgust of the ruler’s treatment of his wife, he had little to be happy about.

  Receiving a signal, Alan walked down the long room and made his bow before the controversial man who ruled his country.

  “Langford’s youngest, eh?” the prince said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The prince waved a pudgy, beringed hand. “No need to be formal. Your father’s a friend of mine, you know.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Alan.

  “That’s why I sent for you. Sit down, sit down.”

  A servant appeared at his elbow with a tray, and Alan accepted a glass of wine that he did not want.

  “Never see you about London,” the prince commented, sipping his own wine with obvious relish.

  “No, sir. I visit very rarely.”

  “Not like your brothers, eh?”

  “No, sir.” When his host seemed to be waiting for more, Alan added, “As a sixth son, I have felt able to go my own way.”

  “Sixth.” The prince shook his head, then eyed his visitor with surprising shrewdness. “Up at Oxford, are you? Studying new inventions and the like?”

  “I am a man of science, sir, a fellow of Balliol College.”

  “Right, right.” The prince rubbed his hands together. “Just what I need. I take it you haven’t heard about my little… problem?”

  Alan had heard of a variety of problems, from the vilifications of the Whigs to scandals involving various women to rumors of unattractive physical ailments.

  “The ghost,” prompted the prince.

  Alan simply stared at him.

  “Glad to see the story hasn’t spread outside London,” was the response to his bewildered look. “It’s embarrassing. A dashed nuisance, too.”

  “Did you say ghost, sir?” Alan asked.

  “Bess Harding,” came the morose reply. “The actress?” Seeing Alan’s blank look, he added, “She was one of the great ladies of the stage. Gorgeous creature. Why, ten years ago, we…” He cleared his throat. “Never mind that. The thing is, Bess, er, died three weeks ago, and now she’s haunting Carlton House!”

  “Haunting,” Alan repeated carefully.

  “It’s outrageous,” complained the prince. “We were good friends. No reason for this at all.” He looked at Alan as if for confirmation, and Alan found himself too bemused even to nod. “Makes it look as if I had something to do with her death, don’t you see?” the prince elaborated.

  When Alan remained uncomprehending, the regent added, “She killed herself.” His voice and look grew briefly solemn. “Terrible thing. Took a razor to her wrists. I’ve never been more shocked. But it had nothing to do with me.”

  Alan watched as an almost wistful expression passed over the prince’s pudgy features, as if he might have liked knowing that a gorgeous actress had ended her existence for his sake.

  “We’ve been nothin’ but friends for years,” the ruler conceded. He straightened his shoulders. “And I can’t afford another… that is, any scandal just now. We’ve got to get rid of the thing.”

  “We, sir?” Alan asked, his heart sinking.

  “I’ll be of whatever help I can,” the prince answered stoutly.

  “You are asking me to—”

  “Man of science,” interrupted the monarch. “Just the ticket. I won’t have some interfering priest in here with bells and books and mumbo jumbo. This ain’t a theater, by God, it’s my home. That’s why you’re the perfect man for the job.”

  “Sir, I don’t think—”

  “You’ll know how to go on at Carlton House, fit right in,” the pri
nce continued, ignoring Alan’s growing desperation. “I won’t have a pack of commoners wandering about the place, sticking their noses into things they won’t understand.”

  “But, sir, I—”

  “She keeps appearing at evening parties,” the prince told him in a deeply aggrieved tone. “Don’t see how she could do this to me.”

  “Sir, surely you don’t believe that this is actually, er, the dead woman.”

  “Bess,” supplied the prince. “Don’t know what to believe. Looks devilishly like her.”

  “But, sir, ghosts do not exist.”

  “Splendid. You come along and tell her so.”

  “I—”

  “I’ve ordered rooms prepared for you here. Best to be on the scene, eh? You can attend meals and all my entertainments.”

  “Sir, I have important work in Oxford which I cannot—”

  “More important than a request from your sovereign?” was the suddenly haughty reply.

  Alan thought with despair of the various experiments he had in train, and of the meticulous plans he had made for the next few weeks. “Of course not, Your Majesty,” he answered in a heavy voice.

  “Good.” The prince rubbed his hands together again. “We’ll send someone for your things. You may as well move in at once, eh? No time to waste.” He made an imperious gesture, and a footman materialized at Alan’s elbow. “Take him to his rooms,” was the command. “See you at dinner, my boy.”

  Now days later all he had to show for his efforts was the embarrassment of getting locked in a cupboard. Something struck Alan sharply in the ribs. “Are you subject to fits?” demanded Ariel Harding out of the darkness. “What is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing,” retorted Alan, acutely conscious of his surroundings once more.

  “Oh? Do you often drift off in the middle of a conversation? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone in this house seems to be”—she appeared to search for a suitable word—“preoccupied with themselves.”

  “I am not part of the Carlton House set,” repeated Alan, revolted. He despised those who hung about the fringes of the court waiting to offer the jaded monarch some new dissipation. He did not even desire to join his parents and brothers in dazzling the haut ton or vying for preferment. Quite the contrary.

  “Well…?” said Ariel impatiently.

  “What?”

  “You were going to tell me why the prince chose you to hunt down my mother?”

  “It is not your—”

  “Or whoever it is!” interrupted the girl. “You don’t seem to me like a very good choice. You can’t seem to keep a train of thought in your head for more than a minute.”

  It took Alan a moment to gather the shreds of his temper. “I am a man of science,” he answered through clenched teeth. “I am affiliated with the university at Oxford. I am conducting a series of important experiments into the nature and properties of light.”

  “Light?” She sounded astonished. “You mean sunlight or lamplight?”

  “All types of light.”

  “But what is there to—”

  “You wouldn’t understand. The prince chose me because of my scientific interests and education. He thought that my training in the principles of investigation would allow me to uncover the hoax quickly and efficiently.” That was putting the best possible face on it, he thought bitterly. No need to mention that their ruler thought he was enduring a supernatural visitation, which had nothing whatever to do with science.

  “Well, it all sounds very odd to me,” declared Ariel. “I thought lords spent their time hunting and going to balls and that sort of thing. Why would the son of a duke, who can do as he pleases, choose to stay in school forever?”

  She pronounced the word “school” with deep repugnance. “My work has absolutely no relation to the pap they offer in girls’ schools,” he replied curtly. “And since you are constitutionally incapable of understanding anything about it, perhaps we should concentrate our energies on getting out of this damnable cupboard!”

  She made a sputtering sound. He felt her stand up straighter along every inch of his body, which was again washed by a wave of heat.

  “No wonder it is so crowded in here,” Ariel said. “Your giant intellect must take up more than half the space all by itself.”

  Was this chit of a girl laughing at him, Alan wondered incredulously?

  There was a sharp sound at his back, as some sort of tool was inserted between the door and jamb. A splintering noise from near the keyhole heralded a crack of light that wavered, and then quickly expanded as the lock was broken and the door pried open, finally flying back to crash against the corridor wall.

  Alan felt an odd moment of regret as he took a step back and turned toward their rescuers. Ariel Harding had roused his always active curiosity, he realized. He would be rather sorry to see the last of her.

  As he’d feared, the hall was full of people. Around his father and the prince stood a crowd of servants and guests all peering avidly in his direction and trying to discover what was going on.

  “All right?” murmured the duke.

  Alan nodded, taking another step and thus revealing Ariel to the onlookers.

  “Hallo?” said the prince. “What’s this, then?” He moved closer, holding up a beribboned quizzing glass for a better look and casting an experienced eye over Ariel’s rounded figure. He appeared to find much to admire, taking his time to savor the glowing skin of her neck and shoulders and the voluptuous shape of her lips. “Thought you were chasin’ the ghost,” he admonished Alan without shifting his gaze. “Not that anyone wouldn’t rather be shut in a cupboard with this—”

  “We were both chasing it,” broke in Ariel. “And I, at least, intend to find out the truth about Bess Harding’s death.”

  “Eh?” sputtered the prince, looking uneasily aware of the crowd around him. “Truth? Everyone knows the truth. Fit of despair. Took her own life. Always a moody creature, was Bess. Terrible thing. But nothing to do with—”

  “She had to have some reason,” interrupted Ariel again. “Why is she coming here? I want to know—”

  “Perhaps we should adjourn to some other room,” said Alan in a loud voice. “I’m sure the others would like to get back to the entertainment.” He ignored the many interested expressions that contradicted this assertion and gave the prince a significant look.

  “Yes, indeed,” replied Alan’s father. He fixed one of the senior servants with a commanding gaze. “Escort everyone downstairs.”

  There were some protests, but in a few minutes the hall was clear of everyone but the prince, the duke, and Alan and Ariel. “What’s going on here?” blustered the prince. “Who is this girl? What’s she doin’ in my house? Never seen her before in my life. Don’t believe I invited her, by Jove.” He gave a very creditable impression of outraged virtue.

  “I am—” began Ariel.

  “Assisting me in the investigation,” interjected Alan smoothly.

  The other two men looked at him.

  “I am not—” attempted Ariel.

  “She possesses certain key facts that will help discredit this hoax,” Alan said.

  His father frowned, looking deeply puzzled.

  “Facts, is it?” said the prince. His sharp look faded as he examined Ariel yet again. A gleam came into his eyes and he chuckled. “I’ve known a few ladies who possessed some fascinatin’ ‘facts.’ Taught me a good deal, they did.” He started to turn away. “Do as you like, my boy, but don’t be diverted from your task, eh? Come along, Langford, I want a drink.”

  The duke followed him down the corridor, in which the sconces had been relit. But he cast several curious looks over his shoulder as he went.

  “Why did you say that?” exploded Ariel when they had gone.

  “What?” answered Alan.

  �
��That I am assisting you.”

  “You might have knowledge that could be useful,” he replied. “If you do not blurt it out before a crowd, that is.”

  She drew in an angry breath. “I am not in the habit of—”

  “As you nearly did just now,” he continued. “You were about to tell them all that you are Bess Harding’s daughter, weren’t you?”

  Ariel stood very straight. “I am not ashamed of being her daughter,” she declared. “She was a great actress.”

  “No doubt. But that is no reason to broadcast information when you do not know who is listening.”

  “Who…?”

  “Our so-called ghost may have been standing right here, enjoying her triumph. She had ample time to change her dress and return.”

  “She…” Ariel put a hand to her lovely lips. “If it’s not Bess…” She faltered. “It has to be a woman, doesn’t it?”

  “It certainly was a woman who appeared here tonight.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But who would…?”

  “Precisely.”

  He straightened his coat and pushed the now-ruined cupboard door closed. “Let us go somewhere private, and you can tell me everything you know about this matter.”

  She stiffened. “Why should I?”

  Alan looked surprised. “So that I can resolve the situation and be done with it.”

  “The ghost, you mean?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about my mother?” she demanded.

  Trying to temper his impatience with sympathy, Alan looked down at her. “I am very sorry about your mother. The prince was right, it was a terrible thing.”

  “He wasn’t right, because he knows nothing about it and hasn’t bothered to find out.”

  “Perhaps so, but—”

  “I must speak to the ghost,” she went on, “and ask her what she knows. I will discover why my mother is dead!” She glared up at him, defiance and something more poignant in her hazel eyes.

  “Don’t get hysterical,” he said uneasily.

  “I am not hysterical. I’m never hysterical. I am simply utterly determined.”