Lady Margery's Intrigues by Marion Chesney Page A

blinding headache. From the clamor of birdsong outside the window, she realized it must be too early for the eleven o'clock breakfast. She would take a walk downstairs and indulge in the unfeminine practise of reading the morning papers.
    She passed various servants going about their duties on her way downstairs, but there was no sign of the other members of the household.
    She stopped the butler, who was crossing the hall, and asked him if the morning papers had arrived. He inclined his powdered head in assent and said they had been given to Lord Sanderson, who often threw them out into the end saloon after he had finished with them.
    Margery wandered through the empty rooms until she came to the end one. Lady Sanderson's “throne” was empty and an elderly dog—the only occupant of the room—lay snoring and whooping on the sofa as it chased rabbits across the endless fields of sleep.
    Lord Sanderson's panel was closed and there was no sign of the newspapers. Margery was just about to leave when the panel in the wall slid open and Lord Sanderson's head popped out with the effect of a jack-in-the-box. He was wearing a nut-brown wig, which was slightly askew. Margery reflected how odd it was that white wigs or gray wigs, however badly made, gave their wearer a certain dignity, but brown wigs always bestowed a certain air of madness, even on such a personage as the Prince Regent, who had recently been seen wearing one. Then she noticed that, wig apart, his lordship was certainly behaving in a very strange manner. One chubby finger was laid alongside his bulbous nose and he was unmistakably leering.
    “Come into my study,” invited Lord Sanderson, ogling her horribly.
    Margery wondered for one wild minute whether she was meant to climb through the small opening, which at the moment was filled by Lord Sanderson's great red face.
    “How do I get there? Your study, I mean,” she faltered.
    There was a whirring of some antique clockwork mechanism and a section of the paneling opened to reveal a small entrance.
    Feeling somehow that she would do better to turn and run, Margery nonetheless edged through and found herself in a small cubicle, almost pressed up against Lord Sanderson. To her relief, the mechanism whirred again and another small door opened in the wall opposite. Lord Sanderson led the way into a surprisingly cozy study. The curtains were tightly drawn, but a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth and two large rose-shaded oil lamps cast a comfortable glow.
    He was not so eccentric after all! Admittedly the cubicle between the walls showed more signs of occupation than the study, which must have been the reason Toby had led her to believe his father spent his whole life walled up.
    Her apprehensions gone and now feeling amused and slightly indulgent, Margery smiled at his lordship and said, “What was it you wished to discuss with me?”
    “You're a one, ain't you?” said his lordship, with the same horrible leer as before. “Hot as mustard, you are. Ain't no doubt about that!”
    Lady Margery drew herself up to her diminutive height. “You are abusing your position as a host, my lord. Pray conduct yourself in a more seemly manner.”
    “Ho! Miss High and Mighty.” The leer was wiped from Lord Sanderson's face, to be replaced by the malicious look of a spoiled brat. “There ain't any lady of my acquaintance who gets herself engaged to three gentlemen on the same day!” Lord Sanderson brandished the newspapers in front of Margery's bewildered face. Impatient with her seeming stupidity, he thrust the Gazette in front of her eyes. There, staring up at her, the black print seeming to leap out of the page, were three engagement notices. For all the world to see, Lady Margery Quennell was engaged to Toby Sanderson, Freddie Jamieson, and Viscount Swanley.
    “I didn't mean ... I d-don't know what c-can have h-happened,” stuttered Margery, backing away.
    “That's what all the lightskirts say,” said Lord Sanderson.