The Adventuress: HFTS5 by Marion Chesney, M.C. Beaton Page A

hands. She tried to speak, but the indignity she was suffering was too great. Holding her great breast in both hands as if she were holding a pudding, Mrs. Otterley rushed out.
    “Is that an insult, Rainbird?” Emily asked the butler after he had closed the street door behind Mrs. Otterley and returned.
    “An insult, miss?”
    “Well, like cocking a snook—putting your fingers to your nose. She clutched her … em … in both hands, turning an awful colour, and glaring as she did so.”
    “No, miss. She was probably suffering from a spasm. A great many ladies have trouble with their spleen. I remember …”
    “Never mind her,” said Emily quickly, wishing to forget Mrs. Otterley’s visit as soon as possible. “I must consult you, Mrs. Middleton, and MacGregor. I am giving an impromptu dinner tomorrow night.”
    “Certainly,” said Rainbird. “I will fetch them now.”
    Soon Mrs. Middleton, Rainbird, and Angus MacGregor were busily discussing menus. At first MacGregor was quite animated about the whole thing, for he enjoyed every chance to show off his genius as a chef. But when Rainbird and Emily were deciding it would be best if Mrs. Middleton continued in her role of chaperone for the dinner party, Angus fell quiet.
    Emily finished her discussion with Rainbird and turned back to the cook. He looked red all over, reflected Emily, bright red hair poking out under his white skull-cap, bright red face …
    “Angus!” she realised Rainbird was saying in alarm. “Are you all right?”
    “I feel verra hot,” said Angus, putting a hand to his brow. “It came over me, sudden-like.”
    “Perhaps you had better go and lie down,” said Emily anxiously. “We must have you well for tomorrow.”
    “Aye,” said Angus. He rose to his feet and stood there, swaying.
    Rainbird caught him round the waist and supported him to the door. Soon, both men could be heard mounting the stairs.
    “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Middleton. “I do hope Angus will not be ill tomorrow. There is his book of recipes and I think I could contrive to cook the dinner myself, Miss Goodenough, but it is not the same. I mean … a she-cook!”
    “Yes,” said Emily gloomily. That much she had learned in her servant days. No one who was anyone kept a she-cook.
    Upstairs, Rainbird put Angus to bed, promising to bring him up some powders to reduce the fever, which appeared to be increasing its grip on the cook. He then made his way down. On the first landing stood Mr. Goodenough, straightening his cravat in the old mirror that was hung there on the wall.
    The glass was very bad and had the effect of making people’s reflections look as twisted as poor Mr. Goodenough’s face actually was. The butler glanced over Mr. Goodenough’s shoulder and stiffened.
    For the butler’s face in the glass was twisted, but the old mirror had the opposite effect on Mr. Goodenough’s features. They were strangely straightened out and he looked as he had before the apoplexy.
    And that was how Rainbird remembered where he had seen Mr. Goodenough before. When Rainbird had been a footman some years ago in Lord Trumpington’s household, his master had stopped on the road north at the home of a certain Sir Harry Jackson. Spinks, Sir Harry’s butler, had been very kind to the green young footman, John Rainbird. What on earth was Spinks doing masquerading as a gentleman? And who was this niece?
    “Is anything the matter, Rainbird?” asked Mr. Goodenough, turning around.
    “No, sir,” said Rainbird quietly. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter
Eight
     
    Dear to my soul art thou, May Fair!
There greatness breathes her native air;
There Fashion in her glory sits;
Sole spot still unprofaned by Cits
.
We fix your bounds, ye rich and silly,
Along the road by Piccadilly
.
    —Anon
     
    What a day!
    Emily looked down the dining-table and could not believe she had finally achieved it. The guests were seated and the food was superb.
    Apart from herself and Mrs. Middleton and Mr.