“You seem to be entertained by picturing me covered in flea bites.”
“Oh! No, no, I was woolgathering.”
“This involves you, so perhaps you ought rather to pay attention.”
His surly tone made Livia bristle. “As if I have any say in the matter.”
“You could speak up in favor of an inn that’s free of vermin.”
“Well, I don’t know any inns in Wells! I’ve never in my life been there!”
Grandmama jumped again into the fray. “I suppose,” she said to Gabriel, “you wish to stay at the Swan.”
“As it’s the only other establishment in Wells where I’d even consider stabling the horses, yes.”
“The sheets are always damp.”
“And how would you know that? You’ve just said you exclusively patronize the Royal Hart.”
“It is the common report,” answered Grandmama coldly.
“Fine! You stay at the Royal Hart, and I’ll stay at the Swan.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“It’s not absurd. It seems to me an eminently practical plan.”
“Need I remind you that we travel under your protection?” Grandmama smiled triumphantly, and it was to be seen that she had clinched the argument, for Gabriel glared but added:
“Don’t blame me when we all emerge from the Hart infested with fleas.”
“We shan’t,” she answered, with maddening serenity. “I won’t allow it. Dear me, you’re quite peevish today! Go and ride your horse until your temper cools. That’s what Richard always did. Not that he was ever as snappish as you are.”
“It grieves me to inform you that it’s raining today. Again.”
“Have you no other occupation? Surely you have something better to do than badger a helpless old woman.”
He visibly ground his teeth, his eyes flashing even more magnificently. “Yes,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “extremely helpless.”
There was, Livia mused, something vivifying about a good brangle. Grandmama had a nice healthy flush of color in her cheeks. And Gabriel looked so handsome that she wished she could go over and take hold of him in a brazen way and kiss him for a good long time.
“You’re smirking at me again,” he said to her, frowning.
“I’m not smirking!” Nettled, blushing, she lowered her eyes to Muffin, who sat amiably curled up in her lap, oblivious to the acrimony all around him. He gazed up at her with melting black eyes and squirmed onto his back, plainly inviting her to scratch his little pink belly.
And then she saw it.
“Muffin has a flea.”
Grandmama let out a squawk and Gabriel laughed in a very unhelpful sort of way. Miss Cott, seated quietly in a chair with some mending in her lap, was found to be—rather uncharacteristically—in a state of such deep abstraction that Grandmama had to speak to her twice before she could get a response.
Livia saw her start, drop her mending, and distractedly grope for it, and then Miss Cott said, “You would like some muffins? Certainly; I shall ring at once.”
Chapter 13
Livia had no time to wonder at Miss Cott’s unusual absentmindedness as Grandmama’s bedchamber became immediately the scene of frenzied activity. A footman swept Muffin off to be bathed, maidservants dove into armoires and the enormous oak dresser to inspect all of the old lady’s garments while others stood by to remove the linens from her bed. Grandmama called for a robe, which Livia wrapped around her; then, to everyone’s surprise, she rose to her feet, demanded slippers, and once they were provided, allowed Livia to put her arm around her and took some shaky steps across the room to a chair near the fire, from which vantage point she magisterially observed the servants trooping back and forth, carrying away sheets and quilts and returning with fresh ones.
Gabriel, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest, murmured something about the healing of Lazarus, which Grandmama pointedly ignored but which set Livia to wondering if the old lady had, in some way, relished her invalid state—enjoyed being cared for with such attentiveness.
Aside from the faithful Miss Cott, who had, over the past twenty years, really cared for Grandmama? She faced the imminent prospect of parting from her circle here in Bath without the least evidence of regret or sorrow, which to Livia seemed significant. It might also help explain why Grandmama had formed such a dependence on that awful Dr. Wendeburgen, who had practically haunted the house, all oily solicitousness and overweening self-assurance. Why not? thought Livia. Wasn’t it one of the most basic of all needs: to feel cared for?
She glanced quickly at Gabriel, and then away. No, she wasn’t going to think about—things. She would keep such thoughts stuffed away, like her old boots crammed obscurely into the back of her armoire.