The Pilfered Plume

by Sandra Heath

  “A little.”

  “Miss Linnet…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you forgive me for telling Lord Fane where you’d gone? I know that I shouldn’t have said anything, but he was so insistent that I was frightened for you.”

  “It was as well you did tell him, for he saved me from a great deal of unpleasantness.”

  Mary lingered by the bed, and Linnet saw tears in her eyes. “Miss Linnet, I didn’t tell on you to anyone else, I swear I didn’t! When Lady Hartley was going out a little earlier, she took me aside and asked me if I’d betrayed you. I told her I hadn’t, but she seemed to think I had. I didn’t do it, Miss Linnet, you must believe me. I love you too much to ever do anything that would hurt you.”

  The tears were wet on the maid’s cheeks, and her hands were trembling.

  Linnet knew she was telling the truth. “It’s all right, Mary, I believe you.”

  “Lady Hartley told me what had happened, and she said that someone who knew exactly what you were planning must have told that horrid woman, but I swear it wasn’t me.”

  “I know it wasn’t, so please don’t worry. Lady Hartley shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

  “She thought that it had to be me, miss, because I was the only other one who knew it all. But if it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t her, who could it be?”

  “I wish I knew. Unless…”

  “Miss?”

  “Could Tom, the coachman have said anything? Or maybe we were overheard by one of the other servants?”

  Mary considered for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible, miss, but I don’t think any of them would be disloyal to you. We all think very highly of you.”

  “Thank you for saying so.” Linnet smiled, sipping the tea.

  “Miss Linnet…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Lady Hartley also told me that your betrothal to Mr. Gresham is to be ended. Is that true?”

  “Yes, Mary, it is.”

  “I hope it’s because you and Lord Fane…”

  “No, Mary, I fear not. There is an entirely different reason for the ending of the match with Mr. Gresham.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, miss.”

  “So am I, Mary. So am I.”

  “I think he still loves you, Miss Linnet. Lord Fane, I mean, not Mr. Gresham. He was very anxious indeed on your account, and I’m sure he would not have been like that unless he felt…”

  “I’d like to think you’re right, Mary, but I fear you aren’t.” Linnet smiled a little ruefully. “I admit that I do still love him, but there are still a great many problems unresolved. Last night he told me that he was innocent of any wrongdoing last year, and yet I still persisted in questioning his honesty on one particular point. After that, he told me he didn’t wish to ever see or speak to me again.”

  “Oh, Miss Linnet, you mustn’t leave it at that, for I’m certain that he does love you.”

  How good it would be if that were so, thought Linnet unhappily. She was silent for a moment, before looking at the maid again. “Did you say Lady Hartley had gone out?”

  “Yes, she said she had some business to attend to, but would be back later in the morning. I think she wished to see Mr. Gresham.”

  “Yes, she probably did,” replied Linnet, remembering Venetia’s vow to send him packing.

  There was a knock at the door, and Mary hurried to open it. Sommers came in with a note on a silver tray. “This has just been delivered, madam. I believe it to be a matter of some urgency.”

  “Thank you, Sommers.” Linnet took it and read. It came from Nicholas’s lawyer, Sir Henry Benjamin, and requested her to call at his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn at her earliest convenience. This was what Nicholas had promised her the night before. She looked at the waiting butler. “Have the carriage prepared, Sommers. I will require it directly.”

  “But, will you not breakfast first, madam?” he asked.

  “No, I think not.”

  “Madam.” He bowed and withdrew.

  Mary looked at her. “What shall I put out for you, miss?”

  “The royal-blue lawn, I think, and I’ll wear it with the black velvet spencer.”

  “And the black beaver hat with the royal-blue gauze scarf?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you wish me to accompany you, miss?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Linnet decided to return the ring to Venetia rather than to Benedict, for it had been purchased through Venetia’s account at the jeweler’s. Given his financial problems, his talent for double-dealing, and the fact that he was being ejected from Fane Street, it was highly improbable that he’d obligingly return the ring either to Venetia or the jeweler. Intending to give the ring to Venetia later that day, Linnet chose to formally end the betrothal by writing a very final note to Benedict and sending it by a running footman.

  She felt nothing as she dispatched the note. It was as if Benedict Gresham had never existed in her life. The full extent of his treachery had left her feeling empty, with none of the anguish and heartbreak that had accompanied the discovery of Nicholas’s sins the year before; if sins there had been. She wondered greatly what it was that Sir Henry Benjamin would have to say to her on the subject.

  There was a welcome freshness in the air as she and Mary set off in the open landau to drive across the city to the lawyer’s chambers. She was conscious of some trepidation, for as yet she had no way of knowing whether Judith had made public her presence at the masked ball, but if her shocking and foolish escapade was to be the talk of society, she intended to face it with as much dignity as she could. She was glad that she’d chosen to wear royal-blue and black, for the colors weren’t in the least timid or retiring. The gauze scarf on her hat fluttered as the landau drove briskly eastward across the capital, and she sat erectly in her seat, looking so much the respectable lady that she found it hard to believe she’d decked herself out like a Cyprian the night before.

  There was a jam of traffic in Piccadilly, and the landau came to a standstill. Another vehicle drew up alongside, and Linnet glanced at the passenger inside. With a jolt she found herself looking at Sir Mortimer Critchley’s gray-haired figure. Her heart almost stopped, for if Judith had indeed made known her excursion to Portman Street, then he, of all the gentlemen present, would know that her conduct had been anything but ladylike.

  He looked very much the worse for wear after the night’s jollifications, and was obviously suffering from a monstrous hangover. His face was sallow, and his mane of hair looked dull and in need of a tonic. A pieman strolling by on the pavement chose that moment to ring his bell and shout his wares, and Sir Mortimer winced as the sound pierced his thumping head. Linnet felt no sympathy, for he well deserved to suffer, but she wished he’d look toward her, for then she’d know how she stood.

  At last he turned his head, looking directly at her. There was no extra light in his eye, no knowing glint, just the usual polite acknowledgment that she’d have expected from an acquaintance. He smiled a little, adopting his usual rather sanctimonious manner, and then she knew beyond a doubt that he was completely unaware that she’d been the troublesome lady in citrus-yellow whom he had been unfortunate enough to importune at the Bird of Paradise’s masked ball.

  A surge of relief passed through her, and she felt much better as the jam of traffic cleared and the landau drove on toward Lincoln’s Inn.

  Lincoln’s Inn was named after the residence of the fourteenth-century Earl of Lincoln, which had stood on the site and was one of the four great Inns of Court of the capital. The landau approached it from adjacent Lincoln’s Inn Fields, which, was the largest square in central London, and had been laid out by Inigo Jones. The immense gateway into the court stood in the southeast corner of the square, and opened into a fine quadrangle. Sir Henry’s chambers were part of a four-story terrace of handsome classical houses, the doorways of which were approached over bridged steps spanning the drop to the basement level. There was a fountain
playing in the center of the quadrangle, and Linnet could distinctly hear the water splashing as she and Mary alighted from the landau and approached the door.

  One of the lawyer’s clerks conducted them up to the main chamber on the floor above, and Mary stood discreetly behind Linnet’s chair as they waited for Sir Henry to come to them.

  He did so within a minute or so, carrying a file of papers under his arm. He was about fifty years old, be-wigged, and had a rather cadaverous appearance. He was much given to sitting with his lips sourly pursed and his fingertips resting fastidiously together, a posture that had wrought alarm in the heart of many a felon. Now, however, he was in an obliging and attentive mood, raising Linnet’s hand to his lips and murmuring that he appreciated her prompt response to his message.

  “Sir Henry, you did intimate that the matter was one of some urgency,” she replied.

  “I did indeed, Miss Carlisle, because when Lord Fane called upon me late last night, he was most insistent that I placed certain documents in your hands without further delay. Those documents I have here in this file. My instructions are to hand you the documents in strict order, and, with your permission, I will so proceed.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He took out the first item, a large document of intimidatingly legal appearance, with ribboned seals and formal writing. “This is the deed to Radleigh Hall, Miss Carlisle, and if you look you will see that the property was transferred to your name over a year ago, on the day after your late uncle relinquished it to Lord Fane. His lordship owned the property only very fleetingly, and was most anxious to see that it went to you, for he regarded you as the rightful owner.”

  Linnet stared at the document. It was all written there, the dates and the names; Radleigh Hall was hers.

  Sir Henry cleared his throat, relieving her of the deed, and placing some fresh sheets in her hands. “These are a summary of the estate accounts, Miss Carlisle. Naturally, the complete books et cetera are at Radleigh Hall itself. As you will note, the entire income from the property has been made over to you, and is held in an account at Mr. Coutts’s bank. Lord Fane has seen to it that Radleigh Hall has been kept in perfect order, and you will find it just as you would have wished.”

  Linnet’s hand trembled as she tried to peruse the papers, but it was all too much to take in. The pain of guilt struck through her as she remembered the bitter and untrue accusations she’d laid at Nicholas’s door.

  The lawyer looked at her in some concern. “Are you feeling quite well, Miss Carlisle? Shall I ask my clerk to bring you a glass of water?”

  “No. I’m quite all right, Sir Henry. Please proceed.” She handed the papers back.

  He drew a long breath, then. “I, er, think I should warn you that the next item may cause you distress, for it is a letter in your late uncle’s hand, and what it contains is an admission of certain, er, wrongdoings.”

  Nicholas’s words rang in her head as she took the letter. Joseph Carlisle said a great many things, God rot his pernicious soul! If ever a man deserved to be called out, he did, but his demise spared me the trouble. Hardly daring to think what she might be about to read, she swallowed and opened the letter.

  My dearest niece, Linnet,

  It is with great remorse that I write this letter, and with shame, for I know that I should have the backbone to admit my misdemeanors to your face. I am guilty of having deliberately misled you, because I could not bear to know that I had been found out.

  Only two things have ever meant anything to me, you are one, and Radleigh Hall is the other. I have always loved you, my sweet niece, and have long been at pains to appear all that was honorable and good in your trusting eyes, but the truth is that this particular idol has always had feet of clay, and one of my greatest weaknesses has been a tendency to cheat at cards. I have seldom been detected, but on the night I lost Radleigh Hall to Lord Fane, I was the one who had been cheating, not he, only I failed to realize that he had found me out, and that he was allowing me enough of the proverbial rope to hang myself. I fell into the trap, and I deserved to, but immediately afterward I felt goaded into retaliation. I wished to hurt Fane for my humiliation, and I chose to do so by harming his relationship with you.

  Forgive me, Linnet, for I traded despicably upon your love for me, knowing that you would not expect my word to be anything less than my true bond. I told you that Fane had cheated me of Radleigh Hall, and that he was deceiving you with the woman known throughout London as the Bird of Paradise. My doctors had already told me that I did not have long to live, and that I would not therefore have to see the look of recrimination and sadness in your eyes when you found out the extent of my misdeeds.

  I did not intend to confess to you, but I have received a visit from Fane, who has told me how well I have succeeded, for you have indeed faced him with the lies I’ve so calculatingly insinuated into your mind. My sense of guilt overwhelms me now, and I am bitterly ashamed of what I’ve done, but I am also still too weak and spineless to confess to you. I am taking the coward’s way out, my dear, and am sending this letter to Fane, with the humble request that he does not show it to you until after my death. Even now, when I am so fully cognizant of how I have failed and deceived you, I cannot bear the thought of seeing anything less than tears of love in your eyes.

  Please, I beg of you, find it in your heart to forgive me, and never believe that I did not love you dearly. Return to Fane, Linnet, for he is the man for you, and although he is at present hurt and bitter that you took my word for everything, I know that he loves you. He will make you happy, and I gladly and willingly give the match my blessing.

  Think gently of me from time to time, my dearest niece, even though I know I do not deserve it.

  I am, your loving and repentant uncle,

  Joseph Carlisle

  Tears blinded Linnet’s eyes, and she could barely fold the letter again to give it back to the lawyer. She was almost overcome with conflicting emotions; sadness that her uncle had done such things, pain that she’d continued to think ill of Nicholas for so long, and a deep sense of guilt that she’d originally given such willing credence to the lies. Oh, Nicholas, forgive me, forgive me…

  Mary leaned anxiously forward. “Are you all right, Miss Linnet?”

  “Yes. I just need a moment…”

  Sir Henry turned to pick up a small bell that stood on his great desk, and a clerk hurried in the moment it rang. “Bring a glass of water, and be quick about it,” ordered the lawyer.

  “Yes, Sir Henry.”

  The water was refreshing, and helped to restore a fragment of Linnet’s lost composure. At last she drew a long, steadying breath and looked at the lawyer again. “Have I seen everything, Sir Henry?”

  “Er, no, there is one last item, Miss Carlisle, a letter Lord Fane wrote to you last night. If you wish to recover a little more before…?”

  “No. I’ll read it now, Sir Henry.”

  “Very well.” He handed the folded, sealed sheet of paper to her.

  With a heavy heart, she broke the seal, and began to read.

  Miss Carlisle,

  I trust that by the time you read this, you will be in full possession of the true facts concerning past events, but should your indomitable sense of your own infallibility still be placing you under some misapprehension where I’m concerned, allow me to state quite finally that I did not use foul means to acquire Radleigh Hall, I did not take Judith Jordan there, as you suggested on your return, nor did I conduct a liaison with her behind your back. I loved you, madam, and continued to love you even when you persisted in denigrating me. I didn’t wish to keep the truth from you, but under the circumstances I didn’t think you warranted any more consideration than you were prepared to show me. There is one thing I will always regret, however, and that is that in the end I’ve been left with no choice but to destroy the fond memories you have of your uncle.

  Perhaps I must confess to another regret; that I continued to love you until this very night. You
’ll never know the torment I felt when, on your return to town, I realized the place Gresham had assumed in your life. I knew his true character, and that he was seeking a fortune to pay his debts, and it pained me to see you so completely taken in. It also pained me to see your uncle’s lies becoming a truth after all, for now you have indeed been cheated by a lover who has been unfaithful to you with the Bird of Paradise. It was because of Gresham that I refrained from telling the truth earlier. To have given you the deeds to Radleigh Hall while he was in the offing would have been tantamount to placing them in his scheming hands, and that I would never have done.

  When you first fled to Grasmere, before there was any suggestion of your liaison with Gresham, I meant to follow you, to give you the deeds and attempt to clear my name with you without resorting to showing you your uncle’s letter. I knew how much you loved Joseph Carlisle, and I didn’t wish to be the one to destroy him in your eyes. Perhaps I was foolish to imagine that I could persuade you of anything without using such painful proof but that is indeed what I hoped to achieve. I was delayed in leaving, however, and was then told by Lady Hartley that her half-brother was not only interested in you, but that you welcomed that interest. I therefore bided my time, in the earnest hope that Gresham was but a fleeting aberration on your part. But he wasn’t, was he, madam? You persisted in clinging to him right up to the moment you at last saw him in Judith’s arms.

  Yes, you clung to him, madam, but you didn’t love him. I’ve been the one you’ve loved, as you and I both know. But you willfully chose to accept Gresham, and even when you finally knew him for the monster he is, you again saw fit to accuse me of stealing Radleigh Hall.

  Until that moment, I had continued to love you. That love is now dead. Take back Radleigh Hall, for it is yours, and I trust that knowing the truth about your uncle proves worth it all. Go to blazes, Miss Carlisle, and pray take your all-consuming obstinacy with you.

  Fane