“There is no slavery in England,” Mr. Anthony stated. “Or where this Englishman chooses to go.”
“Here now.” Sir James Danforth stepped closer to the table. “I paid a great deal for the wench.”
Before Mr. Anthony could leap to his feet, or have a spasm, Simone caught Danforth’s sleeve. “Oh, but I see you on a boat, too.”
He reluctantly put a coin on the table next to her when someone poked him in the back. “What rot. Everyone knows I have been wanting to purchase Traynor’s yacht, as soon as the dibs are in tune.”
Simone closed her eyes and hummed. “It is not that kind of boat. Oh, now I see you with a parcel of letters.”
“What? I don’t know anything about any letters!”
“That is a lie,” Harry said from behind Simone. “You stole them from a certain lady and tried to blackmail some very influential gentlemen.”
Simone’s audience backed up several feet, away from Danforth and his clenched fists. “I’d call you out for such base accusations, Harmon, but I will not duel with bastards. Or their Gypsy trash.”
Simone could see Harry’s hand reach for the sword at his side. She put a hand up to stop him and Harry understood. This was neither the time nor the place. He took a deep breath and said, “Good, for I would not accept a challenge from an unscrupulous swine like you. But if the papers are not yours, you will not mind if Gorham throws these in the fire.” The marquis held a string-tied sheaf of letters and a journal over the hearth.
Danforth almost dove into the fireplace to rescue the bundle. “Give me that!”
“Of course,” Gorham told him, handing over the blank documents.
Captain Entwhistle gave a piercing whistle and shouted “To arms, men.” Two burly sailors raced into the room and bound Danforth’s hands. “The Navy still needs able-bodied men,” the captain told him as the sailors started dragging him out of the room. “They might make you an officer if your father pays ’em enough to keep you out of England. Not on my ship, I swear.”
“You cannot do this! Tell them, Gorham. My father is a duke!”
“And he’d rather see you gone for a decade than have the family face a long, sordid trial. That’s what his note said, anyway.”
Sir Chauncey said Danforth’s exit called for another drink, for everyone else.
“Go on, Noma,” Ruby urged. “What do you see for me?”
She saw a shop filled with Ruby’s artwork, a line of customers waiting to have their silhouettes made. “I do not see Lord Bowman in the picture,” she whispered to Ruby.
Ruby leaned over and whispered back, “Good riddance.”
In Simone’s vision, Lord Ellsworth was back with his wife. “She is breeding.”
He gave her an extra coin. “Finally!”
Alice held out a coin. “What do you see for me, Noma, a boy or a girl?”
Simone took Alice’s hand and closed her eyes. “A boy.”
Harry hid his surprise at Simone’s accurate prediction, then reasoned that she had fifty-fifty odds of guessing right.
She was going on: “But you and your son and Lord Comden are on a beautiful tropical island, full of flowers, full of love and happiness. You wear his wedding ring.”
“A wedding ring?” Comden sputtered. “I cannot. My father—”
“Is hale and hearty, with many years left before you need to take over his estate. He wishes you to find a wealthy bride, but if you have funds of your own, he cannot force you. I see that Lord Gorham is going to offer you the management of his Jamaican plantation. You and your wife, Alice.”
“I am?” Gorham asked.
Simone nodded. “That is what I see.”
Alice was crying again, in Comden’s arms. “Can we really wed? Our son will be your legal heir?”
Everyone cheered when he said he’d speak to Gorham about the position, and the archbishop for a special license.
“What of me,” Gorham wanted to know, “now that my Jamaican property is cared for?”
Simone took his coin and his hand, but reached out for Claire’s hand, too. She closed her eyes, feeling Claire’s fingers trembling. “I see… No, that cannot be right.” She paused, hummed, paused again. “All I see is the two of you together right here in this room, Gorham at the pianoforte, Claire ready to sing. You both have gray hair, and a bit more weight.”
Gorham shook his head. “My wife will not permit it.”
Simone opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Your wife is in Scotland with her butler, her lover, not visiting her relations at all. Her father won’t contest anything, not the bank accounts, not the settlements, if you agree not to sue for divorce in Parliament. His entire family would be ruined socially. Lady Gorham will not interfere in your life ever again.”
“That cannot be true.”
“It is, I heard her say so myself. That is, I saw her say she is not coming home, no matter the cost.”
Gorham was ready to send a runner to London that instant, to see if any of what Simone said was true. The man could return before bedtime.
“If this is a joke…” Claire began, her chin quivering. “I know I have not been kind, but to get one’s hopes up, that would be too cruel.”
“I only tell what I see. Give me your hand again.” Simone waited a minute. “Yes, I see you and Gorham here, and a young girl playing a violin. She is a talented musician.”
“No!” Claire yelled. “You cannot—”
Simone kept her eyes shut, her clasp on Claire’s hand firm. “Your sister’s child? No, she must be your cousin’s orphaned daughter, the one you were going to care for in Cornwall.”
“She’ll come here?” She turned to Gorham. “May she?”
“Why not? The girl needs a home of her own, and this place is certainly large enough.”
Claire started blubbering, not caring that her face paints ran and her tears spotted the silk gown she wore.
Gorham looked around. “That leaves Harry. What does his future hold?”
Harry? Simone hadn’t thought to read his future. When she held his hand, she sometimes imagined him laughing, but nothing more. She couldn’t put herself in the picture no matter how she tried. “I might as well.”
He gave her a coin and held out his hand. She took it, felt the heat she always did, then a frigid blast of ice. “He’s dead! Major Harrison. I see him! Harry, he is dead!!”
Harry went white. “No, you can’t know.”
“I do know! I see him lying in the road. But Harry, he is you—”
“My landlord,” he quickly told the aghast watchers, taking her in his arms and burying her face against his chest. “That is how Noma met him.”
“Isn’t Harrison that shadowy chap at Whitehall no one mentions?” someone asked.
“Yes.” Everyone knew that much.
“Then we would have heard if he was dead, wouldn’t we?”
Which was when a servant rushed in with an urgent message. Major Harrison had been shot.
Now Harry staggered back, almost dropping Simone to the floor. Shot? Harrison was supposed to have a heart attack!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alice fainted, the actress wrung her hands, Maura giggled nervously, Daisy started to cry. The men worried about what the world was coming to, with government officials being shot at.
Harry decided he had to go find out more. “My landlord, you know.”
Gorham was all for driving to London, too, despite the late hour, to see if he was needed at Parliament, and to check at his town house. He had to know if his wife, her butler, and her belongings were really missing. Comden wanted to go with him, to discuss the Jamaican property, and to purchase a special license. Sir Chauncey thought he might toddle along with the others, and Ellsworth decided he ought to confirm his wife’s interesting condition. They’d all be back by mid-morning at the latest, for the final competition and settling of debts.
Claire ordered the talent contest vote also put off to the next day, since tonight was so
chaotic.
Three of the men joined Gorham in his coach. Harry rode Fidus. Still dressed in his costume, but with a caped greatcoat thrown over his shoulders and a pistol stuck in his waistband, he looked more like a highwayman than a Gypsy. He stopped first at the village to drag Daniel out of a barmaid’s arms, then rode into the woods, trusting Fidus to avoid hanging branches and fallen logs.
The men he had stationed there were mounted and ready to ride, awaiting his orders. They had more news than the messenger had brought to the manor, although still incomplete. According to their information, Major Harrison was not the only subject of assassination that day. None of the others were successful, thanks to the bodyguards Harry had set in place and the precautions he’d taken.
A firecracker had gone off near the prince regent’s carriage. The horses were frightened, but the extra Horse Guards held them under control. The Prime Minister was fired at; his armed escort shot the man, who was identified as another of Eloise Lecroix’s brothers, Jean Casselle. A fire set in the visitor’s gallery at Parliament was quickly put out, with no one injured. So was a blaze at the Royal Exchequer. A female was arrested with a jug of lamp oil. She turned out to be Madame Lecroix’s maid.
There was no panic, no run on the banks, no riots in the streets. There was no sign of Fordyce, either. Harry’s men never spotted him on the road to London, nor did he return to his watched rooms at Mrs. Olmstead’s. The report indicated he had been wounded by Major Harrison’s guards. They were special services officers, trained and ready…for him to collapse on the steps. They had fired back, but Fordyce got away.
Harry was furious at himself. He’d thought the plot against the government was foiled with the arrests of Eloise, Gollup and Spenser. He’d thought Ford, or Fordyce, would be detained, so only his own demise had yet to unfold. He’d thought wrong, dammit. Now a man, a trusted aide, was dead instead of him. How could he live with that on his soul?
Harry set Fidus on the road to London, quickly leaving the three soldiers behind him. While he rode, he thought about the dead man, who had no family, thank goodness, and the live man. Fordyce could not go back to his rooms, nor to any surgeon in London, who would have been warned to report a bullet wound. He hadn’t been paid for his filthy work, according to the conversation Simone had overheard. So where would he go?
*
Alice was put to bed by Maura and Ruby, who decided to stay the night with her, lest she grow more disturbed with Comden gone. In truth, they were all upset and wanted to comfort each other. Who could not be disturbed, with a blackmailer on top of a traitor, and now mayhem in London?
Sandaree was consoled by Mr. Anthony, who moved to Danforth’s rooms. Daisy and the captain disappeared together, and the others went up to bed too.
Simone refused to retire until Harry returned or sent word as he’d promised. How could she sleep not knowing what danger he was in? She put on a warmer gown and went downstairs, where she could hear the door. She kept the dog by her side.
Claire was already in the little used front parlor, the one she kept for callers she did not wish to entertain for long. Simone almost left when she heard Claire’s description of the room, but Claire urged her to stay. She was hoping Gorham would send a message, not about the nastiness in London, but his nasty wife, and she welcomed the company during her anxious vigil.
Claire dismissed the servants to their beds after they brought tea, since she was quite capable of opening the door herself. There was no reason for anyone else to stay up so late. Or to overhear their conversation.
“How did you know my daughter played the violin?” she demanded, as soon as she filled Simone’s cup. “Did Harry tell you that, too? Does he have a friend in Cornwall?”
Simone set the cup down. “I do not understand how it works, but I just saw a pretty girl with the instrument in my mind. And Harry did not tell me about her at all, remember? You did. He would never betray a confidence that way.”
Claire poured brandy into her own tea. “Why should I believe that? Harry Harmon is a rake and a rogue, a notoriously unreliable combination. I do not see why you trust him at all.”
“Harry is the most honorable man I know. Besides, Gorham has been forsaking his marriage vows for a decade, yet you trust him, do you not?”
“I love him. Oh, I see.” Claire sipped her fortified tea and looked at Simone. “It is unfortunate when a female falls in love with her protector. Did no one tell you that? It is too easy to have your heart broken. I know. Still, I wish you well. You have done me the biggest favor of my life, if you told the truth. I cannot imagine how you knew—I do not believe that Gypsy nonsense one whit; you might as well be reading tea leaves or chicken entrails—but if you are right, I will be the happiest female in all of England. Yes, even if I can never be Gorham’s wife.”
“Perhaps Lady Gorham will expire soon. It is sinful to wish for another’s death, of course, but anything is possible.”
“Well, I have been praying for the old bat to choke on a bone any time these past years, so I suppose I won’t go to heaven. But tell me, can you see her future?”
“No, not without physical touch. That’s how it works. And that’s why I have no idea if Gorham is your child’s father. Some things must remain secret.”
Claire poured another dollop of brandy into her cup. “I’ll drink to that.”
*
They both heard the pounding on the front door. Claire rushed out of the parlor to open it, but neither Harry nor Gorham nor a footman in Gorham’s livery stood there. Fordyce did, a gun in his right hand, a bloody bandage wrapped around his left shoulder.
The dog growled, and Fordyce told Simone to muzzle him, or he’d shoot. He looked at her. “I know you, don’t I?”
She wished she was not wearing a dark gown, with her hair held back in a loose knot. Her appearance was too reminiscent of the boarding house. “Of course you know me. You saw me dance, remember?”
Claire was furious that an armed man had dared to shove his way into her home. Worse, he was bleeding onto her carpet. “What do you want?”
“I want Spenser. He has my money.”
“Not that I owe you any explanation, but Mr. Spenser was taken away by the authorities after the ball. Something about funding a plot.” Claire finally realized that she was most likely confronting the man responsible for carrying out that plot, for shooting a man in London. She fainted.
Fordyce stepped over her and lifted the crystal brandy decanter. He shifted the gun to his left hand, so he could hold the decanter to his lips. “You were at Mrs. Olmstead’s. The priggish female in the attics what wouldn’t give me the time of day. Miss Simone Ryland, the governess.”
“You must be mistaken,” she said, in French, hoping he’d think she was a foreign fille du joie.
“You’re no French whore. You’re the governess, all right. Mrs. Olmstead said you were smart and educated,” he answered in the same language. “No one else has hair that—” Then he realized he’d given himself away, after a decade of speaking English on this accursed island. Not that it mattered. He was a wanted man anyway, if he didn’t die of the gunshot.
“I need money. Now.”
“There is a fortune in Gorham’s safe, the money for the competition.”
Fordyce kicked at Claire’s skirts and had another swallow of brandy. “I doubt he’d tell his doxy how to open it.”
“I have an expensive bracelet upstairs. You might have seen it, the prize in the dance contest. I’ll go get it for you.”
Claire groaned, but they both ignored her.
“You’d like to go, and raise the servants or fetch a pistol at the same time, I’d warrant.”
Those were her precise plans, but she shook her head, no.
“I’ll go with you, then. And if you scream, you’ll never get back downstairs.”
Simone looked at Claire, hoping she was waking up enough to sound the alarm.
Fordyce must have had the same thought, for he brought t
he butt of his gun down on Claire’s head.
Simone screamed. She couldn’t help it. Fordyce grabbed her, the pistol pressed to her neck. The dog snarled and snapped at Fordyce’s leg. He kicked it away, then waited to see if anyone came running. No one did.
“All right. Up we go.” He released her, but kept the gun pointed at her back. When he turned to close the parlor door behind them, the dog inside, Simone reached for a vase on a hall table beside the door. She held it over her head, ready to throw.
“You can shoot me,” she said, “but everyone will hear. The servants are not that far away, likely cleaning the music room down the corridor. Some of the gentlemen are playing billiards.” She knew Harry would forgive her the lies. “You might get away, but without any money, and they’ll go after you. Go now, while you have a chance.”
Fordyce was undecided.
Simone heard the dog throwing himself against the parlor door. And something else. Someone was outside, galloping closer. Fordyce heard it, too. He turned toward the front door. Simone brought the vase down on his head just as Harry burst into the house, pistol drawn.
Fordyce staggered, but stayed on his feet. He shook his head and peered at Harry through the water and flowers that dripped down his face. “You! They told me to watch out for you, that you were connected to Harrison. I watched, but you were nothing. A useless drain on your useless society.”
“Strange, I do not feel so useless, now that I have a gun.”
Fordyce’s hand at the back of his head came away bloody. He cursed in French, then turned fast and pulled Simone in front of him. “But I have something you want. What I want is gold. Drop the gun and reach for your purse.”
Harry put the gun down carefully. He slowly reached inside his coat, and came out with a knife. He shouted “Down, Simone,” and threw it.
Fordyce’s gun went off and shattered an Egyptian burial urn. Then he fell backward.
He stared up at Simone through eyes that were quickly clouding over. “Black eyes. I knew you were that governess.”
Claire gasped, holding onto the parlor door frame. Harry pulled his knife out and threw his greatcoat over Fordyce. Footsteps thundered down the stairs, the dog barked, women screamed, men shouted from outside, servants raced down the hall, Daniel pounded in from the rear of the house.
The Scandalous Life of a True Lady Page 29
