She was determined to review the facts one piece at a time. But, as Sarah stood in her nightdress and looked out over the chill street below through the bare branches of the plane trees, the truth washed over her. Young Rutherford Lestrom and Davinoff were in the plot together. Of course! That was why the scholars at the Rolls Chapel had not remembered the most remarkable man she had ever seen. It was young Lestrom who went to the Rolls Chapel and removed the Crown grant. What could be more forgettable than his light eyes and weak chin? And who better positioned than Rutherford Lestrom to make her original deed disappear?
She began to pace the room in excitement. It was all so clear! Davinoff must be paying dearly for the services of that traitor. To have betrayed one of his father's oldest clients!
Her pacing slowed. All this deduction changed nothing. The fact that young Lestrom was in it with Davinoff only made matters worse. It meant that Davinoff knew her straitened circumstances. It meant that a record of her deed would never be found. What proof could she present of her fine theories? Any accusations she could make were empty threats.
Sarah went back to the window and leaned against it. The cold of the glass pane seared through her nightdress. She held back the tears. There were only three days left until the magistrate sat. She had three days to give up her land, or… or what? What was there to do?
Sarah tried to find solace in her regular visit to the Bath hospital early the next morning with her friend Madame Gessande. She was assigned to help Dr. Parry apply his new theory of inducing withdrawal in drug addicts. The man believed that by giving them the drug, always less, over time he could reduce the effect of breaking the addiction. It was difficult to watch the anguished wretches begging, from where they were tied to their cots, to be given access to their demon. Dr. Parry's way might be better then the old method of locking them up until they died or were cured, but Sarah wasn't sure.
On the way home in Madame's giant barouche, the weak sun pushed through the rain and silvered the wet landscape with radiant light. Madame's friendship was a gift George had made unknowingly when he had encouraged Sarah to volunteer at the hospital. The woman had fled the Revolution in France years ago. Her speech retained only a flavor of the Continent and a penchant for French endearments, and while she was old, she had managed never to lose the gleam in her gray eyes or her ready laugh. The two women had begun at the hospital by rolling bandages and patting hands, but as the nurses had little more training than they, Sarah and Madame had quickly graduated to real usefulness. It was a difficult place, but it gave them a joint purpose. Now Sarah found the whole story of her suspicions spilling out to her friend.
"Sarah, I cannot let this happen. I will testify myself," Madame sputtered.
"Testify to what?" Sarah asked. "That you believe me? I have no proof."
"But you have friends, Sarah!" the woman protested. "And those friends are not without influence. If we told everyone what was happening, those two devils could not get away with it."
"You will not tell a soul, Madame!" Sarah exclaimed. "Can you imagine that I want my impending poverty bandied about? Do you think that would make the magistrate's decision any different in the end?" She got control of herself with difficulty. "No, if there is nothing to be done, I want to go away quietly, to some place where no one knows enough to pity me."
Madame grasped her hand and squeezed it. "We will think of something, cherie, I swear. This man Davinoff is a devil. And Corina, all she can talk about is how he is in her thrall. She has spread the word everywhere that he is coming to Bath to woo her. Is it true?"
"You know how she is. She sees what she wants and can't imagine not getting it." Sarah pulled at her side curls. Corina had no discretion. The whole town must have heard the story.
"You are in distress, ma petite," Madame announced. "Therefore, you will come to dinner." She raised her voice as Sarah began to protest. "And we will discuss how to prove this deed exists, even if we cannot find it. Besides," she added, "you need company tonight."
Sarah sighed. With that, she could not disagree. The stress and isolation of the past days had left her nerves raw. At least with Madame she did not have to dissemble.
It was a delicious dinner. But though they racked their brains until the candles sputtered, their endless round of schemes all came to nothing. Sarah trudged up the stairs to the house in Laura Place feeling more hopeless than ever.
Dressing for bed, Sarah realized that Rutherford Lestrom and Davinoff were about to get just what they wanted. She climbed into bed and blew out the candle, knowing she would not sleep. Dear Madame, offering to testify on her behalf. The testimony was useless, of course. Sarah sat up in bed with a jolt. But there was one whose testimony would be most valuable. Possibilities tumbled over each other and began to take a tangible form. Her plan was dangerous. But it might be her only hope. She had to try.
The next morning, she was about early. She wanted to be waiting for Rutherford Lestrom when he arrived at his office. She rehearsed her part as she strode over the wet leaves and slippery paving stones on her way to Monmouth Street. Her breathing was shallow with dread as she thought about what might happen here today. She considered going to Rutherford's father and rejected the idea. How could she go to a man she considered her friend and accuse his son? Especially with no proof. The son must give her proof. She had decided to push him into being her ally instead of Davinoff's. It involved an untruth, but desperate times and rogues required desperate, roguish measures. There were a dozen points where her scheme could break down. But what else was left to her?
With the smell of sausages wafting about, she asked for Lestrom, Jr. She took a long breath and exhaled slowly to relax her mind. The clerk showed her in to the office. She smiled what she hoped was her best as Lestrom the Younger bade her sit.
The knave seated himself on the great chair behind the desk as though it were a throne and looked at her with those light blue eyes. "Well, Lady Clevancy," he began unctuously, "I take it you found no record of the Crown grant?"
"No," Sarah replied in clipped tones. "You knew I would be unsuccessful, did you?"
"I suspected," he agreed smugly. "Have you thought about the need to settle this?"
Sarah let her voice sharpen. "You mean, just give Davinoff Clershing?"
Lestrom's smile was edgy. "In return for some small settlement, you sign an agreement not to contest the ownership."
"I don't think so, Mr. Lestrom. I believe I shall let it go to the courts."
"But you can't!" he blurted. His tone became cajoling. "This way, you might expect to get a little something for the future."
"I could never face myself if I did not do everything I could to keep what is mine by right," she said. "You see, there was a record of my deed at the Rolls Chapel." She saw him grow wary. "Oh, don't worry. The roll itself was gone." He blinked once and his smile relaxed a notch. "I thought Davinoff had taken it, so I questioned the scholars most particularly. They couldn't remember who had been there looking for Patent Rolls of Charles the Second. Unlikely that they wouldn't remember Davinoff. Then I described you. They remembered you, Mr. Lestrom, quite clearly. They would say so to the magistrate."
He began to sputter denials. "Please refrain," she pressed. "Your only salvation is in testimony to Davinoff's crime. Save my land, and I will not prosecute you." She lifted her brows.
Lestrom's eyes were hard, but he began to fidget with his pen. "The brute would surely do me physical harm if I bear witness against him."
"But if you fail to testify, you are proven guilty yourself. Gaols are very unpleasant, I hear." She let the threat hang in the air. "It is you who have little choice, Mr. Lestrom."
The rogue stared at her from narrowed eyes, then confessed. "I need this money. Half will go to a cent-percenter in London for my most pressing obligations. But I have others. My case is desperate. How else would I dare to become embroiled with a man like that?" Rutherford Lestrom ran his hands through his hair and pushed his chair back,
standing. "I have hatched a thousand schemes to make my fortune, each more certain than the last. Yet, every time, something went wrong." He leaned over the back of the chair toward her, his face lit with intensity. Sarah began to be frightened. "It is not fair, I tell you! I wanted to show him that being an agent for other people's money was nothing, nothing." He laughed, and the laugh turned into a keening sound that sucked at her courage until he raised his wrist to his mouth to stifle it. "He has money, you know. He stacked it up inch by inch as he slaved his life away. That is not for me."
His father. The man meant his father. Sarah blurted, "If your father has money, go to him. He will pay your debts. Then you testify for me, and you are right with the world."
"I can't do that." The younger Lestrom glared about. "He can't know." As his voice crescendoed, he opened the desk drawer and pulled out an unwieldy pistol. He pointed the tiny black O of its mouth at Sarah, who froze in astonishment. "You stupid girl, this is all your fault!"
Good Lord, Sarah thought, I have sorely misjudged the situation. The muzzle of Lestrom's gun swung around the room. The man was so desperate anything might happen. "What do you expect to do with that, Mr. Lestrom?" she asked, her voice quaking only a little. "You must be sensible. Put it down. We are in a busy street, during a very busy morning in Bath." She strove to sound prosaic.
"You should not have come here threatening me," he almost shouted.
The door opened. Lestrom, Sr., stood there. His dour face was the sweetest sight Sarah had ever seen. The man looked from her to his son; then his gaze fell to the gun. There was a moment when all was still. Then his expression changed from his usual distracted frown to surprise and pain. His son quieted. The gun dropped to his side as though it weighed a great deal. Lestrom, Jr.'s, light, ugly eyes turned opaque.
"Father," he said. The word carried such a weight of supplication and despair that Sarah was suddenly unsure she knew these two men at all.
"Put the gun on the desk, boy."
Sarah was shocked to see the son obey, all spark of savagery tamed.
"What did you expect to gain from this, Rutherford? Did you expect to shoot her here in my offices this morning?"
"I don't know. I only wanted to frighten her, I suppose." The son's voice was colorless.
"I am sure you were a blinding success in that." His bitterness spoke of other disappointments. Sarah wondered if the old man who was so kind to her was as forgiving of his son. The young man seemed to shrink before her eyes. There was an aching silence.
"Well, at least I know what happened to the deed," the old man said at last. Sarah swallowed. Lestrom's tired eyes moved from his son to her face. "Why did you not come to me?"
"I had no proof, not really." Lestrom, Jr., raised his head in dull surprise. "I wanted to force a confession from him," Sarah replied, anguished. "Then I would have come to you."
The father smiled, sad. "It is my fault it has come to this. I have known about the weakness in my son's character for a long time." The old man's brows raised and he pressed his lips together. He squared his shoulders. "Now to devise a way out of this mire. Rutherford can testify to the existence of the deed, and his perfidy. That should put Davinoff off."
"I… I can't testify against Davinoff!" the younger man stuttered. His father just stared at him. Finally Rutherford muttered, "He wasn't in on it. He offered fair value."
"What?" Sarah cried. "He never plotted to steal my land at all?"
Rutherford shook his head. Heedless of his son, Lestrom, Sr., came to stand in front of her and take her hand. "If you still trust me to handle your affairs, my dear, let me try to settle the matter with Davinoff. I shall send a note round to you as soon as I connect with him."
Sarah's eyes filled with tears. The excitement was over, and she had hurt Mr. Lestrom. Helpless in the face of his mourning for his son, she nodded and kissed him on the cheek.
"Now do go home, Lady Clevancy. And leave my son to me."
Sarah squeezed his hand and went to the door. As she opened it, she turned to see the two men staring at each other.
She closed the door quietly after her and crept down the creaky stairs.
All that afternoon, no word came from Lestrom. Sarah stayed at home fidgeting about the house, lighting upon no activity that could claim her attention for more than a few moments. Davinoff still had a valid claim if he cared to use it. She had no deed to prove him wrong. Could Rutherford Lestrom's testimony really save her land?
She received a card from the Countess Delmont inviting her to dinner on Monday evening. She always looked forward to the countess's dinners. But now, all she could think of was Clershing. She suffered all night without knowing the outcome of Lestrom's dealings with Davinoff. Early the next morning, a note arrived in her solicitor's spidery hand.
My dearest Lady Clevancy,
I saw Davinoff too late last Night to send Word. He seems to conduct his Business in the Evening Hours. However, I can report a successful Conclusion. He knows you do not have Proof of ownership. (I regret that Rutherford burned the deed and the Patent Roll.) However, he has agreed not to contest your Right to Clershing. His very generous Offer to buy the Property stands. The Price would leave you a rich Woman. I can never redeem my son's Actions or my own Blindness, but I shall spend my Life in the attempt.
Lestrom
P.S.: Rutherford left this morning for Calais. We decided he may do rather better when he is out from under my thumb.
Tears of relief rolled down Sarah's cheeks. She rushed to share the news with Amelia. Clershing was free of Davinoff's shadow! Chaos had been held at bay! Sarah and her aunt celebrated by sharing a glass of ratafia before their nuncheon, while Sarah listened with great goodwill to Amelia's assertion that she had known they would win through all along.
When she went to see Lestrom, Sarah found that Davinoff had indeed renewed his offer, but would not force her hand. Sarah had never expected the dark man to practice restraint upon his desires. Why didn't he press his advantage? She would never give up Clershing! Too much of her, of her father, of her mother's death, was tied up there. When Mr. Lestrom promised to convey her sentiments to Davinoff, Sarah went disquietedly back to her life.
Over the next few days, she heard Corina was much in evidence in Bath. Sarah's friend was seen at the Assembly Rooms—dancing with Davinoff, according to Madame Gessande. Thornbury Abbey's owner had apparently procured the coveted voucher in a single day from Countess Delmont, one of the patronesses of the rooms. Sarah did not want to think how. She wondered if she should go to the countess's dinner, since there was no telling if her adversary would be there.
Sarah met Lady Varington in Milsom Street on Monday and had to endure a dithering recital of Corina's electric encounter with Davinoff at the Theater Royal on Friday. Corina had worn a dress cut at a V of scandalous depths. According to Lady Varington, Davinoff had come to Corina's box during the interval and, there, in full view of everyone, he had taken a white rose bud from a passing flower girl, carefully stripped it of all its thorns, and kissed it once, brushing it past his lips. He'd then placed it between Corina's breasts. Several women fainted.
To Sarah, it was just Corina on the hunt: pushing the boundaries, being outrageous, knowing her outrageousness would capture her prey. But Bath had never had a close look at the young woman in full flight. There had been rumors, Sarah knew; but never anything so public as this. Bath was too small for Corina. What would happen when she finally went too far? Of course, nothing would matter to Corina if she captured Davinoff—and Sarah had no doubt that her friend could do it. Corina was invincible, larger than life. She was probably just the woman for Davinoff. And he was just the man for her.
Which meant Davinoff would likely never go to a dinner hosted by Countess Delmont; those dinners were known for delightful conversation rather than magnetic young heiresses. Sarah decided she would go.
Chapter Six
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When Sarah arrived by sedan chair at the Ro
yal Crescent, she was fashionably late. She had first been to the countess's handsome house at number seventeen the Royal Crescent two summers ago when the countess included young people in her party to capture the interest of Percy Shelley. He'd been staying with William Godwin and his daughter Mary down in the abbey churchyard at the house of William Meyler. It was a perfect residence for Mr. Godwin, since Mr. Meyler ran a circulating library from his house. From that circumstance Sarah had seen them often. Mr. Shelley was proofreading Childe Harold and introduced Sarah to the works of Lord Byron.
The countess lived almost at the center of the graceful Crescent. The doors to each house were spaced equally between the Georgian columns of the grand facade to provide the symmetry John Wood the Younger had intended. But, inside the doors, the houses were of vastly different sizes. The countess had one of the grander residences. As Sarah entered the drawing room the owner descended and collected her into the room.
"So glad you've come, Lady Clevancy. When Upcott arrived alone I almost gave you up."
"I am surprised you have torn him away from his work, Countess."
"Confidentially, I invited Dr. Parry so they might talk about their experiments and leave you free, my dear." The countess was a ripe woman of forty-five, still handsome, a gardenia just curling at the edges. Word of the beauty regimens she used to preserve her natural endowments routinely sent everyone in search of cucumbers to lay over their eyes, or strawberries soaked in milk for their complexion. Tonight she wore off-white satin, cut very low across her creamy swelling bosom and adorned with ropes of pearls in varying lengths. An ethereal scarf was tied about her neck, trailing to the back. Charming, but not in the countess's usual decorous style.
She ushered Sarah into a room already full. Sarah saw immediately that she had misjudged Davinoff's taste in company. There he was, an elegant black blot upon the room, a glass of wine held negligently in one hand. He stood talking to George and Dr. Parry in the far corner, looking amused. Sarah caught her breath and looked away. Numbly she noted perhaps a dozen other people. There was Reverend Jay, whose sermons were so stirring, and Mr. Wilberforce, whose career as a politician was sacrificed to his fight against the slave trade. Mrs. Piozzi, Madame d'Arblay, and of course, Madame Gessande. She knew Mayor Palmer by sight, though she had never met him. The countess concocted her guest lists for their conversational possibilities, not for the social standing of the participants.
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