'Matthew, this man who was murdered. Isn't he the one Colum was so angry about, who he wished to challenge to a duel?'
'I believe he was,' Matthew said, keeping his tone nonchalant. 'He cheated a good many other young men too, some of them for far greater sums than Colum could have lost. He was far from popular.'
She looked at him keenly, then nodded.
'I can't believe Colum would have had the nerve,' she said, so quietly he had difficulty in hearing her words.
'Of course not,' he said, and Brigid thought she detected a false note in his voice as he seemed to be trying to sound confident.
Her next partner then appeared, and Matthew retreated to the card room, where he found many of the players more interested in speculating about the murder than playing cards.
*
The next few days were so busy as they prepared to travel to Brighton that Brigid was able to forget the murder, and her suspicions, which she told herself were ridiculous. On the day before they left London she felt obliged to pay a visit to her aunt, to bid her farewell.
The Wimpole Street house was in a turmoil, trunks and valises everywhere. Brigid was shown up to the drawing room, where she found her aunt conning some lists. Aunt Mary greeted her abstractedly.
'My dear Brigid, I'm sorry you find us in such a muddle. Moving, when it is just a rented house, is so complicated.'
'I didn't know you were going back to Dublin so soon.'
'Dublin?' Aunt Mary laughed. 'Oh, no, my dear, we don't go back to Ireland so soon. We are moving to Brighton for a while, though I must say the house Colum hired for us is not what I would have chosen. It isn't in one of the better streets, but all that was available so late. I could not persuade Mr O'Neill to make up his mind to go until last week, and this is what comes of it. But he is so - well, I should not complain. So we will be seeing you there, I believe. When do you go?'
'Tomorrow,' Brigid said, her mind seething with speculations. 'I came to bid you farewell, but I will not now have to. We will undoubtedly meet in Brighton.'
'And perhaps, in a more intimate environment than London is, I may be able to persuade you to make that promised visit.'
Brigid was full of conjectures as she walked back home. None of the O'Neills had even hinted at a plan to visit Brighton, and from what her aunt had said the decision had only been made a week before. She wondered why? Was it in any way connected with Sinead's adventure at the masquerade? Had her identity, and the events there, become common knowledge? She had heard no hints, and if Sophia had surely she would have been told?
She tried to forget. She had hoped to be rid of her cousins, but they would be present and she would not be able to avoid them. Ought she, perhaps, to accept that pressing invitation to visit them, and then she could dismiss them from her thoughts? She shook her head. No, she did not wish it, and she could not think why her aunt was so determined to encourage it. She did not have the impression her aunt was fond of her. She made all the right noises, used endearments, but that was all. There was no real warmth there, and her uncle was a remote figure she had scarcely spoken to.
There was nothing she could do about it. She would try to avoid seeing too much of her cousins, and so the only thing to do was try and forget them.
*
The first few days were busy as they settled into the house on the Steine. It was commodious, well-furnished, and not as noisy as Sophia had feared. They took out subscriptions at Donaldson's Library, and Sophia looked forward with some trepidation to the start of her water cure.
'I am sure the sea will be cold,' she said to Brigid as they walked along the sea front and watched the people using the bathing machines.
'You will soon get used to it,' Brigid tried to reassure her. 'I've heard people say that it is cold when first entering the water, but once one is immersed it does not feel cold.'
Sophia shivered. 'I hope so. Brigid, why don't you try it? You have been looking pale just lately, perhaps it would be beneficial for you too.'
Brigid suppressed a smile. She had been certain Sophia would ask for her company. She did not know if she was paler than usual or not, but if it were so, it was probably the result of Matthew's proposal, the unexpectedness of it, and the fact she had been forced to refuse him. And, she added, the annoyance of having the O'Neills following her to Brighton.
Why had they so suddenly decided to come? Nothing had been mentioned until they heard the Langstons were coming. Were they, for some unknown reason, following Sophia and her family? Or, but this seemed ridiculous, following her? Would they be satisfied if she went and stayed with them for a few weeks? She shied away from the idea. They had nothing in common apart from being related. Her taciturn uncle, who was barely polite to his guests, and stern to his children, was quite unlike her father, who had been friendly towards everyone, loving towards her mother, loving and indulgent towards her. She blinked back a tear. Though they had died so long ago she still missed them enormously. She had been fortunate Miss Benson had permitted her to remain at the school and become a teacher, for there had been no money for her to inherit. They had, she believed, subsisted on a small legacy or pension her mother's family had provided from some trust fund, but that had ended when her mother died. None of her mother's close family were still alive, there had been no help from them. She did not know whether there were distant cousins.
She banished these gloomy reflections. Sophia was still looking at her, a mischievous smile on her lips.
'Well?'
'Oh, you know I will join you! When do we start? Today?'
'I think I need a little more time to become used to the notion! And as tomorrow is Sunday, it would probably be considered wrong to bathe then, even if the bathing huts are allowed to ply for business.'
'On Monday, then. Do we need to book a machine?'
'I'll ask Alex.'
On Monday, despite Sophia's mentioning three times at breakfast that it was a cold, cloudy day, Brigid finally escorted her to the beach, where their bathing machine, a four-wheeled wooden contraption, a sort of hut, waited for them. They climbed in, and changed from the walking gowns into the voluminous bathing dresses that covered them from head to toe.
'How hideous we look!' Sophia exclaimed and they collapsed into giggles.
Having put their gowns safely out of reach of any water than might come into the hut, they had to cling to the sides as the machine, pulled by a sturdy horse, trundled into the water.
Long before they were ready the machine halted, the sea-facing door was opened, and the buxom woman attendant told them to come down the short flight of steps into the water.
Sophia looked at Brigid, then took a deep breath and went towards the steps. The woman helped her climb down, and as Sophia gasped with the shock of the cold water, suddenly grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her wholly under.
Brigid almost retreated into the interior, but from the look on the attendant's face she knew that was what the woman was expecting, so she stepped forward, clambered down the steps, and moments before the woman reached for her, ducked right under.
She came up shivering and gasping, to find Sophia spluttering beside her. Their bathing gowns were floating like balloons around them, and Brigid suddenly began to shake with laughter.
'We must look so ridiculous!' she exclaimed. 'Sophia, can you swim? Or do we simply stand here shivering until we are permitted to climb out?'
'I could swim, once, when I was about ten years old and we went to stay with some cousins who lived in Somerset, and had a small lake. I don't know if I can remember how. But then I was only wearing a shift, not this great ugly thing. Alex told me the men are permitted to swim naked,' she added, and giggled. 'Do you think we would dare?'
'Betsy told me some of the young men set up telescopes in the Marine Parade houses, hoping to see bathers, so I don't advise you to try.'
'It's almost a pity.'
Brigid was pleased to see Sophia's spirits lifting, and she found it was tru
e that once they were under the water it did not feel so cold.
'As these bathing dresses are floating, perhaps they will hold us up. I learned to swim when I was very small, but have not tried for years. Well, if I sink, drag me up.'
Somewhat to her surprise, when she lifted her feet off the ground, she could keep afloat. So could Sophia, and they splashed around until the attendant told them it was time to go. Very pleased with themselves, after they were dry and respectably gowned again, they went home and indulged in hot chocolate and small cinnamon cakes Cook had baked that morning.
*
Chapter 11
Life settled down in a pleasant, unhurried manner. Sophia and Brigid bathed most mornings, and instead of just splashing around within reach of it, soon ventured further from the bathing machine as they became more confident. They drove out in the afternoons when the weather was fine, and when it rained, as it often did, they sat and read the books they borrowed from Donaldson's library.
'We ought to attend some of the balls,' Sophia said. 'They have them at both the Ship and the Castle Assembly rooms. It would be an opportunity for you to meet some young people.'
'It would serve me better to meet older ones, who need companions,' Brigid replied.
'I don't want to lose you.'
'But I sometimes feel you are employing me out of charity,' Brigid said bluntly. 'I do not do nearly enough to justify the very generous salary you give me, and it embarrasses me.'
Sophia shook her head.
'Nonsense. You keep me company when Alex cannot, and without you I feel sure I would sink into melancholy. I cannot think why, since I always longed for a daughter, and I have the prettiest, sweetest one I could imagine now.'
'I believe it affects some women this way, after giving birth. My mother had a friend who suffered in the same way. It passed, though, and you do appear to be much better since we came to Brighton.'
'Because you are with me, and though I cannot understand why the sea bathing could help, perhaps it has.'
Sophia insisted they attend a ball at the Ship, and Brigid frowned to see Colum and his family there. Aunt Mary waved to her and sent Colum to fetch her to where she sat amongst the chaperones.
'My dear niece, I was beginning to wonder if you had left Brighton, as we never see you, and you have not been to see me. Perhaps you despise the poor accommodation we are forced to endure?'
Brigid flushed, feeling this rebuke was justified. She had put off paying a call on her aunt, not because of where they were lodging, but because she wished to avoid more argument over a possible visit, something she was determined would never happen.
'I am sorry,' was all she could say, since a true explanation was impossible, and she would not lie and pretend she had been too busy.
'Never mind. Have you been riding on the Downs yet?'
'No. Mrs Langston does not ride yet, so I have no one to go with.'
She perceived her error immediately, for her aunt's eyes brightened.
'Then I have just the notion! Colum and Sinead ride frequently with some friends they have made here, Jonah and Clarissa Meekins. They hire horses from a very respectable stables. They plan to ride out tomorrow, if the weather holds. It would give us all great pleasure if you joined them.'
'I will do so if Mrs Langston does not need me,' Brigid promised. She enjoyed riding, and Colum was a far better rider than he was a whip. She would not be at his mercy as she had been in his curricle. She stifled a grin. No doubt Sinead would indulge her desire for a gallop on the open Downs.
'Then I will send our footman to ask in the morning, and if the weather is propitious, you may ride tomorrow afternoon.'
Colum was looking pleased, but to Brigid's relief he did not ask her to dance. Instead he took her to be introduced to the Meekins. Jonah was a man of his age, with a thin face and narrow shoulders. He had, however, a delightful smile, and fine eyes that seemed to sparkle with enjoyment of life. His sister was a few years younger, similar in looks, but with a more serious expression. She inclined her head when Colum introduced Brigid, and said, with a gracious smile, that they would welcome her company on their rides. Perhaps, Brigid thought as they went home, it would not be so bad after all.
*
In London Matthew and Peter Salcombe were attempting to discover who had been with Charles Twyford on the day he had been murdered. Although the woman who ran the gaming club he patronised was normally indifferent to her clients, admitting anyone ready to wager their money, Matthew found he was barred when he tried to gain access.
'You game at Watier's,' the burly doorman told him. 'Why do you need to come here?'
'That's my business,' Matthew said, rather taken aback.
'Well, who comes in here is mine! And you will not come in.'
Salcombe had the same experience.
'They know we are friends,' he said when he went to Matthew's rooms and they wondered what to do next. 'They must be hiding something.'
'Unless it is simply an objection to those of us who game elsewhere, in more respectable establishments. But why should that disturb them?'
'We need to know if he was there that night, and who else might have been with him.'
'They would recognise us if we kept watch, but they are not likely to know my groom. He might recognise some of the men who go there, for he's seen them in the Park often enough. I'll set him on to watch who goes there, and maybe there'll be someone we can ask.'
'I suppose he was going to see his doxy?'
'There would be no other reason for him to go that way, surely, so late at night.'
'Would she know anything?
Matthew shook his head.
'I doubt she went anywhere with him. From what I've heard she's no more than a tavern wench who caught his eye. Pretty enough, they say, but she would not be welcome in St James's Square. She'd have no money to stake. And he wouldn't care to be seen with her at more respectable places. Having a high flyer as a mistress and taking her to the Opera is a different matter.'
'And Twyford might be afraid she'd stake something else with a man who had more money than he did.' Salcombe frowned. 'Now that's interesting. Was Twyford as wealthy as he should have been if he'd been cheating young fools like O'Neill, looking for excitement?'
'I heard he sported his blunt on the horses, so probably not. That doesn't help us though. He must have been followed, unless it was a random attack.'
'That I do not believe.'
'We have to find someone who might have seen him leave the club, and may have seen someone following him.'
'Let's hope your groom can recognise someone willing to talk.'
'Or who can be induced to be willing.'
*
To her surprise Brigid enjoyed her first ride on the Downs with her cousins and their friends. Colum was uncharacteristically subdued, and even helpful in assisting her to mount. The horse they had hired for her was a spritely but well-behaved mare with easy paces. Sinead and Joshua sped off in a gallop as soon as they reached a clear space, but soon returned, flushed with triumph and teasing one another about the faults they perceived in one another's horses. Clarissa smiled on everyone but offered no opinions on the weather, the scenery, or their mounts.
For several days this happy state of affairs continued. Aunt Mary paid a call on Sophia, but refrained from talking to Brigid about her refusal to commit to a prolonged visit, saying only that they were happy to see her whenever she could be spared by Mrs Langston. Encouraged by this change in her attitude, Sophia returned the call, taking Brigid with her.
They went to another ball, and while Colum was attentive he did not ask Brigid to dance, for which forbearance she was grateful. By now they had become acquainted with some of the visitors to Brighton, as well as their London friends who had migrated there for the summer months, and Brigid had plenty of partners. There was, however, to her disappointment, no Matthew.
Brigid chided herself for even thinking about him. She had refused his pr
oposal, and although they had remained friendly, she suspected that if she saw him regularly in a place like Brighton, where society was more relaxed than in London during the Season, she would regret it even more than she already did. And that would not do. She was not a suitable bride for Matthew Childe.
She busied herself looking around for potential new employers. She was determined that however much Sophia tried to persuade her, she would not remain with her when the Langstons went to their home in Oxfordshire. So, she told herself firmly, she needed to secure another position as soon as possible. She applied to a few of the advertisements in the Morning Post, but none really attracted her. She had heard of no one in Brighton who needed a companion, and was beginning to think, rather regretfully, that she might have to settle for a post as a governess again. Any diversion was welcome, and as Sophia encouraged her to do so, she always accepted invitations to ride with her cousins.
*
Matthew's groom did recognise some of the men who patronised Twyford's gambling club, and a couple of the names were surprising. There was no one, however, that Matthew or Salcombe felt they could approach. As Matthew was beginning to despair, however, a note was delivered to his rooms. It was a barely literate scrawl on the back of a playbill, asking to meet him that evening at a tavern in Fleet Street, where he was promised information he might find interesting. The signature was undecipherable, but Matthew had a strong suspicion he knew who had sent him the note, and was highly intrigued.
The suggested venue was respectable. He might have hesitated to go alone to one of the drinking dens in Tothill Fields, without a couple of pistols, and Salcombe had gone to the country to visit a dying uncle. The note had said the writer could be identified by a red rose she would be wearing.
He saw her the moment he entered the tavern. She was sitting at a table with a man who looked like a bare-knuckle fighter. He was tall and broad, his nose had been broken more than once, and his right ear was flattened, part of it torn away, leaving a jagged scar. He was sitting with his tightly clenched fists resting on the table in front of him.
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