Impulsively, I opened the door to my coach and alighted from the vehicle. Making certain the door was shut tightly so Chakkri could not get out, I shouted to Perry’s coachman to wait before proceeding. Then I took a few steps toward the woman.
“Good afternoon, madam. Do you need some assistance?”
Instead of welcoming my offer, the woman shrank from me, terror clearly written across her face.
Surprised by this response, I did not attempt to step any closer. “Do not be alarmed. I only want to help you.”
The woman’s plump form began to tremble. Her eyes were wide with fear despite my assurance. In a heavy French accent she whispered, “No, no, no.” Then she crossed herself as if to ward off evil.
Switching to French, I asked her again if I might help her. Instead of the sound of her native language reassuring her, the woman remained paralyzed with fear.
Then her gaze went past me. Lady Perry had emerged from her carriage and walked toward us, Lord Perry waiting for her at the coach door. “What is wrong, Mr. Brummell? Is the lady hurt?”
“I do not know. I think she is French, but she will not speak with me in English or French. She seems greatly afraid.”
Lady Perry smiled reassuringly at the woman. “I am Lady Perry. Can we help you? Are you lost?”
The woman reached a shaking hand out to Lady Perry, but then her gaze darted back to me. She cringed, took another step backward, and resumed muttering the word “no” over and over.
“She does not seem as frightened of you, Lady Perry,” I said in a low voice. “She reminds me of a rabbit, easily startled, and ready to flee at any second.”
“Indeed. May I make a suggestion, Mr. Brummell?”
“By all means.”
“Will you go and stand next to Anthony? Perhaps this poor creature will be more willing to tell another woman what has happened to her.”
“Very well.” I made a slight bow in the woman’s direction as a way to reassure her I meant no harm. Then, casually, I joined Perry. Victor Tallarico had alighted from the vehicle as well.
“What is amiss with that woman? Is she mad?” Perry asked.
“She looks harmless enough, like someone’s governante,” Tallarico said.
“Governess or not, who can say?” I told them. “Lady Perry is going to try to find out what happened.”
Perry frowned. “I wish Bernadette would not walk in the brush like that. She could trip and fall.”
I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. Lady Perry is all that is graceful. Nothing of the sort will happen.”
Lady Perry had taken a step toward the woman. Although the frightened creature did not move away, her gaze remained fixed on Perry, Tallarico, and me. She shook her head at whatever Lady Perry asked her. From where I was standing, I could hear her repeating the word “no.”
Robinson chose that moment to emerge from the servant’s coach, standing behind mine. “If I might inquire as to the nature of our delay, sir?” he called.
The effect of yet another man’s presence on the strange woman was startling. She shrank behind Lady Perry as if seeking to protect herself. Her entire body shook.
“Robinson, wait in the coach,” I ordered. He pursed his lips and put his foot in the doorway of the vehicle.
Lady Perry said, “Robinson, if you will be so good as to ask my maid to come out.”
“Here I am, my lady,” announced Betty, easing her bulk out of the servant’s coach and pushing past Robinson. Betty is a practical country girl. Lady Perry had first hired her as housemaid. Later, when Lady Perry could no longer tolerate the snobbish ways of her lady’s maid, she had let the woman go and given a grateful Betty the position.
Betty joined her mistress and the Frenchwoman.
Above her and Lady Perry’s gentle talk, I could hear the mysterious Frenchwoman saying, “No, no, ze animals, ze animals.”
Could it be she had merely been afraid of the sheep? But she had cringed from me, Perry, Tallarico, and Robinson. She was afraid of men.
While Betty put a comforting arm around the Frenchwoman, Lady Perry walked over to us. “The poor thing is in a state of hysteria. We cannot make any sense out of what she says for all she will say is ‘no’ and ‘the animals.’ Anthony, I would not be able to live with myself if we simply left her here.” Lady Perry looked at her husband, her velvet-brown eyes pleading.
Perry sighed. “What do you propose to do with her?”
“I have an idea,” I said. “I know a woman in Town who runs a shelter for ‘destitute and downtrodden’ women, as she puts it. Miss Lydia Lavender is her name. The shelter is called Haven of Hope.”
Lord Perry’s eyes narrowed. “Would this woman be a relation of John Lavender from Bow Street?”
“Er, yes. His daughter,” I replied, a bit uncomfortably.
“Oh, Mr. Brummell, do you think Miss Lavender would help? If so, it would be the very thing,” Lady Perry said. “We could take this poor woman to our Town house, and you could send word to Miss Lavender.”
“How are we going to get her to London?” Perry asked. “She would need to ride in the servants’ coach. She does not seem inclined to let a man near her and since Robinson, Diggie, and Hearn are there . . .”
We looked toward where Betty tried to calm the Frenchwoman.
Lady Perry spoke. “Anthony, darling, I am persuaded the woman would ride in our coach with Betty and me. If Mr. Brummell would not mind, perhaps you and Victor could ride with him.”
“An excellent scheme, Lady Perry,” I said.
“Va bene,” Tallarico agreed.
My gaze shifted to my vehicle. Chakkri’s face was at the window. The cat was watching the proceedings. His mouth opened and he voiced a “reow” I could not hear.
Perry did not look at all pleased at the thought of being separated from his wife, but I knew he would not deny her wishes.
As it turned out, I was right. However, the matter was not easily accomplished. Lady Perry had to explain the scheme, in French, three times before the woman agreed. Still, no explanation of what had happened to her, and no other phrases could be coaxed from her other than “no” and “ze animals.”
Once Perry, Tallarico, and I were ensconced in my carriage, the woman allowed herself to be taken up with Betty and Lady Perry. Our cavalcade started out once more, with an added member to our number.
Little did I know then of the ramifications there would be from our having rescued her, and how she would hold the key to questions I had not yet even asked.
Chapter Thirteen
Once in London, I ordered Robinson to convey Chakkri to my house in Bruton Street, while I joined the Perrys in their Adam-styled drawing room in Grosvenor Square.
Setting aside my trepidation that Robinson might seize the opportunity to “accidentally” lose Chakkri in the crowded Mayfair streets, I accepted pen and paper from Lady Perry. In a few short sentences, I described the mysterious Frenchwoman’s plight, and begged Miss Lavender to come to Grosvenor Square as soon as she could.
I sanded the note, and Lady Perry ordered a footman to hurry its delivery to Miss Lavender personally at the Haven of Hope. In case he should not find her there, which was entirely possible since it was nearing five o’clock, I also gave Miss Lavender’s direction in Fetter Lane.
Meanwhile, Betty had bustled her charge to the kitchen, proclaiming that a hot cup of tea was just what the woman needed. Privately I thought a good deal more than tea would be required to quiet the Frenchwoman’s nerves.
Lady Perry then turned her attention to directing a maid to make up a room for Victor Tallarico.
“No, you must not,” the Italian protested, rising. “I’ll seek a hotel for the night. In the morning I’ll inquire about renting rooms.”
“I shall not hear of it,” Lady Perry proclaimed. “Anthony, you must convince Victor to remain with us.”
Perry picked up a bottle of Madeira wine and poured out a large measure. “Why not stay here until you c
an make more permanent arrangements, Victor?”
Tallarico did not miss his cousin’s lack of enthusiasm for the plan. “Grazie, but I tend to keep erratic hours, and would be more comfortable at a hotel.”
“Oh, surely not—” Lady Perry said, sending her husband a speaking look.
“I insist, mi bella,” Signor Tallarico pronounced. Kissing her hand and favouring her with a wink, the Italian gave me a nod of farewell and then exited the room.
Lady Perry retired to her chamber to change from her travelling dress, but not before letting her husband know of her displeasure at his lack of warmth where his cousin was concerned.
“It is not that I dislike Victor,” Perry said, as he and I seated ourselves in rose-coloured plush chairs by the fire. “He is just not as settled as I might wish. His activities run to the racketing sort. He is better off, as he himself said, at a hotel.”
“Er, Perry,” I said, taking a swallow of the fine Madeira. “Have a care to whom you express that opinion of your cousin. After what happened at the Pavilion . . ..”
Perry ran his hand through his dark hair. “I was referring to Victor’s escapades with females, but I know what you are talking about, Brummell. Jack Townsend’s brain is failing him, though. Victor would not take time away from his pursuit of the ladies to involve himself in spying or plotting with Napoleon’s allies.”
I studied Perry’s face carefully. I found it disturbing when I saw the slight bit of doubt in his eyes. Almost as if by speaking the words aloud, he was reassuring himself that they were true. “As Tallarico intends to remain in London for a time, you will have the opportunity to renew your acquaintance, perhaps be an example to him.”
Perry snorted. “Victor has never listened to anyone. Certain people must find their own way in the world, eh, Brummell?” He turned to look at me. “You have not followed my lead either, have you? While I cannot think you indulge in the sort of dissolute behaviour Victor does, you are as yet unwed at the age of seven and twenty.”
“Ah, Lady Perry, you have rejoined us at precisely the right moment,” I said rising and sweeping her a bow. A servant followed her into the room carrying a tray laden with tea and sandwiches. Yes, I was relieved that the conversation with Perry had been interrupted. I count him as one of my closest friends, but that does not mean I will discuss my most private feelings with him.
While we ate and exchanged small talk, a corner of my mind examined the absent Victor Tallarico. I allowed this corner free rein to consider him as a suspect in the poisoning. A mental image of the Italian standing in front of an emissary from Napoleon in Rome, accepting orders to act on the new King of Italy’s behalf, formed in my mind’s eye. Could it be true?
I remembered the glint of the knife he had so quickly produced when he thought his cousin might need his assistance. Signor Tallarico’s chief interest in life was women and, more specifically, his conquest of them. Perhaps it had been a woman who had persuaded him to carry out the deed.
And the man did wear a pink waistcoat. Could he really be trusted?
As I said, I tried to come up with every devious political plot in which I could cast Signor Tallarico, but the fact remained that I did not believe a single one of them. The man was guilty of no more than filling a lady’s ear with whispered promises of delights he claimed only he could deliver.
The entrance of the butler broke my thoughts. “Miss Lavender, my lord.”
Perry and I rose to our feet as Miss Lavender advanced into the room. Her gaze found me and her lips curved into a slight smile.
That smile made me pause. Not only did it brighten an already attractive face, but it seemed to convey the spirited signal that Miss Lavender considered herself my equal.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brummell,” she said. “I came as soon as I received your letter.”
I performed the introductions, all the while admiring the translucence of Miss Lavender’s porcelain-like skin and the sheer richness of her auburn hair in the candlelit room. As is her custom, she wore a neat, serviceable gown, this one in a rust-coloured wool that complimented her hair. I suddenly found myself feeling rather pleased that Tallarico had taken his leave before Miss Lavender arrived.
“How good of you to come,” Lady Perry said. “Will you not sit down and have a cup of tea?”
Here is an example of what a kind person Lady Perry is. Another lady of her rank may not have deigned to sit down and share refreshments with a social inferiour. The daughter of a Bow Street man moves in an entirely different world than the one Lady Perry inhabits, and their worlds meet only on limited levels. Those levels do not normally include taking tea.
Miss Lavender accepted the offer of a seat, I suspect because she did not wish Perry and me to remain standing. She gazed about her elegant surroundings with interest, but declined the tea saying in a businesslike manner, “I’d like to hear more about this woman’s condition. Has she been beaten?”
Lady Perry seemed taken aback at Miss Lavender’s direct approach. I could have told her that the Bow Street investigator’s daughter was not one to engage in roundaboutation.
No pampered Society girl, Miss Lavender seeks to ease the wrongs women endure due to the limitations imposed upon them by the law, social customs, and the ruthless treatment they often suffered at the hands of men. Or so she has told me.
Gazing into her green eyes, I suddenly wondered what actually motivated Miss Lavender. Was there something in her past that led her to be so conscientious in helping other females?
To answer her question regarding the Frenchwoman’s physical condition, I replied, “No, Miss Lavender, the woman did not appear physically harmed, at least not that I know of.” I raised an inquiring eyebrow at Lady Perry.
Her ladyship gave a little shake of her head. “When Betty came up to help me change out of my travelling dress, she told me the Frenchwoman had not said a word about her situation. Betty had all she could do to get a few sips of tea past the woman’s lips. The woman said nothing, would accept no food, and is still frightened to death. We do not even know her name.”
I nodded. “As I told you in my letter, Miss Lavender, the woman seems terrified of men, specifically. Had not Lady Perry been present, I feel the woman would have run off rather than go anywhere with me.”
“How lowering for you, Mr. Brummell,” Miss Lavender said.
Before I could deliver a reply to this saucy comment, she continued speaking. “So we have no idea who she is or what happened to her. Only that she has suffered some upset which has paralyzed her with fear.” Miss Lavender sighed. “Bring her to me, please.”
“Of course,” Perry said. Lady Perry rang for Betty. “Do you have room for her at your shelter, Miss Lavender?”
“I will not turn her away.”
“Do you have many women to look after?” Lady Perry queried.
Miss Lavender thought for a moment. “We had a new arrival this morning, a fifteen-year-old girl heavy with child, who brings our number to nineteen. A chambermaid, the girl had been turned out without a reference after the master of the house—the very one responsible for her condition—learned she was pregnant. She’s been living on the streets for the past four months and only learned of my shelter when she was caught stealing an apple. The grocer happens to be one I frequent. Mr. Lavell took pity on her and rather than bring charges against her, he brought her to me.”
Lady Perry listened to this account with one hand placed protectively over her stomach. “How dreadful! And how good the merchant was to realize the poor child was merely hungry.”
“A rare man, indeed,” Perry concurred. “Many would have had the chit hauled away to the nearest roundhouse.”
“Yes, Mr. Lavell is good,” Miss Lavender said with a fond smile.
Was that smile indicative of a warmer relationship between the two? My brows drew together. Miss Lavender could do better than a grocer, surely. I reflected that one day soon I might decide to visit Miss Lavender’s shelter, and the surroundin
g neighborhood. I am a curious fellow, you know.
At that moment, my attention was caught by the sight of Betty standing in the doorway with the Frenchwoman. Betty, bless her, had provided what I suspect was one of her own dresses to the distressed female. And distressed she most certainly remained. The Frenchwoman shrank at the sight of Perry and me, clinging to Betty and making the sign of the cross. Betty managed to inch her into the room.
Miss Lavender rose from her chair. “Good afternoon, my name is Lydia Lavender. What is yours?”
The Frenchwoman did not respond. Her rounded eyes remained focused on Perry and me as if at any moment we might attack her.
The next few minutes were all confusion.
A voice with a Scottish lilt sounded from behind where Betty and the Frenchwoman stood.
“Lydia! What are you doing here?” Mr. Lavender demanded.
The sound of a male voice so close at hand startled the Frenchwoman into a scream, followed by a rapid repetition of the word “no.” She stood rooted to the spot, her entire body trembling.
Betty and Miss Lavender rushed to comfort the woman. Lady Perry would have joined them, but her husband placed a gentle hand on her arm in a restraining manner.
Mr. Lavender abruptly became aware of my presence and shook his finger at me, a mannerism I feel he employs to put me in my place. “What’s this all about? What are you doing here, Mr. Brummell?”
I eyed the Bow Street man with mock gravity. “We are holding a tea party. May I see your invitation?”
Lord Perry took command of the situation. “Mr. Lavender, I did not hear you announced,” he said in glacial tones.
“How could you with all that caterwauling going on?” Mr. Lavender said.
“Father, please! I am trying to help this woman.”
“At whose request, Lydia?” A muscle in Mr. Lavender’s jaw flicked angrily. “Wait, don’t tell me. Mr. Brummell’s, no doubt. We’ll have to have another talk about your
hob-a-nobbing with him.”
“Now there is something for you to look forward to, Miss Lavender,” I said in a perfectly pleasant voice.
The Tainted Snuff Box Page 12
