Love, Lies and Spies

by Cindy Anstey

  “Oh, Miss, I am that sorry. Will yer Da be troubled?”

  Juliana smiled and then laughed lightly at Nancy’s surprised expression. She waited until they had gained the street before explaining. “Nancy, I never expected Mr. Dagmar to publish our work. If he truly were interested, he would have written some time ago. No, I just hoped he might do so and save me from the drudgery I must now face.”

  “I do not rightly understand, Miss.”

  Juliana pulled a piece of paper from her reticule. She waved it in the air like a flag. “There are at least six other publishing houses in London that print books on the natural sciences. I found their names in the volumes of our Hartwell library. Surely, among them I will find an interested party.”

  “Six, Miss. That is a lot a walkin’.”

  “Yes, you are right. And we’d better start sooner rather than later. I am supposed to be picking up a matching ribbon for my latest bonnet, so we will have to include that in our search. We do not want Aunt Phyllis to regret granting me my request.”

  “You know, Miss. I thought I ’eard Mr. Pyebald callin’ after us. Somethin’ h’about comin’ with. Do you think we shoulda waited?”

  Juliana placed an indifferent mask on her face. Lifted her skirts with one hand while perusing the list in her other. “No, I do not recall asking for an escort. You must have been mistaken.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Juliana thought it best to protect Nancy. Aunt Phyllis might look for a scapegoat for this escapade, and it was better if the girl could honestly say that she knew nothing of Mr. Pyebald’s intention to accompany them. And Juliana could argue ignorance as well, being that his company had been implicit in Aunt Phyllis’s consent but not stated. She didn’t mind looking imprudent if she had accomplished her task.

  But the search turned out to be a lot more difficult than Juliana had envisioned. The three closest publishing houses, still within a block or two from where they began on Northampton Road, employed draconian measures to see her to the door. Only one suggested that she return on another day. The other two required a hackney coach, a great deal of time, and many inquiries to find. When at last Juliana returned to the town house, the family was in an uproar.

  She had taken almost three hours to finish what should have taken no more than one. And while Carrie was greatly impressed with the perfect match that Juliana had at last found in her ribbon, the rest of the family was less so.

  To make matters worse, and despite the fact that Juliana had arrived with more than enough time to change and prepare for the play, Lady Pyebald flew into vapors and Lord Pyebald suggested postponing the jaunt. Mr. Pyebald was sent to exchange the tickets for a later date, and Aunt Phyllis retired early with a sick headache. Vivian sulked and blamed Juliana for their ruined evening, and the girls decided to play cards in their room, well away from their … frustrations.

  Juliana was left to sit alone in the drawing room with Uncle Leonard. A dull, quiet night was meant to show her the error of her ways.

  Aside from the occasional crack of the fire, delicious silence reigned. Juliana thought it a wonderful respite, but she did not wish to be on bad terms with the man sitting across from her.

  “I am sorry for the fuss, Uncle. I really had no idea that I would cause such a disruption. I—” She silenced her blathering when she saw that he was looking over the edge of his book with a bewildered expression.

  “My dear, this is the first moment I have had to relax since we arrived. I couldn’t be happier. I really do not understand the fuss myself, but then women…” He shrugged. “Your shopping might have been a tad overlong, but I know you to have a sensible head upon your shoulders, which is more than I can say about some in this household, and I was not concerned. Not in the least.” His smile was calm and soothing. “The strictures of society can be so confining.”

  Juliana began to feel a lessening of the tension that had built up through all the histrionics.

  Uncle Leonard raised his book slightly as if to recommence reading and then lowered it again. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Juliana recalled the last two publishing houses, which had expressed an interest in the lady beetle research and the one that had given her an appointment for next week. “Yes, it was a most successful excursion. Did you not see the ribbon and how well it matched?”

  “Of course, my dear. The ribbon. I had forgotten the reason for your outing.”

  Just as Uncle Leonard lifted his book back to eye level, he looked at her and smiled.

  And Juliana could have sworn that he winked.

  CHAPTER

  11

  In which Mr. Northam mulls over erroneous information while Miss Telford continues to shoulder the blame for … pretty much anything that can be laid on her doorstep.

  “NO, I WILL NOT.” Bobbington fixed Spencer with what was likely meant to be a piercing glare. He looked more like a ruffled pup. “If you had kept to your seat for more than five minutes at a time, you would have enjoyed the play and not feel the need to return. It is upon your own shoulders.”

  Bobbington sat across from Spencer almost lost in the tall, dark wingback chair that had been placed in the grouping by the fire. There was room for four, but none of the other men in Brooks’s at the time seemed inclined to intrude upon the friends’ terse discussion.

  Spencer allowed it was always best to let a man spill his spleen before interjecting a little sense. However, Bobbington had been huffing and puffing since breakfast. “It was not my fault.” He started to introduce reason, but it was still a little too soon.

  “How can you say that? It was most certainly your fault. Indeed, you hardly looked at the stage, jumpy as a Belgian rabbit and more interested in everything around you. It was like being with a ten-year-old.”

  “It is not my fault,” Spencer tried again, “that Miss Pyebald was not there.”

  Bobbington opened his mouth to disagree and then clamped it shut with a snap. He looked slightly sheepish and then sighed. “It was my understanding that it was a planned outing for the Reeves family and the Pyebalds. I intended to put myself forward. I thought it the perfect place to be noticed. Was I wrong? Did you not tell me that—?”

  “Yes, yes,” Spencer interrupted in a tone sharper than he had intended. “That was my understanding as well. Miss Telford indicated that they would be attending, although I had had my doubts.” He contradicted his severe tone by curling the corners of his lips up and lifting his shoulders.

  “Your doubts! Well, you could have had the courtesy to inform me. My heart was set.” He glared once more at Spencer; however, his frustration was finally winding down. “Oh devil take it, never mind. I know you must be vastly disappointed as well. I have never known you to take an interest in a lady such as Miss Telford before.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a snort. “Little minx for telling us they would attend.”

  Spencer shrugged again, as if it truly were not disturbing that Juliana had lied. He knew that she had fibbed the moment the words left her mouth in Hyde Park. She had looked decidedly uncomfortable. He had not expected it of her. He thought her above the common. His only comfort was that she was not practiced at cutting shams. He hoped there was some reason for her subterfuge other than being in league with the Pyebalds.

  “I was simply not in the mood for Hamlet, is all, a temporary condition. I apologize for my rudeness, and, to make amends, I have sent for new tickets. You will yet witness the solemnity of the graveyard scene. It is unparalleled, I understand.”

  “Well, perhaps.” Bobbington seemed slightly mollified. “I will let you know.”

  Spencer was not deceived by Bobbington’s noncommittal acceptance. He knew that if there were a ghost of a chance to encounter the fair Miss Pyebald, Bobbington would be at the head of the line. “Thank you for your consideration.” He didn’t even try to hide his tone of sarcasm.

  “I found it rather tedious myself.”

  Spencer glanced up.


  Lord Winfrith stood next to Bobbington’s chair, leaning against the side. His arm was draped casually over the top. He looked relaxed and a tad bored. It was a skillful disguise. “But then Hamlet was never my favorite,” he finished.

  “Of course, you would find it lacking.” Bobbington sniffed. “You were as bad as Northam. Hardly a moment passed that one or the other of you was not up on one pretext or another. I mean really. It was a wonder we were not thrown from the theater.”

  Lord Winfrith’s laugh was loud and hearty. “We were the least rowdy of the bunch, Bobbington,” he said at last. “If they start throwing out those of us who find it deadly dull to sit still, what will they do with the catcallers, toss ’em in irons?”

  Bobbington shook his head and half turned to Winfrith. “If it will allow the rest of the audience to enjoy the play, I say they should go to it.” The chilly tone was meant to be a set-down, but the entrance of a gaggle of young men distracted him. “You will have to excuse me. I see an acquaintance from Lambhurst.” Bobbington stood and pulled his waistcoat down with a little more force than was usual. “I will go reacquaint myself.” He walked away with his chin lifted.

  “It is getting more and more difficult to hide my purpose from Bobbington.” Spencer lowered his voice once Winfrith claimed the newly vacated seat. “I believe he has discerned that something is amiss. It is not in his conversation as much as the watchfulness that he has taken on since we arrived in Town. Perhaps I shouldn’t have introduced you to him last night—certainly not as a friend of the family.”

  “Worry not. This game is almost over, that is, if you are right about May Day.”

  “I expected to know it as a certainty, but Miss Telford is not the reliable source I once thought.”

  “I do not believe Miss Telford willfully misled you.”

  Spencer snorted, but Winfrith’s raised hand encouraged him to lean closer.

  “It was much known at the card party I attended the night before last that the Drury Theatre was, indeed, to be their source of entertainment for the next night. I heard it from Lady Pyebald herself. Something must have happened.”

  Spencer swallowed, and he felt the quickening of his pulse. “Is Bibury there now?” The possibility of Juliana in another predicament was not hard to imagine. The only surprise was how immediate alarm had displaced suspicion. This was a strange condition.

  “Yes, and were it significant, I am sure we would have heard. Fear not, we will soon know what it was.”

  Spencer leaned back, thinking that Winfrith had read his thoughts. He nodded as if his mind were calm and well ordered, not the chaotic jumble that pitted logic against emotions. “Word has it that the Reeves and Pyebald families will be attending the Strath recital this evening. Lady Strath has included me in her invitation, likely due to the ministrations of the Pyebalds. I believe I will go to hear the dulcet tones of the soprano after all.”

  “Excellent notion, and perhaps you can learn the point of Miss Telford’s jaunt through those unfashionable parts of Town while you are at it. Although if you think it relevant, we can start making quiet inquiries at the premises.”

  “Perhaps not as yet; if it has nothing to do with our case, we might damage Miss Telford’s reputation merely by asking. And if it has, well, we might tip our hand. At this late date, we do not want to have to start anew. Best hold off, at least until I see the lady this evening. I will be able to—”

  Spencer’s words were cut off by a great guffaw coming from the gaming tables. Looking around, Spencer saw that Bobbington stood with a group of bucks. One young dandy with a pointed nose and a canary-yellow waistcoat was the focus of the men’s merriment. He looked nonplussed and annoyed. He raised his quizzing glass to look down on those gathered around him until the laughter died down. “I will see to it directly,” he said with such a solemn air that another roar of laughter followed instantly. The young man flinched as if struck. He threw back his shoulders and sashayed to the door. Another young man with dark wavy hair broke away from the crowd and raced after him.

  Bobbington turned to see that both Spencer’s and Winfrith’s eyes were upon him. He grinned largely and patted one of the bucks on the shoulder before crossing back to the other side of the room. Spencer was pleased to see that his friend’s expression was much more congenial than it had been when he had headed in the opposite direction.

  “Poor Hart,” Bobbington said when he reached them. He was smirking and did not look sorry for the young man at all, despite his words. “His father has been marshaling Hart’s fine new horses about Town as if they were his own. And young Hart didn’t even know it.” Bobbington dropped into the seat beside Winfrith. “It has put him in quite a pucker. Can you imagine the set-to there will be tonight? Perhaps I should not have mentioned it.” Again, Bobbington looked anything but guilt-struck.

  It was good to see the return of his old spirits.

  * * *

  “OH DEAREST CARRIE, I am all atwitter.” Juliana glanced at her companion, touching her sleeve to draw attention to the importance of her words. She was about to enter the hallowed halls of the British Museum, where all manner of learning might be anticipated. Could there be any better excursion?

  Hooking her arm through that of her cousin, Carrie smiled as they crossed the threshold of Montagu House and stepped into the ornate hall of the graceful—if somewhat French in style—building. “I understand completely. For I find that I, too, am greatly excited.”

  “Me, too,” commented the unwelcome escort at their side. Mr. Pyebald illustrated just how truly in harmony he was by stifling a yawn as he stood looking up at the beautiful painted ceiling.

  Leaving him to his ennui, Juliana led Carrie through the arched doors toward the grand staircase. As soon as they turned to proceed up the second flight, Carrie gasped. “What is that?” And then she revised her question. “What are they?”

  Standing in a large alcove on the left of the staircase were four stuffed animals: three with spectacularly long necks and mottled hides of orange, brown, and ivory and a completely dissimilar bulky creature of gray, with a horn on its nose. Juliana had never seen anything like them before; she had, however, read about them. “I believe they are giraffes, and that ungainly thing might be a rhinoceros from Africa.”

  Unfortunately, their overlong pause gave Mr. Pyebald the opportunity to catch up. “Don’t go running off like that, my dear girls. I promised to stay at your sides, and that is precisely what I intend to do.”

  Far from seeing this directive as a state of rule, Juliana took Mr. Pyebald’s words as a challenge. It was fortunate that Carrie knew her cousin well; Juliana did not have to explain her tendency to … well, dawdle and dash.

  The displays in the Mammalian Saloon required a thorough examination, as did those of the Botanical Room and the Gallery of Antiquities. However, upon saturating her mind with details of each of these various subjects, Juliana would then rush to the next room—often as soon as Mr. Pyebald chose to sit or lean … or stare at some other female figure. It was somewhat entertaining, if for no other reason than it gave her a sense of thwarting his authority.

  It was on one of these dashes that Juliana nearly bumped into an elderly man with the most engaging blue eyes. She came to a halt just in time and apologized for the near collision. The gentleman nodded and then turned away, leaving Juliana wondering why it was that she saw Spencer Northam in the shadow of every man she encountered—no matter what his age.

  Shaking her head at her own folly, Juliana watched the elderly gentleman as he leaned over a display of tropical birds and frowned. There was something in the way he held himself, as if he were younger than the years spoken of in his heavily lined face. Turning quickly, to call Carrie’s attention to this oddity, Juliana walked straight into another gentleman. Fortunately, this fellow didn’t remind her of Spencer but instead—.

  “Lord Bobbington, what a great pleasure.” Juliana was surprised by the gentleman’s rather disheveled look—well, no
t really disheveled—he was costumed in a far more somber and rugged outfit than was his norm. He wore a cap and was swathed in browns; his boots were soiled … and of an inferior quality. In fact, he looked very un-Lord-Bobbington-like, and Juliana might have walked right by him had she not turned at that precise moment.

  “Lord Bobbington!” Now it was Carrie’s turn to notice the gentleman.

  And notice him she did, but Juliana was fairly certain that Carrie could not tell anyone what color Lord Bobbington wore or whether he doffed a cap, for her dear cousin was staring solely at his face. There was a very sweet smile in her expression that brought one of a similar ilk to the lips of the gentleman. And then he ruined the moment entirely.

  “Is Miss Pyebald with you?” he asked, and Juliana was hard pressed not to give him a resounding set-down.

  Fortunately, Carrie found her voice before Juliana. “No, Vivian claimed to be a little peaked this morning, but I believe she just wanted to avoid the museum.”

  “Well, more fool she.” Lord Bobbington redeemed himself and then some, by spouting those words with great derision and offering Carrie his arm. “I see you have no worthy escort. Please, allow me.”

  “Oh, but Mr. Pyebald is with us. There, you see … sitting in the corner.” Carrie used her chin to indicate a figure in the back of the room; it looked as if their attentive companion had closed his eyes and was napping away his duties.

  “As I said, Miss Reeves, as I said.”

  Juliana grinned, much in charity with Lord Bobbington. She allowed Carrie and Lord Bobbington a little distance before following. As she reached the threshold of the next room, Juliana looked back over her shoulder to puzzle out the old man by the bird display case.

  It proved to be a pointless exercise; she could make no more observations in his regard. He was gone. With a frown, Juliana scanned the room; the only familiar figure in the crowd was that of Mr. Pyebald, slumped in the corner, looking every inch the ne’er-do-well he was.