“I have only a few more questions… do you recall the name of this vicar?”
Benedict sighed. “It was Endicott, or at least I assume it was. The name had been inscribed inside that primer.”
“That is a starting point, is it not? We can, perhaps, locate this vicar and the church records may tell us when your family was there,” Lady Vale said with a curt nod. “If we narrow down the time, we can determine if that event happened before or after my own son was taken. Surely you cannot object to such a reasonable course of action?”
Elizabeth watched him closely, noted the clenching of his jaw and the firm set of his mouth. He was nearing the end of his patience.
“Let him rest, Lady Vale. No doubt, he’ll be more agreeable about the wisdom of your actions tomorrow.”
Lady Vale nodded reluctantly and rose from the bedside. “You are quite right, Miss Masters. I will go and send a note to Madame Zula now. I will have her here this evening. Please do not tire yourself out… and a meal will be delivered to you shortly. You must be utterly famished.”
Before she left, she turned back to Elizabeth and added, “I will not have you telling the servants that I believe him to be my son so that they treat him like a confidence man and lock up the silver.”
“Then how shall you explain his continued presence here?” Elizabeth demanded. “Do you not think that the servants would be suspicious of you simply inviting some total stranger to remain here indefinitely?”
“It is simple enough, is it not? He came to our rescue, aided us and prevented unimaginable horrors from being visited upon us. It is no less than our duty to assist him in locating his missing sister,” Lady Vale answered, her tone clipped. “And you will not gainsay me on this, nor will you rush off to inform Branson of my current foible! I’m not mad! I am not a child having a tantrum! I’m not simply grasping at straws! I am exploring the possibility that this man, who bears a shocking resemblance to me and to all the members of my family and who has admitted that he has no knowledge of his own origins, might, in fact, be my son!”
In the face of Lady Vale’s clear grasp of the situation, Elizabeth was forced to make a choice. It did not sit well with her most of the time that she was viewed as the tattletale of the house. And since Lady Vale was still admitting that there was a possibility that Mr. Mason was not her son, she had to relent. Elizabeth nodded her agreement, reluctantly. “I will consent to your terms, Lady Vale. But at the first sign that he is not who you believe him to be or that he could be part of a greater scheme to ingratiate himself to you, I will have no option but to inform Mr. Middlethorp.”
Lady Vale nodded, “I will make the arrangements for the investigators to come here and meet with you.” With that, she turned on her heel and left the room.
Elizabeth turned to him and uttered a warning with soft menace, “Do not think to use her grief to your own advantage. Whatever fate may have befallen your sister, I am not without sympathy. But that woman has suffered enough. Do not think to abuse her trust.”
He stared back at her levelly, his expression inscrutable. “Tell me, Miss Masters, what have men done to you that you distrust them all so? Or is it just me?”
“I have found,” she answered with just as much equanimity, “that the more handsome a man is, the more likely it is that he cannot be trusted.”
“So you find me handsome?” he asked, his lips curving slightly with a hint of smugness.
Elizabeth’s lips firmed into a thin, disapproving line as she surveyed him. “You know perfectly well what you look like. There’s no need for me to expound upon it further and feed your conceit and arrogance. Just be aware that I am not fooled by your exterior. You will not charm me nor will you sway me to your cause. My duty, first and foremost, is to see to it that Lady Vale and her interests are protected.”
“That’s quite an undertaking for a woman. Will you shoot me? Put another pistol ball in me to go with the one that was landed by the men who would have succeeded in kidnapping you had I not intervened?” he asked. There was nothing soft about the menace in his voice. That history of violence she’d sensed in him seemed to be bubbling just beneath the surface like a cauldron ready to boil over. Just as quickly, he pulled it back, tamping it down and covering that crack in his charming façade with smooth disdain. “Think what might happen, Miss Masters, if I had not been present.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not in the least, Miss Masters. I’m merely pointing out that you cannot protect Lady Vale when it is quite obvious you are not even capable of protecting yourself,” he answered. “However it might have happened, you have found yourself and, by virtue of proximity, your employer, in the midst of something that is far reaching and terrifying. You need an ally, one who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty if need be.”
Elizabeth would have said more, but he had tossed the covers back and was rising from the bed. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve been in that bed for some time now. I’m disinclined to continue attending nature’s call as an invalid would. If you’ve no wish to witness it, Miss Masters, I suggest you leave and quickly.”
Realizing precisely what he meant, Elizabeth blushed furiously and made a hasty retreat. If the door slammed more firmly behind her than was necessary, so be it.
*
She bothered him.
Watching her exit, listening to the slamming of the door behind her, Benedict could admit that to himself. While her suspicions of him were perfectly natural and even reasonable given the circumstances, they goaded him to no end. It was a puzzle because he’d long since stopped caring what most people, especially tightly-wound ladies, thought of him.
There was something about Miss Masters that appealed to him, however; and it was a dangerous predicament to find himself in. Injured, weak as he was, in the midst of his search for Mary, and she was, inconveniently enough, one of the most fascinating women he’d ever met. The more prickly she was, the more adamant she became in her less than glowing assessment of his character, the more he wanted to prove her wrong.
As for Lady Vale, he still believed she was completely mad. Kind, to be sure, but grief-stricken and chasing phantoms not so different from his own. He was not her son. He was completely certain of it, even if he had no memory of the time before he’d been given into the care of the Masons. The very idea that he might have been born a gentleman, much less a peer, given how hard he’d had to work to assimilate even remotely into the upper echelon of society that his gaming hell served was proof enough of that. Blood tells, he thought bitterly. And his blood, wherever it came from, had marked him for the gutter and little better.
After seeing to his immediate needs, Benedict struggled to make it back to the bed. When they’d said he was as weak as a kitten, the assessment had been humiliatingly accurate. The room swayed about him and it was all he could do to remain upright. Gripping the edges of the bed, he lowered himself once more onto it, but only to sit on the side of it. He would not lie down and give in to the weakness. There was too much to do. Benedict forced himself to consider all that he knew about Mary’s disappearance, all the while denying himself the lure of sleep.
It wasn’t very much, sadly. She’d come to Bath to visit an old friend who had married well, a cloth merchant by the name of Simms. Mary had reported that the union did not appear to be a happy one and she felt certain she would be cutting her visit short. She’d also told him of her appointment with a mystic, but she had not named them. He’d tracked Mary to Madame Zula’s residence by speaking to several chair porters. Luckily, Mary’s petite frame and almost-white blond hair was memorable enough that those who had transported her around the city recollected her easily enough. But it was the porter’s memory of the large, hulking fellow in the rough clothes that had been the most telling. The porter had seen him about town a time or two, always trailing in the wake of some pretty young woman.
On that street, he’d spoken to
a porter who recalled transporting Mary to Madame Zula’s but never picking her up. None of the porters he’d spoken to had known anything about what went on at that address, only that they often delivered ladies to it. Now, knowing that it was a mystic telling fortunes and reading palms, that made infinitely more sense.
A helpful maid he might have flirted with had confirmed his worst fears. She’d told him about hearing a woman’s scream and seeing a youngish woman with brown hair being carted away by three ruffians. That was the sum total of his knowledge.
He needed to speak with Madame Zula and he needed to confront the Simms’. Why had they not contacted him to let him know Mary was missing? Had they been involved in her disappearance in some way? He should have gone there first but, if he had, he would not have been in the position he had been to prevent a similar fate from befalling Miss Masters. He had to take heart that, perhaps, it was all coming out as it should.
A knock sounded at the door and a footman entered bearing steaming water. Another followed in his wake with a tray of food. A smallish man trailed behind them with fresh clothes and a shaving kit.
“I am Tinsleigh,” the man said, his voice pinched and a bit nasally. “I am the under butler here, but am a valet by trade. Lady Vale has asked me to attend you.”
“I’ve no need of a valet,” he answered immediately. He’d never had one in his life. It was pointless to start now. A man of his station hardly required that kind of attention. He could dress and groom himself well enough without any assistance.
The man sniffed, his overly-large nose flaring with disdain and what appeared to be indignation. “I see, sir. And shall I inform her ladyship that you intend to undo all the nursing and care that was provided by her and Miss Masters when you attempt to shave yourself? No doubt, such vigorous movement will only reopen your wounds and do further damage.”
How a man who was a foot shorter than him managed to look down at him, Benedict couldn’t quite fathom, yet he managed. More to the point, did he really want to have another run-in with Miss Masters’ disapproval or Lady Vale’s desperation? No. Not at all. “Very well,” he relented. “I will consent to the temporary appointment of you as my valet, Tinsleigh.”
The small man nodded and all the unpleasantness previously displayed simply vanished. He became all that was conciliatory and even toadying in that moment. “Certainly, sir. Shall I address you as Mr. Mason, sir?”
“You may,” Benedict agreed.
“Very well, Mr. Mason. We shall not do a full bath in deference to your wound, but we shall endeavor to wash your hair and see you sponge bathed and dressed. I am told to expect Madame Zula this evening. Prior to her arrival, Lady Vale has arranged for you to speak to Mr. Adler, an investigator. He is expected to arrive just before tea time.”
Benedict nodded. “She arranged all that very quickly,” he commented. So quickly, he thought, it seemed to have been prearranged. To what purpose?
“Indeed, sir,” Tinsleigh said, setting up a chair and a basin in the connected dressing chamber. Benedict dutifully took his seat when indicated. “Lady Vale has kept Mr. Adler on retainer for some time. Any questions she has or any information that she thinks may be pertinent, he comes for straightaway.”
“I see,” Benedict stated for lack of anything better to interject. He did not see. If Lady Vale had hired investigators to look into her son’s disappearance and in two decades they’d managed to unearth nothing, how skilled could they be? Then he remembered that she had told him she only had the investigators at her disposal after her husband died. But still, ten years without any progress made him wonder.
“She sent footmen around to deliver a message to Madame Zula, as well. I understand that the attack on poor Miss Masters occurred right outside her establishment, did it not?”
“It did,” Benedict agreed. “You seem remarkably well informed, Tinsleigh.”
The little man puffed up even more. “I do pride myself on it, sir! As for summoning Madame Zula,” he continued, “I imagine that Miss Masters had a hand in that. She’s little use for mystics and the occult… not that Lady Vale does! Simply that Lady Vale does want so badly to learn of her poor son’s fate that she is willing to resort to unorthodox methods.”
Benedict realized that he didn’t have to question Tinsleigh at all. In fact, he could sit there stone silent and just let the man natter on and he’d get all the information about the household he required. “I see.”
“Yes. Madame Zula is not the first mystic her ladyship has employed,” Tinsleigh said, working a lather of sandalwood-scented soap into Benedict’s hair. “She does come far more highly recommended than most. Even Lady Castlery herself has gone to see the woman!”
“But Miss Masters disapproves?” Benedict prompted.
Tinsleigh made a clucking sound much like a perturbed hen. “Indeed, sir! But Miss Masters is very disagreeable and disapproves of many things!”
“I could sense that about her,” Benedict agreed. He wanted the little valet to continue. Servants’ gossip was often the best source of information. When it came to extending credit at his gaming house, it was often his first choice beyond even the avowal of other patrons.
“Well, she is not the first companion that Mr. Middlethorp has engaged for Lady Vale,” Tinsleigh offered in a conspiratorial whisper. “The first two were much worse. Unpleasant, unattractive and genuinely an utter bore to be around. They made everyone in the house quite miserable. Miss Masters is at least pleasant enough when she doesn’t feel that Lady Vale is—well, Lady Vale is desperate to locate her lost son. Who would not be in her situation? It often makes for unwise decisions.”
“Indeed, I can certainly understand her plight. How did Lady Vale learn of Madame Zula?”
“Quite by accident, I do believe,” Tinsleigh said. “She was taking the waters and overheard two women discussing her.”
“And was Lady Vale acquainted with these two women?” Benedict asked. It was an old trick, planting people in an audience to talk up the performance.
“Well, no, sir! I do not believe she had ever met them. She did have someone else introduce them that day so as to obtain Madame Zula’s direction.”
“I see,” Benedict mumbled in reply.
The remainder of his toilette was akin to torture. Everything the valet did for him was a reminder that he himself was currently unable to attend even to his own most basic needs. From being bathed by another man, shaved, having his hair dressed, it was humiliating. That he was exhausted and trembling by the time all was said and done did little to improve his mood.
“You are looking quite pale, Mr. Mason! I do wish you could rest, but I’m afraid the investigator is set to arrive at any moment. Perhaps I can assist you downstairs?” Tinsleigh suggested.
Loath to admit the other man was right, Benedict agreed nonetheless. “Yes, Tinsleigh. Loath as I am to admit, I’d not make it by myself. Thank you for your assistance.”
A knock sounded at the door and Lady Vale entered immediately afterward. “Mr. Adler has arrived! I’m so anxious for you to meet with him, Benedict. He’ll be able to help us get to the bottom of everything. I am certain of it!”
Chapter Nine
Lady Vale had gone on ahead as Benedict took the stairs slowly behind her. Tinsleigh hovered behind him as if he might somehow catch him if he were to take a tumble. The end result would undoubtedly be the both of them lying in a tangled, broken heap at the bottom. In light of his present weakness and the fact that the stairs and foyer beyond shimmered before his eyes, Benedict kept his hand firmly on the bannister. He resented the weakness, resented that his body would not function the way that he needed it to.
“The investigator is waiting for you in the drawing room, Mr. Mason,” Tinsleigh said. “I do hope that he’ll be able to help you with whatever it is you’re searching for, sir. He’d surely have to be more help to you than he has been to poor Lady Vale.”
“You seem to lack confidence in his abilities, Tinsleigh,�
� Benedict commented.
The little man gasped, clearly horrified at having said something that would cast aspersions on his mistress’ ability to hire competent men. “Not at all, Mr. Mason. Lady Vale would hire only the best—tis simply that the matter Lady Vale has him looking in to occurred some time ago! I’m sure since the events he’ll be examining for you are much more recent, they are, therefore, much more likely to be solved!”
“Naturally,” Benedict said. Thankfully, they reached the foot of the stairs without incident and both his neck and his dignity remained intact.
A footman stepped forward and opened the door to one of the rooms right off the foyer. Voices were low and muffled from within as he approached. Stepping inside, he waited for the door to close behind him. When it had, he spoke softly, “If it’s quite all right, I’d prefer to have the servants know as little of my reasons for being here as possible. Without knowing what has happened to Mary, I feel every precaution must be taken to preserve her safety but also her reputation.”
Lady Vale nodded sympathetically. “Of course, Ben—Mr. Mason. We’ll be as circumspect as you require… and you will tell my investigator, Mr. Adler, everything you remember about your adoptive parents and how you came to be in their care.”
She was cagier than he’d expected—bartering with her offer of aid. Others saw her as fragile. He himself had viewed her as a madwoman, one who was all but demented by the loss of her child. But the truth was far more complex. Her desperation was both her weakness and her strength.
“I will tell him what I know about how I came to be with them,” he agreed, offering nothing further. It was a dangerous thing for him, to poke into the past so. If the truth came out, it would only make matters worse.
“Very well,” she conceded. “I will leave you to speak with Mr. Adler. Madame Zula will be arriving within the hour.”
As the door closed behind her, Adler wasted no time. He turned to Benedict with a disgusted expression. “I have tried for a decade to make her accept the fact that her son is likely dead. And every time I think I have made progress, some charlatan like you shows up and sends her spiraling back into hysteria.”
The Vanishing of Lord Vale Page 9
