by Amanda Scott
“Been searching high and low for you, my lady.”
“Indeed, my lord, how flattering,” she returned archly. “I trust not too low, however. I’ve a reputation, after all.”
He grinned. “Only at the bottom of Charles Street, ma’am. That pokered-up butler of Ravenwood’s directed us here. I say, though, have you heard the news? Someone made off with the Ribbesford emeralds last night!”
“Lady Ribbesford’s jewels!” Cicely exclaimed, shocked. “Not when we were all right there, in her house!”
“Precisely, ma’am. Right under Townsend’s long nose, too,” said Roger Carrisbrooke. “I daresay he’s out of twig today.”
“I shouldn’t blame him if he was,” Cicely said sincerely. “Lord Ribbesford has called in the Runners, of course.”
“He has, much good may it do him,” answered Mr. Wensley-Drew pessimistically.
“You don’t have faith in their capabilities, sir?”
“Oh, Philip and Reg Blakeney agree with the reformers who want to upend the system.” Sally laughed. “You know about the select committee, of course.” The others looked at her in surprise. “Oh, I’m no expert,” she chuckled. “’Tis merely that Davy must find something to discuss besides his dinner. He thinks there might even be the taint of corruption at Bow Street.”
“Surely not,” Cicely protested, but that evening, over a tête-à-tête dinner with her husband, she produced the matter as a topic of conversation.
Ravenwood’s eyebrows lifted lazily. “Are you intrigued by politics, my dear? I confess I never suspected it of you.”
“Not politics precisely,” she replied. “Just the matter of corruption amongst the police, and the need, as Mr. Wensley-Drew suggested, to reform the whole system. Do you think there is such a need?” She waved away a footman offering scalloped veal and watched her husband interestedly.
Ravenwood leaned back in his chair, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his serviette. “I daresay there is always room for reform. Did you know, for example,” he added with a wry grimace, “that a man may be hanged for such things as eloping with an heiress, for associating with Gypsies or impersonating a Chelsea pensioner, even for carving his initials on Westminster Bridge? Yet, another may frame an innocent victim for robbery, claim a forty-pound reward when his victim is hanged, and go scot-free even if his plot should be discovered.”
“You’re joking! That must be murder!”
“Ah, you see that as clearly as I do,” he replied approvingly. “’Tis a pity the law is not so wise. In law that is deemed conspiracy, and conspiracy is not a capital offense.” He smiled at her. “’Twould seem we both favor some sort of reform.”
Cicely thought that must be an understatement of her own feelings, and as she came to know more about the matter, she wondered more and more why nothing constructive had yet been achieved. Ravenwood said only that the men in position to alter the laws had never been brought to understand the need, and with that, for the moment, at least, she had to be satisfied.
With the approach of Princess Charlotte’s wedding, members of the beau monde began flocking to the metropolis. The first of her own family to arrive, as predicted, was Lady Uffington, who lost no time in dispatching an invitation to Charles Street that was nothing less than a command. Cicely and her husband were to dine at Uffington House that very night. Ravenwood, who had planned to dine at White’s, changed his intention without comment, merely smiling when Cicely said she supposed she must send a note to tell Lord Toby Welshpool she could not attend the play in Drury Lane with him.
“Why not invite him to accompany us instead?” Ravenwood asked reasonably.
She glanced at him curiously. His expression was mild, and he seemed perfectly sincere. “Very well,” she said, “I shall. Aunt won’t mind another gentleman at her table. Only extra females overset her.” Ravenwood nodded and departed, volunteering the amazing information that he could be found after two at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. Cicely supposed idly that he must go there to visit with his friends. The notion of Ravenwood, no matter how much to advantage he might strip, trying to pop one under the great man’s guard himself could only make her smile. The smile faded, however, when she remembered his attitude toward Lord Toby.
To be sure, since their arrival in London, he had kept his word, saying nothing when she danced and flirted with other men. Not by so much as the twitching of an eyebrow did he betray annoyance when she informed him that she had made plans of her own for an evening and could not go out with him. Though she knew she ought to be grateful for such tolerance on his part, it was, quite perversely, beginning to annoy her.
She didn’t know why she should find his attitude irritating. Certainly he didn’t flaunt his own amusements, whatever they were. If there was indeed an opera dancer, no one had breathed a word of it to her, and she had come to know Sally Lynsted well enough by now to realize that if Sally knew of such a liaison, she would be incapable of keeping the news to herself. He spoke to other ladies, of course, whenever they were out for an evening, but he rarely danced, and she could hardly accuse him of flirting. He was charming, even witty, and always polite. But she found herself wondering upon more than one occasion why, if he did not care for such amusements for himself, he did not object to her flirtations.
To be sure, she had limited her experiences to flirting only with his particular friends. More than once she had found herself automatically reverting to Ice Princess when some sprig of fashion allowed himself too much familiarity. Once, when that had happened, she had no sooner frozen the man where he stood than she had looked up to find her husband’s eye upon her, the glint of amusement that so annoyed her dancing wickedly. She had promptly given him a fine view of her back, but the memory lingered.
No doubt it was because he trusted his friends that he had allowed her to go about with them. Then she remembered Sally’s warnings with regard to Faringdon and Carrisbrooke. Why had Ravenwood not seen fit to issue a similar warning? She had gone out once with Carrisbrooke and more than once with Faringdon, whose irreverent attitudes amused her. Not that either gentleman had put so much as a toe out of line, of course. But still, there it was.
She thought little more about the matter, however, when she greeted her aunt in the large house in Mount Street that evening. Lady Uffington was an upright dame with stiff gray curls and a large figure ruthlessly contained in corsets. Her bright pink dress clung a little tightly in places, but her appearance did little to detract from the grande dame manner with which she greeted her niece, her niece’s husband, and plump little Lord Toby Welshpool. After informing the latter that of course he must always be welcome, she turned to Cicely.
“How well you look, my dear,” she pronounced. “You’re looking well, too, Ravenwood.” She turned, gesturing to someone just beyond Cicely’s view through an open doorway. “I don’t know if you are acquainted with my son.”
An extraordinarily handsome, conservatively dressed young man of some five-and-twenty summers strolled into the entry hall from the drawing room beyond. His smile showed big, even white teeth in a face that some men said turned women’s senses to porridge. Cicely had never been particularly susceptible to his charms, but she greeted him warmly nonetheless, holding out her hands.
“Good evening, Cousin Cicely,” he said, gripping them. “May I say you become more beautiful each time I see you?”
“Thank you, sir. I feel as though I must return the compliment. I know that you know Lord Toby, but are you acquainted with Ravenwood?”
“Not really,” he said offering a hand. Ravenwood shook it. “I’ve seen you at Jackson’s, my lord, and Cribb’s Parlor, but we’ve never been introduced.”
“Fond of the sport, are you?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Mere cross and jostle work myself, but I find it provides exercise. Can’t claim entrance to the inner circle, of course.” He glanced back at Cicely. “You have improved beyond all expectations, little cousin,” he said.
“You m
ay converse later,” stated her ladyship firmly. “Show them into the drawing room, Conrad. We’ve other guests, you know.”
Cicely remembered Sir Conrad’s having been something of a nuisance during her previous sojourn amidst the beau monde. And, too, he had been known to bully his cousins when they had been younger. But he seemed to have outgrown such tendencies, and no one could deny he was quite the handsomest gentleman present. Deciding he would augment any young lady’s credit, she promptly added him to her mental list of harmless flirts.
She sat next to Lord Toby during dinner and thoroughly enjoyed his amiable conversation, scarcely casting so much as a glance at her cousin. That made it all the more flattering when he sought her out immediately after the gentlemen had finished their port. “Will you favor us with some music, cousin?”
“You’ve got me confused with Tani,” she chuckled. “If you’ve a wish to empty this room, however, I shall certainly play for you.”
He laughed. “I remember. You were the one who was always in the stables. Quite a hand with the horses, too, as I recall. Have you got a decent mount here in Town?”
She shook her head. Nothing at all had been said about riding, and she was nearly certain no arrangements had been made to bring Conabos down from Malmesbury.
“Well, that won’t do,” he said firmly. “You won’t like London at all if you cannot ride in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour.”
“I don’t know that I worry overmuch about being seen in Rotten Row,” she smiled, “but I confess I have missed my horses.”
“Then say no more. I have what I believe to be some excellent stock in my stables, and I should be interested to know your opinion of them. Suppose I take you riding some fine morning.”
“Tomorrow?” Her tone was wistful, and he laughed again.
“If you like. Tomorrow it is.”
Conversation soon turned to the Ribbesford robbery, and there were several comments made with regard to Mr. Townsend’s failure to stop the thief. Sir Reginald Blakeney, taking snuff, pointed out that Townsend himself had claimed to have identified no fewer than seven pickpockets and one jewel thief at a single masquerade. “And if he can do it when the rascals are disguised, why can he not see them when they come as they are?” he demanded.
Clearly Mr. Townsend’s reputation had suffered as a result of the rash of robberies plaguing London, and many feared matters would become worse as more and more of the beau monde returned to the city. When Cicely saw Bow Street’s finest at a rout several nights later, she thought she detected signs of strain.
The rout was at Lady Jersey’s home in Berkeley Square, and since her ladyship was Cicely’s own sponsor for admission tickets to Almack’s, she had thought there could be no way to refuse the invitation. However, Ravenwood had a prior engagement with Roger Carrisbrooke and Sir Reginald Blakeney and could not go with her. He had said to extend his apologies to her ladyship, who was known to be a stickler for the proprieties, and had said nothing further about it. Since he was still at home when the time came for her to depart, he walked downstairs with her to meet her escort. Sir Conrad Uffington stood to greet them.
“You look charming as always, cousin,” he said, smiling. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Good evening.” To her astonishment, Ravenwood’s greeting was nearly curt. Cicely glanced at him in amazement, then turned her gaze toward her cousin, who was still smiling blandly. It occurred to her then that Sir Conrad was the first of her cicisbei who was not a particular friend of Ravenwood’s. And since the night at Uffington House they had been several times in each other’s company. As promised, he had taken her riding the very next day, and on subsequent days as well, although after the first morning Ravenwood had observed rather pointedly that she had only to ask to have a suitable mount provided from his own stables. She thought about his attitude now. Was it possible that the viscount was disturbed by her friendship with her cousin?
In Sir Conrad she had found someone who seemed profoundly interested in her and who could converse easily upon any number of topics. She certainly found his attentions far more flattering than those of Ravenwood’s friends, and if he sometimes went a tiny step beyond what was pleasing, she was willing to attribute such behavior to their family relationship. But the thought that Ravenwood might not approve of their friendship somehow made it all the more exciting. She smiled brilliantly at Sir Conrad.
“Shall we go, sir? The sooner we arrive, you know, the sooner we may depart.”
“Do you plan to go elsewhere, my dear? Perhaps I might join you once my business is done.” Ravenwood’s tone showed no further sign of discontent. He merely sounded interested.
“I thought my cousin might enjoy visiting a gaming establishment where they allow ladies to play,” Sir Conrad said.
“Hougham’s in Cockspur Lane?”
“The very same.”
Ravenwood gazed thoughtfully at his wife. “I do not think you would find pleasure in such an establishment, my dear. My own advice would be to make an early night of it. You have been out late every night these past two weeks, and you cannot wish to make yourself ill. Of course,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “you must decide for yourself.”
“I think it would be fascinating to visit a gaming hell,” she said firmly. “We must go now, sir. I hope your business does not tire you.”
With that as her parting shot, she took Sir Conrad’s arm and departed. The rout at Lord and Lady Jersey’s was like any rout, with people coming and going constantly, seeming to make little difference in the total numbers at any given time. Nonetheless, they had no sooner paid their respects to their hostess than they came face to face with the very man Cicely had been hoping to see.
Mr. Townsend promptly recognized her and doffed his wide-brimmed hat. “Good evening, my lady,” he said quietly.
“Good evening, Mr. Townsend. I was shocked to hear of the incident at Lady Ribbesford’s house.”
“Would that it had been the last,” he said morosely.
“There have been more?”
“Indeed, ma’am. Several more.”
“I have heard it said,” put in Sir Conrad in dulcet tones, “that some thieftakers may well be involved in a conspiracy of sorts that is hampering the apprehension of the villains.”
Mr. Townsend gave him a straight look. “I have heard that,” he said, “and I cannot deny the possibility, sir. We at Bow Street abhor the practices of certain private thieftakers. They give the profession a bad name. But it is not, in all fairness, a matter of a few bad men but of a rotten system, I fear.”
“Rotten, Mr. Townsend?”
“Indeed, my lady. So long as police officers continue to work for reward money, the temptation toward corruption cannot be denied. An officer must be paid well to be kept honest.”
“But what is the alternative to offering rewards?”
“A salaried, organized, uniformed force, ma’am. Men with a sense of duty rather than an itch for a reward.”
Sir Conrad laughed. “Much chance we have of seeing that in this country, man. The English have been fighting against such a force for centuries. Too much power given to what amounts to a military force in peacetime. That notion has been laughed out of Parliament more times than you or I can count. We’ve no wish to see the sort of thing here they’ve seen on the Continent and in Russia, thank you all the same.”
Townsend raised himself up on his toes and looked at Sir Conrad with his usual knowing expression. “Someday, sir, wiser minds than yours will recognize that there is room for a compromise between what we have now and what caused the problems you allude to so glibly.”
Sir Conrad bowed with a sardonic lift of his eyebrows and suggested to Cicely that they seek refreshment. She went with him willingly enough, but she continued to contemplate the things she had heard. Not that she had not heard similar arguments before. The topic was a common one, especially since the forming of the Parliamentary select committee to study the problem. It
had been pointed out many times that this was not the first such committee and that no committee had ever succeeded in effecting much in the way of change. But, she thought, if they could find a way to curb the number of robberies in London, surely they would have done some good this time. And if there truly were police officers involved in the wicked business—if they were actually encouraging robberies in order to apprehend the robbers for the reward money—well, that was downright frightening.
They left Lady Jersey’s house soon afterward and made their way to Cockspur Lane to the plain house known only as Hougham’s. It looked quite unremarkable from the outside, but inside all was gaiety and a good deal of noise.
10
HOUGHAM’S WAS INDEED A fascinating place, and Cicely enjoyed watching others placing their bets at rouge et noir, and faro, and even piquet. She indulged herself by placing a bet or two, but she found that she was not particularly interested in gaming. Instead her gaze kept drifting, whether she willed it to do so or not, toward the front entrance, and she realized before long that she was not merely interested in learning who patronized the establishment. She was watching for the appearance of a large, sleepy-eyed gentleman.
She wondered if it would annoy him that she had come to the gaming house against his advice, and it occurred to her that she would like very much to know his reaction. But when he had not arrived after an hour or so, her head began to ache from the constant noise and laughter, as well as from a seeming lack of good fresh air to breathe. Her escort seemed to have deserted her. People jostled her, and a variety of strangers seemed to be assessing her appearance. One man unabashedly leered. She gave him her best icy stare, but it seemed to have very little effect. She looked around for her cousin. At first she had a rather panic-stricken fear that he might really have disappeared, leaving her to her own devices altogether, but at last she saw him.
