“As part of your push for independence, have you considered learning to ride?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. After being so long under her aunt’s domination, he did not, on his part, wish to coerce Miss Prestwich into doing anything she did not truly wish to do.
“To ride? Oh, I would dearly love that, but ... where would I get a horse? And how would I take care of it? I am afraid my pin money would not stretch to cover the initial purchase price, much less the cost of feed and stabling. As frugal as my aunt is inclined to be, still she insists we must have our own carriage since her father—my grandfather—always maintained that a true lady would never dream of utilizing public transportation. Despite that, she complains mightily every time she receives a bill for hay or oats or straw. Under no circumstances would she ever countenance the added expense of a riding horse, of that I am sure.”
“A not insolvable problem. As it happens, I have recently purchased a mare—for my mother to ride when she is in Devon,” Demetrius said mendaciously. “You could borrow it while you are here in London, and I would be happy to teach you to ride. We can go to the park early in the morning, when no one except for an occasional groom will be on hand to witness your initial efforts.”
“I would love to.” Miss Prestwich started to accept, but then her face fell. “But I had not considered. I would also need a saddle—”
“I have a sidesaddle you could use,” Demetrius interrupted.
“But there is still the problem of a riding habit. And do not attempt to convince me that you happen to have a lady’s riding habit that just happens to fit me, for I shall not believe you.”
“I could—”
“And you cannot possibly buy one for me, for that would be most improper. In fact, now that I think on it, I would likely incur the censure of all the high sticklers were I to ride one of your horses. My aunt would also be doubly against such an activity since it combines horses and men, both of which she detests.”
“I had thought you were determined to make your own decisions without worrying about her prejudices.”
When Miss Prestwich did not immediately respond, he continued, “I was about to say that I have a friend whose wife is approximately your size. She may have an old riding habit that you could borrow.’’
“I shall think on it,” was all that Miss Prestwich would say. But he did manage, before he returned her to her aunt’s house, to persuade her that they must see her father’s solicitor without delay.
* * * *
Descending the stairs, Meribe was pulling on her gloves and feeling a tingle of excitement at the thought of seeing Lord Thorverton again, even though their errand was of the most mundane. He had sent a note around that morning, informing her that Mr. Augustus Wimbwell was willing to see them that afternoon at two of the clock.
“And where do you think you are going?’’ Aunt Phillipa inquired, scowling up at her.
“Lord Thorverton and I are driving out again this afternoon,” Meribe replied calmly.
“Bah, I do not know why you persist in seeing that wretched man,” Aunt Phillipa muttered, turning aside to stalk into the library.
Instead of letting her aunt’s remark pass without comment, Meribe followed her, shutting the door behind them. “I see that ‘wretched man’ because he is the only person in London who is concerned about my happiness. Indeed, you are the one who is being totally unjust to condemn him solely on the basis of his uncle. People do not necessarily resemble their relatives, after all.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “For example, you have a great talent for stitchery, and I have none at all.”
She paused, but Aunt Phillipa did not make any attempt to deny that Meribe was totally lacking in aptitude for all handicrafts. “Moreover, since I find as much pleasure in growing plants as you do in plying your needle, when we return to Norfolk you may embroider whatever you wish, and I shall grub about in the dirt to my heart’s content, and you will stop trying to turn me into a replica of yourself. Is that understood?’’
“I had not realized you felt this way,” Aunt Phillipa said, rather taken aback.
“Well, then, you have not listened adequately,” Meribe said, still feeling rather heated, “for I have told you over and over—”
“In your meek little voice,” Aunt Phillipa pointed out in a voice that was not at all meek.
Meribe smiled, but when she answered, her voice was just as firm as her aunt’s. “Perhaps you are right. I admit I have not always shown much resolution in expressing my likes and dislikes. But if I have not made myself clear on this occasion—”
“I believe I have understood you.” Aunt Phillipa eyed her as if estimating the degree of Meribe’s determination. Finally she said, “Very well, as much as it pains me to see you working like a common field hand, I shall not kick up a fuss if you engage in your chosen pursuit. Although I must insist that you wear gloves and a proper bonnet, for if I see even one freckle, I shall withdraw my permission. And you will not, of course, come into the drawing room reeking of compost unless you wish to give me spasms.”
“There is more,” Meribe said firmly, wishing to make full use of her present opportunity. “Lord Thorverton is going to teach me to ride. He is letting me use one of his horses, and can provide me with a saddle. In addition, he thinks one of his friends can lend me a riding habit—”
“No, no, it is not to be considered! I positively forbid it!”
Aunt Phillipa was so vehement, Meribe could feel her newfound self-confidence begin to erode.
“Do you think I want it bruited about London that I am too clutchfisted to provide my niece with proper clothes? Indeed, missy, if you insist upon perching on top of a horse like the rest of those witless fools, then Madame Parfleur shall make you a riding habit in the finest stare, and I shall not listen to any arguments on the subject.”
With great relief at her aunt’s unexpected capitulation, Meribe inquired, “And may I borrow Lord Thorverton’s mare?’’
“Well,” Aunt Phillipa said dubiously, “it is not exactly proper for a young lady to ride a horse provided by a man who is not a near relative.”
“But on the other hand, you know perfectly well that horses inevitably eat their heads off,” Meribe pointed out, being careful to suppress a smile at her victory, “and we would doubtless have to engage the services of an additional groom, who would be an unnecessary expense.”
“There is that to consider. I could wish that it was a female friend who was providing you with a mount. Still and all, I think my consequence is adequate to keep people from talking too much.”
“Besides which, with four deceased suitors to my account, what can the loan of a horse signify?” Meribe wished she could tell her aunt it was four murdered suitors, but she remembered Lord Thorverton’s admonition to reveal to no one what they had discovered so far since more than one person might be involved in the plot.
Aunt Phillipa sighed deeply. “I cannot help but wish your father had not been so determined that you should have a Season every year until you are one-and-twenty, although now that I think on it, when I was younger, he was continually trying to persuade me to go to London or even to Bath. But ever since my first Season, it has remained a puzzle to me why any woman would wish to tie herself to a man.” She eyed Meribe speculatively. “And I think it is high time you told me what Lord Thorverton’s purpose is in pursuing you. Are his intentions honorable?”
For a moment Meribe was tempted to lie, but in the end, when Lord Thorverton did not come up to scratch, that would only make her aunt think the worse of him. “He has told me quite openly that he is offering nothing beyond friendship.”
Her aunt’s countenance brightened, but only for a moment since Meribe continued, “But if he should offer for me, however, I fully intend to accept, and you shall not refuse me permission.”
“Or I suppose, as determined as you appear to be, that you would elope?’’
Meribe nodded, knowing all the time that she could nev
er do anything so shocking. And knowing also that the chances of Lord Thorverton ever offering for her were virtually nonexistent.
“Then if such is the case, I suppose I shall have to become better acquainted with your young man. I must say I would prefer it if he took Hester off my hands, but then, I suppose he is no more fond of her sharp tongue than I am.’’
Meribe was finding it increasingly hard not to blurt out all her dreadful suspicions concerning her sister. But surely at the solicitor’s office they would discover that her fears were totally ungrounded. When they were children, Hester had been so kind to her, and they had played so contentedly together. Of course, that had been before Hester had cancelled her betrothal and had begun to use her tongue like a rapier.
There was a tap on the door, and Smucker stepped in to inform them that Lord Thorverton was waiting outside.
* * * *
“You are looking remarkably pleased with yourself,’’ Demetrius commented when Miss Prestwich was seated in the carriage. And you are looking extraordinarily pretty today, he added to himself. He was not sure of the cause, but every day he saw her, she seemed to grow more beautiful.
“I am quite pleased,” she replied. “I have had a discussion with my aunt—or an argument if you prefer—and for the first time in my life I have emerged a winner from the confrontation. She has given in on all points. Henceforth she will be civil toward you, I may work in my garden, and you have her permission to teach me to ride.”
“Then I shall speak to my friend’s wife at once.”
“That will not be necessary,” she said with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “My aunt was most adamant that if I wish to ride, I must purchase a proper habit from Madame Parfleur. In fact, now that I think back on our conversation, I suspect that it was the mention of borrowing clothes from a total stranger that so incensed my aunt, she forgot to protest as vigorously as she might have about the riding lessons.”
She looked so delighted—and so delightful—that Demetrius was almost overcome by the impulse to seize her in his arms and rain kisses all over her face. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—a carriage being pulled through crowded London streets by two fresh horses was not the best place for such activities.
Nor, now that he thought about it, would such rakish behavior be consistent with his offer of friendship. Still, he could not help wondering if her lips would taste as sweet as they looked.
It took considerable effort to pull his eyes away from her charms and force his mind back to his driving, especially since moments later she trustingly tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
* * * *
“Do you know, in all the months I have been in London, this is the first time I have ever been to the City,” Meribe commented when they had turned off Fleet Street into a narrow lane where Mr. Wimbwell had his offices.
“And what is your opinion of it?” Lord Thorverton asked.
“Everyone seems to be in such a hurry. Or perhaps ‘hurry’ is not the right word—‘purposeful’ would be a better way to describe them. No one is strolling along aimlessly.”
He reined his pair to a stop in front of a three-story building, and a liveried employee of the law firm hurried down the steps to attend to the horses. Assisting her to descend, Lord Thorverton whispered in Meribe’s ear, “Are you ready to beard the lion in his den?”
“Yes, but ever since I awoke this morning, I have been wondering what we will do if Mr. Wimbwell refuses to tell us anything,” she murmured.
Lord Thorverton shrugged. “I shall do my best to persuade him, and if he refuses, we shall merely have to think of some way to manage without that information.’’
They were met at the door by an employee, who bowed and led them to another, more dignified personage, who in turn passed them on to a junior partner, who handed them over to a somewhat less junior partner, who with a flourish ushered them into the presence of the senior partner of the firm, Mr. Augustus Wimbwell.
The solicitor was quite old and bent, and the few remaining hairs on his head were snow white. Moreover, he regarded Meribe in such a kindly and benign fashion that she was reminded of how he had been in the habit of bringing her and her sister each boxes of sweets when he visited their father in Norfolk. Consequently she no longer felt the slightest bit of trepidation at the upcoming interview, for surely he would do everything in his power to assist them.
After introductions were made and tea was called for, Lord Thorverton explained succinctly why they were there.
“Murder?” Mr. Wimbwell asked, his eyes widening. “I am sorry, but our firm has nothing to do with criminal cases. We limit our business to legal contracts and civil suits.”
“But that is why we are here,” Meribe said, smiling in what she hoped was a persuasive manner. “We need to know the terms of the trust my father set up for me in his will, so that we will know who has a motive for keeping me from marrying.”
At her words the solicitor looked even more shocked than he had when Lord Thorverton had uttered the word “murder.” “But, my dear child, surely you are not asking me to break the law? Your father’s will stated specifically that the terms of the trust are to remain confidential until you come of age.”
“Which will be in less than a month,” she reminded him.
“Of course,” he replied. “I have it entered on my calendar already. On that date I shall be happy to explain everything to you. You will not find me the least bit tardy in the execution of my duties.”
“Mr. Wimbwell,” Lord Thorverton said firmly, “with all due respect, this is a matter of life and death. As I explained, we fear that four young men have come to untimely ends for reasons contained in that trust. I myself was attacked the night before last by someone I believe was hired to kill me.”
“Then by all means, my lord, you must take your proof and lay it before a magistrate, and he will see to it that the proper person is apprehended. But I repeat, we do not handle criminal matters.”
“As of this moment, I have no proof, only suspicions, but reason tells me that the motive for the murders is contained in the terms of the trust,” Lord Thorverton said so fiercely that it was obvious to Meribe he was in imminent danger of losing his temper.
The solicitor did not appear to be the least bit intimidated by Lord Thorverton’s temper. Smiling benignly, Mr. Wimbwell said in an equally firm albeit still mild voice, “If I am to understand you correctly, you are asking me to break the law myself.’’
“Only because we wish to prevent another murder,” Meribe interposed, trying not to think about the fact that if there was another murder, Lord Thorverton would be the victim.
“I am afraid you do not understand, my child,” Mr. Wimbwell said, turning to her. “If we once begin to make exceptions to the law—even if we feel we are fully justified—then after a short time, everyone will think he can decide for himself which part of the law he will obey and which part he will ignore. There would be total anarchy—utter chaos would ensue. No, my child, I must hold myself to the letter of the law.”
“Even if you ignore the intent?” Lord Thorverton asked, his voice now icy.
“I am perfectly aware of what Sir John’s intent was, my lord. I drew up the deed of trust myself, and it exactly expresses Sir John’s wishes.”
“I cannot believe that Miss Prestwich’s father wished for all her suitors to be murdered.”
“If such is the case, and I am certainly not admitting it is, then I am sure the blame lies elsewhere, for I am well-known in the City for my ability to draw up legal contracts that will stand up in court.”
Despite continued attempts at persuasion, the solicitor refused to admit the validity of their arguments, and finally Lord Thorverton stood up and announced that they were leaving.
He appeared to be taking their defeat quite calmly, but Meribe was angrier than she remembered ever being before. She was still fuming when Lord Thorverton’s carriage had been fetched and they were on their way back to Mayfair
.
“I am sure,” she said finally, “that if he had called me ‘my child’ one more time, I would have screamed right in his face.”
But she had not sufficient practice at remaining angry, and before they had gone very far, she felt the tension drain out of her body, leaving only a slight headache behind. “Since Mr. Wimbwell refuses to assist us, what do you propose we do now?’’
“There is still the possibility that we can find my assailant. A friend of mine, Thomas Hennessey, is communicating with certain people he knows to see if he can discover the man’s identity.”
“But how can you hope to achieve success when no one saw the rogue’s face?”
Lord Thorverton smiled. “I am not exactly a small man, and my uncle swears that the man who tried to strangle me was at least a full head taller than I am. There are not many men so large, and the one we are looking for also has a sword wound on his right arm. Consequently I have reasonable cause to think that I shall soon be able to confront the blackguard and discover who hired him.’’
* * * *
Alone in his office, Augustus Wimbwell pulled open a drawer of his desk and removed a flask that was hidden under some unimportant papers. Using his teacup since he had no glass readily at hand, he poured himself a goodly measure of brandy, which he did not hesitate to gulp down.
He was shaking so much, he had to use both hands to hold the cup, and even then he spilled a few drops.
Why, oh why, had he ever done it? One tiny slip—one slight deviation from the strait-and-narrow path—and the consequences were more serious than his worst nightmares!
It had seemed so insignificant when he had done it. Never before and never after had he yielded to temptation. Only once had he not held himself strictly to the letter of the law, and if Lord Thorverton’s suspicions were correct, the results had been completely out of proportion to the offense.
The Black Widow Page 9
