The Enigma of a Widow

by Linda Rae Sande

  Lydia stiffened, as much from the tightening of the corset as from hearing Rachel’s words. “Someone?” she repeated as she nearly turned around.

  Rachel nodded. “Some street urchin, Elsie says. The boy was helpin’ himself to a carrot, even though they is barely an inch long.”

  The relief Lydia felt at hearing it was merely a boy was palpable. “Surely the household can spare a carrot. The poor boy must have been starving,” she replied, her hands resting on her hips as Rachel finished with the corset and started to tie the petticoat she had pulled on.

  Elsie, the kitchen maid, probably didn’t see it that way, but then she had been a starving urchin when she was discovered stealing by the next door neighbor. Lydia had been quick to take responsibility for the girl before a parish constable could be summoned.

  “Still, he was stealin’, milady,” the maid responded in disgust.

  Lydia wondered how her maid could begrudge a starving boy a carrot, but decided to let the matter drop. As long as Adonis Truscott hadn’t been discovered in her garden—or anywhere else on her property—she was fine.

  Once she was dressed, Lydia hurried to the parlor, her cup of chocolate in hand. The paper-wrapped box gave no indication as to its origin nor who might have sent it. She studied the white string that kept the folded paper in place, the precise diagonal folds at the corners suggesting it had been meticulously wrapped. Peeking into the folds at one end revealed a note tucked therein.

  Lydia grinned as she carefully pulled it out and opened it. Folded just once, the small, bright white parchment revealed only a few words. In preparation for your next assignment. C. Postscriptum. Ask for help from your current assignment. That’s an order.

  Straightening on the settee, Lydia frowned. Damn him! Lord Chamberlain meant for her to solve the puzzle with Adonis present. She had a half a mind to send the box back to the Foreign Office—or even deliver it herself—but a combination of curiosity and intrigue gripped her as she slowly undid the string tie and carefully unwrapped the paper.

  Removing the pasteboard lid, she stared down into a box containing hundreds of tiny, thin pieces of mahogany, some displaying odd marks on one side while the other sides were left blank. She was about to spread them out on the low table and realized she really shouldn’t leave the pieces out for any of the servants to see.

  Glancing at the card table farther back in the room—it sported the dissected geographical map of Europe she had finished a few days ago—she decided to simply scoop those pieces back into their box and use the table for this one.

  Jenkins appeared with her breakfast as she finished clearing the table, his rather stunned expression giving away his shock at seeing the map completely dismantled.

  “I’ll eat here,” Lydia announced as she set aside the old puzzle and placed the new box on top.

  “Very well, my lady,” he murmured as he arranged the tray on the table and removed the silver lid from a plate containing coddled eggs, toast and a slice of ham. Another cup of chocolate completed the breakfast. “I’ll see to a fire right away.”

  Lydia glanced at the clock over the fireplace mantle. “If I’m still here at noon, do interrupt me, won’t you? I have to pay calls this afternoon,” she ordered as she dumped the box of tiny pieces onto the tabletop.

  The butler blinked at the assortment of puzzle pieces that spilled forth, the pyramid slowly flattening as the pieces spread out. “Very good, my lady.” He moved to the fireplace, lit a few pieces of tinder with a flint, and took his leave of the parlor.

  An hour later, half her breakfast forgotten and all the pieces turned so their marked sides lay facing up, Lydia shook her head. This makes no sense, she thought as she studied what she had come to believe was tiny writing. She thought the pieces might be a runes—ancient symbols from an old version of the German alphabet—but their shapes were all wrong. Some lined up and seemed to fit together, although she couldn’t be sure they were in the right order. Curved and straight edges lined up, but with dozens of pieces cut in the exact same shape, she realized she would have to study the lines more closely to determine just exactly where each one would fit.

  When Jenkins showed up at precisely noon, Lydia stared at him and then at the mantle clock in surprise. She had barely made any progress, sure there must either be some pieces missing or far more than were necessary to complete whatever it was she was supposed to decode. Reminded of the note that Lord Chamberlain had included, she felt a hint of annoyance. What could Adonis Truscott know that would help solve the puzzle?

  “Have Rachel meet me upstairs. I need to change to make calls. And please don’t allow anyone to touch anything,” she said as she motioned to the tabletop.

  “Very good, my lady,” Jenkins murmured, removing the breakfast tray as he took his leave.

  With another glance at the pieces before she, too, took her leave, Lydia did a double-take. She stepped out of her slippers and climbed atop the chair in which she had been sitting, careful to balance herself as she held up her skirts. From the higher vantage point, she realized the markings on the pieces were probably part of a large drawing. She couldn’t yet tell what the drawing was supposed to depict, but when she returned to the project later that day, she could at least concentrate on completing a drawing instead of trying to spell out words or codes.

  I’ll be damned if I ask for help from Sir Donald, she thought as she made her way upstairs. That’s an order, indeed.

  Chapter 20

  Paying Calls

  Two o’clock in the afternoon

  If a lady called upon another and found she wasn’t in residence, it was usually because that lady was paying a call on someone else. Since some ladies paid their calls in the late mornings, some chose to pay their calls in the afternoons. Knowing which ladies stayed at home and which ladies paid calls in the afternoons gave Lydia a bit of an advantage. By going to Worthington House, she could be sure to find a number of ladies in the company of Adele Slater Worthington Grandby, Countess of Torrington.

  “I cannot tell you how happy I was to see you at the garden party,” Caroline Fitzsimmons, Viscountess Chamberlain, said as Lydia joined a group of women in the parlor. The tea tray had just been delivered, and Adele was doing the honors.

  “I was so happy to be there,” Lydia replied, nodding to the other ladies in attendance as she took a seat. “I do hope Lady Morganfield collected enough donations.” She wondered if the marchioness had made mention of Sir Donald’s contribution to her favorite charity.

  “She did fine, as she always does,” Clarinda Fitzwilliam, Countess of Norwick, stated with a grin. “I think Morganfield secretly adds money to the pot when she’s not looking,” she added, referring to Adeline Carlington’s husband, the Marquess of Morganfield.

  There was a round of titters before Adele passed out cups and saucers. “Lady Morganfield was very pleased, in fact. One particular gentleman was apparently quite generous.” Her gaze went to Lydia as she made the comment.

  Her teacup halfway to her lips, Lydia was aware of several pairs of eyes suddenly aimed in her direction. “You must be referring to Sir Donald,” she said quickly, hoping someone would change the subject.

  “Sir Donald?” another piped up. “Who is that?”

  One after another of the women offered what they knew of the man, the collective knowledge finally ending with a comment about how Lady Craven thought her brother a Bedlamite.

  Lydia inwardly sighed. Despite his frequent episodes of staring at seemingly nothing at all, she didn’t think the man insane. He just seemed... preoccupied. A deep thinker, perhaps.

  Troubled maybe. How could he not be? The man had paid witness to one of the worst battles of the war, and nearly lost his leg as a result.

  He watched Jasper die.

  “Have you paid witness to his bouts?”

  Startled by the question—especially when she realized it was directed to her—Lydia shook her head. “Not that I’m aware,” she lied, not sure what else
to say. She wasn’t about to tell them about the incident at the Serpentine, or about what had happened during the garden party. “He seemed completely in the moment when I spoke with him in the gardens at Carlington House a few days ago.”

  A few women were murmuring about something unrelated when Lady Pettigrew leaned in her direction. “Did you enjoy your ride with the gentleman?”

  Lydia stiffened in her seat, well aware of how the conversation in the parlor seemed to cease all at once as everyone stared in her direction. “It was quite pleasant. At least, until it started to rain. I don’t believe I’ve ever managed such a quick ride back to my townhouse as I did that day,” she said with a forced grin.

  “Has Mr. Truscott been a frequent caller during your mourning period?”

  Lydia was quite sure she heard Adele gasp at Lady Pettigrew’s query. “Not at all. Actually, I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting Sir Donald until Lady Morganfield’s garden party,” Lydia replied.

  Lady Pettigrew could barely hide her surprise at hearing Lydia’s reply. “I would have thought from how he lifted you onto your horse that you two were... intimate,” she countered.

  Pasting a smile onto her face, Lydia wondered how she should respond. She had wondered if anyone had paid witness to the knight’s inappropriate move the day of their ride; she should have known someone in the neighborhood would pass along the news to someone like Lady Pettigrew. Angling her head to one side, Lydia replied, “Goodness, no. I just lacked a mounting block, and given Sir Donald’s injured leg, it was far easier for him to lift me up than to bend down and form a stirrup with his hands,” she replied in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone. “He is such a gentleman.”

  Murmurs of agreement made the rounds of the room while Lady Pettigrew realized her gossip didn’t have the profound effect she was hoping to achieve. Adele, bless her heart, brought up the discussion of the next ball.

  With the attention off of her, Lydia was able to drink her tea before it cooled off too much. It was when there was just a few teaspoons left in the bottom when she noticed the arrangement of tea leaves. She was reminded of the puzzle pieces and the image they might form.

  Why would Lord Chamberlain insist Sir Donald be included—nay, be required—to help solve the puzzle?

  “Sometimes our men just have to be included in what we’re doing,” Clarinda was saying. “Norwick can become so grumpy when he feels left out, even when he claims he wants to be.”

  Lydia blinked.

  Was that what this was about? Chamberlain deciding Sir Donald had to be included in something so that he wouldn’t feel left out? Did the director think the newly minted knight’s bouts of staring at nothing could be cured by giving the man something to do? Something to occupy his time?

  His mind?

  She supposed that had been Lord Chamberlain’s reason for sending the puzzle. And including the order that Sir Donald be included in helping find the solution.

  Lydia wondered why he hadn’t just sent it to the knight directly. But then the missive attached might have included the instruction for her to be included in solving the puzzle.

  The meddling man.

  Sighing, Lydia realized she would have to send word to Adonis Truscott to join her at the townhouse. Just the thought had her wondering how he might arrive without being seen by the neighbors ...

  She blinked. And blinked again.

  He had arrived last night and left this morning without being seen. He had, in fact, done it several times! He implied it wouldn’t be his last visit since he was sworn to... what had he said?

  Provide protection.

  Well, if the man showed up in her bedchamber tonight, she would be taking him to the parlor. They would have to work on the puzzle by the light of a candle lamp, but at least it would give the man something to do. Something to keep him in the here-and-now.

  Something to keep her sane.

  Chapter 21

  A Solution Begets Another Puzzle

  Later that night

  The sound of the back door opening had Lydia stiffening. She stood just inside the kitchen, waiting on a teakettle that was about to begin whistling in protest. Grabbing a towel from the nearby counter, she quickly removed the kettle from the stove’s hot surface and poured the contents into a teapot.

  “I wondered when you might arrive,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Despite the locksmith having been at the house earlier that day, she was sure it was Adonis Truscott who managed to gain entrance through the back door.

  Damn him and his stubbornness.

  She glanced around the edge of the door jamb, almost relieved to find Adonis staring at her in alarm. “I see hiring a locksmith wasn’t of any use. I do hope you didn’t damage the new lock whilst breaking in.”

  “Why are you still up, my lady?” the intruder asked in a hoarse whisper, the evidence of his surprise at finding her in the kitchen still on his face. He surreptitiously slid a lock pick set into his pocket, tucking his sketchpad beneath his other arm as he did so.

  “We have an assignment,” she countered as she finished setting up the tea tray. “Do you require anything stronger than tea for the night?”

  Adonis silently moved into the kitchen, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the midnight repast Lydia had assembled. A tray of smoked meats and cheeses was decorated with cut fruits. The tea tray included the usual cups and saucers along with a plate of biscuits and several slices of cake. “Are you expecting... someone?”

  Lydia gave him a quelling glance. “No one besides you,” she answered as she lifted the tray of meats and handed it to him.

  Adonis blinked, but took the tray, gripping his sketchpad beneath his elbow. “I don’t expect you to feed me, my lady,” he murmured, although his mouth watered at the thought of helping himself to some of what was on the tray he held.

  “Nonsense. You’ll feed yourself. We have work to do, and it may take all night,” she countered as she lifted the tea tray. When Adonis didn’t move from where he stood, she sighed. “To the parlor,” she ordered. “We have a puzzle to solve.”

  The knight’s eyes widened at her comment. “From Chamberlain?” he queried.

  Lydia nodded as she led the way to the parlor, her slippered feet making no sound on the marble tiled floor of the grand hall. She wondered how the knight knew Chamberlain had sent the puzzle. Had he received a missive with instructions as well?

  Adonis’ boots were barely audible as he made his way from the kitchens to the grand hall. The light of a candle lamp on the tea tray illuminated their path as they made their way, even though a few gas-fed sconces on the hall walls were lit.

  Once inside the parlor, Lydia shut the door and led them to the card table where the puzzle pieces were as she had left them earlier that day. She set the tea tray on an adjacent table, one she had instructed Jenkins to add before she left to pay calls earlier that afternoon.

  Adonis stared down at the puzzle pieces spread out on the card table. “Oh, my,” he murmured in a whisper.

  Lydia took the tray of meats and cheeses from him. “Do you require any fortification in your tea, Sir Donald?” she whispered as she poured a cup of tea.

  Settling into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Lydia, Adonis shook his head. “Pretend that I have no idea of what is about to transpire, and form your response accordingly. What is this about?” He waved a hand over the card table and included the trays of tea and sustenance as he set his sketchpad so it leaned against the table leg.

  Sighing, Lydia crossed her arms over her middle. “Didn’t you receive a missive from Lord Chamberlain with instructions to solve a puzzle with me?” she asked, not hiding her annoyance. She reached down and plucked the viscount’s note from under the pasteboard box the puzzle pieces had been in. Handing it over to Adonis, she gave him an arched eyebrow. The brighter lighting in the parlor allowed her to see him. Wearing no cravat or waistcoat, he looked as if he could have passed for a crew member on a pirate’s s
hip. His shirt was black—probably bombazine, Lydia thought, the familiar fabric a staple in her wardrobe for the past year. Black breeches, but not those worn for formal occasions, and black boots sans any tassels or other decoration, completed his outfit. She realized the clothes were utilitarian, good for wearing when one didn’t wish to be noticed at night. When one needed to hide in the shadows. A highwayman!

  No wonder the man hadn’t been seen entering or leaving her house.

  Adonis read the note by the light of the candle lamp, his brows furrowing as he did so. “I’m of a mind to challenge him to a duel,” he murmured as he raised his eyes to regard Lydia. “Rather... cheeky of him, don’t you suppose? Not to mention, a bit on the improper side?”

  Lydia angled her head to one side. “As you have probably already surmised, I have worked for Lord Chamberlain in the past. Lord Barrymore...” She pause, realizing she might be admitting too much by mentioning her husband had arranged the assignment. Probably before he even married me, she thought when she remembered Chamberlain’s edict to see to Adonis’ sanity.

  Marry him if you have to.

  “Lord Barrymore arranged for my employment at the Foreign Office after we wed. Now that my mourning period is over, I wish to return to service. I’ll do whatever I must to gain a suitable assignment, preferably one in which I can remain in London and review reports from overseas operatives. It’s what I used to do during the war,” she explained in a low voice. “It’s either that, or I’ll need to seek employment with The Times.”

  Adonis stared at her, his mouth slightly open as she made her declaration. “Whatever you must?” he repeated in a whisper, a look of hurt crossing his too-handsome face. “Does that mean—?”

  “Whatever I must,” Lydia repeated. “Now, if you do not wish to find yourself married because of a scandal, I suggest you help me solve this puzzle and see to leaving this house before my rather nosey neighbors pay witness to your presence,” she added with an arched eyebrow. “Lady Pettigrew already knows you lifted me onto my pony the other day.”