Letters to a Lady

by Joan Smith

  But how could the Whigs know that Peabody had the letters? No, Laura must be at the bottom of it. Perhaps she’d taken a Whig lover and was being used without her own knowledge. That might be discovered at the House tomorrow.

  Harrup tried to work, but the problem continued to nudge at his attention, making work impossible. A pity little Missie Beecham had to stumble into this unsavory business. Not that it had shocked her much. She was growing up on him. Quite self-assured. She had acquired what his mama would call “countenance.” How old would she be now? He remembered clearly the first time he’d seen her, a swaddled babe in her mother’s arms. Funny little creature with a red, wrinkled face. She’d blossomed nicely, though. He’d been home from Eton on holiday that summer—ten years old? No, he must have been older. Di couldn’t be twenty-four. But Ronald was younger, and he had graduated now. He wondered what Ronald had found for a job.

  It was a night for worrying and remembering and thinking of the future. Harrup poured a large glass of brandy and drank it before he finally went up to bed. He had relived the past years of his life and envisaged a future that saw him as the prime minister of the country. Strangely, the dashed pretty Lady Selena did not once enter his mind.

  Chapter Three

  When Miss Peabody was apprised of the situation the next morning at eight o’clock, she decided to take breakfast with Mrs. Dunaway and the butler in the senior servants’ kitchen. Any unpleasantness interfered with her digestion, and she feared Harrup would be unhappy that she’d discovered the truth about his “documents.”

  “Naturally, you, a guest, must dine with the family,” she added to her charge. “Be sure to give dear Harrup my compliments. I shall see him at dinner this evening. Pray don’t give him the notion he must come looking for me belowstairs to welcome me.” This speech was interpreted to mean Peabody would be in alt if such a thing occurred.

  Diana was happy to have privacy with her host. If Peabody were there, she’d be simpering and fawning over him. Harrup was already at the table when Diana arrived.

  “Good morning. I had no idea you kept such early hours,” she said. “I’ve been waiting in my room since seven-thirty. I didn’t want to ring for tea, in case the servants were still asleep.”

  “You must request whatever you wish, when you wish it,” he told her. “You are a guest in the house, not a servant.”

  “I’m glad you said that, Harrup, for I’ve been thinking over this problem, and there are a few things I shall need.”

  As she spoke, she helped herself generously to gammon and eggs from the huge silver serving dishes warming on the sideboard, and sat down.

  “You have only to ask. Mrs. Dunaway will see to your needs.”

  “Not all of them, I think,” she countered. “The thing is, Papa’s traveling carriage is a wretched antique, so cumbersome for the city. As you are loaning me a groom, I wonder if you might throw in a carriage. Any old rig will do. Your curricle or, if you use it yourself, your regular city chaise will be fine. Except that my chaperon may not like the open carriage. You know how the wind always seeks out Peabody’s ears. Let us say your city carriage,” she decided.

  The swift lift of Harrup’s brows revealed his surprise at her presumption, but a second thought persuaded him. “I’m using the curricle these fine spring days, so my closed carriage is free,” he agreed. “Where is Peabody? It’s not like her to sleep in so late.”

  “She’s eating with Dunaway and your butler. I believe she’s a little shy to greet you, with the stolen letters hanging over her head. So foolish, as though it were in any way her fault. She said to say good morning. The thing is, I wonder if I should use Peabody for a chaperon in the city. Whoever stole your letters saw her, you see, and it might be a good idea if he didn’t know that I’m associated with her. As he didn’t see me, I’d like to remain unknown to him. If I manage to scrape an acquaintance, I shall call myself something else. In fact, as I’ll be using an alias, you could tell Lady Selena I’m a country cousin. Just in case she decides to develop a mind of her own,” she added pertly.

  Harrup set down his fork impatiently. “Still smarting over that, I see. I must make clear at the beginning, I have no intention of embarking on a series of lies and subterfuges, missie. Neither do I intend to hire you a chaperon. Don’t go blowing this affair into a melodrama. You will not go near the thief who stole my letters.”

  Diana blinked in confusion. “How am I to recover them then?” she asked.

  “You’re not,” he said firmly. “You can do one thing for me while you’re here. I’ve been thinking about the problem, too, and it’s fourpence to a groat the thief is a Whig. He’s stolen the letters to embarrass me and the government. The likeliest place for Peabody to identify him is at the House today. He won’t see you or her up in the visitors’ balcony. Get Mrs. Dunaway to give you a pair of opera glasses, tell me where he’s sitting and his name, if it happens to come up. I’ll handle it from there.”

  “Is that all?” she asked. Her face fell in disappointment. Diana had been envisaging a delightful escapade of following the villain, possibly having Ronald accost him in a dark alley, preferably with the aid of a pistol. Even a surreptitious trip into the thief’s house to steal back the letters had occurred to her. To have her role reduced to sitting in a balcony while Peabody fingered the culprit was hard to accept.

  “That’s all,” he said. “Leave a note at my office at Westminster if the culprit is recognized. I shan’t be home till early evening.”

  “Oh, very well.” She sighed.

  Harrup looked at her drooping shoulders and felt a stab of pity. “You think I’m a spoilsport. Don’t waste your trip worrying about my little problem,” he said heartily. “You and Peabody do what you have to do to get Ronald settled in, then go shopping. I have Peabody’s money here,” he added, handing her an envelope. “The portion above ten pounds is a gift. Peabody will understand.”

  “Thank you, Harrup,” she said politely. It didn’t seem the proper moment to mention her favor. She had hoped Ronald could walk in and hand him the letters. That would have been the time to hit him up for a job.

  Harrup finished his coffee and rose to leave. “You won’t forget to see Peabody before you go?” she mentioned. “She’s with Mrs. Dunaway belowstairs.”

  “I’ll see her later. I’m in a hurry this morning,” he replied, pulling out his watch.

  “Harrup!” she exclaimed. “Really! You can’t spare two minutes for your old nanny? It would make her day. She especially asked me to tell you not to go to her, and you know what that means.”

  “You give her the envelope,” he said.

  “It’s not the money. She wants the glory of your going after her in front of your city servants.”

  “You’re insane,” Harrup said, and strode from the room.

  Diana was annoyed with him, but as she sipped her coffee, she supposed a man in his position was too busy to patronize a mere servant; Peabody’s connection to Harrup was extremely tenuous.

  She spent half an hour wandering through the house, admiring much and mentally placing the “dashed pretty” Lady Selena amid the finery. With no real knowledge to go on, she pictured someone like Mrs. Whitby, only younger and haughtier. It must be nice to be Lady Selena, the prettiest deb of the year, nabbing an excellent parti, to be mistress of this house and Harrup Hall.

  At ten she went and told Peabody what was expected of them. “Harrup said to take opera glasses. The ladies’ balcony must be up under the eaves. Oh, and he said to give you this money. Your ten pounds and a little gift.”

  Peabody’s face was wreathed in smiles when she peeked into the envelope. “Dear Chuggie—so generous. I knew how it would be. He told me when he came to see me that you would tell me what we are to do. He was in a great rush, but he found time to say hello before leaving. Agnes and Stoker were shocked. And he won’t hear of our going to a hotel, you say. Just like him.”

  Diana showed all the astonishment the occasion
demanded, but her smile was for her own triumph. He had taken her advice, after all. “We’re taking his carriage,” Diana said.

  It didn’t seem possible Peabody’s smile could grow broader, but it did. “He thinks of everything,” she said.

  Diana didn’t bother telling her chaperon how the carriage came to be offered. “After we go to the Upper House, let us call on Ronald. Harrup said we could invite him here, but I wrote him last night that we’d call at his hotel, so we’ll do it.”

  “Invite Ronald here? So obliging!” she cooed.

  Peabody had many compliments on Harrup’s chaise as they spun along to Parliament. “How smoothly it glides. Exceptionally well sprung.” Neither lady mentioned that the superior roads of London might have anything to do with it.

  Peabody’s more customary voice of complaint did not arise till she viewed the staircase to the visitors’ gallery at Westminster. “I’m not at all sure I can tackle that climb, Diana. My knees always seize upon me when I travel. It’s the wind seeping into the carriage that does the mischief. Your papa’s carriage, I mean. Had it not been for Harrup’s excellent goosefeather tick, I wouldn’t have got a wink of sleep.”

  “Lean on my arm,” Diana said, and began hauling her chaperon up the long, narrow flight.

  The visitors’ gallery was deserted at that early hour of the day, as were most of the seats in the House of Lords. The ladies looked down with interest at the chamber of the House, to see where the country’s business was transacted. The monarch’s empty throne was scanned by Peabody’s glasses. In front of it sat the lord chancellor on his red woolsack, wearing a great gray wig. Rows of benches upholstered in scarlet rose in tiers on either side of the rectangular room.

  “So this is where they keep raising our taxes,” Peabody said. “Very grand, I’m sure. Where is Chuggie sitting?”

  He was discovered bent over his desk, and Peabody smiled as proudly as though he were the fruit of her own womb.

  “Harrup suspects the thief was a Whig. He should be sitting on the lord chancellor’s left side,” Diana informed her.

  Within five minute Peabody had run the opera glasses over the slender gathering and informed Diana that the villain was not present. As she spoke, two more robed gentlemen entered and took up their positions. Peabody studied them carefully but didn’t recognize either one.

  “Try the other side,” Diana suggested.

  Their villain was not to be seen there, either, but gentlemen kept straggling in, so the ladies sat on, carefully observing each newcomer. A very tedious morning was spent in this fruitless manner. At a quarter to twelve, Peabody could take no more.

  “He’s not here,” she said. “I cannot sit in this stifling, airless little attic a moment longer, Diana. My ears are buzzing. Let us go and see Ronald.”

  “Very well, but I should send a note around to Harrup’s office first. I told him I would.”

  She wrote her note and went in search of either Harrup’s office or someone to deliver the note for her. In a corridor they met a page boy. Diana was just handing him her note when she felt a tugging on her elbow. Turning, she saw Peabody’s jaw clenched in alarm. Her chaperon was ducking her head to remain unseen, and her finger was pointing at a man who was approaching them. Diana looked quickly as the man bustled past, his head buried in a letter. She saw a young man of average height and build. He had chestnut hair and a nondescript but not displeasing face.

  “That’s him,” Peabody gasped.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll never forget his bold face as long as I live.”

  Diana felt a thrill of triumph. She said to the clerk. “Did you recognize that man? I think I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  “That’s Viscount Markwell, old Lord Belvoir’s son and heir. A bright young lad. He’s working with Lord Eldon’s office.”

  “Yes, I thought so. About my note—would you mind waiting a moment? I just remembered something I must add.” She hastily scribbled down the gentlemen’s name and sent it off to Harrup.

  “That’s that,” Peabody said happily as they went to the carriage to proceed to Ronald’s hotel. “I am very happy to be able to help Chuggie. A morning in that dreadful aerie was well worth it. I hope I haven’t taken one of my chills.”

  “Yes,” Diana agreed, but a frown creased her brow. Harrup had thought the man must be a Whig. Why would a fellow Tory want to embarrass his own party? The man worked with Eldon, besides—he must be a friend of Harrup’s. “Are you quite sure that was the man, Peabody?”

  “Positive. The same eyes, a ginger shade, and that little lock of hair falling over his forehead. He’d had his hair cut. It wasn’t quite so short over the ears before, but it is the same person, I promise you.”

  Perhaps Harrup could make some sense of it. Diana’s part in the mystery was over, and she turned her mind to Ronald. He was waiting in front of the hotel for them, pacing up and down the street. As the street was empty, he didn’t bump into anyone. His papa often said his son couldn’t cross a desert without knocking something over.

  Ronald was a slender but elegant figure. He was prey to no freakish excesses of fashion. His jacket of blue Bath cloth was well cut, the buttons not ostentatiously large or yet too small for the current mode. His waistcoat was a discreet beige, his Hessians polished to a city sheen. He lifted his curled beaver when he saw them, revealing hair like an infant’s, fine as silk and the color of sand, slightly curled.

  Ronald always managed to be pale, whatever his health or whatever the weather. What could be expected, when he stayed up too late and remained too much indoors reading? Constant reading gave his young eyes a fatigued look, and his habitual expression was one of irresolution, but his smile was sweet and gentle, his whole desire to please as he hastened forward.

  “Diana, Peabody! At last you’ve come. I’ve been pacing up and down this street since nine o’clock this morning. What kept you?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it, Ronald,” his sister replied.

  “Why on earth did you not wait for us in your room? We would have asked for you.”

  “I thought you might not like to go into a hotel alone,” he said vaguely. As he helped Diana from the carriage, he managed to knock her bonnet askew.

  “Good gracious, we may be provincials but we’re not that backward! Is there somewhere we can go and sit down? I expect Peabody would like her tea,” Diana said.

  Ronald offered a hand to Peabody, who was swift enough to escape his help and reach the road unharmed. “We could go into Ibbetson’s,” he mentioned. “Or to my place. I haven’t found a servant yet, but I am to pick up the key to my flat this morning. At ten-thirty, actually,” he added, pulling out his watch.

  “In that case, you’d better get into the carriage at once,” Diana said. “You’re nearly two hours late.”

  Ronald directed the driver to the real estate office and thence to his rooms. During the trip, Diana informed him of their adventures since leaving the Willows. “As Homer said, ‘There is no more trusting in women.’ I doubt there ever was,” Ronald said morosely.

  He was extremely dismayed, nor could he see any possible advantage to himself in helping Harrup.

  “Have you tried to be in touch with Harrup at all?” Diana asked.

  Shy and retiring. Ronald would as soon walk into Exeter Exchange and bite the tiger as ask a favor of anyone. Harrup, in particular, always made him feel as if his jacket was too small and his hair badly cut. “I didn’t like to pester him at home about a job, you know,” he said. “A man likes to take his ease at home.”

  “Oh, you went to his office.”

  His pale face looked diffident. “He would be so busy at the House that I didn’t think I ought to accost him there.”

  “Where on earth did you plan to visit him, then?” Diana asked, becoming impatient with his shilly-shallying way of going on. “The middle of the street is hardly the place for it.”

  “Now that you are staying with him, it wi
ll be unexceptionable for me to call at his home,” he decided.

  Diana shook her head. “Ronald, I despair of you. You’ll have to be thicker-skinned than this to get on in the world. You’re too modest.”

  “Pride is the vice of fools, Di. I hope I am not a fool.”

  His sister thought he had certainly not been proud in hiring himself accommodations. The rooms were neither large nor elegant, but they were at least conveniently located on a side street off Whitehall, with a view of the Thames from one window.

  Peabody strode from room to room, disparaging everything. “You’ll get an ague with that wind blowing off the river. Be sure to stuff your ears with cotton wool, Ronald. My, would you look at the filth of this place! A pack of gypsies is what’s been camping here. This boot box won’t hold your books, Ronald, let alone a desk and lamp. And look at the state of these furnishings. They haven’t seen a dust cloth this decade. We have our afternoon’s work cut out for us, Di.”

  Diana was familiar with Peabody’s love of overseeing work being done by others and had no intention of spending her day polishing furniture. “Yes, indeed, we must find Ronald a servant. Do you prefer a man who could act as valet, too, Ron, or would you rather have a woman-of-all-work? She would cook and wash for you, but you’d have no help in dressing.”

  “Well,” Ronald said uncertainly. “It would be nice not to have to go out to eat every day. On the other hand, I don’t want to be unquiet, having a woman forever dusting and polishing when I’m trying to work.”

  “You needn’t fear London servants will disturb you unduly in that way,” Peabody said.

  “Servants only come in two sexes,” Diana pointed out. “A woman, I think. We’ll go to an employment agency and have some sent along to be interviewed. We have a trunk of things at Harrup’s place. Peabody packed linens and candles, and I don’t know what all.”