Letters to a Lady

by Joan Smith

  “That was kind of you, Peabody.” He smiled gently. “I wish I could find someone just like you to take care of me and make my little house a home.”

  Peabody’s face melted in joy. “What would they ever do without me at the Willows?” she asked. “Cook would poison your papa with burned meat and raw fruit—and as to that lazy Jennie who does the washing!”

  “We could not possibly give up Peabody,” Diana informed her brother.

  “I wasn’t suggesting stealing Peabody!” Ronald said, shocked that such a charge should be hurled at him. “Someone like Peabody is what I said.”

  “There is no one else like Peabody,” Diana said. “Let us go and see what we can find. But first let us have some lunch.”

  Peabody gave a warm, watery smile. “While we eat, we’ll send Harrup’s carriage back to Belgrave Square and have Ronald’s trunk brought here. I shall settle him in. I’ll make up your bed, Ronald, and tidy things up here just as you like, with plenty of candles.”

  The remainder of the day was taken up in hiring a servant, shopping, and making Ronald’s rooms comfortable.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” he said when the job was done. “Miss Rankin seems a very decent sort of woman. I especially like that she won’t be sleeping here. I’ll be out all day at work, and she can cook dinner and leave me in peace at night. It will be almost as good as not having her around at all,” he said happily.

  “Mind you keep an eye on her housekeeping accounts,” Peabody cautioned. “She’ll be taking home more food than she serves you if you don’t watch her. Snatching up half-burned candles, too—they’re all alike, these servants.”

  “It’s six o’clock,” Diana said. “What would you like to do this evening, Ronald?”

  “We’ll have dinner somewhere first. There are all sorts of amusements to see afterwards—plays and concerts.”

  “Not for me,” Peabody said. “I promised Harrup I would see him this evening. You youngsters go along and enjoy yourselves.”’

  “I must go back to Harrup’s place and change,” Diana said. “Why don’t you change now and come along with us, Ronald? It will be a chance to speak to Harrup about finding you a job.”

  “Very well,” he said, but reluctantly.

  Ronald was vastly relieved that Harrup was not in evidence when they reached Belgrave Square. He had been detained at Westminster but was expected home shortly. The servants were all abustle preparing a dinner party.

  “Lord and Lady Groden and their daughter, Lady Selena, are coming,” Mrs. Dunaway told them. “It’s a small party, a family dinner you might say.”

  “I shall dine with you and Stoker, Agnes,” Mrs. Peabody decided. Though she’d sooner lose an arm than admit it, she was not entirely comfortable dining with Chuggie, and to do so in the presence of another whole noble family gave her palpitations even to consider it.

  “And you, Miss Beecham? Will you and your brother be dining with his lordship?” Mrs. Dunaway asked.

  “No, we are dining out.”

  “That is a pity. It would make some young company for Lady Selena if you could stay,” the housekeeper mentioned.

  Diana looked surprised. “I cannot think she will want any other company when she has her fiancé!”

  “With old Lord Groden here, the table talk will degenerate into politics. That’s all they ever talk of. Not much fun for a young lady.”

  “Then the young lady should introduce some other topic,” Diana suggested.

  Mrs. Dunaway took Peabody and Ronald to her parlor for a glass of wine while Diana dressed. The blue satin was left on its hanger. It was the lutestring she meant to wear. It had been decided that Ronald would take her to Drury Lane to see Sheridan’s The School for Scandal.

  Diana was accustomed to dressing herself and doing her own hair. She was no peacock where fashion was concerned, but she took special pains with her toilette that evening. She piled her golden curls high on her head and attached her diamond-and-pearl earrings. Anticipation of the evening lent a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her blue eyes. Her evening cloak of embroidered silk with a small collar of sable was considered all the crack at home, and while she didn’t expect to turn any heads at Drury Lane, she didn’t want to look a dowd either.

  When she was ready, she went to the staircase and looked down. What a fine house Harrup had. The chandelier cast reflections of dancing rainbows on the marble floor below. On a side table a large bouquet of flowers sat, bringing a welcome touch of nature to the formal elegance all around.

  In her second-best evening attire, Diana felt like a duchess about to descend to a ball—except that no admiring cavalier stood below, waiting for her. She put her hand on the brass railing and went down slowly, lifting her skirt to prevent tripping.

  When she was halfway down, the front door opened and Harrup entered, still in his blue jacket and fawn trousers. His brows were draw in together in a frown, making him look angry. When he glanced up and saw Diana, his brow cleared, and a smile lifted his lips. He stood at the bottom watching her descent, then held out his hand to greet her.

  “What an enchanting welcome! I’m more accustomed to being greeted by Stoker’s glower or Mrs. Dunaway’s portly presence.”

  “And had your scowl in place to welcome them. Good evening, Harrup. Did you receive my note?” she asked. At this close range, she saw the fine lines on his forehead, the tired look about his eyes.

  “I did. Why are you wearing a cloak, Di? You cannot be leaving so close to the dinner hour.”

  “I am dining out this evening.”

  “Nabbed a beau that quickly, did you?” he teased.

  “No, a brother. Ronald is taking me to Drury Lane after dinner. About my note, Harrup—”

  “Shall we go into my office? I haven’t much time. Selena should be arriving within a half hour, and I still have to change.” He accompanied her to his office and pointed to a chair, but she remained standing.

  “Did you speak to Lord Markwell?” she asked.

  Harrup just shook his head. “There’s some mistake here. Markwell couldn’t possibly be the man who took my letters. He’s a colleague and friend of mine. He worked with Eldon and myself on several bills that are before the House. He’d be as horrified as I am to learn of my predicament. Of course, I haven’t mentioned the matter to anyone yet.”

  “Peabody was certain,” Diana said. She began to pace the office. Her shoulders were straight, and her long cloak fell gracefully to the floor. With her golden hair gleaming, she looked almost regal as she walked to and fro. Harrup watched her with interest, vaguely wondering when Di had become so grown up, so elegant. “She even noticed he’d had a haircut,” Diana said. “It must be Markwell. Perhaps Mrs. Whitby put him up to it. Did he know you were severing connections with her?”

  “Of course he knew. We work together every day.”

  “Did you work together yesterday, at around noon? If he was with you at that time, Peabody is obviously wrong,” she pointed out.

  Harrup drew his brows together in the familiar frown. “No, he was with his family in the country—his father is ill. He left Friday evening and only came back this morning.”

  Diana cast a sapient eye on her companion. “That gives him plenty of time to have gone to Hitchin and arranged matters with Mrs. Whitby.”

  “But why would he do such a thing? It doesn’t make any sense—unless, as you say, he did it for Laura.”

  “Harrup, if you do not get the appointment, who does?”

  “One of Eldon’s other assistants. Walters or . . . or Markwell,” he said, and looked at Diana’s knowing smile. He rubbed his chin and began pacing alongside Diana. “Actually, Walters isn’t pushing for the post. He’s going on sixty-five, more interested in cutting back than forging ahead.”

  “There you are,” she said triumphantly. “That’s his motive, to discredit you so he becomes the attorney general. The strongest motive in the world—self-advancement.”
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  “I must be growing old. There was a time when that speech would have sounded absurd to me. I do believe you’re right, though. Self-advancement has taken the front seat,” Harrup said. He continued mulling the matter over. “Markwell’s as ambitious as anyone. And he knew where I set Laura up. He’s met her a few times, too, at Vauxhall one evening and at a few parties.”

  Diana stared. “Harrup, do you mean to say you take that woman into polite company?”

  “No, into the other sort of company. Vauxhall is not exactly respectable. In any case, that was before my betrothal.” At these words, he remembered Lady Selena was to arrive soon and glanced at his watch.

  “You must go and change,” Diana said. “But before you go, could you tell me where Markwell lives?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. Since his father has become ill, they rented the family mansion in Grosvenor Square, and Harold has taken rooms somewhere.”

  “Don’t you have a list of addresses of the members of Parliament—something like that?”

  “I seem to remember they issued one a few months ago. They’re forever showering us with paper. I don’t recall what I did with it, or whether I even kept it. It might be in that pile,” he said, nodding toward his desk, where paper mounted a foot into the air. Suddenly suspicious, he asked, “Why do you want to know?”

  “We’ll have to get into his rooms and look for the letters,” she explained.

  Harrup heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ll take care of it, Di. I don’t want you arrested for burglary. Your papa might take it amiss. When you are in my home, you’re under my protection.”

  She slanted a pixie smile at him. “Do be sensible, Harrup. How could I burgle Markwell’s house when I was under your roof? Naturally, I shall have to escape your protection to do it.”

  “Naturally, but you will do nothing about it till I have spoken to Harold.”

  “He will hardly admit it!” she exclaimed, astonished at his naiveté.

  She watched, entranced, as Harrup’s fingers curled into fists and his complexion darkened amazingly. “Will he not?” he asked in a voice as soft as silk and as dangerous as gunpowder.

  “Violence is not the answer,” she warned. “Markwell is a sneak thief, and it is sneak thievery that should be employed against him.”

  “It’s no job for a Lady. I’ll handle it. You just go and enjoy the play.”

  Diana smiled, as though agreeing. “I’ll speak to you later, when I return.”

  “Must you go out? I wanted you to meet my fiancée.” He ran an eye over her. “Though now that I see you all rigged up to the nines, I begin to appreciate your warning. Selena might well take exception to such stiff competition.”

  “Why, thank you, Harrup. That skates dangerously close to being a compliment.”

  “If you had met Selena, you would realize it is a compliment of the highest order.” A bemused, faraway light glowed in his eye as he considered his lady.

  “An incomparable, is she?”

  “Naturally. A man’s wife is an ornament and a criterion for judging his taste. Could you doubt I chose the most beautiful deb in town?”

  She gave him a long look. “Is that your definition of a wife? She sounds more like a diamond tiepin.”

  He smiled reluctantly. “A diamond of the first water, but thus far I haven’t found a diamond that can give me a son and heir.”

  “You do allow that the ornament has one useful function, do you? To reproduce a likeness of yourself.”

  Harrup lifted a brow, warning Diana that he was trying to be shocking. “She has two useful functions outside of being ornamental. She must not only produce a son but give some pleasure in the doing.”

  She just leveled a cool look at him. “I thought the Mrs. Whitbys of the world handled that latter function.”

  “I’ve failed to shock you. I see the bloom is off the country rose. Perhaps it’s just as well you aren’t dining with Selena.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re marrying a Bath miss!” she exclaimed. “I made sure you would choose a lady who is up to all the rigs.”

  “No, for marrying, a man chooses the other sort,” he replied, and strode from the office.

  Diana began sorting through the pile of papers. Finding nothing useful, she pulled open his drawers and rooted there. She discovered the address list buried beneath a pile of personal letters. The letters were pulled together with a piece of string and labeled “Mrs. Somers.” A glance at the dainty script and a whiff of rose water told Diana they were from a ladybird. She shook her head in dismay. The man was incorrigible. She copied down Markwell’s address and stuffed it into her purse. Just as she was returning the list, Harrup appeared, outfitted now in black jacket and pantaloons and looking fine as a star.

  “I found the address list,” she said.

  Harrup looked at the drawer and then looked a question at Diana. “What else? You aren’t breathing through your nose for sheer joy.”

  She tossed her head. “If you have to come down too heavy for Whitby’s letters, you might recoup the loss by blackmailing Mrs. Somers,” she snipped. “I notice you kept her billets-doux.”

  He went to the drawer, took the packet of letters, and dropped them into the wastebasket.

  “It would be more to the point to burn them,” she said. “Does Mrs. Somers also have a packet of your maudlin ramblings?”

  “No, it is the custom to exchange letters when the affair is over. That ensures their safety. It happened that Mrs. Somers went abroad without retrieving hers, though I had the foresight to recover mine.”

  “Did you return Mrs. Whitby’s?”

  “Of course.”

  Diana sniffed and tossed her shoulders.

  “As all this is so distasteful to you, why do you persist in helping me?” he asked.

  “I told you, I have a favor to ask. But Lady Selena will be here shortly, and besides, I want you in a good mood, so I shall wait till tomorrow. Another little worry for you, wondering what you will be dunned for,” she quizzed.

  “I have enough worries, thank you. The attorney generalship hanging in the balance, the stolen letters, and Lady Selena.”

  “Lady Selena! I didn’t realize she rated as a problem.”

  Harrup looked conscious and spoke quickly. “Marriage is always a problem. It’s an institution designed by ladies to make slaves of men.”

  “It has often occurred to me that it is quite the reverse. It is the ladies who take on the responsibility of running the house and servants and making sure the husband isn’t bothered by the children or any domestic problem. You cannot even complain of the expense. I expect you’ll be getting a fat dowry with your bride.”

  “Naturally I was not speaking about Selena, but about marriage in general,” he said stiffly.

  She gave him a look that went right through him. “Naturally,” she said. “Why are you really getting shackled, Harrup? Is it a prerequisite to the appointment you’re hoping for?”

  “Certainly not, though Liverpool did drop me the hint a married man is considered more stable, less likely to be running wild.”

  “I doubt if it will stop you. I suggest you take the precaution of keeping your desk drawer locked after the nuptials.”

  The sound of carriage wheels was heard on the street, and Diana left. She went after Ronald, and rather than interrupt the arrival of Harrup’s guests by going out the front door, they left by the servants’ entrance.

  “Ronald,” Diana said when they were seated in the carriage, “we aren’t going to Drury Lane, after all.”

  “I’m sure we can get a ticket. It may not be a very good seat, but—would you rather go to Covent Garden?”

  “No, I would rather recover Harrup’s letters. I have got Lord Markwell’s address. Evening is the perfect time to sneak into his apartment and steal them.”

  Ronald turned and laughed lightly. “You are always joking. Di. What the deuce are you talking about, breaking into a gentleman’s home?”

  �
��Lord Markwell is not a gentleman. He is a thief.”

  Ronald realized by the timbre of his sister’s voice that she was serious. A cold sweat broke out across his shoulders and along his forehead. A quotation drifted through his mind—he couldn’t remember the author. “There is no animal more invincible than woman.” “Oh, dear,” he said softly. “Must we?”

  “Yes, we must, for Harrup has taken the perfectly cork-brained idea of beating Markwell up, and that won’t do his chances of being appointed the attorney general much good. If, on the other hand, you pull him out of the suds, he might just appoint you his special assistant.”

  “Aristophanes,” Ronald murmured.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Special assistant, did you say?” Ronald asked joyfully. “By jove, that’d be something like. Cuthbert got himself taken on as Lord Worth’s assistant, and Worth is just a plain M.P., not even a privy councillor.”

  “It’s just an idea,” Diana warned him, “but this is very important to Harrup, and he can be generous when he wants.”

  “Let’s see the address,” Ronald said eagerly.

  “Let us have dinner first. We must lay plans.”

  Chapter Four

  “How many servants is a man like Markwell apt to have?” Diana asked her brother as they ate dinner. It was only an indifferent meal. Neither was in the mood for a lingering repast in some fine dining spot. They wanted to get on with the job at hand, so settled for Ronald’s former hotel, Ibbetson’s.

  “A gentleman in his position would have to keep up a good front. He’d have about two thousand a year from his papa. I’d say two or three servants: a valet and butler, or a valet who also buttles and a female to look after his rooms and do a bit of cooking. As he has only hired rooms, his female servant may sleep elsewhere, like my Rankin.”

  “If Markwell makes do with one man, then we should have no trouble,” Diana ventured. “I’ll knock on the door and distract him while you rifle the office. I shall say I felt faint and ask for a glass of wine. Perhaps I should send him for a doctor,” she mused, thinking aloud.