Letters to a Lady

by Joan Smith

  “What if Markwell is at home himself?” Ronald asked.

  “Then we shall have to wait till he leaves. Surely he won’t be home at this hour. I’ve heard Harrup say a bachelor in London can eat out every night of the week if he possesses an impeccable jacket and a passable reputation.”

  Ronald nodded his agreement. “Even I have had several invitations already,” he mentioned.

  “Why do you say even you, Ronald?” she asked angrily. “You speak as though there were something the matter with you.”

  “I ain’t exactly a catch,” he mumbled.

  “Why, you’re handsome, well educated, wellborn, and have an unsullied character. You have good prospects—you’ll be the owner of the Willows one day. And soon Harrup will be your patron,” she added, smiling.

  Ronald look mystified at his lack of social success. “I don’t seem to add much to a party,” he said.

  “You must learn to put yourself forward more forcefully. Keep your eyes open for any chance of advancement. And when you begin looking about for a wife, Ronald, you should bear in mind your own reticence and seek someone who is outgoing, who will be a help to your social life.”

  “That sounds like you, Di,” he pointed out.

  “I should be very happy to play your hostess till you marry,” she agreed.

  “That might be forever. I turn into a blanc-manger when confronted with a bold woman,” he said, and mildly ate up his meat.

  When the carriage delivered them to Glasshouse Street, Ronald looked around with interest. “That’s the place,” Diana said, pointing to a mansion halfway between Old Bond and Swallow that had been turned into four bachelor flats.

  “I thought it might be,” he said. “I was with Cuthbert when he was looking at one of those flats, but they were too steep for him.”

  “You wouldn’t know which one was Markwell’s?” Di asked.

  “No, but the two on the top floor were still to let last week, so he must be on the ground floor. They’re dandy rooms, light and airy. Cuthbert was going to try to raise the wind to hire one.”

  “Excellent! If Markwell is on the ground floor, we can peek in the windows and see if he’s home. I’ll recognize him and know if it is the right flat.”

  This subterfuge proved unnecessary, though a few other precautions were taken. Diana had Harrup’s carriage wait in the shadows a block away, lest anyone recognize the crest blazoned on the panel. She and Ronald walked past the building twice, then went to the front door. In the entranceway, they found a small white card had been posted listing the occupants. Lord Markwell occupied the set of rooms to the left of the entrance passage.

  “There were no lights burning in those rooms,” Diana whispered. “Do you think you could pry the lock open?”

  Ronald looked lost. “How?” he asked blankly.

  “I don’t know. With a clasp knife or whatever men carry.”

  “I don’t carry a clasp knife. I have a patent pen, and a small magnifying glass—for looking at old books at the stalls, you know. Sometimes the print is blurred and rather hard to read. I’ll just knock at the door—in case someone is in there resting, we don’t want to go barging in.”

  As he spoke, he tapped on the door. Diana grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind the staircase. “We cannot be seen, Ronald,” she warned. They listened, but no one came to the door.

  Diana realized by this time that her helper was incompetent, and she tried to pry open the lock with a hairpin and later a nail file. When neither worked, she suggested they go outside and try to get in by a window. Ronald promptly walked to the largest window facing the street and began hauling it.

  “The back window, Ron,” she said, pointing to a few people on the street who had already stopped to stare at them. They slipped through a narrow alley and found themselves in a small, dark yard with pale windows gleaming in the moonlight.

  “I can’t reach them,” Ronald said. “There’s no way in, Di. We might as well go home!”

  “The letters that will save Harrup’s reputation and secure you a good future are in those empty rooms. Are you going to let a quarter of an inch of glass stop you?” she demanded.

  “It’s not the glass. It’s the height.”

  Diana looked all around the yard. “What’s that dark lump over there?” she asked.

  Ronald walked toward it and said, “A rain barrel, but I can’t move it. It’s full.”

  “We shall empty it,” his sister informed him through thin lips, and strode purposefully toward it.

  “Damme, you’ve got water all over my shoes,” Ronald complained as the sluggish water splashed to the ground.

  “Never mind your shoes. I’ve destroyed my second-best gown and probably my good cape as well. I’m going to take it off.” She tossed her sable-trimmed cape aside and helped her brother roll the barrel to the window. “I’ll steady it while you climb up,” she said.

  Ronald, with many slips and tumbles, was finally at the proper height. “The window’s locked inside,” he said. There was a noticeable accent of relief in his voice.

  “I’ll find a rock,” Diana replied promptly, and scrabbled around at the edge of the garden till she had one so heavy she could hardly lift it. Her gloves, she knew, were a shambles, and her coiffure had long since lost its style. “Break it softly,” she advised.

  Ronald tapped gently at the pane. “Harder than that,” she said, becoming impatient with him.

  Ronald swung his arm back and heaved. The ear-splitting noise was by no means the worst of it. Slivers of glass flew in all directions. Ronald howled and fell to the ground, clutching his eyes.

  “Oh, my God!” Diana rushed forward. “Are you all right? Ronald, you didn’t cut your eyes?”

  His hands came down slowly. He blinked and sat up. “I can see,” he breathed. Then he glanced at his fingers, where a dab of blood was visible in the moonlight. “I’m wounded,” he moaned, and lay down on the cold, damp ground. “Steeped in my own blood.”

  “Where are you hurt?” A close examination showed a cut a quarter of an inch long on one finger. “Why didn’t you wear your gloves?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to destroy them.”

  Diana’s attention was divided between her brother and the house. A head came to the window on the lower right-side apartment. She held Ronald still, hoping the shadows would conceal them. In a moment, the head receded and all was quiet. “I didn’t mean break it that hard,” she said, fear turning to anger now that the danger had passed.

  “Well, if that ain’t—just how hard should I have broken it? Tell me that.”

  “You should have protected your face, at least. Never mind, we must get inside while we have the chance. That would be the kitchen window you broke, I think. You go in first and give me a hand.”

  “Can you staunch this wound first?” he asked ironically, when another drop of blood oozed from his finger.

  “I can’t even find it.”

  Ronald returned to the barrel, where he leisurely pulled shards of glass from the frame to permit himself to enter unscathed. Diana waited below, fuming impotently. At last the entry was deemed safe, and Ronald crawled in headfirst, his legs sticking out the window and wiggling till finally they disappeared and his head popped out.

  “It’s the pantry,” he whispered.

  Diana was already balanced on the barrel. Ronald’s help proved so bothersome that she finally told him to stand back while she hoisted herself up to the window ledge and squirmed her way in. Soon they stood together in a small pantry, listening to make sure they were alone. When all remained quiet beyond, they ventured forth into the dining room and on to the saloon.

  “There must be a study,” Diana said, looking around in the shadowed room.

  “What we need is a light,” Ronald decided, and began knocking over tables and chairs till he found a flint box. After much fumbling, the lamp was lit. Diana cautioned him to dim the flame by holding a paper in front of it, and they went forward lo
oking for Markwell’s office.

  “Here it is,” Ronald said, and darted in, straight to the bookshelves. “What a paltry collection,” he scoffed. “No Virgil, no Cicero, not even Homer. I could forgive the rest, for Homer is all a man truly needs. Imagine an illiterate like that being a member of Parliament! All his books are in English.”

  Diana decided the bookshelf was as good a place as any to keep Ronald out of mischief. She closed the door, took the lamp, and headed straight to the desk. The top drawer was locked, the others unlocked. She quickly rifled the open ones, knowing in her heart that if the letters were there, they would be under lock and key. “We’ve got to break into this drawer,” she told her brother.

  Over his shoulder Ronald said, “Yes, go ahead, Di. I’m just looking at this copy of Waverley. I haven’t read Scott, but the chaps say he’s very good. I wonder if Markwell would mind if I borrowed it.”

  With a resigned shake of her head, Diana reached for a brass letter opener and pried the lock till she had broken it. The drawer slid open, and at the back she spotted a corner of pink satin ribbon. She reached in and pulled out the familiar billets-doux.

  “I found them!” she exclaimed triumphantly, and stuffed them into her reticule. “Let’s go before someone comes.”

  “Listen to this, Di,” Ronald said, smiling. “‘A sneaking piece of imbecility’ Scott calls Edward Waverley. This does sound good.”

  “Put the book back and let us go,” she said.

  “I only meant to borrow it.”

  A sound of movement behind the closed door was heard at the same instant by them both. They exchanged frightened, wide-eyed stares and looked to the door. The handle turned slowly. Diana had awful visions of Lord Markwell, pistol in hand. Her mind went perfectly blank, but just before the door opened, she recovered sufficiently at least to blow out the lamp and plunge them into darkness. Instinct led her to crouch behind the desk for concealment.

  When the door opened silently, the first thing she saw around the desk’s corner was another lit lamp. Hovering above it was a man’s ugly, common face. Only a servant, she thought with some relief. The man spotted Ronald near the door in an instant. He raised his lamp and gave a gloating smile.

  “Caught you snaffling the goods, eh, mate? A rum gent like you, all done up in style. What would you be doing a thing like that for?”

  “I was only borrowing it!” Ronald said, offense in every line of his slender body.

  “Sure you was, and didn’t plan to help yourself to his lordship’s jewels and silver, either. Oh, no, not a fine dandy like you. You can tell it to the watch house preacher, lad.”

  Realizing that the servant thought Ronald was alone, Diana held her breath and prayed her brother wouldn’t tell the man she was there. Though he wouldn’t purposely hurt a fly, it would be just like him to blurt it out. She began looking around for a weapon to knock the servant out and free Ronald. At least the man didn’t carry a gun.

  Before she could find anything, the man took Ronald by the arm and hauled him from the study, thinking he’d caught an ordinary criminal, come to loot the flat. She listened, heart pounding, as Ronald protested his innocence. “An outrage! I just came to borrow a book.”

  “And decided to let yourself in by smashing the glass. Lucky chance for me I was only next door having a heavy wet with a buddy and heard you. Come along easy, lad. It’d be a shame to have to darken your pretty daylights and draw your cork.”

  These menacing words turned Ronald completely docile. He allowed himself to be taken away, and Diana found herself alone and shaking like a leaf in Lord Markwell’s study. As the flat was now empty, she left by the front door and ran around the corner to Harrup’s carriage, to follow Ronald to whatever watch house he was taken to. When she saw him being led in, she pulled the check string and spoke to Harrup’s groom.

  “Would it be proper for a young lady to go in and bail him out?” she asked calmly.

  “No, miss. It wouldn’t. What you’d best do is tell his lordship what happened.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to bother his lordship,” she said, biting her underlip. “Perhaps you would be kind enough?” she suggested, glancing to the watch house.

  “You need bail money, you see, miss, which I don’t have. ‘Sides beyond, they’d not put him under the protection of such a one as myself. It’s his lordship you must tell.’’

  “Very well,” she agreed, and settled back against the squabs, clutching the precious letters. Harrup couldn’t cut up very stiff when she had recovered his letters. She ardently hoped the Grodens were not making a night of it at the house.

  John Groom apparently deemed the errand urgent, for he bolted the carriage in great haste to Belgrave Square, while Diana was jostled around inside. She went around to the kitchen door to discover who was in the house.

  “Good Lord above us,” Miss Peabody shrieked when she saw her bedraggled charge, her hair tumbling about her ears; her gown was soiled and ripped at the waist from squirming in the window, and the hem of her dress covered in mud. “What happened to you?”

  “We had an accident,” Diana said briefly. “Ronald is—is just fine. I left him off at his rooms. Is Harrup here, and have the Grodens left?”

  “They just went out the door a minute ago. Diana, you must not let Harrup see you like that. Where is your cape? Was it stolen?”

  “My cape!” she exclaimed. “Oh, dear!” It was not fear of being identified by the garment that bothered her, but its loss. It was her very best, especially beloved for its sable collar. “I’ll have to go back for it.”

  “Back where? Where did it happen?”

  “It’s rather urgent, Peabody. I’ll see Harrup first, then tell you.”

  “He’s in his study,” Mrs. Dunaway told her.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dunaway,” Diana said very formally, and scampered upstairs, her muddied hem dragging behind her.

  Harrup had just sat at his desk and poured himself a glass of wine. He was weary from an evening with his in-laws-to-be. Groden was a dead bore, his lady a mute, and with the parents along, there had been no privacy with Selena. In fact, the girl hardly glanced at him. A shy little thing, but beautiful. His eyes glazed over as he remembered her raven curls and ivory skin, her pellucid blue eyes and those cherry lips. She was very well built for a young girl, too. He looked up impatiently when the tap came at the door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened slowly, and a bedraggled person he hardly recognized smiled at him. He soon recognized that bold pixie smile and the slanting eyes full of mischief. “Missie! What the devil—”

  “I got them, Harrup! I got your letters.” She beamed and hopped forward to lay them on his desk.

  “You got the letters? How?” He stared from woman to letters in bewilderment.

  “I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the watch house,” she said, shooting a nervous glance at him.

  Harrup’s eyes widened in dismay. “The—what?”

  “Unfortunately Ronald got caught, but they think he was only stealing Walter Scott.”

  A great feeling of foreboding came over Harrup. He glared and pointed with one finger at a chair by his desk.

  “Sit!” he commanded.

  Diana sank gratefully onto the chair. “I am rather tired,” she admitted. “It was quite fatiguing moving the barrel and getting in the window. It was a tight fit, but I could not let Ronald smash the front window, because of the people on the street.” She spotted the wine and poured herself a glass, which she gulped, then sighed wearily.

  “Am I to understand you and that cawker of a brother broke into Lord Markwell’s flat and stole the letters?” he asked. His voice sounded hollow, as though he were shouting down a long corridor. “And got caught?” he added.

  “Only Ronald. I got away with the letters.” She pointed to the stack on his desk. “It wasn’t Markwell himself who caught us. It was only a servant. Oh, I do hope Ronald has the wits to give a fa
lse name at the watch house. Do you think he will, Harrup?”

  “No. A boy who doesn’t know enough to wipe behind the ears will hardly be on to it. Where is he?”

  “I’ll have to show you. I followed him in your carriage, but I couldn’t tell you the address. I was discreet! We stayed well behind them. No one will suspect you are involved.”

  “My going to bail Ronald out will slip them the clue. The fact that you’re staying at my house is confirmation, not that it’s needed.”

  Diana pondered this a moment. “That’s true. You’ll have to give a false name, too—or you could have someone else do it for you.”

  “Lord Eldon, perhaps?” he suggested satirically. “The lord chancellor should have no difficulty gaining Ronald’s freedom. Or would you prefer I ask my future father-in-law, Lord Groden, the stiffest rump in England, to do it?”

  Diana looked at the letters, carelessly tossed on his desk, and felt she was being treated shabbily. “It’s the least you could do! We did it all for you, and it was neither easy nor pleasant, I assure you. Look at my dress—ruined. My best slippers have turned to mush,” she added, lifting a foot to show him. “To say nothing of my sable-trimmed cape,” she added, for this was considered the greatest loss.

  Harrup cast a sympathetic eye at the well-turned ankle and sighed wearily. “Thank you, Diana. I am happy to have the letters back. You’ve done more than enough tonight. Go upstairs and have a bath, and I’ll bail Ronald out.”

  “I have to go with you,” she said simply.

  “Housebreaking and stealing weren’t sufficient amusement for one night? You want to top it off with a visit to a watch house?”

  “Yes, I do,” she agreed. “I’ve never seen one before. But I expect I’ll have to wait in the carriage. I want to talk to Ronald and make sure he’s all right. He got wounded in the—”

  Harrup jerked to attention. “Not shot!”

  “Oh, no. Just cut a little when he smashed the window. The idiot took off his gloves. I told him not to hit it so hard. At least Markwell’s servant was not at all violent.”

  A trip to the watch house seemed tame after Diana’s other activities, and as Harrup was eager both to free Ronald and hear the story, he agreed to let her come along.