Letters to a Lady

by Joan Smith

  Harrup narrowed his eyes in a frown. “Are you asking me to dismiss him?”

  “No! Change the nature of his duties. Even a greenhead like Ronald can be pushed too far. Put him behind a desk and give him some real work to do, instead of encouraging him to taggle at her apron strings. You shouldn’t have sent him here yesterday when you knew Selena would be here. You owe me that much,” she added, and held his eyes with an imperious blaze from her own.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted mildly.

  “You know I’m right. Will you do it, Harrup? Will you promise to keep him busy and out of mischief with Selena? It is to your own advantage to do it. Don’t expect him to share your sophisticated mores regarding women. He won’t try to seduce her behind your back, you know. He’ll convince her to divorce you, and you may imagine what that would do to your career.”

  “I notice you couch your urgings in a manner to appeal to my self-interest. That is hardly flattering, Diana.”

  “I do you the honor of saying precisely what is in my mind, milord.”

  “No, madam, you try to manipulate me. What you actually fear is that Ronald will make a flaming jackass of himself and be booted out on his ear. You don’t give a tinker’s curse about my career or my reputation.”

  “Didn’t I rescue your letters from Markwell?” she reminded him.

  “Did you not do it to have a club to hold over my head so I’d be obliged to find your brother a job?”

  “That was only part of the reason. I also disliked to see disgrace come into our parish, and to see your mother suffer.”

  “Your benevolence extends to everyone except myself, in fact.”

  “You didn’t need my benevolence. You’ve been cock of the walk for so long, you don’t need anyone. If Whitby becomes a problem, you’ll pour money into her purse. Slice a libertine where you will, he’s a libertine all the way through. You’ll buy whatever you need or want. Too much money and too much consequence—I expect that’s what has made you the way you are,” she added, with a derisive sneer.

  “Kind of you to find an excuse for the inexcusable. Is there anything else you wish to say to me? If not, this walking pattern of sin and corruption has some duties to attend to.”

  She made a mock curtsy. “I would not wish to detain the nation’s chief law officer. By all means, you must write up some taboos for the mere mortals of the land. We must be careful to do as you decree and not as you do.”

  Harrup observed her for a moment before leaving. The lines etched from nose to lips gave him a satirical appearance that was not lessened by the glint in his eyes. “Did you always hate me,” he asked, “or is it only familiarity that has bred this contempt?”

  “To tell the truth, I scarcely thought about you at all. It wasn’t till I had an opportunity to see you at close range that I realized your deficiencies.”

  A flush suffused his lean cheeks. “It would be ungentlemanly for me to say that cuts two ways. And incidentally, Miss Beecham, you might be interested to know I spoke to Ronald yesterday afternoon about his outing with Lady Selena. I warned him away from too much familiarity—I told him some people would be small-minded enough to discern harm in it. Ronald agreed with me that we would not wish to cast any aspersions on the future Lady Harrup. He is busy at his desk this morning and will spend the day there.”

  Although Diana was relieved to hear it, she resented that Harrup hadn’t told her before she flew into her unnecessary rage. “You might have told me before—”

  “Before you made a gudgeon of yourself?” he asked, smiling through thin lips. “If I had interrupted your tirade, I would never have learned what you really think of me. He bowed ceremoniously and strode toward the door.

  “Harrup, wait!”

  He turned slowly and looked at her. Was it possible that glint in his eyes was amusement? If so, it ran his anger a close race. “I—I’m sorry,” she said brusquely. “I misunderstood. I didn’t mean to plunge myself into your affairs.”

  He hunched his shoulders. “Plunge away. You weren’t totally wrong in your assessment of my character. You merely forgot that I have a brain, too. When a man reaches my age, he begins to take an accounting of his past life. I was not quite so harsh on myself as you were, but our conclusions ran in the same groove. Where we diverge is in your believing me beyond redemption. Friends?” he asked, lifting a brow.

  She nodded reluctantly. “Friends,” she agreed.

  But it was an uneasy parting. She felt she had said more than was necessary and lost Harrup’s goodwill into the bargain. Harrup went to get his coat, and Diana remained behind in his office, thinking, mostly regretting her outburst. She should have known Harrup wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t a fool, at least. Pride, if nothing else, would make him straighten Ronald out. To distract her mind from these worries, she thought of the party. Now what needed doing? She could oversee the setting of the tables.

  She went into the hall just as the door knocker sounded. She feared it was Lady Selena, but with Ronald absent, the young lady would not remain long. Stoker opened the door and a lady’s genteel accent was heard. Diana recognized Mrs. Whitby’s voice and gasped audibly, her eyes flying to Harrup, who was putting on his coat.

  Mrs. Whitby looked very beautiful in a violet pelisse with mink collar, on which rested a dainty bouquet of violets. An impressive bonnet composed of feathers and flowers sat on her raven head, and in her hands she carried a mink muff. Her bright blue eyes toured the hall, spotting Diana and roving on till they espied Harrup in the corner.

  “Mrs. Whitby to see you, milord,” Stoker announced with a disapproving stare.

  “Good morning, Charles,” the woman said, and walked in, her hips swinging insouciantly. “I expect you know why I am here.” With a mocking smile she added, “I have come to offer my congratulations on your appointment.”

  “Good morning, Laura,” Harrup replied woodenly. “Nice to see you again.”

  He smiled numbly and showed her to his office. Over his shoulder he looked a plea at Diana, beckoning to her with a toss of his head to follow them. She was surprised, but not at all loath to accept, and hastened after them.

  Mrs. Whitby turned in surprise. “Miss Beecham, isn’t it?” she asked politely, as though this were a normal morning call.

  “Yes,” Diana answered. Her voice sounded strangely high.

  They all sat down. Harrup looked expectantly at his caller, who smoothed her skirt and glanced around at the office. “Very nice, Charles. I believe this is the first time I’ve been here.”

  “And, I trust, the last,” he answered blandly. “Why have you waited so long, Laura?”

  “I don’t believe you ever invited me to your home before.”

  “I didn’t invite you today. I referred to your delay in coming to dun me.”

  She smiled demurely. “Timing is so important, don’t you think? Two days ago a minister without portfolio called on me with a little pourboire of five hundred pounds to buy my silence. That bought two days, Charles. Today the attorney general will be more generous, I think. Rather like the stock market. Your stock has risen, dear boy. Now is the time to sell out.”

  “Then you kept the letters?” Harrup asked.

  “I could not bear to part with those special two,” she taunted. “You do remember the gist of them, Charles? Perhaps not. Truth to tell, I feared you were disguised when you penned them—such an uncharacteristic warmth from the discreet privy councillor. You have no idea how precious they had become to me. You must know after quizzing my woman how close the billets-doux are to my heart.” She smiled fondly.

  Diana figured this farce has gone on long enough and looked a question at Harrup. “She has them on her. This is our chance,” she said.

  Mrs. Whitby laughed benignly. “She is precious, Charles. Wherever did you find this original? One of your milkmaids, peut-être?”

  Harrup just looked, his gaze centering on the caller’s bodice.

  “I didn’t bring them wi
th me,” Mrs. Whitby told him. “No, no, I transferred them to a safe-deposit box after my woman told you their usual hiding place. I know you’re busy, Charles, especially with your dear little bride and her family to be entertained this evening. My, wouldn’t Lord Groden open up his eyes to see the letters. All the Westminster worthies will be assembling there, Markwell tells me.”

  “You are back under Markwell’s protection now, are you, Laura?” Harrup asked.

  Looking at him, Diana found it hard to believe he was as angry as he should be. He had looked worse when she was railing at him herself a moment earlier. Why didn’t he try to discover where this safe-deposit box was located?

  “It has come to that, in the end,” Mrs. Whitby admitted. “I was a little vexed with him for stealing your letters. He didn’t tell me what he was up to, the sly rogue. But I daresay I shall keep him in line.” A bold, mocking smile did much to destroy the woman’s beauty.

  Diana saw a trace of how Mrs. Whitby would look in ten years—avaricious, petty, mean. “So, shall we discuss terms?” the hussy asked.

  “The terms are that you may take the infamous letters to Lord Groden with my blessing, madam. He’ll have you tossed into the gutter.”

  Mrs. Whitby made a tsking sound. “Really, Charles! I am not a savage. I would not dream of interfering with your very profitable marriage. You’ll need the child’s dowry to pay me. I merely meant to sell the letters to one of the lesser newspapers. Markwell suggested a Whig rag might be more generous—the Morning Chronicle, perhaps.” She preened her hair and smiled brightly.

  “What price did Markwell suggest you might gouge out of me?” Harrup asked.

  “Five thousand. I swear the boy is still wet behind the ears.” She laughed gaily. “My friends tell me Lady Selena brings you twenty. I’ll have half. Cash will do fine. You can bring it to me this afternoon. That will leave you a few hours to arrange it with your banker.”

  Diana looked from one to the other, wondering what Harrup would do. He had never mentioned such a high sum as ten thousand. Surely he would not comply, but she saw only frustration blazing in his eyes and an effort not to show Mrs. Whitby how angry he was. How could they discover which bank the safe-deposit box was at? Surely the attorney general could gain access to it.

  “I wouldn’t want to throw you to the cent percenters,” Mrs. Whitby continued. “If I catch you a trifle short, I’m sure the banks will be happy to oblige Lady Selena’s fiancé and the attorney general.”

  It struck Diana that the attorney general ought to be able to clamp this wretched woman into chains. Surely blackmail was against the law. There must be something a man in Harrup’s position could do.

  She assumed a bold face and said, “You are brave, coming to threaten the attorney general in his own home, Mrs. Whitby. I fear you aren’t completely aware of the prerogatives he now enjoys.” She shot a meaningful look at Harrup, trying to convey that he should invent some awful threat. She could see he was thinking wildly, but nothing came from his lips.

  Left to her own devices, Diana pulled a solution, or at least a delaying tactic, out of the air. She gazed innocently at Mrs. Whitby. “Were you not aware that the attorney general has access to all safe-deposit boxes in the city? So kind of you to tell us where you keep the letters.” She turned to speak to Harrup next. “You really ought to run along to Whitehall, Charles,” using his name for no other reason but to show Mrs. Whitby she was on an intimate footing with Harrup, too. “You will want to put a great many men on this matter. You won’t have time to go to seize all the boxes yourself.”

  Harrup nodded thoughtfully. “I believe the better way would be to send word to all the trust company and bank managers and inquire from them which one enjoys Mrs. Whitby’s business. Unless you’d care to save me the bother and tell me yourself. Laura?” he asked politely.

  Mrs. Whitby proved indomitable under attack. She smiled blandly. “I don’t believe the attorney general enjoys any such privilege.” she answered.

  Diana tossed her a challenging stare. “Don’t you, Mrs. Whitby? But it’s a dangerous chance to take, is it not?”

  Mrs. Whitby began to stir restively in her seat. She tried to keep up a firm facade, but there were chinks of uncertainty appearing in her armor. She rose rather hastily and said, “I shall look for you around three, Charles—with my little pourboire. Au revoir. Nice to have met you again, Miss Beecham.”

  “Enchantée,” Diana answered ironically.

  The woman swept from the room, and Harrup stared at Diana. “I don’t have access to any safe-deposit boxes!” he said.

  “She doesn’t know that. And she won’t dare to take the chance. She’ll dart straight off to her bank and collect the letters.”

  “She’s not that stupid.”

  “I tell you she’ll do it! We must go after her. Charles, write up something official-looking and stamp a big red seal on it. We’ll follow her, and when she goes to her box, you speak to the manager and insist he give you the contents. Say it’s—say its letters from a spy,” she advised.

  Harrup just stared in wonder. “You’re insane! I can’t do that!”

  “Yes, you can. You’re the attorney general.”

  “That is precisely why I can’t do it! Noblesse oblige. My duty is to uphold the law, not mutilate it. I, of all people, cannot use coercion. It would ruin me if it got out, and you may be sure that with Markwell for her mentor, Whitby wouldn’t be long in making a public scandal of it.’’

  Diana glared. “I never thought you were so lily-livered!” she snipped, and stormed from the room.

  “Stoker, call the carriage at once!” she shouted as she hastened forward.

  “What’s afoot, miss?” he asked cheerfully. “If you’re going after the lightskirt, you’d best take his lordship’s curricle. It was brought round ten minutes ago.”

  “Stoker, you were eavesdropping!” she exclaimed, and laughed in excitement.

  He handed her her bonnet and pelisse and helped her into them. “You was all talking a bit loud, miss.”

  He held the door wide, and Diana dashed out. Mrs. Whitby’s carriage was just turning the corner, heading toward Piccadilly. Harrup’s tiger sat on the perch of his master’s dashing yellow curricle. “Move over, and follow that rig!” Diana ordered.

  The tiger sat still, just looking over her shoulder. “Hurry up!” she ordered.

  “I’ll take the ribbons, Podey,” Harrup said. He had rushed out after Diana. The tiger hopped down, and Harrup took the driver’s seat.

  “Spring ‘em,” Diana said eagerly. “She’s going north. She might be going to the bank or home. Did you get a seal onto a piece of paper?” She knew Harrup was a first-rate fiddler, and was happy to see that he didn’t hesitate to use the whip.

  “No, but I’ll follow her at a discreet distance and just see where she goes.”

  “If she takes the letters out of her safe-deposit box, we’ll have a chance at them,” Diana said, thinking aloud.

  “And if she doesn’t?” he asked.

  “As long as they’re in a vault, they can’t do much damage. We mustn’t let her out of our sight. There, she’s turning east on Piccadilly.”

  Mrs. Whitby’s black carriage didn’t waste a minute.

  Harrup’s grays were driven hard to keep up with it. “You shouldn’t have bought her such good nags,” Diana scolded.

  “I’ll bear that in mind—in the unlikely event that I ever purchase nags for another woman!” he added hastily.

  “I hope this has taught you a lesson! Oh, look, Harrup! She’s going to New Bond Street. I made sure she would go home and dash a note off to Markwell, but she didn’t turn off at Glasshouse. Surely she’s not going shopping!”

  Mrs. Whitby alighted from her carriage and, with a footman to lend her dignity, began a tour of the shops. “She’s going to see your curricle. We’ll have to get down and walk,” Diana said.

  Harrup drew in at a curb behind a large carriage for concealment and pull
ed out his watch. “I am now eighteen minutes late for a cabinet meeting. That will make a fine impression—my first meeting as attorney general and I’m late.”

  “You’ll have to go on, then,” Diana decided.

  “I can’t leave you downtown alone.”

  “Oh, really, Harrup! I’m not a child. There, she’s gone into a drapery store. She might be there forever.” Without further ado, Diana hopped down from the perch and began pacing toward the drapery store. Harrup was not two steps behind her.

  “Diana, get back in the carriage. I’ll take you home.”

  “Go on to Whitehall. Oh, Harrup, perhaps you’d best give me some money in case I have to follow her in a cab.”

  “I can’t leave you here alone,” he repeated.

  “Send Ronald down to bear me company. Oh, and let him bring the curricle in case we have to follow Mrs. Whitby’s carriage.”

  Harrup’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Let that cawker drive my grays! He could cripple a Clydesdale.”

  “Idiot!” She laughed, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I’ll drive them once he gets here. I am an excellent whip. Now go on, before Lord Liverpool is angry with you.’’

  “You couldn’t begin to control this team. This is ridiculous! I’ll pay Whitby the money. Get in the carriage, Diana.”

  She held her hand cut impatiently. “I’ll need about ten guineas.”

  “Cabs don’t cost that much!”

  “No, skint, but I’ve had an idea. I’m going to buy a new bonnet and pelisse so she won’t recognize me if she happens to look over her shoulder. She’s seen this outfit, and unless she’s blind as a bat, she knows we’re following her. If the curricle is gone when she comes out—well, perhaps she’ll think you’ve given up, and then she’ll nip in to her bank and get the letters.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “We’ll know, and can make new plans,” she explained. “Oh, really, Harrup, I expected better of you. You’re no more help than Ronald. Please go on!” she urged, pushing him toward his carriage. “The sooner you get to your office, the sooner Ronald can come and help me. The money,” she said again, holding out her hand. Harrup, between frustration, hope, and despair, handed her his purse and hopped into the curricle. He gave a worried look over his shoulder as he left and nearly sideswiped a passing gig.