My Gentleman Spy (The Duke of Strathmore Book 5)

by Sasha Cottman

  “I am not sure of the reception I would receive,” replied Hattie.

  The only other option was her Uncle Felix, but America was such a long way away. The short journey from Gibraltar to England had put paid to her wild dreams of travelling across the Atlantic to seek out her kindly uncle.

  For the time being she was stuck where she was, but at least it was home.

  She took the cake and a cup of weak tea into her father’s study and closed the door. Seated behind her father’s desk, she opened the top drawer and took out a small wooden box.

  Inside the box were the proceeds of the sale of some of her mother’s smaller pieces of jewelry. Mr. Little had managed to get a fair price for most of them. The handful of notes and coins would see her through the next few months. Once winter came, she would need new boots and the house would need a reliable supply of wood. There was also the question of the Mayfords and what support she could afford to give them.

  She sat and stared at the money for a moment.

  “You really have not got a clue as to what you are going to do, have you?” she muttered.

  It was impossible to make plans when her circumstances were so tenuous. At some point a new tenant would take the house; and the world would eventually discover that she was back in London.

  Her choice at this moment was to sit by and wait to be discovered, or actively seek out those who would have a say in her life once her whereabouts became known.

  Will and his demand for her to marry him was unacceptable. Their affair at sea had been the magical interlude she had craved. Marriage to Will would be a different prospect as far as she was concerned. No gentleman of the ton would allow his wife to walk the streets of St. Giles and directly minister to the poor. It was simply not done. Fund raising balls were one thing, being face to face with the inhabitants of the filthy underside of London was another.

  Edgar on the other hand, was possibly the lesser of two evils. Blood bonded them. There was only one way to find out, and that was to seek him out. Tomorrow being Sunday, she knew exactly where her brother and Miranda would be in the late afternoon.

  She put the money back into the box and locked it securely in her father’s desk. Tomorrow she would make the trip to St. Paul’s cathedral and test the waters with Edgar.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Will turned up the collar of his coat as he neared the end of the steady climb up Ludgate Hill. He shivered. If England was this cold in mid-autumn, he wondered how he would survive until the following summer. A handful of days back in England and he was already pining for the sunny climes of Spain. Chilly as it was, he still knew he had made the right decision to come home and try to rebuild his life.

  At the apex of the hill, St. Paul’s cathedral dominated the skyline. He joined the milling crowd of evening worshippers as they climbed the cathedral’s west front steps Reaching the top of the grey stone steps he turned and looked back. In front of him Fleet Street snaked its way downhill past the Fleet prison and market to meet up with the Strand.

  In his younger years he had always enjoyed making the late afternoon trip from his family home to St. Paul’s. Evensong attracted a different kind of worshipper from the normal morning services. Many a time he had spied the cream of London society rakes taking a seat in the wooden pews, knowing full well that within an hour of the service ending they would be out into the night and indulging in all manner of lecherous debauchery.

  A promise however was a promise. His mother had pressed upon him the need for his attendance at church after his safe return to England. After all the pain and worry he had put her through he couldn’t say no.

  “Your uncle is coming to dinner this week and if he discovers you have not managed to set foot inside a house of worship since your return, we shall have to endure one of his lectures,” remarked Adelaide.

  Having an uncle who was the Duke of Strathmore was a benefit to a man of society. Having another uncle who was the Bishop of London added a different and more complex layer of responsibilities.

  Will removed his hat and walked inside the cathedral. Once inside he stopped and looked up, taking in the magnificent dome.

  “Ninety- one feet, top to floor” he whispered.

  He, his brother, sisters, and their many cousins had spent untold hours in the nave of the cathedral listening to their uncle while he happily lectured them about the dimensions of the great church. The painted dome was Will’s personal favorite.

  Its eight scenes from the life of Saint Paul, were a masterpiece of art and architecture. Will had seen enough of Europe’s great houses of worship to know that St. Paul’s held its own.

  “Better than Notre Dame?”

  He turned and saw his uncle, Hugh Radley. Resplendent in his robes of office, the Bishop of London cut an imposing figure. Other worshippers arriving into the outer nave gave him a respectful wide berth.

  “They both have their appeal. I would never be so bold as to make a judgement on which of the two is the best.”

  His uncle bowed his head.

  “Excellent answer. God should only ever be the one to judge. Welcome home lad. I take it your mother sent you.”

  Will nodded. Little in the Radley and Saunders family circle got past his uncle.

  “She mentioned that you and Aunt Mary are coming to dine at home later this week. It was made clear to me that a visit to church before then would be a prudent idea.”

  The bishop chuckled.

  “Just once, I made the mistake of asking your mother's opinion of one of my sermons over the dinner table. Ever since then, she makes the whole Saunders family go to church before we visit. Your father has never let me hear the end of it.”

  “St. Paul’s is always a wonderful place to visit, it feels like a second home to me. Besides, it's a good opportunity to stretch my legs. With mama haunting my every step, I have struggled to get more than four feet from the house this week,” replied Will.

  He hoped his mother's fervor would soon die down. Already concerned that it would not, he had spoken to his father about the need for him to find his own house. Family life was surprisingly overbearing after having lived alone.

  “I hope you will come and sit in the side aisles near the choir. I have reserved a seat for you. Just find an usher when you are ready to take a seat. Oh, and you must come to my private chambers after the service, I have an excellent bottle of wine I have been waiting to share with you,” said the bishop.

  After watching his uncle head further into the cathedral as the final preparations for the service were made, Will took the opportunity to wander around and reacquaint himself with the inner cathedral. Christopher Wren's masterpiece of architecture had always held a special place in his heart. His parents had been married here. He and all his siblings had been baptized at the altar font.

  He was slowly making his way toward the choir area when he caught sight of something which stopped him dead in his tracks.

  Across the other side of the nave stood Hattie.

  Will froze. It would only take a slight move of her head and she would be staring right at him. He stood completely still. A body unmoving did not create interest to the eye.

  An unexpected wave of relief crashed over him. While he was certain she had made it ashore alive, the proof before his eyes was precious. He was still angry with her, but to know that she was safe gladdened his heart. He would sleep more soundly tonight than he had done since their parting.

  When finally, a small group of other evensong worshippers passed between them, Will was able to move to one side. With slow, measured steps he moved forward in the nave and out of her direct line of vision.

  Now he was able to study her with greater ease. She was watching a young couple who were seated toward the large arch on the right side of the nave. It was also apparent that Hattie was locked in an internal battle with herself as to whether she should approach the couple or not. She took several hesitant steps forward, only to stop and retreat to where she had origin
ally started.

  Will watched in fascination as she did her odd little dance a half dozen times.

  Across the black and white checkered marble floor Hattie stood and stared at her brother and his wife.

  Edgar and Miranda Wright cut a stylish couple in the milling throng. With her father having made his fortune in the mills of the English Midlands, Miranda had come to her marriage with a substantial dowry.

  Theirs had been an unexpected love match. While their respective fathers had been haggling over dowries and social connections, Edgar had fallen head over heels in love with the merchant’s daughter.

  In the good times, as Hattie now called them, she and Miranda had been close. Miranda had viewed Hattie as the little sister she had never had. Hattie and her mother did all they could to help Miranda become an accepted member of the ton.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed before taking another faltering step forward. They were so close and yet it felt like the floor of St. Paul’s was several miles wide.

  She clenched her fists. Trying and failing again to find her courage.

  “Oh, come now. You jumped over the side of a ship. You can walk across the floor and speak to your brother,” she chided herself.

  The previous afternoon she had spent making a long list of all the provisions she would need to purchase for the coming winter. The situation was more precarious than her initial estimates had been. The money from the family bits and pieces she had thus far sold; coupled with any funds from the other pieces currently earmarked for sale would not last much into the winter.

  She had discovered the true cost of living in London. Fire wood was expensive and so was food. With crop failures throughout England that summer, grain was in short supply.

  Before setting out from her family home, Hattie had prepared a long and well thought out speech as to why her brother should assist her financially. It made sense for him to come to her aid in her hour of need. It was the right thing to do. She was his only sister. They had been close most of their lives.

  And that was the point where her bravery failed.

  In the days before the ship sailed for Africa, she had become increasingly desperate in her attempts to avoid the journey. She had written several letters to Edgar, but her father had intercepted them. As he threw the letters one by one into the fire, he scolded her.

  “Your brother is wicked and does not care for our work. You have a duty to come to Sierra Leone and be Reverend Brown’s wife. Now stop this nonsense.”

  That night Peter Brown had been allowed to stay at the Wright’s house and he had visited Hattie in her bed. After that she had barely been left alone.

  Only a single letter had made it successfully out of the house and to her brother. Mrs. Little at great risk of being dismissed from her employment, had ventured to the kitchens at Edgar’s house and personally delivered the note to a footman. Hattie had waited all day and the next for a response, but nothing came.

  The morning she had left with her parents and Peter for the ship, she had looked out the window of the carriage as they passed Edgar’s house, desperate for any sign that he would come to save her. Even as she walked up the gangplank onto the Blade of Orion she had been praying for the sight of her brother’s carriage. For him to fly up the gangplank, forgive her for all her past transgressions and snatch her from her fate.

  Yet as the boat pulled away from the dockside, she saw only dock workers and sailors on the shore. Edgar had made his stance clear, he had washed his hands of his tiresome self-righteous sister.

  The sound of the cathedral organ in St. Paul’s began to fill the nave and choir chambers with music. Soon the service would begin and she would be unable to speak with them.

  Hattie straightened her back and began to walk toward them. One final time, and she would do it.

  At the same time Miranda shifted in her seat and Hattie caught sight of a small bundle in her sister in law’s arms. Edgar looked down at the baby and smiled.

  Hattie halted in her progress.

  Edgar and Miranda had been married for just over six years. Six childless years. Yet here was a new born child. Her brother and sister in law had thought so little of Hattie and her parents that they had kept Miranda’s pregnancy a secret. Even the birth of a precious child could not bring them to forgive Edgar’s family.

  Hattie slowly backed away.

  The chasm between her and her brother was wider than she had ever imagined. She had turned her back on him until the moment she was in dire need. He in turn had firmly closed the door on the life he had once known with his family.

  She turned and walked from the cathedral, all hope for a reconciliation gone.

  The thrill of the chase coursed through Will's body, but rather than dampen it down, he fed the flames.

  By the time Hattie had made her hurried exit through the doors of the west front, the flames had built to a roaring inferno. Sensing he was on the edge of losing control, he slowed his breathing. Iron willed self-control took command.

  He took a vacant seat a few seats over from the couple Hattie had been so intently scrutinizing before her hasty departure.

  As he brought his temper under control, he cursed himself for not having been in command of his senses during the time on the boat. Fool that he was, he had allowed himself to be seduced by Hattie.

  Before she had given him the slip, he had begun to plan a life with her. Long before that last afternoon he knew he was falling in love. Surprised at first, he had then grown to accept that she was his fate.

  It burned deep to know that he had been nothing more than a plaything for her. To be tossed aside when he no longer served any useful purpose.

  As his uncle began the Sunday evensong reading, Will glanced across at the couple in the same row. The woman was holding a young infant in her arms. Every so often the man looked down at the baby and smiled. Will felt the joy he saw in the man’s face.

  Will’s initial plan had been to follow Hattie out the door, confront her on the steps of the cathedral and make her tell him the whole truth of who she was.

  But he decided he would play the long game. Hattie had not seen him. He still had the element of surprise in his favor. With Lord Shale’s man of business now investigating the family of Felix Wright, it would not be long before Hattie’s whereabouts were uncovered.

  In the meantime, he could go about the business of filling in some more of the gaps in her life story, starting with the young gentleman seated across the way from him at St. Paul’s.

  As soon as the service ended, Will got to his feet and made his way over to the young couple. His uncle would be expecting Will to join him for that glass of post evensong wine but it would be some time before the bishop changed out of his ceremonial robes. Time which Will could put to good use.

  “Good evening,” said Will.

  The man rose from his chair and gave Will a friendly nod in reply.

  “That’s a fine young babe you have there. May I offer my congratulations to you and your lady wife.”

  He held out his hand.

  “William Saunders at your service.”

  “Edgar Wright. And this is my wife Miranda.”

  By the time he caught up with his uncle a short time later, Will had several cards up his sleeve with which to play. In his hand he held one real and rather important one. The bishop’s wine went down very well.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Leaving the Bishop of London’s private office an hour or so later, Will decided a visit to Bat and Rosemary’s house in Duke Street was in order. If anyone in London could help put the pieces of the puzzle together it was them.

  “Edgar Wright?” said Bat.

  He handed Will back Edgar Wright’s calling card. Bat pursed his lips and Will sat silent while his cousin wracked his brains.

  “The name is familiar, but I'm not entirely sure why. I can ask at White's tomorrow if you can wait.”

  Will raised an eyebrow.

  “Not venturi
ng to the club tonight?” he asked.

  “I still visit it on occasion in the evenings, but I have other commitments and more compelling distractions these days,” replied Bat.

  A tap at the door preceded the arrival of Lady Shale. Rosemary entered the room carrying a baby.

  She immediately captured her husband’s attention. The sparkle in Bat’s eyes served to remind Will of the joyful distraction that having a wife bestowed upon a man.

  Bat rose from his chair by the fire and took hold of the baby.

  “Come to your papa,” he said.

  Will watched the blissful domestic scene, feeling more discomfort that he had expected at such a warm and happy family home.

  “So, have you made progress in the search for your missing lady?” asked Rosemary.

  “Well she is not dead, which I would consider a major step forward. I saw her at St. Paul’s not two hours ago. And while I was there I believe I met her brother,” replied Will.

  He handed Edgar Wright's calling card to the countess. She briefly examined it.

  “I don't know him or his wife personally, but I do recall having met Miranda Wright once at a party. There was something odd about the family.”

  A look of recognition appeared on Rosemary's face, followed by a sly grin.

  “There was a sister. I don’t remember her name, but Eve would likely know it. I think she may have come out the same season as Eve did.”

  Her words sent a thrill rippling down Will's spine. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall rapidly into place. It would not take much now to unravel the rest of the Hattie mystery.