“I saw you paying the driver the day of Mother’s dinner. You were with Colette and Jimmy.”
Her mind spun. The day of the dinner. That night he had treated her so abominably! Could the two events be related? Why would he be so angry about her going somewhere with Colette and her groom unless he thought she had something wicked to hide? She burst out laughing. “Oh, Charles, why did you not speak to me? I have nothing to hide from you.”
“I’m speaking now.”
“All of my life I have done charity work in the East End. I do not like to take the Haverstock vehicles there for fear of attracting the attention of thieves—or worse. I did take Jimmy along for protection.”
“What kind of charity work do you perform?”
“For years, I just took clothes I no longer needed, some food and coins. Recently, Colette and I started a sewing school so some of the women can learn a skill to seek employment. Lydia is now serving as one of the instructors.”
“While I commend your intentions, I do not at all like you going there without more protection.”
“You sound exactly like Morgie.”
“He knows?”
“He found out just this week. He insisted on providing escort today, though my feet were too sore for me to go. I understand from Lydia he provided an impressive escort.” She thought this would please her husband, but anger flashed in his eyes.
“Morgie has no business taking care of my wife and sister when I am perfectly capable of doing so. It displeases me that you hide these things from me, Anna.”
“I have hidden nothing,” she snapped. “It is difficult to talk with one’s husband when the two are never together. And that is not my fault, either.”
A slow smile curved his lip, and Anna found her own anger melting.
He drew her to him and whispered, “I do not think you should go out tonight, Lady Haverstock. Your feet are much too sore. I have plans that will not require you to be on your feet.”
EIGHTEEN
FOR ONCE ANNA ARRIVED at Hookam’s before Sir Henry. She did not dare go straight to the Latin section for fear of attracting attention. What manner of woman would have knowledge of such? Even though there would be no privacy there, she walked to the corner which featured a rather large selection of poetry books. Her mood was so bleak she was drawn to morose verses. She swept past women reading Blake and men perusing Wordsworth, picked out a dust-covered volume of Donne and took it to another corner where a half dozen wooden chairs composed a makeshift reading room. No one else was there. She sat down, held her book with trembling hands and tried to read.
She had been unable to sleep the night before though Charles lay contentedly asleep at her side, an event that should have brought her great satisfaction. But the happiness was marred by the impending meeting with Sir Henry. The information she would pass to him could brand her husband a traitor. She wondered if a British peer could hang for treason. The thought horrified her. She would rather die.
She watched Sir Henry enter the shop. He saw her immediately but gave no sign of recognition. He quickly found a very large book and brought it to read in the chair next to Anna’s.
Anna held her book and ran her eyes from left to right, whispering to Sir Henry as if she were reading a poem. “I have learned something, but before I share it with you, I must have your promise no harm will come to my husband.” Why was it, she wondered, she was the one who felt like a traitor?
After a minute, Sir Henry held his opened book almost in front of his face and spoke. “Why would we harm someone as valuable as Haverstock? He will lead us to bigger fish across the channel.”
“I believe I have a fish for you,” Anna whispered. “Number twenty-three Tavistock Place. Bloomsbury.”
“His name?”
She shrugged.
“What does he look like?”
“Small. Well dressed. Dark hair and skin. About forty years old.”
“Your husband has met with him?”
“Secretly,” she whispered.
A smile played at his thin lips as he got to his feet and left, leaving the book on his chair.
~ ~ ~
MR. REEVES—now happily betrothed to Kate—stood near the marble mantle beaming at the morning callers who gathered in the parlor of Haverstock House. Anna detected a new proprietorial air about him in these surroundings. He acted as if he were welcoming the visitors.
“How very agreeable it is to see you today,” he told Mr. Simpson, who danced attendance on Charlotte.
“Does Captain Smythe come today?” Anna asked Cynthia as she prepared the tea.
“I am sure I do not know,” Cynthia answered with irritation before turning to Mr. Simpson and flirting.
Cynthia’s normally sunny disposition had taken a decided turn for the worse since Kate had announced her engagement. Everyone at Haverstock House had expected that Captain Smythe would offer for Cynthia before Mr. Reeves entered into contracts for Kate. But still the captain had not discussed marriage.
Davis entered the room and announced Lady Langley with her daughter Lady Jane Wyeth. The two well dressed ladies glided into the room with unwavering smiles and courtly addresses. On this summer day Lady Jane wore a soft muslin dress the same blue as her eyes. It displayed to advantage her perfect figure and lovely skin. Anna felt pangs of jealousy. Had Charles possessed even the smallest fortune, he most likely would have married Lady Jane long ago, Anna surmised. She wondered if he regretted not marrying the petite blond.
Lady Jane, who sat in a chair near the sofa where Anna presided, glanced at Anna’s pink dress. “How lovely you look, Lady Haverstock. Simply everyone in London talks of your exquisite taste in clothing. I must know who your modiste is.”
Anna handed Lady Jane a cup and saucer. “I have never used anyone but Madam Devreaux.”
“Of course!” Lady Jane exclaimed. “I should have known. The French are so clever with fashion. It stands to reason you being French would naturally select a French dressmaker.”
“I really don’t consider myself French,” Anna said, holding back her annoyance. “I was born in London, spent my entire life here, and though my mother was French, my father was thoroughly English.”
Lady Jane tilted her head slightly, raising her brows. “Really? But was your name not de Mouchet?”
The room became suddenly lifeless before Lydia interjected, “Tell us, Kate, when do you plan to marry Mr. Reeves.”
Anna was grateful for Lydia’s intervention. Though she had lived every day of her life with the stigma of being illegitimate, she did not care to hold herself up to ridicule in her own drawing room. And she would never forgive Lady Jane for being so rude. Of course the woman—as indeed all of London—knew of Anna’s background.
“We thought to marry at the end of the season here in London,” Kate said, casting a sweet smile at Mr. Reeves.
“So much more convenient for all our family and friends than travelling to Haymore,” Mr. Reeves said. “My uncle, the Duke of Blassingame, is in town, you know.”
“Yes, we have had the good fortune to meet him,” Lady Langley said.
Evans announced Mr. Hogart, and the room became lifeless again.
He entered, still wearing his ill-fitting black garments which Anna no longer noticed. She noted his freshly combed very blond hair and the look of sincerity on his angelic face and heartily welcomed him, scooting over and making room for him next to her on the sofa.
“Mr. Hogart studies to be a minister,” Anna said as she prepared his tea. “Tell us, Mr. Hogart, are your beliefs centered more around God and the hereafter or on loving thy neighbor, thus entering the kingdom of heaven through good works?”
“Both actually,” he said with animation. “Though I confess to being more earnest about the here and now and doing what I can for others in the here and now.”
Charlotte fairly glowed with admiration. “I am given to understand he has helped all manner of wretched persons.”
“My sist
er, Lady Haverstock, also directs much of her attention to helping the less fortunate,” Lydia said.
Anna cast a disapproving glance at Lydia. “It is not something I speak of.”
“How delightful!” Lady Jane said. “I did not know you were a Methodist.”
“One does not have to be Methodist to help others,” Anna said, giving Lady Jane a cold stare.
“Like her husband, Anna is Anglican,” Lydia said.
Davis announced Mr. Harry Churchdowne, who strode into the room all elegance and good manners.
Anna was not pleased that he had come. She always felt terribly uncomfortable in his presence.
Mr. Reeves took it upon himself to greet the newcomer. “I say Churchdowne, bit of a surprise to see you here after the incident at White’s and all.”
Churchdowne gazed around the room. “Haverstock’s not here?”
“Oh no, my good man, Lord Haverstock is seldom home at this hour,” Mr. Reeves said.
“I had hoped to apologize to him for something I said at White’s the other night.”
“I will convey that to my husband,” Anna offered. She had heard nothing of an incident at White’s.
Churchdowne walked toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I beg that you don’t, since you were the subject of our discussion.”
The life was once again sucked from the room. Anna wondered if all the people in the room held their breath. Never had she felt more uncomfortable. What on earth could her husband and this man be discussing at White’s that would concern her?
Before she could be forced to respond, Evans opened the door and announced Captain Smythe, who entered the room with jaunty grace. He swept into a bow before Anna, greeted her, then turned to Cynthia. “Lady Cynthia, you will be pleased to learn I bring a letter from your brother James.”
Cynthia gave a cry of delight, then turned hopeful eyes to her elder sister.
Lydia took the letter from Captain Smythe and read it silently, tears springing to her eyes. When she finished she told those gathered about her brother’s experiences at the Battle of Salmanca, and talk of the war occupied the remainder of the time.
~ ~ ~
IT WAS A COOL EVENING. Sir Henry wore a light coat and beaver hat as he stood beside a half dozen iron balustraded steps to a dark house on Tavistock Place. His eyes never left a slender red brick house across the street and down five houses: Number Twenty-Three. From his inquiries, Sir Henry had learned that Pierre Chassay, a once well-to-do Frenchman, occupied Number Twenty Three. Further inquiries with his friends in France netted Sir Henry the offer of ten-thousand pounds to silence the little Frenchman.
Never having earned his money by performing such a deed, Sir Henry had given the matter considerable thought before executing his plan. He did not give serious thought to the matter of accepting the offer. There was nothing he would not do for money. But having accepted, his thoughts now focused on how to perform the deed and get away with it.
The door to Number Twenty Three opened, and a short, dark-haired man emerged. He walked down the darkened sidewalk to the other end of the block from where Sir Henry stood.
Sir Henry pulled his hat down further on his forehead and set about following Monsieur Chassay. When the small man rounded the next corner, Sir Henry’s long legs took broad strides to catch up. He barely turned the corner when he saw the Frenchman enter The Boar and Barrel public house.
From within the pub Sir Henry heard the raised voices of men happily whiling away an evening. Sir Henry would be careful not to come in on Monsieur Chassay’s well-dressed heels. Standing in shadows a few doors down, he watched a number of modestly dressed men enter the establishment. After ten minutes, he entered. He had an immediate sense of Monsieur Chassay’s presence without having to move his head in the Frenchman’s direction. Sir Henry had known the Frenchman would be alone, standing by the bar and quietly observing those around him. Since Chassay was on the left side of the bar, Sir Henry went to the right. Not removing his hat, he ordered ale and drank it slowly, keeping his quarry within his sight.
Before long, Monsieur Chassay ordered more ale. He talked with no one save the employees of The Boar and Barrel.
Sir Henry nursed his drink to keep his mind clear and sharp.
In all, Monsieur Chassay drank four bumpers before donning his hat and coat and leaving.
Sir Henry set after him immediately. The street was empty at this late hour. Though his prey was just a few yards ahead, Sir Henry could barely see him for the fog which appeared to rise from the sidewalks. He hastened his step and soon came abreast of the Frenchman. Trying to sound inebriated, he said, “I say, lost my way around here. Could you direct me to Russell Square?”
Monsieur Chassay looked up kindly at the tall man whose hat was pulled all the way down to the tops of his eyebrows. He moved his shoulder and head in the direction of the square, then faced Sir Henry and gave directions in a thick French accent. Sir Henry moved closer, his hand in his pocket. Chassay’s glance darted the bulge in the Englishman’s coat, fear flashing in his eyes.
In one swift move, Sir Henry withdrew his stiletto and thrust it into Chassay’s heart. The Frenchman gasped, his hand grabbing Sir Henry’s wrist. But his strength, like his blood, oozed from his body. His hand fell. His eyes went cold. And he slumped forward, groaning. The knife embedded in him, his blood spewing on his killer’s hand.
Sir Henry put an arm around the smaller man and dragged him to the steps of the nearest house and released him.
The body of Pierre Chassay crumbled to the cold sidewalk, his blood pooling about him, the knife still protruding from his lower chest.
Sir Henry removed his own blood-stained gloves and put them in his pocket as he hurried away.
~ ~ ~
ANNA COULD SCARCELY believe her good fortune. Two nights in a row she would be able to enjoy a quiet evening at home with her husband. Three months ago she would never have believed she could be so bored by society and so desirous of solitude. Though being with Charles was hardly solitude. She watched him as he leaned back into the comfort of her settee and stretched his long legs in front of him. A lump came to her throat. To think that three months ago she did know of his existence. And now he occupied her thoughts every hour of the day and invaded her dreams at night.
May I hope that your feet are better tonight, Lady Haverstock?”
“Oh, yes indeed. I entertained a large number of morning callers today and still conducted the sewing lessons in the East End.” She came to sit beside him.
His hand covered hers and gave it a squeeze. “I suppose Morgie provided escort.”
She nodded. “You should never have need to worry over the safety of Lydia or me for Morgie absolutely smothers us with protectors.” She noted a stray lock of black hair on his forehead and brushed it away. “I believe all his concern is for Lydia. They are as comfortable together as hand in glove.”
“She’s always been like a sister to him. They practically grew up together, you know.”
“Don’t I! They are forever reminiscing about things they did as children at Haymore.”
“Was Morgie one of the morning callers?”
“No, but Kate’s intended and Cynthia and Charlotte’s objects of affection were in attendance.”
He stroked his chin. “Let me see, Captain Smythe was paying court to Cynthia. Who, pray tell, has Charlotte singled out?”
“Who is the only man she has ever spoken favorably of to you?”
“Surely you do not expect me to remember all the men who have stood up with my sisters these past weeks.”
“Now, think on it, Charles.”
“The shabbily dressed Methodist?”
She nodded.
“But he hasn’t been around of late.”
“I think not by choice. He seems excessively fond of Charlotte.”
“You have talked with him?”
She nodded again. “He’s very serious, very kind and, I believe, very much in love with
Charlotte. I’ve made inquiries and learned he is of good family though he cut himself off some time ago because they did not support his decision to enter the church.”
“A man of principle, then?”
She kissed his cheek. “I knew you would judge the inner man, not the outer.”
“Far be it from me to be taken in by beauty,” he said, smiling as his eyes appreciatively traveled her face and down the length of her.
“Were there other callers?”
“Oh, Mr. Simpson, who is smitten with Charlotte. Lady Langley and her daughter and Mr. Churchdowne.”
Her husband stiffened at Churchdowne’s name. “Would that I had been here to properly dispatch the scheming Churchdowne,” he said angrily.
“Actually, he said he was calling to apologize to you.”
Haverstock’s brows lifted. “Did he say what he was apologizing for?”
“Only that it concerned me. I felt so excessively uncomfortable, I did not wish to pursue the matter, but now I expect a full explanation from you.”
“I struck the man.”
“Oh, Charles, surely not at White’s?”
He nodded.
“Had he…alluded to my parentage?”
Her husband nodded solemnly.
She swallowed, avoiding the scrutiny of his all-seeing eyes. “Oh, I almost forgot!” she said. “You’ve a letter from James.” She walked to her desk and brought him the envelop.
He couldn’t open it fast enough. As he read, his eyes moistened. He read it slowly once then reread it. When he finished he sighed and looked into Anna’s eyes with a softness she had never seen there before. “We’ve been spared once again.”
Until this moment Anna had never realized the depth of her husband’s attachment to his younger brother. How could one brother daily jeopardize his life for his country while the other betrayed his country, thus betraying his brother? Oh, she did not at all understand this man she was in love with.
“May I read it?” she asked.
He handed her the letter.
James gave a brief but modest account of his role at Salmanca and with sadness told of the men he had lost at Badajos.
He inscribed a personal note to each member of his family. To his mother, he begged that she not worry about him and hoped she would be up attending balls with her beautiful daughters. To Lydia he wrote, “Oblige me by exercising Sultanna for me when you are at Haymore. I can trust you to give her a good romp.” Not knowing about Charles’s marriage, he reminded his brother that he was not getting any younger. “It is past time for you to chose your marchioness, you know,” he wrote. “With your good looks and title, any beauty in London would be glad to have you—even with no fortune.” Without having heard about Mr. Reeves, he kidded Kate that he fully expected her to be a duchess by the time he returned. He told Cynthia he hoped to be home in time to see her marry the man of her dreams, and he warned Charlotte against bringing home any more stray kittens.
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