by Tracy Grant
Charles sighed. "Unfortunately. It's what you suspected, isn't it?"
"It doesn't put us much forward, does it? Still, we know Talbot had an interest in the foundry." Caroline indicated the boxes stacked up on one side of the room. "Shall we get to these? Maybe they'll tell us something more."
"Are you sure you want us involved in this, my dear?" Margaret asked.
"Because they're private? Nonsense. I have nothing to hide from any of you."
Adam and Hawkins carried the boxes to the center of the room and each of the six persons present took a handful of papers. It was a tedious and dreary business. They found bills and letters from unpaid tradesmen and transactions dealing with Jared's carriages and horses. Jared lived on tick, but Adam already knew as much.
They found letters from Jared's friends as well, which must be read over carefully for any clue they might give as to the business of the foundry. They also found letters from Matthew Bell, the ironfounder whom Jared and the others had employed, and copies of Jared's replies, including several that told Bell to go ahead as quickly as possible. Speed, Jared wrote, was of the essence. "I wonder why," Adam said after he had read one such letter aloud. "I mean, why Jared chose this means to recoup his fortunes. The Board of Ordnance doesn't even reimburse their contractors directly. They pay them with debentures, payable on the Treasury, and the Treasury is notoriously slow in payment."
"It didn't matter," Caroline said, "he didn't need the actual money, only the paper giving the promise to pay. He could borrow against that."
"What are these debentures?" Elena said. "I have not heard this word."
She addressed her words to Adam, but it was Charles who replied, explaining the matter with a simplicity uncommon, Adam thought, in a lawyer. "Debentures in this case were promises to pay, and debentures on the Treasury were as good as gold." When he was through, Charles turned to Caroline. "Your husband writes a neat hand, and he seems to know what he's about." He indicated the ledger on his lap which held Jared's notations on the foundry's expenses and expected and actual income.
Caroline smiled. "Jared always had a head for figures. That's why he took over all the actual business of the foundry. Edward was much too busy, and in any case Jared was his secretary and he expected him to deal with things like that. And Sherry, I'm afraid, wasn't serious enough about the foundry to give his time to it."
They worked in silence for another quarter-hour or so. Then Caroline gasped. "I think I have something."
Five faces turned to her in inquiry.
"It's a letter from Talbot. He writes from Surrey. 'I've been to see Bell,' he says. “He's the ironfounder I told you about. His furnace has been shut down these past six months. It's just as we heard. The man's desperate for a bit of capital. Can you talk to Edward? He trusts your judgment and he don't trust mine. Sherry will come in with us, he likes a bit of a flutter. Remember what I told you? The chance of a lifetime. Of this year at least. Move on it!'" Caroline looked up, her face drained of color. "The foundry was Talbot's idea. I'd always thought it was Jared's."
"It looks that way." Adam stared into the fire, trying to piece it together. Then he rose and faced the group. "What is it we know? Talbot learned about Bell and the chance of restarting his foundry. He suggested that Jared put money into it. He thought he could steer Ordnance contracts in Bell's direction, and he did. The partners paid Talbot for it. Talbot could have known about the bribe, but we have no evidence that he did. Leighton, who took the bribe, was probably paid off to keep quiet about something he knew."
Charles took off his spectacles and rubbed the space between his eyes. "That's some progress, Adam."
"But not enough." Adam looked at Caroline, his fear for her threatening to break through his self-control. "Talbot hired two men to kill Caro. There has to be more to it than complicity in the bribe. In the name of God, what is it that she knows?"
Caroline could not answer Adam's question, though she spent half the night lying awake and thinking about it. She fell at last into a fitful, dream-filled sleep and when she woke she knew the morning was well advanced. Emily, an early riser, was not in the bed. Her nightdress was flung across a chair and the clothes she had worn the day before were gone. She must have dressed herself and gone to Margaret or Elena for help with the buttons.
Caroline dressed hurriedly and went downstairs where she found Margaret in the breakfast parlor, attending to her mail. Margaret laid down the letter she had been reading, poured a cup of tea, and handed it to Caroline. "You seem to have had a restless night. I slept late myself. Adam's gone down to Surrey to look for Matthew Bell."
Caroline swallowed some tea. Her mind was still fogged with sleep. "The foundry was closed five years ago."
"That doesn't mean Bell has left the area. And if he has, it should be possible to learn where he's gone. Adam took Hawkins and Elena with him, and as they were leaving Emily begged to go too. I said it was all right. I hope you don't mind."
"No, No, of course not." Emily would be as safe traveling with Adam and Hawkins as she would be cooped up in the Wellstone house.
Margaret went back to her letters. Caroline poured herself another cup of tea and nibbled at a piece of cold toast. She would rather have liked to go to Surrey herself, but there were still two more boxes of Jared's papers to go through and she had told the others she would see to it. She was about to leave the table when Jessie, the Wellstones' parlormaid, entered the room and announced that Mrs. Rawley had a caller. "A lady," she repeated, as though to make this point clear. "I put her in the drawing room. I didn't think you'd want me to bring her in here."
Margaret looked at the table cluttered with the remains of breakfast and smiled. "Quite right, Jessie. Mrs. Rawley will be up directly."
Caroline left the room and hurried up the stairs, thankful to postpone the task of reading her husband's letters. There was only one woman in London who knew her direction and might come to call. She pushed open the drawing room door and saw she was right. "Dolly," she said with genuine pleasure.
Dorothy Rawley, Viscountess Farnwood, wife of Granby's eldest son Edward, turned round with a squeal of delight. "Caroline, you wretch!" She came forward and held out her hands. "Granby told me you called on him yesterday and you didn't leave the smallest message for me."
The two women embraced, then drew back to look at each other. Dolly hadn't changed a bit. She still wore her hair in a vastly becoming crop, her chestnut curls spilling out beneath an outrageous and obviously expensive hat. Her pink and white striped morning dress was in the height of fashion—Caroline knew that from her drive with Sherry—and her brown eyes were as bright and shrewd and kind as ever.
"My love, I know you've had an absolutely dreadful time." Dolly still had hold of Caroline's hands and she pulled her to the sofa. "I want to hear all about it, but not now, for I'm too excited to take it all in and I'm sure you're sick to death of telling the story. You have a daughter. Tell me about her instead."
Caroline smiled and released Dolly's hands, conscious of her dated green dress and the wisps of hair which had escaped the knot in which she had pinned it hastily that morning, and which were now hanging about her face. "Her name is Emily. She was born just before I went to Lisbon to join Jared."
"She'll be four. Ned's age. My little boy. He was born just after—" Dolly broke off with a flush of embarrassment. "Bella is six now," she went on brightly. "I hope they'll all be great friends. You must bring Emily to Granby House to play with them. They do get so bored. They'd be enchanted to have a new playfellow."
"How is Edward?"
"Harassed, my love, harassed. He works much too hard, but politics are his life and he can never say no when anyone wants something done. Unlike his father who never seems to work at all but has enormous influence nonetheless. I always think of Granby as a puppetmaster pulling this string and that. I sometimes think I run two households in one; entertaining for Granby and entertaining on our own account."
"But you're
thriving, Dolly. Will you take coffee or tea?"
"I can't," Dolly said with a little moue of regret. "I have a fitting and I daren't be late, dressmakers have grown so demanding. Caro, love, you're much too pale and much too thin." She glanced around the small room, little bigger than her father-in-law's study. "I'm sure you're comfortable here, but I do wish you'd come to us."
"Thank you, Dolly, no."
Dolly shrugged, looked frantically for her gloves and reticule, then got to her feet. "Very well, I understand. At least I think I understand. Your life these past few years is utterly beyond my comprehension. But you must know that I'm determined to do something for you, Caro. You can't be allowed to wilt here in Red Lion Square."
Caroline laughed. Dolly's bubbling good nature always made her think of champagne. "Dolly, I'm in mourning."
"Nonsense," Dolly said, drawing on her gloves. "I was at a reception last night and at least three people told me Lord Sheriton was driving Mrs. Rawley in the park. One of the most eligible partis in London and you've already made a conquest. So you're not mourning all that deeply."
Caroline knew Dolly was not being callous. Dolly had known exactly the state of affairs between Caroline and Jared long before the scandal that sent them out of the country.
Dolly had now finished with her gloves. "You must come to dinner. Let's say this Friday. A very small party, just the family. You know, Caro," she added with the first hint of seriousness she'd shown during her visit, "it doesn't matter a fig what Jared did. I never cared at all, and Edward has long since forgiven him."
Caroline looked at her friend with gratitude. She was not completely alone. "Thank you, Dolly, I'd love to come."
They walked toward the door. "There," Dolly said, giving Caroline a hug. "I'm so glad I thought of it. We'll be ever so jolly, just like old times. I know that Granby regrets your leaving so quickly yesterday and Edward has talked of nothing but your return. Oh, and I have the greatest surprise. We expect Talbot to be with us as well."
Chapter Eighteen
Emily leaned against the dressing table and looked up at her mother. "I want my hair to look like that."
There was a hissing sound as Elena set down the curling tongs. "After your mama leaves, we'll come back up here and turn you into a fine lady," she promised.
Emily, who had been rather subdued at the prospect of her mother going out for the evening, smiled. She studied Caroline again. "You look like that picture in the book we have at home, Mama. Nelly."
"Nelly?" Elena asked, brushing loose strands of hair from her fingers.
"Nell Gwyn. She was an actress and a—a favorite of Charles II." Caroline rested her chin on her hands and studied her reflection in the looking glass. A stranger stared back at her, part the fashionable Mrs. Rawley of five years ago, part Emily's mother, part neither. With Elena's help she had coaxed her hair into a tangle of ringlets about her face and twisted the back into a loose knot anchored with her silver comb. Emily was right, it resembled the hairstyles of Restoration beauties like Nell Gwyn. When she lived in London Caroline had frequently worn her hair this way. But though her cheeks and lips were delicately tinged with rouge, her face bore the legacy of Lisbon and Acquera. Her skin was no longer as dry and chapped as it had been in Spain, but it would never again have the freshness of twenty-two.
Caroline smoothed the tiny lines round her eyes. Her hands smelled of Pears Soap. She smiled. There were times, in the bleakness of Acquera's winter, when she had thought she missed proper soap more than any of the more extravagant luxuries she had left behind.
A crystal bottle of scent, rescued from her trunks, now stood on the dressing table, looking ridiculously grand amid the simpler appointments. Caroline removed the stopper and sniffed experimentally. The scent of hyacinth and roses had endured. On impulse, she dabbed on a generous amount.
Emily watched her intently. "May I have some?" she asked, holding out her hands.
Caroline laughed and touched the stopper to Emily's wrists, then stood, telling herself she was too old to sit staring in the mirror. The gray dress she had worn on the Sea Horse was laid out on the bed, the wrinkles carefully smoothed away by Jessie. Caroline slipped off her muslin dressing gown and carefully eased the cool, light silk over her head.
"I don't see why you can't wear pretty colors just because Papa died," Emily said, kneeling on the bed.
"Your mama's lucky to have her coloring," Elena said, doing up the tiny, innumerable strings on Caroline's dress. "If I wear mourning colors they make me look dull. Not that I ever did wear them," she added, fastening the last string. "You don't, with the army."
She spoke matter-of-factly, as she always did when talking of her dead husband, but there was a bleak note in her voice. Caroline turned and looked sharply at her friend. She had thought Elena and Hawkins had begun to work out their differences on the Sea Horse, but she had sensed a strain between them these last few days though outwardly they were still on amicable terms. The Wellstones had had dinner guests yesterday evening, but Elena had not worn the earrings Hawkins had given her. Now Caroline saw more evidence of strain in Elena's usually animated face. But there was nothing she could say with Emily in the room.
Caroline moved back to the dressing table and opened her jewel case. Emily jumped off the bed. "Will you see Bella and Ned tonight?" she asked, running over to look at the treasure trove. Dolly had brought her children to Red Lion Square two days ago and Emily had taken to them as quickly as she'd taken to the Fentons.
"Probably not." Caroline clasped her pearl necklace round her neck and hunted for a pair of earrings to go with it. "I expect they'll be asleep by the time I get to Granby House."
"Suppose they wake up?"
"Then their nurse will look after them." Caroline selected a pair of pearl and diamond earrings. They had been an early gift from Jared and she wondered with a pang how much they had contributed to his mountain of debt.
"But wouldn't you hear if they called?" Emily persisted, puzzled by this image.
Caroline fastened the second earring. For the first time she realized how much she would have missed if she'd still been living in London when Emily was born. "The nursery is at the top of the house and the dining room is on the ground floor," she explained.
"Granby House must be very big," Emily said solemnly.
Caroline grinned. "Enormous." She leaned forward and kissed Emily on the nose. Then she stood, shook out the folds of her dress, and pulled on her gloves. Her evening cloak was lying over the back of a chair. Caroline hesitated as she touched the soft black velvet. It was the cloak she had worn the night she had gone to Adam's lodgings five years ago. To her surprise, she found she welcomed the reminder of Adam. She laid the cloak over her arm, smoothing the fabric with care, and turned to her daughter and Elena. "Well? Do I pass muster?"
"You look like a princess," Emily said with an earnestness which brought a lump to Caroline's throat.
"You look ten times better than those stuffed-up ladies in the park," Elena said. Hawkins had taken her walking in Hyde Park one afternoon and she hadn't been impressed by British fashions.
The three of them walked downstairs together. Margaret and Hawkins were waiting to see Caroline off, which didn't surprise her. So was Adam, which did. She turned the corner from the first floor landing and saw him standing at the base of the stairs. For a moment his eyes were lit with something far more intense than admiration. Then it was gone, replaced by a calm detached gaze that she found inexpressibly painful.
Hawkins let out an admiring exclamation. "If you'll forgive my saying so, I'd never know it was the same woman we fished out of the Carrión."
Caroline laughed. Then, without meaning to, she looked at Adam again. Their gazes locked. "Every bit the lady of fashion, Mrs. Rawley," he said. "I congratulate you."
The words were light, the edge to them so subtle that probably only Caroline could hear it. "Thank you." She paused at the base of the stairs, one hand on the polished banister. "E
lena and Emily did all the work."
Adam moved toward the stairs. "A talented household." Suddenly his hand closed over hers, not gently. "Be careful, Caro."
It was the first time he had touched her since that night on the Sea Horse. A tremor ran through her, sharp and disturbing. Her fears about meeting Talbot welled to the surface. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to walk into Adam's arms. "He won't do anything in his father's house, Adam," Caroline said, snatching her hand away. "I'm safer there than any place in London."
"That's no reason not to be careful." Adam held her gaze with his own for a moment longer, then turned to Emily. "How about a game of marbles while your mother's out?"
"Elena's going to make me look like a lady," Emily said. "Then we can play marbles."
Adam gave a rueful smile. "First things first."
Caroline moved down the last step and carefully smoothed her gloves. It was Hawkins who helped her into her cloak, walked her down the front steps, and handed her into the Wellstones' waiting carriage. She waved out the window at Margaret, Elena, and Emily. There was no sign of Adam.
It was less than two miles from Red Lion Square to Granby House, but the press of carriages made the going slow. Caroline had forgot how crowded Mayfair became in the evening. The sight of the innumerable carriages in the streets brought memories of countless minutes spent waiting to reach a ball or reception, only to spend countless more standing in line in the entrance hall, before finally reaching a crowded room. It had once seemed a perfectly sensible way to spend her time.
Granby House was brilliantly lit. Caroline was greeted by the same footman who had admitted her on her earlier visit, but this time with unfailing courtesy. He led her up the carpeted marble staircase to the crimson salon which was three times the size of Margaret's drawing room, though Caroline knew it was reserved for intimate gatherings. The scent of sweet-smelling wax tapers filled the air. Utrecht velvet, mellowed by age and candlelight to a deep rose, covered the walls. Gilt paint, worn to a fine antique lustre, glinted on chairs and tables and picture frames and the heavy molded ribs which outlined the grisaille paintings in the ceiling.
