by Vanessa Gray
Whitcomb, still resentful, said, “I cannot say, miss.”
“Of course you can’t, Whitcomb. Forgive me.”
The apology itself was handsome, the butler had to admit, but the smile that accompanied it completely restored his sensitivities.
“I put him in the small salon, miss,” said the butler, with the ghost of a smile. She understood that Whitcomb had made his own assessment of the quality of the caller. Well-known visitors were placed at once in the green room, mere acquaintances in the gold salon. But the small salon was reserved for persons with an appearance of respectability but without other recommendation.
Mr. Haveney was waiting patiently. He rose when he heard Nell enter. All his long training was called upon when he saw her. She was far from the most beautiful lady he had ever seen, but he was conscious of a charm that threatened to overset his wits. Whether it was her expression of bright interest or the intelligence lying behind her remarkable eyes, he could not have told. All he knew was that he must make an effort to keep his mind on his errand.
“Mr. Haveney?” said Nell. “You wish to see me? I’m afraid I do not know quite how I can help you.”
“No, Miss Aspinall,” said her caller regretfully. His voice sounded in his ears as unnecessarily harsh. “You do not know me. But I shall be grateful if you could tell me the whereabouts of your brother, Mr. Thomas Aspinall.”
“Oh, dear, Tom’s not in trouble? I do hope you are not expecting to reclaim gambling debts? Although I must admit I have never heard that he played at all deep. Tell me, are you a bailiff?”
Mr. Haveney was enchanted by her frankness. “No, Miss Aspinall. Not at all. I am simply — an old friend, shall we say, who truly does need to know where he is.”
Nell kept her eyes fastened on his. The man had not yet convinced her that his aims were honorable. She continued to regard him hopefully. When he did not at once continue, she nudged him.
“Why?„
“Why?” he echoed.
“Surely you cannot expect me to tell you my brother’s whereabouts simply because you ask me? Even if you are not a bailiff, you may be something else quite devastating, you know. I do hope you are not distressed because I speak frankly. Truly, I have often been told I am too direct, especially when I wish to know something. But you must realize that my brother and I are very close” — this was not quite the truth, but adherence to fact was not always a virtue — “and I do not recall his mentioning your name to me.”
Arthur was taken slightly aback. He had expected, from what he had heard of Tom’s sister, to find a timid, country-reared miss out of her element in the city. He should have realized, he thought now, that the source of his information was Tom himself.
It was of course impossible for an older brother, particularly one with several years’ seniority, to accept the idea that his sister had grown, as this one obviously had, into an attractive young lady.
This older brother’s opinion clearly was wide off the mark.
If Foxhall had indeed offered for the lady, his taste was impeccable. Arthur felt a sense of loss for himself. Had he had more to offer than his friend’s bounty, the bestowal, perhaps, of a living in the duke’s gift, he might entertain ambitions above his station.
What he faced now, not to put too fine a point on it, was a bewitching young lady with formidable wits and the directness to pursue wherever they led her.
“I am quite sure my name never came up,” agreed Arthur. “But perhaps the name of a man with whom both your brother and I deal will mean something to you. I have no hesitation in telling you that I am not of sufficient importance to engage your attention. But the fact is…”
Almost too late he realized that he was about to confide more than he intended in Miss Aspinall. He could not reveal that her brother, whose most flagrant sin in her eyes seemed to be gambling, had served often as a secret and resourceful messenger for the highly secretive intelligence service called only “Whem’s business.”
Even though there was no reason for Tom to be abroad now on the duke’s business, the habit of secrecy held him in a strong grip. If Tom wished his relation to be made privy to his secret employment, then Tom would have told her. Clearly Miss Aspinall harbored no suspicions. It did occur to Arthur that Tom was lacking in his responsibility to allow this veritable child to travel at large in London! No wonder the young lady was looking in Foxhall’s direction. Arthur shared the duke’s view of him.
Arthur reflected. He would give nothing away, he decided, by simply mentioning the duke. Besides, Whern’s was an honorable and highly respected title, even though the present incumbent was something of a mystery to his peers. However, Arthur was forced to rely on the cachet of that title to elicit the information he needed.
“I am here,” he said in a manner designed to impress, “on behalf of His Grace the Duke of whew.”
Nell’s bright expression did not alter. She said simply, with obvious honesty, “Who is the Duke of Whern”
Chapter Six
Nell went up the stairs to her aunt’s sitting room, where she found her recovering from the emotional turmoil induced by the unrewarding search for her nephew by reading Mansfield Park, Jane Austen’s latest novel which had come out in the summer.
“Aunt,” said Nell without preliminaries, “do you know aught of the Duke of Whern?”
“He’s dead.”
“He can’t be. He’s looking for Tom.”
“Nonsense, child. I know he is dead.” She added with humor, “It seems that Tom is in great demand, if even the departed are searching for him.”
“Dear aunt, be sensible.”
“I am, my dear. I know the Duke of Whern is dead, this three years at least. What would he want with Tom now?”
Nell was impatient. “Of course he wouldn’t want Tom if he were dead. The duke, I mean. But this man — a gentleman, I don’t doubt, from his address — called and said he was from the Duke of Whern, and he wants Tom.”
“Don’t we all!” exclaimed Lady Sanford. “All right, Nell, I shall not exacerbate your feelings further by repeating what we all know. Tom is failing in his duty to his family, and I wash my hands of him. If you lose Foxhall, then on your brother’s head be it. I can do no more.”
“Aunt, you have done so much. I’m sorry you are troubled by Tom’s unfortunate absence. But I feel I must tell you that I shall not lose dear Rowland. He is strongly attached to me.”
“Attachment is not always paramount in a gentleman’s mind, you know.”
“Indeed, I am sure that Rowland will honor his undertaking. But at any rate, I intend to marry him, whether Tom comes up to the mark or not.”
Lady Sanford gazed at her, wide-eyed. “My dear Nell, will you kidnap him?”
Nell was suddenly struck by a thought that would, when explored, possibly make her way clear before her. She would consider it later. “No, not precisely. But there must be a Duke of Whern extant, Aunt. Pray try to remember.”
Obediently, Lady Sanford set her mind to the problem. “The Duke of Whern — let me see. He died, but his son and grandson died before him, I am sure. Let me think. Was there a nephew?”
She thought to such purpose that she dredged up from memory the image of a small boy, John Darcy by name. “An odd one. His mother died when he was born and the old duke raised him. I saw the lad once, when he was eight. Unprepossessing, I must say. He was not near the succession then, of course. Could it have been a boating accident that took them? The direct heirs, I mean. No matter now, I suppose. Anyway, what does the duke, whoever he is, want with Tom?”
Nell could not inform her. Mr. Haveney had reached the limit of discretion in time, so that he had given her only the vaguest hints of his reason for seeking out Tom. But the gist of his information caused the burgeoning of a scheme in Nell’s mind. This was the thought that she had, only moments ago, put aside for later consideration. But suddenly the scheme was clear in her mind, details quite defined and of a nature to promise a fav
orable issue, if it were presented to those involved in a certain light.
There was, Nell had gathered, a small parcel that must be taken to Vienna in the very near future. Haste was of the essence, so she had gathered, and since Tom was not likely to be at hand in time, there seemed to Nell no reason in the world why the parcel could not be transported by an Aspinall, even though the hand were feminine rather than masculine.
Nell was not an implicit believer in Providence, but she was also not one to overlook an opportunity as it arose. She was excessively anxious to be at the side of her dear Rowland. The near presence of Miss Freeland in Vienna, no matter how she had dismissed the danger in speaking to her aunt, nonetheless cut deeply into her thoughts. While Nell could not have managed the journey to Rowland’s side by herself, it was more than reassuring to perceive that His Majesty’s Government itself was taking a hand in her behalf.
She set herself, without too strict an attachment to the truth, to persuade her aunt to her scheme.
“It seems, Aunt, that the Aspinall’s are once again being asked for a service to the Crown. You know it has been three generations since Great-grandpapa fought with Lord Clive in India.”
“And a sad job of it he did, too,” remarked Phrynie. “He was Clive’s right-hand man, but Clive received all the honors. Baron Clive of Plassey — and it could have been Baron Aspinall.”
“But now…”
Phrynie had not finished her complaint. “And riches, as well. He could have been wealthy as a nabob, you know. Look at that garish emerald of the Netwicks! In impossible taste, I have always thought, but it does bear witness to a certain enterprise on their part.”
“But now,” Nell said firmly, “we have a great opportunity.”
“Nell, pray do not go on in such a foolish fashion. Next you will tell me that the fate of our country is in the hands of the Aspinall’s. Fiddle!”
She regarded her niece with growing suspicion. Not for naught had she had the girl under her wing for six months. She had learned, to her cost, to mistrust mightily that remarkably innocent expression that she now noted. Once Nell donned that guileless demeanor, the world was well on its way to being turned upside down.
“Nell,” she said in a minatory tone, “whatever it is, I forbid it.”
“Dear Aunt, I’m persuaded you have the right of it. It’s such a shame. Such a small matter, after all.”
“I hope so, my dear. For neither of us shall indulge in it. Whatever it is.”
Nell moved to the window. She was not certain of the wisdom of her first plan, to confide totally in her aunt. Lady Sanford could, at times, be surprisingly indiscreet. If Nell could manage without betraying the whole of her scheme, it was much to be desired.
“Such a gray day,” said Nell with an air of inconsequence. “And you know London is no longer exciting. No one’s in Town now.” With a grand sweep of her hand, she dismissed four millions of people, earning their wages, preparing their meals, educating their children, sweeping the crosswalks, handling world shipping. “The Town is dead!”
“I agree that London is not precisely in the swing of things,” said Phrynie with caution. “But I am persuaded that the holidays which we will — without question, Nell — spend in Essex and not in Vienna will be most enjoyable.”
It was perhaps unfortunate that Lady Sanford’s features were to such a degree open to analysis. Nell was not deceived for a moment. Her aunt loathed the country. The bucolic amusements appropriate to the area and the season had less than no appeal to her.
With enthusiasm, Nell agreed. “Of course, you are right, Aunt. From a child, I have always enjoyed the holidays in the country. Can you ever forget the great Christmas tree in the entrance hall, and the Yule log? I wonder if the carolers from the village still come, to sing, you know, and drink their wassail. My mother always held open house, and there was a party for the children —”
“And the front door stood open to the elements while the infants stood shuffling their feet in the doorway and the cold drafts sent smoke billowing into all the rooms.” Lady Sanford’s tone lacked enthusiasm for the coming events.
Satisfied, Nell moved on to the next step. “I wonder what Vienna is like. Have you ever been there?”
“When I was a girl. Your mother and I were taken by our grandmother, whose dear friend Lady Cornwell was the wife of the ambassador. All I remember was the divine music. And of course hot chocolate, and such wonderful whipped cream. Now, of course, I wouldn’t dare to indulge. I vow all I have to do is look at sweets and I gain so much weight my clothes refuse to fit.”
Lady Sanford claimed to be engaged in constant warfare to keep her figure, but she was still slim as a wand and willowy, possessed of an incomparable grace of movement. Nell envied her that indefinable but unmistakable allure.
“But, Aunt, if we could make our way there…”
“Elinor. I have told you, have I not, that I shall not allow you to leap across the Continent in pursuit of Lord Foxhall. Such a jape would undoubtedly ruin us both for life. And Foxhall would fall into Miss Freeland’s grip, once and for all.”
Nell quailed. Was it true? Could he in fact mistake her sincere devotion for unseemly pursuit? At that moment she almost gave up.
But the perfect features of Rowland Fiennes swam before her vision. In truth, she must not confess defeat. If Miss Freeland, by mere propinquity, were able to attach Rowland to herself, Nell would quite simply die.
Nell had, in such a short time, moved beyond simply contemplating the marvelous thing that had happened to her. No longer was she innocently trembling under the wonder of Rowland’s smile, his tender regard, his incomprehensible surge of emotions that led him to wish to marry her.
She had left what she could now only believe to be naiveté behind. She wished to marry Rowland, and he wished to marry her. Therefore, this deed would be accomplished, no matter what was required of her. She would prove worthy of her affianced husband. Almost, that is, affianced, she amended.
“Nell,” said Phrynie in true curiosity, “does being with him mean that much to you?”
“Not at all,” rejoined Nell airily. She added, without truth, “I suppose we should not even see him.”
“Not see Rowland — in Vienna? What is this mad scheme? For you have one, I am persuaded. All this talk about Vienna, and then not even see Foxhall?” She regarded her niece from under fair brows, only slightly darkened by discreet use of a pencil.
Nell relented. “Of course it does not make sense, Aunt. I long to see Rowland, more than I can tell you, but you are right. We cannot go alone.”
Phrynie was not satisfied. “Come now, Nell. The truth — the entire truth, if you please.”
Nell told her all she knew on the subject of Mr Haveney’s errand. “And there is no reason why we cannot go on a mission for the government, Aunt. Surely dear Rowland could not think we had come to Vienna merely to seek his company.”
Nell was eloquent on the variations she improvised on her basic scheme. Her aunt’s features moved from disbelief to dismay, to utter rejection, and then, as Nell mentioned once again that she longed to enjoy the entertainment furnished by the splendid Habsburg court, to an inward look at what must appeal to her pleasure-loving nature.
“But to go off alone,” Phrynie protested, “on a harebrained errand of such doubtful provenance, Nell! How can you think I would permit such an escapade?”
“It was only that I thought to oblige the government,” explained Nell. “They are asking Tom to take the responsibility, and we cannot find him. I should not like to think that Tom’s credit would be lost for want of a little exertion on my part.” She spoke carelessly, but later she would remember this remark.
Phrynie said tartly, “Tom can gain little credit for simply carrying a couple of forgotten documents to Austria.”
Then Phrynie, all unwittingly, made a remark that would have consequences undreamed of in her sitting room in her Grosvenor Square town house. “If we could find Tom
, then I might reconsider.”
Nell fell silent. Had she misgauged her aunt? Had she even misjudged her own feelings? When she thought about the projected journey, she entertained a few misgivings of her own. France had been a closed country to the English for more than twenty years, longer than Nell’s own life, and her knowledge of the land was minimal. Her governess had touched lightly upon the subject, and Nell retained an impression of pleasant scenery, abominable roads, and an ignorant peasantry.
Surely the Revolution must have disarmed the footpads and slaughtered the wolves? It did not seem illogical to her that she feared for Rowland but not for herself. She had not the slightest doubt that she could travel through Europe, if not in pleasurable sight-seeing, at least unscathed.
Just the same, Nell could not travel alone, with only her coachman, armed outriders, footmen, and two maids for company. Not, that is, if she wished to retain any reputation at all. Her aunt had spoken with finality on the subject of their going alone. Downhearted, Nell left her. Lady Sanford picked up Mansfield Park again, but it was a long time before she returned to the story.
A short period of concentrated consideration of the problem altered Nell’s thinking. Of course, her aunt was correct. Two women were restricted by convention far beyond their desserts.
But Phrynie’s innocent remark bore fruit. Nell was not the descendant of the right-hand man to Baron Clive of Plassey for naught. Considering the matter in the light of logic, as was her wont at serious times, there was but one way remaining to accomplish her desired end. She must find Tom.
Struck by the brilliance of the idea that had come to her, she sat down abruptly and allowed the scheme to flourish. She must find Tom — or at least seem to find Tom. If her brother did not materialize, then she would simply have to make do as best she could.
The smile that flitted across her piquant features was not an ordinary one. Indeed, anyone who knew her would be quite sure that the part of wisdom would be to leave the immediate vicinity.
There was one arrow left in her bow. Since Tom had not been located by any of the ordinary means, it occurred to her that he did not wish to be found. In that case, she believed she knew where he was. He often retreated to an obscure little manor in the Cotswolds, given to him by his grandmother. The hunting was excellent, and Tom, at heart a countryman, reveled in the outdoor life without the cumbersome trappings of the Aspinall manor.
