'She might have thought it was something harmless, perhaps something to moderate his temper.'
'Unlikely. Maggie isn't stupid in that way.'
'We have to consider the unlikely. Someone killed him, deliberately or by accident. If she's behaving oddly now it may be she has a guilty conscience.'
'And I need to discover why Harris wasn't with him. He should have been, just as I was attending the Earl.'
***
An hour later Luke, skulking outside the stables of Redditch House, saw Amos come from the rooms above the coachhouse where he and the other grooms slept. He followed him to a local hostelry much patronised by Mayfair servants, and contrived to find a seat on the same bench.
'Where've yer bin?' Amos asked. 'Hue an' cry went up after yer levelled old Sam. Never live it down, 'e won't. Allus fancied hisself with 'is maulers, did Sam.'
Luke winced. He hadn't considered this aspect from Sam's point of view. 'He tripped on something,' he said quickly. 'I barely hit him. Couldn't have put him down otherwise. What's happening back at Redditch House?'
'Rare old bumblebroth. The Earl was yellin' fit ter bust 'is corsets, the old woman screamin' loud enough ter be 'eard in Piccadilly, Maggie in floods o' tears, Jenny shoutin' at 'er, an' no dinner cooked.'
'Haven't they found a new cook yet, then?'
'No one's tryin'.'
'What about Mrs Grimsby?'
'Says no one's willin' ter come, an' the Countess can 'ire one herself. If you asks me, I think she's gonna leave herself soon as she can.'
'Were they searching for me?'
'Sent fer constable, but nowt else. When 'e went the Earl stalked out, puce in the face, an' snapped poor Sam's 'ead off. 'Tis my belief constable wouldn't do owt. Our little Earl's not used ter bein' crossed by the likes o' the lower orders. First murder, then a fight atween servants. Not a lot 'e can do abaht the fust, an' the second's none of 'is business.'
So the servants, or at least Amos, didn't know about the ring. Luke wondered whether the Earl had thought better of his attempt to accuse him of its theft. One of the maids, probably Maggie, must have discovered it, and could have contradicted his story. Discretion must have won over vindictiveness. If the story of his false accusation had reached the servants' hall the truth would almost certainly have emerged. Servants didn't like one of their own sort being trapped by lies, and even Maggie might have found her loyalties torn.
'Tell me, Amos,' he said abruptly, 'who might be using the coach house to meet with a woman?'
Amos stared at him, mouth agape. 'Yer means this mornin' when I found door unlocked?'
Luke nodded. 'I heard a woman talking in there last night. I didn't know who it was. Who has a key?'
Amos pondered. 'Me, but I weren't there. An' old Gillitty's past it,' he added, chuckling at the idea of the ancient coachman tumbling a wench. 'Besides, 'e's got a room of 'is own, no need ter find anywhere else. The master must 'ave one, or Drummond, I suppose, as we ain't got a steward. But Drummond's not 'ere.'
'And you get to yours by the outside staircase.'
Luke cudgelled his brain for an explanation. If it hadn't been Amos or the coachman, could Drummond have retained the key and come back for some reason? And who was he meeting? Was it one of the maids? He'd not thought Drummond, elderly and pompous, much more regal and dignified than his masters, would be interested in clandestine meetings with any of the maids, but people were constantly surprising him. It was possible.
'Amos, could you find out where that other key is, whether Drummond returned his? Make up some story, better still tell the truth, you found the door unlocked, and wondered who might be getting in and perhaps stealing the coaches.'
Amos, pleased, grinned. 'They'd 'ave a job,' he chortled, 'wi'out the 'orses.'
'I'll meet you here tomorrow, same time.'
***
Until Sam came back to him with answers to some of his questions, there was little else he could do. But the night was still young. An idea, suggested by his uncle, took hold of his mind. He could begin investigating the family, and he could start by seeking out some of his compatriots who, more fortunate than he, were able to live as gentlemen and frequent the clubs and salons of the ton. There was a risk he'd meet Bossard, but the man was well known as a leading revolutionary, and would probably be cautious about mingling with Frenchmen who could have a desire for revenge on his kind. He racked his brains to recall what he had heard from Louis and Antoine, met by chance at the posting house in Beaconsfield. They'd mentioned a certain hostelry where the émigrés gathered, to play cards, gamble, and occasionally watch a cockfight in the yard at the back. He set off towards it, and half an hour later was being hailed by Louis and two more young men he knew from the old days.
He joined them, after warning them his pockets were to let, and he could afford only penny stakes.
'We none of us can afford to play deep, at least not with one another,' they assured him. 'When we play Les Anglais, of course, and we know we can win, it is a different matter. More wine!'
Grumbling at the quality of the wine, but complaining even more bitterly about ale, that barbarous drink the English preferred, they settled down to an evening of cards and dicing. Luke noticed with amusement that despite their strictures, the wine was replenished with startling frequency, and swiftly consumed. He managed, without offending them, to drink little and keep his own glass full, preventing them from hospitably refilling it too often. Consequently, three hours later, when they decided to finish, he was far more sober than they.
'Do you know the new Earl of Redditch?' he asked casually as they gathered up the cards.
'The noble Augustus?' Louis asked, and laughed. 'He's a fool. He has no head for cards, but thinks he knows all the tricks. He isn't cool enough to wager. Too hasty, he does not consider.'
Luke made his decision. 'I need to meet some of his – not friends, I doubt he has many – acquaintances. Could you arrange it for me, discreetly?'
'For you, my dear Luc, anything,' Louis declared extravagantly. 'When shall it be? I know, I will arrange a small card party in my rooms, tomorrow, and you shall meet them there. How is that?'
'Perfect. Where are your rooms, and what time?'
He slept late, thankful that he didn't have to attend on anyone else. Despite his attempts to drink sparingly he woke with a thick head. Aunt Caroline, looking at him as he walked cautiously into her dining room half way through the morning, raised her eyebrows slightly.
'All in the cause of duty, I imagine,' she commented. 'Sit there, and I'll mix you one of my favourite remedies. Then you may be able to face some food.'
Two minutes later, grimacing at the concoction she produced, but obediently swallowing it, Luke began to feel better.
'That's wonderful,' he sighed. 'You could make your fortune in Mayfair with that.'
'I prefer to devote my time to others who cannot afford to get blind drunk, whose ills are not of their own making,' she said tartly.
'I remember you were always making salves and potions,' he said, smiling at her. 'Mother said you had more skill than most doctors. Was that why you married Uncle Joshua?'
'We met because of my interest in herbs and the remedies I used them for,' she said, a tender smile on her lips. 'And the fuss my parents made when I announced we were to wed! The family might have been poor, but the very idea of one of the daughters marrying a tradesman was an abomination.'
'They cannot endure my occupation either,' Luke laughed. 'It was worse when I was a tapster, of course, and near enough for their neighbours to recognise me. I think they were exceedingly relieved when I moved to London.'
'They need not have worried. No one looks at servants. Many employers would not recognise their maids or their butler if they met them somewhere unexpected.'
'I somehow doubt I could play cards with the Earl at White's and not be discovered.'
'But he has reason to know you well. If you were introduced to, let's say, his mother at a mus
ical soirée, she would smile condescendingly, offer you her hand, and think no more about it. Did you discover anything useful last night?'
'Only that there is a spare key to the coach house which Drummond, the butler, might still have. Though I cannot see him making an assignation there!'
His aunt smiled. 'You men accuse us poor females of thinking of nothing but romance, yet that is the first interpretation you put on such a clandestine meeting. He, or anyone, might have been meeting there for some other reason. Perhaps he had left some of his possessions behind, and didn't want to come to the house to collect them. It isn't easy to go back to a place one has left in some awkward fashion. What else? You must have met someone who could help to make it worth your while staying out so late.'
'I met some Frenchmen, old friends, and hope to find out more through them about the new Earl. They said he gambled, but not, I think, with much success. I'm afraid I have to be out late again tonight, meeting some of his friends.'
'Then drink a pint of milk before you go. That will protect your stomach. And your head tomorrow. Now how do you feel? Are you ready for something to eat?'
He found he was ravenous, and swiftly ate the plate of cold beef and ham she plied him with. Before he had finished Sam arrived, and sat down with a cup of coffee to report progress.
'None of the maids were upstairs that morning. Except Maggie, that is, but she swears she wasn't with his little lordship except to lay his fire, and that was earlier. Trouble is, a bit later she went up to her room to change her apron and no one saw her in the kitchen while Jenny was preparing the chocolate.'
'What about Harris? Was he about?'
'He was asleep, he says. The Viscount didn't come in till almost dawn, told him not to wake him until noon, so Harris took the chance to lie abed.'
'Then why was the Viscount half-dressed when he came to talk to the soldier?'
'Maggie woke him? He couldn't sleep? He wanted an excuse to be alone?' Aunt Caroline suggested. 'Had he rung for his valet, does anyone recall? Is the bell in his room or in the kitchens?'
'They all ring in the kitchen,' Sam told her. 'But they were at sixes and sevens, they wouldn't have noticed any more than they remembered if Maggie was there. With Cook and Drummond leaving, they all wanted to be in the kitchen to bid them farewell. Joseph was in the pantry, he said, doing Drummond's job.'
But Jenny had said he'd been in the dairy, flirting with the milk girl, Luke recalled. 'What did Maggie say about the ring?'
Sam grimaced. 'I asked her where she'd found it, and she told me straight out, under the old man's bed. She put it on his dressing table. She wasn't a bit worried.'
'It sounds as though the Earl hasn't made known his accusation of your stealing it to anyone else,' Aunt Caroline said slowly. 'Did he mention it at all, in your hearing, Sam, that day when he tried to send Luke to his room?'
Sam shook his head. 'I think you're right. No one else at the house knows. The old devil must have thought better of it once you escaped. Probably realised he couldn't prove it anyway. I think the constable told him that. He was looking furious when the man left, muttering about going to see the magistrate himself, and the magistrate being a friend of his father's.'
'So that's one charge unlikely to be pressed,' Aunt Caroline said briskly. 'What about the cook and the butler?'
'I think he's gone to work for the Duke, as Drummond said he would, but I'm not sure where Mrs Robinson is. Young Suky thinks she knows, but she wants to ask her friend next door, who knows Mrs Robinson's sister. I should know by tomorrow. Now Jenny says to meet you in the hayloft over the stables later this afternoon. She thinks she'll be able to get away for an hour.'
Luke cast an embarrassed glance at his aunt. French ladies, and he imagined it applied in England too, were not supposed to know how the men of the family disported themselves. She was chuckling, which made him feel even worse.
'If you dare tell Sylvie, or anyone else down in Oxfordshire, about this, I'll – I'll – '
'You'll what, my dear? Of course I won't tell them, particularly Sylvie. If I did they'd say you should use the talents God gave you, even if that is only to attract foolish women. They'd be after you again to mend your fortunes by marrying that heiress, that shipping man's daughter.'
Luke winced. 'Don't remind me! She's over thirty, fat, and she smells! And she can't talk about anything but her wonderful Papa and her darling Pootie. I sometimes wonder which she loves best, Papa or the wretched lapdog!' He stood up and stretched. 'I suppose I'd better go and meet the ever-hopeful Jenny.'
***
Chapter 8
'I wish you was back, workin' 'ere,' Jenny said soulfully, patting the bale of hay on which she was reclining. 'Come an' sit closer, then we won't be overheard.'
'There's no one about to overhear us,' Luke said swiftly, remaining where he was, leaning against one of the beams which supported the hayloft roof. Somehow all his desire for the chit, which at the best of times had only been a matter of proximity, convenience, and her willing eagerness, had waned.
Jenny had discarded her neat uniform dress and mobcap, and was wearing a gown with the bodice so low cut it was almost slipping off her shoulders. She had let her hair fall in ringlets about her face, and her lips were suspiciously red. It was obvious she was bent on seduction, and Luke was determined not to succumb to her lures. He had enough problems without adding a lovesick Jenny.
She pouted. 'Everyone in the 'ouse is in a state. Don't you want ter know what I found out?'
Was she going to make it a condition of telling him that he tumbled her in the hay? Luke sighed inwardly. Pretty though she was, in an obvious, rather coarse way, he doubted whether he could force himself to bed her at this time even to obtain vital information. Then he reminded himself he might need her evidence, or that of others, to free himself of suspicion. He pinned on a regretful smile.
'Jenny, I haven't much time, I can't afford to allow myself to get distracted,' he said, trying to inject his words with the sound of truth. 'Have you found out any more?'
She stared at him resentfully for a long moment, then to his relief shrugged. 'Yer don't love me, do yer? Yer can't be bothered wi' me if it means makin' an effort ter come 'ere. I dain't think yer was a snob, Mounseer Frenchie! I s'ppose the likes o' me ain't good enough fer a poxy French aristo, even when yer've come down in the world!'
Luke sighed. There was some truth in what she said. He had never yet thought himself in love, though he had enjoyed many amatory adventures. But clinging housemaids, however young and pretty, no longer held any satisfaction for him. The next woman he took to his bed, he'd vowed, must be someone he admired for more than outer attractions, someone who knew the rules of the game and would part from him without recriminations when the time came, as it inevitably would. He moved closer and knelt beside her, taking one of her hands in his and pulling her slightly towards him.
'Jenny, it's not that. I really don't have time. And every moment I spend here puts me into danger. I mustn't be discovered. And if you were found helping me, the Earl would dismiss you at once, and I can't allow that to happen. So if you've nothing to tell me, I must be away, for both our sakes. Did you find out who the other people were in the kitchen that morning?'
She looked mutinous for a moment, then raised her shoulders in a gesture which forced her breasts upwards too. For a brief second Luke wondered if he was a fool to deny himself as well as her. Should he not take what was so openly on offer, particularly when it might help him escape the gallows? Then Jenny apparently accepted the inevitable and nodded.
'I can only remember the ones I said, but Suky found out where Cook's gone.'
'Mrs Robinson? Where?'
'Suky said as 'ow she's workin' for a Cit. A Mr Silbermann, I think she said.'
Luke tried to restrain his eagerness. Here was someone who might be able to help him. 'Where does he live?'
'One o' them new 'ouses in Finsbury Square, near some funny sort o' temple, I think she
said. Sounds 'eathen, ter me.'
'Never mind. I can find her, and perhaps she'll remember something. I am grateful, Jenny.'
'Will yer come back?' she asked wistfully. 'I might be able ter find out summat else. Or mebee remember summat.'
'I've got a lot to do the next few days,' Luke said hastily, then relented. He still needed allies in Redditch House. 'When's your next afternoon off?'
'Sunday,' Jenny said eagerly, her eyes brightening. 'I'll try ter find out more, promise I will!'
'Find out where Harris was, whether the Viscount rang for him. That might help us know how long Maggie was with him.'
Her eyes gleamed, and he knew she wanted to pursue her quarrel. 'I'll do that tonight,' she promised.
'But I don't want to come here too often,' Luke reminded her. He cast about for somewhere not so isolated that Jenny would want him to make love to her, yet away from fashionable haunts where he might be recognised. 'I'll meet you in St James's Park, the far side of the lake,' he said hurriedly. 'Now, I really must go, I have to see someone else this afternoon.'
She frowned, but he ignored her and climbed down the ladder into the stables. After a swift look round to see that he was unobserved, Luke walked out into the mews.
***
Sylvie walked slowly back to the Rectory. She was pondering whether to approach her grandfather first, or try to get her grandmother on her side. It had indeed been a fortunate chance to have met her friend Diana Rockingham at the village shop, and heard the news before anyone else had the opportunity.
Suddenly she made up her mind and her steps quickened. Yesterday her grandmother had been angry with her because she had dropped a whole basket of eggs, and every single one had been smashed. Sylvie knew that her grandparents were not wealthy, but never before had they so much as mentioned the cost she must be to them. And she did try to be prudent, she really did, and was punctilious in mending her clothes and being careful not to damage them. Her grandmother might be pleased to be spared the expense of feeding her.
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