by Mary Brendan
‘You think she’ll be propositioned if rumours spread about her aborted elopement?’
A genteel lady usually feigned ignorance of gentlemen’s mistresses. But Joan had just heard a fellow admitting to a worse sin than attempted seduction, so she refused to act twee. Although barely ten minutes had passed since she’d listened to the lovers talking, their words had reverberated in her head a thousand times, firing her awareness of a terrible injustice having been perpetrated. Rockleigh might rub her up the wrong way, but he was fundamentally a decent man—Joan was sure of it—and she wouldn’t wish his kin on her worst enemy.
‘If your Aunt Dorothea knows the girl’s ruined you may mark my words that many others do, too,’ Maude finally responded in a doom-laden voice. Linking arms with Joan, she allowed her stepdaughter to assist her up the terrace steps.
As they entered the ballroom the first person Maude spied was Saul Stokes striding towards his ward and her dance partner. The orchestra was in recess and the couples were dispersing. Cecilia and Henry were still on the parquet chatting, and it was noteworthy, Maude thought, that Miss Denby’s hands were still being held by her admirer.
‘Mr Stokes could do worse than encourage Henry to call,’ the Duchess whispered. ‘That young man has an estate in Sussex and several thousand a year despite being barely dry behind the ears.’ She returned Mrs Denby a nod as the woman looked their way.
Joan avoided clashing eyes with Rockleigh’s perfidious sister, shielding with her lashes the disdain darkening her pupils. She knew she mustn’t risk arousing the couple’s suspicions that their treachery was out.
Louise was heading her way and Joan gave her friend an apologetic smile. ‘Have you suffered bruises, my dear?’
‘I have not.’ Louise gave a whimsical smile. ‘Mr Woodley told me he has been taking dancing lessons since last we took to the floor together. I have to say I was quite impressed.’
‘Were you, indeed?’ Joan’s surprise was overlaid with amusement. A moment later her eyes had again narrowed on the man who’d plotted against Rockleigh.
Stokes looked very bumptious while steering his ward away from Henry as though a viscount’s heir were beneath his notice. Henry seemed forlorn rather than affronted at the snub. A moment before disappearing into the crowd the object of his affections smiled over a shoulder at him.
‘Come...we must find your mama and tell her that Ralph Woodley is making eyes at you.’ The Duchess took Louise’s arm.
‘I think I shall find Papa and beg some coins to stake at the tables,’ Joan excused herself.
While winding a path through the crowd she spotted the Denbys. The little group appeared as they had earlier in the evening: Cecilia’s face was etched with boredom, Bertha seemed preoccupied while Stokes looked pleased with himself...as well he might, Joan thought fumingly. She felt greatly tempted to fly over to Cecilia’s guardian to tell him she knew him for a crook, simply to wipe the smirk off his mouth.
But she would not—must not—mention a word of what she knew, so snapped her eyes away. Neither must she tell her father; he would have the troublemakers ejected from the party and under investigation in the morning. It was imperative she didn’t succumb to the need to unburden herself. Her father was doubtless too deep into his cups now to be logical, so she’d wait till he was before relating news of such magnitude.
A burning rage filled Joan’s chest when she dwelled on the trickery employed against Rockleigh. They had parted company frostily just days ago, yet her instinct was to fly to his rescue, in the way she knew he had naturally protected her from harm when the mob surrounded her coach. It was only fair that she should do what she could to help, believing as she did that one good turn deserved another. Joan also believed that devious people should get their comeuppance and it seemed from what she’d overheard emerge from their own mouths that Stokes and Bertha Denby were indeed up to their necks in deceit.
* * *
‘Might I speak to you, Papa?’
‘Not now, my dear; I have a raging toothache and a very sad duty in front of me in Devon.’
Joan was startled by that abrupt announcement. ‘You are going to quit town for Thornley Heights?’ she asked, skipping to keep up with her father as he strode along the corridor with a hand cupping his swollen jaw. She’d been loitering in the breakfast room, picking at a plate of kedgeree, hoping he might join her. Maude rarely emerged from her chamber before noon so Joan had been optimistic of having an opportunity for a private talk with her papa about the intrigue concerning Rockleigh. But rather than partaking of his breakfast Joan had heard the Duke giving instructions to the staff about carriages and teams of horses. When she’d realised she’d waited for him in vain she had rushed into the corridor to catch him before he went out.
‘I’m travelling to the West Country this afternoon, my dear, and it’s devilish inconvenient in the middle of the Season. Your stepmother is being understanding, though. The journey must be made.’ He sighed. ‘I wouldn’t have it otherwise.’
‘What on earth has happened?’ Joan peered into her father’s frowning face.
The Duke suddenly came to a halt and patted his daughter on the shoulder. ‘I hoped to avoid bumping into you, coward that I am. I know you have always had a great fondness for that fine gentleman and I didn’t want to see you upset. But then you must know eventually so delaying is no use at all.’ Alfred ceased his rambling explanation to blurt, ‘Just after dawn a messenger arrived with news that Old Matthews has passed away. I must return and deal with the matter of his funeral. He served me, and my father before me, and I couldn’t in all conscience miss seeing him being laid to rest with every honour and tribute.’ Alfred grasped his daughter’s hands to give them a squeeze on hearing her sorrowful gasp. ‘I hope his remaining family come to the wake; I should like them to accept a token of my gratitude and esteem following their loss.’
‘It is our loss, too, Papa,’ Joan choked. ‘You will replace him, as you must, but I fear you will not again have his equal.’
‘Well said, my dear...well said, indeed.’ Alfred nodded solemnly.
Joan blinked tears from her eyes. ‘He has left many colleagues and friends behind who will mourn him.’
‘It shouldn’t come as a surprise that a man of seventy-two has gone to meet his maker, but it has,’ the Duke said. ‘Never would he consider retiring to an estate cottage and time and again I tried to press him to it.’
Joan gave a watery chuckle, recalling how the old fellow would insist he’d sooner keel over in the butler’s pantry than be pensioned off. It seemed he had got his way.
‘Do you want to come with me to Devon and attend the funeral?’ the Duke asked gently, brushing wet from his daughter’s cheek with a thumb. ‘I’ll wait while you pack a case, if you like.’
Joan shook her head, a lump blocking her throat. Distressed as she was to know of their faithful servant’s passing, she’d chosen to stay in town because warning Rockleigh about his scheming kith and kin seemed more important to her. ‘I know you will do a fine job of conveying our condolences, Papa, and then when we travel west in August I’ll visit his resting place and lay flowers,’ Joan gave a composed smile. ‘He liked Michaelmas daisies, as I recall.’
Alfred gave his gruff-voiced girl a tender smile. ‘Was it important, my dear?’
Joan pushed her damp handkerchief back in a pocket and frowned at her father.
‘You said you wanted to speak to me,’ his Grace prompted. ‘Is it something to do with the Rockleigh business? I have that constantly on my mind, too.’ The Duke sighed. ‘But on balance I think him a good fellow. Besides, good or bad, it will all have to wait till I return.’ Alfred pulled out his pocket watch and frowned at the time. ‘I won’t loiter in the West Country once the wake is over. I’ve a mind to ask Luke to shed some light on his friend’s bizarre behaviour.’ He looked expectantly
at his daughter for her comment.
‘Oh...it was nothing vital, Papa...I was going to speak to you about Rockleigh, but as you say, if we are to judge him on how he has treated us in the past, on balance he seems a good fellow.’
‘I have a minute or two if you want to get something off your chest, my dear...’ the Duke kindly offered, rubbing his aching jaw.
‘There’s no need for you to tarry, Papa. I shall come to my own conclusions.’ Joan hadn’t the heart to distract her father from his sad duty even though she was eager to have his help in calming the thoughts whirling in her head. She took a deep breath. ‘You ought to have that tooth seen to before you go. It will pain you dreadfully else.’
‘It does hurt like the devil.’ Alfred gingerly prodded his gum. ‘Perhaps I’ll not wait for the sawbones to turn up. He’ll not injure me any less than will a servant who pulls it. I’ve a mind to find Pip—he’s a strong lad—and fetch a pair of pliers from the stables.’ Alfred purposefully retraced his steps towards the servants’ quarters.
‘Be careful with the pliers, Papa!’ Joan called after her father. ‘And get Mrs Lewis to prepare you a healing poultice to use on the wound.’ Knowing that her father would probably forget to send for the housekeeper, Joan went herself in search of the woman to give instructions for the poultice to be prepared and given to her father before he left for Devon.
Once Mrs Lewis had given her stout assurance that she wouldn’t allow his Grace aboard the carriage until he’d packed the medicinal wadding against his gum, Joan felt able to return to her room and to the other problem that constantly occupied her.
Perched on her comfy feather mattress, she found the letter from Fiona that Maude had brought home from Kent. She reread it, smiling at her sister’s humorous observations about the trials of bearing and rearing children. Folding the parchment, Joan carefully replaced it in a drawer. Her sister and brother-in-law would be sad to have the news about Old Matthews. The couple would also be shocked and upset to learn that Drew Rockleigh had apparently been betrayed by his family.
Once he knew about it Luke would surely want to assist his friend, despite their recent differences. Joan pondered on whether to contact her brother-in-law asking for advice, much in the way her father had recently mentioned doing. According to Maude, Luke had turned prickly towards Drew so might not respond as quickly as Joan wanted; patience was not a virtue she had mastered.
Springing off the edge of the bed, Joan prowled to and fro before settling down on the dressing-table stool. Resting her elbows on polished yew, she cupped her sharp little chin in her palms and stared at her reflection. For some minutes she sat quite still, searching for the required courage in the clear grey depths of her large eyes.
She knew she must not directly approach Drew Rockleigh; she had learned at least one lesson from her past mistakes. She had tempted fate before, avoiding danger and ostracism only because he had protected her and brought her discreetly home from that jaunt. She would not trifle with her family’s illustrious name a second time. Settling back on the stool, she worked a comb through the glossy tumble of chestnut curls that caped her shoulders. A tiny smile heralded a burgeoning idea. She put down the tortoiseshell and got up.
If she were to use her father’s method and use a go-between to make contact with Rockleigh, then she could meet him discreetly and tell him what she’d overheard. The idea that if she did nothing and allowed the plotters to scheme further against him, worsening his situation, was anathema to Joan. She found it hard to accept that the distinguished handsome gentleman who had danced with her at her stepsister’s wedding breakfast was now reduced to fighting for a living. She’d seen the marks on his face and hands...seen blood smeared on his body...and the idea of any innocent victim suffering physical pain stabbed at her heart. She couldn’t sit back and perhaps leave it too late to nip in the bud a plot still in its infancy. His sister had seemed worried that Drew might uncover their deceit...well, Joan wanted to make absolute sure that he did! And that he had a fighting chance of pulling things to right before it was too late!
Thadeus Pryke! Joan pounced on the name of the fellow her father had said he’d engaged to deliver his letter. It surely could not be that difficult to find out where Pryke had his detective agency and arrange a discreet meeting to take place.
Chapter Seven
‘What is it this time?’
‘I’ve another missive for you, sir.’ Thadeus Pryke held out the parchment with sly obsequiousness, having discerned irritation in the Squire’s voice. The little blonde who’d been waiting by the Cock and Hen the last time he’d met the Squire was again hovering close by. She was a pretty wench and lured Thadeus’s eyes.
Drew gave the girl a few coins, dug from a pocket, and an order for some food to be purchased from the inn. Constance flounced off towards the hostelry and Rockleigh handed back the unmarked letter, having given it barely a glance. ‘You may relay to his Grace that my reply is as before and there’s no need for further correspondence.’
The Squire’s attitude caused Pryke to blink in astonishment. For a down-and-out to reject the patronage of a worthy such as his Grace the Duke of Thornley was madness in Thadeus’s opinion. He ruminated on whether Rockleigh might be more amenable to a tête-à-tête on learning that no portly aristocrat awaited him on this occasion. Miss Morley, as his client had introduced herself, was not as attractive to Pryke as the gaudy jade who’d disappeared into the tavern, but she was comely enough. Buttoned-up spinsters were not to his taste, nor did he imagine them to be to the Squire’s.
‘Is there something else?’ Drew hesitated in joining Constance when he noticed the smug-faced detective loitering.
‘I’m not here on the Duke’s account, sir.’ Thadeus cleared his throat and inclined closer. ‘My client is a lady; I must respect her wish not to name her, but do as she bade and give you this.’ He ceased hissing in the recipient’s ear and rammed the parchment against Drew’s open shirtfront.
Within seconds of breaking the sealing wax an oath exploded between Drew’s teeth. He snapped hawkish eyes to Pryke’s face. ‘You’ve not brought her here?’ He glanced over the man’s shoulder as though to locate a stationary carriage.
‘I know better than that with female clients.’ Thadeus looked and sounded affronted. ‘Cheapside...that’s where I instructed the hackney to wait.’
‘Who’s with her?’ Drew barked. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve left her there alone in a public conveyance!’ He cursed fluidly on seeing the man’s guilty floridity.
‘The driver will watch out for Miss Morley’s safety,’ Pryke spluttered, neglectful of his rule to shield the lady’s identity. ‘She is used to the hazards of travelling without a maid, being of straitened circumstances, I would say.’
‘Would you?’ Drew purred, turning such a ferociously sardonic stare on the investigator that the fellow visibly wilted.
Thadeus rubbed a hand about his mouth, regretting having accepted this job. He didn’t want the prize fighter landing him a facer and the Squire looked angry enough to do it. From that he deduced that Miss Morley must be of considerable importance to him. Warily Thadeus took a step back, positioning himself outside the reach of a dangerous-looking sinewed forearm that had a cambric sleeve scrunched back to its bronzed elbow.
Miss Morley had turned up at his office without a companion of any sort. From her deportment Pryke had guessed she was genteel. From her plain attire and the nature of her request he’d also surmised her to be no better than she should be. No decent woman would be seeking out a fellow such as the Squire. Pryke had immediately glanced at the chit’s belly to ascertain whether the urgent nature of her business with Mr Rockleigh was growing by the day.
‘Take me to her...now!’ Drew snarled. With Pryke leading the way the men set off. When the puffing detective could no longer set the pace, Drew loped ahead, barking questions over
a shoulder to get accurate directions.
* * *
At regular intervals Joan had been lifting the leather blind at the window of the hackney cab to peer into the gloom. Although in reality it was probably no more than three-quarters of an hour since Pryke started off towards Wapping it seemed to her that she’d been waiting an age for the fellow to reappear. She hoped he’d return with Rockleigh: she wanted to explain everything face to face rather than commit to paper the bizarre tale of how she’d come to suspect people close to him had plotted his downfall.
She fidgeted against the squabs, nervousness putting cramps in her belly. She realised that there was no certainty that Rockleigh was in the locality this evening, or that he would agree to a rendezvous. He had refused her father’s invitation to meet...yet female intuition persuaded Joan that if he received her summons he would come, and quickly.
On his perch atop the hackney sat the jarvey and Joan could hear him grunting a tuneless song beneath his breath, interspersed with some whistling. The horse was restless, probably ready for his hay, Joan thought pityingly. Again she peeped out of the window, but no sign yet of the detective’s dumpy figure approaching on the deserted street. Or of a tall athletic figure purposefully striding along.
The night sky was heavy with stormy nimbus, bringing dusk descending early. Apart from the lamplighter Joan had seen nobody...and that was a blessing, she realised, remembering the ruffians who’d terrorised her the last time she was this way. Dropping the leather into place, she sat back and sighed, feeling uncomfortably warm and moist from the humidity in the atmosphere. Undoing her bonnet, she discarded the straw on to the seat beside her, then slid her fingers through damp tendrils of hair on her brow. Her light cloak also felt cumbersome and she shrugged it from her shoulders before stripping off her cotton gloves to air her palms. She’d dressed modestly so as not to arouse suspicion about her true identity. She’d concealed from Pryke that she was the Duke of Thornley’s daughter. The investigator would charge her an extortionate amount if he knew she was titled and she only had her allowance with which to pay him. But the main reason for her subterfuge concerned her fear of disgracing her family. Never again must she risk doing that!
