by Louise Allen
‘Indeed.’ de Hautmont gave me a sharp nod of acknowledgement. ‘And, if he suspected me, I doubt he worked it out for himself.’
‘So, are you a threat to either of the Reeces?’ Luc asked as there was a tap at the door which opened to reveal a footman.
‘Her ladyship thought you might care to take tea in the garden, my lord.’
‘Thank you, yes.’ Luc looked round the room. ‘We can continue this outside in the sunshine.’
He flipped the covers over the boards, then kept me back with a hand on my arm as the others went out. I could hear James asking anxiously about the amount of food to go with the tea.
‘Are you all right, Cassie? Truly?’
‘Yes, I am. I am too angry to be anything else. The poor coachman was injured, the street was crowded, there were children. Anyone might have been killed. The sheer arrogance of this is beginning to get to me.’
‘Stay angry then.’ Luc bent and kissed me and managed to kick the door closed at the same time which, for some reason, made me smile. And then I discovered that smiling against his lips was exceedingly enjoyable. I have no idea what might have happened if James hadn’t banged on the door.
‘Your brother knows us too well.’ I remembered to twitch my gown back into some kind of order and check my hair in the mirror before I did my best to straighten Luc’s neck cloth. ‘Come on, I want cake.’
A tea table and chairs had been set out in the middle of the lawn, well out of earshot of the house or the boundaries, unless we raised our voices. I glanced around and spotted the gamekeeper perched comfortably in a small tree that must have given him an excellent view of the back gate and the mews behind. He sat quite still on a branch, relaxed back against the trunk, his shotgun over his knees.
James had sent the footman away and was, to my amusement, dispensing tea rather than waiting for me to do it. The men had discovered that I didn’t take kindly to being told it was my job as a lady to preside over the refreshment table, so they reverted to bachelor manners in Luc’s rooms.
‘He knows I’ll only spill it,’ I said to de Hautmont, worried he might interpret tea-pouring as gay behaviour. ‘I am positively clumsy around a tea pot.’
‘So, the Reeces,’ I said once we had tea and plates of exceedingly dainty morsels.
The Count finished his fifth (Yes, I was counting) little savoury, flipped the crumbs away with a napkin and held out his cup for refilling. ‘Sir Thomas is a career politician, a party man through and through. I do not believe for a moment he would involve himself with the enemies of this country. Which is not to say I like the man. I have no illusions about just how ruthless he would be if someone got in his way. If there is something he would kill to hide then it would be to do with internal power struggles within government.
‘Elliott Reece is a reasonably intelligent young man spoiled by being allowed to believe he can have what he wants because he is his uncle’s heir. Would he do something stupid or treacherous? Possibly. I have no firm evidence of anything actionable. Some questionable friends… Nothing perhaps, yet if I were a cat, my whiskers would be twitching.’
‘When he discovered I was from the United States he started probing to see what my political sympathies were,’ I said, trying to recall exactly what Elliott had spouted. ‘I thought he was just showing off, pretending to be radical and edgy… er, exciting. When I said I did not approve of beheading vast numbers of people he started rambling on about the scope for men of talent to rise to the top according to ability and not aristocratic privilege.’
‘Did he indeed?’ The Count looked more than interested.
‘I thought he was trying to impress me – I have to admit, I didn’t take him very seriously. And he will inherit a title himself.’
‘A baronet’s title.’ The Count’s sneer made it sound like something one found in a Christmas cracker and from Luc’s nod it was clear he agreed. ‘That is interesting. It may be that he was simply trying to make himself interesting to a lovely lady, or it may be an indication of how his sympathies truly run. And young men who want to feel important can be snared by those more cunning than they are.’
‘But I still do not see how that helps,’ I said, snagging the last macaroon from James’s fingers. ‘If Coates had found out something to Elliott’s discredit and was murdered, yes. But he killed himself.’
At which point the air was split by piercing screams, I dropped the macaroon into my tea cup and spun round – to find we were under attack by two small boys.
The twins, Charles Trenton, the heir and a viscount to boot, and Matthew James Anthony Franklin, his brother – not that I could tell the difference – were thundering towards us as fast as their chubby legs would bring them. They were wearing skirts, apparently the standard way small boys were dressed, poor little devils. At the garden door their grandmother, a harassed-looking lass who was presumably the nurse maid and the gamekeeper-bodyguard stood watching the rampage with an air of weary resignation. I suspected a faint glimmer of relief that the boys were heading for someone else.
Luc stood up. ‘Cheven!’
They skidded to a halt. The one with slightly darker hair, hazel eyes and one shoe buckle undone said, ‘Yes, Papa?’
‘There is a lady here. How do you behave when there are ladies present?’
‘We do not shout and run around, Papa.’ The unbuckled shoe was being ground into the turf as he twisted about in the effort to remember. ‘We are little gentlemen and greet the lady prop’ly.’
‘Exactly. And what do you say when I introduce you to a lady, Matthew?’
The other one, with his father’s green eyes and what I suspected was a wholly false air of docility, said, ‘Good day, ma’am. I am pleased to… to meet you. And then I bow.’
‘Then come and be introduced to Miss Lawrence.’ They came and stood in front of me, two miniature versions of their father, radiating innocence. Just like you do sometimes, Luc.
‘Miss Lawrence, may I make known to you Charles, Lord Cheven and James Franklin. Boys, this is Miss Lawrence.’
‘Good day, Miss Lawrence,’ they chorused. ‘We are very pleased to meet you.’ Then they bowed and then solemnly held out their grubby paws.
I bit the inside of my lip and kept a straight face as I shook hands in turn. ‘I am very pleased to meet you too, Lord Cheven, Mr Franklin.’
‘Now come here.’ James reached out and hauled one onto each knee then passed me his napkin. ‘Hands. Frogs may have been involved.’
‘No frogs,’ Charles protested. He beamed. ‘White mice.’
Lovely. I did my best with the napkin and reminded myself not to eat anything else until I had found a washbasin.
Lady Radcliffe was advancing across the grass looking as stressed as a countess in company probably ever permitted herself to look. ‘They escaped,’ she said when she reached the table and all the men stood, James with a twin under each arm. ‘I am thinking of giving them to Astley’s Amphitheatre.’
‘You may need to pay the proprietor,’ James said as he sat down, rescuing his pocket watch before it became covered in cream. ‘I believe they are only equipped for lion taming and fire eating. No! I didn’t mean I was going to take you.’
Two pairs of wide, hopeful eyes turned on him, two identical lower lips quivered theatrically.
‘You can take me as well,’ I said and was promptly beamed at. Oh dear, I’ve fallen in love with all the Franklin men… I poured Lady Radcliffe a cup of tea and passed the remaining jam tarts. ‘If they are allowed to attend Astley’s, of course.’ They were very young. And very precocious, I thought as they gazed at me with almost-convincing innocence.
‘Not this week,’ Luc said. Astley’s are…er, closed. Yes, I saw it in the newspaper. Escaped lion. Rampage of terror in Battersea. Closed until at least next week.’
‘We interrupted your discussion.’ His mother cast a harassed glance around the table. ‘I’ll take them away in a moment.’
‘I think we had rea
ched an impasse,’ the Count said. ‘I have much to think about. I must put some investigations in train.’
Luc reached over and took the twins from his brother. ‘I suspect it is bath time, is it not? And then supper. And then, if there are any good boys to be found in the house I will come and read them a story.’ That did the trick. They wriggled off his knee, bowed to their grandmother, to me, the Count and Garrick, were grabbed, squirming, by James for a kiss and then trotted off obediently to their nursemaid.
The nursery guard gamekeeper went and changed places with the tree-perching one and the Count stood up to take his leave, saying he had to get back to the office and promising to be in touch as soon as possible
‘You must be exhausted, Mama.’ Luc reached across the table and took her hand as soon as de Hautmont had gone.
‘Nothing a good night’s sleep will not remedy.’ she said. ‘But I am confused. Lucian, how quickly can this be cleared up? Do you know who is behind it?’
‘We are beginning to get a glimmering,’ he said. ‘It is like finding a pile of broken china. We have pieced together enough to see a pattern but not so much we can tell what type of vessel it is, if that makes sense.’
‘And, until we do know, then I suppose we must expect more attacks,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You will all move in here, that will surely be safest. And we cannot have Miss Lawrence by herself in Hill Street.’
The wretched woman knew perfectly well where I was sleeping and was having a little fun at our expense, I was sure. I sent a desperate, silent, plea in Luc’s direction.
‘I do not want all our eggs in one basket,’ he said. ‘I think if James moves in here and Miss Lawrence takes the spare bedchamber in Albany – yes, I know, Mama, but really, better risk her being compromised than killed, don’t you think?’
For some reason Lady Radcliffe did not demand to know why James couldn’t have the spare room and I come to stay with her. She surely didn’t want her son marrying me – the only outcome of a gentleman compromising a young lady – so she must have decided that I was no lady and so it didn’t matter.
But if she thought that, why didn’t she object to her grandsons being introduced to me? Why, in fact was she allowing me at her tea table?
I can hardly ask, I thought as she stood up.
‘Thank you for your actions today, Miss Lawrence. You could have been killed or seriously injured shielding me. I hope to see you again soon under rather calmer conditions.’
‘What is Mama up to?’ James demanded as soon as she was safely inside.
‘I have not the slightest idea,’ Luc said. ‘I can only assume that she either thinks Miss Lawrence is such an accomplished fighter that she can defend herself against my lecherous advances or she does not believe in shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’
Garrick snorted and it occurred to me that Lady Radcliffe hadn’t turned a hair at having her son’s manservant at her tea table either. What was the story about Garrick? No doubt someone would tell me eventually, if it could be shared.
Chapter Nineteen
‘What are we doing this evening?’ I asked as the carriage rattled back towards Albany. Nothing, I hoped. I was tired, still shaky from the afternoon’s adventures, full of food and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and an early night with one of the novels that Luc had ordered for me.
‘I would like to dine with my mother,’ Luc said. ‘I think she needs reassurance.’ He sent James a questioning look. ‘It’s Friday, isn’t it?’ His brother nodded. ‘So, James will be moving some of his clothes into the Town house and then he has an… appointment. Will you be all right with Garrick, Cassie?’
I was clearly doing an excellent job of looking unruffled and confident. I could have done with some reassurance myself, preferably involving comprehensive cuddling, but I told myself firmly that I was half Lady Radcliffe’s age, a trained officer of the law (if part-time, unpaid and very new to it) and used to standing on my own feet. So I smiled and assured him I wanted nothing more than a good book and to put my feet up.
By eight o’clock my feet were up on the chaise, I was deep into the improbable adventures of Miss Primrose Wellbeloved and the hero, sensitive but firm-jawed Jack Trusty (who I strongly suspected was going to turn out to be an earl, at the very least). There was a fresh pot of hot chocolate by my side, Garrick was whistling somewhere in the back of the apartment and the mailed fist of Primrose’s villainous uncle’s henchman had just thudded like the sound of doom on the door of the cottage where the lovers had taken refuge.
When the knocker on the front door banged I almost fell off the chaise. I mopped chocolate out of my cleavage, smoothed the crumpled pages of Virtue’s Peril and got up with every intention of applying my ear to the door and being nosy. I was almost sent flying by Garrick opening it.
‘Who was it?’
‘A message for his lordship.’ Garrick frowned down at the sealed letter in his hand. ‘From the Home Office.’
‘We should open it.’ He transferred the frown to me. ‘I know it isn’t addressed to us, but what if it is from one of the Reeces? A threat or a confession? Or it might be from the Count. It can hardly be anything deeply personal, can it?’
Garrick didn’t argue, simply broke the seal and opened out the page so I could see. ‘It’s from the Count.’
I scanned down it. ‘He overheard Elliott Reece talking to a magistrate and constables about a raid on The Swan and Chequers? What’s that? A pub?’
‘It is a gaming house for all types of board games – chess, backgammon, drafts. No card games, no gambling.’ Garrick sounded grim.
‘Then what’s to raid? None of that’s illegal, surely?’ I followed him as he strode out into the hallway and through into his own quarters.
‘No, it isn’t. But it is also an accommodation house – a place for rendezvous. Men and women – and that’s not illegal either – but one half’s for men only.’ He clapped his hat on his head, turned for the door.
‘Yes, but – ’
‘And it is where Mr James goes every Friday evening, regular as clockwork.’ He went to the desk, took a wafer and resealed the envelope, then scrawled something on it.
‘Wait for me.’ Thankfully I hadn’t changed and it was the work of moments to find my shoes and a bonnet with a veil. I pulled on a pelisse as I followed Garrick out.
He stopped at the porters’ desk and thrust the letter at them ‘See this is delivered immediately. Matter of life and death.’
Then we were running through the main building with the sound of the porter’s whistle summoning the errand boy echoing behind us, across the yard and into Piccadilly. It was, thankfully, teeming with hackney carriages plying for the evening trade in the fine weather.
I tumbled into the seat, followed by Garrick as the carriage lurched forward. ‘Is it far?’
‘North of the Strand. Ten minutes in this traffic, perhaps.’
‘It can’t be coincidence, can it?’ I said. ‘Elliott must have discovered James’s routine.’
Garrick nodded, an abrupt jerk of his head. ‘But not the detail. He goes there to play chess with an old friend, that’s all.’
‘Chess? Couldn’t he choose somewhere less dangerous to play it? Brooks’s for example, or a coffee house?’
‘The man he meets lost someone close to him there. Seems one of the things that keeps him sane is playing chess with old friends in the place where it happened.’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, I don’t understand it any more than you do.’
I remembered what James had told me, that the man he loved had left him, had married, because he couldn’t deal with the guilt of their association. Perhaps keeping his old friend company helped that pain a little.
‘But if all he is doing is playing chess in a public place – ’
‘Do you trust Reece not to come up with bribed witnesses to say he was above stairs with another man?’
‘No. No, I don’t.’
Garrick banged on th
e roof, then lowered the window and called up to the driver. ‘Stop here.’
We climbed out into a narrow, respectable-looking street with no landmarks I recognised and very little lighting. ‘Where are we?’
‘Just round the corner from the Swan. There’ll be watchers.’ He began to walk up the street. ‘Look.’
Yes, they were staking the place out, waiting for what I had no idea, but at least that gave us a chance. We sauntered around the corner, arm in arm, ignoring the three men I thought must be constables from the way they were so casually loitering about.
‘There.’ Garrick nodded at the building halfway along the street. There were lanterns either side of the door, light glowed from behind red curtains and a sign of a swan against a chequerboard background hung over the pavement. It looked cosy, respectable, welcoming. As we drew closer two men went up the steps and in through the door.
‘Let me go in,’ I said as we drew level. ‘They can’t arrest me for anything, whatever is going on in there. You are better outside in case we need help.’ And besides, I didn’t want Garrick swept up and arrested along with all the other unfortunate men who were going to fall into Reece’s trap.
I saw him close his eyes as though fighting with himself, then he nodded. ‘You are right. Lucian will kill me for this, but you are right. Try and keep your veil down.’
I gave his arm a squeeze, more to reassure myself than him, and walked briskly up to the front steps. The door opened under my hand and I was inside with no trouble at all.
The whole ground floor at the front seemed to be one open space. Chairs and small tables were scattered around, most of them occupied by pairs of men facing each other over a board of some kind. None of them looked up as I came in and stopped just inside the door. Through openings at either end of the back wall I could see staircases and between those were closed double doors.
The walls were panelled to my head height and above the staircase openings there were paintings of swans, all swimming in the same direction in one, I noticed, and all in facing pairs in the other. It seemed an odd composition and it distracted me until I saw a man and a veiled woman come down the stairs under the pairs of swans and two men follow each other up the other one.
