With an infuriating smile, the solicitor spread his hands. ‘Mrs Tremoille, even if I knew the contents of the letter, it would still be my duty to treat my client’s confidence as if in the confessional itself.’
‘Really?’ Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘Must I remind you that I am here in the capacity not only of client, but also as widow of a client?’
‘You are not my client, Mrs Tremoille, and I only acted occasionally for your late husband. I always discharged my duties to him to the very best of my ability, but his main solicitor was always Mr Beswick of Gloucester.’
‘Then why did my husband entrust this letter to you?’
‘I cannot answer that, madam.’
‘And you still plead ignorance of the contents?’
‘I assure you, Mrs Tremoille, that the letter was sent to me already sealed, and that your husband gave no intimation of its purpose. In his accompanying instructions he said that it was for his daughter, and only his daughter.’
She tried a different tack. ‘Mr Withers, no doubt you have heard that I am to marry Lord Welland?’
‘Yes, and I offer you every good wish for your future happiness.’
‘My new husband’s business could be placed your way, Mr Withers – a considerable offer, you will admit.’
His tongue passed over his lip and he toyed with the quill before him. ‘I – I cannot say any more than I have already, Mrs Tremoille.’
She looked out over at Caradine Street. Would it be irrational to suspect Sir Guy Valmer’s elegant well-kept finger in this particular pie? ‘Are you declining to assist me, sir?’
‘I fear I must, Mrs Tremoille, because my reputation wouldn’t be worth a jot were it known I’d been indiscreet about a client’s business.’
She knew it was hopeless, and hit back petulantly. ‘I’ll see to it that your reputation suffers anyway.’
‘And I’ll take the appropriate legal action,’ he replied coldly, going to the door and holding it open. ‘Good day to you, madam.’ She swept past, and he closed the door softly behind her. Returning to his desk, he took up a pencil and snapped it. ‘Lord Welland must be mad!’ he muttered.
As she went down the twisting stairs, Jane heard low voices from the even more cluttered office on the ground floor. She paused by the door and heard Bolton’s deep tones and then a milder male voice laughing. Smiling, she proceeded to her carriage, and sat patiently.
Bolton’s spaniel eyes were wide and innocent as he poured from the bottle of sherry with which Jane had armed him. ‘Well, here’s to us, eh?’
‘I was always partial to a drop of armadillo.’ The solicitor’s mousy little clerk downed his glass in one lip-smacking gulp. ‘Fine-looking woman, your Mrs Tremoille. I wouldn’t mind lying her on her back.’
Bolton was hard put not to choke on his drink, for the thought of Jane Tremoille submitting to such runtish nonentity was almost too funny for words. ‘Yes, her late husband always thought she was handsome,’ he managed to say.
The by now imprudent clerk pulled a face. ‘He couldn’t stand her at the end though, could he? I heard Mr Withers and Mr Blenkinsop talking. Your late master changed’ – he stopped and glanced across the desk at Bolton, then finished unconvincingly – ‘his wife’s allowances.’
Bolton gave a bland smile. Changed his will, you mean, my fine fellow. He replenished both their glasses, and then leaned closer with a conspiratorial air. ‘My friend, just between you and me, what is in that letter, eh?’
‘Drinking friends aren’t secret-sharing friends. Not yet.’
‘But you do know what’s in it?’
‘Oh, yes, but only because I was listening at the door when Mr Withers and Sir Guy Valmer opened it.’
‘So what was in it?’ Bolton prompted.
‘I don’t know exactly. Oh, don’t go looking at me like that, because they don’t know either. It’s in some sort of code that only Miss Tremoille will understand. They think it’s to do with finding words on the pages of a certain book, and thus reading a message. But without knowing what book it is.’ The clerk shrugged.
Bolton was taken aback. ‘And there’s no hint about that?’
‘None, but they think Miss Tremoille will know in an instant. So, if Sir Guy wants to understand the letter, he has to find Miss Tremoille, and she’s given him the slip. Beats me what it’s got to do with him anyway.’
The clerk realized his tongue had been running away with him, and shifted nervously. ‘Hey, look, my friend, this won’t do. I’ve work to finish and old Withers will skin me alive if it’s not done. Off with you now, tempting me like this.’
Bolton was all amiability as he took his leave, went out to the carriage. ‘Well?’ Jane demanded, as the vehicle pulled away from the kerb.
‘The letter has been opened.’
Jane’s eyes flashed. ‘That sanctimonious, slippery codfish of a lawyer!’
‘But they’re no further forward,’ Bolton went on.
‘Valmer?’
The butler nodded, and explained what the clerk had told him. Jane sat back, her mind racing as she tried to guess which book it might be. Beth had always been reading something, and for the last few years of his life so had Esmond. The library at Tremoille House contained hundreds of volumes.
Bolton was sympathetic. ‘At least you know they can’t decipher it. They need to find Miss Beth.’
Jane nodded. ‘What would I do without you?’ she said wearily.
‘We need each other,’ he replied, with the frankness of a very old friend. ‘If it weren’t for you, I’d probably still be a doorkeeper at a bawdy house, and if Miss Beth inherits everything after all, you’ll have nothing and I’ll be out of a position.’
‘Then we must both pray she has vanished forever.’
That evening, Arthur Withers leaned against the stone column and watched the two pugilists squaring up to each other. The hall echoed with the shouts of gathered gentlemen. ‘I believe Jackson has made a fine job of coaching your friend, eh?’ he remarked to the man at his side.
Guy pushed back his top hat and shrugged. ‘Lord Welland wouldn’t agree, for he dislikes pugilism, especially for his son, who drives stagecoaches as if he were the Devil incarnate, and has a turn of phrase to shame a ship’s company.’
‘Quite the wild young gentleman, eh?’
‘I fear so, and as well as being my friend, he is also my distant cousin. We first met at Newmarket last year, and hit it off sufficiently to have remained in close contact ever since. Rowan Welland is an enigma, with the charm of an angel, the looks of a dashing pirate captain and the character of a dozen squibs in a fire. The combination proved too much for Oxford, anyway.’ Guy watched as the two unevenly matched fighters moved around the cleared space, fists raised. Sommers was a big carrot-headed Bristolian of thirty-five, who’d greeted Rowan’s challenge with laughter. As well he might, because Thomas Welland’s twenty-year-old son and heir was lean, limber and almost beautiful with his dark hair curling to his shoulders. But he was far from effeminate, taking his punishment well and occasionally managing to land a few left hooks. Some, but not enough. ‘He’s going to be annihilated,’ Guy said at last.
‘Damn it all,’ Withers grumbled, ‘I’ve got a fiver on him.’
Guy gave a low chuckle. ‘More fool you, my friend, for this is one match that has always been too unequal. And today is, after all, Friday the thirteenth.’
‘I don’t hold with such superstitions.’
‘Perhaps you should,’ Guy pointed out wryly.
Withers sighed. ‘Oh, I’m not a wise judge of fighters at the best of times.’
‘But in other things I trust you implicitly. Why did you want to see me?’
‘This morning I received a visit from Mrs Tremoille. She tried to persuade me to divulge the contents of the letter, and even offered me Welland’s business.’
‘Which you refused?’
‘Of course. I am your man, Sir Guy, not hers.’
‘I’l
l see that you’re well rewarded.’
‘I am content with such as this.’ The solicitor swept an arm around the spartan but superior surroundings. ‘I must be the lowliest member, eh?’
‘Mixing with the nobs suits you? I can think of far better company.’
‘Maybe so, but through you I’ve been given access to a number of hitherto exclusive venues where I have secured new clients of excellent calibre, so believe me, I am well pleased with the rewards that have already come my way. Besides, if I prosper on account of my own endeavours, without accepting money from your purse, I am beholden to you only for the introductions, nothing more.’
‘You’re a wise man, and, I know, a completely trustworthy one. You’re the only one I’ve told about finding the missing will. I wish it to remain that way. Rowan Welland knows nothing of it. Nor does he yet know, although I’ll have to tell him soon, that I’m trying to find Miss Tremoille.’ Guy looked at the match again. He hadn’t taken the younger man fully into his confidence because, knowing Rowan’s mercurial temper, Valmer secrets might be blurted in anger.
‘My lips are sealed, Sir Guy. Have you any further news of your fair quarry?’
‘No. She laid a false trail on the Great North Road, but that’s all I know.’
Guy’s words were drowned by increased shouts at the other end of the hall, and Withers was distracted. ‘Welland drove one home then, eh?’ he declared hopefully.
‘Don’t get excited, because Sommers has landed seven to that one.’
Suddenly the crowd became even noisier, booing, hissing and catcalling as Rowan grabbed his opponent’s unwisely long red hair with one hand and hammered disgracefully at his face with the other. It was despicable behaviour, totally unworthy of any pugilist, let alone the son of a lord. The crowd’s disapproval was deafening, and the appalled referee and a burly assistant were forced to drag him off the sagging Sommers, who reeled semi-conscious into the arms of his seconds. Guy frowned. ‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured, watching as Rowan endured the crowd’s vilification; or rather, ignored it. His handsome face was impassive and he didn’t even glance toward his fallen opponent. He would have done better to keep an eye on the crowd, because suddenly an angry onlooker caught him unawares and knocked him cold. A rousing cheer rang out, and the approving crowd bore the assailant shoulder-high around the room. Guy tugged his hat forward again, and picked up his cane and gloves. ‘Come, Withers, we have one young sprig of nobility to revive.’
He and the solicitor conveyed the unconscious pugilist to the room that had been set aside for him, and laid him on the table, where Withers set about smacking his feet in an attempt to bring him around. Guy applied a cold wet towel to Rowan’s face and neck and, at last, the young man stirred. He found it difficult to focus as he squinted at the face above him. ‘Guy?’
‘Yes, Coz, and I can’t say I approve of your version of the rules.’
Rowan grinned and rubbed his jaw. He began to get his bearings again and sat up carefully. One hazel eye was almost closed, and he was a mass of bleeding grazes and fiery bruises, but his dark good looks were still plain to see. As was his charm. ‘Maybe not, but it rid me of a few tantrums I might otherwise have taken back to Whitend,’ he said.
‘So, you’re seizing the bull by the horns and visiting dear old Pa?’ Guy asked.
‘I’m expected to turn up when he marries next month.’
Guy grinned. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘As if every mangy nag at Tattersall’s had paraded over me. I’ll survive. Oh, my head!’ He winced.
‘You have only yourself to blame.’
‘Quite so,’ agreed Withers.
Rowan smiled ruefully. ‘A fine pair of attendants I appear to have acquired. Where’s your sympathy? Look at me, a poor battered and broken thing, and you tell me it’s my own fault.’
Guy straightened and counted two fingers. ‘One, you shouldn’t have challenged Sommers, and two, you certainly shouldn’t have held him by the hair in order to beat the living daylights out of him. Now then, if you have the strength, I will escort you to my club and treat you to a fine meal. You included, Withers.’
The solicitor was regretful. ‘Much as I would like to accept your kind offer, Sir Guy, I have an appointment that can not be ignored, and should leave now.’
The solicitor bowed, and then withdrew, leaving Rowan to look curiously at Guy. ‘What’s going on, Guy? He seems a rather unlikely friend.’
‘Arthur Withers is an associate.’
‘Something devious, I take it?’
‘Naturally.’ Guy smiled.
‘Am I part of a devious plan too?’
‘Good God, no! Whatever makes you think that?’
Rowan was sheepish. ‘Well, on today’s lamentable display, I’m far from admirable, so why do you bother with me?’
‘Because I like you, damn it,’ Guy answered, reaching for Rowan’s crumpled shirt and throwing it to him. ‘Besides, you’re my cousin.’
‘On a rather convoluted family tree.’ Rowan donned the shirt and then struggled in a looking glass to tie his cravat. ‘What a sorry visage, eh?’
‘It’s nothing a large sack with eye slits will not put right.’
‘Most amusing,’ Rowan replied drily. ‘Still, with half the beau monde beating a track for Paris now, there’ll be few Corinthians to disapprove of me.’ He continued dressing. ‘Jerry Waddington was present at a review of the Russians in Paris. One-hundred-and-sixty thousand of them, all in superb caparison. I’ll warrant the British Army made a sorry sight after that!’
‘Dear boy, the British – well, the English anyway – revel in being eccentric.’
‘It’s hardly eccentricity. The truth is that our army is the worst clad in Europe,’ Rowan muttered, setting about donning his shoes again. ‘By the way, I’m of a mind to visit a gaming hell tonight. Will you join me?’
‘I fear I cannot, as after dinner I will be otherwise engaged.’
‘Really? La Belle Maria?’
‘No, actually. She and I are no more. There was one scene too many.’
Rowan could not hide his surprise. ‘But, she’s been your mistress for God knows how long. So, if not La Carberry, what – or who – are you doing tonight?’
‘It’s what, I fear. I’ve accepted an invitation to the Fenton House bal masqué.’
‘Good God, what on earth possessed you? Susannah Fenton wishes to delve into your breeches, and she’s a fearsome wench when her blood is up.’
Guy chuckled. ‘Well, her blood is the only thing likely to be up, my friend.’
Rowan returned to the matter of his father’s forthcoming nuptials. ‘Guy, I find it very distasteful that the Widow Tremoille is to be my stepmother.’
Guy glanced at him. ‘I hope my quest to relieve her of her fortune will not cast a shadow over our friendship?’
‘It makes no difference to my regard and affection for you, Guy, because I hold both bride and groom in complete contempt.’ He paused, and then looked at Guy again. ‘I may be only twenty, drunk most of the time and senseless in some prize ring for the rest of it, but as yet I’m not a fool. Our meeting last year at Newmarket was an excellent thing for me, and I value our friendship above all else in this world. So, I made it my business to find out what I could about the transfer of Valmer House to Esmond Tremoille. I conclude that your father probably was tricked out of it. I don’t think the Tremoilles have any legal right to it all, but in the absence of any proof that Esmond Tremoille behaved dishonestly….’ Rowan spread his hands.
‘I fear you’ll have to take my word on that.’
‘Of course I take your word, Guy. Old Tremoille was devious enough before his second marriage, let alone after it. Dear Jane’s pretty hand worked him well.’
Guy laughed. ‘She’s accustomed to working men well.’
Rowan laughed too, and then became more serious. ‘Guy, you will not like what I’m going to say, but I think that morally Beth Tremoille should have the estat
e. Don’t misunderstand, for I do believe your claim to be true, but you have so much already, and poor Beth has nothing at all. It isn’t her fault that her father was a crook and yours a cuckoo.’ Guy was, of course, in full agreement, but not for the same soft-hearted reason. For a moment he considered confessing everything, but something held him back. He wasn’t quite ready yet.
‘I’ll always have a soft spot for Beth,’ Rowan continued, donning his waistcoat. ‘I can’t help it. My old man once started making overtures about a match for me with her, but then Esmond died, she ceased to be heiress, and so everything was dropped. I doubt if she even knew about it. Ah, Beth, a wench to bring out the beast in men, eh?’
‘You’re still a mewling boy, my laddo,’ Guy murmured.
‘I’m old enough to go a-fucking, and I do, often.’ Rowan finished dressing, inspected his slender reflection in the looking glass, and then grinned at Guy. ‘Right, I’m ready to be wined and dined.’
‘I don’t want to seduce you, damn it, I just want to eat.’
Chapter Eleven
In Frampney the twilight of Friday the thirteenth was warm and balmy, with long shadows darkening the green. The disappearing sun dyed the heavens with shades of red and gold that reflected from windows, and the wisteria around the gabled window of Rosalind’s bedroom was sweetly perfumed as she held the rose-coloured dress against herself, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, Dad, it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever had!’
Jake smiled as he watched her. ‘You’re seventeen today, and I thought it was time you got a fine dress, Rozzie.’
‘It must have cost, oh, I don’t know—’
‘Where are your manners, girl? You don’t go wondering how much a present cost. Well, get it on then, and come down to eat so we can all admire you and make you swollen-headed.’
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