by Julia London
“But… but won’t they suspect something is amiss if you just up and leave?” she demanded frantically. “Why must you go now?”
“What is this, now, Anna?” he asked, dipping his head a little to have a look into her face. “Ye have what ye want, aye? Ye must fulfill yer end of our agreement and bring me the beastie. I canna leave England without it, and I must leave England as soon as possible.”
Anna said nothing, just pressed her lips together as they twirled about. But she could not keep silent for long. “I don’t understand why you must rush away!” she insisted. “Even if Lady Battenkirk says something about the silly thing, what has it to do with you?”
“Ach, lass, donna be childish, now,” he softly admonished her. “My offense is a hanging offense. Ye must honor yer word, and as soon as possible.”
“But I…” She dropped her gaze to his neckcloth. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, and Grif felt insupportably heartened by it. But then she added, “I can’t possibly do this all by myself!”
Lockhart. Always Lockhart! The waltz ended; Grif instantly dropped his hand, stepped back, and bowed.
Anna dipped a stiff curtsey, put her hand on his arm to allow him to escort her from the dance floor, her gaze on the floor ahead of them.
When they reached the seating, Grif removed her hand from his arm. “Donna look so forlorn, then,” he said impatiently. “Ye donna need me—ye never needed me. It was never more than a matter of simply believing.”
Anna made a sound of disagreement that Grif ignored.
“Ye return to London tomorrow night, do ye?” he asked, and she nodded reluctantly. “Monday, Anna, do ye hear me, then? Ye must bring it Monday.”
She sniffed disdainfully.
Grif leaned down so that she could not mistake him. “If ye donna bring it, I will come for it and I will tell yer father the bargain we made for yer bloody trinket. Donna believe for a moment I willna do as I say, leannan. I’ll remind ye one last time that the beastie is what will keep me family from certain poverty. I must have it!”
“Fine,” she said, turning away. “Monday, then.” She walked away from him.
Grif watched her go, the tail of her gown sweeping behind her, her head held high. And then he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
Twenty-six
T he news that Lord Ardencaple had left in the night was indeed discussed at breakfast the next morning. There were a handful of guests in the room, Anna among them.
It was Lord Killingham who remarked he had left, and that he was sorry for it, for he wanted to congratulate him for having taught Lady Killingham to enjoy a sport. Any sport. He seemed quite amazed by it, actually.
“Oh, he was a splendid competitor,” Lady Battenkirk said as she helped herself to a plateful of eggs and black pudding. “Scots are, you know, quite good athletes.”
“Scots?” Drake scoffed. “Quite good with the whiskey, you mean,” he said, and gained a laugh for it.
“I rather like the Scots,” Lady Battenkirk said. “They are quite a creative people, just like the Welsh. You should see the gold creature I bought from a young woman in Cambridge. She was English, but she said it was made by a Scot centuries ago. It’s a very fine piece—exquisite in detail and rather monstrous in appearance.”
Nigel, who was seated across from Anna, blinked and looked strangely at Lady Battenkirk. “Eh, what? What was that you said about a monster?”
“Oh, it was absolutely stunning!” Lady Battenkirk said, clearly pleased with the attention. “About so high, and really rather heavy, and covered with quite a lot of red glass baubles. And it had a gaping mouth, as if it was screaming. Excellent craftsmanship.”
Nigel looked at Drake; the two of them looked at Lady Battenkirk. “And how did the lady come to sell it to you, if I may ask?” Nigel asked.
“Oh, that was merely a coincidence,” she said. “It was a quaint little shop in Cambridge, and the merchant there refused to even consider it, can you imagine? So I offered, for it was just the sort of thing Amelia loved, God rest her soul, and the young miss seemed quite relieved to be rid of it.”
“A Cambridge woman?” Drake pressed.
“Oh no, I shouldn’t think so,” Lady Battenkirk said thoughtfully. “Too finely dressed for Cambridge! I assumed she was from London.”
“And what of the brooch you wore last evening, Lady Battenkirk?” Anna interjected. “Where did you say you found that lovely treasure?”
“Oh, now, that,” she said, putting down her fork. “That was truly a find!” she exclaimed, and launched into a tale of finding the black pearl brooch. Anna found it quite difficult to follow the story, for she could see the change in Drake’s expression at the mention of the gargoyle.
Grif was right; suspicions had been raised to dangerous heights.
It was clear to her now. She had to give it back. As much as it pained her, as much as she did not want any of it to ever end—or to begin, she thought, stealing another glimpse of Drake now, she could tell by his expression that he knew something. And she rather thought he was the sort of man who would not stop until he knew it all.
With that on her mind, the day passed interminably, what with the giant chess party on the east lawn, where guests and servants were coerced into actually playing the various chess parts while teams of guests moved them about in a rather fantastically sensational match. Anna played with Drake, but he was very distracted, hardly caring of their moves. They lost badly.
When it finally came time to return to London’s Mayfair, Anna was fortunate enough to find a seat in her mother’s carriage, in spite of all the baggage and her mother’s widowed friend who had journeyed with them. Father was returning a bit later with Lucy, he eagerly explained, for Drake Lockhart had asked for a moment alone with him. “I can only imagine what this might mean,” he said excitedly.
Lucy smiled brilliantly at Anna. “I had so hoped there’d be news for you, too, Anna,” she said. “At least from some gentleman.”
Anna smiled thinly and climbed into her mother’s carriage.
Her mother crowed to her friend about Lucy’s prospects for a match with Lockhart all the way home, having forgotten in all the excitement, it seemed, her vow to see Anna wed before Lucy.
Anna wondered how very surprised her parents would be when Drake spoke of his desire to wed her, and not Lucy. She wished she would be anywhere but Whittington House when Father and Lucy returned later this evening.
Once they arrived home, and a footman had delivered her two trunks to her rooms, Anna sent her maid away with the excuse of a blinding headache and locked the door behind her. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them aside, and walked to a large oak wardrobe in her room. Hands on hips, she glared at it, debating. Then, in a moment of frustration, she threw open the doors and looked up at the ugly gargoyle sitting atop the highest shelf. “Bloody wretched creature!” she said aloud. “What trouble you’ve caused!” She whirled away from it, stalked across the room, and threw herself, facedown, onto the bed in a flood of tears.
She must have cried herself to sleep, for the next thing she knew it was early morning. She wearily stripped off her clothes and crawled beneath the linens and bed coverings wearing her chemise.
Later that morning, she awoke with a headache. She rose, washed and dressed, and went down to the breakfast room.
Her father was within, frowning down at his breakfast on the table before him.
“Father? Is everything all right?” She obviously startled him; his eyes went wide, and Anna stopped mid-stride. “What is it, Father? Has something upset you?”
“Oh no,” he said. “No, no, nothing has happened, darling,” he repeated, and began to fold his napkin, carefully smoothing each fold. “And what have you planned for the day, Anna?” he asked loudly, looking up with a forced smile.
“I…I thought I would call on a friend,” Anna said, walking to the sideboard and helping herself to toast. “Perhaps make a day of
it.”
“Splendid idea. Splendid,” Father muttered, and pulled his timepiece from his waistcoat and squinted. “Nine o’clock, is it? I should go on with it and walk down to the club, do you suppose?” he asked, coming quickly to his feet just as Anna reached the table.
“Father… what’s wrong?”
He looked at her then, his lips working but no sound coming forth, until he blurted out, “Frankly, darling…there’s nothing wrong!” he said, and shook his head as if to clear it. “Everything is very fine. But I suppose there are times when life hands you a bit of a dilemma, aren’t there? Not anything that can’t be overcome, I should think, yet…” He suddenly walked to her and kissed her on top of her head. “I rather think this an excellent day for calling on friends. Be abroad as long as you like.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking at him curiously. Father tried to smile, but was not completely successful, and walked out of the breakfast room, his head down.
All right, there it was. She’d never seen her father quite so agitated and surely he might have mentioned his meeting with Lockhart had everything gone as he’d hoped. And if Drake had offered for her, wouldn’t her father be happy to present it to her? It was all starting to feel very odd—Anna couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and honestly, she thought, wrinkling her nose at her toast, she would have no appetite until the deed was done.
As there was no avoiding it, she really ought to go on and do it. No matter how badly she preferred not to.
While Anna was bathing and dreading handing over the gargoyle, Drake was meeting with Garfield, who had come with some very interesting news. “It seems, sir,” he was saying, “that Lord Ardencaple does not exist. He’s a fraud.”
The news was not altogether unexpected, but nevertheless it hit Drake squarely in the jaw. “What do you mean, he does not exist?”
“That particular title was consumed by the duke of Argyll decades ago. Ardencaple, as it were, no longer exists. Nor is it possible that Argyll granted the title to anyone; it was abolished by the duke.”
Something snapped in Drake’s head, and he put a hand to his temple to rub it. “But to what end does he perpetrate this fraud?” he demanded of Garfield. “What could possibly possess him to come to London and parade about as some Scottish earl?”
“I can only imagine his intent is to defraud further.”
“But what of the house on Cavendish? How did he manage that?”
“It belongs to Lady Dalkeith, who is in France, presently. When I inquired, a cook or some such servant showed me the letter of introduction that gave Lord Ardencaple leave to use the house for a time.”
“Is it authentic?”
“No one can tell us but Lady Dalkeith, sir, and I’ve sent a formal inquiry to France. Nevertheless, I should think the man is here to do something far more serious than impersonate an earl. Theft, perhaps.”
Theft… The thing snapped in Drake’s head again, and this time he knew without a doubt. He hadn’t quite connected all the pieces, but he knew the Scot had something to do with the missing heirloom. The missing heirloom Lady Battenkirk had, inexplicably, bought in Cambridge. He looked at Garfield. “I want to know about the house as soon as possible,” he said. “If you have to send a man to France and inquire of Lady Dalkeith herself, do so at once. I hardly care about the expense.”
“As you wish, sir. If there is nothing else?”
“There is. Have a bit of a chat with Lady Battenkirk about a piece of art she bought in Cambridge. I want to know where it is,” he said, writing down her whereabouts and pushing it across the desk to Garfield.
Garfield took the paper, bobbed his head in understanding, and quit the room. Drake walked to the windows, and clasping his hand behind his back, he stood staring out at the gardens. “Bloody rotten scoundrel,” he muttered at last. “I shall have your goddamn head on a platter, I shall.” But first he would have a conversation with his father about the items gone missing last year.
With the gargoyle safely stuffed into a small satchel, Anna took one last look at herself. She was wearing her favorite day gown—the rose muslin made by London’s finest modiste and cut to enhance her figure, as well as shoes fashioned in the same color. Unfortunately, her best gown could not detract from the dark patches under her eyes. She looked quite drawn, but it was the best she could do given the circumstance, and with a heavy sigh she shrugged into the matching pelisse.
Then Anna picked up the satchel with the heavy gargoyle and departed for Cavendish Street.
Bentley drove her to Tottenham Court, where she had asked him to leave her. “My friend’s father will send me home in his carriage,” she said.
“Are you certain, miss? I can return,” Bentley said, looking a little concerned.
“I’m certain, Bentley. I may be quite a long time. My friend is, ah… sick,” she said, and stepped up onto the street and waved him on. Bentley eyed her satchel for a moment, but drove on, leaving her to walk a half mile or more to Cavendish Street.
By the time she arrived at Dalkeith House, she was certain she had a bruise on her leg where the blasted gargoyle had banged against her with each step. As usual, she slipped into the mews and knocked on the servants’ entrance, and waited for what seemed an eternity, shifting the bag from one hand to the other. Odd that no one came to the door, she thought, and tried to push it open, but found it locked.
“All right, then, if you want your bloody gargoyle, the least you might do is come to the door and fetch it,” she muttered beneath her breath, and glanced toward the street. It was a rather gray and blustery day; there were few people about. Certainly she could risk walking up to his front door. Of course she could. For goodness’ sake, she had done it before, and how many would remark it, really? And what if they did? Was it so awful, really, for a woman to call on a man?
The wind was picking up; Anna pulled her pelisse tightly around her and made a decision. She marched up the mews to the street, and walked boldly up the steps to the front door. Lifting the brass knocker, she rapped three times, let the knocker fall, and glanced anxiously about. Aha, just as she suspected—not a soul in the street on such a blustery day.
The door swung open so suddenly that it startled Anna, and she gave out a little shriek. The Irish cook was on the other side of the door, one brow cocked. “Aye, miss?”
“I, ah…is Dudley ill?”
“No, miss. He’s gone home, he has,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and looking rather impatient.
“Home!” Anna cried, feeling a surge of sorrow. She had rather liked the old butler. “I had no idea.”
“Aye, and have ye come to speak to his lordship, then?” she asked, cocking that brow even higher.
Anna felt herself color slightly. “Ah, yes. Yes, I have,” she said, straightening her spine.
“This way, then,” she said, and stepped back, giving Anna access. She led Anna up the grand staircase to the first floor and pointed in the direction of the drawing room, the last room at the end of the corridor, where their lessons had been held. “He’s there, as usual,” she said, and turned, gliding down the stairs before Anna could speak.
Not that there was anything left to say, really. Just as she’d told herself—she’d had her moment of excitement and adventure, had actually obtained what she had wanted, and no matter how her heart ached, it was time to fulfill her end of the bargain and bid him a fare-thee-well.
She took a breath, adjusted the satchel in her hand, and marched purposefully down the corridor.
The door to the drawing room was closed, and she rapped softly, straining to hear any sound from within. A moment later, she heard his footfall, and the door swung open. When he saw her standing there, an expression passed over his face of something she felt deep in herself, something she could not name, but that reached to the very pit of her soul.
It passed quickly; he coldly gestured for her to come in.
“And a jolly good morning to you, sir,” she said smartly as
she strode into the room and heaved the satchel onto a chair.
Grif quietly shut the door and leaned back against it, his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing only his waistcoat, and Anna could see the faint outline of his arm in the fabric. It reminded her of the feel of his arms and shoulders beneath her hand as they had kissed in the garden.
The memory angered her, and she jerked off her gloves and flung them on top of the satchel.
When she looked up, Grif was smiling a little sardonically. “Is that it, then?” he asked, nodding at the bag.
“What else would it be?” she asked peevishly.
He shrugged lightly. “Any number of things. A rock, although I wouldna recommend it, as that’s been done before. All Scottish Lockharts know to be vigilant of rocks.”
Anna gave him a snort as she untied her bonnet, and threw that, too, on top of the bag. “It’s there; your precious gargoyle is there.”
“Beastie,” he calmly corrected her. He pushed away from the door, strolled across the room to the bag. “May I?” he asked as he reached for it.
“By all means. Assure yourself that I am not a thief and that I honor my word,” she said, folding her arms tightly across her middle.
He grasped the leather handles of the satchel and pulled them apart, then quickly undid the buckle. He reached inside, pulled out a white bundle with tiny blue bows and lifted a brow. “What is this, then?” he asked, clearly amused.
“I had to have something to wrap it in!” she exclaimed, blushing at the sight of her drawers.
Grif chuckled again, unwound the drawers from the beastie, and made a sound of surprise as he held it up. “Diah,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
“It’s quite ugly, that thing. I can’t possibly imagine why it should hold such a place of honor in your family.”
“Legend has it that Lady Lockhart’s lover had it commissioned for her. She and her lover were executed when their affair was discovered by the laird of Lockhart.”
