by Archer, Kate
That was all well and good, but he must turn his attention to the lows of the evening. He must consider the lowest point in the night in particular. Grayson claimed he would make inquiries on the continent. That was not at all convenient.
Had he been in earnest, though? Grayson was a flighty and self-indulgent sort—far too interested in the fall of his cloth to have time for such tasks. Grayson had not the means to pay for an investigator at the moment, of that he was sure. Contacting distant relations seemed a flimsy effort. Should he really concern himself with that fop’s pronouncements? Even if the idiot were intent on doing something, how much would he actually get done? Men like that did a lot of fine talking, but very little doing. He knew all about them from the diary—they were idle, pointless, and useless.
Grayson might write all the letters he liked inquiring after John Hill. Were he to receive any replies, they would likely be complimentary. The only real danger was if Grayson somehow mentioned his own name. Especially to a Swede. Perhaps he had been self-indulgent in inventing such a name. It had amused him and that had likely been a misstep. However, what was done could not be undone.
He supposed he should not worry overmuch at having such a one as Grayson making inquiries. Though, it was never a good idea to dismiss a threat entirely.
Perhaps he would see what he could discover about Grayson’s real intentions. It would put his mind at rest if he could confirm that the lord only spouted off for the benefit of Miss Dell.
Miss Katherine Dell, granddaughter of Lord Charles Penderton, would not waste a moment in disabusing Grayson of his alleged charms. For a lady like Miss Dell, the dandy had no charms.
*
It was Tuesday, and that meant a trip to Mrs. Herschel’s salon. Kitty had worked to put aside her own troubled mind and think of the matter at hand. She might hear of some development in the pursuit of Veritas.
When Lord Grayson had laid out his plan to write letters all over Europe to inquire about John Hill, Kitty had almost been tempted to tell him of Mrs. Herschel’s gatherings. She had thought she might even ask Mrs. Herschel to invite the lord so that he might speak of his suspicion that there must be a connection between John Hill and Veritas.
She was glad she had not, considering what had come after.
As they drove through the London streets, Lady Penderton reached across from her seat and grabbed Kitty’s hand. “You are becoming pensive as a habit, my dear. I do wish you would share whatever thoughts you may have. And please do not tell me it is all about the Royal Society! We shall hear enough on that subject very shortly.”
“It is not that,” Kitty said, not certain how to explain herself, “it is only that town is so different than I imagined. In Devon, everyone is as they appear to be. There are no surprises. I cannot say the same for London.”
“Have you been surprised by someone?” her mother asked.
“Yes. No. I do not really know,” Kitty said. “You see, that is what I mean. I am not certain I understand gentlemen at all, outside of Frederick and my father.”
“I see,” Lady Penderton said. “You are afraid you will make a mistake that will follow you all of your life.”
Kitty had not thought of her roiling ideas in that way, but she suspected her mother had gone right to the root of it. If she could not depend upon her own judgment in regard to Lord Grayson, how could she depend upon it to judge anybody? How was she to know that she’d made the right choice? That she’d not been deceived?
Last evening, somebody had lied to her—was it Lord Grayson or Lord Dalton? Had she been a fool?
She really did not know. Further, she had a large dowry and she was not so innocent as to ignore that attraction. There might well be those who feigned interest in her because of it. How would she know?
Her large dowry attracting less than honorable gentlemen had been understood by her well enough before she’d come to town, but it had not discomposed her. She had been so confident in her ability to judge correctly.
Now she was not so confident in her abilities and a misjudgment might have terrible consequences.
Then, there was her wish that Lord Grayson was not as Lord Dalton painted him. Was she allowing her wishes to persuade the facts?
It all made her very unsure of her footing, as if she treaded over rocky ground in ballroom slippers. It was not a feeling she was at all used to experiencing.
“I will not shower you with comforting platitudes, Kitty,” Lady Penderton said. “Your fears are valid, I’m afraid. I have been lucky, but there are those women who have not been so fortunate. Of those, not a one of them understood what they were really walking into. It is a grim reality.”
Kitty looked at her mother in some surprise. She had thought Lady Penderton would shower her with comforting platitudes. It was rather alarming that she did not.
“That is what your family is for, my dear,” Lady Penderton said. “When you find you have a real interest in a gentleman, and I think it is far too early for any of that yet, your father, brother, and I will find out everything there is to know about him. If the gentleman once kicked a cat in his youth, we will discover it.”
Kitty could not help but to smile over the idea. Kicked a cat, indeed.
“Do not torture yourself with these worries, you are surrounded in the safety of your family. Commit to nobody until you have consulted with us,” Lady Penderton said. “Now, let us proceed into Mrs. Herschel’s house. I have high hopes of hearing something delightfully absurd that will amuse your father.”
Mrs. Herschel’s drawing room was as crowded as it had been the last time Kitty had been there. For all the people in attendance, there was surprisingly little talking. There seemed be a tension or an anticipation in the air, as if something momentous was about to occur. Kitty was certain there was news about Veritas.
Kitty and Lady Penderton were shown to a sofa in front of the tea tray. Kitty was certain they were given the consideration on her mother’s account—she was a baroness, not a scholar, and Kitty suspected nobody knew what to do with her other than honor her title with a choice seat.
A few other people came in and Mrs. Herschel rose. The room quieted, and she said, “Welcome, my esteemed guests. I will get right to the point as I know you would wish it. We are in dire need of a new direction for our inquiries. Our initial idea of combing through the papers recently published by the society has led to…”
Mrs. Herschel paused. Kitty could not imagine what looking through the papers had led to, if it were not the unmasking of Veritas. As so many of the people in the room appeared uncomfortable, even abashed, she did not think it could be so. Only Sir John and the ladies in the room did not appear struck.
“It has led to a number of unfortunate incidents,” Mrs. Herschel finally said. “Sir Joseph, while eager to detect the interloper, has asked us to cease this particular avenue of inquiry so that there are not any further…mishaps. Sir Joseph has even suggested that the idea of a paper having been published that would embarrass us all may have been a ruse to sow discord. If that is the case, it seems it was all too successful. Now, I suggest we use this meeting today to arrive at some other things we can do. There are great minds in this room, certainly we shall arrive at a new idea.”
Mrs. Herschel sat down next to the baroness. The people in the drawing room moved off into groups, speaking quietly amongst one another.
“Baroness,” Mrs. Herschel said, refilling her teacup, “you must think us odd, indeed. I hardly dared hope you would come again.”
Lady Penderton took the cup and said, “I would not miss it, Mrs. Herschel. I am finding all of this quite fascinating, and I am certain Kitty feels the same.”
Kitty nodded, and her mother went on. “Do tell me, though, what particular mishap was the result of reading a pile of papers?”
Mrs. Herschel glanced round the room, and then said softly, “It was enthusiasm, you see. One fellow would think he’d spotted something suspicious in a paper and then question the fel
low who wrote it. It eventually ended in fisticuffs in Covent Garden. Mr. Nackery interrogated Lord Home over whether he had actually examined the innards of a tadpole and made valid conclusions on its aggregation of fat, or whether the paper was meant to hint that the society itself had run to fat.”
Kitty stifled her laughter. The baroness was not quite so successful at it. “Surely not?” she said, her shoulders shaking.
“I am afraid so,” Mrs. Herschel said. “And it was just as absurd as it sounds—neither gentleman is particularly skilled at fisticuffs. I understand it was a ridiculous rolling around in the dirt more than a pitched battle.”
Mrs. Herschel was silent for a moment. She said softly, “I really do not know what we are to do. I have even paid an investigator and he’s come up with nothing.”
Kitty had entirely given up any intention of mentioning Lord Grayson and his ideas. Now, though, the investigation seemed to have come to a standstill.
“Mrs. Herschel,” Kitty said, “it was recently suggested to me that there might be an actual connection between John Hill and Veritas. Lord Grayson has made some effort to discover it. He writes to his relations on the continent to inquire. At least, he says that he has. But even if he has not, might that not be a worthy avenue?”
“Grayson?” Mrs. Herschel asked, her eyebrows slowly coming together across her forehead. “I do not know him.”
“No, of course you would not,” Kitty said. “He is in no way engaged in the society’s business.”
“Then why should he pursue the man we seek?” Mrs. Herschel asked, appearing very puzzled.
“Well,” Kitty said, stammering, “I do not know that he really has. He may have been only talking. Though I did think the idea had merit.”
“I suppose it may,” Mrs. Herschel said. “After all, we have no place to start and there is as good as anywhere.”
Mrs. Herschel turned in her seat and called, “Sir John, do join us. Miss Dell has an interesting idea for us to consider.”
Kitty felt her face flame. Sir John was already acquainted with the idea and did not think it worthy at all. She should have told that to Mrs. Herschel at the outset!
“I am afraid,” Kitty said, “that Sir John has heard Lord Grayson speak and did not find it a very compelling notion.”
Of course, it was entirely too late for the claim to do any good, as Sir John had already made his way over.
Chapter Eleven
“Miss Dell has told me of this idea that the man we seek might have a connection to John Hill,” Mrs. Herschel said. “As I have not heard any other promising ideas, perhaps we ought to look into it.”
Sir John nodded, and Kitty thought he hid his disdain for the theory better than she’d have thought he would.
“Perhaps Miss Dell would consent to walk with me and expound on the suggestion, so I may better understand where to begin,” Sir John said gravely.
A demur was on Kitty’s lips, but it was too late. Sir John held out his arm. She looked to her mother, who nodded though she did not appear overly enthused by the idea. Kitty had no choice, she rose and took Sir John’s arm.
He led her round the various groups huddled together and talking of what ought to be done, to a bow window at the far end of the room.
“I did not realize, Miss Dell,” Sir John said, “that you were intent on pursuing Lord Grayson’s rather wild and unlikely ideas.”
“I am not pursuing anything, Sir John,” Kitty said hurriedly. His tone sounded rather scolding and she felt herself stiffen. “It was all well and good to read the papers from the Royal Society, but I can go no further than that.”
“No further but to suggest Grayson’s idea to Mrs. Herschel?” Sir John asked.
Why was he speaking to her as if she were a naughty child? Kitty said, “I do suppose, Sir John, that I am free to suggest anything I like to anybody I like.”
Sir John seemed taken aback by her challenging tone, but he speedily recovered. “Of course, naturally,” he said. “I did not mean to imply you should not.”
Kitty nodded, as if she understood that he had not meant to imply such a thing, though she was not certain she really did understand it.
“It is only,” Sir John said in a contrite tone, “that I do take a particular interest in your welfare, Miss Dell. Surely, you do not remain unaware of it.”
Kitty had not the first idea of how to respond to such a statement. She occupied herself with looking out the window instead.
“You are right not to answer,” Sir John said. “I have been too rash. It is better that I speak to your father first.”
Kitty felt her heart drop to her knees. Speak to her father? Surely he could not mean…she must put a stop to that idea immediately. She did not know him well enough, she had not even decided what her view of him was.
“There is no reason anybody should speak to my father at this moment,” Kitty blurted out.
“The lady demurs,” Sir John said. “Very prettily done.”
Demurs? Kitty was certain she had not claimed some false reluctance. She had said what she meant to say. There was no cause for anybody to speak to Lord Penderton just now.
“Sir John, I must insist—”
Kitty was tapped on the shoulder. She spun around to find her mother standing behind her. “It is time we take our leave, Kitty.”
Kitty curtsied to Sir John, never happier over her mother’s strict ideas about a call.
*
Giles had wrangled Sir John’s address from Lady Milton, under the ruse that he had some old books he wished to dispose of that Sir John might take an interest in. Lady Milton had joked that he was down to selling off his books on account of the dukes’ pact. It had been an irritating exchange—it seemed that nobody was beyond joking over his father’s ridiculous pact with the other dukes.
Nevertheless, he’d got the address and made his way over. He and LaRue dismounted their horses a full block from the house and his valet paid a boy to hold the reins.
The house itself was not too far from St. George’s church and Giles thought if anybody were to spot him, he might claim he was on his way there for a wedding or a christening. Not the most likely story, as those things were always in the newspapers, but it was all he could think of.
He must find some clue or evidence that Sir John was at the bottom of the Royal Society’s mystery. The more he pondered it, the more it seemed likely that Sir John was Veritas, or was working with Veritas, or knew the identity of Veritas. The man came from nowhere, he claimed to have received the note from Veritas, and furthermore, he was an irritating person. Unraveling the mystery was the only way he could see that he’d be able to convince Miss Dell that he was in earnest, and therefore, Dalton had made up the story about bets in clubs. And therefore, everything was Sir John’s fault.
Giles knew very well that Dalton had likely only invented part of the story he’d told Miss Dell. While it was true that he’d had nothing to do with any bets taking place regarding his interests, it was also true that there were probably bets being made. He did not know why gentlemen could not mind their own business! The ladies were always blamed as terrible gossipers, but at least they only whispered—they did not lay money and they did not write anything down to live forevermore in the club’s book.
Further, if there were wagers, Miss Dell should never have been told of it. There were always bets laid involving ladies—who would they accept, what sex the first child, would a wife countenance her husband’s latest flirtation. Great sums had changed hands over whether Lady G would allow Lady H to sit at her table when all and sundry knew Lord G was following Lady H round the town like a lovesick puppy. Yet, nobody told Lady Gordon that fortunes had been laid relating to her current disposition!
In any case, he would not approve of bets laid regarding Miss Dell. Oh, it had been one thing to hear of the bets for and against Lady Sarah. That particular lady had led him on a merry chase and had been well able to look after herself. Miss Dell, though. She was
different. He could not say why, exactly. She simply was and nobody should be laying wagers with her name attached.
“That is the house,” LaRue said, his voice dripping with boredom and ennui. “What do we discover?”
“I will not know until we discover it,” Giles said, looking critically at the rather non-descript abode. It was one of those houses that masked the finances of those who lived in it. It was not large, but it was not small. It was not rich, but it was not poor. It was the sort of middling place one might pass a thousand times and not remember a thing about. Very like Sir John himself.
It was fronted by a fenced garden with two old trees that must block any sort of sunlight attempting to make its way indoors. It seemed kept up well enough, at least from the outside. Of course, if Giles had read Sir John’s temperament correctly, the inside of the house was likely to have not a pin out of place. The fellow was far too grim for anything approaching a jolly lived-in hearth.
The front door swung open and Giles pulled LaRue behind a standing carriage. “There he is,” Giles whispered.
LaRue peered around the back of the carriage and then turned back to his master. “Sérieusement? He is absurd.”
“He is, rather,” Giles said, though he knew LaRue’s sole measure was Sir John’s rather uninspired dress. He watched Sir John call down a passing hackney and get inside.
“He is gone,” Giles said. “Now we must just keep a watch out for whatever servants he keeps.”
“In that house?” LaRue said. “A cook and a parlor maid, no more.”
Giles was not certain of it. He really did not see how one could survive with only a cook and a maid.
“Surely,” he said, “there must be at least a butler. Who would answer the door?”
LaRue rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Who knocks on the door of the absurd man? Nobody.”
“I appreciate your theory, LaRue,” Giles said, “but we ought to be careful all the same. I have yet to set foot in a house that did not have a butler.”
