“Mr. Harper. I didn’t realize you had returned to Bath,” I said, reining in my delight on seeing him. He was trouble, or so I tried to convince myself. “I do hope your journey was productive?”
“It was.” He tipped his hat to me. “I trust I find you well.”
My back throbbed from bruises inflicted by Miss Dunbar throwing items at me, and I was tired. I couldn’t tell him that, though. “Yes, I’m well. Thank you for asking.”
His gaze shifted away from mine, and he moved from foot to foot as though he were nervous. “I hope you’ve had no further misfortune while I’ve been away?”
Thoughts of Mr. Ingram’s blackmailing, Miss Dunbar’s abuse, and hearing the news of young Mr. Douglas’ death in London all crossed my mind, one right after the other. None of which I was willing to admit, as much as I longed to have someone I could share the burden with. Hadn’t I just told Miss Anderson it was beneficial to talk to someone? “Why should you think I’ve ever had misfortune?” I asked.
“Miss Nelson, I am firmly convinced that trouble is your primary dance partner.”
What was that supposed to mean? I pressed my lips together, determined not to react to the statement. “Is that so? Trouble would make life interesting, you must admit,” I said with a light laugh. “And I do love to dance.”
Mr. Harper’s expression became half puzzled, half regretful. “I wonder if you will ever trust me,” he said, almost to himself.
My mind went immediately to my brother’s strange note to our father. “Now that you have reminded me, a note did come into my possession some time ago,” I stated, watching him from the corner of my eye. I continued walking, as I was on an errand and couldn’t afford to dally for long. “It was written by Jonathan Sinclair, just before he died I believe.”
It was enough information for Mr. Harper to fall into step beside me. “You what? How can you be sure?”
“Oddly enough, a friend of Mr. Sinclair’s had kept it all this time and was kind enough to pass it on to me to give to Miss Sinclair.” And if that wasn’t the most convoluted sentence I’d ever said, I didn’t know what was. “It contained a rather strange mention of a certain person needing to be held accountable for something left unsaid.”
Strong fingers gripped my arm, and I was pulled to a halt. “Where is this note?” Mr. Harper asked, stepping in front of me. “I need to see it.”
“I don’t have it anymore.” Which was exactly the truth. “I do, however, know exactly what it said.”
For a moment, the man stared at me, his pale blue eyes stormy with emotion. “What right did you have to read letters that did not belong to you?”
“What right do you have to ask about the contents of a letter that was not addressed to you?” I asked unimpressed with his tactic. “The letter was intended to be sent to his father. By rights, it should only be read by Miss Sinclair, who is the only living family member alive left to read it.”
Never mind that I’d been forced into handing it to Mr. Ingram. Mr. Harper was standing close enough that I could see the muscles of his jaw tighten. “What did the note say?” he asked, resignation saturating his tone.
I’d examined the copy I’d made of the note so many times; I could repeat it word for word. “‘Father, what we discussed before was correct. All of it. You have to break the attachment however you can and hang the risks. We must see that H is brought to account for everything. I will be there soon with the evidence. J. Sinclair.’ That is the whole of it, sir. Word for word what was written.”
Mr. Harper frowned. “That’s all it said? You’re certain?”
“Indeed.” I watched his face as I spoke. “I found the mention to H rather intriguing.”
“That is the vaguest part of it all,” the man said impatiently. He let go of my arm and reached up to rub his neck. “Have you any idea of how many names, whether they are last name or Christian, begin with that letter? It could have even been a false name. Do you understand? It could refer to anyone.”
I nodded, acknowledging the point. “But what you fail to take into consideration is that it must be someone both Jonathan Sinclair and his father knew. You would fall into that category, wouldn’t you?”
“Ridiculous!”
“You think so?”
An expression of befuddlement on his face, Mr. Harper stared at me. “I’m hardly the only man with a name that begins with H. Why, Horace Leith, the new Baron, was also a close friend of Sinclair’s. As I said, it means nothing, and we cannot rely on it as conclusive evidence.”
Sir Horace Leith? The husband of the young lady I’d had occasion to encounter on several occasions? My brother had never mentioned that name in my hearing when he was alive. Was he somehow connected to the work Jonathan had been doing to uncover traitors? Had he been a friend from school? How well had he known my brother?
“He couldn’t mean Sir Horace. I would trust the man with my life.”
Mr. Harper’s firm statement pulled me from my thoughts. “What makes you so certain about that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I know Sir Horace’s character. There’s no trace of guile or subterfuge about him. He would give his life to save another if he could.”
Shaking my head, I took a step back. “Hardly convincing proof, given that this H person referred to was a friend to the Sinclairs at some point. One can only assume, then, that this person is capable of concealing his true intentions. Would you not agree, Mr. Harper?”
The man seemed to pick up on my emphasis on his last name, and the H. “I presume you suspect I am the person my friend referred to.”
“I merely point out that it is a possibility, just as you did yourself just now.”
His eyes narrowed, and understanding dawned on his face. “Then, I may assume that this suspicion of my character and intentions are the explanation behind your strange tone and behavior?”
Astonished, I let out a small laugh. “Why, I wasn’t aware I was behaving any differently than usual,” I said, making sure to keep my tone lowered as two young men approached. They both tipped their hats as they went around us, and Mr. Harper gave a short nod of acknowledgment. “Friends of yours?”
“What will it take for me to convince you that you have nothing to fear from me?” Mr. Harper asked, ignoring my own question.
“Nothing to fear? When you offer accusations at every turn? You seem to think I am hiding something.”
“And you don’t think the same of me?”
I spread my hands. “I wonder that you continue to approach me if you find my conversation so frustrating.”
“Well, I shall think better of doing so in future.”
There seemed to be nothing more to say. I’d gotten the reaction I’d wanted from him: amazement and disbelief, though whether those were genuine emotions was still up for debate. “Please excuse me. I must return to my employer before she takes exception to my prolonged absence. Good day.”
“You would do well to stay away from Conrad Ingram,” he said to my back as I began walking. “If you have any regard to the Sinclair opinion, you should know that my friend found the man repulsive. You do not know the kind of man he is.”
“Well, then, Mr. Sinclair’s opinion and mine are quite similar,” I responded over my shoulder. When I glanced back, Mr. Harper was already walking in the opposite direction. Heaving a sigh, I refocused on where I was going.
Unfortunately, I only managed to go a few steps before someone else was at my side. “It grieves my heart to hear you have such an unfavorable opinion of me, Miss Sinclair, and here I thought you would be more complimentary given the situation between us.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Mr. Ingram,” I said, curling my gloved hands tightly. Why had I taken the quiet few days for granted? I’d wondered when the man would approach me, and now here he was. “Why do you worry about my opinion? No one regards the thoughts of a maid as anything worthwhile, you know.”
“Mr. Harper seems to,” Mr. Ingram said
, swinging his cane as he walked. “In fact, I would wager he’s half in love with you already, which could not be better for my plans.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure which part of that statement to focus on. What plans could he have that would involve Oswyn Harper? And what did he mean—“Mr. Harper? In love with me? Surely you jest. He finds me an annoyance at best.”
“I assure you I am in earnest. It is amusing, isn’t it? I do wonder, though, if he knows you as the eligible Miss Sinclair or as the entirely too forward Miss Nelson? I couldn't quite make it out. Either will work for what I have in mind for you to do.”
Gritting my teeth, I continued walking. It was a ridiculous notion. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” the man said after a long pause. “Your acquaintance with him will make it easier for you to accomplish what I wish you to do, which I’m sure you will appreciate.”
“And what, exactly, is it you want from me? I have no more of my brother’s belongings to give up and no fortune of any kind for you to take advantage of. You can have no further use for me.”
Reaching over, the man took my hand and pulled it over to rest on his arm. He patted it as though he were comforting me. “You mustn’t put yourself down in such a manner, my dear Miss Sinclair. You see, Mr. Harper is a clever young man in possession of information, letters, and similar things. All of which I would dearly like to know.”
Somehow, I was not surprised. “I imagine there are many things you would like to know,” I said dismissively. “However, like us all, you will have to console yourself with not knowing.”
“I hope I’m not going to have to remind you of what I know about you, my dear.”
Annoyed, I glared at him and tried to pull my hand back. “I suppose you don’t consider a statement such as you just uttered a reminder. And I am not your anything.”
His fingers tightened around my hand, making it near impossible to get free. “You really are lovely when you’re angry,” he said, his tone complimentary. “Unless you wish for Mr. Harper and others to know that the lady’s maid they’ve met is truly the daughter of a disgraced family, I suggest you do as I say.”
“Disgraced family? How dare you—My family is not disgraced!”
He chuckled and once again patted my hand. Doing so meant that he was no longer holding my hand in place, so I took the opportunity to pull away from him. “Such surprise! I’m certain you have heard that the Sinclair family sold information to France and were traitors.”
My annoyance shifted to anger. “It’s a lie! Those were malicious rumors, and no one takes them seriously! In fact, the true criminal was already found and is now dead.”
“Perhaps, or perhaps not. What society will think, though, is that there must have been some truth to the matter,” Mr. Ingram stated, shrugging his shoulders. “Of course, it’s your reputation that is at stake. How grieved do you imagine your dear Aunt Beth will be if she learns the secret of you working as a maid has been revealed to everyone?”
I didn’t have to imagine. My aunt would be nothing short of devastated if my farce became known. Mr. Ingram had certainly done his best in learning all he could of my family. I was not flattered by the attention to detail. “How would you feel knowing you’d broken an old woman’s heart?”
“I wouldn’t be the one breaking her heart, though, would I? After all, your actions are your own. Now, let’s not argue over this point. We both know you will do as I ask.”
“Do we?” At that moment, I made a split second decision, one that I knew would have serious consequence. “Well, Mr. Ingram, I regret to inform you that you are mistaken. I am unable to comply with your request at this time.”
Again, he reached out, but I managed to evade his hand. “Miss Sinclair, I don’t think you fully comprehend what you are saying—”
“No, I assure you. I do understand. And I refuse.”
His expression darkened. “I cannot believe that. For if you did, you would not be—”
“I would not be refusing to bow to your whim once again? Well, I say once more: I refuse! I gave you my brother’s last letters, which you had no right to ask of me. What you ask of me now is impossible for me to do. I give you leave to do whatever it is you feel you must with the information you know of me. Nothing you say will change my mind. Good day, sir.”
Turning my back on him, I walked on, barely able to keep my hands from trembling. The decision to defy him had been impulsive, and I didn’t know whether I had done the right thing. Asking me to spy on Mr. Harper and carry back any information I learned was intolerable.
Not that I felt any loyalty to Mr. Harper. It was the principle of the matter, and bowing to a blackmailer’s demands could only end in disaster. Once hadn’t been enough and when would he stop thinking of small errands for me to perform for him?
As these thoughts ran through my mind, I caught sight of Miss Dunbar standing across the street. Her stare was accusing. She must have seen me with Mr. Ingram and jumped to her own conclusions. No doubt there would be consequences once I was summoned to her that evening.
MISS DUNBAR WAS SILENT when I helped her dress for the night’s dinner party, and she said nothing of seeing me with the man she had decided to chase. In fact, she made no demands nor did she belittle my work. I couldn’t shake myself of the feeling that her wrath would make itself known in some way when I wasn’t expecting it.
As I cleaned the dressing room, I briefly wondered if I ought to warn Mr. Harper that Mr. Ingram had set his sights on him. As if he would appreciate advice from me. “He already knows Mr. Ingram is an unscrupulous man,” I noted aloud as I glanced around at my work. “Surely, he would not need me to add anything to it.”
“Miss Nelson, who are you talking to?”
Startled, I spun around to discover Sally behind me in the doorway. “Oh. Well, no one,” I said, quickly. “I was talking to myself, I suppose. The silence can be unnerving at times. Was there something you needed?”
The maid raised one eyebrow. “Mrs. Dobbs wishes to know if you will join her for some tea.”
“Please thank her for me, but I have letters to write while I can.”
Nodding, the girl backed out. I gave the room one last glance to ensure it was as it should be, and then made my way to my room. If I sent off a letter the next day, I had some hope of warning my aunt that it was likely my name was about to be involved in rumors and a scandal.
Quite frankly, it was a difficult letter to write, given that I knew Aunt Beth’s reaction would be “I told you so, you errant lass,” though she undoubtedly would have a more insulting Shakespearean phrase to use. I had no reason to think that Mr. Ingram wouldn’t do just as he said, which meant my own choice would ruin my future.
I’d had no expectation of marriage after Mr. Bladen had abandoned me so long ago. Still, the idea that I would be thought undesirable and know it was my own fault weighed heavily on my mind. Why had I thought I would get away with this farce unscathed? Had it been worth it?
Yes. Before I could think about it any further, a light tap on my door caught my attention. Twisting around in my seat, I answered, “Yes, come in.”
The door opened and revealed Sally. “This message arrived for you,” the maid said. She brought it to me and placed it in my hand. There was obvious curiosity in her gaze.
“Thank you, Sally,” was all I said. I waited until she retreated before I broke the wax seal. Though the handwriting was unfamiliar, I only had to read the salutation of ‘My dear Miss Sinclair’ to know that it was from Conrad Ingram. Instead of reading further, certain it would only repeat everything he’d already said, I tore the paper into tiny pieces and set them aside to destroy entirely later.
It was rather telling that he chose to send me a message. I doubted he would extend me the courtesy to inform me when he had revealed my secret to all. Therefore, he must have wanted to appeal to me once again to bend to his wishes. That begged the question, though, why would he do such a thing?
I could not think of a
satisfying answer and applied myself to studying the odd numbers of my brother’s notes. Had Jonathan been able to solve it before he died, or had it always been a mystery? Had Mr. Ingram worked out the meaning? Why was it so important?
“What does it mean?” I asked aloud, staring at the copy I had made. “Who was supposed to receive it in the first place?”
But, of course, a paper gives no other information than what is written on them, and I did not have the skill to decipher it.
THE HOUR WAS LATE WHEN Miss Dunbar returned. As soon as I entered the dressing room, I knew she was in a towering rage. She was pacing the length of the room; her hands balled into fists. “You impertinent, grasping adventuress!” she said, her tone sneering as she spun towards me. “Mr. Ingram refused even to greet me tonight, and it’s all because of you. What did you do?”
“I’m sorry you think I am to blame.” I had the slightest hope that if I kept calm, she would eventually calm herself. “Mr. Ingram may have had other matters on his—”
“On his mind?” Miss Dunbar asked, interrupting me and completing my thought at the same time. “One can only guess what that could be. Perhaps his affection for a stupid maid, who doesn’t know better than to try marrying above her position in life!”
I couldn’t keep from laughing. “I assure you, there is no affection between Mr. Ingram and myself. I have no wish to marry such a man as him, let alone have any dealings with him.”
Her laugh was disbelieving. “And I only have your word of that. I have tolerated you and your rudeness at the request of Mr. Ingram. He is the only reason you have continued in your position here, but I warn you not to push my tolerance any further.”
The words, “Not for much longer,” left my lips before I could stop it. I had been pushed to my limit. Blackmail or not, I was done. I did not have to endure the abuse any further. Given that Mr. Ingram would divulge my secret for refusing to spy for him anyway, he could no longer hold that over my head and force me to remain.
The Debutante: A Regency Mystery (The Sinclair Society Book 2) Page 12
