‘I heard she offered you rather more than tea.’ An image came to Caro of Theresa, down on her knees before the lieutenant in the Spencer House billiard room.
He grinned. ‘We shared some private time together, I don’t deny it. Theresa was a sweet girl. And she deserved better than Agnetti. Parading his whores in front of her – a gentleman should at least attempt discretion. No wonder she came looking for me, is all I’ll say.’
‘Mr Agnetti denies ever touching his sitters.’
‘Up there on his own all day with half-naked strumpets? Believe that and you’ll believe anything. Theresa certainly didn’t.’ The lieutenant lost his thread for a moment, turning to watch a pair of girls and their chaperone walk past. ‘Whatever the truth, Theresa wasn’t happy. Agnetti was fifteen years her senior, and there comes a time when a woman stops needing a father, if you know what I mean.’
Caro remembered all those nights at supper parties and balls: Theresa’s awkward flirting, her husband’s watchful glower. ‘People say she was trying to make Agnetti jealous.’
‘Perhaps she was, but not with me. This was different.’
They made an unlikely pairing, Caro reflected. Theresa not a plain woman, but not a great beauty either – not the sort of lady she imagined would interest the lieutenant for very long. As for Theresa, with her interest in Greek and art and philosophy, Caro struggled to imagine what she had found to talk about with the lieutenant.
‘Truth be told,’ he went on, ‘I didn’t think much of Theresa at all, at first. She was just Agnetti’s wife. Stone’s business, not my pleasure. But she had that rare ability to really listen to a man. It wasn’t long after Father had died, and one day, to my surprise, I found myself telling her all about it. Mother’s illness, and that woman he married when Ma was barely cold. About Simon, wanting to hate him, finding that we rubbed along all right, and then feeling dashedly disloyal.’
Caro wondered if this story was one he often told the ladies – a glimpse of the little boy beneath the braggadocio, each woman flattered to think that she was the first to hear it.
‘Did she flirt with you?’
‘Sometimes – she’d blush, wouldn’t meet my eye. I sensed what she wanted, what she needed. One day, when Agnetti was out, I thought: Dash it, I’ll chance my arm. Half expected a slap, but she responded like a – well, let’s just say that she responded. After that, we’d meet in private: at a ball, or here at Vauxhall, sometimes at her house. Agnetti was so busy with his wretched paintings, he didn’t even notice.’
‘Did Theresa confide in you about her marriage?’
‘A little. Just what I’ve said. That she was unhappy. Well, that much was apparent to anyone.’
‘Was there ever any indication that Agnetti was violent?’
‘She didn’t say so. I never saw any bruises.’
‘Did you ever witness him being unkind?’
He thought for a moment. ‘He could be curt with her sometimes, when she was in drink. Towards the end, I think he caught on. Began to suspect that she was in love with someone else.’
‘She told you that? That she loved you, I mean?’
‘Not in so many words, but one gets to know the signs. She wrote me letters, gave me little presents, painted me a miniature.’
‘Theresa painted?’
‘She said Agnetti taught her when they were courting. She wasn’t half bad.’
Cartwright, Hennessy and the girls had risen to applaud a passing entertainer, who was juggling with live mice and sticks of fire. The lieutenant rose to watch too, and Caro waited impatiently until he sat back down.
‘If Theresa was in love with you, then why do you think she left?’
The lieutenant busied himself with his dinner, uncharacteristically coy about answering. ‘If you must know, she’d become rather overbearing. Always asking me to call, demanding to meet. Sometimes all smiles, sometimes on the verge of tears when we parted. If I asked her what was wrong, she just said I was her only happiness. It’s not the kind of thing a gentleman wants to hear.’
‘You’d tired of her?’
‘No need to make it sound so callous. I’d never led her to believe it was anything other than a diversion. I’d been thinking about ending it for a while, but she was sweet and willing and always there. Then Agnetti found out about us, and I decided it was time to do the deed.’
‘Agnetti knew?’ Caro said sharply.
The lieutenant had the grace to look a little abashed. ‘I didn’t intend to rub his face in it, but there we are. We were at the Amberley Ball, and she slipped away from Agnetti to meet me in the garden. One thing led to another, and afterwards I happened to glance up, and there he was, out there on the terrace, looking down at us.’
‘You’re certain he saw you?’
‘Stared right at me, and he didn’t look happy. I thought he might call me out, but he was too much of a coward. Just went back inside.’
‘So you broke it off with her?
‘Didn’t see that I had any choice. If Agnetti had decided to divorce her, he might have named me in a suit of criminal conversation. I could have ended up rotting in the Fleet, liable for thousands. I certainly didn’t want to do anything that would give him further cause.’
‘How did Theresa take it?’
He shifted a little in his chair. ‘I don’t know. I sent Simon with a note. Look, I’m not proud of it, but you can’t put it all on me. I’ve spoken to people who knew the family in Italy, and Theresa had always been a strange, secluded girl. And if she was melancholic, the fault surely lies with her husband?’
‘You think she killed herself? Because she couldn’t live without you?’
‘Don’t think me unfeeling about it. I lit a candle for her at Easter.’
Caro frowned. ‘It never occurred to you, given what had happened, that Agnetti might have hurt her?’
‘He wouldn’t have it in him. Besides, Agnetti spent hundreds on thief-takers trying to find her. He even spoke to me about it, demanded to know if I was keeping her. That would have cost him pride, I don’t doubt. I told him I could barely afford to keep myself. Things were fraught between us for a time, but then they settled down. Neither one of us wanted to upset Stone.’
It had the ring of an honest account, though Caro reminded herself of all his other lies.
Could Theresa’s disappearance have nothing to do with Lucy’s murder after all? A tragic death, but no man culpable – unless you counted an imperfect husband and a heartless lover?
‘Did you know that Pamela and Theresa disliked one another?’
He waved a hand. ‘It was just some petty women’s squabble, nothing more. Theresa said she’d caught Pamela nosing around in her bedroom. She wasn’t happy about it. And Pamela said that Theresa had sent her a nasty note.’
‘Were you the cause of their dispute?’
‘Neither of them said as much, but it wouldn’t surprise me. You ladies and your claws. I’d sooner face a hundred Hessian mercenaries.’
‘You knew Pamela liked you then?’
‘She made it pretty plain, but I never touched her. Stone wanted to bid for her virginity. He’d have been furious.’
‘Pamela was for him, then? For Stone?’
He shovelled a last forkful of salad into his mouth, pushing back his plate with a belch. ‘Who else would she be for? I certainly couldn’t afford her.’
‘Lucy thought there was a fifth man at the masquerade, and that Pamela was intended for him.’
He seemed ready for the question – ran a hand through his hair and yawned. ‘What fifth man?’
Caro longed to confront him with his lies, with his attack on Miss Willoughby, to threaten him with the word ‘Somerset’, as Lucy had done. But, for the moment, it suited her for him to think that he’d won her round.
‘So there you are,’ the lieutenant said. ‘No more mysteries for your fat thief-taker. No more murders.’ He took another long pull on his wine and wiped his mouth. ‘Finding Lucy’
s body was a shock to you. It’s taken its toll – that’s plain to see. And now that thief-taker has got you chasing after chimeras. You need to find a new diversion. Something to stop you getting bored while Harry’s away.’ He reached for the bottle again, his fingers brushing against her own. ‘I know a little supper house where we could take a private room.’
Cartwright and Hennessy were watching them with sly amusement. On the path, a woman of her acquaintance noticed them, and nudged her companion.
Caro rose, nodding to Miles, who hastened forward with her cloak. ‘Do forgive me, lieutenant, but I am feeling a little faint. I rather think it’s time that I went home.’
PAMELA
17 February 1782
When Mrs Agnetti wasn’t around, and they weren’t having one of their secretive conversations, Pamela still delighted in spending time with Kitty and Lucy. At first she’d liked Kitty best, being the more beautiful, the more famous, the more ambitious. Yet Lucy was the more level-headed, less prone to flights of foolish fancy – sometimes Kitty seemed like an innocent for all her experience.
Occasionally Lucy would give her a hug, not just a squeeze, but a proper embrace. Other times, she looked at Pamela with a distant expression. Perhaps mindful that their whispered huddles had made her feel left out, Lucy also went out of her way to include her.
‘My baronet called again last night.’ Kitty played a little refrain upon the harpsichord. ‘But I had Hector look into his affairs, and he only has three hundred a year.’ She glanced at Lucy. ‘It’s all right to say I told you so, you know.’
Lucy only smiled.
‘Jonathan Stone,’ Pamela said. ‘Tell me about his affairs.’
‘Oh, Stone’s worth thousands,’ Kitty said. ‘The newspapers call him the Midas of Muswell Rise. That’s the name of his country estate.’
‘Did he inherit his money?’
‘No, he made his fortune in India. That’s where he first met Mrs Agnetti. He was a friend of her father.’
‘And now he lends money to other gentlemen, to the lieutenant and his brother?’
‘That’s right.’
Lucy put down her book. ‘This play is very strange. One man has just tricked another into eating his sons in a pie. When they’re not murdering, they’re being murdered, or appearing as ghosts. When I’m dead, I shall haunt you, Kitty. Tell you off for your bad choices.’
‘Oh, stop it, Boleyn.’
Lucy glanced at Pamela, who’d been thinking about Mrs Agnetti and the scissors. She hadn’t seen her since, had stayed out of her way.
‘Pamela needs a name,’ Lucy said. ‘Another of Henry’s wives?’
‘The young, pretty one?’ Kitty said. ‘She was another Catherine, wasn’t she?
‘Howard. She had her head cut off, you silly goose.’
‘Jane Seymour, then, who won the King’s heart?’
‘I always liked Katherine Parr best myself. She survived the old bastard and kept his money. Well, Pamela? Money or love? Which is it to be?’
It was a stupid question. Both was plainly the answer. But Pamela didn’t want to disappoint their eager faces. ‘I choose Jane Seymour,’ she said, and Kitty shot Lucy a triumphant look.
*
Later that afternoon, when Mr Agnetti wanted to take another rest, instead of returning to the morning room where Lucy and Kitty were talking, Pamela slipped upstairs. Mrs Agnetti was definitely out this time. Pamela had watched her getting into her carriage from the studio window.
She prowled the room, opening drawers and jewellery boxes and Mrs Agnetti’s black lacquered paintbox. In a cupboard by the bed, she found a box of sugarplums, but little else of interest. Popping one into her mouth, she gazed around the room, considering.
Where would Mrs Agnetti keep her letters from the lieutenant? Pamela knew they existed – had seen them slipping little notes to one another, sometimes right under Mr Agnetti’s nose.
Pamela slid her hands under the mattress, looked beneath the pillows, then paced the floor, testing each board to see if it was loose. Next she peered under the bed. Spotting a round wicker basket, she pulled it out, only to discover that it contained Mrs Agnetti’s monthly rags. She considered the pile with distaste. Not a bad place to hide something from the prying eyes of a husband and servants. Pamela didn’t believe the old tales that a woman could miscarry, or a man lose his mind, simply from touching monthly blood. But many did. Grimacing, she plunged her hand up to the elbow into the old, stained linens, and felt around inside the basket. Something was under there, something small, cold and hard. Pulling it out, she gazed at a little glass bottle.
It had no label, and she wondered if it was laudanum. But when she uncorked it to take a sniff, she recognized the faint minty odour at once. The girls in the tableaux house sometimes took pennyroyal when they’d missed their courses. And Hannah, the first housemaid in Cheapside, had taken it after a mistimed tumble with David, the second footman.
Yet Mrs Agnetti wanted a child more than anything. She’d wax on about it to Kitty and Lucy, often to the point of tedium. Surely she wasn’t planning to get rid of her own baby? As for Mr Agnetti, he talked of little else except his joy at impending fatherhood. There was no chance that the little bottle had come from him. It came to her in a flash. The lieutenant must think the baby is his. He must have given Mrs Agnetti the pennyroyal, but she was refusing to take it. The knowledge pleased her. She’d been right. He could not love her.
Downstairs she heard Kitty calling her name: ‘Seymour?’
Hastily, she put the bottle back, piling the rags on top of it, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
SOMETHING WAS UP with Mr Child. Caro had sensed it yesterday. He’d seemed ill at ease during their meeting, which, judging by his odour, she’d put down to gin and lack of sleep. Then just now she’d received a letter from him, cancelling their meeting that day as he wanted to continue looking for Kitty Carefree. Caro didn’t dispute his assessment that Kitty was key to their inquiry, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that Mr Child was avoiding her. Perhaps he was simply embarrassed by his lack of result to date? It was an understandable reaction – warranted even – but also frustrating. She had wanted to talk to him about Lucy’s mysterious reference to Somerset.
Child’s letter included an account of his conversation with Solomon Loredo, which intrigued her. Simon had claimed to Loredo that Ansell Ward’s wife had turned her husband against him because of his illegitimacy. Yet Elspeth Ward had a reputation as a sensible, kind, philanthropic woman, not the sort to cast around for fire and brimstone. It didn’t ring true that she would dislike a man because of the sins of his father. It made Caro wonder if Simon could be guilty of the theft after all.
She couldn’t bring herself to leave Gabriel’s side until he went down for his morning nap, but once he was asleep, she called for her carriage. An hour later, back in the bustle of Lyme Street, she knocked on Ward’s door once more, and asked the insolent-looking footman if his mistress was at home.
‘Mrs Ward is visiting her sister in Cambridge,’ he told her, with a flare of his overlarge nostrils. ‘She returns next month.’
It was frustrating – and yet, recalling Simon’s claim that a footman had been responsible for the theft, a new plan occurred to her.
‘Is your master at home?’ she asked.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Pray ask Mr Ward if he will receive me.’
In the hall, while they awaited the footman’s return, Caro held a whispered conversation with Miles that was soon interrupted by the sound of running feet and wild laughter. A moment later, a door flew open and a young woman burst into the hall, followed by a boy in hot pursuit. The girl was holding a book above her head, and the boy made repeated grabs for it. Noticing Caro, she lowered her arm, enabling the boy to seize it at last.
‘Forgive us,’ the girl said, recovering her breath with difficulty. ‘We did not know that Father had co
mpany.’
The family resemblance was marked: both children small in stature, rather plump, with their father’s white doughy face and dimples. The girl was perhaps seventeen, the boy a little younger.
Caro smiled. ‘My name is Mrs Corsham.’
‘Julia Ward,’ the girl said, bobbing an ungainly curtsey. ‘And this is Sebastian, who promised not to read Mr Fielding until he had minded his Latin verbs.’
‘It was less a promise,’ Sebastian said, equally breathless, ‘and more a declaration of intent. Didn’t Phaedrus say that sometimes the mind should be diverted, in order that it should return to better thinking?’
‘And Ovid said that little things please little minds,’ Miss Ward said. ‘Don’t hold me to account when your wife cries because she married a dullard.’
More footsteps in the hall heralded the arrival of Ansell Ward, followed by his footman. He smiled at his children, but as he bowed to Caro, his natural amiability dissolved into a more neutral expression. It made her wonder if he’d read The London Hermes.
‘Mrs Corsham, another unexpected pleasure.’
‘I am quite the pest, I know,’ she said, ‘but another matter has arisen at my brother’s table, coincidentally also concerning the Dodd-Bellinghams. I informed my brother that you were the authority upon that family, and he dispatched me to make inquiries on his behalf.’
Caro could not help but notice the marked effect the name of Dodd-Bellingham had upon Ward’s children. They stared at one another in apparent dismay. The boy clutched his sister’s hand. Her face had reddened.
Ward pulled out his watch and frowned at it. ‘Very well, Mrs Corsham, but I cannot be long. I have an appointment at three.’
With a last curious glance at the children, Caro followed him to his study.
‘I know I may speak freely to you, sir, in the strictest confidence,’ she said, adopting an expression of concern. ‘My visit concerns a friend of my brother’s – or rather, it concerns his daughter, to whom Lieutenant Dodd-Bellingham has lately been paying his addresses. Her father is not opposed to the match in principle, but he has heard a troubling rumour about Dodd-Bellingham’s reputation.’
Daughters of Night Page 30
