by Amanda Quick
She glanced at him. “What is that, sir?”
“What will you do if Chilton Crane remembers who you are?”
She shuddered. “I do not think he will. I wore a wig and did not have any spectacles when I worked at Ralston Manor.”
“But if he does recall your face?”
She straightened her shoulders. “I shall think of something. I always do.”
His smile was quick and, for the first time, quite genuine, she thought.
“I can well believe it,” he said. “Something tells me that in spite of your present financial situation, you are never entirely without resources, Miss Greyson. Run along. I shall keep your secrets for you.”
“And I shall keep yours. Good night, Mr. Stokes. Good luck to you in your search for your friend’s missing possession.”
“Thank you, Miss Greyson,” he said with unexpected formality. “Good fortune to you in your efforts to recoup your lost investment.”
She searched his face in the shadows. A strange man and, quite likely, a dangerous one under certain circumstances, she decided. But her intuition told her that she could rely on his word of honor tonight. She only wished she could depend upon her intuition.
Chapter Four
“Devil take it, where’s my tonic, Emma? I have the most rotten headache this morning.” Letitia, Lady Mayfield, propped herself up against the pillows and glowered at the tray of chocolate the maid had just deposited in front of her. “A bit too much of Ware’s French champagne, I expect. I shall be more cautious tonight.”
Unlikely, Emma thought as she picked up the tonic bottle and carried it to the bed. Letty was anything but cautious around champagne.
“Here it is, Letty.”
Letty’s slightly rheumy gaze fell on the bottle in Emma’s hand. She seized it with alacrity. “Thank God. Don’t know what I’d do without my tonic. Works wonders.”
Emma suspected that the stuff contained a stiff dose of gin mixed with several other vile ingredients, but she refrained from mentioning the fact. She had grown rather fond of her latest employer during the past few weeks. She had even begun to view Lady Mayfield as something of an inspiration. Letty, too, had once had nothing. She had started life as Letty Piggins, the daughter of an impoverished Yorkshire farmer. She was fond of saying that years ago, when she had arrived in London as a young woman, her only assets had been her virginity and a magnificent bosom.
“I invested my assets wisely, my gel, and look where I am today. Let my story be a lesson to you.”
From what Emma could gather, Letty, with assets framed to their best advantage in a low-cut gown, had caught the eye of elderly Lord Mayfield. They had been married by special license. Mayfield had died three months later, leaving his young wife with a title and a fortune. But Emma’s admiration for her new employer was not due to Letty’s having managed to snag a wealthy husband. It was the fact that she had spent the past three decades continuing to invest wisely, this time with money rather than her physical attributes. Letty had more than tripled the inheritance that Mayfield had left to her. Definitely an inspiration, Emma thought.
Letty poured a large dose of the tonic into a mug and downed it swiftly. She burped genteelly and then sighed with satisfaction.
“That should do the trick. Thank you, my dear.” She handed the bottle back to Emma. “Mind it for me until tomorrow, will you? I shall probably need it again. Now then, tell me what quaint, rustic entertainments Ware plans to inflict upon us today.”
“When I went downstairs earlier,” Emma said, “the housekeeper told me that the gentlemen will attend a local race meeting this afternoon. The ladies are going to try their skills at archery and other games.”
Letty looked briefly wistful. “I’d rather go to the races, but I suppose that won’t be possible.”
“It would certainly shock the local gentry to see a lady placing wagers alongside the farmers and the gentlemen from Town,” Emma agreed cheerfully. “By the bye, Cook told me that breakfast will be served late again.”
“Should hope so.” Letty massaged her temples. “Doubt if I’ll be able to stir from this bed for at least another hour. Can’t face the thought of eating until noon at the very earliest. Doubt if any of the others can, either. We were all thoroughly foxed by the time we dragged ourselves off to bed.”
“I do not doubt it.”
Letty squinted. “Suppose you were up bright and early, as usual?”
“I have always been an early riser,” Emma murmured. “I’m well aware that in your considered opinion nothing interesting ever happens in the morning, but some of us are stuck with mornings.”
There was no point explaining to Letty that she had arisen even earlier than usual because she had slept quite poorly. Oddly enough, it was not her concerns about Chilton Crane that had kept her awake.
Her thoughts had been consumed by her late night encounter with Edison Stokes.
It made a change, she told herself philosophically. Usually when she was unable to sleep it was because the specter of her shaky financial predicament hovered over her bed. Edison Stokes was certainly a good deal more interesting than her own uncertain future.
It occurred to her that, given her rather dangerous agreement with him, it would behoove her to learn as much as possible about Stokes. Letty was always an excellent source of information on the wealthy and the powerful.
Emma cleared her throat. “I had a brief chat on the stairs with Mr. Stokes last night. He is an interesting gentleman.”
“Hah. Money has a way of making any man appear interesting,” Letty said with relish. “And Stokes has got enough to make him downright fascinating.”
Emma probed cautiously. “Investments, I suppose.”
“Of course. Hadn’t a penny to his name when he was a lad. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, dontcha know. The Exbridge heir was the father. Got some silly little governess pregnant.”
“I see.”
“Lady Exbridge has never forgiven her grandson, of course.”
“It was hardly Mr. Stokes’s fault that he was born out of wedlock.”
Letty made a face. “Doubt if you’ll ever convince Victoria of that. Every time she sees him, she has to face the fact that her son, Wesley, never got himself a legitimate heir before he broke his fool neck in a riding accident. It eats at her, y’see.”
“You mean, she has focused her anger at her son onto her grandson?”
“I suppose. It wasn’t just that Wesley got himself killed before he did his duty by the title. He also managed to lose the estates in a series of card games just before he died.”
“It sounds as though this Wesley at least possessed the virtue of consistency.”
“Indeed. He was a complete disgrace. In any event, young Stokes returned from abroad with a fortune about that time. He saved the lot from the creditors and restored the Exbridge finances. Saved Victoria from bankruptcy. Naturally, she cannot forgive him for that, either.”
Emma raised her brows. “I’ll wager it did not stop her from taking the money, however.”
“Of course not. No one ever called Victoria stupid. Haven’t actually seen much of her in years. We were never close friends, but we had a nodding acquaintance. After Wesley died she shut herself away in that mansion of hers. Never accepts invitations. I believe she attends the theater occasionally, but that’s about it.”
“Obviously her grandson is more socially inclined.”
“Actually he’s not.” Letty looked briefly thoughtful. “Don’t know a single hostess in London who wouldn’t kill to get him to attend a soirée or a ball, mind you. But he doesn’t generally go in for that sort of thing. Rather odd that he’d show up here at Ware’s house party.”
“I expect he was bored. Gentlemen seem to become that way at the drop of a hat. They are forever seeking fresh sources of amusement.”
“Not Stokes.” Letty gave her a knowing look. “Only one reason why he would have bothered to accept Ware’s invitation.”
Emma held her breath. Was it possible that Letty had guessed Stokes’s true reason for being at the castle?
“What is that?” she asked.
“Obviously he’s shopping for a wife.”
Emma stared at her. “A wife.”
Letty snorted. “The man clearly needs some guidance in the matter. He’s hardly likely to turn up any suitable innocents from good families here. Basil Ware gave a house party in order to have a bit of fun.”
“True. The only single females he invited are wealthy widows, such as Lady Ames. Not the sort to appeal to a man who’s looking for a virginal bride with a spotless reputation.”
She could hardly explain that she knew for a fact that Edison was not in the market for a bride. At least not at that particular moment. Of course, once he had accomplished his mission, he might well decide to inspect the wares on the marriage mart.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Enter,” Emma called. She smiled at the harried looking maid who appeared. “Good morning, Polly. Come in.”
“Morning, Miss Greyson.”
Letitia looked hopefully at the tray in Polly’s hands. “I trust that’s my coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am. And some toast, just like ye said.” Polly set the tray down on a table. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“Yes, you can take away this ghastly chocolate,” Letty said. “Don’t know how anyone can start the day with bloody hot chocolate. Coffee’s the only thing that works for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Polly hurried to the bed to collect the chocolate tray.
Letty glanced at Emma. “Have you had coffee or tea yet, my dear?”
“Yes, thank you, Letty. I got some earlier when I went downstairs.”
“Humph.” Letty’s eyes narrowed. “How are you making out up there alone on the third floor?”
“Quite well,” Emma assured her. “Don’t worry about me, Letty. Mrs. Gatten gave me a pleasant little room. It’s quiet and out of the way.”
In truth, she hated the small, stark bed chamber on the third floor. There was something depressing about it. No, it was more than that, she thought. There was an eerie sense of malevolence there. She would not have been surprised to learn that at some time in the castle’s history someone had been violently dispatched in that little room.
Polly looked at Emma. “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but the housekeeper put ye there on account of that was Miss Kent’s room. I reckon Mrs. Gatten figured if it was good enough for her, it would suit you.”
“Who is Miss Kent?” Emma asked.
“She was companion to Lady Ware, the master’s late aunt, who was mistress here at the castle until she died. Lady Ware hired Miss Kent to keep her company during the last few months of her dreadful illness. Then she disappeared.”
“Lady Ware?” Letitia shrugged. “Hardly surprising. Most dead people have the decency to disappear once they’ve cocked up their toes.”
“I didn’t mean Lady Ware, ma’am.” Polly looked flustered. “Of course the mistress is dead and buried, God rest her soul. It was Miss Kent who upped and vanished like a ghost.”
“Not much else she could do, either, under the circumstances,” Emma pointed out dryly. “With her employer dead, there was no one left to pay her wages. I expect Miss Kent is working in some other household now.”
Polly shook her head. “Not bloody likely.”
Emma frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Left without a reference, Miss Kent did.”
Emma looked at her. “Why on earth would she do such a thing?”
”Mrs. Gatten thinks it was on account of Miss Kent went and made a fool of herself with the master. Let him under her skirts, she did. And then they quarreled somethin’ fierce.”
“What did they quarrel about?” Emma asked.
“No one knows. Happened late one night a few days after Lady Ware died. Next morning she was gone along with all of her things.”
“Oh dear,” Emma whispered.
“Real strange it was, if ye ask me.” Polly was clearly warming to her tale. “But she’d been acting odd since that night.”
“Odd?” Letty looked briefly interested. “Whatever do you mean, gel?”
“I was the one who found her, ye see. Lady Ware, that is.” Polly’s voice dropped to a confiding tone. “I was takin’ a tray o’ tea to her chamber, this chamber, it was—”
Letty’s eyes widened. “Good Lord. Do you mean to say that this was Lady Ware’s personal bed chamber? The one in which she died?”
Polly nodded vigorously. “Aye. Anyway, as I was sayin’, I was bringin’ her some tea. As I was comin’ down the hall, I saw Mr. Ware comin’ out o’ this room. He looked real serious. When he saw me he said that Lady Ware had just died in her sleep. Said he was goin’ to make arrangements and notify the household.”
“Well, it was not as if her death was not expected,” Letty said philosophically.
“No, ma’am,” Polly agreed. “We all wondered how she’d hung on as long as she had. Anyhow, I came on in here. I was pullin’ the sheet up over Lady Ware’s face when the odd thing happened.”
“Well?” Letty prompted. “What was this odd thing?”
“Miss Kent comes flyin’ out o’ the dressing room.” Polly angled her chin toward the door that separated the smaller chamber from the main portion of the bed chamber. “Real upset, she was. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost.”
“Perhaps she had,” Letty said. “Lady Ware’s.”
Emma frowned at her. “Surely you don’t believe in specters, Letty.”
Letty shrugged. “When you get to be my age, you learn that there are all sorts of strange things in the world, gel.”
Emma ignored that. She turned back to Polly. “Mayhap Miss Kent was simply upset by Lady Ware’s death.”
“What was she doin’ in the dressin’room?” Polly asked in what was obviously meant to be a rhetorical question. “Know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell us,” Emma said.
Polly winked. “I think her and the master were havin’ themselves a bit o’ sport back there in the dressin’ room when Lady Ware died. Expect it gave Miss Kent a nasty turn when she came out and saw that Lady Ware had passed on.”
Letty looked amused. “Poor woman. Discovering that her employer had died while she herself was having a tumble in the adjoining room was no doubt disconcerting.”
“Not to mention the shock of learning that she was suddenly unemployed,” Emma muttered.
“Like I said, a few days later, she was gone.” Polly’s expression turned suitably serious again. “Mrs. Gatten told me that Miss Kent would likely never get another post. Respectable ladies wouldn’t think of hirin’ a companion who hasn’t got a decent reference from her last post, she said.”
There were ways around that problem, Emma thought. But she decided it would be best not to mention them in front of her current employer.
Letty shook her head with an air of worldly regret. “A young woman must take proper care of her assets. Got to invest ‘em with an eye to the future. Any gel who’d throw away her virtue and her reputation on a brief affair must expect to come to a bad end.”
“Still, it was a pity,” Polly said from the door. “Miss Kent was good to Lady Ware. Used to sit with her for hours, even though the mistress was not in her right mind most of the time on account o’ the opium she took for the pain. Miss Kent just sat beside her and worked on her embroidery. A great one for needlework, was Miss Kent.”
A short silence fell after the door closed behind Polly. Emma used it to contemplate the risks of the career she had chosen.
“A common enough tale, I’m afraid,” Letty said eventually. “Not much chance that she found a new post as a companion, that’s for certain, not without a reference from her last employer. So depressing when a young woman squanders her assets.”
“Hmm,” Emma said. She thought about the referen
ces she had written for herself in recent weeks. “Sometimes one can invent an illusion of assets.”
Letty’s thin, gray brows rose. Wry amusement glinted in her bright brown eyes. “If a gel’s smart enough to do that, then she’d best use the illusion to marry a wealthy old fool in his dotage. Take it from me, once that is accomplished, one is free to enjoy life.”
Emma thought of giving herself to a man she could neither love nor respect. She clenched her hands in her lap. She would forge a better fate for herself and for Daphne.
“I do not have any plans to marry, Letty.”
Letty half closed her lashes and eyed her speculatively. “Is it that you no longer have your chief asset to barter, or is it that you don’t care for the notion of selling it in the marketplace?”
Emma gave her a brilliant smile. “If it transpired that I no longer possessed my virtue, I would certainly not admit it and risk losing my post as your companion, now, would I?”
Letty gave a crack of laughter. “Very well done, my dear. So you don’t care for the notion of bartering your assets for a wedding ring, eh?”
“My fortunes may have fallen quite low of late,” Emma said. “But not so low that I am tempted to go into trade.”
The London newspapers arrived shortly before noon. As was the case with most gentlemen in the country, Basil Ware subscribed to a wide variety, including The Times. Emma had spent the past hour alone in the library feverishly awaiting the arrival of the post. The household was finally astir, but thus far, few of the guests had ventured downstairs. When Mrs. Gatten, plump and placid, walked into the room with the papers in her work-worn hands, Emma practically pounced on her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gatten.” She scooped the newspapers out of the housekeeper’s grasp and rushed to the window seat.
“Yer welcome.” Mrs. Gatten shook her head. “Never seen anyone so eager to read the papers. Not like there’s ever any good news in ‘em.”
Emma waited impatiently until the housekeeper had left. Then she jerked off the useless spectacles and set them aside. She tore through the newspapers, anxiously searching for the shipping news. There was no new word of the fate of The Golden Orchid, the ship in which she had invested nearly everything she had got from the sale of the house in Devon. The vessel was now more than two months overdue. Presumed lost at sea.
