The Carfax Intrigue

by Tracy Grant

  "How right you are," Julien said in an easy voice.

  Kitty glanced over her shoulder to see that her husband had slipped through the crowd with his usual soundlessness. Two turbaned ladies stared at him in horror.

  "Do leave it there," Julien said. "There’s really no recovery possible. If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I need to speak to my wife."

  He inclined his head and took Kitty’s arm. "That was very mild, for you," she said, as they moved to the side.

  "Yes, well, the sort of thing I might have done in the old days would be a bit too messy in a ballroom." His hand tightened on her arm and his gaze locked on her own for a moment. "Kitkat—"

  "I’m all right, Julien. It was rather amusing." She scanned his face. "Do you know anything? Do they have the papers?"

  "No. Dalton had dummies on him. So someone else got to the papers first. We’re trying to trace everyone who had contact with Dalton. Did you see anything?"

  "No, I was at the head of the stairs most of the time." Never had she chafed at her role more.

  "I’d suspect Uncle Hubert of stealing the letters to avoid buying them, but he’s arriving tactfully late. Ah." Julien’s gaze settled across the room. "There he is now."

  Hubert Mallinson was a short man, but somehow he was instantly recognizable. Of course, it helped that at least half the people in the ballroom were looking at him as he stood just inside the door with his wife and their youngest daughter, Lucinda.

  "Tactful," Kitty said. "They avoided the spectacle of greeting me on the stairs. But it’s still going to be a spectacle. We should go to them and turn the spectacle as much in all our favor as possible."

  9

  The Mallinson family moved forwards as she and Julien approached, smiling. They all of them knew the social game. Even Lucinda, at not yet twenty.

  "Good of you to invite us," Hubert said.

  "Good of you to come, sir." Julien shook his uncle’s hand.

  "Nonsense," Amelia said, leaning forwards to accept Julien’s kiss on her cheek. "We wouldn’t have missed it." She looked round the room from which she had reigned over London society for two decades. "You’ve done a lovely job, Kitty."

  "Thank you, Cousin Amelia." Kitty did not have to force the gratitude into her voice. This must be quite beastly for Amelia. "You’re too kind."

  "It’s a statement of fact, my dear. You obviously have a knack for it."

  Lucinda glanced round the ballroom. "I quite like the new wall hangings."

  "That’s very sweet of you, Lucy." Kitty hugged Julien’s youngest cousin. "I was just about to go up and check on the children. Do you want to come with me?"

  "Oh yes," Lucinda said with evident relief. "Thank you."

  Lucinda glanced about with interest as they slipped through the crowd and went up the stairs to the nursery on the second floor. She dropped down on the nursery carpet with the boys and Genny just as she had in the drawing room when she first met them.

  "I like that you have the nursery next to your room," she said, as she and Kitty went back downstairs. "It was the floor above when I was growing up. And it was just me and my nurse and the nursery maids much of the time, because I’m the youngest by so much."

  "We’re all used to being together," Kitty said. "We still feel a bit lost in such a big house." She and the children and Julien had lived in three rooms for months. Very happy months. For only part of which they’d actually been married. She paused at the stairhead, the noise from the ball drifting up about them. "I’m sure it hasn’t been easy."

  "Not really. I mean, it hasn’t really not been easy." Lucinda fingered a fold of her cornflower gauze skirt. "I mean, things have been unsettled between Papa and Mama for a bit, but that was going on long before this. I always liked the Grange better than Carfax Court. Papa seems happy there. Our new house in London is fine. My favorite thing about Carfax House was always sliding down the banisters, and I’m too old for that now." She touched her finger to the polished mahogany stair rail with a faintly wistful look. "In a way, it’s easier to have people fuss about me less. Though Mama seems more worried than ever about my finding a husband. It’s not as though I don’t have a dowry. I needn’t marry at all, if I don’t wish to."

  "Certainly not." Kitty smiled at Julien’s cousin. "Though I can say from experience that when one finds the right person, it can be very much worth it. And I speak as someone who was quite sure I wouldn’t marry again."

  "Well, yes, that’s different. I should think it would entirely be worth it if one fell in love that much. As much as you and Julien." She glanced back towards the nursery. "And I can quite see wanting children—sometime."

  "It’s not for everyone," Kitty said. "For a long time, I thought it wasn’t for me. But now—I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. And I thought that, even when I thought I didn’t want another husband. But I’m rather glad I didn’t do it when I was younger."

  "I suppose you’re used to being at the center of things."

  "Not like this."

  "It’s not so hard." Lucinda glanced down the stairs as the noise of the party wafted up at them. "Just tiresome, at times, but you won’t need to take it so seriously. I’m sure you’ll do splendidly."

  "Thank you, sweetheart. But I’m not even sure what that means."

  "Davenport."

  Harry Davenport stopped in his perambulation about the room. He’d been attempting to look nonchalant while keeping an eye out for George Dalton to return to the ballroom. He had ascertained that his Uncle Archie hadn't seen any opportunity for anyone to get the papers off Dalton in the card room while Archie had been present, and had left Archie to keep an eye on the card room. No one would be surprised to find Archie there all evening—at least, not the man Archie had been before he’d married Malcolm’s aunt Frances two years ago. But if Harry stayed too long among the baize-covered tables it might raise questions. So he’d returned to the ballroom. Where he now found himself looking at Thomas Thornsby, his fellow Classicists’ Society member, whose brother Lewis’s death had been the subject of their investigation the previous January.

  "Thornsby." Harry took a sip from the glass of port he’d acquired in the card room. "I’m glad you came."

  "It was kind of the Carfaxes to extend the invitation." Thomas glanced round the room. Harry saw his gaze settle on Edith Simmons, a fellow classicist, who since last January’s investigation made her home with Harry and Cordelia. Edith was talking with Sandy Trenor and Bet Simcox and some other young people close to her age. Laughing in a way she hadn’t been able to at public gatherings in her role as governess. "It’s good to see Edith able to go out in society."

  "The life of a governess is damnable," Harry said with genuine feeling. "I’m glad she can escape its strictures. Though she seems quite engaged by the plans for the school."

  "The one you’re opening with the Rannochs."

  "We’ve contributed. The Rannochs are giving one of their properties for it. The O’Roarkes are involved as well. In fact, Mrs. O’Roarke is leading the project. She has a lot of ideas from being a governess herself and teaching our children. They’re thinking of having a branch in London, so children don’t have to be away from their parents."

  Thomas nodded, as though trying to focus on something other than Edith. "It’s a girls’ school?"

  "Girls and boys. Laura’s quite determined they do lessons together. It’s for children who can’t get a good education otherwise. Of course, we can’t reach half of those who could really use it."

  "It’s a noble enterprise."

  "It’s an attempt to do something. Which helps us all sleep better at night. I hope it at least does the same for the pupils."

  Thomas gave a faint smile. "You have a hard time admitting to your own kindness, Davenport."

  "I’m all for kindness, but a few acts of kindness can’t fix the ills of the world."

  "They can make a world of difference for individual people, though. It’s very good of you and Lady Cordelia
to have taken Edith in."

  "We’re very fond of Edith. The girls are fond of her."

  Thomas’s gaze settled on Edith across the ballroom again. "She looks happy."

  "I think she’s enjoying stretching her wings." Harry cast a sidelong look at Thomas. "I also think she misses you."

  Thomas tore his gaze away. "There’s been a great deal to do in the family. I’ve seen her at the Classicists’ Society. And at your house. You know that. But I can’t—"

  "You’ve had a lot to adjust to."

  Thomas stared into the depths of his glass. If it weren’t for lack of fortune on both sides, Harry was quite sure Thomas would have offered for Edith a long time since. But challenging as their lack of fortune was, the gulf between them was more complicated. In January, Thomas had learned that Edith had been blackmailed by Lady Shroppington, Thomas’s great-aunt, into spying for the Elsinore League. Including spying on Thomas. "I understand why Edith did what she did," Thomas said in a low, unusually rough voice. "God knows I understand protecting one’s family. All too keenly. I honor her for it. Of course, it’s made me look at a number of things differently. But it hasn’t changed—essentials."

  "That’s the important thing, surely."

  Thomas dragged his gaze back to Harry’s face. "You’ve never wanted for fortune, Davenport. I have to figure out how I’m going to provide for my sisters, and look after my parents. It’s quite clear we can expect nothing from Aunt Henrietta." He paused and drew a hard breath. "Not that I’d take it from her if she offered."

  "You need a wife with a fortune."

  Thomas grimaced. "Even if I could make things work, I haven’t a great deal to offer Edith. Oh, perhaps I do a bit, compared to what she had as a governess, but look at her now." He watched Edith step into a waltz with Sandy Trenor.

  "Trenor’s madly in love with his charming mistress," Harry said. Bet Simcox was dancing with Benedict Smythe and clearly unconcerned about Sandy’s affections.

  "Not that. Not Trenor, necessarily. The circles she’s moving in now. She’ll meet a score of men who could offer her a great deal more."

  "She may not want a great deal more. Of course, she may not want to be married at all."

  Thomas met Harry’s gaze without surprise. "Yes, I know Edith’s views on marriage. I’m not so stodgy I don’t understand them. I think she might change her mind for the right man."

  "So do I. Assuming the man had the sense to not expect her to be anyone other than who she is. But then, you’ve always struck me as eminently sensible."

  Thomas gave a twisted smile. "You’re a romantic, Davenport."

  "Ha."

  Thomas looked at Edith again, as she and Trenor circled by. "Is she safe?"

  Harry felt the sardonic smile leave his face. "We’ve been watching closely, but we’ve had no intelligence to suggest she isn’t. Lady Shroppington has other matters to deal with."

  "But—"

  "We’ll continue to watch."

  Thomas shook his head. "I can’t make sense of my aunt."

  "Nor can any of us."

  Thomas stared into his champagne glass, as though searching for answers in the depths. "We’ve seen Aunt Henrietta a few times. Father won’t forbid her the house, and for a number of reasons I think it’s prudent not to do so. But I can scarcely hold my tongue round her. In truth, at first I thought I wouldn’t even be able to look her in the eye. But it’s amazing how the training of social civility holds one."

  "Anything you can learn from her could be of great help," Harry said.

  Thomas met his gaze. "That’s the only reason I can stomach talking to her. But she hasn’t revealed anything so far. I’m stunned she can sit at my parents’ table and look us all in the eye, and share our food, and drink our wine."

  "She wanted Edith to uncover information on you,’ Harry said. "It would be invaluable to know what. And why. But not if it means putting yourself at risk."

  "Aren’t we all at risk until she’s stopped?" Thomas’s voice went unexpectedly hard.

  "Point taken. But you’re sensible enough to draw the line at things you shouldn’t do without an agent’s training."

  Thomas looked at Edith. She was laughing up at Trenor as she twirled, a bit awkwardly, under his arm. Simply in friendship, with no attempt at flirtation, but her expression was still intoxicating. "I don’t feel very sensible just now. I feel the distinct desire to take action."

  Harry touched his friend’s shoulder. "Understandable. But you’re too sensible to do so foolishly." He made it as much warning as statement.

  Thomas’s answering nod was not as reassuring as Harry would have liked.

  10

  Edith Simmons left the dance floor on Sandy Trenor’s arm, and went still as the stir of movement from couples leaving the floor gave her a sudden view of a familiar figure across the room. For a moment her delightfully impractical satin dancing slippers seemed stuck to the floorboards. Thomas Thornsby’s gaze locked on her own, or at least it seemed that way. He inclined his head. How could one attempt to read so much into a simple nod? Edith nodded back just before a sea of dancers in gauzy pastel frocks and sleek dark coats blurred the distance between them. Should she cross the room and speak with him, or wait and let him make the decision? After all, in a sense he was the injured party. Well, he certainly was; she’d been spying on him, and polite as he was, there was certainly a restraint in his manner that hadn’t been present before January. Difficult to tell how much was because of her actions and how much because of the impossibility of anything’s developing between them. Thomas was so faultlessly well-mannered it was difficult to tell anything.

  "Miss Simmons?" Sandy asked. "Did you see someone you know? Shall we cross the room?"

  "No. Yes. That is, I’m not sure—"

  "Edith."

  The familiar voice sounded from one side, taking Edith back to another part of her past that was inextricably bound up with Thomas and her time as a reluctant agent of the Elsinore League. She turned and found herself looking at the woman who had employed her five months since. Alice Wilton. Lady Wilton. She had been a kind mistress and a good mother, if more detached from both the nursery and the nursery staff than the Rannochs and the Davenports. And the new Carfaxes, from everything Edith had seen.

  "Lady Wilton." Edith smiled, unsure if she should curtsey or shake hands, and convinced she’d make a mull of either. "I believe you’re acquainted with Mr. Trenor?"

  "Lady Wilton." Sandy, who also had beautiful manners, sketched a faultless bow. They exchanged pleasantries. Sandy looked between the two women and met Edith’s gaze with the faintest lift of his brow, which managed to question if she was comfortable being left alone with her acquaintance. Edith inclined her head. She wasn’t sure why Lady Wilton had sought her out, but she sensed the other woman needed to talk.

  Sandy gave a quick smile. "If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I should see how Miss Simcox is getting on."

  Edith met Lady Wilton’s gaze. She had once lived in the other woman’s household, but she had had relatively few conversations with her, and certainly not at occasions such as a ball where they were both guests and on equal footing. "How are Winston and Sally?" she asked.

  "They’re well." A smile broke the well-bred composure on Lady Wilton’s face, though concern lurked in her eyes. "They’ve been asking to meet you in the park again with the Davenport girls."

  "I’d like that. I’m sure Livia and Drusilla would as well." Though last time, Lady Wilton had stayed and Edith had had to make small talk and hadn’t been able to romp with the children as she’d have liked. Perhaps she could bring Cordelia with her next time to distract Lady Wilton…

  "Oh, good." Lady Wilton gave a strained smile, and for the oddest moment, Edith had a sense that the other woman wished she could unbend more than she did. "Edith—" Lady Wilton fingered the sticks of her fan. "I know the Davenports investigate things with the Rannochs. That is, crimes. Or—"

  "Yes, they’re quite brilliant
at it." Edith peered at her former employer. "Lady Wilton? Is there something you need investigated?’

  "Me?" She jerked her hand back from the fan. "Goodness, no, why should I—Oh, dear, Edith, can we talk?"

  Edith glanced round the ballroom. She could hardly claim to know Carfax House well, but she had been to dine with the Davenports once or twice and different as the house looked filled with flowers and ball guests, she had a rough sense of the geography. She inclined her head to the left and led Lady Wilton down a passage to an anteroom hung with ecru watered silk that was larger than her own parents’ drawing room. The room was empty, though the lamps had been lit and crystal bowls of the same beautiful peach roses that adorned the ballroom stood on the mantel and the polished tables.

  Lady Wilton crossed the room and turned to face Edith, gloved hands clasped together, face a study in conflict. She was a tall woman, nearly as tall as Edith herself, though she seemed much more at home in her blue satin evening gown and long white gloves than Edith could ever imagine feeling in her own evening dress. As though she had been born with the knack of holding a fan and champagne glass in gloved fingers, and not letting her shawl slip indecorously from her shoulders. Her dark blonde hair was dressed with its usual elegance. But her eyes held a desperation Edith had never before seen on her former mistress’s well-bred face.

  "I don’t quite know how to tell you this."

  "You needn’t fear I’ll tell anyone." Edith took a step forwards, then paused, aware her skirt was tangled about her legs and her shawl was dangling from one arm. "I mean—I wouldn’t."

  "No, you wouldn’t." Lady Wilton’s face softened into a smile, though the strain didn’t leave her eyes. "Toby—Sir Tobias—was stationed in Italy for a time. You know that."

  "Yes." Sally and Winston had often talked about their Italian adventures.