by Amanda Scott
“Then we must set about proving it,” Manningford said.
Her eyes opened wide. “Proving it?”
“Yes, of course.”
Mr. Lasenby agreed. “Nothing else to do, ma’am. Can’t expect a magistrate to know what the fellow’s done if we can’t show him, now can we?”
“No, of course not, but I cannot think for a moment how we might prove such a thing. You may be sure that he has covered his tracks, if indeed there were any to cover.”
Manningford said thoughtfully, “I think Bygrave might be considered to have been a track, you know, and he is now covered by six feet of good English soil.”
Nell stared at him. “Mr. Bygrave?”
He nodded. “You say you are certain that your brother would not have fired his pistol before time.”
“Never.”
“Then the only alternative is that someone else fired that shot. It would have been a relatively simple matter, you know, for everyone, as you say, was either three parts drunk or asleep, and, moreover, was expecting to hear a shot and to see someone fall. Half the difficulty of setting up a lark is to make people believe what you want them to believe. If they are predisposed to believe most of it before you begin, the rest is easy.”
“But would not a second shot have been heard, even if people did not know precisely what had happened?”
“Good Lord, no,” he said. “In closed quarters like a clubroom, reverberations of one shot might have sounded like half a dozen, and there is no saying but that both your brother’s pistol and Bygrave’s might have discharged when that first shot was fired. Reflex, you know, from just being startled. In fact, your brother’s must have done so. Anyone, even ape-drunk, would have been bound to notice if his gun hadn’t been fired at all. At all events, there would have been a vast amount of confusion.”
“You sound as though you have had firsthand experience.”
“He has,” Mr. Lasenby informed her with a grin. “Never was used to be able to hit the broad side of a barn, don’t you know, but that never stopped him, particularly. And in the past five or ten years, he’s become a crack shot. A friend of his—”
“Sydney Saint-Denis,” Manningford said gently. “Always told me that if I was going to learn to do a thing at all, I ought to learn it thoroughly. People take Sydney for a fop, but there’s a deal more to the man than meets the eye. He’s damned competent with a pistol, for one thing, and he’s got a few other tricks he learned the two years he lived in China that would curl your hair. He’s taught me one or two of them, but I don’t flatter myself that I’m anywhere near as clever as old Sydney is.”
“Can shoot, though,” Mr. Lasenby said loyally. “Sure as I stand here, Miss Bradbourne—well, sit here,” he amended, “Bran can shoot the pips out of any playing card you’d care to name. Been challenged to two duels, too. In the first, he nicked a silver button off his opponent’s coat. Poor fellow promptly deloped. Never occurred to him Bran hadn’t meant to do it.”
“And the second?” Nell prompted, darting a glance at Manningford who appeared to have fallen into a brown study.
“Well, that wasn’t so impressive,” Mr. Lasenby admitted. “Fact was that Bran had stayed up all the night before, playing cards, and when he got to the ground before his opponent did, he just laid down under a tree and went to sleep. Fellow showed up, declared that if Bran was so calm about the whole thing that he could just doze off, waiting, he’d be damned if he’d fight him, so he woke him up and apologized for the whole.”
Nell chuckled, but Manningford did not appear to notice, so at last, she said, “Have you fallen asleep again, sir?”
He started, looking surprised. “Fallen asleep? Of course not. I have been thinking what we must do next. Sep and I can look into that business at the Bees-waxers’, but we must also arrange to meet this precious cousin of yours, and I haven’t a notion how to do that without setting him to thinking. Is he a member of the club? Very often a man does join his father’s clubs, and you said he was there the night in question.”
She frowned. “I have not the least notion. He is as much a gamester as his father was, for I remember that Papa and Nigel were used to wonder where either of them came by the amounts they claimed to have lost at the tables. We could only suppose that the rents at Crosshill were greater than one would suspect and that Reginald’s steward there was something of a magician. But he was in Bath that night only because he accompanied Nigel to look at the betting book and talk to Bygrave. He rarely visits here, I think, for he prefers London and though he says he is here now on business, anything relating to Crosshill or Highgate would be done in Salisbury or Trowbridge, so that must be a fudge, and he is here only to plague me.”
“Then you must introduce us,” Manningford said. “I can judge better how to bring him into the open if I know him than if I must go by guess.”
“Well,” Nell said thoughtfully, “if we are to attend a concert or some such thing in a party, I can arrange for Jarvis to accompany Aunt Flavia and me and you can ask your friend Mr. Saint-Denis and his wife. That way I can see the sights and you can meet Jarvis. I don’t much care for encouraging his attention in such a way, but will that not answer, sir?”
“A casual meeting would be better,” he said, smiling at her, “but we cannot expect him to cooperate, I suppose.”
They might have discussed the point longer had Lady Flavia not entered the room just then, having returned from paying her calls. Delighted to see the gentlemen, she demanded to know what Manningford thought of Nell’s latest work, and it was not long after that before she was in possession of all the facts of their recent discussion, and Nell found herself with an ally.
“It will not do for her to invite Jarvis to make one of a party,” Lady Flavia said firmly, “and you must not think you will get to know him in only one meeting. If I know anything about him, he will be all pomp and ceremony, too concerned with making a good impression to let his true character show.” She thought for a moment. “I believe you ought to set yourselves to show Nell about a bit. Seeing more of town life, even in Bath, will help her finish that novel, and it will encourage Jarvis to make a nuisance of himself at the same time. He will do so, mark my words, particularly if he comes to believe—as he surely will—that one of you is making Nell the object of your attention. I promise you, he won’t like that notion at all.”
Nell was not altogether certain how she felt about it, either, for it was all too obvious that her great-aunt expected more to come of her plan than a simple chance to introduce the gentlemen to each other.
X
THEY PUT THEIR PLAN into action at once when it was discovered that a concert was to be held that very night at the upper Assembly Rooms. These rooms were considered to be the finest in all Europe, and when they arrived, Nell found it easy to imagine the magnificent, hundred-foot-long ballroom filled with dancers in place of the benches set out for the concert.
The performance itself was mediocre, and there had been no time to arrange a party, so neither she nor Lady Flavia objected when the two gentlemen suggested a walk to look at the two card rooms and the tea room. Having fortified themselves in the latter with tea and sweet biscuits, they strolled on through the “corridors of scandal,” those long halls surrounding the main suite of rooms, where ladies of an earlier era had retired from the ballroom to exchange tales and tattle. There were no such persons there now, only a few stragglers like themselves, and one latecomer emerging from a chair that had been carried inside.
They did not see Jarvis at the concert, but upon returning to Laura Place, they were informed by Sudbury that he had called and had expressed disappointment at finding the ladies from home.
The following day, Nell’s interview with Sir Mortimer went more easily than she had expected. Instead of being angry that she had altered his book, as she had thought he might be, he actually seemed grateful that she had attempted to improve it. His appearance appalled her, however, for since she last had seen him, h
is condition had deteriorated so much that despite Manningford’s having warned her what to expect, she had all she could do not to express her dismay at seeing his complexion so gray, his eyes so sunken, his face gaunt and drawn.
She greeted him as cheerfully as she was able, and as she removed the manuscript pages from her satchel, she added for lack of anything else to say, “I am told that your daughter is coming to visit you, sir. You will be pleased to have her home again.”
His reply being no more than a grunt, she looked up to see that his gaze was fixed upon the pages in her hand. She sighed. “You want me to get on with reading, I suppose, but I must tell you, sir, I am terrified to hear what you will say. Pray do not let me read on and on if you detest what I have done, and I shall try not to be offended by any criticism you offer.” She glanced at Borland, who had taken his customary place near the window and was glad when he nodded and smiled at her encouragingly.
Sitting down at once, she began to read. She had a good reading voice and generally enjoyed reading aloud, but her throat felt tight and her voice had a tendency to quaver. When she had read for some minutes undisturbed, she looked up to see that Sir Mortimer was leaning back against his pillows with his eyes shut. Fearing that he had dozed off, she faltered, but when his eyes quickly opened again, she went on reading more confidently.
Not until she reached the part about the gentlemen’s club did he attempt to interrupt her, groaning his protest, but by then she was able to look up and smile at him. “I know, sir. Mr. Manningford has already informed me that even an idiot would guess that I have never set foot in such a club; however, he has promised to describe one to me—the Bees-Waxers’ here in Bath, as a matter of fact—so that I can make the necessary alterations. We cannot call it the Bees-Waxers’ in your book, of course, but if we can discover how that name came to be, perhaps we can make up another name in a similar fashion. We could call it the Old Bores’ Club, of course, though since you were used to be a member, I daresay you would not agree to that.”
Sir Mortimer made some gravelly noises in his throat, and his shoulders began to shake, and although neither his mouth nor voice seemed to wish to obey him, she realized he was laughing, and grinned at him. “I hope you are not laughing at me, sir, although I expect it is no such thing and you are only congratulating yourself on having had the good sense to avoid a club with such an infelicitous reputation.”
His eyes atwinkle, he nodded. Then, after a long moment and a visible struggle with his disability, he mumbled, “’Ees.”
“Yes,” Nell said gently. “The Bees’ Hive, or just the Bees is the true name, Mr. Manningford told me. Very odd, I thought.”
“’Nitials.” Frustration clouded his face when he saw that she did not at once comprehend what he was attempting to tell her. He shifted awkwardly on the pillows and turned his head a little, then drew a heavy breath and repeated, “’Nitials.”
“I …” Nell looked at Borland. “I do not understand him, Borland. Do you?”
“I believe he is attempting to inform you that the club you mention was not originally intended to be mistaken for an apiary, miss.” When his master relaxed against the pillows again, he went on, “As I recall it, the place—more than twenty-five years ago, this would be—was known as the Avon Club, for the street it was on as well as for the river. But then the lower part of Avon Street became notorious as a back slum, and there was a scandal when it was found that the club was being run as a gaming hell, so the new owners—several of them, I believe there were—decided to change the name. As I recall it, there was dissension of some sort, and in the end they resorted to their initials. Perhaps the dispute had grown out of which name to put first, or perhaps they thought it better that their names not be widely known.”
“Who were they?” Nell asked curiously.
“Now, that I cannot tell you,” Borland said, “Members, possibly, for ’tis not unheard of for one or two to buy into such a club, though still not considered quite the thing, you know. And, of course, several of the names, at least, must have begun with the letter B. Many names begin so, of course—my own in fact,” he added with a glint of humor, “though I assure you, miss, I should not lower myself to such a pitch. But it all happened so long ago, you see, and my memory, though competent, is not what it was used to be. The master might remember more. A right wonderful memory he’s got.”
Sir Mortimer was watching Nell, and when she looked at him, he shook his head, but she did not care just then whether he could recall the names in question, for a notion had entered her mind the moment Borland had begun to explain the matter, and her imagination had begun to spin. A villain, she decided, might accomplish much if, with regard to some of his ventures at least, he were known only by his initials.
It was clear by then that Sir Mortimer meant to encourage her to continue with her work, but when she stood up to take her leave of him, suggesting that she need not return until she had a good deal more to read to him, he became rather agitated. With Borland’s help, she was soon given to understand that the old man wished to hear every day what she had altered the day before. Nell was a little dismayed by the request, for she knew she would get on faster if she did not have to make the trip to Royal Crescent on a daily basis, but he seemed so distressed when she told him so that she soon agreed to do as he wished.
“You know, Miss Nell,” Borland said a few minutes later when he escorted her to the head of the stairs, “’tis my belief the master’s taken quite a liking to you. It ain’t the tale he cares about so much as seeing your face, or he would have had me ask you to send pages over each day to be read to him. He might easily have trusted to me to understand his wishes and tell you what changes he wanted made, you know, instead of setting himself the difficulty, as he has, of communicating them to you himself.”
“Well, it is my belief that he’s bored,” Nell said with a sigh. “How dreadful to be all alone as he is, Borland, with only you, kind though you are, to bear him company. It is to be hoped that when my Lady Axbridge arrives, he will admit her to his bedchamber and do what he may to become acquainted with her and all his family again.”
“He won’t do that, ma’am. He don’t want to see them and only becomes agitated if he is pressed to do so. Master Brandon visits him, as you know, but though Sir Mortimer don’t order me to throw him out, the lad don’t stay to chat with him beyond talking a bit of business, and nor does Sir Mortimer want him to do so. Says he’s done naught for the lad before now and that to be making so many demands of him now is a damned impudence.”
“But as Mr. Manningford’s father, he has every right to make demands, Borland, and in fact, I believe that Mr. Manningford is enjoying the responsibility he has been given, though it was perhaps not quite fair of Sir Mortimer to threaten to cut him off with no more than a shilling if he did not do as he was asked.”
“’Twas a feather, not a club, that the master wielded in that instance, Miss Nell.”
“Do you mean that there is no fortune?” Nell’s eyes widened in dismay, but Borland shook his head.
“No such thing, miss.” He said no more.
“I see,” Nell said. “It is not so difficult to understand you, I believe. I daresay the will is already written and will not now be changed, but if that is true, why does he not tell him so, so they can become better acquainted with one another?”
“He don’t see it that way, poor gentleman,” Borland said, making no attempt to dispute her interpretation, “for he don’t think Master Brandon would help him if he didn’t hold some sort of club. I tell you this only because the master is lonely and I hope you’ll not deny him your company. It were one thing when he had his journals, his novels, and his reading to occupy his hours. But now …” He spread his hands helplessly.
“Do you not read to him, Borland?”
“Aye, ma’am, I do, but I’m no hand at it. He said once I’d a voice like a corn crake.”
“I see,” Nell said, repressing a sudden, quite u
nexpected gurgle of laughter at so apt a description. “He is not very conciliating, is he, Borland?”
“No, ma’am.”
Nell said farewell to him then and turned away, having been given much food for thought. Manningford was waiting for her downstairs, and after she had assured him that Sir Mortimer had approved her work, and told him what the old man had said about the Bees-Waxers’, he escorted her to her chair, informing her as they passed through the sunlit back garden that he had decided that since there was nothing else offering entertainment that night, he and Mr. Lasenby would visit the club. “I want to see that betting book, and Sep can draw you a floor plan and discover some more of the history of the place. Then, I thought, tomorrow night we might attend the fireworks display in the Sydney Gardens. Lady Flavia will enjoy that, I expect, and I’ll invite Sydney and Carolyn Saint-Denis to join us there. They will no doubt have ideas about other places you ought to see. You will like them both. I do.”
“I shall look forward to meeting them, and to seeing the fireworks. What else have you got planned for my education?”
He suggested a visit to the Abbey and Milsom Street the day after the fireworks display, and a ride on the downs above the town the day after that. “To give you an eagle’s view of the place, you know,” he added casually.
“And not merely because you are beginning to feel a bit caged, sir?” Her eyes twinkled, and he smiled back with the warmth she had begun to expect to see when she talked with him.
“You are coming to know me rather well, Miss Bradbourne.”
She agreed, grinning at him and conscious of a deepening sense of kinship with him, a feeling that was becoming more and more familiar, as though she had known him all her life. She had thought at first that it came to her because he was so much like her father and brother, interested only in gaming and dicing and kicking up larks, but she knew now that it was no such thing.