“So, you took him on here.”
“Exactly; I agreed to foster him. I would have done so sooner but my husband had no wish to take on a foundling. I began to entertain the idea after Vawdrey’s death, but when I learned of Edmund’s eventual fate I was determined to keep him by me.”
“But, surely, there was a more suitable position for him than housekeeper,” I suggested.
“Of course,” she agreed, nodding. “He has always been quite tall, and it was only natural to assign him the role of footman. I was the envy of all my friends, I must say. Only, it didn’t matter with whom I paired him, there was never anyone as perfect as Edmund. It is the epitome of elegance to have a matched set of footmen, so I found two other young men, twins I believe, also from the foundling hospital. Many of my servants are from there, or the workhouse. In the interim, Edmund has been tutored and trained as if he were my own son.”
“Of what use could that be to him?” I asked, appalled. “He is not of your blood. Even were he gently born or the son of a nobleman, he cannot hope to make a match within our class. He would be a man without a place.”
“I confess, you are correct,” she said with some reluctance. “He was not slow in coming to the same conclusion. It was he who cobbled together his disparate duties so that we might have some discourse with one another. He has the manners, poise and accent, of a nobleman, which one might expect of the best of secretaries. At the same time he has experience with people from the lowliest of classes, a circumstance that is often useful to a woman who is alone and who spends so much time at charitable work. For example, he accompanies me to the workhouse, always, for which I am most grateful. I feel so safe in his presence.”
There was still much I felt I needed to know about Throckmorton but the man himself entered the room without first rapping on the door, and our tête-à-tête came to an end.
“Thank you,” I said as I rose quickly to my feet. “You have given me much to think on. Oh! I nearly forgot; when was the last time you saw your necklace?” I watched Throckmorton carefully, but he gave nothing away at the mention of the stolen diamonds.
“It has been since I wore it at the end of the Season; the last of June, I believe.”
Señyor Rey, if you would be so good as to call on me when you are free,” I prompted, whereupon I hastily withdrew in hopes of begging a morsel from the Cannings’ kitchen before the servants became too occupied with luncheon preparations.
I spent the balance of the day in accumulative disgrace. It is not often a marquis needs must chase after an invitation to a ball. I bore in mind that it was for better reception in Society that I went about attempting to discover the truth of anything for Lady Vawdrey. If she did not smooth the way to my renewed entre into Society as a reward for my efforts, I intended to be enormously put out.
Once I had learned to whose home to tool my carriage come the evening, I gave up on contriving to arrange for an actual piece of vellum to be delivered to my door. The hostess, Lady Truesdale, had been horrified when she learned of my indiscretions, direct from Lady Vawdrey I wagered, and Lord Truesdale had disliked me for far longer and for less reason. As Lady Vawdrey expected me to attend in order to garner clues I considered that enough of a summons, and put the matter of a formal invitation aside. I would simply present myself at the door, as had become an alarmingly frequent habit of late. It wasn’t long before my relief over this pitiful problem was replaced with renewed apprehension: Rey had not come to call as requested.
That I most likely had not been present when he arrived was utterly beside the point; he might have left a card in proof that he had discharged his duty to me. Surely he was better at keeping a supply of cards about his person than was I. The only body with less reason to do so, I thought ruefully, was the one waiting at the churchyard to be buried.
As a whole it seemed that Rey had now given me two reasons to doubt his steadfastness. A curious feeling of melancholy threatened to overwhelm me at the thought. Additionally, I was chagrined that I had not considered him a candidate for suspicion from the outset. A foreigner recently arrived on our shores should have been the first to come to mind when considering the perpetrator of any crime. ‘Twas only common sense; a murder, a purloined necklace, and a new person in the proximity made for the perfect triad. It occurred to me that if Rey had stolen the necklace, Johnny, living so near and often unsupervised, might have been out and seen something he should not have done, something that had led to his demise.
Determined to put my misgivings aside, I dressed for the ball and strode across the square. By the time I found myself at Lady Vawdrey’s door, I was at low ebb. The door was opened, as usual, by the dour butler whose answering frown alerted me to the fact that I was presently not in his good books.
“Is Señyor Rey dressed for the ball? I thought to transport him there tonight.” It was an unequivocal untruth; I had had no such thought until that moment.
“He has gone out with Lady Vawdrey.”
“To the ball? So early?” I felt something akin to panic, though I could not say why.
“I believe it was to partake of dinner at the home of a young lady.”
“Miss Woodmansey?” I asked, incredulous.
“I could not say,” Hoagland replied. “Do you wish to wait for their return?” he asked, opening the door wide.
I gave him a sharp look. “You know well enough that I do not.”
“Very well. In that case, do you wish to leave a card?”
“There is no need,” I murmured as I turned from the door and drifted down the steps. It seemed pointless to live amongst your peers if you were to be treated as a stranger by their servants. There was no room for doubt in my mind that Hoagland knew precisely where his mistress dined that night, even that I had had Canning’s carriage called out in order to attend the ball. From there it was no leap to conclude that Hoagland perhaps knew more about John’s murder, the stolen necklace, and Señyor Rey than most.
I turned ‘round and dashed back up the steps, nearly silent in my dancing pumps. I peered through the long window along one side of the door and noted the footman standing on the other side, so close that he was surely aware of my presence. I turned to look over my shoulder to determine how likely it was for he or the other footman, the butler, downstairs maid, or any servant for that matter, to see anything that occurred down the street. I finally concluded that it was far too dark, in spite of the street lamps, to see farther than the pavement directly in front of the house. However, matters might prove otherwise come morning.
I returned to Canning House to collect my greatcoat and hat, and stepped into my waiting carriage. I was grateful Canning had allowed me the use of it, as well as his driver, as I had brought only the curricle with me when I came to live at Berkeley Square. By the time I was arrived at the home of Lord and Lady Truesdale, I felt entirely recovered.
Firstly, I intended to dance with Miss Woodmansey, a thought that filled me with delight. What’s more, I supposed I might hope for Lady Vawdrey, in exchange for my assistance, to introduce me to each and every one of the Little Season’s debutantes, most of whom were doubtless unaware of my reputation. And then there were the questions I should ask of all and sundry in order to determine the truth behind Johnny’s death and the missing necklace. All in all, it promised to be the most fruitful event of any Season in recent memory.
Chapter Six
The moment I entered the ballroom, Fate revealed its plans for a singular evening. It began with my gaze being drawn directly to Rey and Miss Woodmansey as they danced. Her face was flushed, with happiness no doubt, and the two of them looked almost regal if one failed to compare them with the others. My heart swelled with envy. I considered letting slip a remark in regard to Rey’s impoverished state within Miss Woodmansey’s hearing, but my thoughts were immediately stopped short. To disparage the reputation of another, regardless of how warranted, was an act I had recently resolved never to execute. He did not deserve it any more than I
had done.
A painful memory of the first ball I attended after the duel came forcibly to mind:
I studied my reflection in the glass for what seemed hours. I had never seen anything less beauteous. The scar that began at the corner of my mouth and curved up towards my cheekbone was puckered and red. To my dismay, unless I produced a wide smile it looked as if I were frowning. Worse; sneering. The man who stared back at me appeared arrogant, even wicked. It might have been easier had Evelyn been by my side, but he had cried off without cause. By the time I appeared at the ball, I was later even than is fashionable. As I glanced about the room a hush fell over those not occupied with dancing. It seemed as if everyone either markedly turned away from me, or jerked ‘round in my direction like puppets on a collective string. Women covered their lower faces with their fans, their eyes round and white, whilst the visages of the men turned to claret. My heart dropped into my stomach and an ineffable weight hung from my shoulders. Such consternation at the very sight of me; for what did I deserve such?
Forcing the memory aside, I temporarily abandoned thoughts of Miss Woodmansey and wondered on whom I could count to be truly verbose. (To wonder as to the verbosity of Miss Woodmansey was pointless; I was confident Rey would ask her a great many questions, some of which might even have to do with Johnny’s death.) As I stood contemplating the refreshment table, Robert Manwaring appeared at my side. I would have preferred to converse with any but he, then remembered that he seemed to have known about the Gilbert tragedy before nearly anyone. I stared at him, casting about for a means to start a conversation.
Perhaps I ogled him a bit too boldly, for he seemed almost to blush. “I hadn’t known you to be of that persuasion, Trevelin.”
I was now faced with a fresh dilemma. My reputation was of such fragility that I dared not so much as protest too much. “What persuasion might that be?” I asked more frostily than I had intended.
“You needn’t be skittish. There are plenty of men who could admire that face.”
“How can that be, I wonder,” I asked as I drew forth my quizzing glass through which I studied the dancers, “when the ladies have proven impervious?”
He took a step closer, perhaps so as not to be overheard. “I believe I can be of some assistance.”
As I dared not hazard a guess as to what exactly he referred—the possibilities seemed too numerous—it was difficult to adopt one attitude over another. I settled on ennui and hoped for the best. “Is that so?”
Manwaring chuckled. “I can improve your scar. That is all that I meant to imply,” he added with a smile of regret.
I took my time in composing a response. If Manwaring were as much of a scandalmonger as I hoped, I knew it to be foolish to give him further fodder. My current reputation had already done much to impede my way to wedded bliss. “I hadn’t known you to be a trained surgeon. At any rate, there is no more to be done for my poor face.” If I had spoken plainly, I might have indulged in some fault-finding as to the size of the original stitches. They were not anything of which a seamstress could possibly be proud.
“No, not trained, not in any official capacity,” he admitted. “I enjoy dabbling, however.”
“Dabbling? With a scalpel? Do I wish for you to elaborate?” I asked, genuinely alarmed.
“I’ve actually become rather proficient. I have restricted my experimentation to inanimate objects, for the most part.”
I failed to determine which portion of this horrifying explanation frightened me most. “I confess I am nothing short of bowled over. And yet, I fail to comprehend. You operate on…objects? Even animals? To what purpose?” I quelled an incipient trembling; my mouth had been subjected to more than one blade too many.
He shrugged. “Rarely, but yes, so as to learn how they can be altered. It amuses me.”
“Altered, how?” I immediately regretted the question.
“As people do, animals have certain traits that are more attractive to the others. You might be surprised to learn that even animals produce those which are shunned by their own kind.”
I began to understand. “And you feel it would benefit me in my quest to find a wife if I were to allow you to somehow improve my scar?” I was astounded. I was aware that the scar marred my face but hadn’t thought it a deterrent to matrimony, aside from its tendency to recall my scandalous past.
Manwaring clapped me on the shoulder. “You needn’t bellow, my lord. I am not anxious for the world to know of my hobbies.”
Quickly, I grasped the proffered straw. “I cannot help but to agree. It is not pleasant to have your business bandied about.” Before he could compose a glib reply, I pushed ahead. “Yet, gossip seems to be rife at a ball. I was surprised you had known of the Gilbert boy’s death before even I. From whom did you hear it?”
Manwaring frowned. “I believe it was Lady Jersey, though I might be wrong.”
“But, of course!” The Jerseys were near neighbor to the Gilberts. Unfortunately, “Silence” Jersey had had very little use for me since the duel. “She is, no doubt, in attendance. I shall attempt to speak with her.” I smiled with confidence, though I knew I should be fortunate to get close enough to merely overhear her constant flow of conversation.
Manwaring smiled and walked away. I thought perhaps his wife, Lady Clara, might know more than her husband was willing to divulge, and looked about for her. She was the eldest daughter of an earl, who had retained her title upon her marriage to a commoner. She was a beautiful woman, only slightly older than I; she might successfully have held out for a duke. Why she hadn’t was something to wonder at. However, I did not see her.
I saw, instead, Mr. Gilbert as he danced with a charming young lady who was not known to me. I thought it odd that he should be out in Society so soon after his son’s death. Surely Mrs. Gilbert remained at home. That he had left his grieving wife to her own devices seemed odder still. Perhaps there was, indeed, trouble between them, something more than their current tragic circumstances. Tragedy, I had learned, has a habit of magnifying the already-existing cracks in connections of all sorts. It had certainly put an end to my friendship with Evelyn.
When I looked about, my eye fell upon Miss Woodmansey deep in conversation with Rey. As I made my way to them, I observed Lady Jersey. She was holding forth near the entrance to the card room, surrounded by others of her stamp; in other words, those who would have little to do with me. I abandoned all thoughts of the missing necklace, as well as poor Johnny’s murder, and concentrated on my number one desire—to dance with Miss Woodmansey.
It seemed that she was as aware of me as I was of her, for as I drew near she looked up, as if she waited for me. She smiled prettily and my stomach seemed to pitch, a sensation that was in no way diminished by Rey’s less fervent greeting. She curtsied; taking her hand, I very properly kissed the air above it.
“If we are quick, my lord,” she said, her eyes twinkling with merriment, “I believe we might lose ourselves amongst the dancers before my mother is aware of the identity of my partner.”
I had no wish to hesitate, but I did cast Rey a look of commiseration as we went. To this day, I would swear that my compassion was nearly half-genuine. His misery, as we left him on his own, was such that I actually doubted the wisdom of taking such an action. Miss Woodmansey, however, smiled up at me with such affect that I momentarily forgot about my friend.
Dancing was a pleasure I had not engaged in all Season, and it was bliss to respond to the music as I wished. As it was a contra danse, there was little opportunity to converse. However, I had plenty of time to reflect on Miss Woodmansey herself. She was refreshingly intrepid, and clearly enjoyed a mind of her own. If she were to develop a tendre for me, perhaps she would have the courage to defy her parents and insist they allow me to court her. In the meantime, I would need to discover who took Johnny’s life, as well as Lady Vawdrey’s diamonds, in order for Society to smile upon me once again.
These thoughts gave me a very pleasant sense of duty,
one that was some reparation when the set was over and I returned Miss Woodmansey to Rey’s side. He had been joined by an angry woman, whom I could only presume to be Mrs. Woodmansey. She was taller than her daughter and Rey both, but I still felt a veritable giant amongst them.
“Good evening,” I said as a peace offering. I unlinked my arm from Miss Woodmansey’s and took a step away from her for good measure.
Mrs. Woodmansey dipped into something resembling a curtsy, never lowering her gaze from mine. She then clapped her hand to her daughter’s arm and drew her briskly away. Miss Woodmansey had the good sense to bow her head as she struggled to keep up with her mother. I do, however, believe I saw a quickly repressed smile. I fancied it signaled her pleasure for the absurd, and I thought her nothing short of marvelous.
Rey cleared his throat. “So, we are both to contend for the hand of the remarkable Miss Woodmansey?”
I turned to take in the turmoil in his face. “Perhaps,” I admitted. “However, I am not likely to rise in the esteem of Miss Woodmansey’s mother. Yours shall be a Christmas wedding,” I quipped.
“Pray, do not mock me, my friend,” Rey said. “I have no wish to duel.”
“Over whose honor should we draw our swords?” I asked in astonishment. “Though, I daresay you should prefer pistols.” I restrained a bark of laughter.
“Is it your belief that I cannot wield a sword, my lord?” Rey asked, haughty.
It seemed there was something about a ball that brought out the worst in the señyor. “I haven’t the least idea. However, my reach is longer than yours, which should give me quite the advantage.”
“Yes, but skill can compensate for the length of your opponent’s arm. I have studied under the Spanish masters and I assure you, you should not like to face me in a duel.”
I looked into Rey’s face and saw how much of his bluster was but pure passion. “In that case, my friend,” I said, clapping my hand to his shoulder, “I should choose pistols, for my own sake.”
The Devil in Beauty: A Lord Trevelin Mystery (The Lord Trevelin Mysteries Book 1) Page 8