by Joan Smith
“Naturally.”
“A demon for work, you see,” he said modestly, but there was a dash of amusement in his manner. “At the intermission Mrs. Leonard said she felt faint.” His eyebrows lifted in a manner that invited her to share his doubt of the claim. “And I, being a perfect gentleman, offered to take her out for a breath of air.”
“Is Mr. Leonard not a perfect gentleman, that he might tend to his own wife’s needs?”
“Certainly he is, but he is a gentleman of a certain age, and a certain physical infirmity. It is not only ladies who are plagued by advancing years. He offered to accompany her, but his wife expressed a great concern for his health. Well, to get to the cream of the story, I took Mrs. Leonard down to the lobby and propped the door open to give her the needed air without quite freezing the poor lady— and poor me.”
“It is strange she left her wrapper behind.”
“You used those glasses to good effect! Or did Gordon tell you? If he usually follows Mrs. Leonard as clumsily as he followed us tonight, I fear it can be no secret to her that she has picked up a shadow. I shall tell Gordon to stop dogging her.”
Cathy didn’t answer the question. “Did you learn anything of interest?” she asked.
“Mrs. Leonard is harmless,” he said, waving a graceful hand in dismissal of the idea.
“And are her long visits to Mademoiselle Dutroit’s establishment also harmless? She must have a great love of bonnets.”
“Doesn’t every lady? She certainly has, and she also possesses great skill in devising them. She works for Mam’selle Dutroit, to make a little money to eke out Leonard’s earnings.”
Something in his manner annoyed Cathy. Perhaps it was his smile of admiration when he spoke of Mrs. Leonard. “How did you learn all this during half an intermission, milord?”
“I can be a close questioner.” He laughed. “It is not only you ladies who excel at gossiping. We got to chatting of this and that. Mrs. Leonard has had a hard life. She was married once before. Mr. Fotherington left her unprovided for. She was working as a milliner when she met Mr. Leonard at a small private party of mutual friends. He was a widower, she a widow, both lonely and both in straitened circumstances. One sees how it might have come about. I believe it is a marriage of convenience, but with genuine love on his side, and what our elders call ‘esteem’ on hers.”
“I would have thought such an Incomparable could have done better than Mr. Leonard.”
“One would think so indeed, but then, she went about very little. I sensed some irregularity in the first husband’s demise, though she did not actually say so. Perhaps it was nothing more than a load of debt. That will always cast a cloud on the widow’s social acceptability. And whom would she meet, working in a shop? Ladies, for the most part. It has not been my experience that ladies are likely to lend a helping hand to a woman more beautiful than themselves.”
“On behalf of the less beautiful ladies, I must object to that cynical remark, sir. To say nothing of comparisons being odious.”
“Present company is always excepted, ma’am,” he said with a gallant bow. Cathy gave him a gimlet glance. “That lowered brow tells me I have inadvertently offended you. Naturally your beauty takes second place to none.”
The compliment was a poor one, and its mundane delivery did nothing to redeem it. Cathy decided the best course was to ignore it. “So you think Mrs. Leonard is too beautiful to be involved?” she said blandly.
“Now, that, Miss Lyman, was downright nasty. I am shocked at your sharp tongue. It is not Mrs. Leonard’s beauty but her story that convinces she is innocent. The only thing I could accuse her of is a slightly forward manner, and that would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, so I shan’t suggest that she might be open to a carte blanche, if the right gent made an offer.”
“And did you?” she asked.
“No, Miss Lyman, I did not. Morality aside, it is poor policy to mix business and pleasure, and I work with the lady’s husband.”
Cathy poured her caller a glass of sherry, to give herself time to think. Costain could be telling the truth. She must not allow jealousy of Mrs. Leonard to color her judgment. If he were lying, he had gotten up a credible story that covered all angles in very short order and related it fluently, with no air of guilt or even apology. She decided to suspend judgment until she had had time to think, and discuss it with Gordon.
She passed him the glass of sherry. “So you think Mrs. Leonard is innocent?” she said.
“She is a bit of a twister, not much inhibited by virtue, but no worse than most ladies.” He took a sip of his drink, then asked, “Where is Gordon?”
“He went on somewhere after the play.”
“Ah, I thought when I saw your light in here that the two of you might be waiting for me to come and explain myself. You have some explaining to do as well, Miss Lyman. What of those letters you were going to write this evening?”
“I decided to go out instead.”
“That denotes a sad unsteadiness of character,” he said, shaking a playful finger at her. “I expected more firmness of character from you.”
“Another case of the pot calling the kettle black?”
“No, gray. I am convinced you only delayed the writing till a later time. Which of the many gentlemen in your box lured you from your correspondence? Was it the blond fellow you rescued from falling over the railing? I must congratulate you on your quick rescue, and on your patience in the face of gross provocation. Had my escort been so inattentive, I would have given her a nudge over that railing.”
“Mr. Edison is only a friend.”
“Still, one expects a little consideration from one’s friends. Why, he is the sort of fellow who would abandon his lady at supper. But then, that would be nothing new for you. Did you read him a lecture, as you did me?”
“Actually he is Gordon’s friend.”
“I wondered why he paid so much attention to Miss Stanfield when he had a more charming lady by his side.”
“You know her?” Cathy asked.
“I see a comparison loses its odium when it goes in your favor! Elizabeth Stanfield is my first cousin. As there is more than a decade difference in our ages, we were never close. Since making her debut, she has turned into a devout flirt. I fear the chit has lost what little propriety she ever had. And who am I to be preaching propriety when I come barging in on a solitary lady at this hour of night? I must go.” He set his glass aside and rose to put on his hat and coat. “You will tell Gordon to stop following Mrs. Leonard?” he said.
Costain’s easy manner had nearly convinced Cathy he was innocent. She had second thoughts when he repeated that Gordon must cease watching Mrs. Leonard. Perhaps he intended to accept the lady’s hints that she was available as a mistress? Or perhaps she already occupied that position. That, while horrid, really had nothing to do with the spy at the Horse Guards.
“I shall tell him what you said,” she replied.
Costain had put on his coat and was doing it up. He looked up, surprised at the ambiguity of her reply. Then he walked toward her. “What is the matter?” he said simply. Without waiting for a reply, he added, “You don’t believe me.”
“You could be telling the truth,” she admitted.
“I am telling the truth. What possible reason could I have for dissembling?”
“I did not accuse you of dissembling.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
Desperate for a reply that would satisfy him, she said, “Perhaps it was Mrs. Leonard who was dissembling.”
Costain’s arched brows rose, and he tilted his head to one side to think. “That is possible. I would not be the first man to be led astray by a beautiful lady. I wonder ...”
“Just so you bear the possibility in mind, milord,” she said, and led him to the door.
“About tomorrow evening,” he said, and paused, his hand on the doorknob. He had not intended to continue seeing so much of Miss Lyman. Yet her distrust bo
thered him in a way he could not quite fathom. He found he wanted her good opinion. He also realized he had taken an unaccountable aversion to that blond fellow who sat beside her in the box.
She watched him, not with the adoring eyes of an infatuated lady, but with something akin to dislike. “Perhaps you and Mr. Edison have already made plans. It is presumptuous of me to assume you are at my beck and call,” he said with a question in his voice.
“I don’t know—I cannot recall just offhand what we are doing tomorrow evening. Perhaps—”
“May I drop by after work?”
“Yes, I shall tell Gordon you will be coming.”
“And you will be here?”
She looked at him with her wide, clear gaze. As he watched, a small smile crept over her face. “I shall probably be here, too,” she said.
“I was telling the truth, you know.”
“I know,” she heard herself say. She had no idea where that soft voice, or those words, had come from. They rose up instinctively from the unconscious depths within her. She felt at that moment that he was telling the truth. It was impossible that he was not.
His frown lightened, then a smile seized his lips. He looked as if he might say something further. But he just put on his hat and went to the door. “Good night, Miss Lyman,” he said as he left.
“Good night.” When he had disappeared into the shadows, she quietly closed the door.
A warm glow suffused her as she sat by the fire, waiting for Gordon to return. She felt some new height had been reached in her relationship with Costain. He wanted her good opinion, and why should he care about that unless he liked her? She did not let herself think the word love. He had not done or said anything to give that impression, but he had seemed to be aware of her as a woman in a way he had not before.
It was not long before Gordon came in, frowning and complaining. “I lost Leo. He just disappeared after the play. He did not get into the carriage with the Leonards, for I decided I might as well follow them home since I had lost Costain, and he was not in their carriage. I waited an age to see if Mrs. Leonard slipped out after the old boy took to his tick, but she did not.”
“Lord Costain came here,” Cathy said. “He explained all about his being with Mrs. Leonard.” She went over the story carefully, excluding only those few flirtatious comments that she hugged to herself like a precious secret.
“And you believed him!” Gordon exclaimed derisively when the tale was told.
“Yes, I am sure he was telling the truth. His explanation covered everything we were concerned about.”
“It didn’t cover the carriage that was waiting at the back door of Dutroit’s shop, and the man who drove Mrs. Leonard away. It wasn’t her husband, for he was at his office. Why, for all we know, it was Costain himself. We have only his word for where he spent his day.”
“You said it was a large, bulky man.”
“Why, I could hardly even see that it was a man, with those curst spectacles.” He took a glass of sherry before continuing.
“If she has a rich gent at her beck and call, why would she be wasting her time making bonnets? His story has more holes than a beggar’s coat. And if he was following the Leonards at a distance, how does it come they saw him, and offered him a seat in their box?”
“It seemed feasible, the way he told it,” Cathy said, but as Gordon poked and pulled at it, the story seemed to fall to pieces before her very eyes.
“Why, it was nothing but a Cheltenham tragedy. I ain’t sure I didn’t see it acted on the stage a year ago. Something very like it, in any case. Costain takes us for a pair of flats, but he is out in his calculation. I know how many beans make five, whatever about you. He made up to you, and you let him sweet-talk you into believing that farrago of nonsense. I knew by the soft smile you had on when I came in that something had happened. I feared Edison had gotten at you in the carriage.”
“Don’t be absurd, Gordon. You know he is crazed for Miss Stanfield. Oh, did I mention she is Costain’s first cousin?”
“The devil you say!”
“Yes, he mentioned it.”
Gordon’s scowl dwindled to a smirk. “How did he come to do that? Was she asking Costain about me?”
“No, actually he was taunting me about Edison paying so much attention to her. Somehow or other it came up that she is his first cousin.”
“Wouldn’t you know it! My first chance at an in with her, and I have gone and insulted Costain.”
“What did you do?” Cathy demanded. “What did you say to him? I thought you had not followed him.”
Gordon looked surprised, then a smile appeared. “I didn’t actually say anything to him, thank God. It is just what I said to you, but he need not know I think him a liar and a scoundrel until after he has puffed me up a little to Miss Stanfield. I mean to say, what do we actually have against him? It is plain as a pikestaff he is Mrs. Leonard’s lover, having me follow her to see who else she has on the string, as you said. Nothing in that. It has nothing to do with the spy. An affair of the heart, nothing more.”
This hardly satisfied Cathy, but as she was the perpetrator of the idea, she could not scold Gordon as she wanted to. “What do you think we should do?”
“The thing to do, we set up an outing with Costain and his cousin. You and Costain, me and Miss Stanfield.”
“I mean about our work, Gordon.”
“Oh, that! I shall keep hounding Mrs. Leonard, certainly. She would not have another lover when she has Costain sewn up tight as a drum. Stands to reason, the fellow she meets over the hat shop is the spy. Who else could he be? I shall follow him, find out who he is, and turn him over to Cosgrave. That will secure me a position on his staff. A pity about Italy, but I shan’t forget to find you a parti. You might nail Swinton if you look sharp. He says you ain’t as old as he thought.”
Cathy honed in on the important part of his speech. “You think Costain innocent, then?”
“Of course he is. A bit deluded, poor fellow, blinded by love, but down as a nail.”
“How did he come to overlook the man who met Mrs. Leonard at the back door of the shop, though?”
“He didn’t overlook him. He thinks it is a competitor for the fair Leonard, and was ashamed for you to know he is carrying on with the trollop.”
“Oh, do you think that is the explanation?” she asked in a small voice.
“As plain as the tail on a fox. Well, this was a pretty good night’s work. Miss Stanfield’s first cousin, eh? Thank God for it, or he would cut us all out. I can hardly wait to see Edison’s ugly phiz when I tell him I am stepping out with Miss Stanfield.”
They extinguished the lamps and went quietly upstairs, to avoid awaking the household. Gordon slept the sleep of the innocent, but Cathy found her mind in such confusion that she was awake for hours, trying to make sense of it all. She came to the conclusion that Lord Costain was either Mrs. Leonard’s lover, or a very stupid spy. She could not feel that he was stupid. Deeply engrossed in her brooding, she even forgot that tomorrow evening was the date of the Great Winter Ball.
Chapter Eleven
"Did you enjoy your evening at the theater?” was the first question Lady Lyman put to Cathy when her daughter entered the breakfast parlor the next morning.
“Very nice, Mama.”
A glance at Cathy’s wan face was enough to tell her that the chit had not had enough sleep. As she had heard her daughter mount the stairs to bed at midnight, she could only conclude that the girl had slept poorly. A long career of reading ladies’ hearts and minds from their faces suggested that her daughter’s romance had come a cropper. This, in turn, suggested that Lord Costain had been at the theater with another lady.
“Did you happen to see Lord Costain?” she asked.
“He was there with another party,” Cathy replied, feigning indifference.
Lady Lyman was too kind to humiliate her daughter by inquiring whether this party had included a young lady. She knew from her career as a
diplomat’s wife that when a contract between parties was in danger of souring, a new initiative was called for.
The Lymans were no longer the courted party; it was for them to take the initiative. Cathy had been pestering her to go to the Great Winter Ball. It was shockingly dear, but to hang such an ornament as Lord Costain on the family tree was well worth fifty pounds.
She cleared her throat preparatory to making her announcement, and when she had her audience’s attention, she said, “Lady Eagleton coerced me into buying tickets for Lady Somerset’s charity ball last evening—what they are calling the Great Winter Ball, though I doubt it will merit the title. I thought I might drop Lord Costain a line and ask if he is free to take you to it, Cathy. It is to be held this evening.”
“This evening?” Cathy exclaimed. How had it crept up on her so quickly? She had been ticking the days off on her calendar, but once Costain entered her life, she had forgotten even the Great Winter Ball.
“My dear, you cannot have forgotten? You badgered the life out of me.”
“Oh, no, Mama! You must not ask Costain,” Cathy said.
Costain’s new lady must be pretty! “A pity to waste the tickets,” Lady Lyman complained. She was sorry she had claimed to have purchased them already.
Gordon came into the breakfast parlor, tugging at a cravat of monumental proportions.
“Good God, what is that thing at your throat?” Rodney demanded.
“It is called a cravat, Uncle,” Gordon said with heavy sarcasm. “The Oriental, to be precise. All the gentlemen are sporting it this season.”
Rodney shook his head. “It will soon go out of style, like damped muslin. You ought not to be a galley slave to fashion. You make yourself ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, is it? I’ll have you know, Edison and Swinton are sending their valets to see mine this very day, to learn how to tie this thing.”