by Anne Mallory
She pulled out a portmanteau and started packing, trying to avoid their sharp eyes.
"Where are you off to?" Robert demanded.
"I am attending a house party at Lord Pettigrew’s estate."
Calliope looked over in time to see Deirdre’s brows shoot skyward. Deirdre and Robert exchanged a glance. "House party?"
Calliope fastened a determined look on her face. "Yes. I have never been to one, and this is a wonderful opportunity."
Robert looked at her disapprovingly. "I will talk to Stephen. He’s gone too far this time. You cannot go."
Calliope lifted her chin. "I can and I will."
She pulled a day dress out of her closet. "Furthermore, I’m not going with Stephen because he’s away on business. I’m going with the Marquess of Angelford."
She heard Deirdre gasp and Robert exclaim, "What?"
Calliope didn’t meet their eyes. "Stephen gave me permission to be escorted by the marquess. He is perfectly harmless." Calliope choked the last out with some difficulty.
Robert touched her arm, forcing her to look at him. "To say that Angelford is perfectly harmless is paramount to saying a lion is a tabby cat. You don’t know what he’s capable of, Calliope. He behaves politely in society, but I have it on good authority that he’s not one to toy with. Besides, I thought you couldn’t stand Angelford. Remember all those caricatures y0u’ve drawn of him? The insults, the cuts, your displeasure at his behavior?"
She met his eyes firmly. "I told you, I’m going to a house party to observe. It’s an opportunity to do my job better. That is all, Robert, nothing more. I have nothing to worry about from Angelford. Now, if you two will excuse me, I need to pack."
She caught the hurt expression in Robert’s eyes and the bewildered look in Dee’s. Guilt clenched at her gut, and she struggled with her conscience. Deceiving her friends went against her principles, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Stephen’s life might be in jeopardy and she had to carry on with the plan.
She softened her eyes and put her hand over Robert’s. "Stephen will be back soon and everything will return to normal. Please, believe me. Just trust my judgment in this."
Confusion warred in his face and he turned and exited the room without another word.
Deirdre remained a minute longer, her expression registering hurt and concern. "Cal?"
The deeper question was implicit.
There was an uncomfortable pause and Calliope was at a loss for words. She dashed a hand through her hair. "Dee, I can’t tell you now. Just trust me, please?" She looked up at Deirdre pleadingly, but her sister continued to look concerned.
"Be careful Cal. See that you don’t get burned."
Deirdre shook her head and followed Robert out of the house.
Calliope walked to the window and watched her friends leave. She hated shutting them out.
Deirdre’s assessment was correct, as usual. The fire was feeling a bit too warm.
Robert spotted the man in the smokiest section of the tavern. The ramshackle building was located in one of the worst parts of London. He didn’t enjoy meeting here. Calliope’s face flashed in his mind. It was to her that he owed the pleasure of the night’s surroundings. He was still simmering over the conversation hours before. He longed to go back and shake some sense into her.
Robert sat across from the man. "Do you have it?"
The man shook his head. "No."
Damn. He had heard Stephen say that it would be there. Now it was too late to ask for more information. "Does she have it?"
"Pretty sure."
"Do you think she will give it to me?"
"She ain’t gonna give it to you. Woulda probably given it to the blond bloke. He was over there quite regular-like."
Robert contained his impatience. Stephen was no help now.
"Yes, I know. But he is unavailable."
"I tried getting in there the other day, just to take a peek around, mind you, in case you folks wanted me to try other means to obtain it."
Robert frowned. "Don’t do that again. We need to figure out how to get it without raising her suspicions."
The man took a swig of ale and waited.
"Listen up," Robert said as an idea began to take shape. "Here’s what I want you to do."
Chapter 8
Finn entered the study around ten o’clock. James had spent a long, restless night. Since dawn he had unsuccessfully attempted to assemble the bits and pieces he and Calliope had uncovered. The trail remained cold.
"My lord, I haven’t found that Curdle fellow yet. Jaws are clamped tight."
"Some good news to start the day. Just what I needed."
Finn gave him an admonishing look. He was one of the few allowed the privilege. "Now, my lord. Things have progressed slowly before. Just need to give people the proper incentive and a little rope to hang themselves."
"I prefer sooner rather than later. Anything else to report, Finn?"
"Well, I do have some information on the other matter you asked me to look into."
James’s interest perked. "The caricaturist? What can you tell me about him?"
"Not much yet. Only that Robert Cruikshank takes the drawings to Ackermann’s and then collects the fees."
"Cruikshank? I just saw him yesterday. He’s a caricaturist in his own right."
"I figured you’d want me to dig into his background so I went ahead. His staff is discreet so I didn’t get any ready information from them. But I did learn that he has a predictable routine from which he varies only slightly. On the surface, nothing appears amiss. He enjoys the tables, but not overly so. He frequents the Adelphi Theatre and is often seen in the company of Miss Deirdre Daly."
"Very interesting."
Finn nodded. "Do you want me to keep closer tabs on him? I figured the Curdle job had greater priority, so I haven’t done so yet."
"Your instincts were correct, as usual. Stay on Curdle."
Finn nodded. "By the way, were you aware that Robert Cruikshank is also a distant relative of Mr. Chalmers? His great-grandmother was the first cousin of Mr. Chalmers`s great-grandmother. A loose connection, but one nonetheless."
James smiled sardonically. "That it is. I think I’ll pay the illustrious Mr. Cruikshank a visit."
Finn provided directions to Robert Cruikshank’s residence.
The illustrator seemed to be quite visible lately. Perhaps an early morning meeting would shed some light. And give James the advantage.
An hour later James presented his card to a wiry old butler.
Cruikshank appeared shortly and guided James to his study. "My lord, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
His expression looked anything but pleased. James decided to skip the pleasantries and get right to the point. "What do you know about Thomas Landes?"
"Landes is a young caricaturist who is gaining popularity. " His response was uttered in a matter-of-fact voice.
"I’d like to speak with him. Where can I find him?"
"Why ask me? You should try Ackermann’s." Robert Cruikshank looked unruffled. "Or perhaps you should take out an ad?"
"I’d rather you tell me his location and save me the unnecessary time and effort."
"Although I would love to be of assistance, my lord, it is not within my power to do so."
"It was confirmed by a reliable source that you supply all of the sketches to Ackermann’s. So I find it remarkable that you don’t know where or how to contact Landes. Perhaps you are he?"
Cruikshank perused him for a moment and then smiled. "Perhaps."
"I will find out sooner or later, Cruikshank. It’s only a matter of time. I would be more inclined to be generous if my energy and resources were saved."
Cruikshank looked relaxed, but James noticed he was gripping the chair arms.
The man was nervous. And he had deliberately allowed suspicion to rest on himself. James vetoed the notion that Cruikshank was Landes. He had to be protecting someone close to him. His bro
ther? No, George was fanatical about signing his work. Besides, if rumors were true, Robert wouldn’t go to any great lengths for him.
"It would make matters easier if the man were to contact me. He would be better off doing so soon, before I send an outlay of runners to find him," James said.
"I’ll keep that in mind, should I happen to cross paths with Mr. Landes."
"Excellent."
"Good day, my lord."
James let himself out of the townhouse.
He would have one of his footmen follow Cruikshank. The trail would lead to Landes, Stephen or both.
James escorted Calliope to the carriage promptly at one in the afternoon and climbed in after her. He signaled to the two men standing in the doorway of the townhouse and they returned the gesture.
A wave of satisfaction swept through him. The wheels were in motion and the plan was set in action. The carriage began rolling steadily toward its destination.
He glanced across the seat. Calliope’s eyes were guarded, her movements anxious.
"It’s been confirmed that nearly every member on our list will be at Pettigrew’s this weekend. It should prove to be an interesting time. The Pettigrews are infamous for their extravagance."
She clasped her hands and nodded.
"We will arrive and rest before dinner. After dinner there will likely be entertainment. Tomorrow will be filled with lawn games and parlor activities. The festivities will provide an excellent opportunity to converse with the women and listen to any new gossip concerning the men."
She nodded again, continuing to peer out the window. They passed out of the city and James inhaled the fresh country smell. The sky was a bit bluer and the air practically caressed his lungs. He missed his Yorkshire estate and country life.
"There will be a dance tomorrow night, and Sunday after brunch we will leave," he said.
Discussing the weekend activities seemed to be making her knuckles whiter, so he switched topics.
"What do they call the shade of your gown? Mint? Celadon? Pistachio?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Uh, just mint, I suppose."
He nodded. "I think you would do well to wear a darker shade to enhance your coloring. Emerald, maybe."
Her brows drew together. "I don’t recall asking your opinion. I believe this color is perfectly suitable."
He waved a hand in a negligent fashion. "You really should take my advice in these matters. I have more experience, I can assure you."
A spark lit in her eyes and she crossed her arms. "How have the scores of women been able to stand you, my lord?"
He shot her a lazy look and leaned back in his seat. "Just ask one, my dear."
Her lips compressed and she turned to gaze at the flowering countryside. Her hands were no longer clenched.
A number of carriages arrived at the Pettigrews’ estate within minutes of each other.
"Angelford, my dear! So wonderful to see you," cooed Penelope Flanders as she sashayed across the slate tiles on the front portico. "The weekend will be so much more enjoyable with you in attendance."
James forced a smile and took her offered hand. "Lady Flanders, you look lovely as usual. Is your husband with you this weekend?"
She preened. "He will be arriving tomorrow evening. He has important business to attend and insisted I come ahead and enjoy myself."
James felt Calliope’s eyes sear a hole in his back.
"Well, then we shall see you tonight," he could not resist answering.
Penelope glanced at Calliope and dismissed her. “Delightful," she said, eyeing him with relish before strolling into the house.
James smiled at Calliope and tucked her hand under his arm, doubting she would willingly do so.
"Angelford, my dear. My husband’s away and I’m ripe for the plucking," Calliope mimicked.
"A woman of your worldly nature, Miss Minton. You sound amazingly like an outraged virgin."
Interestingly enough, sometimes she acted like one too.
Calliope was spared a response as Lord Pettigrew descended the stairs to warmly welcome them.
"Angelford, good of you to come. Esmerelda, my dear, it’s always a pleasure to see you." He raised her hand to his lips and held it a second longer than was proper.
She smiled becomingly and a flash of irritation swept through James.
"The roads are deplorable this time of the year. You must be tired from your ride. Please make yourselves comfortable and let the servants know if there is anything you require. Dinner will be served at eight. I look forward to seeing you there."
Pettigrew exemplified the word leer.
He motioned for a servant to assist them to their rooms. James had been to the estate before, but he observed the look of wonder pass over Calliope’s face as they entered.
The estate was impressive. It had been in the Pettigrew family for seven generations and the family collection of antiques was notable. The Pettigrews had not experienced the downturn in finances that many wealthy English families had faced during one generation or another.
James’s family had been so blessed until his father’s downfall. It had been up to James to repair the broken finances. But he had always known he would succeed. Always been sure he wouldn’t be forced to sell any of the family heirlooms. So he continued to take the display of wealth as second nature. He had never chosen to look at it any other way.
But Calliope’s posture caused him to pause. As she gazed around at the trappings of wealth, her first expression was one of awe, quickly replaced by anger.
She caught him looking at her and an indifferent mask fell into place, but too late.
The servants guided them to rooms across from one another in the west corridor of the second floor. He excused himself, leaving her to rest while he entered his room. It was a large room with Oriental silks and dark mahogany furniture. He had a similarly styled room in his main country estate. He wondered what Calliope would say about his forty-room Yorkshire manor. He felt fairly certain she would not be pleased.
Calliope glanced at the clock. The hour had passed quickly. She pressed her cheek into the pillow and gazed at the fancy mantelpiece. It was entirely covered in gilt. Small angels were trapped in the corners and held there with the heavy gold. The frills in one room alone would feed a small village.
What was she doing here?
Trying to find Stephen. Interrogating people. Searching rooms. Keeping a firm distance from Angelford.
Not necessarily in that order.
She shoved her face more firmly in the pillow and groaned. Flipping back the covers, she rolled until her legs fell off the bed and her feet touched the cold floor. She pushed herself upright and tiptoed to the settee.
Calliope put her feet up on the settee and pulled her day dress over the top. Betsy would be in soon to help her prepare for the evening. Funny how one became used to the assistance. Calliope grimaced.
Betsy tapped on the door and entered. "What a lovely house, miss. The country is so different from the city."
Betsy’s eyes glowed. Was poor Herbert, the footman, already being replaced?
"Anything interesting belowstairs, Betsy?"
"Indeed, miss," she said as she entered the closet and withdrew a red evening gown. "I have heard the most unusual things about the Pettigrews and their parties. Supposedly this is not one of their more wild weekends. Tame entertainments are planned."
Calliope hid her grin at Betsy’s disappointment. "Why do you suppose that is?"
"Servants don’t know, miss. They say Lord Pettigrew’s been awfully preoccupied with some government hubbub lately and has been curtailing boisterous types of entertainment. They say Lady Pettigrew is bored." Betsy shook her head and helped her into the gown. "Never a good thing, a bored noble."
"This is Lady Pettigrew’s birthday weekend and they haven’t planned anything above mild?"
Betsy nodded sadly and her disappointment reflected Calliope’s own. She had been expecting at least some caric
ature material from this trip. Lord Pettigrew had been promising especially lurid activities for weeks. Not that she would participate, but she had planned to actively observe and document.