by Joan Smith
“Never mind sliding your old black eyes at me! Ain’t going. Demmed if I’ll sit staring at a coffin and drinking watered wine. Have to say all that ‘Sorry for your trouble’ stuff, and Charney laughing up her sleeve the whole time.”
“She isn’t laughing, Pronto.”
They discussed the matter further after they returned to the inn. In the afternoon, Belami went in search of Mr. Straus, but his most careful questioning turned up nothing new. Obviously Straus considered the case as well as solved and was only waiting for the chemical analysis from Mr. Marsh to prove it. Waylaying Marsh’s reply became more urgent than ever, and Belami spoke to Réal regarding the possibility of tampering with the mail.
“I don’t want you to land yourself in Newgate, Réal, but it won’t do any harm for you to ride along a few stops and hire a seat back to Banting on the mail coach. See how the mail’s handled and if it’s possible to get into the bags without being caught.”
“Intercepting of the letters is the federal crime, non?” Réal mentioned. He was by no means averse to undertaking the enterprise, but wanted his master to be fully aware of its danger.
“I hardly think they’d stretch your neck for it, but don’t take any big chances.”
“I go now and make the queries,” Réal said. “I be starting at the local office for learning the hours of mail arrival.”
“That sounds as good a place as any."
On his way through the hotel lobby, Belami saw Adelaide Pankhurst entering at the front door and hung around, hoping to intercept her. He saw her receive a letter at the front desk and sauntered forth, wearing his most gallant smile.
“Miss Pankhurst, what a delightful surprise. And what a delightful bonnet, too,” he added, glancing at the hideous erection on top of her head. It had a poke a foot high, the front of it garnished with cherries and grapes like a fruit salad.
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Lord Belami! I haven’t seen a sign of you all day long.” She spared a glance for her letter, and Belami also slid his eyes to it. He looked, then his head jerked forward again as he strained to see the handwriting. He thought he recognized Deirdre’s writing and was on thorns to learn what she could have to say to Adelaide Pankhurst.
“It’s such a chilly day out there, I bet you’re in the mood for a nice hot cup of coffee.” He smiled. “Will you permit me to offer you some? We’ll have a private parlor, of course,” he added to let her feel like a lady.
“That’s mighty handsome of you, sir. I don’t mind if I do.”
The parlor was opened, the coffee ordered, and Belami pulled a chair for her. “Don’t let me keep you from your letter,” he said. “I’ll just take a pinch of snuff while you read it.” He pulled out an enameled box, but his eyes only left the letter to travel to Adelaide’s face. He noticed her smile in satisfaction.
“This is a note from Miss Gower!” she said. “She’s invited me to Dudley’s wake tonight and offered me a lift in her carriage for the funeral tomorrow. The old lady will die of a fit if I accept. I wish she’d offered to send the carriage to take me to the wake. How am I to get out there?”
“I’ll be very happy to drive you,” Belami said.
“But how would I get back? You wouldn’t want to be hanging about the countryside for an hour.”
“It would be a pleasure. Please, let me take you,” he urged, though he wondered she didn’t suggest returning with Nevil.
She tilted her head and cast a flirtatious eye in his direction. “When you put it like that, you make it real hard for a lady to say no,” she replied.
“It was my hope to make it impossible,” he said.
“In that case, you’ve got a bargain.”
Belami set his snuffbox on the edge of the table, and Adelaide picked it up. “Mind if I try this? If it’s good enough for the old queen, I guess it’s good enough for me.” She helped herself to a pinch, but failed to induce a sneeze.
“This little box isn’t too different from the one I gave Dudley for his birthday. Mind you, his picture was different. He likes his ladies undraped,” she said with a broad wink. “Paid a guinea for it, and a crown for the tin of snuff as well. I wonder what became of it. I sent it a few days early. I hope he got it before he died.”
It occurred to Belami that he really must get into Dudley’s bedroom and office for a look around, but this was tucked at the back of his mind for future use. The coffee arrived and Belami poured, as Adelaide had gone to the mirror to remove her bonnet. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Lud, what a dump of a town this is. Not a decent shop to be seen. I’ve never put in such a long day in my life. When do you suppose they’ll be reading the will, Lord Belami?”
“Very soon. Probably not the day of the funeral, but perhaps the day after.”
“He better of left me something. A widow’s got rights.”
“Your coffee is ready. Do you take sugar?”
She placed her bonnet on a chair and swayed forward. “No, my friends tell me I’m sweet enough,” she answered. When she reached the table, she sat not on her own chair but on Belami’s knee. He wasn’t shocked exactly, but he was surprised at the speed of her advances. He was also acutely uncomfortable. She was very heavy, but he put his arms around her and murmured a few unlikely compliments having to do with cherry lips and cherry-blossom cheeks, which proved completely acceptable.
The love scene by no means interfered with her taking of coffee. She gulped down one cup and poured herself another, all the while bemoaning the lack of any cakes to accompany it. She then lifted Belami’s cup to his lips and smiled as he sipped.
“Am I too heavy for you?” she asked.
“Light as a feather!” he answered, shifting her weight to restore the circulation to his legs.
This flattering lie earned him a kiss that went on forever. He was short of breath when she finally released him. “Your friend—Sir Nevil—would he be cross if he knew what we’re up to?” Belami asked.
“That old man-milliner! Who cares about him? All he ever wanted from me was to make it up with his uncle, so I could put in a good word for him. Oh, he’d warm up fast enough if Dudley left me the lot, but it’ll be cream-pot love for that fellow. He’d be the last one I’d throw my bonnet at if I got the blunt. And if he gets it, he wouldn’t give me the time of day either.”
“Speaking of the time of day,” Belami said, trying to disentangle an arm to draw out his watch. “1 have an appointment at five. I really should be running along.”
Adelaide hopped up with no stronger hint. “Don’t let me keep you, then, Lord Belami. I’ll just sit on a bit and finish the coffee. What time will you take me out to the Grange tonight?”
“How does eight suit you?”
“That'll be fine. Then we can come back here and . . ." She stopped speaking, but her smile spoke on.
“Charming. I look forward to it,” Belami said. His toes were invaded with the sensation of a million pinpricks as he stood up and the blood rushed to them. He could hardly stand, but he stepped forward manfully and didn’t quite fall down.
“Would you mind asking them to send in a plum cake?” Adelaide called as he headed to the door.
“I should have thought of it myself. Perhaps a few macaroons as well? Sweets for the sweet!”
“Oh, you!” She smiled, finding no contradiction in this to her own claim to being sweet enough. “Just a small plate, then.”
Belami blew her a kiss and fled the room, feeling a great sense of escape. He sent in a full plum cake and a large platter of macaroons, every one of which Adelaide ate before picking up her bonnet and retiring to her chamber to plan dinner.
When Belami reached his room, Pronto was already there, stretched out in front of the fire, a glass of purl in his hand. “Trying a new one,” he told his friend. “Ale and bitters drunk warm. If I’m going to a funeral, I need to have some help from the bottle. By tomorrow at eleven, I should be primed.”
“I won’t join you. I’m t
aking Adelaide to the wake tonight. Care to come along?”
Pronto slapped his glass down, sloshing a good portion of liquid onto the table. The blue eye he turned on his friend was aflame. “You’re trying to patch it up with Deirdre Gower, and you’re taking that lightskirt to her uncle’s house? Your top tiles are loose, my lad. Loose and letting the wind in. Tell you here and now: don’t count on me to stitch the torn pieces together for you. Ain’t a seamstress, after all.”
“I’m not taking Adelaide inside. I’m just delivering her, and I need your help, Pronto.”
Pronto’s fierce expression softened first to acceptance, then to something approaching delight. “Should have said so. Wouldn’t mind escorting Miss Pankhurst. Tell you what I’ll do, Dick. I’ll even wait in the carriage and drive her home.”
“No, you won’t, my friend. I have a more active role for you.
“Eh? How active?” he asked suspiciously, but not at all reluctantly.
“Not that active,” Belami said, sorry to disillusion him. “She’d eat a tender morsel like you alive, Pronto. I couldn’t send you alone in a carriage with her. I’d be afraid to go myself. She demmed near broke my legs, and I was only buying her a cup of coffee.”
“Broke your legs?” Pronto demanded. “What was she doing?”
“Sitting on them. Here’s what I want you to do,” Belami said, and moved the bowl of purl beyond reach. “You’ll have to go into the Grange with Miss Pankhurst.”
“Take her to the door. My best offer. Take it or leave it.”
“I have to see Deirdre,” Belami told him. “It’s not what you think! Merely I have a little business matter to arrange with her.”
“Such as?”
“I want her to let me in to search Dudley’s bedroom and office.”
Pronto shook his head and uttered a weary sigh. “Worst excuse I ever heard in my life, Dick. With me on hand, you don’t need Deirdre. In fact, she’d be the last one to let you in, the way she’s behaving. Lock the doors and windows and call in the law is more like it. You want to see her, plain and simple, and you’d do better to give no excuse than such a lame one as that.”
Belami’s face wore a look of surprise at this charge. He didn’t know why Deirdre had come to mind as his accomplice. What Pronto said was certainly true, yet he was unwilling to accept it and soon found another reason. “The fact is, I have other matters to discuss with her as well. My being cut off from the Grange and Fernvale is making my investigations difficult.”
“Exactly the way she wants it.”
Ingenuity forsook Belami, and he resorted to temper to carry the day. “Are you going to help me or not? I thought that was why you came to Banting in the first place. If you’re only going to throw a rub in my way, you might as well leave.”
Pronto sniffed and considered doing just that. “Who’ll take Adelaide to the Grange, then?”
"I will.’’
“Tell you what, Dick. We’ll strike a bargain. I’ll tote Adelaide along, but I want to have her to myself in the carriage. You can go in your own rig, and I’ll tip Deirdre the clue you want in. And when she says no, I’ll even unlock a side door for you myself.”
“But I told her I’d take her! She’s expecting me to . . ."
“Can’t have it all your own way. You’re trying to make it up with Deirdre. Know when you get so snappish what ails you. Feeling a bit snappish myself. Broke your legs, eh? Sounds like a bit of a goer.” He reached forth and refilled his glass with the purl. “So have we got a bargain or no?”
“All right, but you tell Adelaide. I’m supposed to be meeting her downstairs at eight.”
“Done. Now let’s order dinner.”
At eight, Pronto went below to inform Miss Pankhurst of the new plan. She was not at all pleased by the change of escort, nor did she have the grace to conceal it.
“What’s the matter with Lord Belami?” she demanded hotly.
“Broke his legs. Can hardly navigate at all. He’s laid up in his bed, but I’ll be happy to take you, Miss Pankhurst. My carriage is already harnessed and waiting,” he said, leading her out the door.
Two details conspired to make this acceptable to Adelaide. The first was that Belami was in his room, in bed, where she would drop in to thank him for sending this maw-worm in his place as soon as she returned. The second was that Mr. Pilgrim, despite his lamentable looks, was dressed like a gentleman of means and drove a bang-up rattler and prads. His being a fool was a bonus. Fools were the easiest ones to fleece. She was also glad that Mr. Pilgrim would actually be entering the house with her. If there was one person in the world Adelaide was frightened of, it was the Dowager Duchess of Charney, and it would be comforting to have a man to hold on to and to defend her fair name if it came to name-calling.
“Broke his legs?” she said, laughing. “My, that sounds serious. Did he get into a brawl with someone?”
“I wouldn’t call it a brawl exactly. I have a good firm leg myself,” he added, and gave her such a pointed look that she leaped onto his knee before the carriage left the yard.
Chapter 10
Adelaide Pankhurst and Pronto were made welcome at the door of the Grange by Deirdre. She hardly knew whether she was more surprised to see Pronto or this caricature of Adelaide, whom she remembered as a young, garishly beautiful woman. She was still a garish woman, but both youth and beauty had flown, leaving behind a stout female in an outfit that was not at all suitable to a widow.
“Don’t mind the looks of me. I had no way of knowing Dudley would die, and didn’t come prepared” was Adelaide’s first greeting. “And you’re little Deirdre Gower—my, you’ve certainly grown up.” Adelaide was too nice to add any of the unflattering thoughts in her head. That she had been expecting to see a fashionable beauty and was greeted instead by a stiff-faced woman rigged out like a nun and hiding whatever beauty she possessed under that hairdo, exactly like her aunt.
“Pronto, this is a surprise! It’s nice to see you. You will both want to speak to the duchess, I expect,” Deirdre said, leading them into the mourning saloon where her grace sat across from the coffin.
“So it’s you” was her grace’s welcome to Adelaide. Her scathing glance took in the bonnet—not the high-poked, fruit-garnished one, but still one in what Miss Pankhurst considered the high kick of fashion. The duchess’s welcome to Pronto was less chilly. “And Mr. Pilgrim. You seem to turn up like a bad penny everywhere I go.”
“Sorry for your trouble,” he said, pulling his funeral face, which consisted of a severe straining down of the lips and a heavy scowl. “Just popped along for the wedding, but since there ain’t going to be one, I decided to stick around for the funeral, if you don’t mind.”
“That was well done of you, sir. Very proper, I’m sure, and your carriage will be more than welcome. It will be hard to line up a decent showing of carriages, but if we each drive, it won’t be a pitiful display at least. You might drop Belami the word he is welcome to drive his rig as well.”
“I’ll ask him, but don’t count him in on my say-so," Pronto replied.
Next the duchess turned her charm on Adelaide. “Come and sit beside me, Miss Pankhurst. Tell me what you’ve been up to all these years."
Pronto stepped aside with the greatest relish and sought a quiet corner of the room. It was his aim to discover where Deirdre had gone and give her Dick’s message. While he waited, he gazed around at the lugubrious scene before him. The room was as black as pitch, lighted only by candles around the coffin. There were perhaps a dozen people present, all of them got up in black like a flock of crows. A minister hovered at the coffin’s side, fingering a prayer book. And not a drink to be seen, not even a glass of sherry. Happier sounds came from beyond the doorway, and he wandered forth. Sounded like the clink of glasses to his sharp ears.
He met Deirdre, just leading another guest in, and pulled at her elbow. Covering his mouth with his fingers, he whispered, “Dick—outside—wants to see you. Important.”
/> She stopped and stared at him. “Where?” she asked. He couldn’t tell by the shocked look of her whether she was pleased or angry or only surprised.
“Waiting at the door of the study. Dashed cold out there. Will you go? ‘Cause if you won’t, I’ve got to let him in myself.’’
She went right away, that very instant, just stopping long enough to look over her shoulder to see that her aunt and Nevil were occupied. Pronto deemed it his role to follow her and stand guard outside the study door to ward off intruders. He explained this as he trailed along beside her, but she didn’t answer him. She just picked up a taper from the hallway and disappeared behind a varnished door.
The taper trembled in her fingers as she strode to the French doors and opened them. A cold gust of wind rushed in and extinguished her flame. Beyond the doorway was the remains of a rose garden, dry and sere in winter, the crushed shells on the ground dusted with snow and sparkling in the cold moonlight. As she looked, a shadow loomed into view and assumed the form of Belami. His many-caped greatcoat and his curled beaver were recognized in an instant.
“You wanted to say something to me?” Deirdre asked, standing aside to let him enter.
“Why are you in the dark?”
“My candle blew out.”
“Light it. I want to see you.”
But already he could see by the pale moonlight that she was tired and worried and, best of all, happy to be with him, even if she was trying to hide it. There were traces of that old shyness he knew and loved so well. Her long lashes flickered with uncertainty, and she tried to maintain an unyielding face.
“There must be a tinderbox here somewhere,” she said, and went to the desk. Her fingers shook, and Belami took the box from her to light the taper. He set it on the desk, arranging it to let the light play on Deirdre. “Well, what is it you have to say?” she asked, lifting her chin to show him that she considered this purely a business matter, and no pleasant one either.
“I want to find out what’s happening here and at Fernvale. I can’t learn much from the inn.”