“You’re going to find Miss Evie.”
I hope it shall be as easy as that. “And you have no reluctance to speak to me?”
Wheeler shook his head. “Known Miss Evie all her life, miss. A very sweet little girl she was, and growing into a fine woman. Family didn’t ought to let her go without they try to find her.”
“I presume that Miss Thorpe’s disappearance has been discussed in the servants’ hall?” At Wheeler’s nod, “What is the sense among you? Was the elopement a great surprise?”
“It was, miss.” Wheeler’s ale arrived and he tasted it with satisfaction.
“There had never been any sign that she was attached to some young man?”
Wheeler leaned forward confidingly. “None any of us noticed. Not gifts nor letters. When Miss Clarissa—Lady Brereton as is now—was out, there was always flowers and notes and the like. In course, Miss Evie wasn’t out yet. When the season started, though, she’d have had beaux. But for now? Naught.”
“Nothing came to her from Whiston Hall?” That was Lord Lyne’s Warwickshire house.
“No, miss. Not for Miss Evie. Things come back and forth to the master, in course of business, but nothing come for Miss Evadne.”
“Well, let us talk of other things. Can you tell me what happened that day—who came and went at the house, if anything caught your attention?”
Wheeler took another draught of his ale, set it down, and closed his eyes as if attempting to recall.
“There was—Lord Lyne and Miss Evie had words about something at breakfast—he found her reading something he didn’t like, something about windows? Quite angry he was, red in the face, looking at her over his spectacles with his eyebrows all drawn together. Miss Evie spoke up quite spirited about her book, but milord called it trash and called her a stupid girl. Miss Evie run up to the schoolroom, and that was the last I saw of her until after noon.”
How useful the servants’ hall could be, Miss Tolerance reflected. “Lady Brereton was not at breakfast?”
“No, miss. She takes hers in bed.”
“And what were the comings and goings that morning?
Wheeler thought long. “Miss Clari—Lady Brereton come down a little later and wrote some letters in the little parlor, then went up to see if Miss Evie wanted to go to Bond Street, shopping. Milord stayed in his office—”
“Was he still angry?”
Again Wheeler appeared to give the question substantial thought. “Not that I could see. Milord may rant, but he don’t carry it forward nor hold a grudge, as they say. In any case, he was closeted away all morning. Miss Nottingale and Miss Evie went out for a walk, what Miss Nottingale calls a good ramble. And round about noon Lady Brereton and her maid left to go to the shops. Miss Evie came home a little time after that, and Miss Nottingale sent down for a collation, which was brought up to the schoolroom. And then—” Miss Tolerance had the distinct sense that Mr. Wheeler was frustrated by his lack of knowledge.”—then Lady Brereton returned home, might have been two o’clock, and Miss Evie wa’n’t nowhere to be found. No one thought much of it until my lord come out his study, maybe an hour after Lady Brereton come home. He come out calling for Miss Evie, red in the face and roaring mad. You know the rest, miss.”
“I do. Thank you, Mr. Wheeler.” Miss Tolerance was trying to make a picture for herself of what the family’s movements had been that morning. “Were there other comings and goings that morning? Deliveries, mail, messages? Anything for Miss Evadne?”
“Miss Evie? A man did come from the library with a package for Miss Evie. Mail come, and messages for milord. Business, like.”
“A package from the library. Was she expecting it?”
Wheeler shook his head. “That I cannot say, miss. I was on my way down to the servants’ hall when it come; Pinney went up to fetch her.”
“And what time was that? Who was the last to see her?”
“Annie, one of the maids, she saw Miss Evie when she brought the tray to the schoolroom, which’d be about half past one. I asked particularly before I come tonight. Annie, and then Pinney, as I said. That was the last anyone in the servants’ hall saw of her.”
Miss Tolerance nodded. “There is usually a footman at the door? How could Miss Thorpe have let the house unobserved?”
Wheeler looked faintly embarrassed. “Servants’ hall has its dinner at two o’clock, ma’am, although there’s a man left upstairs to answer the door. Pinney’d ha’ seen her did she leave that way, ‘less he was called away. Or she might have slipped out the garden gate to the alley and none the wiser.”
“I see.” Miss Tolerance bit her lip. “And there was surprise in the servants’ hall at Miss Thorpe’s elopement?”
“You might have knocked us all down with a feather!”
“Because there was no sign of a lover?”
“Well, that. But, too, Miss Evie ain’t that sort of girl even if she did fancy herself in love. Nor if she were mad at her pa; not one of us can imagine her doing such a thing for spite. You’d ought to ask Miss Nottingale, of course.”
“Miss Nottingale is of the same opinion.” Miss Tolerance paused to think. “Lord Lyne was in his office all day? That room is on the first floor?”
“To the right of the top of the stairs, yes, miss. It’s paired with the little withdrawing room in the back of the house, then—”
“How do you think Miss Evie left her letter for her father?” Miss Tolerance interrupted. “If he did not read it until, what? Three o’clock? And milord was in his office all day? Unless she asked someone to deliver it to him, surely her father would have seen her leave the letter.”
Wheeler’s ruddy face grew redder still. He thought, thought again, and looked at her with surprise. “I don’t see how she could. She didn’t give it to no one. There’s a tray left out for mail to be franked by milord; she could have dropped it there.”
“Would the footman have seen her do so?”
Wheeler’s face fell. “Pinney’d have been in and around the hallway and likely to see her, but he might not ha’ taken note.”
Miss Tolerance agreed. “This suggests one of three things: that Pinney was in her confidence—” she cut Mr. Wheeler off as he began to sputter a protest ”—that she put the letter on the tray unseen; or that the letter was delivered to the door and thence to Lord Lyne.”
“Miss, I’d take my oath that Pinney would ‘ave said if ‘e’d seen ‘er.” In his anxiety Mr. Wheeler’s aitches were deserting him. “We’ve all known Miss Evie since she was born, miss. There’s not one of us wishes ‘er ‘arm.”
“I am sure that is so, Mr. Wheeler,” Miss Tolerance said gravely. “May I ask that you have a word with Mr. Pinney—you will know, I am sure, whether he is telling the truth or no—and leave word of what you learn for me at Tarsio’s?”
Mr. Wheeler, who had neglected his ale, refreshed himself with a hearty draught. When he had emptied the pot and licked his lips, he nodded solemnly. “I’ll see to it, miss. If I find Pinney’s been keeping secrets, do you wish to speak to him?” The ale, and a moment of reflection, appeared to have restored Mr. Wheeler to self-possession.
“If it is possible to do so without creating problems with Lord Lyne, yes, I should very much like to speak to him. One last question, Mr. Wheeler.” Miss Tolerance took a sip of her coffee. “You have been with the family for many years?”
”Over twenty-five, miss. Started out in the country at Whiston Hall when I was a boy.”
“Would you say you are acquainted with Lord Lyne’s ways?”
A half-smile quirked the corner of Wheeler’s mouth. “I suppose so, ma’am. Milord is not one of the confiding sort. But a man keeps his eye open and knows the family’s ways.”
“Precisely my thought.” Miss Tolerance took another sip of coffee. “You said Lord Lyne is not a man to hold grudges.”
“I’d not say so, miss. No.”
“Can you think why he might be so determined against assisting his daughter?
” Miss Tolerance thought she recognized in Mr. Wheeler’s face a reluctance to indict his master. “Since I cannot see the note Miss Thorpe left, I am trying to understand if there might have been information in it which he did not share with the family, which would explain his attitude.”
“I can’t tell you, miss. I’d have said his lordship was very fond of Miss Evie. This’d have been a blow to him on top of—”
“Yes?”
Again Wheeler looked uncomfortable. “It’s no secret milord wanted Mr. John for the Navy; and it’s no secret that Mr. Henry—”
Miss Tolerance took pity on Wheeler’s scruples. “You need say no more about Mr. Henry; I think I understand that.”
“Lord Lyne’s a man sets great store by the family, by the name. Miss Evie running off like that would be a blow. I’d just not ha’ thought—”
“—that he would show more concern for his name than his daughter? It does seem harsh. Mr. Wheeler, I thank you for your help.” She took out her pocketbook.
“Oh, no, miss.” Wheeler put his hand out to stop her. “You put that away. I won’t take money from you. We’re all worried about Miss Evie. Just you find her.” He got to his feet.
Miss Tolerance promised to do her best. “But take this, and drink Miss Thorpe’s health in the servants’ hall, if you will.” She slid a pair of coins across the table. This time Mr. Wheeler did not refuse.
Miss Tolerance emerged from the Spotted Dog to find that night had fallen while she was inside. She looked about for a chair or hackney; seeing neither she determined to walk back to Manchester Square. In this neighborhood most households were scrupulous in observing the ordinance requiring a lantern or torch in the doorway; there was a good deal of foot traffic beside, and carriages in the street. Miss Tolerance crossed Bryanstone Street and turned on to Upper Seymour Street. It was as she approached Portman Square that she first sensed that she was being followed.
The hour was not late. Despite her dress and relative lack of weaponry (after an episode where she had been forced to defend herself with a pocket mirror, she had begun to keep a small pistol in her reticule, but considered it a tool of last resort) she did not feel particularly apprehensive. Seymour Street was too well traveled at this hour for her to feel much endangered. She could not have said why she was certain she was being followed; she had learned to trust her instincts and the odd crawling sensation between her shoulder blades. She increased her pace and took her reticule in hand, just in case.
Two young men, dressed gentlemanly but foolish with drink, were attempting to scale the iron fence that surrounded the green in the square. Miss Tolerance observed them and wondered, if she had to call for help, whether they would respond. As she left the square the sensation of being followed ceased. She kept her reticule in her hand and walked purposefully along, turned on Duke Street, and very quickly arrived at Mrs. Brereton’s house. After a moment’s thought she decided to avoid the darkness of Spanish Place, and knocked on the door of the big house.
Cole opened the door. The hall was unoccupied, and Miss Tolerance thought she might pass through the house to her own cottage without notice. She went past the stair toward the back of the house, noting a good deal of cheerful noise from one of the salons. She skirted the room and had very nearly reached the servants’ door when she was hailed.
“Sarah!”
Miss Tolerance turned. Marianne Touchwell stood in the door of the blue salon. Her expression was unremarkable, but there was something in her manner which expressed wariness. She advanced and laced her arm through Miss Tolerance’s.
“‘Tis a good thing you’ve come,” Marianne said. Her tone was serene, but there was warning in her eye. “You must come and join the toast. Parliament has just voted the regency to the Prince of Wales, and your aunt says she’s to be married.”
Chapter Nine
“Married?” Speaking the word drove every other consideration from Miss Tolerance’s mind. Her aunt to wed, who had always spoken with the greatest feeling against the institution of marriage and in favor of her own form of unfettered enterprise? “Aunt Thea?”
Marianne’s nod was a warning. “Yes, to Mr. Tickenor. Come and wish them well.” She put her hand over Miss Tolerance’s own, where it lay on her arm, and led her into the salon. As Mrs. Brereton’s whores were required, when in the public rooms and not directly engaged with a customer, to be appropriately dressed, it might have been any scene of respectable celebration: women in mouseseline de soie and men in evening dress drank punch and engaged in muted conversation. Yet there was a scent of anxiety in the room at odds with merriment. Not one whore there, Miss Tolerance thought, but must be wondering what this news meant for her. As she entered the room a masculine voice called out, “To the happy couple!”
“The happy couple!” The words repeated around the room.
Mrs. Brereton had the place of honor, seated on a sofa near the fire with her intended Mr. Tickenor by her side. Her color was high, her eyes bright; she looked exalted, Miss Tolerance thought. After all these years, could her aunt be truly in love?
“Sarah, you do not drink to me?” There was an edge to Mrs. Brereton’s voice.
“With the greatest joy, the moment I have a glass in my hand, Aunt.” Miss Tolerance approached the sofa, bent, and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I wish you every and all happiness, ma’am.” She straightened and curtsied to Mr. Tickenor, who was observing her with interest. “And you, sir, have my congratulations.”
Tickenor inclined his head in the manner of royalty. He had, she saw, his arm around Mrs. Brereton’s waist, and was running one finger along the side of her breast. Miss Tolerance had never seen her aunt permit such a caress in public. She looked behind her for Marianne, but her friend was at the table where punch was being served, being talked to enthusiastically by a young man with poetical hair. Miss Tolerance was sure her friend was as disturbed as she herself.
She turned back to her aunt. “When is the happy day to be?”
“We have not yet decided. Tickenor swears he cannot go on long without my undivided attention!” Mrs. Brereton chuckled and tapped Tickenor’s thigh with her fan. “But I must have time to get my bride-clothes ready.”
“Oh, certainly, ma’am.” Miss Tolerance cast about for something else to say. This had the quality of nightmare: her aunt was many things but she had never before been vulgar. “And after, will you have a bridal trip? The war makes the matter difficult, but—”
“We haven’t planned that far, have we, my dear?” Tickenor squeezed his intended to him in a rough caress and smiled at Miss Tolerance. The smile did not reach his eyes. “My dear niece, if I may call you so? For now, we plan only to come back and see to the running of matters here.”
“I hope you will not let worry for the house keep you from indulging in a trip, aunt. You know that Marianne and your staff could manage without you for a time.”
It seemed an inoffensive remark, but Mrs. Brereton was determined to take offense. “What do you mean, Sarah? If Tickenor says we will return here, that is what we shall do. Are you trying to prise the management of the house from my fingers?”
“Not in the least, aunt. You know that I have no aspirations in that direction! I meant only what I said: that you should not deny yourself the pleasure of a honeymoon out of concern for your business.”
“Well, it is my business,” Mrs. Brereton snapped. “That will not change because I am marrying.”
“I am sure everyone here is delighted to hear it.”
“Everyone?” Mrs. Brereton looked around the room as if she had forgotten the other occupants. “Why?”
“Why, because they care for you and wish you well.” Miss Tolerance gestured to the crowd, most of whom had left off their own conversations and were attending to this one with considerable interest. “And because their livelihoods depend upon you.”
Mrs. Brereton pushed Tickenor’s hand from her breast and stood up. She was nearly as tall as her niece, and looked into M
iss Tolerance’s eyes with icy displeasure. “What business is that of yours?”
Miss Tolerance did not wish to quarrel with her aunt. She particularly had no wish to quarrel here, in the parlor of London’s most elegant brothel, with half the world attending. She kept her tone light and agreeable.
“You are perfectly right, aunt. It is no business of mine. I only—”
Mrs. Brereton slapped her. It was so unexpected that Miss Tolerance had not prepared herself to meet the blow, let alone to defend against it. Tears of pain came to her eyes, and she brought her hand up to cover the spot. Mrs. Brereton sat down beside Tickenor again, quite as though nothing had occurred. The rest of the room was silent for a moment, then talk began at an even louder volume.
Mrs. Brereton sipped her wine and said, quite as if nothing untoward had occurred, “Have you heard, Sarah, that Parliament has at last voted? The Regency Act names the Prince of Wales, and poor Queen Charlotte is relieved of all authority. I’ll warrant our friend Sheridan must be in a frenzy tonight.”
Miss Tolerance forced herself to speak. “I imagine the entire Whig party are meeting to see how they can turn the Regency to their best ends. But ma’am, I—”
Marianne was beside her and pressed a glass of punch into her hand. “Drink their healths and say good night,” she murmured.
“Aunt, Mr. Tickenor, again I wish you the greatest joy.” Miss Tolerance raised her glass and drank. “I hope you will excuse me. I am very tired.”
“Of course, my dear.” Mrs. Brereton was all solicitousness, neither vulgar nor enraged now. “Marianne, tell Cook to send supper to the cottage.”
Miss Tolerance murmured her thanks, curtsied, and frankly fled.
In the hall she and Marianne faced each other.
“Has she been bewitched?” Miss Tolerance ran her fingers along her jaw. “What in God’s name could have caused such changes in her? Is it Tickenor? I should not have thought—”
“I think yon Tickenor has his eye upon the business. I’ve seen him prowling about with the same eye a man uses to size up a good horse. But your aunt?” Marianne turned toward the kitchen. She did not continue until they had passed through the green baize door that led to the servants’ hall. “She hasn’t been right since she was taken ill last winter.”
The Sleeping Partner Page 13