He went on to give them an account, which they didn't need, of the events on the evening of the lecture. "And now I am at a loss. The young gentleman in question did not turn up at the end as I had hoped. I rather thought I had tracked him down when I traced him to this address. Tell me, how long is Mr Gaines likely to be out of London?"
"Till the autumn."
"Ah."
Greatly daring, Hester asked, "May I ask why you are so anxious to meet this...Eugene?"
"Euclid, Miss Perceval. Euclid. He was an eminent mathematician in ancient times."
Hester opened her eyes wide. "Mr Gaines was? I don't understand."
"Why should you?" Dungarran smiled indulgently. "The journal for which both he and I write has the rather bizarre custom of giving its contributors pseudonyms from the past—''
"Do you mean to tell me that you actually write, Lord Dungarran? For a journal?"
"Pray do not disturb yourself, ma'am. I do not permit my work to interfere with my social commitments."
"So I have observed. But what do you write?" she asked ingenuously. "Poetry?"
"Not exactly." He turned to Lowell. "I should very much like to meet the fellow. Though he appears to be very young, he is extremely talented. There are aspects of his work which interest me greatly. Are you quite certain that you cannot help me?"
Lowell spread his hands regretfully. "I'm afraid I can't," he said. "Gaines is in Devon on a walking tour with his godfather. I've no idea where is at the moment, only that he will be back in the autumn."
"Ah. That's a pity. Then I apologise for wasting your time. I'll finish up this very good ale and then go. May I escort you home, Miss Perceval?''
"Thank you, sir, but my footman is waiting outside," said Hester, not without a certain satisfaction.
He nodded in approval, sat back and took another draft of his beer. Still looking into the glass, he said casually, "So you're not a mathematician?" and followed this with a quick glance at Lowell from grey eyes which were unusually keen.
"Far from it!" exclaimed Lowell. "I was never so glad in all my life when the time came to put my primers away for good."
Dungarran nodded. "A heartfelt reaction—and one most people share. That's why I keep rather quiet about my own fascination with the subject. Few wish to hear about the application of algebra, or the new research into calculus."
"Calculus?" Hester asked sharply. Lowell and Dungarran looked at her in astonishment. She gave a little laugh and faltered, "Oh, you must excuse me! My mind was wandering. Were you talking about another of your friends? Like Eugene? Was Calculus at the lecture, too?"
"Er...no. Just Euclid. But we must be boring you, Miss Perceval. Forgive me."
Hester bit back the protest which rose to her lips, gave a bell-like laugh and said, "It would be rude of me to confess to being bored! But I daresay many ladies would have better uses for a ballroom than holding a lecture on mathematics in it!"
Dungarran looked at her thoughtfully, then smiled and got up to go. "I'm sure you are right! And if you don't need my company to Bruton Street, I'll take my leave." He bowed, then turned to Lowell. "Should you hear anything from the mysterious Mr Gaines, Perceval, I'd be obliged if you ask him to get in touch with me."
He went out. Lowell breathed a deep sigh of relief. Hester frowned and said thoughtfully, "All the same, Lowell..."
"Well?"
"All the same, if I were you I would prepare a very good reason for being at that lecture. Dungarran, I can assure you, is far from stupid. I don't think he was completely convinced by your evasions."
"What nonsense! Why on earth should he think I'd go to a lecture on mathematics, of all things?"
"That's what you must think out for yourself!"
"Unnecessary, my dear sister. You wait and see—it will be quite unnecessary!"
Lowell would not have been quite so sure of himself if he could have seen into their recent visitor's mind as he walked back to Curzon Street. Dungarran was quite certain that Lowell Perceval had been at the lecture. How else would Hester Perceval have known that it had been held in a former ballroom? Obviously because her brother had mentioned the ballroom in the St James's Street house when he had told her about the lecture. He had also let slip that he knew when it was held. Interesting. Young Mr Perceval had enjoyed playing with him! That would account for the air of suppressed amusement about both the Percevals which had so intrigued him. Still deep in thought, he entered his house, handed his hat and cane to the footman waiting at the door, and sent for his man.
"Ah, Wicklow. Good. Come through to the library and shut the door, will you?"
It would be difficult to describe Wicklow's exact role in the Dungarran household. He was his lordship's manservant, everyone knew that. Indeed, he was the very epitome of a gentleman's gentleman. Neat as a pin himself, with a thin, pale, somewhat melancholy face, quietly discreet in his movements, he looked after Dungarran's wardrobe with consummate skill. But he had other functions connected with his master's less well-known activities, and it was for this work he was now needed.
"Wicklow, you were prompt in finding Mr Woodford Gaines's address. Did you learn anything else about him?"
"Not much, my lord. He appeared to be a perfectly normal young man. A bit of a dandy, they said. Your lordship asked for speed and discretion in the matter, so I did not spend more time than necessary with his associates."
"Quite right, quite right. You did well. But now I want you—still with discretion—to establish two things. Mr Gaines left London recently, possibly for Devon. I want you to find out first exactly when he left, and second exactly where he went—Devon, or anywhere else. And Wicklow!"
Wicklow, who had been about to leave the room, turned and waited.
"I would prefer you to avoid annoying Mr Lowell Perceval with your enquiries. You will obviously not approach Mr Perceval's sister, either. Thank you, that is all."
After Wicklow had gone Dungarran sat in silence reviewing his conversation with the two Percevals. He had seen from the outset that they were very close, and he rather thought that Lowell would confide fairly freely in his sister. They had been quite good, those two. Only two slips—one by Lowell, one by his sister. He smiled grimly at the neat way in which Master Lowell had ostensibly denied having been at the lecture, without actually lying. "A lecture on mathematics would be the last place my friends would expect to find me." Very neat. But why avoid that lie when he had told one already? "I was with my sister." And why say it with such amusement? If he had been at the lecture he could not possibly have been with his sister. There was no doubt that Hester Perceval would support anything her brother said, but why had he felt the alibi necessary? It might be odd that Lowell Perceval should wish to attend a lecture on mathematics, but there was nothing wrong with it... Unless there was something suspicious about Gaines himself...?
Where the devil was Euclid? Why had he vanished from the Society's rooms last Wednesday, and why had he left London immediately afterwards? Robert Dungarran got up and walked about the room restlessly... Perhaps they were all wasting his time—it wasn't certain that Gaines and Euclid were one and the same person. The signature in the register was no real proof. Had Lowell Perceval signed it, using Gaines's name...? As a wager, perhaps? Lowell Perceval was known for his mad escapades. He gave a gesture of impatience. There were too many questions. He would have to wait till Wicklow found some answers. Meanwhile, there was work to be done... Dungarran went to the handsome desk in a corner of the room and took out some papers.
But after a moment he sat back with a sigh of exasperation. The situation was absurd. Buried in the papers, which had been removed with great difficulty from Napoleon's headquarters in Paris and brought to England at considerable risk, there could be vital background information about the food and weapons situation in France and the army's lines of supply. But they were all in cipher. If they were to be useful to the Allies then they would have to be transcribed before very long. The War Office wou
ld soon get impatient. He needed help, and Euclid, with his outstanding talent for ciphers and the speed with which he worked, was the very man. And now the wretch had become elusive! It was to be hoped that Wicklow would find him...
But the result of Wicklow's investigations only raised more questions. Mr Woodford Gaines had left London for Totnes in Devon on 15 April—two weeks before the lecture ever took place. He had not been seen in Half Moon Street since then, and was generally assumed to be walking in the Dart valley with a godfather of whom he had great expectations. There were no other inhabitants of the Half Moon Street house, and Mr Perceval's other close friends had all been at a reunion.
So who was the second young gentleman who had been in St James's Street with Lowell Perceval? Where was he?
Over the next few days Dungarran pondered this mystery. It had become important to him to solve it—and not just to satisfy his curiosity. He had had confidence in Euclid. The correspondence with the fellow had given him a great deal of pleasure. It was rare to find a mind so much in harmony with his own, and all his instincts had been to trust him. Whether Euclid realised it or not, he had been deciphering bits of foreign documents for some time now—aiding and confirming Dungarran's own work for the government. Any mystery about him was most unwelcome.
He decided to investigate from another starting point—the collection and delivery of Euclid's contributions—and went round to the Society's headquarters to question the staff himself. The day porter at the entrance was old and half blind, and only vaguely remembered receiving and handing out various sealed papers over the months. He provided a description of the agent which could fit Lowell Perceval—and a hundred others as well. The junior porter's description of the young man who had signed the register on the evening of the lecture, however, could hardly be anyone else.
"Yes, I remember 'im, my lord. A very 'andsome young gentleman. Young, tall, wiv fair 'air and blue eyes. Looks as if 'e's laughin' all the time..."
When questioned about any other young gentleman, the porter was less certain. "There was someone else... But whether 'e was wiv the first young gentleman, I couldn't rightly swear to... Very shy, 'e was—kept in the background. One thing I do remember—'e wore glasses. I didn't see nothink else. Oh!" He pocketed the coin, Dungarran had handed him. "Your lordship's very kind. I'm sorry I can't 'elp you more."
Things seemed to have reached an impasse. He decided to consult someone whose good sense and intelligence he considered as good, if not better than his own. He betook himself to his aunt. Lady Martindale was a childless widow and lived alone in a large house in Grosvenor Street. She had been the late Lady Dungarran's favourite sister, and was Robert Dungarran's godmother. They were frequently seen together. Society knew that Lady Martindale was very attached to her nephew, but most would have been astonished to learn how highly the nephew thought of her intelligence and discretion, and how much he confided in her. She was one of the few people in London who knew of his activities at the Foreign Office. Her husband had been a diplomat, and it was through his persuasion that Dungarran had taken up his work there.
"I have a problem, Godmama—'' he began.
"You seldom come unless you have, Robert. What is it this time? Could it possibly be a woman?"
Dungarran smiled. "You never give up, do you? Why do you doubt my ability to manage my own love affairs?"
"Love affairs, indeed!" Lady Martindale gave an unladylike snort. "You don't know what love means! You mean flirtations, or liaisons with ladies of more beauty than virtue—that doesn't mean love to me!"
"Whatever you say, dearest. I won't argue," he said indifferently. But she was not to be put off.
"You've been spoilt, my boy! Ever since you came of age women—of every kind—have found you fascinating—"
Dungarran made a face. "Please! We both know that any rich, reasonably personable man would interest the ladies, don't we?"
"That may be so. But it is a fact that when you exert yourself you usually find most women responsive. And that isn't good for you."
This frank speaking was not to her godson's taste. "You make me out to be a veritable coxcomb, Aunt," he said somewhat coolly. "As far as I know, I have never raised false hopes in any female breast. Except perhaps once..." he stopped. "No matter."
His godmother waited hopefully, but it became clear he was not going to amplify. She took up her theme again. "When you do fall in love, Robert— and I hope I may live to see it—you might not have such an easy time. Things don't always go as we plan when the heart is involved. You might be glad of a shoulder to cry on then."
"Let us not get into the realms of fantasy, Aunt Martindale," he said impatiently. "It is highly unlikely, if not impossible, that my heart would ever rule my head to such an irrational extent. I'm surprised at you. I thought you had more sense."
Lady Martindale shook her head. "Stronger men than you have fallen, Robert."
"But not, I think, more logical ones. Now, may I consult you on a certain problem, or are we to carry on spinning fairy tales?"
"What is it?" she asked in a resigned tone.
He had no need to tell her of his correspondence with Euclid, or of his work on ciphers. She knew all this. So he briefly related the puzzling events of the night of the lecture, and the information he had since gathered. She requested him to repeat his account of the meeting with the Percevals in Half Moon Street, and asked one or two questions. At the end she said slowly, "Why are you so sure that Euclid is a man?"
He looked at her in surprise. "What else could he be? There are no women in this case."
"Oh, come, Robert! You are not usually so stupid! There is one at least!"
"You mean Hester Perceval?" He began to smile. "You've met her?"
"I've seen her. But I haven't spoken to her."
"Well!" He looked at her as if he had said enough. When she continued to look at him in silence, he went on, "Godmama, Euclid is a man of the quickest wits, and a penetrating mind. He has a very good feeling for mathematics and has an instinct for finding the key to difficult ciphers which almost amounts to genius."
"So?"
"What is more, he has a sense of humour, an appreciation of the ridiculous, which is very like my own. You've seen Hester Perceval. How can you possibly think that she could be Euclid?''
"Why not?"
"She...she's dull! She's...she's... Well, that's it, really. She's dull. Boring." Lady Martindale was still silent. "Look," he said in exasperation. "Euclid has the flexibility of mind that all the great decipherers have. Hester Perceval is as rigid, as fixed in her ideas as a woman can be. Did you know her six years ago?"
"No, I didn't. Your uncle and I came late to London that year. And she left halfway through, after that business with Canford. I heard about her, of course."
"You must have been told how she came to town with a mission, ignoring all advice and insisting on spreading her half-baked theories, learned by heart from her schoolteacher's preachings. She was supposed to have been a prize pupil, but, I assure you, there was little indication of cleverness in her dealings with the world! We all were heartily sick of her."
"Robert, she cannot have been very old. What was she—seventeen? Eighteen? I feel sorry for the girl."
"So was I. But I was even sorrier for her family, I assure you. And I think I may safely say that she hasn't changed much. Six years later she may be quieter, but in all our meetings she has not uttered a single original thought. Hester Perceval as Euclid? Impossible." He got up and walked about the room. "Impossible!"
"I don't think I can help, then. As far as I can see, there doesn't seem to be any other candidate for Euclid." She looked at him, with a slight frown. "You are usually very open-minded. But you seem to have a very strong prejudice against Miss Perceval. Are you quite sure she is as stupid as you say? Have you paid particular attention to her since she has come back?"
"I haven't dared," he muttered.
"Aha! So she's the one..." He looked faintly ex
asperated as she smiled at him. "Six years ago she thought she was in love with you, is that it? Don't be so conceited, Robert. Six years is a long time for a girl to hold on to an unrequited passion."
"Hester Perceval cordially dislikes me, Godmama. So much is perfectly clear."
"In that case, where is the danger? But you may observe her from a safe distance. She just might surprise you."
"I doubt that very much. But since I still haven't yet finished with her brother, I may see something new. They might well be at tonight's reception at Carlton House."
"Are you still free to take me?"
"Of course! What makes you think I might not?"
"I heard about the state they're in at the Horse Guards about those papers..."
"My dear godmother, they're always in a state at the Horse Guards! I'm about to go to work on their confounded papers, but there's this business of Euclid to settle first. We'll forget the Horse Guards this evening and enjoy ourselves—as long as we can keep our distance from Bathurst and his minions."
"Let's hope the wine at Carlton House is better than it was the last time we dined there!"
After the concert Dungarran observed the Perceval family making its way into the Long Gallery. He decided to make use of the occasion. "Aunt, you said you haven't been introduced to Miss Perceval..."
"I've met the senior Percevals, and I know Hugo, of course, very well. But not the two younger ones. Do you mean to introduce us?"
"I'd like to. As you know, I want to have a further word with Lowell Perceval, and this seems a good opportunity."
"I'm disappointed. I hoped you wanted me to meet the young lady."
Dungarran pulled a face. "Hester Perceval is not my kind of young lady."
"You must tell me some time what is, Robert," sighed his godmother, as she followed him through the crowd. It was an ambition of hers to see her nephew settled, but as time went on she was growing less and less optimistic. It was not for want of opportunity. Over the years she had observed more than one accredited beauty fluttering her wings in his direction. But though he gave every sign of being charmed, he had never succumbed. Even now, as they greeted their acquaintances on the way through to the Perceval family, she was amused by the many languishing glances cast by ladies who should have known better. It was not only his handsome face and tall figure which women found attractive, she thought. He had an air of detachment which most women found an irresistible challenge. She smiled. If they only knew its origin! Robert had had his fair share of mistresses, but when it came down to it he was far more interested in the mysteries of mathematics than the mysteries of love! Too well bred to show complete indifference in society, he was nevertheless bored by most social exchanges. What sort of woman would it take, she wondered, to break through that barrier? Not one of your conventional society beauties, that was certain!
An Unreasonable Match Page 7