The Richmond Thief

by Lisa Boero

  Mr. Read stood and bowed. “Enchanted, Miss Trent. Would you care to join us in a glass of rum punch?“

  Jane curtsied ever so slightly. “No, thank you, sir.” She looked pointedly at Althea. “It is quite late.”

  Althea finished her punch with a quick and not altogether ladylike gulp. “Yes, I think we should retire.” She held out a hand to Mr. Read, who took it briefly in his own. “Although we are not likely to meet again, it has been a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Madam, believe me when I say that the pleasure is all mine.”

  “Humph,” said Jane.

  Chapter Two

  “I still say that it is unwise to talk to strangers at an inn, particularly an inn of that sort.” Jane shuddered dramatically. “Why, I was kept awake all night listening to vermin gnaw away the walls.”

  They were finally on the road again, headed into London with thick rugs over their laps and hot bricks at their feet. The young maid, Sally, was fast asleep against the squabs, so Althea and Jane indulged in unfettered conversation. They flew through innumerable topics, but they always seemed to end up back at The Swan.

  Althea laughed. “Surely you exaggerate. And I don’t see that any harm came of a glass of punch. You should have tried it, by the way. It was very good.”

  “Probably brought in by smugglers. That Mr. Nelson had a shifty eye.”

  “Smugglers with good taste in rum. My dear, although I love you, let us make one thing clear. I am not on the hunt for a husband—or any kind of other dalliance, for that matter—so you can leave off warning me about every ineligible man who happens to cross my path. Besides, Magistrate Read was old enough to be my father.”

  “They’re never too old for that sort of thing.”

  “My, my, this does smack of experience. Just what was the London season like in your day?”

  “Same as it is now, I’m sure. Lots of pushy mamas trying to foist their simpering daughters off on the richest man who’ll have them. A smattering of charming but inevitably penniless French émigrés. Rakes and ne’er-do-wells chasing after any woman with a guinea to her name. Men who should be settling down to the producing of an heir wasting their time on drink and cards and opera dancers.”

  “Sounds delightful.”

  Jane eyed her sternly. “It is. No trying to back out on me. You promised.”

  “I will suffer through anything just to keep you happy.”

  “It’s not my happiness I care about. Look, child, although I never could understand why my brother thought that a girl barely out of the schoolroom would make a fit wife for a stodgy widower like him, he picked you. And you two seemed to get along just fine with your investigations and those tiresome papers about God knows what creepy-crawly thing. But now he’s gone, and I will not have a lot of youth and beauty moldering away between the four walls of Dettamoor Park.”

  “I’ll accept the compliment of beauty, although it is a gross exaggeration, but youth I cannot. A woman of seven and twenty is not a green girl.”

  “She is when she’s never left Somerset.”

  Althea allowed Jane to feel that she had won the argument and moved on. She said, “Perhaps I shall finally accept Squire Pettigrew’s most obliging offer of marriage. He is certainly persistent enough about it. There is no dissuading him.”

  “No woman of the least intelligence would ever consent to be his wife.”

  “If I was in straightened circumstances and not at all bookish, I’m sure I would find him unexceptionable. Besides, his mother was to blame for making him what he is. She taught him to think as he does on all matters.”

  “He would have done well to escape her clutches, but she had him under such firm control. Even now, her routines and habits are still fixed within his mind. He will never leave Somerset, mark my words.”

  Althea chuckled. “I hope you are right, dear Jane, because then I shall thoroughly enjoy my sojourn in London.”

  Althea pulled back the curtain from the window. For the last half an hour she could hear the sounds of coachmen and horses as the carriage swayed slowly over the cobblestone streets. The din of the great city was impressive to a country-bred woman.

  “I apprehend from the increase of traffic and the foul smells that we are soon to reach Bella’s house. Please direct me to what I am to see in Grosvenor Square,” Althea said.

  “Impudent girl,” Jane replied. “The Marchioness of Levanwood lives in very different circumstances. Nothing to see in this part of town.”

  “Don’t tell me we are passing by the gentlemen’s clubs.” Althea went as if to lean out and then felt a clawlike grip on her arm.

  “Get back in here. Of course not. Do you think I’d let the coachman take you into St. James before your credit is even established in town?”

  Althea sat back against the squabs. “I thought a rich widow didn’t need credit.” Jane frowned and Althea laughed. “Just teasing you, dear. The gentlemen may attend their clubs in peace, because I’ve no desire to join them in drinking and silly card games. The Royal Society is another matter, of course.”

  “A matter you will please leave off while we are in London. I know, although you have tried to hide it, that your heart is set on the publication of some sort of beetle monograph. But I beg you not to speak of it in company, for there is nothing so boring as a bookish woman.”

  “Speaking from experience again?”

  Jane’s eyes sparkled. “Mind your own business.”

  Cousin Bella lived in a large stone house in the most fashionable part of London, its gray facade adorned with Grecian cornices and columns. Althea and Jane were welcomed by a plump matron whose once notable beauty was now sadly faded and who was dressed for the afternoon in a heavy green gown that made her skin look sallow. On her head sat a large turban adorned with an elaborate ruby and gold brooch. The effect was startling and not altogether pleasant.

  “My dear cousins! I had despaired of you! It is really too bad about this awful weather.” Bella clasped Althea to her opulent bosom, nearly crushing Althea’s ribs in the process. The smell of French perfume hung heavily in the air, causing Althea’s nose to itch.

  Bella repeated the procedure with Jane. “How I have looked forward to your visit. All the amusements, all of the parties. Why, Lady Shirling was just telling me about the masked ball she means to hold—how daring—and of course I have already spoken to Lady Jersey. For you must have vouchers as soon as possible. As you know, anyone who is anyone is seen at Almack’s!”

  Bella then grabbed Althea with one arm and Jane with the other and pushed them forward. “Come into the red salon. John and Charles are just wild to meet their cousin, and they haven’t seen you in ages, Jane. And we’ve a lovely nuncheon set out—for you must be simply famished. I declare that there is nothing so fatiguing as a journey, is there not?”

  Althea opened her mouth to reply, but Bella continued on. “Of course the marquess would be here to greet you as well except he had some business to attend to. Something with bankers and I know not what. Men can be so provoking!”

  The doors to the red salon were held open by an upright footman in a smart blue livery, and the Marchioness of Levanwood bustled through them, dragging her visitors with her. “John, Charles, do bestir yourselves, I beg of you!”

  Two young men looked up. One was standing by the marble chimney piece, nonchalantly twirling a quizzing glass on a long black silk cord. He was dressed in a coat of dark green wool cut tightly across his broad shoulders over a figured silk waistcoat that had a profusion of golden fobs at the watch pocket and a high starched cravat, which was looped in an intricate pattern around his neck. He wore skintight pantaloons on his shapely legs and black boots with a mirrorlike polish. He was decidedly handsome, with an aquiline nose, large dark eyes, and dark hair he allowed to curl around his face.

  The younger one was rather less prepossessing. Charles sat in a chair with a large volume between his slim fingers. He set the book aside and rose as
the ladies entered the room. He lacked his brother’s height, and his figure was neat rather than attractive. He was dressed sensibly, without a dandy’s affectations. His straight brown hair was cut short over his mild blue eyes. He was the first to reach Althea and Jane.

  “Charles, dear, this is Lady Trent. Althea, my son, Charles,” Bella said.

  He grasped her hand and raised it briefly to his lips. “Lady Trent, how delighted I am to make your acquaintance. After so many years in the wilderness, we had quite given you up for lost.”

  Althea smiled. “Somerset is wild indeed, Lord Charles.”

  “If you would permit the impertinence, Charles will do just fine. We are family, after all.”

  “As you wish. And you may call me Althea if you like.”

  He smiled at her. “I do indeed.”

  “Come Charles, let John have a turn with our charming cousin.” Bella pulled him away to speak to Jane.

  The handsome young man came forward. “Delighted to meet my long-lost cousin and all that.” He pecked at her hand and then let it fall. “Dare say but Mother won’t have you paraded around town within a week—although society is still pretty thin.”

  “I’m sure, Lord Bingham,” Althea replied, “that I will need guidance from all my dear family. I’m not used to moving in such elegant society.”

  “Devilish bore most of the time. Lots of tedious card parties and whatnot.”

  “I think your mother mentioned Almack’s.”

  “Flat.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Dull, madam, deadly dull.”

  “Oh, how disheartening. Then what do you do for amusement, cousin?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but instead looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the balls just fine. That is, if you dance?”

  “Perhaps. I mean, I have learned, if that’s what you are asking. But no, I haven’t decided if I should come out of mourning just yet.”

  “Black doesn’t become you,” he said.

  Althea smiled at his abrupt manner. “I’m sure it doesn’t. And I do have some colored gowns. But fashion is not really the point of mourning, is it?”

  “Barbarous custom if you ask me, made up for the benefit of haberdashers and tailors and such. A refined society should not mandate a public display of emotion.”

  Bella jumped into the breach. “Now, John dear, Althea doesn’t want to hear a lot of newfangled rubbish from those poet friends of yours. Please come and let us eat.”

  Althea was thrust into a chair by the fire and handed a glass of lemonade. A fine display of cold meats and pickles had been laid out on a low table. There were also delicate rolls and several types of cake. Althea perceived that Bella’s idea of a nuncheon was quite expansive.

  Bella eyed John suspiciously when he took a seat on the settee beside Althea. “Isn’t this delightful,” she said with a hint of anxiety in her voice.

  Charles led Jane to another chair, and Bella hovered solicitously near the table. “Just like an alfresco picnic. I do so love a picnic. Charles, hand Miss Trent a glass of lemonade. So refreshing! There, dear, that’s right. Oh, you both must try those little honey cakes. Our own Mauston has a secret recipe, and there is nothing equal to them, nothing at all. They are quite famous in town, I assure you.”

  “Are you acquainted with many poets, sir?” Althea said to John when Bella’s attention had been drawn away by a question from Jane about the honey cakes.

  “Scores of them. Poetry is quite the thing nowadays.”

  “Do you write poetry yourself?”

  He reached for another honey cake. “When I have the time, you know. Been working on a sonnet, but now that the season’s started, I shan’t have more than a moment to myself, I dare say.”

  “And what is your sonnet about, if I may ask?”

  He looked at her with real interest for the first time. “The legend of the men who turn into wolves by the light of the full moon.”

  “Oh my, very arresting. How did you come upon such a subject?”

  “My friend Blakestone. He’s an expert on the black rites of pagan peoples and has traveled absolutely everywhere. Even more than I have. That was before Bonaparte made it so damn difficult, you understand. Told me this story once about how he saw one of these men change into a giant wolf. That got me thinking of a sonnet.”

  “I should love to read it when you have it written.”

  “Thank you, cousin, but wouldn’t it frighten you too much?”

  “I am not so easily scared. Besides, there is something quite thrilling about the idea of wolves and moonlight.”

  John smiled, and Althea realized that he was actually even more handsome than he had first appeared. “Just so, dear cousin, just so,” he said.

  An hour later, the ladies of Dettamoor Park were finally released to their rooms to rest and then to begin the process of changing for dinner. They had been assigned connecting rooms on the second floor. After a brief toilette with the water basin and an hour of reading her volume on insects, Althea ventured to rap lightly on Jane’s door.

  “Come in,” came the muffled reply. Althea pushed the door open.

  Jane was seated primly in a chair. “I knew that you could not sit still for long.”

  “No, I could not. Besides, I was dying to hear your opinion of our cousins. Which have you selected as the companion of my future life?”

  “John, of course. One shouldn’t fall in love with the second son if one can help it.”

  “But I would have thought Charles was much more to your taste. Such respectability and prudence.”

  “Yes, he was very prettily behaved. He did me the honor of sitting by my side a full half an hour before he made his way to you. By the way, what could have kept you in such tight conversation with Lord Bingham? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a strange, affected young man. And what, pray tell, was that thing wrapped around his neck?” Jane said.

  “A neckcloth.”

  “A neckcloth? He looked like one of those hideous mummies.”

  Althea couldn’t repress a giggle. “He fancies himself a poet, so you must make allowances. He’s writing a sonnet about some legend that a friend of his swears is actually true.”

  “A legend about what?”

  “Wolf men.”

  “My God. I am beginning to favor Charles. Give off thinking of the title. It’s not worth putting up with such nonsense.”

  Althea sank down into the chair opposite. “It is not nonsense to him. And one might make allowances for a little folly in such a handsome man.”

  “Beauty fades soon enough. Don’t bet your happiness on that.”

  “No, of course not. But you wouldn’t wish me to marry a horror just for the sake of position.” She paused and then added with feeling, “No matter how you approach the problem, I’m better off remaining free.”

  “I thought that too when I was your age, but I’ve had some years to reconsider.”

  “Surely you’re not unhappy?”

  “No indeed, but as one ages one feels the lack of a husband.”

  “And was there never anyone who made you wish to renounce your spinsterhood?”

  “Oh, a great many, but all of them either objectionable to me or ineligible for a baronet’s daughter.”

  Althea reached over and squeezed her hand. “We should be on the lookout for a husband for you.”

  “Fiddlesticks. Men my age have all lost their heads for chits out of the schoolroom.”

  “It is very provoking.”

  “Speaking as a former chit?”

  Althea laughed. “It’s not your age, Jane, but your tongue that will keep you single.”

  There was a discreet knock at the door. “Come in,” Jane said.

  Sally bobbed a curtsey. “Mrs. Buxton, that’s her ladyship’s own abigail, would be honored to attend your ladyship and Miss Trent’s preparations for dinner.”

  Althea read Sally’s petulant look. “One must allow Mrs. Bu
xton to try her hand if she is so keen. A refusal would be an insult of the highest magnitude. But you may certainly help us begin our preparations now, Sally. Please let Mrs. Buxton know that we shall require her services in an hour, perhaps?” Althea said.

  Sally bobbed another curtsey and was gone again.

  “We should have brought Dorkins with us,” Jane said.

  “The journey would have killed her. You know how she suffers with those spasms in her back.”

  “But it doesn’t look right, you showing up without a proper abigail.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have hurt me in Cousin Bella’s eyes.” Althea stood up. “Come Jane, I must have your opinion.” They walked back into Althea’s room. “Should it be the gray silk or that lavender crepe?”

  “Neither. My God, Althea, we are in London now. You must and shall have a new wardrobe.”

  “What a task master! A stern face doesn’t become you.”

  “If my face weren’t stern, you would pay absolutely no attention to my advice.”

  “I tremble and obey.”

  “Of course you do. I have given it a great deal of thought, and I feel that it is time to have done with all of the black rigmarole.”

  “Perhaps that is not quite your decision, Jane dear.”

  “Of course it isn’t, but if I don’t push you, you’ll never make one. I’ve been out of mourning a year now, and it is quite refreshing to be able to pick the colors that suit one.”

  “Lavender doesn’t suit me?”

  “Makes you a haggard wreck.”

  “Probably, but our circumstances are so different. You know our neighbors would have been quite shocked to see me lose the black so soon. A wife is not a sister, after all.”

  “There are no busybody neighbors here.”

  “Just all of London society.”

  “Since when have you cared about society? Don’t tell me now that your scruples have taken over.”

  “You know that I have none. Well, this may come as something of a shock, but to please you, I think I can leave off the black bombazine while we are in town. I will have no experiments that require sturdy dresses, after all.”