The Richmond Thief

by Lisa Boero

  The crowd gathered in the close anteroom was a mix of luminaries and the interested parties whose abundant patronage had done so much to foment the progress of science in the new century. Althea saw Lord Ravenscrest standing across the room by the elegant chimneypiece and caught his eye. He hurried over.

  “Lady Trent, how delightful to see you again,” he said. “I have mentioned your manuscripts to Aldridge, and he was very excited by the prospect of continuing Sir Arthur’s work from beyond the grave. We shall speak to him after the lecture. Ah, Carlton, good to see you again, and Miss Trent, delighted. And Sir Neville Tabard, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you at one of the Society lectures before.”

  “’Tis the present exulted company,” Sir Neville said gallantly. “It is a great stimulation to the intellect.”

  “Indeed,” Ravenscrest replied with an admirable lack of sarcasm. “Come, ladies and gentlemen, I believe it is now time to be seated.”

  He guided them into the square meeting room, which had carved moldings and large fireplace. The light from the broad windows cast a honey glow over the proceedings and made Althea reflect that this was just what she could hope heaven might be—beauty and science joined together in perfect union. Ravenscrest selected chairs three rows back from the velvet-draped podium and then sat down next to Althea, forcing Charles to wedge himself in between Jane and Sir Neville, whose corset creaked ominously as he sat down.

  “Why, I never thought these scientific lectures could be such a tight squeeze,” Sir Neville said. “There are ever so many people. It quite takes my breath away.”

  Althea heard Charles mumble something, but she couldn’t make out all of the words. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. She would have been lying to say that Charles’s discomfiture did not amuse her greatly. She could have had more sympathy if he were not forever following her about the house with a pained look upon his face. It was as if he meant to work upon feelings of guilt in order to achieve her assent, and that simple-minded tactic galled her. Althea was not a sentimental heroine from a lending-library novel, for goodness sake!

  At least she could turn her mind to intellectual pursuits for the hour of the lecture. As it turned out, Aldridge’s speech was interesting on a number of levels. There was the knowledge Aldridge sought to impart, the reaction of the crowd, and a low conversation on various scientific subjects with Lord Ravenscrest at her side. To add to these attractions, there was also the entertainment of watching her own party.

  Sir Neville feigned attention for a good quarter of an hour before his eyelids began to droop dangerously. Charles’s interest lasted longer, but then he fell into contemplation of the intricate plaster ceiling, with its famous medallions of the late King Charles and the present King George. When he thought she wouldn’t notice, he studied Althea with that look of an abused canine upon his face. Jane studied the bonnet of a woman in front of them. Admittedly, it was incredibly ugly.

  After the lecture ended and the captive audience was released, Ravenscrest fulfilled his promise and took Althea to meet Lord Aldridge. Aldridge not only seemed pleased to make the acquaintance, but also caused Lord Banks to join their small party. That luminary said, “Lady Trent, Aldridge has told me that Sir Arthur was actively working before his death and that you might have some manuscripts of interest to the Society.”

  “Indeed, my lord. And it was his fondest wish that I might somehow seek publication for them after his death.”

  “Quite a determined man, your husband. I don’t see why we couldn’t entertain the notion, provided they are of the caliber of his other work.”

  “I feel sure that they are. The only problem at this point is one of making a presentable copy for the Society’s review. His notes are in a jumble, I’m afraid, and may take some time to sort out. If I could submit a finished manuscript in the next several months, would that give the Society ample time for review?”

  Banks turned to Aldridge. “I should think so, don’t you?”

  Aldridge nodded. “Certainly.”

  A third gentleman approached the group. “What is this I hear of posthumous manuscripts?” He was a grizzled man with sharp gray eyes.

  “Why Lord Ephraim, you remember Sir Arthur Trent, don’t you?”

  “Humph, of course I do. Little beetles and frogs and so forth.”

  “Yes.” Aldridge smiled apologetically at Althea. “This is Lady Trent, and she says she has manuscripts Trent meant to publish. I think the Society must be interested.

  Randolph Booth gave Althea a hard stare. “How do you do. Seems too big a task for such a small lady.”

  Althea felt a stab of anxiety that quickly flared into anger. Lord Ephraim Randolph Booth was not going to stop her. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “I assure you, Lord Ephraim, that I am perhaps the only person in the world who would do my husband’s work justice.”

  “Beg your pardon, but that is hardly likely. The female mind is not calibrated for the grueling task of preparing scientific manuscripts. Your ladyship would be better to have Aldridge or Banks here assemble Sir Arthur’s papers.”

  “Of course, Lady Trent, I would only be too happy—” Aldridge said.

  Althea could feel her chance slipping away. She drew herself up and replied with as much affability as she could muster. “Were that I could simply hand my husband’s notes to one of you learned gentlemen. Alas, Sir Arthur was not at all careful in the composition of his papers, so they display a deplorable lack of penmanship. They would be quite unintelligible to anyone not familiar with his scrawling alphabet. Indeed, it is only the years of experience as his wife that have allowed me to decipher any portion of his correspondence.”

  “Oh, I see.” Aldridge turned to Randolph Booth. “Then I think we must let her try to put them in order. It would be a great loss to the Society to reject a member’s study all for the lack of a legible hand.”

  Randolph Booth did not look pleased. “Do as you see fit, Aldridge, but I can only hope that the new manuscripts are of the caliber fit for the Philosophical Transactions.”

  Althea left Somerset House as if floating above the clouds. No matter the subterfuge, no matter the very evident doubt upon Lord Ephraim’s face, no matter that she did not yet have a topic for her manuscript, Althea had finally found a way to achieve her heart’s desire. If only her father were still alive to share her triumph. Although Arthur supported her ambitions and Jane was her confidant, her father was the only one who had ever understood how much Althea wanted for herself. Her work and her triumph. For now she would work within the Society’s strictures, but one day they would come to know.

  That evening, as Althea was preparing for a ball to be held at the Earl of Cumberland’s house, Jane walked in from her adjoining room. “What a fuss! I swear we never had the problems at Dettamoor Park that they have here. The servant quarters are in an uproar again. Buxton will not be up to attend to you this evening.”

  “What is all the fuss about?”

  “Seems Mr. Langley, the marquess’s valet, has disappeared. Apparently disappearances are quite a common occurrence in this household.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Vanished. Run off or something. He wasn’t here in the morning.”

  “Remind me again: he was that short, thin fellow with the face like a rat and those giant side-whiskers?”

  “Yes. According to Sally, he wasn’t much liked by anyone but the marquess.”

  “But then how is Mrs. Buxton involved?”

  “Well,” Jane threw herself into a chair, “apparently she is indisposed after dealing with that servant girl Mary, who was in high hysterics again this morning.”

  “Why was Mary in hysterics?”

  “Mary claims Langley isn’t missing, but rather dead. Or was dead early this morning when she went down to the garden.”

  Althea came from her dressing table and took the chair facing Jane. “So is Langley dead or missing?” If only that headache hadn’t kept Althea from her morning bir
d ritual. Then again, maybe John had been awake at that hour and might have seen what happened. Or was even involved. Althea shuddered.

  “No one knows, for when Mary brought one of the maids, a girl named Bridgett, out to see the body, it had disappeared.”

  “Vanished?”

  “That is the story Sally got from Bridgett. She’s the one who’ll be up to help with your toilette in a minute or two. Seems she was training under Mrs. Buxton.”

  “But this is too peculiar for words. Has Bow Street been sent for?”

  “Bridgett didn’t say, but I can’t imagine that they have. The story seems too fanciful to be true.”

  “And yet a girl like Mary wouldn’t risk her position with a lie such as this. There must be some explanation.”

  There was a rap at the door. Jane stood up. “That will be Bridgett. Send her to me when you are finished, for I have silk flowers that will just go with this gown, and I want her to place them in my hair.”

  “Flowers in your hair? My, what special care you have taken of late.”

  “I’ll have none of your commentary.” Jane slipped through the door before Althea could reply.

  Despite gentle persuasion, Althea could not cull more information from the skittish Bridgett than Jane had already imparted to her, except that Bridgett said that Mary talked of the body lying near the back gate. Althea set off for the ball resolved to hunt Mary down the next morning and wring the rest of the details of the story from her.

  Once the Levanwood party had negotiated their hosts’ receiving line, Charles claimed Althea for the dance that was just forming.

  “We have had little opportunity for conversation, cousin,” he said.

  Althea assented without much enthusiasm. They came to the line of dancers and stood opposite. “And do you have a particular topic of conversation you desire to pursue?”

  Charles gave her a warm look. “You know the topic closest to my heart.”

  Althea adjusted her face into what she hoped was a pious look. “And you know my sentiments on that topic. Although I have put on colors, my heart has not.”

  The music started, and Charles approached her in the steps of the dance. When he was at her elbow, he said in a low voice, “Strange then that you should so encourage other men. Perhaps your heart is not as broken as you claim.”

  Althea did a slow turn around him and replied, “Encourage is a strange word. I would say humor is a better one. Who would willingly cross a duke?”

  They went down the line and then came back together. “So it is your desire not to offend that impels you to drive with Norwich in Hyde Park at every opportunity?”

  “I accept such invitations as are extended to me.”

  “I have been remiss in my invitations?”

  Althea met his gaze squarely. “No sir, you have been a gentleman in not seeking to press me too hard.”

  He leaned in ever so slightly, a strange, hard glitter in his eyes. “I wish I were a rake.”

  The dance separated them again, and when they came back together, Althea abruptly changed the conversation.

  Unfortunately, Norwich arrived soon thereafter to engage her for a country dance.

  “We mustn’t be seen together quite so frequently,” Althea remarked to him as he took her hand.

  “Why is that? We have gotten on famously since I capitulated to your demands.”

  She looked at him archly. “My demands? I have capitulated in all important respects to yours.” And then, before he could argue, “But no, it is because such close collaboration has given rise to the most unwanted speculation.”

  The music started, and he said, “That was the idea, if you remember.”

  “I remember. However, I cannot be seen to favor you when others have an equal claim to my company.”

  Norwich gave her a sharp look. “You have promised—no, insisted—on helping Bow Street. You cannot decline now just because you have developed a tendre for someone else.”

  “My lord, you mistake the matter. I have indicated to all concerned that I am not yet ready to enter into a romantic attachment. My bereavement is of too recent a date.”

  “Is that true?”

  It was Althea’s turn for a sharp look. “That is a very rude question.”

  Norwich was taken aback, but then he recovered. A slow smile spread across his face. “I don’t believe anyone has ever had the temerity to say that to me before.”

  “They should have.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he replied gamely. “But rest assured, Lady Trent, when the Richmond Thief is safely caught, we may be seen to argue as much as you like. I will even put about the story that you refused me because of your continuing attachment to your late husband.”

  “It is certainly a better story than that you got tired of me.”

  “I was thinking of the always acceptable we did not suit.”

  Althea smiled. “At least that has a ring of truth about it.”

  “Yes,” was all he replied.

  When the dance ended, other gentlemen sought Althea out, and she went from one partner to another until she ended with Cousin John, who chattered on as usual about the progress of his wolf man sonnet.

  Althea casually inserted a question about the missing valet, but John disclaimed all knowledge. “You can’t tell what mischief servants will be up to. That fellow Langley never could select clothes. Don’t know what father was doing with him all these years. Maybe now he’ll leave off those ghastly brocade waistcoats.”

  At the end of the country dance, John was just about to walk Althea back to where Jane sat ensconced next to Sir Neville on a bench when a gentleman passed them by and John said, “Verlyn! Just the man I was looking for.”

  The gentleman turned, and Althea easily saw the resemblance to his elder brother. Except that Verlyn was darker and handsomer than his brother. There was also a certain air of lurking mischief in Lord George Verlyn’s brown eyes that drew Althea in.

  “Bingham,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

  “And you. I say, how did you happen to find out about those fine horses of Malverson’s? It puts me all out of patience, keeping a pair like that out of reach of the rest of us.”

  “Just the right information at the right moment, my dear fellow.” He looked at Althea expectantly.

  “Let me introduce my cousin, Lady Trent. Lady Trent, Lord George Verlyn.”

  He bowed. “Ah, Lady Trent. I have heard much of your beauty and intelligence.”

  She curtsied. “Be on your guard, sir, for false rumors.”

  Verlyn laughed. “You do not disappoint, Lady Trent, I assure you.” And then because the musicians were just tuning up for another dance, he extended his hand. “Would you do me the honor, or does another gentleman have a prior claim?”

  Althea put her hand in his. “No sir, I am not otherwise engaged.”

  As they walked to their positions, she said, “How do you find London, Lord George? I had heard that you have lately returned from extensive foreign travel.”

  “Not much changed. Like any of the other great cities, its fundamentals do not alter. I understand from those false rumors that you are lately come from Somerset.”

  “Yes, this is my first season in London.”

  “Let us hope it will not be the last.” They executed the first turn.

  “That depends on many circumstances.”

  “Such as?” The dance separated them, and Althea took the arm of another gentleman.

  When Verlyn finally came back to her, she said, “My son’s scholarly progress—he is presently boarding with his tutor in preparation for Eton—and my ability to prepare my husband’s manuscripts for publication with the Royal Society.”

  “Not the usual answers of a gentlewoman, but then, you appear to be somewhat out of the common way.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that, sir.”

  Verlyn replied, “In the most complimentary way possible, I hope. But what of yourself, madam? Are there no delig
hts that will bring you to London for your own sake?”

  She was back to another partner and waited until Verlyn returned. “Many, but I am a sad bluestocking and enjoy best the solitary pleasures of contemplation and reading. Those may be had aplenty in Somerset.”

  “Dettamoor Park must have quite a library, then.”

  She looked him in the eye. “You have done your research if you know the name of a small estate in Somerset.”

  He met her gaze with one of those mischievous looks. “Only when it is home to a heretofore unknown lady now hailed as the toast of London.”

  Althea did not have a ready reply, so she said nothing as the dance parted them once more. When Verlyn rejoined her, he looked at her expectantly.

  “Dettamoor Park does have quite a library,” Althea said calmly. “My husband’s ancestors were avid scholars, and I have had the benefit of their investment.”

  “Austell Abbey is much the same, and my brother had quite a large number of volumes transported to London. Like you, madam, he can always be found with his nose in a book.”

  “So he mentioned to me once.”

  Verlyn chuckled. “What a paltry fellow! Instead of well-executed compliments, my poor brother prattles on about books? How disappointing. One expects more from an older and wiser sibling.”

  “The fault is mine, I fear. I asked the question.”

  Verlyn would have none of it, and when the dance joined them once more he added, “My duty is now clear. I pledge to do everything within my power to prove to you that our family is not the dull set of persons you have been led to expect.”

  Something in the sinuous inflection of his voice made a shiver of delight run up Althea’s spine.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, after barely three hours of sleep, Althea awoke just before the first light of dawn. It was a struggle to wrestle her sluggish body out of bed, but she had to get down to the yard and search for clues to Mary’s fantastic story. As every dress she owned required assistance, she pulled a thick wrapper around her shift, lit the small beeswax taper at her bedside, and hoped she could slip out of the house without being seen. She had a near miss with a scullery maid carrying a bucket of hot water from the kitchen, but otherwise the late return of the guests from the Cumberland ball favored her unseen progress through the darkened house.