by Lisa Boero
A faint tap on the door startled Althea out of her reverie. She hastily gathered the papers and the charcoal together and then, barring a better hiding place, shoved them under the bed.
Bridgett entered with a pitcher of warm water. “What gown would milady like for this evening?” And catching sight of Althea’s blackened hands, “Oh dear, what happened to your ladyship?”
“I’m just organizing my charcoals. Lord John asked me to do some sketches for him, and I find my charcoal box is all in disarray. Forgive me, for I fear you will have to fetch the water twice.” Althea stuck her hands in the bowl and allowed Bridgett to pour the warm water over them, leaving a gray pool.
“’Tis nothing,” Bridgett replied. “But let me lay out your ladyship’s gown.” She handed Althea a soft cloth to dry her hands and then went to the wardrobe with an air of expectation.
“The blue satin, I think,” Althea said. “Is Lord John expected to dine with us this evening?”
“Can’t say as I know.” Bridgett gathered up the blue satin evening frock and laid it carefully on the bed. “He often goes out, I believe, to eat at his clubs.”
“Yes. I suppose that is to be expected with a young man of fashion. To which clubs does he belong, I wonder?”
Bridgett merely shook her head. “I wouldn’t know.”
“No, of course not. Then again, there must be some gentleman’s club particularly aligned with poetry.”
“Let me fetch another pitcher of water.” Bridgett bustled out the door.
Althea stood a moment, lost in thought. There had to be a way to learn just what John was up to, but how she might follow him without suspicion was beyond her. Although, if he did not appear at dinner, it was likely he would be away from the house for some time. If that were the case, it might give her a chance to search his rooms. The thought of being caught in his rooms at night was not particularly pleasing, but she would just have to think of something when the time came.
John did not make an appearance at dinner, which was a pity because the invited guests were a set of very dull people culled from Althea wasn’t sure where. They were the sort of persons whose titles gave them consequence without giving them interest, and Althea was almost thankful when Charles planted himself beside her after the gentlemen had partaken of their port.
“I fear you are out of spirits,” he said.
“No indeed, why do you say that?”
He smiled. “Just a certain melancholy air you have about you.”
“I will try to smile more, for my spirits are not low, I can assure you.”
“Good. I would hate to think that we are such poor company that you long for other.”
Althea sat a little straighter. “You tease me, cousin.”
He lowered his voice. “I own I find it hard to resist. But then again, when one’s heart is broken, some license must be granted.”
“Far be it from me to cause anyone pain, but you know my reasons. Please do not press me on this subject further.”
“Surely you cannot hold out hope in that quarter. It is really too much. And after that masquerade dress, too. Trust me when I tell you that Norwich will not make you the kind of offer you should accept.”
Althea gave him a hard look. “Rest assured that I am not expecting anything from the Duke of Norwich, Charles. I am perfectly content to maintain my widowed state.”
He shook his head and then looked at her steadily, a strange expression in his eyes. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I have mistaken your intent.”
Althea had a sudden memory of the thief’s arms around her. A blush crept up her cheeks, and she turned away.
Fortunately, at that moment, Jane appeared and claimed her for piquet. Althea was thus able to avoid Charles for the rest of the evening, although she had the uneasy feeling that his eyes were upon her at every moment.
That night, after every guest had bid adieu and all of the family had climbed the stairs to their chambers, Althea sat in her wrapper in the chair by the window, wide awake. It had to be several hours past midnight, and yet she had heard no sounds of movement up the stairs. Cousin John must still be out. At least she hoped so.
Althea screwed up her courage and slowly opened the door to her room. She closed it quietly behind her, making sure to leave a crack of space in case she had to push into the room unexpectedly. She cradled the flame of the candle with her other hand, tempering the light, and crept down the hall.
John’s apartments were some distance from her own, so she paused several times at faint yet startling sounds. Finally, she reached his chamber and slid in through a partially open door. She had heard enough of the servants’ chatter to know that John’s valet slept in an antechamber connected to the main room. She held up her candle. Good, the door to the antechamber appeared to be fully closed.
Now, where would John hide clues to his strange behavior? Or perhaps even to murder? She crossed to the large wardrobe. Surely this would be the spot where a clever man might seek to disguise his true self? She opened the heavy oak doors and then held her candle high. What a large number of clothes John possessed. There were shirts and waistcoats, cravats and she knew not what else besides. She ran her hand along the fabric of what appeared to be a silk waistcoat, suddenly very aware of how wrong her conduct must appear should anyone discover her. She pulled her hand away and then focused on the center section of the piece, which was lined with drawers.
She pulled out one drawer after the other, looking for anything of interest. Bills for a pair of boots, underclothes, a high-crowned beaver hat, gambling pledges, linen handkerchiefs, fobs and seals for a watch chain. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary, no sign even of eccentricity. She pulled a large drawer out and discovered a velvet bag. Perhaps this would amount to something. She set the candle on the floor and carefully opened the top of the bag.
She extracted a smooth white object and then almost dropped it in shock before she realized that the hollowed out skull she now held in her hand was nothing more than a cleverly wrought piece of glazed pottery, obviously created to drink out of. Althea studied the skull for a moment and then slipped it back in the bag and carefully slid the drawer back into place.
After a quick check to make sure that John’s quarters contained complete and undamaged bellpulls, Althea quietly approached the door and put her ear to it. Silence reigned. She opened the door cautiously and stepped into the hall, careful not to let the rush of air blow her candle out. She had a strange feeling that somewhere deep within the shadowed recesses, someone watched her. She held her candle higher, seeking out the dim patches beyond the glow of flame, but could see nothing to alarm her.
I’m just being silly again, she thought, and then she carefully made her way toward her own chamber, alert to any noise. But no sound was heard along the narrow passage. The feeling of eyes upon her continued unabated, however, and when she reached her door, she turned back. She saw a shadow shift in the dark recesses of the hall and held her candle so as to see farther down the passage. But there was nothing she could see. Unwilling to retrace her steps and investigate, she moved quickly into her room and shut the door. She put her ear to the keyhole, but the only sound she perceived was the beat of her racing heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Althea slipped out early to check on her bird, but then retreated to her room. She went down to the breakfast parlor later than usual, missing Charles but meeting John, who appeared to have arrived right before her. He seemed none the worse for his late night and in fact greeted her with a hearty, “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you, cousin,” she replied and placed a slice of toast on her plate. As she sat down, she studied his face. If indeed he drank, she could detect no sign of it in the healthful glow of his cheeks. “Do you think we shall have good weather today? I have a mind to do some shopping. My gloves are sadly worn from so much frivolity.”
He smiled. “I should hope so, for Lady Jersey would never countenance worn gloves at one of he
r functions.”
“Just as I feared,” Althea replied. “And where would you have me go for such a thing? I wish to have gloves that might last the rest of the season.”
Without even a moment of hesitation he replied, “Southerland’s. They have the finest gloves in all of London.”
“Thank you for such sound advice. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you this evening.”
“I think I shall attend. One never knows, however, just where the will of one’s friends will take one.”
“I see you place a great deal of emphasis on your friendships.”
“Quite. They can be so valuable for so many reasons.”
Later that morning, Althea cornered Jane in the blue salon. “Come dear, we must make haste. Cousin John is just now asking for his horses to be brought up from the stables.”
“And why should that concern us?”
“To follow him, of course, but we must be sly. I shall make some excuse for not using our carriage and have a hackney called on the pretext of going out to buy gloves. Then we shall simply see where John goes.”
So it was that a hackney coach with two ladies safely tucked inside it ground its way through the mess of London traffic in pursuit of a smart black phaeton. When the phaeton approached Pall Mall, Jane said, “Oh dear heaven, he is headed for his club! Althea, pray turn the coach around.”
“Nonsense, no one need see us if we don’t alight.”
The phaeton approached the famous bow window of White’s, and Jane huddled farther into the carriage. The hackney driver pulled in down the street and came to a stop.
“Are we just to wait here?” Jane said.
“I have a suspicion that John won’t be long at White’s.”
“Why do you say that? This hackney won’t wait forever, stopped among all of these gentlemen’s carriages. Really, Althea, I should have known you would lead me into trouble.”
“Hush Jane. I’ve promised to pay the hackney well, so he’ll do just what I say.”
They waited another ten minutes, and then Althea exclaimed, “Look, there he is.”
Jane straightened up from where she was crouched down. “Why, it is Cousin John. But what can he mean walking along the thoroughfare?”
“We shall find out.” Althea tapped the roof of the carriage with her parasol, and the equipage lurched forward in the delicate task of maneuvering out into traffic.
John continued to walk for several blocks until he hailed a hackney coach and got in.
“Just as I suspected. The bird shall come home to roost at last,” Althea said.
John’s hackney kept going and going, taking a circuitous route that eventually ended up in a neat, although not fashionable, neighborhood. Althea tapped the roof of the carriage once more and their coach came to rest some distance down the quiet street. The ladies watched John alight and send his hackney away. He entered the house with a firm step.
“And now?” Jane said. “We’ve tracked him down to his bit of fancy.”
“Why would a man go to such trouble merely to hide a mistress? You and I both know that such a thing is common enough—not Sir Arthur, to my knowledge, but certainly many otherwise respectable gentlemen. My father was called out any number of times to attend to some of the most embarrassing ailments—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jane replied quickly.
“We must find out what goes on in that house,” Althea said.
“Come Althea, we cannot simply walk up and apply the knocker. Nor can we enter the house like common thieves.”
“Not in broad daylight,” Althea replied.
“Not ever. Do be sensible.”
“You are right.” Althea stuck her head out of the window and told the driver to take them to Southerland’s, but noted the location of the house as she did so.
When she returned to Levanwood House, she was met with the news that a note had been delivered for her. She thanked the footman and took the white envelope from the footman’s silver tray, hurrying to the library to peruse what she was sure was a new set of instructions from Norwich. Really, there was no getting away from Norwich’s plans for capture of the thief. If only Althea could convey to him the direction of her suspicions. Unfortunately, she did not know how to make him understand without confessing her own shameful part. But it must be done.
The envelope didn’t come from Norwich, however. Instead, when Althea broke the black sealing wax, she found the very proper scrawl of Lord Aldridge. Her heart jumped to her throat in panic, but as her eyes scanned the words, a smile spread across her face. Her manuscript had been accepted for publication in the next Philosophical Transactions! It was too wonderful to be believed!
Althea raced from the library in search of Jane. That lady had taken refuge in her room and was curled in a chair with a book, but when she saw Althea, she dropped the book. “My dear Althea, what is it?”
“Only the best most exciting thing that has ever happened. My manuscript has been accepted! Oh Jane, how shall I bear so much happiness?”
Jane got up and put her arms around Althea. “My dearest sister, I’m sure you shall soon become accustomed to the receipt of accolades.”
That evening, still unable to stop a smile from continuously spreading across her face, Althea arrayed herself in a new dress of sea-blue silk adorned simply with gold braiding at the waist, her new kid gloves, and a pair of striped satin slippers that she had also seen at Southerland’s and couldn’t resist. Her hair was done in her usual severe style, with thick bands of gold braid woven together instead of the lace cap habitually worn by other dowager ladies.
Jane had chosen blue as well, and so when Sir Neville approached them soon after their arrival at Lady Jersey’s palatial house, he said, “Behold, two nymphs sprung from the cerulean waters of the ocean.”
Jane looked embarrassed, but Althea laughed. “Very pretty, Sir Neville. I assure you we did not put our minds together this evening to coordinate our dresses. And once we were down, it was too late to change again.”
He gallantly offered an arm to each lady saying, “Do not talk of change, when I shall be the envy of all the gentlemen here.”
“Indeed you are,” said Lord Casterleigh, turning away from a group of gentlemen to greet Althea and Jane. He entered the ballroom with them and then solicited Althea for the country dance that was just forming. As the season had progressed, they had formed an easy relationship that might have been called friendship had their roles been different. However the baron might enjoy her company, he had not so far behaved in a manner that would have changed their status. Perhaps his youth made him wary of attachment, or he feared his cousin Norwich’s supposed wrath should his attentions grow too particular.
As they took their places, Casterleigh said, “I see that I am not in favor with your cousin.”
“Indeed?” She looked around, for both John and Charles had accompanied the Levanwood party.
“You can be in no doubt of which cousin I mean. Carlton seemed about to call me out when I stole a march on him and claimed this dance.”
“Cousin Charles knows my heart is not easily touched, particularly by such dramatic scenes.”
“Yes, the frozen widow.” Casterleigh laughed. “That is what they call you.”
“They being the men who place bets on such things in their clubs?”
“In all propriety I should deny it, but your frankness of manner prevents me.”
“And why frozen? Surely my frankness of manner gives the opposite impression.”
“It does, but I believe the fact that you have not apparently succumbed to any earnest declarations marks you as a cold heart. It is even said that you sent poor Verlyn abroad again.”
“He has left England? So suddenly?”
“You did not know? That must put a lie to the rumors.”
“They had no foundation, I can assure you.” However, some part of Althea had to acknowledge that she wouldn’t have been entirely unhappy if they had.
&nbs
p; When the dance ended, she was forced to dance the second with Charles, but this passed in hard silence, neither willing to begin conversation. Upon the conclusion of the dance, they were met by a surprise guest.
“Squire Pettigrew!” Althea said, and then recovering her powers of tact, “How delightful to see you.”
“And I you, dear Lady Trent. Although I do in general prefer quieter evenings, a ball such as this, given by a lady of Lady Jersey’s exalted reputation, cannot be missed. In fact, as you will no doubt notice, I have even fitted myself out for the occasion with new evening attire. But just so that there can be no misunderstanding of the matter, I am not enamored of such high shirt points.” He turned his head stiffly as if to demonstrate. “Unfortunately, I find that no tailor will consent to lower them. What strange fashions these London swells have, isn’t that right, Lady Trent?”
His tone implied such a level of familiarity that it made Althea cringe, but she soldiered on. “Each society has its own fashions. You have met my cousin, Lord Charles, I believe?”
“Sir, it is a very great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. The marchioness has been so kind as to receive my calls any number of times. I’m afraid you have been absent, but we have made quite a lively party nonetheless.”
“Sir,” Charles replied with all the hauteur he was capable of.
Pettigrew seemed immune to the snub and continued to chat animatedly until Althea had the good thought to send him for refreshment. When he was barely out of earshot, Charles exclaimed, “I don’t know what Sally Jersey was thinking to invite such an encroaching mushroom!”
Althea would normally have agreed, especially since she had hoped that an unknown country squire would escape the notice of the society hostesses and thus leave her evenings Pettigrew-less. However, she felt a certain indignation at Charles’s lofty tone. More to spite Charles than to defend Pettigrew, she said, “The squire is a very good man who has been my neighbor for many years. You may dislike his pretensions, but I would have you take care not to disparage him in my presence!”