by Lisa Boero
Charles lip curled. “Forgive me, madam. I have maligned your favorite.”
Althea glared at him and, catching sight of Pettigrew coming toward them, gave Pettigrew an encouraging smile. That gentleman reached them ere long saying, “Indeed, I had not thought to meet with such a great number of acquaintances. It is quite delightful to be so well known in London.”
At that fatuous remark, Charles left Althea to deal with Pettigrew as she would. Fortunately for Althea’s well-being, she was still bathed in the contented afterglow of her triumph with the Royal Society. And Jane and Sir Neville appeared just as thoughts of beetles could not maintain Althea’s equilibrium. The group talked of London and Dettamoor Park for the span of several dances. Then Sir Neville succumbed to the temptation of a reel, and Jane agreed, leaving Althea once again in the squire’s clutches. He declined the reel in favor of further conversation.
As Althea listened with half an ear to a tedious description of all the surprising things Pettigrew had learned about London in his brief sojourn in the capital, she scanned the crowd for any acquaintance who might save her from further boredom. None appeared, and she had just given herself up for lost when she noticed Norwich moving toward her. She caught his eye and smiled. He responded in kind, and she realized that he knew just what was passing through her mind. When had their brains become so attuned?
“Ah, Lady Trent, I believe we are of a like mind,” Pettigrew continued. “Let me take this opportunity to tell you how happy you have made me.”
“Pardon?” Althea snapped back to attention. Now what was Pettigrew saying? He must have taken her smile for assent. But before she could ask for clarification, Norwich reached them.
“My dance, I believe, Lady Trent.” He extended his hand.
“Let us continue our conversation at another moment,” Althea said to Pettigrew as she put her hand in Norwich’s. And when Pettigrew was out of earshot she added, “Thank you, sir. You have saved me from one of the most tedious conversations I have had to endure yet this evening.”
Norwich merely nodded.
“Have I said something amiss?” Althea continued. “For surely my remark was made for commentary—either upon Squire Pettigrew’s discourse or my acid tongue.”
“You would do well to avoid that man’s company.”
“For my own pleasure, I would heartily agree, except that one cannot snub one’s nearest neighbors, even when their conversation leaves much to be desired.”
They took their places, and Norwich replied, “Rattles like that may do no end of evil in the name of conversation.”
They took a turn, and Althea said, “In a restricted neighborhood that may be true, but one would hope that London society would think twice before believing a country squire in matters of importance.”
“I am always amazed at what London may believe. One cannot escape the past, unfortunately.”
He seemed unusually taciturn after that remark, so, still occupied with Royal Society musings, Althea left him to his thoughts. They parted soon after, and he did not approach her again, although she felt his eyes upon her once or twice. Unfortunately, Pettigrew took his place and remain possessively at her side for the rest of the evening.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, Althea arose early, checked on the raven that wasn’t more than a skeleton now, and reentered the house by slipping into the kitchen. Her morning walks had not gone unnoticed by the staff, but so far nothing had been said to Lady Levanwood. Mr. Mauston was awake as usual, preparing the food that would soon be served in the breakfast parlor. Althea usually passed through, but this morning she had to be sure of her quarry before she set out on a fool’s errand.
“Mr. Mauston, have you seen whether Lord Bingham returned last night? He was not in the carriage, but I know that he often returns later, and I wished to have private speech with him this morning.”
“My understanding is that Lord Bingham returned sometime after three o’clock, but has yet to leave his room. At least, he hasn’t called for his tea, madam.”
“One can hardly expect him to after such a late evening. Thank you.”
She moved quickly up the back staircase and then down the hall to her room. She pulled a black gown from where she had hidden it away and then rang the bellpull. When a maid appeared, she asked for Sally, and when that young lady finally appeared, Althea put her hand over her mouth in a gesture of silence. “I’ll need help with one of my black dresses again.”
Sally nodded in understanding, and Althea continued in a low voice. “I will need you to summon me a hackney coach if such a thing can be procured at this hour. With the utmost discretion, you understand, for I shall endeavor to return to the house unnoticed after I have completed my errand.”
After she was properly arrayed in her bombazine dress and a large, rather unfashionable bonnet with a heavy swath of netting completely obscuring her face, Althea sent Sally downstairs with the coins she would need to interest one of the urchins, forever loitering about the London streets, in hailing a hackney carriage on her behalf. As Althea entered the carriage, she gave the driver the address and then sat back so that she would not be observed as the hack maneuvered through streets already alive with the morning’s commerce. She felt she had most of the story, as disjointed as it was, but several important points eluded certainty. She would have to be careful.
When the carriage stopped, Althea asked the driver to wait. The church bells had just struck nine o’clock—not a fashionable hour to be calling, but Althea didn’t have much choice. She alighted from the carriage and walked up the stone steps to the wooden door. Several raps of the knocker brought a shy lady’s maid who indicated her mistress was not yet up but let Althea enter upon production of one of Althea’s gilt-edged calling cards.
An hour and a half later, Althea entered the carriage well satisfied with her morning’s work. She directed the hack toward Bow Street in hopes of finding Mr. Read before the press of cases made speaking with him impossible.
It would be hard to describe a greater contrast between the silence of their previous meeting and the disorder of the magistrate’s court. Bailiffs jostled with spectators and the accused, many bedraggled and thin. Voices shouted over each other, punctuated at random by the rapping of Magistrate Read’s gavel upon the oak of his table. Althea watched, half in fascination and half in amusement, as Read attempted to impose the order required to listen to the pleadings of an accused who appeared to still be under the influence of the previous night’s revels.
It took a moment for the crowd to assimilate the presence of a lady in deepest mourning, who, although not dressed at the height of fashion, was certainly a gentlewoman. The crowd closest to the door moved aside, parting like the Red Sea. This was a welcome reaction. Althea had supposed that the open court of Bow Street, like its surrounding neighborhood, might not be the safest place for a lady and had brought a stout parasol for self-defense.
One of the bailiffs hurried over, pushing the curious even farther from her. “Begging your pardon, madam, I think you must be mistaken. This is not a fit place for such as you.”
“None fitter. I must speak with Magistrate Read, if you would please conduct me to his private chambers.”
“But madam, he has many cases yet to hear this morning.”
“Never mind, I shall be happy to wait.” With that she pushed forward in the direction of Read’s chambers.
The commotion at the back of the room finally caught Read’s attention. He banged the gavel down. “Let the lady pass. Bailiff, escort her to chambers so she may wait in peace.”
Once Althea had reached the stuffy back room, the bailiff helped her clear a space on one of the rickety chairs, and she sat to await an audience. After an hour of study of every dead insect collected on the window ledge, some that she recognized from her last visit and some newly acquired, Read finally flew into the room, all rumpled energy. “Lady Trent, how sorry I am that you had to wait.”
“No
need to apologize, Mr. Read. It is I who am intruding upon you. And I must beg your pardon for not returning your notes to you this morning. I had meant to, but left in such a hurry that it escaped my mind.”
“Think nothing of it. May I assume that you have found them helpful?”
“Yes, although I am not sure to what end. Upon review of the individual crimes, I noticed that in some cases the thief stole only the jewelry and in some cases the box as well.”
“Does it mean something?”
“I don’t know, but this difference bothers me. And some crimes appear to be more like the work of a clever pickpocket—one that preys upon high society in situ, so to speak. If one focuses only on those crimes, one might think the thief is a servant, hired on as extra help for balls.”
“I considered the possibility, but, as I think I mentioned at our first meeting, the crimes seem too similar to be the work of more than one man, and one servant would not likely have access to so many houses.”
“True, even if the servant were a woman and had access to a lady’s boudoir,” Althea added, hoping that her face didn’t betray the lie. “I’m not sure where this can all lead, but I felt it necessary to give you my thoughts in case they may be of assistance.”
They talked for several minutes more about Althea’s general theories, and then she asked him if he had made any connection between particular jewelers and the thefts. “For I have thought that perhaps the thief merely fences the jewels to some unscrupulous jeweler who then smuggles them abroad.”
Mr. Read indicated that some of the stolen jewelry had been recently refurbished at a jeweler named Portnoy, but then added, “As Mr. Portnoy’s establishment is frequented by the fashionable, that is hardly surprising.”
“I had noted that detail. Howe and Cartwright did good business as well. I shall have to go back and review the notes again. And Mr. Read, I also came to advise you of a most important turn of events. The Royal Society shall be publishing a monograph that I feel certain you would like to review.” Althea explained briefly about her conversation with Lord Aldridge and gave Read an outline of her manuscript thesis.
“Delightful, Lady Trent. You have described a process of real use to Bow Street. I anxiously await a copy of your manuscript.” Then he apologized that he did not have more time to discuss the monograph and excused himself to attend to his court.
The bailiff returned and escorted Althea safely to the waiting carriage. It was just coming on midday when Althea arrived at Levanwood House. She fled up the back stairs to her room. If the two servants she passed on the staircase thought her costume odd, they didn’t presume to say so. She was safe yet again.
Unfortunately, her peace was short-lived. Bridgett had just helped her into a more modish day dress when Jane bustled in.
“You have no idea the uproar this morning! And where were you? I did not see you at breakfast.”
Althea indicated that Bridgett was free to go and then turned to Jane. “You know very well where I went.”
“Not to spy on John?”
“Not spying, merely investigating a few salient points—like the identity of the occupant of the house. But do give me your news first.”
“There was a row this morning, right at the breakfast table, between Charles and John. Shouting so loud that the whole house could hear it.”
“What about?”
“John’s carriage, of all things. Charles indicated that it was a waste of money and so showy that it couldn’t possibly be trusted to carry him anywhere but in London.”
“Seems an odd argument to have at the breakfast table. Perhaps the bills from the coach maker have become more pressing. Or perhaps John did buy those horses after all.”
“That’s what I thought. This is a strange house, Althea.”
“I fear it may prove stranger still. I have been thinking that it would be beneficial to return to Dettamoor Park. The Levanwoods unnerve me in a way that I can’t quite explain.”
Jane sighed. “And I had such high hopes to bring you back as a bride, but I suppose that if there is no man who suits you—”
Althea had a sudden recollection of the thief’s arms around her and quickly banished the thought. “And you, dear Jane? If Sir Neville does not come up to snuff soon, I shall box his ears!”
Jane sighed again and flung herself into a chair. “He has. I am the problem.”
Althea sat down opposite her. “So I have not been mistaken in him. Pray tell me everything.”
“I think I am too old for marriage. That is the only reason I can explain to myself why I have not already accepted his obliging proposal.”
“Perhaps you do not love him—although, as we both know, love is not a prerequisite for a happy union.”
“I esteem him. He is silly like all men of his stamp, but kind and devoted. He told me that I was the only woman he could ever love, but he had given up all hope when I retired from society.”
“A very proper sentiment for a man who wants to marry you. Do you think you would be happy as Lady Tabard?”
“I do not know, and that is what concerns me. Then again, I am past the age of blushing passion, so I suppose my hesitation is merely fear of the unknown. I have had such freedom at Dettamoor Park.”
“Sir Neville does not strike me as the sort of man to constrain you much. And please do not take it into your head to make decisions out of concern for me. I love you, dear sister, and would not confine you in any way. I would be the first to wish you joy.”
“I know. It is the uncertainty of my own happiness. I shall have to give it time and thought.”
“That is the right course. For as much as the poets prattle on about passion, love tends to creep upon one, like the intertwining threads of the ivy up the bricks of a wall.”
Jane smiled. “You are still young, Althea. Don’t settle for the ivy when you might yet have the flame.”
Althea laughed to hide her discomfort. She had been playing with fire too long and must put her heart back on the rational path.
It was in a spirit of resignation, therefore, that she prepared herself for a small party at the Ravenscrest’s house. Such parties could boast of nothing more exciting than supper, cards, and perhaps some halfhearted dancing to the rhythmless plinking of the piano keys by any spinster the family could produce. However, there was always the hope that Lord Ravenscrest had invited men of his own scientific stamp. Althea took heart in that possibility.
She dressed with her usual care in a cream silk gown with a red figured design. Her hair was smooth and simple, and she wore a small cap fixed to her glossy tresses. A garnet brooch and earrings, which were given to her by her father, finished the toilette. When Bridgett was done with her ministrations, Althea went down to the blue salon to wait for the Levanwood party.
She found Charles there, already dressed and in unusually good humor. “Ah, fair cousin, how lovely you look this evening.”
“Thank you, Charles. I think this evening should be enjoyable, don’t you?”
He smiled. “Tolerable. The Ravenscrests can be counted on for a well-prepared meal. Their chef is French. But as to the conversation, I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”
“At least you shall have the men’s part of it. You have no idea how insipid the ladies talk can be. It is nothing but gossip from end to end.”
Charles laughed, and at that moment the door opened to admit Jane and Lord Levanwood. The family group chatted about nothing in particular until Lady Levanwood made her entrance in a dark rose satin gown and a feathered turban of the same material. Althea could not help but notice that the turban made her head look misshapen, but she refrained from commenting.
As they were about to ascend into the Levanwood’s carriage, Althea turned to Jane. “Where is Cousin John? Will he not be accompanying us?”
“No,” Jane replied in a low voice. “Lady Levanwood is quite put out. John went for a ride in that phaeton of his this morning and has not returned.”
“I
bet he went to prove Charles wrong with some trip into the country.”
“Very likely,” Jane agreed.
The Ravenscrests had gathered a group of persons more likely culled from young Lady Ravenscrest’s acquaintance than the more scientifically minded men of Lord Ravenscrest’s set, and Althea struggled through vapid conversation with a young man of significantly more style than wit. It was almost a relief to retire with the ladies and to the world of domestic concerns, gossip, and fashion.
The men soon joined them, however. The coffee and tea emerged, and Charles came over to Althea to ask if she desired refreshment.
“Coffee, thank you,” Althea replied, grateful that his pleasant manners still held firm.
By the time Charles returned, Lord Ravenscrest had sought Althea out for further discussion of her paper for the Philosophical Transactions and for that purpose had stationed himself beside her on a settee meant for two.
“It represents some of Sir Arthur’s most exciting research,” Althea said as Charles handed her the cup. “A novel application of his previous investigations. Thank you, Charles.”
Charles nodded and with a half smile upon his lips said, “From everything I have ever heard, Sir Arthur Trent was a paragon of scientific virtue.”
Althea sipped her coffee. It was not particularly good coffee, and she put the cup back on the saucer, wishing she had asked for tea. “He was quite ahead of his time.”
“And when shall we have the privilege of reading this manuscript?” Ravenscrest said.
“I have been told that it should be part of the next Philosophical Transactions and, if the Society deems it proper, I might even have the privilege of presenting the principal findings at a meeting.”
“But surely you would find such a presentation taxing? I would be happy to perform the duty for you.”
Althea took another sip of the bitter coffee so that she wouldn’t betray her annoyance at this obvious ploy. “That is most kind, Lord Ravenscrest, but I feel I owe it to my late husband to perform the task. I know he would have wanted it that way.”