‘I’m sure I shall,’ he said, boldly taking hold of both her hands this time. For a moment, she experienced a very strong urge to turn them over and cling to him. And never let go.
Which would be really stupid. She hardly knew him. And what she did know didn’t encourage her to put her faith in him. Not in that way.
Oh, she could easily believe that he was intrigued by the notion of investigating a crime. His mind was so devious, and he had so little else to do, that she could see him finding unravelling what had gone on in Tarbrook House as entertaining as most people would find...doing an acrostic, say.
But as for truly wishing to marry her? No, she couldn’t believe in that. He hadn’t mentioned it at all once she’d got started on the mystery of the fake rubies. And so for the second time, she slid her hands out from beneath his and placed them on her lap.
He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s too soon, isn’t it? I need to prove my worth. Demonstrate that I’m not just a cunning trickster, but a man upon whom you can depend. Will you permit me to do that, Harriet? Will you entrust me with this...quest?’
All of a sudden she felt breathless. Almost as though she’d been running. Because his words had answered her doubts with such uncanny accuracy. And it would help her to believe he was in earnest about her, if she allowed him to deal with the mystery of the missing rubies.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I think...I rather think I will.’
His smile lit up his whole face. ‘And you will tell me everything you’ve discovered now? In plain English?’
She nodded. Found she had to lower her head for just a second or two, because his delight was almost too much for her to resist. Only once she’d overcome the urge to grin back at him, like a besotted tavern wench when one of her striking brothers strode into view, did she raise her head and look at him again.
‘Just before I left my uncle’s house,’ she said, ‘one of the maids came to me and told me who the servants suspected had been the culprit. Although, I have to say, it would be very hard on that girl to have a Bow Street Runner set on her, if the worst she was guilty of was being rather shy and not very talkative. Or if she left service because she had an...ailing mother, or something of the sort.’
‘There, you see? Hiring a Bow Street Runner would be the very worst thing to do. I can be far more discreet. I can go and investigate this servant’s movements under pretext of...um, well of course that depends where she lives.’
‘Well, the reference she gave says she comes from a village called Bogholt, which is in Norfolk.’
‘Never heard of it. But I can soon locate it, if it exists.’
‘Oh, it exists. I found it on the map. Though it took hours and hours.’ But that was one of the benefits of not having to go to balls and pay morning calls or go shopping for fripperies she didn’t need. It left her hours and hours and hours free to pore over maps. ‘It is a tiny hamlet in Thetford Forest.’
‘Thetford? Well, then, all I have to do is say I’m going to Newmarket for the races, next time there’s a meet, and spend a day or so poking around in Thetford Forest to see what I can dig up. And there’s no need to frown at me like that. I know how to reconnoitre behind enemy lines. Nobody will guess why I’m there, or what I’m about.’
‘Then I fail to see how you will find out anything at all.’
‘You do not need to see. Nor do I want you to see, because it will necessitate employing all sorts of underhanded methods which would no doubt give you a disgust of me. Which would rather defeat the object.’
‘Would it?’
‘You know it would,’ he said with such a heated look that Harriet took refuge in taking a sip of her rapidly cooling chocolate.
‘Now, you said you wanted to investigate the person who wrote the reference as well? But that you changed your mind, because she is beyond reproach.’
‘So Mama informed me,’ said Harriet, setting down her cup now that they were safely back to discussing crime, rather than his intention to impress her. ‘The lady is, or was, at least, very well known at one time, although lately she seems to have become something of a recluse.’
‘And where has she become a recluse? Somewhere in Norfolk, I take it?’
‘No.’ And then she gasped at what Lord Becconsall was implying. Just by looking at her in a particular manner. ‘Dorset.’
He leaned back in his chair and grinned.
‘So, how on earth did this shy little maidservant from a hamlet buried in the Forest of Thetford get a reference from an elderly recluse from Dorset?’
‘I...I suppose there could be a perfectly innocent explanation...’
‘You don’t believe that any more than I do. No, what we need to do,’ he said, sitting forward, placing both elbows on the table and clasping his hands over his coffee cup, ‘is to look into that connection.’
‘But that will take for ever!’
‘Is time of the essence?’
‘Yes. Because I have no idea how long Mama plans to stay in London. And once we go back to Stone Court I won’t be able to...’ She waved her hands in his direction. Then at herself.
‘To direct operations,’ he finished for her.
‘Yes. That,’ she agreed. Because there was no way she was going to admit she’d been about to say she’d no longer be able to meet with him like this. That there were no handy little coffee houses in Donnywich where nobody knew who she was. There was only the Black Swan. Into which she never ventured. And would never be able to come up with a plausible excuse for suddenly doing so to meet up with what they’d consider a fine London beau. For that’s what they would think of Lord Becconsall, if he strolled into the public bar, dressed in the beautifully tailored, highly fashionable kind of outfit he was wearing today.
Actually, there was no plausible excuse for her to be sitting with him here, either, without any chaperon at all. If anyone she knew were to walk in and see her leaning over the table to hold a conversation with a man to whom she was not related, in heated whispers, they’d be bound to draw the worst conclusion.
She sat back, blushing. Lord Becconsall barely seemed to notice. He was frowning off into the distance, as though his mind was already fully occupied with the conundrum she’d set him, rather than proprieties.
‘There’s nothing for it,’ he said after a moment or two, during which Harriet’s levels of guilt grew to such a pitch that she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder just in case one of the other customers might be someone she knew. ‘We’ll have to call in reinforcements.’
‘What?’
‘Get someone else to go to Dorset, while I’m prowling round Thetford Forest.’
‘But you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone!’
‘I did. And I won’t tell anyone without your permission. But you have to face facts, Lady Harriet. If you’d gone to Bow Street, you would have had to tell your tale to a lot of people. The mission might have been shared between many operatives, none of whom you would have known. Whereas if I enlist a couple of my friends, you may be sure they would handle your predicament with the utmost tact and discretion.’
‘Your friends?’ A solid lump of ice formed in her stomach as she saw what he intended. ‘You mean, I take it, the ones I met in the park that morning?’
‘That’s it, you see—’
‘The ones who have already made me the subject of a wager?’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes. Ah, indeed! If you think I am going to have them...interfering in my family business, after they’ve already made a...game of me...then I...’ She got to her feet. Snatched up her gloves. Then her umbrella. ‘This was a mistake. I should never have confided in you.’ The moment she’d started to trust him, to believe he meant what he’d said, he’d shown his true colours. He saw nothing wrong with breaking a promise if it was expedient to do so. He saw noth
ing wrong with sharing what she’d told him, in the strictest confidence, with a group of men he must know were the very last people in the world she wished to know anything about her business at all.
‘Lady Harriet—’
‘Good day to you,’ she said, turning on her heel and marching out of the shop.
Leaving him to pick up the bill.
Chapter Twenty
She hated him. Eight hours it had been since she’d stormed out of the coffee house and stalked home, alone, and during that time her initial hurt and mistrust had steadily grown to the point where it felt as if it was going to burst from her very fingertips in sheets of flame.
She wasn’t quite sure how she managed to lay down her knife and fork so neatly across her plate when she’d finished eating dinner, rather than fling the plate across the room just for the pleasure of hearing breaking crockery, or stabbing the fork into the table so hard it stood upright, quivering.
‘You are quite sure you do not wish to come with me, Harriet?’
Harriet met her mother’s enquiry with a cold stare. There was nothing Mama wished for less than for her to suddenly change her mind and say that, yes, actually, she would love to come to the meeting at wherever it was to discuss whatever it was that had Mama so full of anticipation that she could hardly wait to get out the door. The very last thing Mama wanted was an unmarried daughter trailing round behind her, or worse, sitting in a secluded corner where she’d be at the mercy of every importunate rake—if indeed rakes attended meetings where scientists gathered to discuss the latest findings. Mama was just not cut out to take on the onerous duties of chaperon.
She patted her mouth with her napkin before putting Mama out of her misery by saying, ‘No, thank you, Mama.’
True to form, Mama smiled at her in undisguised relief as she got to her feet and scurried across the room, leaving Harriet to thank Mrs Smethurst for providing the meal when the elderly woman eventually shuffled in to clear the table.
Mrs Smethurst grunted something that Harriet didn’t quite catch above the noise of cutlery scraping and dishes rattling, but it didn’t sound any more cheerful than Harriet felt.
She drifted out of the room, across the hall and into the drawing room, though why on earth she’d done so she couldn’t imagine. The furniture was still shrouded in holland covers, and the grate stood empty. As empty as she’d felt when, contrary to all his protestations, Lord Becconsall had not pursued her from the coffee house. Not that she’d wanted him to. It was just that, if he’d been sincere, he would surely have attempted to explain. Or apologise. But, no. He hadn’t. Which meant he didn’t care about her. Not really.
He cared about his friends, though. So much that he’d attempted to conceal his interest in her from them by making it all out to be some kind of joke.
She rubbed her arms vigorously. If only she’d actually gone to an employment bureau this morning, while she’d been out, she might at least have been able to hire someone to light a few fires about the place. Though how hard could it be? The scullery maid who’d performed that office at Stone Court had been very young. As had the girl who’d come in to her room first thing at Tarbrook House. And right at the bottom of the hierarchy. If lighting a fire was such a menial task, she ought to be able to learn how to do it.
She went to the grate, gave the pile of dusty kindling and the empty coal scuttle a brief inspection, before deciding to go up to her room instead. There had been a fire in there earlier on, so that it wouldn’t be so damp and smell so musty as it did down here. It wasn’t as if she was expecting to receive visitors at this time of night. She could plan out her next move just as well at her dressing table, or curled up on her bed.
As she made her way up the stairs, she gave herself a stern talking-to. Running into Lord Becconsall earlier might have ended up being an infuriating and humiliating experience, but talking things through with him had given her a few ideas. To start with, if he could go to Thetford and make enquiries, then why shouldn’t she? She could saddle her horse and...
Actually, no, she couldn’t. Shadow was still stabled in the mews behind Tarbrook House. Uncle Hugo had drawn the line at condemning an innocent horse to potential neglect when he’d washed his hands of his female relatives. And she couldn’t see him, or his head groom, releasing her mare to her without first making sure the animal was going to be properly cared for.
Besides, a girl couldn’t turn up in a remote village, on horseback, without attendants, and expect locals to answer her questions in a helpful, or even respectful, manner. They’d think she was not a respectable person.
She strode to her bed and picked up the shawl she’d left lying there. Bother the rules that restricted the movements of females! Even a married woman couldn’t get away with jumping on a horse and taking off like that, without raising eyebrows.
She wrapped the shawl round her shoulders and went to sit at her dressing table. Very well, it wouldn’t be feasible to go to Thetford. But there was nothing to prevent her going to pay a visit to an elderly, female recluse, was there? She just had to come up with some pretext for the visit. To that end, she was going to have to—
At that point, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door. Puzzled, she went to open it to see Mr Smethurst standing there, looking most put out.
‘You have visitors, my lady,’ he said accusingly.
‘Visitors? I didn’t hear anyone knock on the front door.’
‘They didn’t. Come round the back, they did,’ he said indignantly, ‘and was inside before I could rightly stop ’em.’
Once again Harriet felt guilty for not seeing to the hiring of extra staff to help the elderly couple who had been living here as caretakers. Especially as Mama had warned her, on the way here, that it was going to be her responsibility to see to the running of the house.
‘Now, I am not going to berate you for falling foul of Hugo,’ she’d said. ‘For what woman of spirit could fail to irritate a man with his tyrannical disposition? But you must see that though I support your stand against him, you cannot expect me to suddenly become domesticated. I had no intention of opening up Stone House when I came to London. And getting us thrown out of my sister’s house is most inconvenient. You do see?’
‘Yes, Mama,’ she’d said meekly. And had vowed to see to everything. But first she’d spent those hours poring over maps to find out where Bogholt was and then had decided to visit Bow Street before the employment bureau. And finally, she’d been ambushed by Lord Becconsall. Which had left her so angry that she’d been in no fit state to do anything of a practical nature for the rest of the day.
With the result that she had no trained butler to deal with unexpected visitors, nor a burly footman to evict the kind that barged right in.
‘Never mind, Smethurst,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you did your best.’ Poor Mr Smethurst was only supposed to have the light duties of forwarding the mail and reporting to her father should the roof develop a leak, or something of that nature.
His expression became less troubled. ‘Put ’em in the drawing room,’ he said with a hint of malice. ‘Told ’em it would be warmer in the kitchen, but they insisted they wanted somewhere more fitting.’
‘You did quite right,’ she said, thinking of the empty grate and the holland covers and the general air of disuse. They were not in a fit state to receive callers and if people insisted on coming in then it served them right.
‘Who are they?’
Mr Smethurst looked blank.
‘Didn’t give no names.’
‘Did they not give you their cards, either?’
He shook his head.
‘Well, I’d better go and see what they want, I suppose. And...and you don’t know who they are?’
He shook his head again.
She couldn’t imagine
what type of person would call at this hour of the night, unless it was someone looking for Mama. Oh, dear. She hadn’t been paying very much attention earlier. Had she gone to the Institute of Enquiry into the Natural Sciences, or the Scientific Society of the...something else? The trouble with Mama’s societies was that they all had names that used virtually the same words but in different orders. She was going to have to beg everyone’s pardon and confess that she had no real idea where Mama was this evening, and invite them to return on another day. By which time she would have made the drawing room a bit more habitable. She descended the stairs with the sense of dread that always went before a potentially humiliating encounter, squared her shoulders as she crossed the hall and opened the door of the drawing room with her chin up.
Only to halt on the threshold in astonishment. For the callers who’d broken with convention by ignoring the lack of the knocker, going round to the back of the house and pushing past poor defenceless Mr Smethurst were none other than Lord Becconsall, Lord Rawcliffe, Captain Bretherton and Mr Kellett.
She might have known it. They were just the sort of men to dispense with decent manners and do exactly as they pleased.
‘Very well, Mr Smethurst,’ she said to the faithful man, who was still hovering nervously behind her. ‘I can deal with this.’ Looking relieved, Mr Smethurst turned away and ambled off in the direction of his nice warm kitchen.
Harriet stepped into the drawing room and shut the door behind her.
‘You really ought not to be here at all, the four of you, not at this time of the evening,’ she said.
‘Yes, we know the proper time for paying calls is far earlier in the day,’ said Lord Becconsall, ‘but this is not exactly a social call, is it?’
And they were here now. And she couldn’t very well throw them all out.
Besides, part of her was intrigued by the fact that they’d all come. That Lord Becconsall had obliged them all to come. Even though she’d told him she didn’t want them involved. And had walked away from him.
The Major Meets His Match Page 19