by Joan Smith
They talked a little longer, then Byron's fans bore him off on a tide of fawning flattery. Prance clung like a barnacle to his hero's side, basking in the reflected glory of the season's star.
Corinne said to Luten, "I assume you've overcome your suspicions of Byron, since you let him know we suspect Danby."
Luten never blushed, but he looked a little sheepish as he said, "Any man who loves animals can't be all bad." He gazed a moment into her eyes, then added in a softer voice, "I wonder what can have made me dislike him in the first place? You don't suppose it could be his admiration of my fiancée?"
"No," she replied archly, "for in that case you would dislike a great many gentlemen. I believe it's that you thought your fiancée harboured a fondness for him."
"I don't believe it's just that either," he said, suddenly serious. "Because you still do harbour a fondness for him. And so do I, now. I never thought I would find myself saying this, but I feel a little sorry for the most popular, handsome, talented gentleman in London."
They both looked across the room to where Byron was surrounded by a jabbering throng. "Yes, it must be dreadful to have to fight the ladies off with clubs," she said, and smiled ruefully. Byron looked like a baited animal.
Corinne felt a tugging at her elbow. Turning, she was surprised to see Mrs. Huston, a lady with whom she worked on a charity committee to provide for orphans, but was not usually at such ton parties as this.
"Good evening, Mrs. Huston," she said, smiling. Mrs. Huston did not return the smile. A deep frown drew two grooves between her eyebrows.
"Could I have a word with you in private, Lady deCoventry?" She lowered her voice and added, "I know a party's not the place, but it's a matter of some urgency. I called on you at home and your butler told me you were here. I've had a letter from that man who calls himself the Bee. Lady Jergen suggested you might be able to help me."
Corinne knew this should be bad news, but the leap of her heart had much of joy in it as she turned to inform Luten of Mrs. Huston's request.
* * *
Chapter 13
"Mrs. Huston would like to have a word with us in private, Luten," Corinne said. "It's a matter of the utmost urgency."
What Luten would normally consider of the utmost urgency at that time would have been the French General Malet's conspiracy against Napoleon in France. The war Wellington was waging against Napoleon's forces in the Peninsula was also important, and to a lesser extent, the new president in the colonies, this Madison, who had recently defeated deWitt Clinton. While these matters were all of importance and indeed of much interest to Luten, he knew it was none of them that had put that sparkle in his beloved's eyes. It could only be the Bee.
What confused him was the absolutely insignificant, respectable appearance of Mrs. Huston. Simple coiffure, the sides of her dark hair frosted with gray. The sagging at the corners of her jaw, the overly full bosoms and the squarish bulk of her hips spoke of middle age as surely as her gown suggested a provincial modiste. The dark gown with only a simple pearl brooch did not suggest either fashion or wealth. The wife of a dean or some clergyman of the middle rank, or possibly of a scholar, he would have guessed. He judged her age to be close to the half century, surely too old to be involved in sexual peccadilloes, and too respectable for any other sort.
Corinne said in a low voice, "It's about the Bee, Luten. Mrs. Huston has had a note from him."
His eyes, though he would have been horrified to know it, sparkled as brightly as Corinne's. "Let us see if we can find a private parlour," he said at once, and cupping Mrs. Huston's fleshy elbow in one hand, his fiancée’s in the other, he propelled them off to the library. Finding not less than three couples resting there, he hustled them on down the hall to an empty visitors' waiting room.
"I shouldn't be pestering you with this at a party," the dame began with an air of apology. "But he has demanded that I meet him tonight, and when you weren't at home, I feared all was lost. Your neighbour, Mr. Pattle, was just getting into his rig. He could see I was greatly upset, and was kind enough to bring me here to see you. In fact, were it not for him, I wouldn't have been allowed in the door, for I've never so much as the met the hostess."
"Is Pattle here?" Corinne asked.
"He's about somewhere. He was on his way to Brighton but as I needed an escort, he came in, claiming me as his guest. It's all extremely irregular and I do apologize, but I am at my wits' end. I'm supposed to give the Bee two thousand pounds tonight, and I don't have the money!" On this speech, she tossed up her two hands in dismay, or capitulation to fate.
"We don't wish to pry," Corinne said, "but it will help us if we know what hold the Bee has over you. Naturally we shall keep it entirely confidential."
She nodded. "I know a shoe can't be stretched if you don't know where it pinches. It has to do with my daughter, Phoebe. But to jump to the end for a minute, my husband is one of three being considered for the position of archdeacon at Bath," she announced with a proud gleam in her eyes. "It has been privately indicated to Thomas by the Bishop that he'll get the appointment. One of the archdeacon's duties, along with overseeing the rural deans, is to hold ecclesiastical court, ruling on matters of spiritual censure. If the Bishop—the Bishop appoints the archdeacon—if Bishop Wayman knew about Phoebe, I fear it would destroy Thomas's chances, and he's worked so hard." She drew out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
Corinne poured a glass of wine from the decanter on the table and handed it to her. She took a sip, and after she had composed herself, Corinne said, "What has Phoebe done that might make your husband ineligible for promotion?"
Mrs. Huston tossed up her hands again. "About the worst thing a girl can do. She became enceinte out of wedlock." She stared at them fearfully, waiting for gasps of horror. Finding only a keen, uncondemning interest, she continued. "We managed to get her sent off to Scotland before her condition was showing. No one in the parish knew anything about it."
"Who was the father?" Luten asked.
Her face clenched up like a fist. "A handsome young scapegrace named Edward Harrelson. Thomas was stationed at Canterbury at the time, but Phoebe met Harrelson during a holiday at Brighton with her aunt, my sister. I shouldn't have let her go without me. Phoebe was always wayward. The irony of it is that I only let her go to get her away from Mr. Henderson, a local merchant of unsteady character, but at least he would have married her if it became necessary."
Corinne and Luten exchanged a quick glance. "It happened at Brighton, eh?" Luten said.
"Yes, just over seven years ago." The date, too, was significant, around the time Mrs. Webber had committed her indiscretion at Brighton, and Lady Jergen had her fling with Brunei.
"Where do you think he–er, seduced Phoebe?" Corinne asked. Coffen would want all the particulars.
"She had no more sense than to go to his room. He was staying at a ramshackle hotel called the Norfolk."
"What happened to Harrelson and the child?"
"Well, of course my sister wrote to me when Phoebe began to get out of hand and I was off to Brighton like an arrow from the bow. I hired a carriage and coachman!" she said, still shocked after all these years at her extravagance.
Then her shoulders sagged. "I was too late. He had already had his way with her. He made himself scarce after that. She wrote to his hotel half a dozen times begging him to call and asking him when they were to get married, for of course he'd promised her a wedding. He didn't actually live there, in Brighton. He was just on holiday. When I got there I had her write to him telling him I would be calling on him the next day to arrange the wedding. That was my mistake," she said, shaking her head in vexation.
"I should have gone unannounced. There was no answer from him. He must have lit out the minute he got my letter, for when I worked up my courage and went to see him, he had left and given no forwarding address, the wretch. We've never heard a whisper of him since.
"He told Phoebe some story of having an estate in Somerset and sh
e, the greenhead, believed him. It turned out to be false. They'd never heard of him at Elmgrove. He was nobody. I couldn't even say for sure his name is Harrelson. No decent people in Brighton knew a thing about him. Phoebe met him in a public garden. It turned out she wasn't the only girl he'd taken advantage of either, though the others all had a dowry and enough sense not to go to his hotel. A gazetted fortune hunter and a libertine along with it, that's what he was. I wouldn't be surprised if he left the country.
"Well, as I said, I took Phoebe to Scotland for her accouchement. The child, little Rick, was adopted by a doctor and his wife there. A good family, I made sure of that. Phoebe came home and after two years she married a widower, a friend of the family who knew her history. He had three children who needed a mama. Hardly a love match, but Phoebe had got over her romantical notions and was in no position to be fussy. She has settled into her new life well enough."
Luten listened, then asked, "What proof does the Bee have of this illegitimate child?"
"None, really, but he says he has the letter Phoebe wrote to Edward Harrelson telling him that after what he'd done he had to marry her, and I believe him, for he sent along two of her other notes. And if he kept them, you may be sure he kept the really incriminating one, the scoundrel. It wouldn't surprise me if Edward Harrelson is the Bee. Well, who else could it be? Who else would know? I wouldn't put anything past him.
"As if ruining Phoebe's life wasn't bad enough, now he has to come back to destroy Thomas's and mine. There isn't a day passed I don't regret sending Phoebe to Brighton. It will kill Thomas if he doesn't get that appointment, just kill him. And I no longer have the two thousand pounds I had when we married. I meant to leave it to Phoebe when I passed on, but what with the six months in Scotland and the new carpet for the parlour—the church doesn't pay much, you know, and Thomas likes to keep up appearances. You don't get ahead if you don't keep up a decent front." She drew a deep, weary sigh.
Corinne gave her hand a consoling pat, then said, "What did Harrelson look like?"
The hands flapped up again. "I never saw him. Phoebe said he was handsome. Tall, well built, dark haired. My sister said the same. I daresay he was handsome enough." She made an angry, snorting sound and added, "Handsome is as handsome does."
Luten said gently, "Don't despair, Mrs. Huston. We'll do what we can to help."
She opened her reticule, drew out a handkerchief and opened it to reveal a small but fine diamond necklace. "I was hoping he'd take this in lieu of the money. It was left me by my aunt. I tried to sell it today. The jeweler said quite frankly it would cost two thousand to buy new, but he could only offer me a thousand for it." She gave another angry snort. "Highway robbery I call it."
"You'd do better to sell it privately," Corinne suggested, "but of course there isn't time for that now."
Luten nodded his agreement. "How did you come to call on me?" he asked.
She coloured up. "After racking my brains to think where I could come up with another thousand pounds, I called on my goddaughter, Lady Jergen, to see if she could help. Her mama and I were old school friends. I figured if Thomas got the promotion, we could repay her gradually. She was very sympathetic, but it happened she had just lost her own money. We got to talking, and when I told her why I needed the thousand, she told me what had happened to her money."
"Did she recognize the name Edward Harrelson?" Corinne asked.
"No, but as I said, I doubt that's his real name. She told me all about the trick this Bee person had played on two other friends of hers. She said you might be able to help, Lord Luten, and gave me your address.
"I shall certainly try, ma'am. What are the arrangements for recovering Phoebe's letter?" Luten asked, and sat, nerves straining, to hear her reply.
"I'm to take the money to Westminster Cathedral tonight at midnight. He said he'll meet me there. I'm to go alone, though he surely can't expect me to walk. Lady Jergen said you might go with me in the carriage. He's a sly dog, but he can hardly advance the time I'm to meet him this late in the game, as he did with Lady Jergen. And as we already know his stunt of intercepting his victim on the way to the meeting place as he did with one of his other victims, I expect he'll have some other trick up his sleeve.”
"What about your husband?" Corinne asked. "It's odd the Bee didn't write to him about all this."
"Thomas isn't in London at the moment. He's at a church meeting in Wells. According to Lady Jergen, this Bee creature always preys on ladies, which is another thing that makes me feel it's Edward Harrelson. How I would love to see him behind bars! However, it's of the utmost importance that no one learn of his stunt or Thomas's promotion would have no chance at all." She gave a wise nod and added, "There are those who would be only too happy to use this against Thomas, who is as good a man as you'd find in heaven. Phoebe isn't his fault. She was born wayward."
Luten drew out his watch. "Ten-thirty," he said. "We haven't much time."
"How am I to get to Westminster Cathedral?" Mrs. Huston asked fearfully. "I called on you in a hackney, and that nice Mr. Pattle brought me here."
As if conjured up by his name, Coffen peeked his head into the room and came in. "Ah, there you are, Luten. Been looking all over for you. I put off going to Brighton until I heard what's up. Mrs. Huston has told you?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Pattle, I have," she said. "So very kind of you."
"My pleasure. About the Bee, is it?" he asked. Luten nodded. "Thought it might be. So, when is the meeting?"
"At midnight," Luten said, and explained the Bee's demand.
Coffen's only comment was, "Tonight?"
"Tonight, in an hour and a half."
"Do you have the money?" he asked Mrs. Huston.
"No, and I can't get it either," she replied, “but I have this." She held up the necklace.
"Hmm." Coffen turned to Luten. "Unless he knows Mrs. Huston is here, he can't very well waylay her. Didn't mention the hackney this time, eh? I wonder what he'll be driving. I shouldn't think he'd walk. He might go mounted to fool us. No hope of catching a man on horseback if all we have is a rig. Thing to do, get my mount and lurk about in the shadows."
"I was going to suggest it," Luten said. "And I'll accompany Mrs. Huston in the carriage."
"He'll wait until she gets out though," Coffen said. "He won't approach her rig. He'll suspect she didn't come alone."
"I don't mind getting out of the carriage to meet him," Mrs. Huston said, her jaw firming into an angry square. "I'm not afraid of Edward Harrelson. He's a coward and a knave, and so I plan to tell him."
Coffen's jaw fell open. "You've found out his name!"
"Mrs. Huston thinks it might be a man called Edward Harrelson," Corinne explained. "Or he could have been using an alias."
"She's never actually seen Harrelson," Luten added. "We'll go into details later. We've got to make arrangements now."
"I'll send Fitz off to bring my mount around," Coffen said. "No, on second thought I'll do it myself. Fitz'll get lost. I'll ride over to Westminster and be waiting in the shadows by eleven-thirty, in case he comes early."
Corinne knew without asking that Luten wouldn't allow her to accompany him and Mrs. Huston. This meant that she must detach Prance from Byron and persuade him to take her. To ask Byron to do it might upset the fragile friendship forming between him and Luten. She left the room with Coffen while Luten continued his discussion with Mrs. Huston.
Prance was having such luck with the ladies that he wasn't eager to leave. When she explained what was happening, he found an excuse to refuse her.
"We can't have the place littered with carriages. The Bee would know at once that something was up."
"We could leave the carriage a block away and walk."
"This is mere vulgar curiosity on your part, Corrie. We'd only be in the way. Luten will tell us all about it when he returns. Just be patient, my pet. With all the ladies hovering around Byron, you'll have your pick of dancing partners here."
Sh
e was frustrated at every turn, and as both she and Prance had come with Luten, she had no carriage to get home. Luten had a word with her before he left.
"I've no idea how late we'll be," he said. "I've spoken to Sir James Higgins. He and his wife are leaving now and can take you home. I don't like to leave you here alone, but I know you understand." He didn't mention Byron, who had presumably come in his carriage.
"Yes, I'll go home with Higgins. You'll let me know what happens."
"Of course."
"Tonight. I want to know tonight."
"It will be late."
"I don't care how late it is. Do you really think I'll be able to sleep when you're out on a mission like this?"
"I hope not," he said, with an intimate, boyish smile. Then he placed a kiss on his finger and placed his finger on her cheek. "Better have Black make some sandwiches. Pattle will be with me. Take care."
"You take care!"
He squeezed her fingers, then left. Corinne went for her wrap and waited with the Higginses until their carriage was brought around.
* * *
Chapter 14
Like any gentleman of fashion, Coffen kept a mount in London. Like many, he seldom used it. The tame pace allowed at Rotten Row was no temptation unless a lady was involved. As his servants were constantly finding new ways of bilking him, he feared he would find his mare, Nellie, had been rented out to some friend of his groom when he went to get her. Lady Luck smiled on Coffen that night. He not only found the mews where Nellie was stabled, but found her in her stall and raring to go.
It only occurred to him when he was in the saddle that he ought to have changed into riding clothes. Riding would wreak havoc on his good evening clothes. Raven, his valet, wouldn't like that. His evening slippers didn't have the grip on the stirrups that he would have liked either, but he was a good rider and didn't tumble from the saddle.
To ride alone through the dark streets of London at night was scary, no other word for it. One of those misty gray skies overhead with neither moon nor stars to lighten the darkness. Hoofbeats echoed hollowly past the swaying shadows of Green Park and St. James's Park, where any number of footpads or murderers might be lurking. A raucous wind pulled the black limbs of trees around, trees like monsters with a hundred arms and black, bony fingers reaching out to grab you. It wasn't just shadows either. He met carriages and groups of young bucks on foot, out to show the world how tough they were. As they were all drunk as Danes, however, he nudged Nellie to a gallop and got past them before they could pull him down, rob and beat him.