‘There’s more that you need to know.’ Jake shifted in his chair, disgruntled at being forced to revisit a particularly unhappy period in his life twice in one day. Less comfortable still discussing it with his wife, who had only just laid her own demons to rest. He wished now that he had refilled his glass.
‘I am all ears.’
‘Rose Aitken is an old acquaintance of mine.’
A smile played about Olivia’s lips. ‘By which, I take it you mean an old lover.’
‘Lud, no!’
‘There’s no need to be so defensive, Jake.’ Laughter fuelled Olivia’s expression. ‘I am not foolish enough to imagine that you lived like a monk before we married. Besides, I have met Mrs Aitken and cannot criticise your taste. She is still very attractive.’ She chuckled. ‘No wonder she behaved so distantly towards me when a mutual acquaintance introduced us at a soiree last year. I thought she disapproved of my past but instead, it seems, she is jealous that I managed what she could not achieve and lured you into matrimony.’
‘Rose’s family were close neighbours of ours in Torbay when Edward was still alive. They leased an estate which they subsequently gave up after Rose’s father died.’
‘Ah.’ The laughter abruptly left Olivia’s eyes and they now conveyed sympathy. ‘Rose was one of your brother’s victims?’
‘Almost. I tried to warn her to be on her guard but she took it the wrong way and accused me of jealousy. I am several years younger than her, and at the time she looked upon me as a gauche youth who had been mesmerised by her beauty.’
Olivia pursed her lips. ‘She sounds very vain.’
‘Most beautiful people are.’ He smiled at his lovely wife. ‘Present company excepted. That’s why I wonder about Annabel’s character. All that attention might well have gone to her head, especially since Rose is not a very sensible woman and probably encourages her daughter to think far too well of herself.’
‘If Rose failed to heed your advice, do you think she was compromised by your brother?’
‘I have no way of knowing. Suffice it to say that she married Aitken very shortly after her dalliance with Edward.’
Olivia’s head shot up. ‘You think that the older girl, Jemima, could be Edward’s progeny?’
‘No. She didn’t come along until after Rose and Aitken had been married for a respectable amount of time. I kept a careful eye on the union for that reason. If I had a half-sibling, I wanted to know it.’
‘Then why are you so concerned—’
‘A few years later, after Edward’s death, my path crossed with Rose’s and…well, let’s just say that she would have been perfectly willing to take up with me where she left off with Edward, given the slightest encouragement.’
‘Ah, now I understand why you were so keen to consult me over the matter. You are worried that I would have reached the wrong conclusions if Mrs Aitken referred to your past acquaintanceship in my presence.’
‘The possibility crossed my mind.’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need for you to be concerned on that score. Besides, we cannot have half the single gentlemen in London wilting for want of the beauty’s company. You owe it to the rest of your sex to at least make tentative enquiries, and I promise not to be jealous of Rose Aitken’s claims upon you.’
‘You are too good,’ Jake replied, shaking his head at his irrepressible wife’s playfulness.
‘If you do this, Thorndike will have to leave you alone again afterwards. It has to be worth it, if only for that reason.’
‘Very well, to oblige you, I will take an initial look into it. I’ll have a note sent to Thorndike tonight, telling him that I will call upon the Aitkens in the morning.’ He pulled Olivia to her feet when Parker announced that dinner was served. ‘Thorndike,’ he added, securing her hand in the crook of his arm, ‘would be well advised to add you to his diplomatic circle. With you handling his negotiations, no one could ever refuse him anything.’
*
Roscoe Floyd, the Viscount Glynde, sat back in his chair in his cramped Westminster office, threw aside his pen and flexed his fingers to restore feeling into them after hours of reading reports and writing out his conclusions in a neat, sloping hand. He could have dictated them to his secretary, but he found that his thoughts were more fluid if he wrote them down as they occurred to him. Besides, his secretary was a married man with children. It would be thoughtless to keep him here so late.
Ros stretched his arms above his head and yawned, surprised by just how much time had passed without his being aware. He spared a moment’s regret for his inability to keep his engagement with Jake Morton. Duty was a cruel mistress. The situation in Ireland, and more particularly with Irish immigrants across the Atlantic, was too volatile for him to be able to please himself. He glanced at his account of the activities of the so-called ‘Forty Thieves’ and grimaced.
That particular gang of Irish thugs, pickpockets and ne’er-do-wells was operating in the Five Points neighbourhood of Manhattan. According to his intelligence, they had come together in a grocery store owned by a woman named Rosanna Peers. Under the leadership of Edward Coleman—a notorious rogue who reputedly beat his wife at the slightest provocation—what had started as a motley group of petty criminals had blossomed into a feared street gang with its own rules and a tightly organised structure. Members of the Forty Thieves reportedly had quotas that required them to steal a certain amount of goods each day or face expulsion. What’s more, the gang had recently franchised itself in the form of the “Forty Little Thieves,” a collection of juvenile apprentices who served as pickpockets and lookouts.
Britain’s American friends wanted to know what Aberdeen’s government intended to do about it. Ros failed to see what they could do. America had allowed the Irish into their country, so they were now America’s problem. Not that he lacked sympathy for the circumstances that left them with no alternative other than to emigrate or starve.
Be that as it may, he was unable to concentrate on the bigger political picture, distracted by his pressing personal problems. Problems he had hoped to discuss with Jake, upon whom he could rely for sound advice. Now he would have to make another appointment with the elusive man and trust to luck that he would be free to keep it. Perhaps it would be best if he called at Grosvenor Square in the morning in the hope of catching the earl at home.
Ros yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth with his hand. He glanced at the clock when he heard the Division Bell sound and was surprised to see that it was past midnight. He stood, locked his half-finished report away and reached for his coat. Manhattan’s problem could wait another day. The House was about to vote and then there would be a stampede for the bars. Ros intended to be long gone before he was caught up in the melee, thereby precluding the possibility of his being cornered by one harried minister or another and having his brains picked. What few brains remained to him at the end of an excessively long day were in urgent need of rejuvenation in the form of a decent brandy enjoyed far away from the corridors of power.
He acknowledged the doorman’s salute as he left the Palace of Westminster, donned his hat and walked briskly in the direction of White’s, four hours later than he should have been there to keep his appointment with Jake.
Chapter Three
Sunshine beating down from a near cloudless sky made it feel as if spring had finally got into its stride. Jake made his way to Aitken’s residence in Bolton Street at the agreed hour the following morning, barely conscious of the blossom bursting forth and the fresh leaves unfurling in Grosvenor Square Gardens, still unsure if he wanted to involve himself in Thorndike’s latest political mire. Olivia’s concern for the missing girl had persuaded him to at least listen to what Aitken had to say for himself before he reached any decision. Aitken was an expert on the complex Irish problem—which was something Jake knew next to nothing about. Therein lay his escape route, his wife had pointed out to him with her usual straightforward logic, should A
itken be of the opinion that his political enemies were responsible for the girl’s disappearance.
Upon his arrival in Bolton Street he was shown into a fashionable drawing room by the family’s butler, who assured Jake that his master would be with him directly. True to his word, Jake had barely had an opportunity to take in his surroundings before Aitken appeared through a connecting door, looking fraught with worry that he had probably spent the past three days—four now—concealing from his family and colleagues. Men in Aitken’s powerful position did not display signs of weakness. It simply wasn’t done.
‘Good of you to come, Torbay,’ he said, shaking Jake’s hand.
‘I am sorry to hear about your daughter,’ Jake replied, taking the seat that Aitken motioned him towards. ‘Not sure what I can do to be of help, but here you find me.’
‘I realise Thorndike has unique powers of persuasion,’ Aitken replied, taking the seat across from Jake and waving his butler away when Jake declined his offer of refreshments. ‘I also happen to know that he holds you in the highest possible regard.’ Aitken sniffed. ‘No small achievement, to win the respect of a man like Thorndike, I mean. He has ice in his veins and is seldom impressed by anything. I wouldn’t have involved him but I am sure you will appreciate the sensitivity of the situation.’ Jake nodded to confirm that he did. ‘If one of our political opponents has…’ Jake turned away, allowing the distraught man a moment to regain his composure. ‘Well anyway, I’m sure I don’t have to spell out the ramifications to you. Rose doesn’t appreciate ’em and I would prefer it to remain that way. She ain’t strong, you see, and isn’t a deep thinker.’
Jake wondered, in that case, what she supposed could have happened to her daughter, but refrained from asking the question. Abductions from within the ranks of the well-heeled were rare, but they did happen. Presumably Aitken had allowed her to suppose that was the case with regard to their daughter. Perhaps it was, but Jake had yet to be convinced.
‘I do indeed.’
‘Rose is beside herself and has got it into her head that you would be able to save the day.’ Aitken shrugged as though he found the idea ludicrous. ‘You know how women can be. Anyway, she has been told you’re here and wants to talk to you. She will be down directly. For the first time since Annabel went missing, I might add, so your presence has already made a difference.’
‘Before she joins us, let’s speak candidly.’ Jake fixed the man with a level look. ‘I assume this is no abduction. You would have received a demand for cash by now if it was.’
Aitken rubbed his whiskery chin. ‘Precisely.’
‘Political then?’
The man let out a weary sigh. ‘I would imagine so. Damned cowardly way to try and get demands met, but those are the types of people we’re required to negotiate with nowadays.’
‘Can you think of any of your political enemies who might have snatched her?’ Jake asked.
Aitken shrugged. ‘Where do you want me to start? I have the unenviable task of trying to keep all the factions within this delicate coalition happy.’
‘An impossibility, I suspect. In my experience, jealousies and petty differences exist even between members of the same party. I can only begin to imagine how magnified they must become within the ranks of a fragile coalition.’
Aitken shook his head. ‘You don’t know the half of it. They remind me of our school days. Various gangs squabbling amongst themselves, scoring cheap points off one another, yet presenting a united front to those in authority and imagining everyone is taken in by it. But at least you can discipline schoolboys. The only weapon I have to fight back with is empty promises that even the densest of our allies must realise are undeliverable.’ A firmer shake of his head caused Aitken’s heavy jowls to wobble. He was only a decade older than Jake but the strain of political life had taken its toll upon his appearance, making the gap seem twice as wide. ‘I tell you, Torbay, it’s like sitting on top of a powder keg with a lighted fuse in my hand.’
‘An unenviable situation.’ Jake rearranged his legs into a more comfortable position, crossing them at the ankle. ‘Thorndike intimated that there might be an Irish connection.’ He fixed Aitken with a probing look, determined to get the truth from a man who had not only survived the shark-infested waters of British politics but had risen to the top of the pile by avoiding giving direct answers to any question posed to him for fear of reprisals. If he fell back on that safety net now, when his daughter’s life hung in the balance, Jake would leave him to rescue her himself and walk away, regardless of Olivia’s feelings on the matter. ‘Do you have anyone particular in mind?’
Aitken was quiet for a long time, and at first Jake thought he didn’t intend to answer him. Then, with an elongated sigh, he nodded. ‘There is a lawyer who fled to America along with the leaders of the Young Ireland movement back in ’48. He’s a wily fellow with a quick brain who’s made quite a name for himself over there. And now he’s back in England, causing dissention amongst the ranks of the Irish within the coalition.’
‘For what purpose?’ Jake asked, suspecting that he knew the answer to his own question.
‘You have heard of the Irish Republican Brotherhood?’
‘Dedicated to ousting the British from Ireland.’ Jake nodded. ‘Known as the Fenians in America. I assume your lawyer is one of their leading lights.’
‘We think so, but we can’t prove it. He’s too cautious for us to be able to accuse him of rabble-rousing. He claims to represent a growing number of Irish emigres who want to return to their homeland and reclaim their lands and tenancies. He makes it all sound entirely reasonable and public opinion is slowly turning in his favour, at least amongst the lower classes and…well, he’s making a damned nuisance of himself to the extent that he’s in danger of gaining enough support to topple the coalition.’
‘Then why would he risk that advantage by taking your daughter?’
‘We ain’t without the means to fight back. We have information on his activities that would see him lose his support if we chose to make it public.’
‘But you don’t, for fear of being seen to sink to his level.’ Although Jake was well aware that shadowy government figures like Thorndike wouldn’t hesitate to do so behind the scenes. ‘Or because it’s unsubstantiated and none of you wants to be taken to court for defamation of character.’
Aitken waved a hand abstractedly in the air. ‘Something like that.’
‘Does this silver-tongued lawyer have a name?’
Aitken sighed. ‘Fergus Quinn,’ he said.
‘I have not seen him quoted in the newspaper reports on the Irish situation.’
Aitken shook his head. ‘Nor are you likely too. The man’s exceedingly astute. You are more likely to run into him in social situations. He has connections in high places and is invited everywhere by society matrons keen to show their support for the downtrodden Irish. Not that they did anything to help them when they needed it most, and were the first to complain about the withdrawal of the corn law, but still…’
‘They would have been better advised to prevent their husbands from buying up bankrupt Irish estates, in that case, and then evicting the tenants they now claim to have sympathy for.’
‘Quite, but you know how the ladies so enjoy taking up their causes.’
Jake leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and rested his cheek in his cupped hand. ‘Why do you suppose this Fergus Quinn has anything to do with your daughter’s disappearance?’
‘He’s rather popular with the ladies, you see. A handsome brute, full of charm, with a lilting cadence and tendency to break into verse at the drop of a hat.’
‘Annabel liked him?’
Aitken lifted one shoulder. ‘She only met him once, as far as I am aware.’
‘When was that?’
‘A week ago at Lady Farrell’s soiree. He read poetry and all the ladies were captivated by Irish folklore cataloguing the travails of the downtrodden major
ity thinly disguised as romantic verse, so I’m told. I was not there myself.’
‘Very wise,’ Jake said, aware of just how tedious such events generally were.
He was about to ask Aitken if he had more specific reasons for suspecting Quinn, but the door opened, preventing him from so doing. Rose Aitken walked through it, looked tragically pale, clinging to the arm of an attractive young woman, presumably the other daughter.
‘Ah, Jake, how good of you to come.’
She extended a slender hand, which Jake dutifully took and raised to his lips. ‘I am sorry we must meet again under such unfortunate circumstances.’
‘I feel better already, now that I know you are looking for my beloved girl.’ Jake had not committed himself to looking for anyone but refrained from putting her straight on the point. ‘You are acquainted with Jemima, my elder daughter.’ She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the young woman at her side, almost as an afterthought.
‘I am not,’ Jake replied, smiling at Jemima. ‘But it is a pleasure to rectify that situation. How do you do, Miss Aitken?’
‘I am tolerably well, Lord Torbay, given the circumstances.’
‘Quite so.’
Jake watched the young woman as she settled her mother in a chair and then calmly took another that was situated a few feet behind those of her parents. It was as though she was accustomed to taking a back seat and preferred to observe proceedings in the mistaken belief that she would be overlooked. Jake could have told her that would be an impossible ambition to achieve, even in the presence of her apparently even prettier and vivacious younger sister. She was far too attractive to fade unnoticed into the background. Her expression was grave but, unlike her mother, she didn’t appear to be on the point of collapse because her sister had disappeared. Miss Jemima Aitken possessed a great deal of common sense, Jake surmised from his first glimpse of her. A person upon whom one could depend not to lose her senses in an emergency.
Elegance and Grace Page 3