by Joan Smith
* * *
In Lady Gertrude’s salon, they were indeed up to something. Tommy was examining Tsar Peter’s snuffbox and hearing the story of how Prissy had come by it. “She said the fellow who beat her was tall, dark and ugly, with squinty eyes,” Elizabeth said. “Do you know anyone like that?”
“I can think of half a dozen tall, dark and ugly fellows, but the squinty eyes — I’m not sure what that even means.”
“My thinking,” Elizabeth continued, “is that he is the same fellow who has been snitching small, valuable items from houses where he’s visiting or probably attending some sort of party.”
“Yes, it’d be safer to pocket the goods when there are plenty of people around to share suspicion. It has to be someone with a truly nasty temper whose pockets are to let. I could give you a list of fellows with empty pockets all right.”
“I daresay he keeps the temper in check in society and takes it out on poor, helpless souls like Prissy. The coward,” Lady Gertrude added. After a little pause while they all scanned their acquaintances for a likely suspect, she continued. “Has it occurred to anyone but me that Hanson is tall, dark and not precisely handsome, with his pockets to let?”
“But the squinty eyes,” Elizabeth said, frowning. “I wonder what Prissy meant by that.”
“His eyes did look pretty squinty when he lost that last bet at cards the other night,” Tommy said. “What I mean is, he might sort of squint them up when he’s angry, or excited, or what have you. If Prissy was pressing him to pay her, even calling for help — Oh I don’t know. It’s interesting, though. I seem to recall those small thefts began happening just before Hanson got kicked out of his clubs. He hasn’t been invited out for at least two weeks. Have you heard of any recent thefts?”
“Now that you mention it, I haven’t,” Lady Gertrude said, and Elizabeth agreed. “The last I heard of was Sir Giles Morton’s ivory miniatures of his parents.”
“Hanson had a chit for a pair of ivory miniatures he laid on the shelf!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Remember, Tommy? I mentioned it. He is the one who’s been snitching small valuables.”
“That settles it,” Lady Gertrude said. “And Tsar Peter’s snuffbox was the last theft. He was at Countess deLieven’s rout party. Is there any way we could prove it? Prove it to so that the law can nab him, I mean?”
“He’s no longer invited to any decent houses so we’d have to catch him in his other foul deed of harassing some poor street girl,” was Tommy’s suggestion.
“And that is a job for the Dials,” Lady Gertrude said. “We don’t want you hanging about street corners to see who is beating up the girls and getting involved in brawls, Tommy. That is no place for a gentleman. I shall have a word with King George. That is the sort of thing he handles. He’ll have a couple of bruisers keep an eye on things. I shouldn’t be surprised if he has taken steps already.”
“I don’t think he knows, or he would have had that snuffbox from Prissy,” Tommy said.
“I daresay you’re right. I shall write to him this very minute,” she said. “Do you know, Lizzie, I think he would be pleased to receive the Tsar’s snuffbox. He will realize it is something special. A little douceur, you might say. He quite dotes on such toys. And after all, we are all robbed blind with taxes which go to support Prinney’s lavish collections, instead of decent policing. As for Countess deLieven, she’ll never miss it. We shall consider it her donation to charity. What do you think?”
“Best way to handle it,” Tommy said at once, and after a little consideration, Elizabeth did not disagree.
“Alfie can deliver the letter and snuffbox tomorrow morning,” Lady Gertrude said. “No, on second thought, I shall not write. I shall go in person. I haven’t been to the Dials for an age. I shall tell Cook to make one of his favourite ginger cakes for me to take his majesty. He gave me a dozen bottles of excellent port the last time I took him one. A charming man. A pity he’s such a scoundrel,” she finished, with no sign of regret but rather a satisfied smile at his lack of scruples.
“If that is all, then I should be getting on to Nick’s place,” Tommy said, rising. “He didn’t seem too happy at my stopping off here. I take it you would prefer he not know what you’ve been telling me?”
“Best not,” Lady Gertrude said.
Tommy nodded. “He’d only want to give the snuffbox back to deLieven.”
“A good lad, but somewhat lacking in imagination. We wouldn’t want to shock him. I fear he would not appreciate the finer points of justice.”
“We have shocked him enough for one day,” Elizabeth said, and laughed.
“Do him a world of good,” Tommy said.
Chapter Nine
Elizabeth did not dress like a governess when she went out in the evening, but she did not dress like a deb either. When she entered her twenties she had adopted the more mature style of the married lady. No riot of curls bouncing playfully about her cheeks, no excess of lace and bows on a modest gown of pastel hue that never did suit her statuesque figure.
That evening she wore a gown of sapphire blue that showed off her pretty shoulders and gave just a hint of bosoms. Her antique necklace of sapphires and diamonds was elegant but not grand or gaudy enough to distract attention from her personal charms. Her raven hair was pulled back from her face and arranged high behind. Anticipation of the coming evening lent a glow to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes.
Nicholas had left home in a bad mood, still annoyed at having been quite pointedly excluded from Tommy’s visit with the ladies that afternoon, after all he had done to help them. He had every intention of being coolly distant to show his indifference. But when Elizabeth welcomed him with a warm smile, he automatically responded, although he didn’t realize he was smiling when he stepped forward to greet her in her aunt’s salon.
“Elizabeth, charming, as usual,” he said, making a bow. Now why had he said “as usual”? This new Elizabeth bore little resemblance to the countrified deb he had known five years ago. The deb’s shy smile had matured into a confident, almost a challenging expression. His proud blood rose to meet the challenge.
“Why thank you, sir. Tommy says I can do the grand lady very well when I want to. I assume Tommy’s outside?”
How easily she brushed aside his compliment. No doubt she was accustomed to them. And again he felt that rankling little spurt of anger when her first greeting included an interest in Tommy.
“Yes, enjoying himself hugely. He says if the constable comes after him he’ll bleach his hair and take on the job of postboy permanently.”
“It sounds like him, but we mustn’t let that happen.”
Lady Gertrude came bustling in, her outfit a sartorial cacophony of yellow and green, topped by a magenta turban with three white plumes waving on top. Dear Georgie had inaugurated the style of the three feathers, symbols of the Prince Regent, when the Prince was in style, many years ago. The outfit gave her the air of a tropical bird.
“Good evening, Carbury,” she said, then turned to her niece before he had time to reply. “Can you lend me some money, Lizzie, in case I lose at whist this evening, though I don’t intend to. I gave Nick’s generous donation and all I had in my purse to Doctor Tom. He needed more supplies, and the rent is coming due — again. I swear the months are getting shorter. We really must do something about buying that little house for the clinic. Perhaps some sort of lottery.”
“I don’t suppose I shall need any money tonight,” Elizabeth said, and ferreted in her reticule for some coins.
“Thank you, dear. I sent for my own carriage. I daresay you will be safe enough with Carbury. I shouldn’t think he’s likely to turn into a satyr.”
“No danger of that, Auntie. He is quite tame,” she said, tossing him a bold smile that set his blood racing. “If he does, you recall Tommy will be within shouting distance to rescue me.”
“A game chick, young Tommy,” Lady Gertrude said, smiling. “I do hope you find those curst rubies. I must be off. I’v
e promised to pick up Cousin Lucy, the skint. She has a perfectly good carriage herself but is always cadging drives with someone, usually me. If she is to use me for a hackney, I ought to charge her. Good luck with your little scheme. If you feel I can be of any help, do let me know. You know where to find me.”
The butler came to tell her the carriage had arrived. They all left together as Nick’s carriage was already standing by outside. Tommy, outfitted like a postboy, hopped down from his perch to open the door for Elizabeth. “Very nice,” she said, smiling at his costume.
“Merci bien, Mam’selle.” He looked her up and down and said, “Très élégante. Dare a lowly servant say you look magnifique?” He swept a deep bow.
“Certainly not,” she said, feigning umbrage. “I never allow my servants to take such liberties.”
He clapped his hand to his heart and turned to Nicholas. “Beware, master. This is how the jade treats us after she is through with us.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Nicholas said, and opened the carriage door for her to enter as Tommy had not got around to doing it. As the carriage bowled along through the foggy night, he said, “I hadn’t realized you and Tommy had become so close.”
“He is my default escort when I require one.”
“Perhaps that is what put Lord Sinclair off. There was talk a year or so ago that you might bring him up to scratch.”
“What makes you think I didn’t?” Her pert smile was sensed by her tone rather than seen in the shadowy carriage.
“I would have heard such a choice on dit.”
“You must know a lady does not boast of an offer unless she accepts it, Nicholas.”
“Very true. I also know the ladies cannot resist telling their lady friends, whose chore it is to disseminate news of their conquest.”
“You have a poor opinion of ladies. I trust you, as a gentleman, will be discreet and keep my secret,” she said.
“But why would you refuse such a sterling parti?” he asked, wondering if she were telling the truth. The old Miss Warwick would not have told a lie. He had no such reliance on the honesty of this new Elizabeth after having heard her con Mrs. Shaver’s servant. He knew as well that she enjoyed house-breaking, though to be fair she had shown concern at having possibly murdered Hanson.
“Sinclair didn’t suit me. Much too nice for my taste.”
“One certainly can’t say that of Tommy Gower.”
“Oh I shan’t marry him unless it should become absolutely necessary.”
Nick just stared, stunned into speechlessness. When he recovered, he said, “Good God, Elizabeth, I know you have changed, but don’t tell me you have joined that old phony William Godwin and his notion of free love.”
“Of course not, idiot,” she said, laughing. “Really, I am shocked that you would suggest such a thing.”
“Then what do you mean? How should it be absolutely necessary for you to marry him?”
“Ladies are not the only ones who can lose their reputation. I mean I shall marry him if we can’t find the rubies, and folks go on thinking he stole them. He obviously wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t need the money desperately, and how should he need it if he married me? You may recall I have a dot of thirty thousand pounds.”
“But you can’t seriously mean you would marry him for that?”
“Well, no. Not just for that,” she allowed. “Not if I didn’t like him, but I do like Tommy. We get on very well together. I know he is a little — well, you know. But I could tame him sufficiently to make him a proper husband. And it would be rather nice to have a husband, providing he did not try to change me. Tommy would never do that.”
Nick considered this a moment in silence, then said, “I was beginning to think you were a little mad, the way you’ve been carrying on today. Now I am certain of it. I liked you better when you were a prude.”
“But not enough to offer for me,” she reminded him, careful to keep her tone light, to show him how little she cared. “Pray do not allow your masculine arrogance to imagine that is why I changed. It was Aunt Gertrude and Seven Dials that did it. I have seen many happy marriages there, and numerous miserable ones in society, where ladies and gentlemen have made what we choose to call suitable matches, and taken their pleasure elsewhere. Wearing a tiara and being invited to tea by a duchess are not so important to me as enjoying life with a compatible gentleman.”
Angry and frustrated, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about — and neither do you. Tommy would make a wretched husband.”
“I would make a wretched wife for most gentlemen,” she said with a shake of her head. “I was not thinking only of myself when I refused Sinclair’s offer. Ah, here we are.”
Flambeaux lit the entrance to Lady Belmont’s mansion. Liveried footmen danced attendance on the arrivals. Turbaned and befeathered heads bobbed along beside the taller heads of their escorts as couples entered the mansion. Lady Belmont, a large-bosomed lady in an overly ornate puce gown, with a string of pearls down to her waist, stood inside, welcoming her guests. Entry was slow as each had to hear firsthand of her great loss, and compliment her on her courage in carrying on with the ball in the face of such adversity.
Her greeting to Miss Warwick was frosty, as her friend Tommy Gower was figuring as the culprit in the case, though for reasons of her own she hesitated to lay a charge against him. She had been sure Miss Warwick would have the common decency to stay at home. Had she not been accompanied by Lord Carbury, there might have been no welcome at all.
When they joined the milling throng heading to the ballroom, Elizabeth felt the old familiar surge of excitement. Balls were magical times for unmarried ladies. The usual wave of music and chatter and of perfume surrounded her. White shoulders gleamed, feathers swayed and jewels glittered beneath the chandeliers as the dancing couples performed the ritual steps of the opening minuet.
As the first set was already in progress, she had time to look around for Sara. She spotted her across the room, looking quite lovely despite a pink gown festooned with yards of lace. She was accompanied by Lord Buckner, an earl who was rich, tall, dark but somehow not quite handsome, despite his regular features. It was the haughty expression that made her wonder how Sara could love him, but she obviously did. The way her adoring eyes seldom left his face reminded Elizabeth of a spaniel she used to have.
Though Buckner was no model of propriety himself, he was the last gentleman in town who would marry her if the least whiff of scandal attached to her. Not that a lack of scandal guaranteed a lady an offer. She, herself, had been completely scandal-free when she made her bows, but Nicholas had not offered for her, despite her thirty thousand pounds.
Several friends stopped to talk to her and Nicholas as they stood, watching the dance. Nick was disconcerted to notice how many of the gentlemen flirted with Elizabeth, demanding that she save them a dance and saying they had called at Hanover Square three days in a row and she was not at home. He was also disconcerted to see how offhandedly she returned the flirtation.
Sir Giles Pensham, a dashing buck with an immaculate cravat and less pure reputation said, “Well, Carbury, so it is you who is keeping Miss Warwick from us, eh? By Jove, lucky fellow.”
While Elizabeth bantered with them all like a gazetted flirt, she also kept one eye on Sara. Sir Giles Pensham attached himself to her and insisted on having the next set. As soon as Buckner began to lead Sara from the floor, Elizabeth nudged Nick’s elbow, leaned over and whispered, “There, ask her for the next set before someone else does. Nod to me if she accepts and I’ll make some excuse to get rid of Pensham. I have promised him the next set. It was either that or the waltzes, and he steps all over my toes.”
Nick was still extremely unhappy with the scheme, but he had learned that Elizabeth would go on with her plan, with or without his help. He darted forward to speak to Sara. She told him the next set was taken, but she gave him the one after that. Nick caught Elizabeth’s eye and shook his head. Too bad Elizabeth was pro
mised to Pensham. He could have stood up with her. At least she wasn’t with Tommy.
He went to the refreshment parlour and there met Elizabeth’s old beau, Lord Sinclair. “Ah, Carbury,” he said. “Nice little do, what, though there are a few gents here I wouldn’t invite into my house. Rufus Aherne — why the devil did Lady Belmont invite him?”
“They are related, I believe.”
“Only connected. You heard old Rufus has the bailiff in his house? Shocking fellow. And it wasn’t even gambling that did him in, but the muslin company, according to Dame Rumour.”
“I heard it was poor investments that were the culprit,” Nick replied. “Something to do with shares in a gold mine.”
“Is that so? Still, bad form, having the bailiffs in the house,” Sinclair said with a shake of his head.
After a little social chit chat and some talk about horse races, Sinclair said, “I hear you accompanied Miss Warwick this evening. Is that romance back on?”
“No, just friends.”
“I know you were used to have the inside track there. I wondered if that was why she refused my offer last year. I was pretty cut up at the time. Now, of course, I am well on the way to offering for Lady Anne Cuthbert. Excellent old family, related to half the nobility, and a good dot along with it. Not quite so good as Miss Warwick’s, but comparable. Twenty-five thousand.”
“Lady Anne — really? I hadn’t heard it,” Nick said, smiling, but his greater interest was to hear Sinclair had actually offered for Elizabeth. And she, apparently, hadn’t told a soul, though Sinclair was considered one of the town’s most eligible partis. An offer from him would have been quite a feather in her cap. It seemed she really didn’t care what folks thought of her. He had to approve of her decision. Despite his title and wealth, Sinclair was not a pleasant person. He had to chew back a smile to think how her behaviour would shock Sinclair. Elizabeth obviously knew what she wanted.