In The House Of Secrets And Lies (Lady C. Investigates Book 3)

by Issy Brooke

  Mrs Unsworth harrumphed and began to beat some eggs, adding in cream and herbs as she set the bowl over some boiling water. The thick slices of bread were laid to toast by being placed in a thick, heavy pan and covered over. The range, being an enclosed one, had no way of toasting before an open flame, but the pan-made toast was just as good, albeit needing to be done with thicker slices which would then be split open.

  “Nevertheless, people talk,” Mrs Unsworth muttered.

  “And where does that talk begin?” Cordelia snapped, irritation close to the surface. She was too stressed to hold her tongue as she would usually do. “You must accept that I am the mistress here, and that my household is an unconventional one. I know that I am talked about, and I know that many would consider my ways radical and even dangerous. Sometimes I wonder why you stay with me.”

  “You know why I stay.”

  “You think that you have to? You have no obligations here. You can leave. I would even provide you with a reference.”

  “I thought that I might, as it happens. I could stay here in London. I’d be closer to Jasper.” When she uttered that name, she slammed down the bowl onto the table and drew in a shuddering breath. “I have been to see him.”

  “I thought that you might, while we are here, and I do not blame you for it.”

  “Yet I—”

  “Blame me?” Cordelia said, her anger rising. She got to her feet. “There are things you do not know about your son. And what is more, his—”

  The door burst open, and two ragged figures almost fell into the room, stopping Cordelia’s rising argument dead.

  “Ruby! Stanley!”

  They were scuffed and dirty and their faces were strained, with dark circles under their eyes. Stanley steered Ruby to the easy chair by the range, and she collapsed into it. The boy then folded himself onto the bench by the kitchen table and slumped forward. Neville Fry followed, having clearly met them out in the streets. He removed himself to the sitting room, probably to find things to polish.

  “My lady … I am sorry …” Stanley said, trying to stand up again.

  “Stanley, stay sitting. Mrs Unsworth, hot drinks, now. No, no, leave the eggs, let them spoil. London eggs start out half-spoiled anyway. Ruby, are you hurt?”

  “No, my lady. Just tired.”

  “And Stanley?”

  “I am unhurt.”

  “What has happened? Shall I send for the police? Or a doctor?”

  Stanley shook his head and looked towards Ruby, who waved her hand and closed her eyes, turning her head away. She looked utterly exhausted.

  Hesitantly, and with his customary stammer, Stanley began to explain what had happened.

  He began with an apology.

  “I left the Duke’s house. There was nothing for me in the servants’ hall; I was in the way. In the stables, there were others playing dice, and again, as you know that is not for me. And the head man there was complaining at the number of people who had brought coaches. He felt it was a rude imposition on his master’s hospitality. So I took the hired carriage and went for a walk along peaceful lanes, and came to a church, and went to sit in the porch for a moment of reflection.”

  “Oh no. And when you left the church…”

  “Exactly, my lady, the carriage and horse had gone. I thought I was watching. I closed my eyes only for a minute. And I heard nothing in that minute. But the horse and carriage had gone. It could not have gone far, and I began to run, to find it, but there was no sign!”

  “An opportunistic thief,” Cordelia said. “And a clever one. Oh, Stanley, you silly innocent.”

  He hung his head in shame. “So then I came back to the house to find you, but the place was in darkness. I met a tall man outside, and I told him who I was and who I was looking for. He said that he knew you and had been speaking with you, but that you had gone home. And that everyone had gone. I could see that the doorway was unlit, and there was no sign of any staff in the stables either. So then what could I do? I came back here, and expected that you had come home in a cab, as the stranger had said.”

  “I tried,” Cordelia said. “But, please, go on.”

  “Ruby was here, and she was as frantic as I was when I told her the tale. We both went straight out to find you.”

  “You didn’t think to find Geoffrey, or tell Mrs Unsworth or Mr Fry what was happening?”

  “Geoffrey was absent, as was Mr Fry at that moment, and we had no time to wait. As for Mrs Unsworth, well…”

  “Already drunk,” Cordelia said. Mrs Unsworth didn’t say anything. She had made hot drinks and was now preparing a fresh set of eggs and toast for Cordelia.

  Stanley nodded miserably. “So out we went, Ruby and I. But things went ill. It was dark and we searched all the streets between here and the Duke’s house. A policeman stopped us, as he thought we were suspicious, but he could not help, and ordered us home. We took a back route and then we were set upon.”

  At this, Ruby opened her eyes and yawned. She said, “We had become separated. He was ahead of me, and I was behind, looking down an alleyway. I heard them before I saw them; two thugs, one threatening to bash Stanley over the head.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran up behind them and bashed him first,” she said. “The thug, I mean, not Stanley. Then I grabbed Stanley and we ran, but they followed. Thing is, people don’t like being smacked on the noggin.”

  “I am sure that they do not.”

  “We ran and ran,” Stanley said.

  “And then we were lost. Even I,” Ruby added sadly.

  “We had no money for a cab, and we were hungry and thirsty. We walked and walked. I think we must have walked miles in the wrong direction. We eventually had to stop and rest, and we said we’d try to sleep until the sun came up, and we found a space to hide behind boxes near to a market, but they start work early in the mornings and we had no rest at all.”

  “And here we are now,” Ruby said. “And I, for one, am glad to see you safe and sound, my lady.”

  “I think we have all had adventures,” Cordelia said. “But now, you pair must wash and eat and then go to bed. Mrs Unsworth, put the toast and eggs onto two plates for these pair.”

  “Must I make a third set for yourself?” she muttered.

  “You must. See to it.”

  While they ate, Cordelia told them what had happened to herself. She downplayed it to some extent as she didn’t want to alarm them, but there was no nice way of saying “I was taken off in a cab by a footpad.” And speaking about it seemed to lessen the shock a little. It was the first time Mrs Unsworth had heard the tale too. Even she looked shocked.

  “And you truly believe it was a targeted attack, my lady?” Ruby asked.

  “I do, now.”

  “And ours? Was it linked?”

  “That is more complicated. There is the matter of the stolen cab, the man whom Stanley met, and the two thugs who tried to mug you. The man that you spoke to, Stanley, was he well-spoken?”

  “He was, my lady. He was elegant and refined. And older gentleman.”

  “Lord Brookfield, perhaps,” she said. “I wonder if he saw me get into that cab? That would explain why he said what he said to you. But as for the stealing of your carriage, Stanley, that sounds opportunistic. There was an unattended horse, and a fine one at that; it was bound to have been stolen.”

  Stanley hung his head. “It was late and quiet and it caught me out,” he said.

  “Now, as for the attempted mugging of you both, that is also likely to be chance also.”

  Stanley said, “You are correct, my lady. I think they simply saw me and saw that I was frantic and unfamiliar with the area, and realised I would be an easy mark. And a foolish one.”

  “Oh, what an absolute nightmare.” Cordelia rubbed at her aching forehead. She had only picked at the food that Mrs Unsworth had set in front of her. She pushed it away.

  Mrs Unsworth snatched it away from her. “You are done with this?”


  “Mrs Unsworth, have a care to watch your manners. But yes, I am finished. I thank you for the food, but remember your place.”

  “As we have lately discussed, my lady, perhaps my place is better elsewhere.”

  “Perhaps it is, though … though I would counsel you to remember all I have done for you.”

  Mrs Unsworth scraped the food from the plate, noisily clattering it on the side of a metal bucket. “For me? Yes, putting my son in prison was the least of it.”

  A silence descended with the heaviness of a body falling to the floor.

  No one could quite believe what they had heard.

  “Stanley, Ruby, go to bed,” Cordelia said. “I will walk out to clear my head.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, I assume that clot Geoffrey is sleeping in a heap somewhere about the place. Stanley, if he is within, kick him awake when you go to your bed.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  London was a leveller of class. For all the scandal and the gossip, still it would turn a blind eye to certain blatant breaches of propriety. If Cordelia had walked through a county town, accompanied only by her coachman, who was dressed in yesterday’s clothes and smelling less than fragrant, she would have been turned away from any reasonable residence; every mistress would have been “not at home” to her calls. She would have endured a well-meaning visit of concern from the local vicar, and no doubt some worthy matrons would have also weighed in with their opinions on her morals.

  Here, though, in the steaming pile of humanity that was the greatest city on earth, she was hardly remarked upon. There were far more interesting things to see. She was a minor lady. This was where the Queen herself lived! Every rank of nobility and aristocracy trod the same streets as the lowliest beggar and the least of people.

  Granted, there were areas that were closed to certain kinds of people. The very rich areas around Piccadilly were the exclusive haunts of titled folks, and anyone who had less than £1000 a year would have felt out of place there. At the other extreme, though Cordelia had explored some of the poorer areas with the Mission Ladies, even they would fear to tread the very lowest rookeries where the buildings were crowded so close that daylight never penetrated, and sickness lingered in the foetid pools of slurry that stood stagnant on the ground while babies slumped from their dead mothers’ arms, already born into addiction and despair.

  But the largest part of London was an egalitarian place of noise, because it was a trading city, and money was more important than even one’s class. By trade, the nation had grown, and by trade, the Empire had become a thing of wonder. By trade, was one man the master of another not by birth but by work — and money. And money did not care into whose hands it flowed.

  She told Geoffrey carefully about the night’s events. He agreed with her assessment of the theft of the carriage, and the attempted attack on Stanley and Ruby. “It happens all the time,” he said morosely. She was reticent in her description of her own escapades, because she suspected he would react most passionately, and he did. She sought to reassure him that she had never felt in danger.

  “Doesn’t matter if you felt in danger or if you did not, though, my lady,” he said angrily. His pace had quickened as his blood boiled. “Because you were in danger, see, and that is that. You must not be alone at any time, do you mark me?”

  She chose to overlook his manner in giving her an order. His fury made her feel better. She understood his demands. “And that is why I asked you to accompany me this morning.”

  “And what is our mission?”

  “I needed to walk, and to clear my head.”

  “In London air?”

  “We must find a park,” she said. They had walked south of the Inn, towards Fleet Street, but then turned right along The Strand. Many of the finer mansions had been given up as their owners moved west, and there were a great many theatres and entertainments being offered. Cordelia wondered if she was outside society enough to be able to attend the theatre without too much scandal.

  As they got closer to Charing Cross and the new hospital, the buildings became modern; great grand edifices in pale London brick, not yet tarnished by the blackening pollution.

  And finally, after a little over a mile of walking, they reached the serene sanctity of London’s oldest park, St James’s.

  They had walked in silence, which suited Cordelia. Geoffrey had slowed his pace, and remained alert, looking all around him. He began to walk closer to Cordelia. She stepped aside to give him space but he pressed up against her again, and whispered in her ear without looking at her.

  “Do not be in any way alarmed, my lady. But we are being followed. We have taken a random route in this park and yet the same figure is behind us that has been there since we left the lodgings.”

  She did not let her step falter. She, too, kept her head facing forwards. “Is it one person alone? Have you any idea who they are?”

  “They seem small, like a boy not yet a man.”

  “Oh. Well, I am not scared of that.”

  “They might not be working alone,” Geoffrey said. “Nor might they be unarmed. Do not be scared … but we must be alert.”

  “This confirms it,” Cordelia said. Geoffrey steered her towards an open section of grass. She was going to get stains on her shoes but she did not care. She let him lead. “That attack on me last night was not a random one, was it?”

  “I suspect not, my lady. Hmm, they are flitting from bush to bush on our right — no, don’t look.”

  “Someone knew I was there, and someone arranged it all to happen, to me and to Stanley,” she said. “Why?”

  “The murder, of course,” Geoffrey said. “You are scaring someone and they want to stop you.”

  “How awful. How awfully thrilling.”

  “Let us go up there, and curve around that bush,” he said. “We will head to the right but as soon as we are out of sight, you must dart to the left behind the hawthorn.”

  They strolled as if they did not have a care in the world, but her heart was hammering, ready to make the move on Geoffrey’s signal. They wandered around the blowsy-looking hydrangea and Geoffrey touched her arm lightly. She jumped to the left, and hid herself as best she could behind an old and twisting hawthorn tree. It had been cut hard down and had produced many branches and stems from its base, forming a thick shrub.

  Whoever was following had assumed they were going to the right, and had chosen to skirt around the right hand side of the hydrangea. Geoffrey leaped out at them, and grabbed them.

  They shouted in a high pitched voice but within moments there was a thud and a low growl, and both figures disappeared from view.

  Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She ran out from her hiding place and discovered Geoffrey lying on the floor, his black coat spread out and almost covering the smaller figure that was lying squashed beneath him. The boy was struggling like a fish, flapping his hands and feet, and mewling.

  “Geoffrey, have a care! You’ll hurt him!” she called.

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” he said, his voice muffled by the flailing limbs.

  “Get up! The pair of you, up on your feet, right now.”

  Geoffrey rolled off the boy but managed to keep a firm grip of him. He twisted the boy’s right arm up behind his body, and held the hand at such an angle that any movement the boy made caused him to yell in pain. Geoffrey stood behind the boy and shoved him towards Cordelia. “Do you recognise this little guttersnipe, my lady?”

  She peered at the grubby lad closely. He seemed to be around twelve years of age, but with roughened skin and dark bags beneath his eyes. He was underfed and spat expletives at her.

  “I do not,” she said. “Who are you?”

  He began to spout some foul words until Geoffrey shook some civility into him. “Speak well or lose your tongue completely,” Geoffrey growled in a low and sinister voice, directly into the boy’s ear.

  The boy froze.
/>   “Who are you? And why were you following us?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were. Who are you?”

  “William Lightfoot,” he said, with a surly edge only slightly tinged by fear and pain.

  “It means nothing to me,” she said.

  “It wouldn’t, would it?”

  She thought fleetingly that it was to do with Mrs Unsworth and her son, Jasper, and of course Jasper’s wife. “Who sent you?” she asked.

  “I dunno. Some rich toff.”

  Not Mrs Unsworth’s doing, this, then. “And his name?”

  “I dunno.”

  But another shaking from Geoffrey tore the name from the boy’s mouth. “All right! Mister, hey mister, leave off. It were a cove as was called Hugo Hawke.”

  “No!” She stepped back and flung her hands up in surprise as if to ward off what the boy was saying. “Why?”

  “I dunno. I swear that I do not! Upon my mother’s life. If she’s alive. Which I doubt.”

  “Do you believe him, my lady?”

  “I do,” she said. “He would not have come out with that name under any other circumstances. But it is not at all what I expected to hear.”

  “And what about the other one?” Geoffrey said.

  “What other?” both Cordelia and the boy said at the same time.

  “There was another. I had not spotted him at first. But when I leaped upon this slum-rat, I saw another, a taller one, rush away into the bushes. So this one was not working alone.”

  “I was, I am, I swear it! There is only me.”

  Geoffrey shook him and twisted the boy’s arm until he screamed and Cordelia ordered him to stop, but he would not confess that he was with someone else.

  “Let it drop,” Cordelia said. “I think we might get more answers from Mr Hawke himself.”

  Geoffrey took Cordelia’s words literally and the boy was dropped to the ground. He snivelled a moment then was up on his feet, and he swore again, most colourfully and with amusing invention as he ran away.

  “I rather think that we have got the wrong one,” Cordelia said to Geoffrey, who was looking as pleased with himself as a spaniel that had brought back a game bird.