Like wee moons.
Suspicion bloomed, cold and nasty, in the pit of Colin’s stomach.
“Mrs. Green…” He said it carefully. “Show Harry the butt of your pistol, if you would.”
Madeleine flicked him an inscrutable glance from beneath her lashes, then locked the half-cocked pistol and turned it around to show the footman the silhouette of a woman in nacre.
Harry leaned forward. “Like that, yes,” he breathed. “Lovely, ain’t it? Like a moon, but wi’ rainbows in it?” He glanced sideways at the countess. Angling, perhaps, for an upgraded uniform with nacre buttons.
“It’s mother-of-pearl, Harry,” Eleanor said, her voice quietly instructional. “There is mother-of-pearl inlay in the Chinese screens in the library, and the chairs in Monty’s sitting room. The black lacquer chairs.”
“Mother-of-pearl,” Harry repeated. He looked faintly pleased to be educated. “That’s it, then. The button was mother-of-pearl.”
Harry and the countess exchanged a brief look of amused, almost childlike wonder, as if they could still hardly believe they were discussing things like inlay or Chinese screens. They were both admittedly a long way from Marble Mile.
“And this man never told you his name?” Colin asked. “Did you see him get into or out of a carriage, did he have a mount, did he go in any particular direction on the street?”
“’E always found me on the street, Mr. Eversea. And ’e brought the money with him, for me to give to Mr. Croker.”
“Twenty-five pounds?”
“I nivver looked, Mr. Eversea,” Harry said almost primly. “’Twas in a wee purse, ye see.”
“Was he wearing this waistcoat each time, Harry?”
“Twice, that I noticed.”
“How many times did you visit the Tiger’s Nest as a messenger?”
“Well, it were three times in all, Mr. Eversea. Two times to see Mr. Croker. I brought money twice. The third time I was asked to bring money to Horace.”
And time stood still. It took a second for Colin to get the question out.
“For whom?”
“For Horace Peele, Mr. Eversea. You might know ’im. ’E drinks everywhere. ’E’s the man with the—”
“Three-legged dog,” Colin completed.
He felt a brief sense of triumph.
Followed by a sick sensation of the world dropping from beneath his feet.
Nothing made sense. On the surface of things, it seemed the same person who had paid to ensure his conviction for murder by making Horace Peele disappear had also paid to save his life…and to kill the woman hired to save it.
It didn’t have the hallmark of the Redmonds…the cool finesse with which they accomplished everything. No Eversea would ever have done anything so clumsily, or so lacking in dash, nor could he imagine anyone in his family attempting to kill a woman. And Marcus…
Perhaps Marcus had actually paid Horace Peele to disappear, and then experienced an attack of remorse?
Colin felt sweat form cold beads on the back of his neck. He took in a deep breath and exhaled. He could mull and sort facts later. Now he needed to gather them, and quickly.
“So you gave money to Horace Peele…when did this happen?”
“You was already in prison, Mr. Eversea. ’Twas…a fortnight ago. Wednesday, me ’alf day. And the thing was…he was more certain of ’imself. This was when I saw ‘im first, ye see. The next two times…he was peevish, like.”
There was a tap on the door.
They all froze.
“Wardrobe!” the countess hissed frantically.
Madeleine, Colin, and Harry the footman scrambled into the wardrobe and tried to pull the door closed, but the three of them were a tight fit. Colin needed to put both arms around Madeleine, a great sacrifice indeed. A little bit of footman peeped out in the form of a coattail.
The countess slid the bolt on the door to the chamber and opened it slowly.
The sweet piping voice of a young maid came through.
“Lady Malmsey? Shall I dress you for Lady Coversham’s luncheon? I laid out the blue.”
The blue was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Oh, Katie, I fear I’ve the most terrible headache. You know how dull Lord and Lady Crump’s do’s can be. They never do supply enough food, and I fear I drank my way through the evening in an attempt to endure it, and I find myself paying now.”
Katie giggled a little. Colin imagined it was entertaining for a young maid to have a young, lively mistress whose instincts were generally kind.
“You do look pale, Lady Malmsey.”
“I feel pale. I should like a bit of a lie down, and I shall need to send on my regrets to Lady Coversham. ’Tis a pity, but I shan’t be enjoying the services of her divine cook today.”
It was one too many mentions of food, and Colin’s stomach chose that unfortunate moment to complain of that fact. It was really more of a loud whine. The sound a dog makes watching his master eat.
The ensuing silence between countess and maid had a nonplussed quality to it.
“Goodness,” Lady Malmsey said cryptically, finally. Not quite taking credit for the whine.
“Shall I…shall I have luncheon sent up, my lady?” The maid’s voice was confused.
“Yes, straightaway, if you would, Katie. I’ll have…a whole chicken, a good portion of ham, cheese and bread, if you would. And cakes.”
And wine, Colin wished he could whisper.
Another space of quiet ensued. The maid was almost palpably confused by the countess’s enormous appetite.
“I imagine I shall have quite an appetite after my lie down,” the countess explained.
What a glorious thing it was to be a countess. One needn’t ever make sense or make excuses. Unless, of course, it was to one’s husband, because you’ve been discovered with your legs up in the air and the footman between them.
“Yes, Lady Malmsey. Of course, Lady Malmsey.”
“Mind you, straightaway,” Eleanor said more crisply.
“Of course.”
The door clicked shut, the bolt slid, the countess exhaled gustily, and the three hiders tumbled out of the wardrobe once more to find her flushed in the face and looking exhilarated.
“Imagine Katie’s surprise when every crumb of that food disappears.” She laughed. “She’ll begin rumors about my enormous appetite.”
“Thank you, Lady Malmsey,” Colin said humbly. How wonderful that the countess was at least entertained by their predicament.
“You’re welcome, Colin, though why I should feed you and your associate when you’ve invaded my chambers, I’ll never know.”
“Because he’s Colin Eversea, Nor,” the footman reproached. “And she’s…” He flicked a nervous gaze toward Madeleine.
“The lady with the loaded pistol,” Madeleine completed helpfully.
Harry gave her a wobbly, uncertain smile and his eyes once again lingered a bit on her face. He turned away again, with some relief, to Eleanor. She was beautiful, but she was no puzzle to him.
“It’s no admirable thing to be sentenced for murder, Harry.” Colin felt obliged to say it.
“But ye didna do it, did ye, Mr. Eversea? And ’tis the way ye went to the gallows. Brave-like. A gentleman all the way through. Witty and smart and bold. ’Twas a right grand thing.”
Brave? He’d realized he’d been numb the entire morning of his hanging, until he was jarred awake by a few words whispered against the back of his neck by the hangman, and then he’d been rescued. It was lovely, however, to hear someone, even a footman, say with conviction: But ye didna do it.
“Thank you, Harry,” he said gravely.
Colin knew he hadn’t thought it through, but now wasn’t the time to parse the morality of admiring convicted criminals, and admiration had so far been the one useful thing he’d brought to their investigation. That, and the fact that he’d known Countess Malmsey’s footmen wore pale blue stockings.
But who else mi
ght possibly know about the countess and the footman and use the information for blackmail?
“Did anyone else from your village find their way to London, Lady Malmsey? Someone who might know about you and Harry, your origins?”
She exchanged a look with Harry. “Only Willie August that we know of. But he would never…I can’t believe it of him.”
“Who is Willie August?”
“Willie is my physician. I put word in the ear of my husband—told him I’d heard of a talented doctor—and that’s how Willie became our family physician. And he now counts the king among his patients, thanks to his own talent and referral from Malmsey. No, Willie is our friend, and he owes me everything, and he would never tell anyone I hailed from Marble Mile.”
Madeleine made a choked sound, which seemed very unlike her. “Are you referring to Dr. William August, Lady Malmsey?”
“The man who removed a tumor from the Earl of Lydon’s head?” Colin knew of Dr. August, though he’d never met the man. Some argued that the world would have been a better place had Dr. August’s knife slipped as he played about with the Earl of Lydon’s head, but the surgery was a brilliant success, the earl went on to continue to plague the world with his bad temper, and Dr. August’s reputation had been made.
“Willie,” Harry confirmed.
“The Dr. August who is considered something of a genius? He hails from Marble Mile, as the two of you do?”
Nods from the lovers.
“Quite an ambitious little town, Marble Mile,” Colin added.
The countess’s tiny smile was pure, impish self-satisfaction.
There was a tap on the door. Madeleine, Harry, and Colin dutifully piled back into the wardrobe.
The bolt on the countess’s chamber door slid once more.
“Thank you, Katie,” Colin heard the countess say. He heard the clink of silverware on a metallic tray and warm, savory food smells reached them in the wardrobe.
“You’re wel—”
The door clicked shut on the maid and the bolt slid.
The countess went to the wardrobe. “All right. You can come out now. But you can’t linger. You can wrap up the food and take it with you.”
She was right, Colin knew. First, he had another request. “Do you have a bonnet my associate may borrow? A plain one?”
The countess fished about in her things and produced a long bonnet of straw and presented it to Colin, rather than Madeleine, and Colin passed it to Madeleine, who took it with a bemused glance up at him. A woman needed a bonnet in this heat, he decided. He had sisters, after all.
Colin wrapped the food up in the snowy napkins provided, and now that it was time to say farewell, he was surprised to be feeling a bit sentimental. It could very well be the last time he ever saw the countess. And she was the veritable personification of his old life.
As he strolled by the dressing table, he adroitly scooped the bottle of lavender water from the dressing table and dropped it in his coat pocket without anyone noticing.
The countess looped her arm through his and walked him through the passage to the servant’s stairwell, mercifully absent of other servants. She purposely drew him ahead of Harry and Madeleine, who walked silently behind.
“I’ve known Harry all my life, Colin,” she began in a lowered voice. “It’s—”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Lady Malmsey.”
“But…between Harry and I…I would like you to know it’s not just…” And here she blushed fetchingly.
“Fabulous lovemaking?” Colin completed devilishly. And smiled down at her.
“You always were a beast, Colin.” She was trying to frown, but her smile was making this impossible
Colin laughed. “Be happy, Eleanor.”
“I never thought you stabbed that man, Colin,” she said warmly.
“I’m flattered, truly. Did you go to my hanging?”
“Yes, and I’ll attend again if they catch you.”
“I’m deeply honored, Lady Malmsey.”
She dimpled again, extended her hand for a kiss, and Colin kissed it, while Harry the footman and Madeleine watched, one struggling with admiration and jealousy, the other watchful, enigmatic.
“Godspeed,” Harry said to Colin and Madeleine, and bowed.
“Thank you, Harry.” Madeleine smiled radiantly at him, causing him to goggle. Colin frowned. Imagine her giving away one of those smiles so easily, and this one to a footman. But she turned to include Lady Malmsey in it, too.
The countess, another beautiful woman, merely lifted her fair brows. She wasn’t nearly as easily melted as her paramour, and irony was her defense against the obviously more mature and infinitely more mysterious Mrs. Green.
“Be careful,” Madeleine said to her gently, by way of farewell.
At this the countess looked astonished, and then damned if a faintest hint of yearning didn’t flicker across her face. Colin was reminded momentarily of the urchin at the Tiger’s Nest, and imagined it must be a relief to the countess to share a bit of her secret with another woman who could convey, with two words, that she understood.
Chapter 9
“They won’t be, you know,” Colin said once their feet were crunching over the dirt in the garden. He pushed the gate open and they were once again in the mews.
“Won’t be…”
“Careful. Or rather, they think they are being careful.”
“I know.”
Madeleine’s thoughts were a kaleidoscope of images and emotions; fatigue made it impossible to herd them into coherence. She’d pointed a pistol at a countess and a footman she couldn’t bring herself to condemn; she’d pressed her own body back into Colin Eversea’s long hard body in a wardrobe, and in mere moments she’d been aroused to breathlessness; had welcomed his skillfully subtle, exploratory touch, nearly asked for it.
And this…delirium…had apparently been prompted simply by his nearness.
For a moment their boots over hard ground were the only sound. She knew he hadn’t been unmoved, either; she’d felt his breath shuddering out over her throat, felt the grip of his arm tightening, the tension rippling through him. She could scarcely blame him; she had no illusions about how gentleman should behave when their arms were wrapped beneath the admittedly very fine breasts of a pretty woman in a dark, enclosed space.
But here in the daylight, the interlude seemed juvenile and faintly embarrassing, and perhaps it would sift away if they pretended nothing at all untoward had happened.
“And you thought I wouldn’t be useful,” Colin Eversea mused wryly.
Madeleine was startled and abashed, until she realized what he meant.
“All right,” she managed easily. “Being a profligate flirt and London’s most celebrated rake have served you uncommonly well so far, I must admit, insofar as gathering information is concerned.”
“Don’t forget ‘convicted murderer’ when you’re listing my assets,” he added glibly. “Seems I’m quite the…”
He paused for so long it seemed he’d forgotten he’d begun a sentence. Madeleine looked up at him curiously.
Colin gave himself a little shake and smiled, a surprisingly bitter smile. “…quite the hero.”
She couldn’t presume his mood, so she gave him silence.
“So Harry gave Horace Peele money at the Tiger’s Nest, and then Horace disappeared,” he continued more pragmatically. “I’m heartened by the fact that he was given money.”
“Because it means he might still be alive,” Madeleine concurred quietly.
“That would be the reason,” Colin said. “And because it proves my innocence.”
Madeleine thought “prove” was perhaps too emphatic a word, so she merely said: “Apparently I was the only one marked for murder. Other plans were in store for you.”
Colin glanced at her, then made a noncommittal sound. They walked on through the swept-clean bricks of the mews where a freshly washed carriage sat; its clean lamps were nearly blinding in the
sun.
“The life you lead, Mrs. Greenway…” he began. It was another sentence he seemed unable to complete. He just shook his head. And went on: “But it all makes no sense. Unless the money to pay you and Horace came from different sources, and this gentleman with the fine buttons was being used as a messenger by someone else, in the way Harry the footman was used. But why pay a man to disappear…but murder a woman?”
Madeleine allowed her silence to tell him she didn’t know, either. “The button meant something to you,” she said after a moment.
A hesitation. And then he gave a short, humorless, ironic laugh. “Yes. I’m afraid it did.”
“Did you ever plan to tell me what it meant? It might be important to my well-being, too.”
This won her a sideways look and an upraised brow. You don’t exert yourself to charm, it meant. “Very well, my dear Mrs. Greenway. My brother Marcus—”
“The one who will marry Louisa?”
“Oh, I can’t hear that too many times, but yes. My brother Marcus, engaged to marry Louisa. That Marcus. He won’t marry her if we discover the truth of—Anyhow, Marcus is a very contained sort, very practical—for an Eversea, that is. Which perhaps isn’t saying much. He does love to run an estate, and he does it brilliantly. He’s a serious chap, Marcus is, which means it’s uncommon good fun to tease him. But he usually takes it well.” Colin’s voice had softened with his story. “Well…his only indulgence is fast, excellent horses. He belongs to a gentleman’s club called the Mercury Club—a group of investors who have had a good deal of success in their choices. They invest in spice cargos, canals, cigars…they hold monthly meetings to decide and report upon their investments. Isaiah Redmond is a member of the investment group as well.”
“And how do buttons figure into this?”
“Patience, my dove. I’m telling a story.”
Madeleine bit back a smile.
Colin stopped abruptly and sank down against a wall where they were unlikely to be troubled, obscured by that gleaming carriage.
The Perils of Pleasure Page 13