Dear Miss Grantham,
This letter is to warn you of the danger in which you will place your brother, Sir John Grantham, if you accept a proposal of marriage from the Duke of Stanford. If you become betrothed to his grace, your brother will meet with a most unfortunate end. Be warned: If you make this communication known to anyone you may never see your brother again — shooting accidents have been known to happen during the course of a hunt. I am sure that you would never forgive yourself if your brother died such a sad and unnecessary death.
The unsigned letter was written in careful block letters — the writer had obviously gone to great lengths to disguise the handwriting. But who, Alexandra wondered in horror, could be so averse to her marriage to the Duke of Stanford that they would go to the lengths of threatening murder in order to prevent it? It had to be a member of the ton, Alexandra realised suddenly — somebody who knew enough about the goings-on of Polite Society to be cognizant of the fact that John was a member of the party that had been invited to his grace’s hunting box.
An icy chill ran down her spine as she realised that Lady Barrington had in all probability written the letter. She could think of no one else who would have a reason for threatening her in such a way. Alexandra’s brow creased as she contemplated what she should do. She could not make up her mind whether she should challenge the Marchioness about the letter immediately, or if she should allow a few days to elapse before she confronted her. She disliked letting the grass grow under her feet but realised, soberly, that perhaps it would be best to wait until the other woman sent her another communication. As she was certain she would. Lady Barrington had made it all too clear that she wished to marry the Duke, and Alexandra suspected that she would go to any lengths to achieve her aim — perhaps even by enlisting the aid of the infamous Sir Jason Morecombe. Lady Barrington and Sir Jason appeared to be on very close terms, and Alexandra would not be surprised if they had plotted the scheme together.
Alexandra decided against burdening her grandmother or Emily with her problems and somehow contrived to put on a cheerful face for their benefit during luncheon. The effort of doing so, however, left her feeling utterly exhausted, and after the meal was completed, Alexandra crept away to the Rose Salon, to anxiously contemplate her course of action. Looking at the clock above the mantlepiece a while later, Alexandra sighed. In a few moments Letitia Beaumont would be arriving to pay her an afternoon call, and she had never felt less inclined for social conversation.
Just then, the door of the room opened, and Letitia bounced in. After exchanging greetings with Alexandra, she seated herself beside her friend on the comfortable window-seat, and said with a wide smile, “I have the most exciting news, Alexandra! Charles and I are betrothed, and we are to be married at the end of the Season!”
“How lovely, Letty!” Alexandra exclaimed, briefly forgetting her own troubles in the face of her friend’s happy news.
Letitia’s bright smile faded a little. “I wish to marry Charles before the end of the Season, but my brother insists that we wait a while. He has not said as much, but I suspect Robert believes that my affection for Charles may not remain constant.” Grimacing a little, she continued, “I know that I was mistaken in my sentiments for Mr Winters — the despicable fortune-hunter that he is. However, this time I know that I am truly in love.” She sighed dreamily. “Charles is everything that a gentleman should be — and so handsome. I am the happiest girl alive!”
Eyeing Alexandra speculatively, Letitia carried on, “And soon you will be married to my brother, and we will be sisters!”
Alexandra looked down at her hands which were clenched tightly in her lap, and murmured, “Your brother has not asked me to marry him, Letty.”
Letitia eyes sparkled. “He will do so before long, Alex. Robert adores you, you know, and you do love him, do you not?”
Alexandra nodded her head, and smiled wanly, and Letitia, noticing that Alexandra was in a rather quiet mood questioned her no further about her relationship with the Duke. The two girls chatted instead about all the arrangements that would have to be made for Letitia’s wedding. However, sitting curled up in the comfortable armchair in her bedchamber later that afternoon, Letitia reflected that it was most unfortunate that Robert had been called away at this most vital stage in his courtship of Alexandra. It was clear that her poor friend was pining away for him. Letitia frowned slightly. There had to be something that she could do to distract Alexandra while she waited for Robert to return to town. Her brow cleared suddenly as a wonderful idea occurred to her. Jumping out of the armchair, Letitia fetched pen and writing paper and after nibbling on the end of the pen for a few seconds, she dipped it into the inkpot on her writing table, and dashed off a short note to Sir Charles. She sealed the letter with a wafer, then rang for her maid and ordered the girl, when she appeared a few minutes later, to tell a footman to deliver the note to Sir Charles Fotherby’s lodgings.
An hour later a footman came to inform her that Sir Charles was awaiting her downstairs. Smiling at her betrothed’s prompt response to her note, Letitia checked her appearance in the mirror. She adjusted a few of her wayward curls, then hurried from her bedchamber and walked down the stairs to the hall below. Bursting into the Blue Salon where Walters had shown Sir Charles, Letitia exclaimed, “Charles! It is of the utmost urgency that I speak with you!”
“Good afternoon, Letty,” Sir Charles greeted her calmly. Eyeing his agitated betrothed with amusement, he continued, “I gathered something of the sort from the hastily scrawled note you sent me — although I battled to make out some of the words. But, you can tell me all about it in the Park, my dear,” he added meaningfully as Amelia bustled into the room.
Letitia’s eyes widened in comprehension, and with a conspiratorial smile she murmured, “I would like that above all things, Charles.”
A few minutes later Letitia was comfortably ensconced in Charles’s shiny black curricle. Aware that the man beside her was fully occupied with directing his horses through the busy London traffic, she waited until they entered the gates of Hyde Park before turning to him and saying earnestly, “Charles, I am in urgent need of your assistance.”
“What coil have you landed yourself in this time, Letty?”
“I am not forever landing in a scrape. Indeed,” she continued in a self-righteous tone, “I am not in any trouble at all!”
“Then why, my little love, have you need of my assistance?” Sir Charles asked, patently unconvinced.
“Well, you see — it is about Alexandra,” Letitia began breathlessly.
“Alexandra Grantham?” When Letitia nodded her head, Sir Charles looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face. “But, if Alexandra is in a fix, my dear, why does she not inform your brother? They are all but betrothed.”
“That is the problem, you see,” Letitia explained. “Robert has been called away from Town on urgent business, and poor Alexandra has obviously taken his departure rather badly.”
“Well?” Sir Charles said suspiciously when Letitia paused.
“W-e-ll... I am sure that you will agree, Charles, that it is our duty as Alexandra’s dear friends to distract her from the pining of her wounded heart.”
Sir Charles chuckled. “I think that you read far too many romantic novels, my dear. I am sure that Alexandra’s heart is perfectly well.”
Letitia sniffed, and put her nose up in the air. Looking down at his beloved, Sir Charles sighed. “How do you plan to distract her, my dear?”
Letitia’s eyes brightened. “Alexandra has not yet visited Vauxhall Gardens, Charles. I’m sure that she will be entranced by them. Will you not arrange a party for us? I am sure the prospect of a visit to Vauxhall will take her mind off Robert — at least for a while. And perhaps we could all go riding in the park tomorrow morning?”
“Certainly, my dear,” Sir Charles said. He eyed his betrothed contemplatively. “I must admit that I’m relieved that that is all you require of me to do, my dear. I had ima
ges of you asking me to go after Robert, and ordering him to pay his addresses to Alexandra.”
Letitia gave a peal of laughter. “As if I would be silly enough to ask you to do that, Charles!”
Sir Charles returned his attention to his horses. Frankly he wouldn’t have been surprised if Letitia had asked him to do something along those lines. His beloved was an incurable romantic, and hated to see anybody unhappy, which was, he admitted to himself, one of the reasons he loved her so much. Sir Charles was convinced that Alexandra wasn’t really “pining away”, but knew that Letitia would not be happy unless she felt that she was in some way alleviating her friend’s imagined misery.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alexandra sat in her bedchamber, staring at the note she held in her hand — the second she had received from the anonymous letter writer. The letter had been delivered by hand this morning, two days after the first communication arrived, and although she had been expecting further notice from her adversary, whom she was more convinced than ever was Lady Barrington, the letter still came as something of a shock to her. The words blurred before her eyes as she scanned them, but blinking determinedly, she read the note again.
Dear Miss Grantham,
It has come to my attention that Sir Charles Fotherby has invited you and your grandmother to be members of the party that he has arranged to visit Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening. If you desire to see your brother alive again, you will meet me at half past eleven at the Grecian Temple at the end of the Long Walk at Vauxhall Gardens. Come alone, and do not inform anyone of your destination. Your brother’s life hangs in the balance.
The letter was once again written in block letters and unsigned. Alexandra sighed shakily as she considered her dilemma. She wished that she could take Lady Beauchamp into her confidence, but she dared not do so because she knew that her grandmother would in all likelihood insist on taking matters into her own hands and inform the authorities, and Alexandra was fearful that she would put her brother’s life at risk if she disregarded the warning in the letter. On the other hand, she knew that it would be foolhardy for her to go to the Grecian Temple all alone. To put herself in harm’s way in that manner would be stupidly rash. Alexandra’s forehead creased in worry as she contemplated the course of action that it would be wisest to embark upon. How she wished that she could go to the Duke for help, and that he had not been called away so inopportunely on business. He would have known exactly what to do in such circumstances. Her brow cleared suddenly, however, as she remembered something.
Jumping up from her bed where she was seated, she rushed to her armoire, and opening it, took out a small, flat case. Sitting down on her bed again, Alexandra carefully removed the small, silver-mounted pistol that her father had given her for her eighteenth birthday from the case. When Alexandra was sixteen, John had taught her how to handle a weapon. She smiled wryly when she remembered his utmost reluctance to admit to the fact that she was actually a finer shot than he was. Sir Henry, impressed by her superior marksmanship, had surprised and delighted Alexandra by giving her a small pistol of her very own. A chuckle escaped her when she recalled her father’s admonition that she was never to inform her Aunt Eliza of the unusual present. “I shan’t hear the end of it if you do, child,” he had warned her. Of course, she would not be so foolish as to do such a thing, she thought. In all probability, Aunt Eliza would fail to recover from the fit of palpitations she would be bound to succumb to if she learnt that her niece owned a pistol — and an eminently serviceable pistol at that! It had served her very well in the past when she had been engaged in her highway activities.
Alexandra carefully loaded and cleaned the deadly weapon, before placing it back in its case, and hiding it in the armoire, feeling far more at ease about the proposed meeting in the Grecian Temple the next evening because, should the need arise, she would be able to adequately defend herself.
Sitting down in the comfortable armchair near the window, a crease appeared between Alexandra’s brows again as she pondered how Lady Barrington knew that Sir Charles had invited Lady Beauchamp and her to join the party he had made up for Vauxhall Gardens. Her grandmother had informed her of the invitation only yesterday, and Alexandra thought it strange and rather frightening that Lady Barrington knew the details of her life so intimately. As far as she could recall, she had not informed any of her acquaintances of Sir Charles’s invitation.
Alexandra sighed. It seemed that she would have to bide her time, and wait for tomorrow night before she could clear up this mystery. It galled her to know that she was completely in the power of a woman whose sole reason for threatening her in this way was that she was opposed to her becoming betrothed to the Duke of Stanford.
Alexandra frowned as she contemplated the situation. She felt disinclined to sit idly by and wait until tomorrow evening before confronting Lady Barrington. Perhaps, however, she thought suddenly, it would not be necessary for her to wait until the next day. If she called on Lady Barrington this morning, she could inform her that she was aware that it was she who had sent the anonymous letters, and bring the matter to a head.
Alexandra jumped up from the armchair, and rang the bell for her maid. When Hobbes arrived, Alexandra said urgently, “I intend to pay a visit to one Lady Barrington this morning, Hobbes. You will accompany me.”
Hobbes looked at her young mistress in surprise. “But, Miss Alexandra — doesn’t her ladyship wish to accompany you on this visit?”
Alexandra avoided her abigail’s eyes. “ No — I am going without her.”
“Miss Alexandra!” Hobbes said, looking suspiciously at her. “You’ll never be getting into one of your scrapes now, will you?”
Alexandra shook her head. “Of course not,” she murmured. She cleared her throat and continued in a brisker tone, “Let us make haste, now, Hobbes. I wish to leave shortly.”
Fifteen minutes later, after Alexandra had told Leighton that he was to inform her grandmother that she had gone out on a brief shopping expedition, Alexandra and Hobbes left Beauchamp House together, and walked the short distance to Grosvenor Square, where Lady Barrington’s imposing town house was situated. Alexandra knocked firmly on the door, and a few moments later it was opened by a lofty being who, Alexandra thought, looked even more imposing than the house. “My name is Miss Grantham and I wish to see Lady Barrington,” she stated calmly.
The lofty being raised his brows and said superciliously, “Her ladyship is not receiving visitors this morning, ma’am.”
“But — it is particularly important that I see Lady Barrington,” Alexandra said. “Please tell her that I have called.”
“I am afraid, ma’am, that that will be quite impossible.”
Alexandra looked at the butler in frustration, and was about to speak again, when a voice coming from behind him spoke. “I will see Miss Grantham, Fairchild. Please show her into the drawing-room.”
Alexandra looked behind Fairchild and saw Lady Barrington walking down a sweeping staircase towards them. The Marchioness nodded at Alexandra. “I will be with you directly, Miss Grantham.”
Alexandra followed Fairchild up the stairs, leaving her disapproving maid behind, sitting on a hard upright chair in the hall. Fairchild bowed stiffly to her as he showed her into the drawing room, then closed the door behind her. Alexandra wandered over to a large gilded mirror on the wall opposite the fireplace, and frowned at her reflection. She knew that it was imperative that she present an image of cool confidence in her upcoming interview with Lady Barrington. She arranged a wayward curl, and determinedly straightened her shoulders before turning away from the mirror and looking around her. A large sofa dominated the room. Artfully arranged around it were a set of gilded chairs covered with straw-coloured satin, a shade which exactly matched the wallpaper and curtains of the room. Alexandra was thinking how decidedly uncomfortable the chairs looked, when the door opened and Lady Barrington came in.
“Please be seated, Miss Grantham,” she said.
&n
bsp; Alexandra sat down on one of the gilded chairs, and discovered that it felt as uncomfortable as it looked. Lady Barrington took a seat opposite her on the sofa, and said in her cool tones, “I do not suppose this to be a social visit, Miss Grantham. How may I help you?”
Alexandra looked across at the older woman, and wondered how to begin. It was one thing to think of confronting the Marchioness with suspected crimes when she had been in the privacy of her bedchamber, but quite another matter to bring the subject up in Lady Barrington’s own drawing-room. Alexandra took a deep breath, and began, “I have reason to believe, Lady Barrington, that you wish me harm.”
Lady Barrington raised her brows. “Harm, Miss Grantham? I do not understand your meaning.”
Alexandra cleared her throat. “You have made it quite plain, Lady Barrington, since our first meeting, that you hold me in dislike. And your dislike seems also to extend to my brother. I cannot understand, however, why you are threatening us.”
Alexandra regarded the other woman closely as she spoke, but, by not even a flutter of her eyelashes did Lady Barrington betray any discomfiture at her words. She merely gave a tinkling laugh, and murmured, “My dear child, what are you talking about? I regard you in the light of a slight acquaintance. Nothing more. I have not had the pleasure of making your brother’s acquaintance, and therefore cannot claim to either like him or — for that matter — dislike him. Poor child, your imagination seems to have run away with you.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Either that, or you have allowed your naturally jealous feelings towards me to cloud your judgement.”
Alexandra felt the colour rising in her cheeks. “You are mistaken, Lady Barrington,” she said stiffly. “I harbour no jealous feelings towards you.”
Alissa Baxter Page 23