by Olivia Drake
Laura parted her lips to protest, then thought better of it. Who was she fooling? Nothing sounded less appealing than the notion of being squashed into a pew for hours, unable to breathe from a tightly laced corset, and feeling miserably sick to her stomach.
Yet as Alex turned to go, a sense of desolation settled over her. In spite of their quarrel, she felt a craving for her husband to come to the bed and tenderly kiss her good-bye.
But he didn’t. Alex merely gave her a cool nod. Then, in a whirl of rich crimson robes, he vanished through the connecting door.
Chapter 28
Her hands braced on the stone sill, Laura leaned out an open window of a guest bedchamber on the second floor. From this high vantage point, she caught a glimpse of the approaching procession in the distance. Unfortunately, Copley House was not situated directly on the coronation route, and the view also was obstructed by the leafy trees of Hyde Park.
Nevertheless, the far-off roar of the throngs caused a quivering sense of anticipation in her. Only minutes ago, at ten o’clock, the distant crack of gunfire had announced the queen’s departure from Kensington Palace. Now the long line of riders and vehicles proceeded slowly in the direction of Pall Mall on the route to Westminster Abbey.
“I do wish you had a better view, my lady,” Winifred said from her stance at another window. “It seems such a pity for you to miss everything now that you’re much improved!”
After breakfasting on tea and toast, Laura had felt so out of sorts that she’d taken refuge in slumber, only to awaken two hours later refreshed and alert, the nausea completely gone. Her misery forgotten, she had dressed quickly and come to the front of the house, drawn by the palpable excitement of the moment.
“I should much rather count my blessings than complain,” Laura said with a smile. “Besides, it would be impossible to squeeze a carriage through the crowds just now. I’ve never in my life seen so many people.”
Vast masses packed the parade route and waited for the state coach that conveyed Queen Victoria. Latecomers darted down the street in front of the house, heading toward the south side of the park. People waved hats and scarves and Union Jacks. Shouts and cheers reverberated through the air.
“Oh, isn’t it grand?” Winifred said with a happy sigh. “How lovely it would to see the queen herself, if only we were nearer. I’ve a sister in service two streets over who will be enjoying a much better view, I’m sure!”
Laura enjoyed the spectacle of her normally reserved maid looking so animated. “Why don’t you go there right now, then?” she suggested. “If you hurry, perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse of Her Majesty’s coach.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t leave you, my lady.”
“Yes, you most certainly can. I’m perfectly well now, and I insist that you go. Now, don’t waste time gainsaying me. Just make haste at once!”
Her gray eyes aglow with excitement, Winifred bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, my lady,” she said fervently. “I promise to return within the hour with a full report.”
As the servant rushed out of the bedchamber, Laura returned her attention to the approaching parade. Now she could see tiny moving vehicles through the trees and the glint of gilding on the coaches. Alex would be riding down there somewhere in the procession.
Her vibrant spirits dimmed at the memory of their quarrel. Only twenty-four hours ago, she had believed he harbored a tender affection for her. She had been hopeful that in time he would come to love her, if he didn’t already. But the discovery of his deception had changed all that. It had awakened her to the cold, hard fact that he had used her in order to entrap her father.
He’d claimed an obligation to help his godmother. But how could he justify deceiving a young girl and breaking her heart? What did that say of his character?
A discreet rapping made her turn around. A footman holding a silver salver stood in the open doorway. “Do pardon me, my lady. A message has arrived for you. I was told that it was urgent.”
Puzzled, Laura stepped forward to take the note from the tray. She broke the red wax seal and unfolded the paper to scan the spidery penmanship.
My Lady Copley—
I fear to relay the Dreadful News that Lady Josephine has gone missing. I Beg of You to come at once. I know of No One else to whom I might turn.
Respectfully Yrs,
Mrs. Samson
* * *
Deafening cheers echoed outside Westminster Abbey, while inside, a twittering of excitement buzzed from those lucky enough to have received an invitation to sit in the cathedral. A few moments ago, the firing of the guns had announced the arrival of the procession. The glittering assembly had yet to view their queen in all her raiment, for she had proceeded directly to the robing chamber near the entrance. There, she would don a long crimson mantle and prepare for her walk up the aisle to the throne.
As Alex went to take his place with the other peers in the transept, his gaze veered to the empty seat among the peeresses where Laura should have been sitting. He wished desperately to be home with her. How was she feeling? Had she overcome her illness? Nothing could have struck him harder than seeing her wan features—and knowing that she despised him too much to allow him to take her into his arms.
Except for one brief moment, when he had spoken of their baby, she had been cold toward him. No love had glowed in her eyes. She hadn’t forgiven him for committing the cardinal sin of using her to investigate her father. He couldn’t bear it if she never forgave him …
“Is it too much to hope that your wife has abandoned you?”
The feminine whisper in his ear startled Alex. Arrayed in an elaborate white satin gown, Evelyn stood close beside him. Diamonds glinted in her auburn hair and at her throat and ears.
“What are doing?” he muttered. “Go back to your seat.”
“In a moment.” She sidled closer, her bosom artfully brushing his arm. “I heard you came to call yesterday evening. What a pity I was out. Had I been home, I would have been more than happy to receive you.”
Alex frowned at her. He’d been so caught up in anxiety about Laura that it took a moment to remember his concentrated efforts the previous day to uncover something—anything—that might exonerate her father. He’d gone to interview Constable Pangborn, only to learn that the officer had resigned abruptly from the police force two days earlier. Alex then had tried Pangborn’s rooming house in Lambeth, but the man had absconded without paying his rent.
Pangborn had disappeared without a trace.
The peculiar circumstance had increased Alex’s fear and frustration. Unable to shake the uneasy sense that Laura wasn’t safe, he had visited Evelyn’s house to question her. But Evelyn, apparently, had assumed his call to be evidence of a romantic interest in her.
He should fob her off until a more judicious time, but decided instead to take advantage of the few minutes before the queen made her entrance at the back of the church. With the hum of people talking everywhere, no one should take notice of them.
He bent his head to Evelyn. “You called on Laura the day before she and her father fled the country. I want to know why.”
She stared blankly. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Just answer.”
“That was ten years ago. Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you believe her vile accusations against my father.”
Alex glanced behind him. The Marquess of Haversham stood a short distance away, deep in conversation with the Bishop of Durham.
He returned his attention to Evelyn. “All I want is to clarify a few facts. You must have had a reason to call on Laura that day in advance of normal visiting times. The two of you were hardly the best of friends. Tell me why you went there alone to see her.”
A cross look on her face, Evelyn lifted her chin. “I wasn’t alone. When have I ever wanted for male companionship?”
Alex cocked a startled eyebrow. “A man accompanied you? Who?”
When she told him, the name froze his blood. He’d never eve
“As I recall, he departed before she came downstairs. Oh, what does it matter? It’s ancient history!” Leaning into Alex, Evelyn purred, “Now, darling, don’t scowl so. Are you jealous because you heard he was to drive me here this morning? Never fear, he begged off at the last minute and now I’m all yours.”
* * *
It took Laura the better part of an hour to reach Lady Josephine’s house. She’d had to cool her heels waiting for the carriage to be brought around. The jam-packed streets had further slowed her progress. She had requested the open barouche in the hopes of spotting Alex’s aunt along the way. But the sight of the milling crowds made Laura realize the difficulty of the task. It certainly wouldn’t be as easy as the other time when Lady Josephine had left by way of the garden gate—and that had been nerve racking enough.
How had the old woman managed to escape this time? The gate was now padlocked, and a footman was stationed at the front door. And why had the new companion not been watching her? Perhaps Mrs. Duncalf had been given leave to view the queen’s procession.
The barouche came to a stop at last and the footman let down the step. Laura hurried toward the brick town house. Without pausing to knock, she threw open the front door and stepped into the foyer. The place looked deserted, with nary a soul in sight. There was only the usual clutter of vases and statuary, and the old suit of armor gleaming dully beneath the stairs.
Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. “Mrs. Samson?”
By way of answer, Laura heard a far-off yapping. The muffled sound seemed to have emanated from upstairs.
Charlie? Did that mean—?
With a hopeful cry, Laura made a dash for the stairs. She hadn’t mounted more than two steps, however, when the crowlike figure of the housekeeper flew out of the corridor leading to the rear of the house. “Praise heavens, you’ve arrived, my lady! But where are you going?”
“I heard Charlie barking upstairs. Did you find Lady Josephine?”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened, her knobby fingers gripping her apron as she aimed a frowning glance up the stairs. “No! No, I fear she is still missing. As I wrote in my message, she wandered away a few hours ago. I haven’t seen her since, and with all the other servants gone, I’ve been at my wit’s end…”
“But she wouldn’t have ventured outside without Charlie, I’m sure of it. Are you absolutely certain she hasn’t returned? Perhaps she came in the front door while you were downstairs.”
Mrs. Samson bit her lip, breathing heavily as if in agitation. “I … I don’t think so…”
A movement behind the housekeeper caught Laura’s attention, and a man strolled out of the shadows of the dim passageway. His flaxen hair neatly combed, he wore a finely tailored gray coat over pin-striped gray trousers. “Lady Josephine didn’t take the spaniel with her today.”
His presence in this house astonished Laura. “Mr. Stanhope-Jones! Whatever are you doing here? And why are you not at Westminster Abbey?”
“I had a change of plans at the last minute, as I was telling Mrs. Samson just a moment ago. You see, something dreadful has happened. By chance, I glanced out my window this morning and witnessed a horrid accident directly in front of my house.” His patrician features grave, he added, “I don’t wish to alarm you, my dear, but … it involved Lady Josephine.”
Laura’s heart gave a painful jolt. She stepped off the stairs and went straight to him. “Dear God, what is it? What’s happened?”
“Oh, it’s all my fault,” Mrs. Samson cried out, burying her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have given the staff leave to attend the festivities. I thought I could watch her ladyship myself for a few hours. I never imagined she’d steal away while I fetched her breakfast—or that such a dreadful event could befall her.”
“What happened?” Laura repeated on an edge of panic. “Please, Mr. Stanhope-Jones. I demand that you tell me at once!”
He took her hand and patted it. “Pray don’t fret. She’ll be fine, I’m quite sure, once she’s had time to heal. You see, the dear old lady was knocked down by a pack of wild revelers. Such uncivilized beasts roaming this city today! My manservant was able to carry her into my house, but … well … it appears she’s broken her leg.”
“Broken—! Are you quite certain? Could you not transport her back home here?”
“No, my lady, she’s in such terrible pain that I thought it unwise to move her until a doctor could be found to administer aid.” Mr. Stanhope-Jones caught hold of Laura’s arm and steered her down the corridor. “Come along, I’ll take you to her straightaway. We must hurry lest she think she’s been abandoned to strangers.”
Fraught with anxiety, Laura took a few steps, and then stopped. “My carriage is waiting out front. Shouldn’t we go out that way?”
“My coach is parked in the mews. The side street isn’t as crowded, and I know a shortcut, anyway. Perhaps Mrs. Samson will be so kind as to inform your servant what’s happened.”
“I shall, indeed,” the housekeeper called after them. “You may depend on me, Lady Copley.”
The plan sounded reasonable, yet as Laura allowed herself be tugged down the passage, she glanced back over her shoulder to see Mrs. Samson still standing by the newel post, watching them go. A ray of sunlight illuminated the sneer on her face—though of course that was her permanent sour look. It seemed odd she hadn’t made a move to obey the order, but perhaps the woman was still in the grips of shock.
Laura certainly was. Distress flooded her at the thought of Lady Josephine’s suffering. As a child, Laura had fractured her arm while climbing a tree, and she knew just how painful a broken bone could be. The befuddled old woman must be even more miserable with no one familiar nearby to reassure her.
As they hurried through the garden, Laura noticed the gate stood ajar. “The padlock is gone!”
“So it is. Mrs. Samson removed it a short time ago. I came around back since the main streets were so congested, and it’s indeed a stroke of luck that she heard my frantic knocking.”
In the mews, a burly coachman sat hunched over the high seat of a black coach drawn by a team of fine bays. His cap was pulled low, and Laura caught a glimpse of his muttonchop whiskers. Something familiar about him struck a chord in her. Then the uneasy impression vanished as Mr. Stanhope-Jones swiftly ushered her into the well-appointed vehicle with its white satin interior and plush blue squabs. A gentle sway indicated that the coach had started down the narrow alley to the side street.
Laura perched on the edge of the seat and peered out the window. Pedestrians thronged the pavement, most of them heading in the direction of Westminster. The muffled blast of distant gunfire brought whoops and cheers from the passersby. They waved their flags and shouted huzzahs.
“Ah,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said, cocking his head. “There’s the signal that Her Majesty has arrived at the Abbey. The ceremony should take nigh on two hours, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.” That reminded Laura of how long it would be before Alex would return home. She felt a keen wish for his presence. No matter how hard-hearted he had been with his own wife, he truly did love his aunt.
“Then afterward,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones went on, “only imagine the horrid traffic jam with all those carriages and coaches. The hordes of riffraff will make the way difficult as well. Perhaps fate has done us a fortunate turn in avoiding that squeeze, hmm?”
A smile crooked his thin lips, and Laura found his attempt at humor distasteful, for there was nothing about Lady Josephine’s calamity that could be termed fortunate. Then she chided herself. He had been extremely generous with his time, sacrificing this rare opportunity to attend the crowning of their queen.
“I cannot thank you enough,” she said. “If anything is fortunate, it is only that the accident occurred in front of your home. My husband will be most grateful that you were so helpful in assisting his aunt.”
Mr. Stanhope-Jones narrowed his eyes. Rather than responding to her appreciation, he changed the subject. “I understand from Mrs. Samson that you felt unwell this morning. Pray do not take offense, but you’re looking rather pale. And you’ve suffered quite a shock.”
He reached down to open a drawer tucked cleverly into the base of his seat. Inside lay a silver flask and two crystal goblets in a bed of white satin. He took out one, uncorked the flask, and poured a measure before pressing the goblet into her hand. “There, that should help.”
Laura looked down at the amber liquid. “What is it?”
“A mild sherry. I’ve found it’s an excellent restorative.”
She really didn’t want anything, but after he’d been so kind, it seemed rude to refuse. Lifting the rim to her lips, she took a tiny sip, but the sweet taste and pungent aroma nearly made her gag.
“Thank you, but I-I simply can’t tolerate anything right now.”
Laura tried to give the goblet back to him, but he refused to take it. “You’ll feel better once you’ve swallowed it all,” he said rather forcefully. “Drink it down, now there’s a good girl.”
“I truly cannot. Please, I can’t even abide the smell.” She thrust the goblet at him again, and this time he accepted it, albeit with frowning reluctance. She hesitated to reveal her condition, but felt that some explanation was needed. “I’m still feeling a bit ill, you see.”
“Forgive me. I was only trying to help.” Turning abruptly, he rapped hard three times on the wall nearest the coachman. “Dratted fellow is taking his time.”
His palpable disapproval made Laura uncomfortable. Did Mr. Stanhope-Jones fear she would be sick all over his pristine coach? “I’m fine, really I am,” she told him. “And I doubt we can travel much faster in this crowd, anyway.”
As the coach swayed, she looked out the window to see a dray full of country folk perched on a bed of hay in the back, the excited children waving handkerchiefs and homemade flags. In spite of her anxiety, Laura smiled and waved back.
-->