After cowing to the well-dressed gentleman, Jamot had darted into an open-ended alley to emerge on a side street where he could follow Lord Swenton’s baroness at a distance. He could not imagine the baron would permit his wife out without a proper escort or at a minimum a maid in attendance, but Lady Swenton sported neither. “Most peculiar,” Jamot murmured as he crossed a busy street to parallel the baroness’s steps.
He had come to Brighton because of Lord Swenton. The baron’s accusations regarding Ashmita still angered Jamot, his blame in her death eating at Jamot’s conscience. Moreover, he still nursed the wound from which a Yorkshire surgeon had dug a bullet from Jamot’s shoulder.
When he had escaped Lord Swenton’s assault, he had not immediately left the area. Originally, he had taken refuge in the cottage upon Lord Swenton’s land long enough to tend his wound. Afterwards, Jamot had taken up a position where he could spy upon the comings and goings at Marwood Manor. Imagine his surprise to find a dark stranger calling upon the household the following morning and leaving with a child and the babe’s wet nurse–the same child Jamot had observed in the estate nursery and reportedly Lord Swenton’s illegitimate son. It had not taken much sleuth to discover the stranger had been Prince Henrí of Rintoul.
Thinking it a grand revenge to kidnap the baron’s child, Jamot had followed the prince to await his opportunity to steal the boy from the doting nurse; however, he quickly had abandoned his plan when he discovered Prince Henrí was a personal guest of England’s Prince George. Reaching the man and the boy would be difficult at Carlton House, and the situation had been all so odd. Therefore, Jamot meant to discover what was what. He could not imagine Lord Swenton would give a child away, even an illegitimate one, and so Jamot had followed the Rintoul prince to London and then to Brighton. In his experience, the Realm were rarely far from Prince George’s side, and he imagined Lord Swenton would soon follow the child, for Lord Worthing served in a political capacity to Prince George, and Sir Carter called at Carlton House regularly.
Lady Swenton’s appearance provided proof Jamot’s observations were not coincidences. Lord Swenton’s child was in Rintoul’s care, and the baroness had arrived, likely to reclaim the boy. Jamot thought it important to determine whether Baron Swenton had accompanied his wife and what part Prince Henrí played in the scenario. If he could discover some sort of scandal, Jamot could use the information to convince the baron to give him the emerald set once belonging to Lord Swenton’s mother.
“An inn?” Jamot drew up when Lady Swenton entered the establishment. “Interesting!” He waited to see if the baroness exited again, but after an hour, he followed. Entering the darkened foyer, Jamot made his way to the common room and ordered a drink. The innkeeper and several others eyed him suspiciously, but he had become accustomed to such censure. He knew his skin color announced he was a foreigner. “Have not seen you before,” the innkeeper remarked suspiciously.
Jamot shrugged nonchalantly. “I have only recently arrived in Brighton.”
As expected, the innkeeper continued the questioning, but the other patrons listened closely. “Do you have employment in the town?”
Jamot paused as if the man’s superior attitude did not rub his self worth raw. “I am employed by Baron Swenton.” He would gamble on his assumption Lord Swenton was not about.
“In what capacity?” The inn’s owner demanded. “I have not seen you previously. Her Ladyship’s driver and footman are in the stables.” Did the innkeeper mean Lord Swenton was not in residence? He hoped he had not erred.
“I will call upon them in the stables a bit later.” He kept his tone without interest so as not to relay his anticipation. “I am to protect the baroness when she is upon the town. I followed Lady Swenton from the shops to your establishment.”
The innkeeper frowned. “I cannot imagine Baron Swenton would hire a man of your ilk.” Would the man not summon the baron if Lord Swenton were available? Jamot wondered.
He swallowed the bile choking his throat. “I have known Lord Swenton since his service in India.” It was the truth, and Jamot relished the expression of growing respect upon the countenance of one of the inn’s patrons. “As I assume you wish to test my knowledge of Lord Swenton, I will satisfy your thirst. His Lordship is a baron from Yorkshire, residing at Marwood Manor. He recently married Lady Swenton, who is the twin to Lady Yardley, the Countess of Berwick, and sister to the Duchess of Thornhill; Yardley and the duke also served with Baron Swenton upon the Continent.” One thing Jamot had learned of the English, they liked to toss their titles about for influence.
“We are convinced.” The innkeeper motioned with his hands in surrender.
Jamot ventured, “On the street a few minutes earlier, Lady Swenton appeared quite distraught. It is the reason I thought to inquire of her health.”
The innkeeper whispered. “The girl Lady Swenton hired as a maid fetched the baroness a doctor. Reportedly, the baroness claims some sort of pain.”
Jamot finished his ale. “I should speak to His Lordship’s driver to determine if the baron should be made aware of Her Ladyship’s complaints.” He prompted, “I am assuming no one has sent for Lord Swenton.”
“The baroness,” the innkeeper said softly, “told the doctor her husband would arrive tomorrow.”
*
He had dutifully watched the inn all afternoon and into the night, but Lady Swenton had not left her quarters nor had the baron arrived. It was the oddest situation he had ever encountered in his dealings with the Realm, and Jamot could not help but think Aristotle Pennington’s men had laid a trap designed specifically for him. Several years back, they had had him following Satiné Aldridge when he had mistaken the girl for her eldest sister, the Duchess of Thornhill. Did the Realm mean to use the girl again as a decoy? He had studied the Realm’s members for years and knew their weaknesses and their strengths, as well as he knew his own. This distraction was not to Jamot’s liking. “I swear,” he grumbled, “if this is some form of deception, I will slit Lady Swenton’s lovely throat from ear to ear while the baron looks on.” With a sigh of resignation, Jamot exited the shadows. It was time to make a late-night call upon Baroness Swenton. He meant to know the truth of the lady’s presence in Brighton without her husband.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Slipping into the baroness’s room had been easier than Jamot had anticipated. The inn catered to the beau monde, and there was only one man in the common room, and he stood slumped over, his head resting on the bar. Neither the innkeeper nor the man’s wife was in sight, so Jamot had quickly climbed the stairs to the second storey. It had taken only a few brief seconds to discern which room belonged to Lady Swenton. Earlier, one of the young grooms had told Jamot the baroness had employed a local maid, who slept in the passageway outside Baroness Swenton’s quarters.
Stepping lightly around the girl’s small mattress, he slid a thin metal strip along the door’s crack, to be rewarded by the familiar click of a lock being released. He glanced to the girl a second time to note the young maid clutched the room’s key in her tight grasp. Jamot shook his head in disbelief: The English thought their servants both trustworthy and invincible. His enemies were a foolhardy group.
He entered the room on silent feet to find the baroness stretched out upon the bed. Instinctively, Jamot’s eyes surveyed the room. No guards other than the sleeping maid. Satisfied no one would disturb him, he stepped further into the space. Moving cautiously about the room, Jamot fingered the baroness’s gowns and her intimates, but nothing appeared from order except Lady Swenton’s items had been folded and placed in several small trunks in preparation for a journey, and the lady in question slept in the day dress she had worn earlier upon the street.
“What is this?” Jamot whispered as he opened two folded over pages propped upon the room’s desk. The outside bore the baron’s name. He stepped behind the dressing screen to strike a flint and to light a paper roll and the stub of a candle.
Adjusting the le
tter where he might examine the lady’s script, he read the baroness’s personal confession to her husband. The woman’s words brought a form of pity for Baron Swenton. “But not enough to forgive the baron’s sins,” he growled. Lord Swenton had been the only one who held any knowledge of what had actually occurred on that fateful day upon the Persian border, and Jamot meant to keep the information from the other Realm members. Moreover, after his last encounter with the baron, Jamot had been more determined on revenge against Lord Swenton than ever had been with the man’s compatriots. Lord Swenton was too perceptive not to eventually define the truth.
He finished the letter, placing it upon the dressing table. Nothing new regarding the Swentons’ marriage, but there were references to possibility the boy did not belong to Lord Swenton. That particular fact would change Jamot’s plan to kidnap the child. “I must think of another means to obtaining the emerald jewelry,” he reasoned.
Emerging from behind the screen, Jamot studied the baroness. He could claim her, which would be a fitting retribution for what had happened to Ashmita. He could permit others to have their way with her, which would be an even more appropriate reprisal, but neither action held an appeal. Then he spotted the bottle of laudanum. Its presence in the lady’s room explained why the baroness slept so soundly. His dealings with the Chinese smugglers had increased Jamot’s knowledge of the opiate mixture. Without considering the reason, he slipped the bottle into his pocket.
“I think it best you come with me,” he said in a whispered chuckle. However, he raised no hand to lift her from the bed. Instead, he made another circuit of the room. If Lady Swenton had hired a maid and had let the rooms, likely she had funds of her own hidden somewhere in her quarters. And so, Jamot opened each drawer, dumped each pillow, and cut open the carpetbag, which held the lady’s intimates. Finally, he found more than for what he searched. On the bottom of the smallest trunk was a latch, which exposed a small enclosure, and inside was the diamond and emerald necklace, as well as a matching bracelet.
Jamot slipped both pieces and the few coins also in the small box into his pocket. “You offered these to me once before, my Lady. This time I will gladly accept.” Realizing he should depart, before being discovered Jamot leaned across Lady Swenton. “Come, Baroness.” How little she weighed had surprised him as he wrestled her limp body into his arms.
Draping the woman over his shoulder, Jamot blew out the candle before easing the door open. He paused long enough to permit his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he tiptoed past the sleeping maid to descend the steps. Again, he paused when he heard the innkeeper coaxing his last customer to seek his home. When McClenton retreated to the kitchen for the loaf of bread the drunk had demanded as a condition for the man’s departure, Jamot did not hesitate. He slipped through the door and into the night.
*
He had adamantly refused Viscount Lexford’s assistance, but Aidan Kimbolt had ignored each of John’s protest. “You would not hesitate to ride with me,” Lexford had declared as they mounted before Lexington Arms an hour before dawn. Of course, his friend was correct, but John had prayed to keep his shame from his Realm associates. So, without fanfare, he had grudgingly accepted the viscount’s company.
John had no idea how often they had changed horses, where they had stopped to eat, or where they had spent the night. Once Lexford had joined in Satiné’s recovery, John had delegated those decisions to his friend. Despite not wishing ever to lay eyes upon his baroness again, he channeled his energies on how best to recover his wife; yet, he was not certain recovery was the correct word to describe his situation. It was more of a rescue or an interruption. A protection against her imprudent passions. Over supper, he and the viscount had drafted a plan of sorts, and so they had first called upon Swenton Hall to make arrangements for fresh horses and to assure themselves Lady Swenton had not simply returned to the thin Society found in London during August. It was ridiculous that John had hoped to discover his baroness dancing in the arms of another man, but luck had abandoned him: Satiné’s trail definitely led to Brighton.
“Where should we search first?” Lexford asked as they entered the outskirts of the seaside resort.
John’s eyes scanned the busy streets for a sign of his wife. “As much as I dread the possibilities, we should call in at Prinny’s Pavilion. Prince Henrí reportedly is His Royal Highness’s guest.”
“Surely Rintoul would not invite Lady Swenton to dwell at the Pavilion.”
John said with resignation. “I am well beyond attempting to predict the actions of either my wife or Rintoul. Neither operates by Society’s standards.”
Before the viscount could respond, a flash of color caught John’s attention. His footman moved efficiently along a crowded walkway. He gestured to Lexford, who nodded his understanding, and they touched their horses’ flanks to overtake the servant. “Jayson,” he called as they drew near, and his man turned immediately to greet them.
“My Lord.” The man bowed. “Thank Goodness.” The footman accepted the reins John tossed to him.
John dismounted quickly. “Where is your mistress?” he demanded in hushed tones.
Jayson whispered, “No one knows, Sir.”
John’s ire rose, but he kept his voice contained. “How could Lady Swenton be missing?”
Lexford interrupted, “Your servant’s story is not likely one for the street. Perhaps we should move to some place more private.”
John knew his friend correct, but he wished to demonstrate his anger on the nearest wall or door. “Where has my wife taken shelter?”
His man nodded in the direction behind them. “At the Blue Fox Inn, Sir.”
John knew the inn a respectable one. At least, Satiné had not chosen a disreputable establishment for her tryst. The footman led the horses while John and Lexford fell into step beside the servant. “Keep your countenance disinterested,” Lexford instructed, “but tell us what you can before we reach the inn.”
Jayson shot an anxious look to John’s stoney expression, but he explained, “Her Ladyship led us to believe she meant to call upon a modiste in Durham, but when Lyster reached the London Road, the baroness instructed Mr. Lyster to set a course for Brighton. Pauline feared your anger, my Lord, and begged to return to York. Mr. Lyster said the baroness could not travel alone, and so we stayed with Her Ladyship.”
John hated to ask, but he needed to know. “Has Her Ladyship been at The Blue Fox the entire time?”
“Aye, Sir. The baroness returned to her quarters yesterday afternoon, but the girl Her Ladyship hired to tend says Lady Swenton went out some time during the night and has not returned.”
John’s gaze met Lexford’s. They were both thinking the same thing: Satiné had departed with Prince Henrí.
“Thank you, Jayson. Take our horses to the stables. Lord Swenton and I will send for you once we have determined what is amiss.”
The footman bowed and walked away toward the stables. John watched him go. “There is a part of me who wants to call for Jayson’s return of my horse, to mount, and to ride away as fast as the animal can carry me. To escape the madness that surrounds everything Satiné touches.”
“Where would you go?” Lexford asked in curiosity.
John immediately thought of Isolde walking through a field of green, her hair about her shoulders and a familiar teasing smile upon her lips. It was so real he thought he could reach out and catch her to him, but reality drowned his dream in murky waters. “Nowhere,” he growled. “A person cannot run from his responsibilities.” With that, he strode into the inn.
With Lexford’s assistance, they had questioned the innkeeper, the young maid, and the doctor who had tended the baroness. “I suspect we should search Lady Swenton’s quarters a second time. I do not recall seeing a bottle of laudanum,” the viscount whispered to assure privacy.
John knew Lexford correct, but bitterness had arrived; and he felt incapable of caring for Satiné’s current manipulations. His wife had come t
o Brighton with the specific intention of conducting an affair with Prince Henrí. “Does it matter?” he said lacklusterly. “I am certain we will discover Lady Swenton warming Rintoul’s bed.”
Lexford frown lines tightened along his forehead. “We know Rintoul rebuked your baroness when he called at Marwood. Why would he change his mind in Brighton? The newspapers say Prince Henrí means to marry Miss Callender for the girl has a reported dowry of forty thousand pounds.” The viscount caught his breath in dismay. “You are an agent of the Crown: You must see this through. What if Satiné has stumbled into some sort of danger?”
John shrugged his agreement as he stood. “I will permit your lead in this matter for I cannot think upon anything but my wife’s disloyalty.”
Lexford nodded his agreement. “Then let us examine the baroness’s room once more. You should search Lady Swenton’s trunks. Obviously, your wife planned to travel soon. The question is what was her intended destination.”
Reluctantly, John did as Lexford instructed. While his friend searched under the bed and in drawers, John removed Satiné’s clothing, one item at a time, checking the pockets for anything of significance. “There is a nearly empty vial in the bottom of this one.” He uncorked the glass and touched the liquid to his tongue. “Definitely laudanum.”
Lexford accepted the small glass cylinder from John’s outstretched hand. “The doctor specifically said he had left a full bottle upon the baroness’s table. This vial is no larger than a vinaigrette a woman might carry in her reticule. Lady Swenton may have imbibed in the vial’s contents, but I do not believe it is the bottle of which the physician spoke.”
The viscount’s logic piqued John’s curiosity. “Do you suppose the baroness consumed more than the few drops the maid claimed to have given her? The physician said when he examined her that Lady Swenton was not completely coherent.”
“May I be of assistance?” They looked up to find James Kerrington framed by the open door.
Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor Page 33