Maiden Lane

by Lynne Connolly

  “We can use Steven.”

  He didn’t cease his gentle caresses. “I know. I’ll arrange to meet him somewhere discreet. It goes against my instincts to do this, but I need to keep you and Helen safe and I need to get rid of this menace. I can’t avoid dealing with Julia any longer.”

  I said the word I knew we both thought. “John?”

  Richard sighed. “He has to go. You know that, Rose.”

  Fear rose in my throat and I grew concerned for my stomach again. Richard didn’t let me speak.

  “I’ve decided to put him in the way of the Press Gang, my love.”

  Relief flooded through me. Not filicide, then. “The navy?”

  “Not a comfortable solution, but it could make something of him.” The alternative remained unspoken between us. And he was right. Being pressed into naval service was far better than death. “Without its figurehead, his ramshackle organisation should disintegrate easily enough. The man he took his name from established the smuggling gang in the north. Well organised, tight and profitable. When the older Kneller died, John inherited that gang. He knew about me by then, his guardian had investigated the story John told him. So the boy decided to have his revenge. What he did was typical of his behaviour ever since.”

  “Richard, he’s only eighteen.”

  “Some people are working husbands by then.” He paused. “Some of us had to grow up very quickly.” I doubted John had the strength of character to do what Richard had done at eighteen. For that matter, I doubted I had it either. Few people did. “He caused that trouble in Devonshire, but he rushed into matters before he’d set a plan properly in place. All his actions reflect that, but his brilliance covers it for him. He relies on that too much. But this time he nearly had me. He put so many small fires up that I didn’t know which to put out first, or which was the important thread. I was thinking too much like myself, not enough like him. I’d have put one deadly plan into place and surrounded it by other, smaller ones. I don’t think he planned any of his schemes like that. He just scattered seeds around and hoped that one of them took.”

  “They might have done.”

  “Had he not gone too far and had you abducted. And hurt.” His voice took on that tense tone again. “You know I won’t put up with that. You know I won’t let him near you again. I only wish I could have Julia pressed too.”

  “How will you do it?”

  “I’ll visit Julia’s father. He knows me, I met him when we were betrothed. I understand his health is fragile these days, but I’ve only heard that from Julia. I plan to investigate the truth in that and speak to him about his daughter. If he doesn’t want to organise matters, I will. I think he’ll understand when I explain to him the trouble his daughter may find herself in.”

  “She’s a grown woman.” Perhaps the blow on my head had made me slower, but I didn’t follow his thoughts immediately.

  “Her finances depend on him. And he doesn’t know how she’s wasting his fortune. He might want to reconsider the allowance he gives her and the trust she controls. Far too generous.”

  “She’ll be furious. She’ll come for you.”

  “She can attack me with whatever she has. She won’t get me.”

  I could live with that, just. Richard wouldn’t kill his son, might be responsible for turning him into a man, and he could give Steven enough support to gain the life he wanted. It sounded good to me.

  I dozed off to his soothing caresses and his, “Sleep now, my love. I’ll wake you soon.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  RICHARD CRADLED ME all night, made sure I got as much sleep as I could. I don’t think he got any sleep himself. He’d stayed awake, refining his plans, and as soon as Nichols had come in to sit with me in the morning and, sadly, wake me every hour, he rose and dressed. He came in to kiss me before he left. I could smile now, since the headache had begun to recede and become bearable. I’d even eaten some dry toast and kept it down.

  He returned later that day, having failed to track John down, but he told me he’d had a productive conversation with Steven in one of the smaller coffeehouses by Covent Garden. It hadn’t done his reputation any good to be seen with Drury, he claimed, but maybe it would help the other man to gain control over a volatile situation that had turned out worse than he thought. “Julia’s close to going into serious debt with some dangerous people,” he told me, as he handed me a dish of tea, my first that day. Which only showed how weak I’d been.

  “I thought she was very wealthy.”

  “Her father has made his fortune from clever trading and investments. He was a country squire, then a lucky investment in a cargo doubled his fortune. Realising where his talents lay, not in farming but in finance, he continued and made himself wealthy enough to introduce his daughter into society and pursue an alliance with my family. I allowed my parents to pursue the match because I didn’t care. And because once I met her I knew there was no possibility of my hurting her. Her iciness equalled mine. Julia has never cared for anyone but herself, and she won’t change now.” He paused. “Steven has agreed to let her see a physician and then, if the man can cure her various illnesses, he’ll resume conjugal relations and give her a child. He wants children.”

  “She might put her ambitions on to the baby.”

  Richard took my empty tea dish and walked across to the small table to replace it on the tray. I watched, knowing that moments like this made up my life, and I felt extremely fortunate. He caught me looking when he turned a moment too quickly and he stood there, smiling.

  I smiled back, enjoying the sight of my husband. “I’m going to see Helen in a little while. I haven’t seen her all day and I miss her. Will you come?”

  He pretended to consider the matter, frowning. “Let me see. Spend an hour exchanging witticisms with a woman old enough to be my mother, who thinks she has a chance of getting me into her bed, or an hour playing with my wife and child? I think you know the answer.”

  “Who’s the old woman?”

  “She’s not old, as she’d be the first to tell you. A friend of my mother’s. My mother asked me to call on them, but I only just discovered that Lady Latimer is staying with them. I think my mother wants a private word about John’s absence from her life, so I’d planned to visit when she had visitors, instead of allowing my mother to talk to me in private.”

  “Will you tell her what you’ve planned?”

  He picked up my wrapper from the upholstered chair next to the fire. “No, I’ll wait until his ship has set sail, then I’ll initiate a hunt for him. They won’t find him.” He glanced at me.

  I folded my arms. “I’m perfectly well.” A lie, and he knew it, but he also knew I’d recover soon enough. My senses had returned and the headache lowered to a dull throb. I’d eaten and rested, and tomorrow I’d be fine, apart from an unfortunate and tender bruise that Nichols would have to work hard to cover up.

  “We found the man who abducted you.” He made a business of shaking my wrapper out. My blood ran cold.

  “He’s dead?”

  “Julia tends to do that. Covers her tracks and leaves no witnesses. The man was a ruffian, picked up from an inn and paid to find you. He could have killed you. He could have done anything. As it was, Julia killed him.” Richard had found it difficult to realise the extent of Julia’s coldness, but I’d recognised early on that she cared for nobody but herself. She was incapable of caring, I believed, couldn’t leave her own body to understand anyone else.

  “I thought she might do that. I have no kindness towards a man who abducted me, but I’d have rather he got away before she did that.”

  “I had some men from Thompson’s questioning and hunting him down. It proved only too easy.” He paused. “She killed him with one of my knives.”

  “Oh, Richard.”

  He’d never made any secret of his predilection for those slim stilettos. In his younger days he’d flaunted his dexterity with the knives in society, used them to demonstrate his skill. A few y
oung men had aped his prowess, but none had excelled the way he did. Not enough to hang Richard but enough to cast suspicion on him.

  “So she killed him after our visit, using the knife you threw at John.”

  “She’s probably tending his wound as we speak.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as last time. She probably killed your abductor in a fit of temper. I can see her doing that.”

  I could see her doing it to fulfil a plan made in cold blood, as well. But I didn’t say so. What would be the point? Her fate was sealed. It only remained for her to decide which she preferred—public disgrace or retirement to the country.

  THE NEXT DAY MY HEADACHE had gone, and I decided to discover what the current topic of discussion in society was, and beard the lion—or lioness—in her den. So I persuaded Nichols to help me dress in a pretty day gown of apple-green, tied a ruffled lace choker around my neck and added a layer of cosmetics to the bruise on my temple, which was currently a becoming shade of bluish purple. She dressed my hair so it fell a little more forward than usual, and I felt as ready as I could be.

  Lady Southwood held a literary salon every Wednesday in her house, and I would go. In reality, the salon tended to begin with a pompous declaration on a poem or a play, and then general chat. They were becoming popular as a way of hearing the latest gossip.

  As befitted my position, I took the crested carriage, but not the landau as the skies were grey and heavy with threatened rain. Besides, I had no desire to invite attacks by anyone laying in wait. I cannot deny that going out again made me anxious. All the more reason to get it over with.

  It had taken an hour that morning to persuade Richard that I was well enough to go. I thought at one point that he’d lock up the carriages, until I threatened to take a chair instead. He insisted I take several footmen with me, the strong, burly type, as well as my maid, who was handy in a tight corner. Two footmen attended me on the carriage, and two on foot, not in livery, following discreetly. I had no doubt that more men watched from a distance. My husband had a damned army following me.

  Southwood House’s knocker gleamed, and a liveried footman waited outside to admit the guests. My footman helped me out of the carriage and preceded me in state. I felt ridiculous, but safe. I entered the house and allowed a maid to take my hat, cloak and gloves before I followed someone upstairs.

  This house depressed me, even more the knowledge that I’d have to preside over this mansion one day. I liked Eyton, the main country seat, built by Richard’s grandfather, or rather, altered by him, but not this place. Once, London had been filled with the mansions of the aristocracy but nearly all of them had gone now, sold to developers or developed by the owner, and a smaller house built in their stead. Although smaller was relative. Many of them were bigger than the manor house I’d grown up in.

  Marble chilled the hall so that it felt cool even on a hot day, but icy on a fresh spring day like this one. My footsteps echoed as I walked across the hall and up the staircase. I’d arrived a little late on purpose, so I could leave early too, but this solitude made me uncomfortable. The sound of voices engaged in polite conversation reached my ears and I felt easier, then tensed again when I realised I’d shortly face people. I assumed my company face, a slight tilt to my lips, chin up, eyes wide, and the footman ushered me in.

  Heads turned, and I moved into the rooms, glad of my recently acquired society polish. Without it I’d have felt naked. I received a few smiles and my motherin-law came forward to greet me, a smile firmly fixed on her face. She wore full maquillage today, something she habitually did in town, but not as heavy as usual. I’d learned to read tiny signs, the only demonstration of her mood in public. About twenty people stood or sat around the room, the spindly-legged chairs and sofas put to good use. They were watching me, watching for some reaction.

  They’d heard something. Now I had to find out what they thought they knew.

  “You’re keeping well, Rose?” Lady Southwood formed the word as if unused to it, as in fact she was. She sometimes addressed me as “Lady Strang”, something that unnerved me considerably. She probably meant it to.

  She wore wide panniers under her dark blue skirts, and glided like a galleon under full sail, seemingly effortlessly. I knew that however hard I worked at it, I’d never have that kind of poise. I wasn’t sure I wanted it.

  “Very well, thank you,” I replied, like a schoolgirl repeating her lesson. “It’s very kind of you to invite me here.” In fact, she’d done it once, but I assumed I’d be invited to future events. Now, I decided I wouldn’t stay here long. But I needed to show my face somewhere, otherwise people would talk. And I wanted to hear for myself what people were saying, if anything.

  Well the if anything part was dispelled over the next half hour or so, as I suffered a series of careful questions and equally careful avoidance of any mention of my husband. Ostensibly this meeting was a poetry reading, so I sat with the others, accepted a dish of tea and listened for half an hour to some interminable nonsense spouted by a would-be Pope. Pope without the wit, or the inventive metaphors, to be precise. The poet, a youth from one of the best families in the land, then launched into a series of love poems. I hoped the object of his desire never got to hear about them, otherwise she might laugh the poor youth into oblivion. Which, in his case, would be back to the country. Still, I gave the poor man some light praise on the “very interesting” lines when he’d done.

  Sadly, he decided I might be a useful patroness, because my lukewarm response seemed to encourage him to sit next to me and pour a torrent of overblown, insincere compliments over me.

  “Lady Strang.” A gentle voice to my left proved a welcome distraction, and after giving the young poet a smile of apology, I turned to greet Caroline. I wanted to fall on her neck and give thanks, but I restrained myself and merely asked after her health.

  She answered and we exchanged a few nonsenses before the poet murmured an excuse and left for another poor victim. She lowered her voice. “You should know that your hair doesn’t entirely hide it.”

  I stared at her, the implications rocketing through me. “Damn.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not what you think.”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “No, you’d better come with me. I came armoured.”

  She raised a brow but didn’t demur. It took ten minutes for us to take our leave and I knew why. Everyone wanted a good look. If I fiddled with my hair it would only draw attention to the mark, so I pasted on that society face and did my best. Serene, I hoped, and at the very least unperturbed.

  We left, and once inside the carriage, I groaned. “I wanted to show my face. I thought they’d talk.”

  “They will and are.”

  “What are they saying? Please tell me, Caroline, I need to know.”

  She gazed at me, sorrow in her eyes. “That Richard went to a house of ill repute a few nights ago and was seen carrying a woman up the stairs to the bedroom. When approached, he lost his temper and demanded to know what a man was to do when his wife refused her favours.”

  I paled. “Oh my God. I never thought of that, but yes, I suppose that kind of tale puts him in a bad light.” I cursed when I realised something else. “And they’ll say that he struck me, won’t they?”

  She continued to stare. Careless of who saw me, I shoved back my hair, wincing as my fingers grazed my tender skin. If they’d noticed, there was no point hiding it. “He didn’t. You know there’s bad blood between the Drurys and us, don’t you?” She nodded. “They abducted me, or rather, Julia did, and brought me to the club to engender just this kind of gossip. I was the woman in Richard’s arms, and he was taking me home, not climbing the stairs.”

  She let out her breath in a deep sigh. “I knew it was something like that. I knew it couldn’t be true.” She studied me closely. “What will you say?”

  I frowned before I forced myself to stop, as that hurt too. “That I was attacked in the street. Just as we were the o
ther night. Richard saved me, and we were close to the club. It’s close enough to the opera house for that to be believable. The club gave us shelter until our carriage arrived.”

  “BRILLIANT.” RICHARD planted a kiss on my cheek. “Very good, my love. So now society knows we’ve either been unfortunate or that someone has us in his sights. It explains why I’m so careful of you and why I refused to discuss the incident today. I was investigating the matter, trying to discover who hates us enough to hurt us in that way. That should keep the gossips quiet for a while.”

  I smiled up at him before he took a seat next to me in our blessedly less formal downstairs parlour. “I prayed I hadn’t contradicted anything you said, but Caroline said she’d wait until I sent her word to spread the story, then she’d enjoy pouring it into sympathetic ears.”

  Richard’s face turned grim. “Then she’d better be quick because the first story is gaining ground. Someone, and we don’t have to go far to guess who, has been very fast out of the starting gate.”

  I got to my feet with the help of the sofa arm. “I’ll send word straightaway.”

  He stood up with me and put his hand on my arm. “Wait. How do you feel?”

  “Much better.” My headache had completely gone and I no longer felt disorientated as I had earlier in the day. And because I’d spent so much time in bed, I didn’t feel tired, either.

  “Well enough to go out for an hour this evening?”

  I considered. “Yes, I think so. I haven’t checked the invitations. What were you thinking of?” I glanced at the various gilt-edged cards wedged into the frame of the mirror above the mantelpiece. We really needed to clear those and find a place for them, as well as the pieces of paper, bills and the like under the clock.