Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1)
Page 19
She’d only been in Henry’s study for a short time, but it had been enough to see the two books on the desk. A book of Greek verse and the scuffed and scarred remains of Conversations on Science that Agatha had last seen in Henry’s study in London.
Reaching the edge of the Anglethorpe Estate, Agatha rocked as she tripped over a large root with her boot. She smiled grimly. Jaquard would have that out in an instant if he knew about it. She stopped, her hands outstretched for balance, soil cascading down the root onto her boots as if released from a dam. Breathing heavily, she clutched at the upended root, as if it could tether her to the ground, to the carefully constructed shell she had veneered for herself. He’d brought his mistress to Brambridge. And yet he couldn’t tell her what he wanted with her. Couldn’t tell her because he didn’t want her, perhaps. Even his last words to her were not to wreck the hydrangeas because of Jaquard. Agatha shook her head. But still he’d caressed her in the field as if she were a part of him, causing her senses to burst as explosively as gunpowder. She gasped as the memories rolled over her. Five parts nitre and one part sulphur. Jaquard and his tree trunk in Mount Street. Someone wants to kill you. Jaquard and his hydrangeas at Berale House. Despite giving up, science scandal still follows me.
She rubbed her hands together. Why had she ever bothered?
Agatha’s journey back to Berale House passed uneventfully. After a small detour through the grounds, she made her way straight to the kitchen door. As lightly as was possible in her boots, Agatha mounted the steps and pushed at the door. She sighed with relief as it swung inwards silently. Stepping over the threshold, she turned to push the door closed behind her.
“Welcome back, Agatha.”
She screamed, clapping her hands over her mouth. A match illuminated the darkness, the light growing as a taper was lit, giving a low, yellow light to the kitchen. Freddie and Harriet sat at the kitchen table. Agatha drooped in relief.
“What are you doing here alone together?” The best form of defense was attack but then, as she thought about it, it really was quite concerning they were in the dark alone.
“Don’t change the subject, Miss Beauregard.” Freddie bit into a piece of burnt toast and waved a finger.
Agatha smoothed her wet skirts, hoping the bulky outline of the package beneath them wasn’t visible. “I wasn’t changing the subject, there wasn’t even a subject to change.”
“Where have you been?” Harriet frowned at her. “I saw you leave two hours ago and I’ve been waiting for you to come back ever since.”
“I errr, that is, I went for a walk and to look at the stars at the beach.”
“Oh.” Harriet sat back and nodded.
“What do you mean, ‘Oh,’ Harriet? She’s bloody well been gone for two hours!” Freddie took the toast out of his mouth and examined its black underside. Shaking it futilely at the floor, he resumed crunching on its crusty exterior.
Harriet tapped her fingers on the table. “We used to go and look at the stars together. Down at the beach in the soft grass where you could hear the sea lapping and the full sky—”
Mouth full, Freddie’s incredulity was still obvious. “Two hours of bloody stargazing!”
“I wish you would stop saying bloody, Lord Lassiter!” Harriet looked down her nose at him. “That is for Macbeth and Shakespeare, not for tired lords.”
Agatha bit down on her tongue and edged to the door. Harriet’s description of stargazing had been rather too evocative for something which she and Agatha had never done together. “Ahem, I had better go to bed, then.”
“Is this a midnight party?” Anthony appeared at the top of the stairs to the kitchen clad in a thick, dressing gown that was spread thinly across his lean frame. Smiling her most natural smile, Agatha edged back towards the banked fire. Water still fell from her clothes to the floor and she shivered as steam began to rise from her skirts. Standing there was not a good idea after her detour through Berale House grounds. She moved away from the fire again.
“Lovall, you bacon brain, you need a bigger dressing gown!” Freddie genteelly covered his eyes and gazed determinedly at the wall.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Agatha almost felt sorry for Anthony, but not quite. After all, he was part of Henry’s cronies that had accused her of being a notorious French spy.
Freddie peered through two of the fingers covering his eyes. “Agatha’s been out stargazing.”
“Really?” The disbelief in Anthony’s voice was apparent.
“Really.” Agatha decided she had had enough of the verbal sparring. “It has been a long day and I’m going to bed.” Picking up her still damp skirts, she brushed past Anthony and made her way into the hall.
Slumping against the wall, she pulled out the damp packet from her skirts. Thank god it was a little wet. Standing so close to the fire would have been dangerous. Especially as it smelt very strongly of horse manure. Jaquard was obviously a fan of homemade gunpowder. At least she hoped it was only horse manure.
And she really shouldn’t have left her niece alone with those men, even if she did seem to have the upper hand. She stepped into the shadows, holding the bag lightly with one hand. The sounds carried from the kitchen rather audibly.
“Do you really think she was stargazing?” Freddie, it seemed, could not let the subject drop.
“Why would you think she was doing anything else?” Harriet demanded. Agatha cheered her niece silently.
“Well… um. It has been suggested that Miss Beauregard might be a spy.”
“Aunt Agatha a spy? When would she have had time to do that outside of looking after me, living in the sticks and trying to make a small living for us? The worst Aunt Aggie could do would be to bore you to death with the results of one her experiments she used to do.”
Agatha stared at the innocuous packet in her hand and humphed.
“I thought it was a joke when Freddie mentioned it.” The sound of Anthony’s footsteps grew nearer to where Agatha stood in the hall.
Harriet’s words stopped Agatha leaving. “Lord Lassiter, is this true? You cannot believe such a thing of her!”
“The coincidences are too great, Harriet.” Hmm. Freddie was not convinced then.
Anthony’s steps sounded again. “Strong enough for Harding to tell Miss Beauregard’s best friend.”
A chair crashed to the ground. “Lady Colchester knows?”
“We thought she should know, as her brother Anglethorpe was making a cake of himself over Agatha and everyone could see it. If she turns out to be Monsieur Herr, then the best spymaster that Britain has ever known will find himself in Newgate before long.”
“Lord Anglethorpe is pursuing Aunt Agatha? That is good news!”
“No it’s not!” Freddie’s normally jovial voice dropped low and hard. “This is not a comedy. Monsieur Herr is a real menace and must be eliminated as soon as possible.”
CHAPTER 30
Berale House loomed dark as Henry let himself back into his study. The fire in the grate had died to a smoldering mound of white ash. Shivering, he prodded the meagre coal lumps with a poker, persuading them into a limp flame.
Putting a weary hand to his head, he pulled off his dark hat and knelt by the fire. His sodden trousers clung to his legs as he pushed them down from his waist.
“I see that you’ve had an interesting evening.”
Henry cursed as he fell on his bare legs in shock. He didn’t know whether or not to continue taking off his trousers or pull them back up.
“I would take them off. After all, I am your sister and I’ve seen it all before.” Victoria sat forward from her seat in Henry’s desk chair. He’d been so intent on getting warm, he’d missed her still form. That and his head was muddled by Agatha.
“Victoria? Bloody hell, what are you doing in my study?”
“I may still be your little sister, Henry dear, but I am no longer a young girl. What are you intentions towards Agatha?”
He couldn’t have this conversa
tion with no breeches on. A small cupboard stood next to the fire. Out of it he pulled a pair of loose pair of fishermen trousers and a thick jersey. “If you don’t mind?”
Victoria turned her head discreetly away. Cursing as he fumbled with the ties at his waist, he adjusted the trousers and pulled the jersey over his head. The soft dry material gave instant warmth.
The smell of smoke filled the air; an orange dot of light glowed by his desk. “Cigar, Henry?”
Unbelievable. She’d found his secret box of cheroots.
Victoria laughed softly. “I am your sister, dear. The apple doesn’t always fall far from the tree, despite our different lives.”
Henry gripped at the soft material of the jersey, the knife thrust of her words palpable. All of the worrying he’d done over Victoria after his parents had died, all of the need to avoid rumor and scandal had collapsed when Agatha had left him, them. Drawing the jersey to his waist, he smoothed it down over his trousers. He’d taken no notice when Victoria had spent days in her room. She had ever been thus. Instead he’d sent for the best doctors that money could buy. That normally drew her out. Thoughts of Agatha had filled his head like a tidal wave; there wasn’t room for other worries.
But then Victoria had emerged after the tenth quack had been sent packing and announced that she’d accepted Lord Colchester’s offer of marriage. Old Lord Colchester who Agatha and Victoria had laughed about. Nothing he could do could persuade her otherwise.
In the time that he’d wanted to be married she had been married and widowed, and left a wealth ten times his own.
“I know that Papa was a spy too, Henry. Do you think that I didn’t inherit some of his characteristics as well?”
“I didn’t think.”
“No. Most men don’t. Did you deal with him?”
“Who?”
“Whoever killed Papa?”
“You weren’t meant to know that he was murdered.”
The orange tip of the cheroot glowed brighter and then vanished. It appeared again, the same dull orange as before.
“I’ve always known.”
“Yes, I got him.”
He could hear Victoria as she inhaled a deep breath. “Good.”
The clock above the fire place chimed twice.
“And do you have a plan to find Monsieur Herr?”
Good grief. He watched as the whites of Victoria’s teeth shone in the firelight. “I have something in hand.”
“It had better be good, Henry dear.” Victoria stood, holding the cheroot in her hand. She took a last puff and then ground the cigar against the polished wood of his desk.
“That’s my desk!”
“It was also Papa’s desk. That’s a reminder, Henry. Agatha is my friend. It has not been easy for her. And most of the problems have been caused by you and your pig headedness. If you don’t come up with a plan to sort out this mess, I will. Whatever your intentions.”
Dropping the stub of the cigar to the desk, Victoria swept unerringly to the door.
“That’s blackmail.” Henry knocked the cigar off the desk to the ground and rubbed at the damaged wood.
Victoria stopped at the door. “No, Henry dear, that’s common sense.” With a small wave, she left.
“Women!” Henry banged a hand on his desk and pulled it into his stomach as the underneath of his desk began to move.
“Quite right, sir. She’s a sharp biscuit is your sister and no mistake.”
“Ames? What the hell are you doing?”
“Currently, sir, I am trying to ease my cramp after hiding under the desk for two hours in an unusual knotted position.”
“Victoria was waiting for me for an hour and didn’t notice you?”
“No sir. She was too intent on drinking the Armagnac from your bottom drawer.”
“Not my Armagnac!” First the cheroots and now his drink.
“Hmm. And that lovely cake stuff you keep down there. Turron I think it was.”
“Was?”
“Er. Well yes, I got hungry whilst I was waiting too, and she did drop it on the floor when you walked in.”
“My turron.” It was his equivalent of an opium hit, a dose of laudanum. Better than the twist of nuts he kept stashed in his coat. “I feel a headache coming on.”
“There is some of that oatmeal stuff still in there. Ship’s biscuit I think you called it.”
“That is only for looking at in order to quell hunger, Ames, only for emergencies.”
“I rather think this might be an emergency, my lord.”
“Oh, do get out of the desk, Ames. I feel silly talking to a piece of wood.”
“Only if you promise not to hurt me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I ate your turron, and err, I was meaning to tell you that your sister knows a lot more about what is going on than you think. But. Ahem. She got there first.”
“Hmm. You have been a lot less use than I thought you would be. Less Maximus and more Minimus.” Henry laughed ruefully.
“Pardon, sir?”
Henry sighed. “Oh forget it, Ames. Just one thing, how does my sister know what’s going on?
Ames was silent for a few seconds. “Earl Harding told her, sir. Stole one of her dogs too when she set it on his ankles.”
“Good grief.” Henry rubbed at the burnt mark on his desk. “Go back to your post. Victoria and Agatha are likely to have a heart to heart tomorrow morning where Victoria will no doubt make a plan. We need to be ready for it.”
“How do you know?” Ames backed towards the door.
Henry stared at the book of Greek verse on the desk. Where the hell had Conversations on Science gone? “Because, Ames, it is what I would do.”
CHAPTER 31
“As a matter of fact, I do have a plan.” Lady Victoria Colchester put down her delicate teacup and observed Agatha with glassy eyes. Bright May sunshine shone through the tall, glass windows that surrounded the morning room on two sides.
Agatha blinked. Using the excuse of a ride to justify her early morning start, she had saddled one of the mares they had brought with them down from London. She had ridden the mare cursorily around the Berale House estate and then re-entered the house.
“These silly men have been running around putting two and two together and getting five. And someone obviously wants them to do that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Firstly, you have to believe in your absolute innocence.” That seemed easy enough to Agatha. They had been through this before.
“And then in light of that you come across several questions.” Victoria stopped to take another sip of tea and bite of her toast. Nimbly she broke a piece off and threw it to her dog. Agatha waited as she cooed over the small animal and lifted it into her lap.
“What questions?” she asked impatiently.
“Firstly, why does everyone believe you are Monsieur Herr?”
“Hmm, I’d like to know that too.” Stretching her arms, Harriet stumbled into the morning room and peered blearily at the laden sideboard.
Agatha wrinkled her nose and raised her eyebrows.
“Too much stargazing, aunt?” Harriet yawned and covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
Agatha glared at her niece, a small flush rising slowly up her nape. She turned back to the table. “I believe I was just asking why everyone wants to believe that I’m a French spy…”
Victoria looked from Agatha to her niece. “Well, as we discussed before, it is not why everyone wants to believe you are a spy, it is why the spy wants everyone to believe you are the spy.”
Agatha closed her mouth with a snap.
Victoria looked at her small audience and smiled widely.
Agatha scratched her head. “I still can’t believe it. I don’t have anyone that wishes me ill.” She flapped her hands as Harriet’s mouth formed a round O. “None of those silly rumor mongers would think of such an elaborate ruse. I mean, doing this would bring down everyone I know…”
“I am not involved with your brother!”
“Hmmm… stargazing?” Harriet said innocently.
“Nothing happened.” Agatha sat down with a plump. “At least nothing to discuss with you,” she amended quietly.
Victoria put her dog on the floor. “Someone must have a reason for choosing you for their ruse. We must go back to the beginning. What happened five years ago when it all began?”
Agatha pushed her thumb back with a finger. “I was engaged, jilted, shot at, Peter died, moved to Devon…” She ticked the points off on her hand.
Victoria wrapped her arms around her body. “Why did you leave without telling me? I could have helped.”
“I received a note threatening Peter’s life, the next I knew he was dead. I thought whoever had shot at me had killed them. The note said not to tell anyone. That’s why I came to live in Devon. I couldn’t see anyone from London. I was too afraid of who might be coming to get me.”
“But you haven’t heard of anything since…” Harriet flushed.
Agatha shook her head. “There have been no notes. No one has approached me, or even shot at me.”
Thoughtfully, Victoria stirred her tea. Taking a sip, she made a face and rang the servant’s bell. “More tea please,” she said to the footman who entered quickly. As he closed the door, she turned to Agatha.
“Setting the death of your brother aside, that’s when it started. But they did not want to frame you then. They wanted to kill you yourself. Their motives must have changed since then.”
“I still ask myself why anyone would have wanted to kill me.” Stumped, Agatha played with her fork.