“Because you were younger and because you had received those threats, Agatha.” He stood in front of her and stared down at the auburn highlights in her hair. “And you had no one to advise you as Miss Guthrie did.” Henry plucked at his cravat and unbuttoned his coat. Despite the cool air, he was rather hot. “And besides, I had forced you into it. I was meant to be your guardian. I was just…” Henry strove for control in his voice “…so angry at what you had done.”
“He wasn’t meant to be there. In that room, I mean.”
Henry sighed. “Charles is an opportunist. You were young and inexperienced, your head too full of ideals.”
Agatha looked up at him, and then away quickly, small strands of her hair falling delicately against her neck. “There you go again, telling me about who I am and what I should be. And yet you… you kiss me as if nothing else matters.”
Henry shook his head and pulled at his coat. “Agatha, will you, could you dance with me please?”
Agatha turned back to stare at him, the golden dress rustling as she moved. Slowly she put out her hand.
Despite everything she still liked him. With a gasp, Henry tentatively put out his own hand, knocking at the side of his coat. In horror, he watched as the pocket watch he had thrust in with little care earlier fell out and crashed to the hard floor with a dull thunk, the casement opening to lie flat on the stone.
Agatha stared open mouthed at the dented watch, her hand dropping back to her side. “Where did you get that?”
Henry stared at her disappearing hand. “It was my father’s.” He bent down and cradled the watch in his palm, the old metal warming in his hands.
“Not the watch, the paper with the Greek letters. I’ve seen it before.” She looked away. “It’s not very funny, is it?”
“Pardon?”
Without looking at him, Agatha pointed at the charred scrap of paper tucked into the lid of the watch casement.
“It says ‘ihn’,” Henry said dully. “It’s part of the Monsieur Herr affair. It means ‘him’ in German.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I beg to differ, Agatha.”
“It doesn’t say ‘him’.”
“You would argue with the German ambassador?”
“German’s do not capitalize within words. At least, none of the famous German scientists I know did. But they certainly knew the universal language of mathematics. Greek letters. Like the ones in that book of verse you have.”
“Greek letters?” So she had taken Conversations on Science with her. He couldn’t help the burst of hope that bloomed further in his chest. “My book of verse is in translation.”
“Oh. That would explain it. Yes. It says I H Π, Iota Eta Pi in Greek to be precise.”
“Iota Eta Pi.” Good god, so it did. “That’s not a joke, Agatha.” He held out his hand again.
Agatha stared at his hand, her arms straight by her side. “If you say it quickly, it sounds like I ought to eat a pie.”
“I ought to eat a pie. I ought to eat a pie.” Henry slammed his fist down on the bench. “It still makes no sense. We’re no further forward in finding this man.” He thrust his arm out again. “Come, dance with me.”
“It’s not a man—you’ve said that yourself.”
“Hell and damnation.” She was right. “We’ll dance in the ballroom, tell everyone…”
“No.” Agatha put out one hand and slid further away on the marble seat. She wrapped her arms around herself, clasping her dress to her. “I’ve remembered where I saw that paper before, in the grate at Lady Foxtone’s ball. Good god, you didn’t even ask me about it.” She paused, rubbing at the exposed underside of her arm. “That’s why they all thought I was the spy. Why didn’t you just ask me? My brother asked you to look after me.” She looked up at him, her eyes glassy, searching his. Slowly her features hardened. “It’s all just a game to you, isn’t it, Henry? The half truths, the unanswered questions. You don’t really care for anyone at all. It is all about you and your work.”
He couldn’t answer, could only stare at her, clenching his fists so tightly his nails dug into his hands. With just a few words she had revealed the real truth. How could he tell the woman he loved that while he had told himself he was protecting her, in truth it was because he had been protecting himself? He, the famed Hawk, was in reality a selfish, gutless chicken. And she, rightly, wanted nothing to do with him.
CHAPTER 37
The string quartet playing in the large recital chamber in Hanover Square Rooms sawed their bows valiantly on across their instruments despite the chattering from the third row of seats.
“I heard that she actually kicked him there!”
“You mean as in…?”
“Yes, precisely! And then she told him that she never wanted to see him again.”
“I heard that he had been having an affair with her stepmother.”
“Lady Guthrie? How awful. I did wonder why she married that old man. Charles Fashington used to be rather dashing.”
“Yes, but the stepmother.”
“Do you think he meant to carry it on when they were married?”
Agatha turned away from listening. The gossip was vaguely sickening. And the turbans an even more putrid shade of violet than ever. On a positive note, at least the gossip wasn’t about her.
The two rather strident voices carried above the mediocre musical recital that she was attending that afternoon at Hanover Square Rooms. The last time she had been at here she had become engaged to Fashington herself. She shuddered.
The gossips sat fanning themselves with their programs as a young lady sang an operetta at the front. Despite the disapproving looks being levelled at the matrons, no one had yet dared a direct confrontation. Most of the audience were too interested in hearing what they were saying.
“I’m not sure. You know, I’ve also heard that he is penniless.”
“Really?”
“Hmmm. Not a bean to his name.”
“Bang go his chances of finding another lady to marry him. It would have been alright if not for the nasty public nature of the break-up.”
“And the stepmother.”
“Of course.”
“Isn’t this his second broken engagement too?”
Oh dear.
“I’ve heard that the woman who broke the first engagement is now engaged to Lord Anglethorpe.”
“What’s her name?”
“Agatha Beauregard, I believe. Practically an old maid now.”
Ha. They had that right. And an old maid she would remain. Agatha stood discreetly and, with a murmured apology to the gentleman sitting at the end of the row, edged past and out of the door. She collected Janey from the hall. Janey had made the transition to her ladies maid nicely, and seemed to be ecstatic to be out of Devon and in the smoky stacks of London.
As they left the Hanover Square Rooms, Agatha looked at the typical blue sky of summer above the narrow streets.
“It’s a nice day, Janey. I would like to take a walk.”
“Yes, miss. I’ll just tell the carriage to go back to Upper Brook Street.”
“Thank you.”
As she hurried to the waiting carriage, Janey exchanged a secret smile with the waiting footman. “Miss says that you should meet us back at Colchester Mansions, John. We are going to walk from here.”
Agatha watched, her heart clenching, as the coachman looked knowingly between the footman and Janey.
“I’m sure you two lovebirds can stand to be away from each other for a bit.” With a click of his tongue, he maneuvered the two horses into the road and set the coach off in the direction of the Upper Brook Street.
With one last longing glance at the footman, Janey walked jauntily back to the steps where Agatha stood.
“How long have you known John?” Agatha asked abruptly after a few moments silence.
“Oh, since Devon. He’s ever so nice. He says he only had eyes for me since he saw me.”
“Hmm.”<
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Agatha was troubled. There was something about the footman that seemed a little off. He was a bit older than some of the other fresh-faced footmen in Victoria’s household. And he had acted strangely once or twice around Henry, in London and Devon. She had assumed that John Smith had been attached to Berale House as extra staff were needed for the house party.
She walked a bit further down the road, Janey trailing half a step behind her. Soon they reached the main thoroughfare of Duke Street where shop wares spilled onto the pavement, greengrocers with fruits, hardware stores with numerous buckets. Enticing aromas crept through the door of the corner bakery where small pastries were laid out in the window.
Hunger gnawed at her belly. “Let’s go and buy some iced buns,” Agatha said on impulse. Janey brightened.
“Let me open the door for you, miss.”
“Thank you, Janey.”
Agatha stood back and waited as Janey pushed open the door and took a strong sniff of the melting smell of baked bread. Suddenly she felt a large object pushed into the small of her back.
“I have a pistol. Don’t turn around,” the voice whispered in a menacing tone. Agatha stiffened, her blood running cold. She looked desperately into the window of the bakery to see if she could see the reflection of who was behind her, but her view was obscured by a sign advertising Blackberry pies 2d.
“On the floor you will find a message. Pick it up now.”
Agatha took another desperate look in the window but the figure was obscured by a large hat and nondescript pantaloons. Another jab by the pistol in her back motivated her. She saw the paper by her foot and bent down to pick it up. She stood quickly, but the person was gone.
“Are you coming, miss?” Janey held the bakery door open and frowned.
“Did you see the man behind me, Janey?”
“No, Miss Beauregard. I was too busy examining the pastries. You’re very pale. Are you alright?”
Agatha glanced at the paper in her hand, then at Janey and around at the busy Duke Street. Whilst there were many people around, no one sported a large hat and pantaloons. It was as if the person with the pistol had vanished into thin air. She blinked hurriedly and tucked the paper into her reticule, her hands shaking.
“Oh, I’m fine. Shall we get those buns and go home?”
The walk back to Colchester Mansions seemed interminable. Janey chattered nervously, trying to fill the silence. Agatha found it hard to think of a response. The folded scrap of paper she had picked up from the floor seemed to make her bag as heavy as lead.
As soon as they were welcomed through the door, Agatha sent Janey to get some hot water. As she stood in the hall, momentarily alone, she withdrew the paper from her bag. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the note.
She gasped when she saw the writing. Barely seeing what it said, she pushed it swiftly into a pocket in her skirts. Peering wildly around her, she rushed up the stairs to her room. In her chamber, she scrabbled at her jewelry box which stood on the top of a vanity table. Withdrawing a large locket with a picture of Harriet in it, she popped open the back. A blue slip yellowed at the edges fell out. Swiftly, she snatched it from the table. She moved to the window where there was more light.
‘Leave London, or you will die. If you do not leave, your family will die too. Especially if you tell anyone of this note.’
The words still made her shudder five years later. She thrust her hand into her pocket and withdrew the new note.
‘Be back at the Hanover Square Rooms at midnight. Come alone. Tell no one or else Lord Anglethorpe will be killed.’
The handwriting was the same, the loops on the letters as flamboyant as five years ago. Agatha gasped and collapsed into a bedroom chair. Once again a note was threatening her. And this time they had Henry, the only man she had ever cared for. The only man that she had thought might want her in return.
Gods, how her heart had leapt when he’d asked her to dance. He never dances, his sister had said, he’s too afraid that’ll a woman will ensnare him. And then she’d seen scrap of paper in his pocket watch, and the reality of the situation had come crashing back down on her.
Tears welled in her eyes. The last time the note in her locket had precipitated her rush to Devon and five years of living in anonymity. She glanced at the golden cover of the locket; the reverse side showed a miniature portrait of her brother and his bride. She had been too late to rescue her only family, that despite all appearances had cared enough for her to send Henry to her rescue. And now if she didn’t do something, anything, she would be too late to rescue the only man she had ever loved. Gods. Yes. She loved him. Agatha hung her head as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. He’d asked her to dance and she’d refused. She’d thrown spite and empty words at him from five years of hurt, and yet, she would have acted the same as him in the situation. Evidence. That’s what she’d said again and again.
Opening the drawer of the vanity table with leaden fingers, she withdrew a leaf of parchment and a quill. Pulling up a stool, she slowly started to write. A few short paragraphs later, she blotted the script carefully and folded up the blue note and new white slip into the parchment, sealing it all closed with wax. She rang her bell for Janey.
“Janey. I want you to get me ready.” Agatha started to fumble with her clothes. “I am going out for the evening.” She looked up and winked as hard as she could at Janey. “I have an assignation and I don’t want anyone going with me, if you know what I mean.”
Janey was ecstatic. “Ooh, miss! Is it with you know who?”
Agatha sighed inwardly. She hated playing on Janey’s romantic nature, and especially her own current circumstances. “Of course.”
“I knew he was a deep one. He’s a handsome man, that’s for sure. In Brambridge we used to see him with all these ladies…”
“Yes. I am pleased as well. Please can you help me get ready?”
“You need to wear that golden dress again. Last time you could barely scrape his tongue off the floor.”
“Who told you that?” Agatha said sharply.
“Oooh, John told me. He knows an awful lot about Lord Anglethorpe. He doesn’t tell me much but I can tell he admires him…”
“I will wear the peach dress.”
“The peach dress? It makes you look like a mushroom! You are meeting a man for a romantic assignation. You want to him to shake in his boots.” Janey stopped abruptly, red-faced. “Sorry, miss. It’s just that from what I’ve been told you two need more than momentum to get you together and I’m just so pleased to see you coming to your senses.”
Agatha shook her head. Drawing the folded up note from the vanity desk, she held it out. “Janey. Please could you see that this note is delivered to Lord Anglethorpe in the next hour? I will dress myself, thank you.”
Janey took the note slowly. “I don’t understand. I thought you were going to meet him this evening?”
“Of course.” Agatha smiled tightly. “But er, he left it to me to pick where we should meet.” She coughed. “He said it would be more exciting.”
Janey’s face cleared. “Oooh, you lucky lady.”
“Mmm yes. Of course.”
Janey held the note up to Agatha. “I’ll deliver it as soon as possible.”
Agatha sighed with relief. Hopefully Henry would get the note on time. “Now then. You will need to leave with me to make it look like we are going out for the evening together. Get your things, we need to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Janey squawked and left the room, banging the door. Agatha unhooked a large black cape from the cupboard. Despite the warmth of the day, the evening was cool.
Moving back to the cupboard, she shrugged on the peach dress and pulled out her boots that lay at the bottom of the cupboard behind a large box. After lacing up the boots, she took a deep breath and took the lid off the large box. With a shaking hand, she unpacked the tissue paper that formed the top layer. A crumpled bag lay beneath, the smell nearly gone, but still a faint
pungent odor emanated from it as she moved it. Laying it on the dresser, she pulled out the lower cupboard doors and pushed a hand right to the back. Fingers trembling, she rolled out a small glass jam jar. The contents within were almost white, the paper label on the jar yellow with age.
Good god. No experiments. Not one since she had left for Brambridge five years before. But it was damn well time that she was going to put some of the ones she had written about in her book into action.
Pushing the bag into her skirts, as well as the jar, she felt along the dresser and, picking up her notebook and pencil, pushed them into the remaining space in her skirts, along with the potato knife and a box of safety matches. Agatha sat back into her chair, her dress creasing awkwardly. This evening would not be focused on ball gowns and ton censure. This was about finding out who had been responsible for five years of turmoil.
With a gasp, she jumped up and hurried down the stairs and into the back study. Pressing at the desk drawer, she pulled out one of Victoria’s secret cheroots and slipped it in with the rest of the items in her skirts.
Janey waited for her in the hall, garbed in a black cloak, sturdy boots peeking out of the bottom.
“Have you the letter?”
Wordlessly, Janey produced it from underneath her cloak. “I’ll deliver it as soon as I’ve left you. Where are you going to go?”
Agatha swallowed. “It’s a secret.” Pulling a long coat out of the understairs cupboard, she turned to the door. “Quickly, before Carruthers notices.”
Her throat dried as she unlatched the bolt on the door. Janey followed her silently onto the front step. Finger to her lips, Agatha beckoned to Janey and ran down the steps as lightly as possible. The weight of the items in Agatha’s pocket pounded against her leg. As they turned the corner, Agatha trailed her hands against the railings. This was it. She was nearly on her own.
“Janey, you know what you need to do. Take a hackney cab to Lord Anglethorpe’s. Do not deviate.”
Janey nodded. “I hope you have fun, miss.”
Agatha bit her lip. “I… yes. Of course, thank you, Janey.”
Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) Page 24