“I am not besotted with you, My Lord.”
Astounded, Jean-Marc looked at Sibyl Smiles. She rose to her feet and drew back her shoulders. Color stood high in her face. “Unlike my sister, I have nothing to lose by offending you, other than a position I intend to leave anyway.”
“Sibyl,” Meg said, reaching for her sister’s hand. “Regardless of anything else, the Count has been kind to us. Please think before you say anything else.”
“Before I say that I despise him for having his way with you, and—”
“Sibyl. Not another word.”
“And what?” Jean-Marc asked. He knew he had little right to be angry, but he longed to put this miss in her place. “I overheard a good deal of what you said a little earlier. You think very little of me. But you don’t know me, and you don’t know my feelings for Meg.”
There was an instant when she raised a hand and he thought she might strike him, but she put more distance between them instead. “You want her for your ladybird. You said you would marry her, but not with enough conviction to make her believe you. She loves you, and you are using that love against her.”
“Situations change,” he told her, finally too furious to hold back. “What do you know of love? Nothing. You will marry a man like Godly-Smythe because you think it is a safe choice. A passionless choice.
“As of today, my expectations are different. Marrying Meg will no longer have the public impact I had feared. So we will marry. With or without your blessing.”
Meg had never seen Sibyl as she was now, but even that strange picture lost significance in the face of Jean-Marc’s announcement. He could now marry her without suffering any ill effects. That was what he had said and what he meant. So, because she wasn’t a threat to more important things, they would marry.
“You have nothing to say?” Sibyl asked her.
“No.” Meg shook her head. She had a great deal to say, but not in front of an audience.
“This is preposterous, a tragedy. I must leave. I’m going to William at once. And I shall tell him that I want Reverend Baggs to marry us. You shall be invited to the wedding.”
Jean-Marc put himself between Miss Smiles and the door. “I can’t allow you to do that. For Meg’s sake I ask you to remain here, at least until we have more information about Reverend Baggs—and Godly-Smythe.”
They would not guess how afraid she was, Sibyl thought. They must not. It was up to her to save The Ramblers, Meg and herself, before William became desperate enough to take fateful steps against them. With difficulty she composed herself. This was a burden for her alone. William must not guess what she had learned, or that regardless of what she said, she would never marry him. What she intended was wild, deceitful, but it was the only way. And for now Meg could not know the truth or she would become afraid for Sibyl and try to interfere.
“Miss Smiles,” Jean-Marc said, “will you cooperate with me in this?”
“I must return to Number Seven or William will come looking for me. I told him I would tell Meg we are to be married and persuade her to return with me.”
“She will not return with you,” Jean-Marc said. He would not allow the woman he loved to leave his care, not until all threat had passed. “As you see, she isn’t fit to go anywhere.”
“Meg, will you come?”
“I can’t stop you from leaving, but I won’t go with you. I’m afraid for you.”
“Don’t be.” If only she could believe there was no reason. “I’ll return as soon as I can and tell you our plans.” She felt as if she stood at the edge of the sea, her feet trapped, while the tide roared inexorably inward. The fear must be overcome.
Jean-Marc studied her with deeper concentration. There was something…. No, how could he possibly have more insight into her than Meg did? Yet this was a complete reversal of attitude. From many comments Meg had made, he had gathered in what low esteem both sisters held Godly-Smythe. Why then the change of heart? Certainly not because of a sudden blooming love. The obvious reason might be that Sibyl saw the arrangement as a way to extricate Meg from his influence. No. No, he did not believe that. So there was another factor. Part of another plan, perhaps, one that he would do well to pursue?
“Forgive me, Miss Smiles,” he said, avoiding Meg’s eyes. “I am remiss in not giving you my blessings. I know nothing of Mr. Godly-Smythe, but if you choose him, then I’m sure he is a worthy fellow, and I wish you joy.”
Meg closed her eyes. Pain crossed her features. She took visibly deep breaths.
“And so you hide, Meg,” he said thoughtfully. “I do believe your secret thoughts are in your eyes and you don’t want them to betray what you really think. Perhaps your skill is not so much a virtue as a weakness.” He was unduly harsh, but quite possibly near the truth.
Sibyl Smiles said, “She is extraordinary. If you don’t know that, then you know very little about her.”
“Oh, I know. Why do you think I can’t bear to think of life without her?”
Sibyl frowned. She searched his face as if for a sign to the depth of his sincerity. “If only I could hope a man such as you would not break her heart.”
He would like to have met the Smiles sisters’ parents. Two such impressive women didn’t merely happen. They had been molded by strong people.
“I see you don’t answer me,” Sibyl Smiles said.
Jean-Marc inclined his head until Meg felt his attention and looked at him. This time she had not succeeded in secluding herself. Her eyes were bright and clear—and they hid nothing of the intense emotion she felt.
“I will not break your heart,” he told her. “You will help me be what you need me to be. But I will never hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me deliberately,” she said, subdued. “Would you help me to persuade Sibyl not to do this thing?”
Sibyl’s guilt at troubling Meg was overwhelming, but for both of them she must not weaken now. “Even if he could do what you ask, he knows it would be wrong. Nothing is settled. I have said I will return to you, and I will, once I have more to tell.”
“My Lord!”
Jean-Marc recognized Pierre’s voice calling from the study and strode to open the chamber door wide. “Yes. You have the girl?”
Pierre, substantial in a many-caped greatcoat, held his top hat in his hands. “I scarcely know how to tell you,” he said.
“Go close enough to hear everything,” Meg whispered to Sibyl. “I’ll stand behind you.”
Sibyl did as she was asked and took a place almost beside the Count.
Pierre looked at her briefly but without interest. “I went to Mount Street, as you told me, My Lord. To search for the girl, Betty.”
“Yes, yes,” the Count said impatiently. “Kindly don’t repeat what we already know.”
Pierre drew in his bottom lip and hung his head. He raised his arms and dropped them heavily. “What can it mean? She knew her ladyship’s name, and her connection to you and this house. She described the preacher. I don’t understand any of it, yet I am convinced we move deeper and deeper into danger.”
Only by force of will did Jean-Marc resist roaring at the man to stop tiptoeing around whatever he had discovered. “You’re probably right,” he said, and, given the presence of the Smiles sisters, wished he hadn’t. “Just tell me what you’ve learned.”
“I went from one end of Mount Street to the other. There are bakeries, but not one called Lumley’s, and no one has ever heard of a baker’s daughter called Betty.”
35
“Regardless of who took her, Lady Upworth is gone,” Verbeux told Jean-Marc. “Yes, this apparently nonexistent child is a puzzle, but Baggs is not at Number Seven. We have established that. And he was not there last night. I think he’s involved. What I can’t begin to imagine is why.”
They hurried side by side across the second floor toward Désirée’s apartments. Word had come of Verbeux’s return and the failed search, and Jean-Marc had gone to speak to his valet. Meg had taken advantage of
that opportunity to tell the man who had been left on guard that she and her sister had been given permission to go together to Meg’s rooms.
“Difficult to control, My Lord?” Verbeux said of Meg. “If she is now, do you imagine there will ever be an improvement?”
“That is not your affair.” He was not moved to share the contents of his father’s letter with anyone so soon. “Meg!”
She appeared in the corridor almost at once. “There is no need to shout, My Lord. It doesn’t become you.”
“Kindly refrain from lecturing me, miss. Why did you disobey me?” At least part of the answer was obvious, in that she was dressed in a deep blue gown and matching slippers, and her hair had been simply but elegantly dressed. He wondered why it sometimes looked less red. “Well? How do you explain yourself?” he asked when he reached her.
“I don’t have to, My Lord.” Her curtsey mocked him. “The Princess may receive another caller, and I must be present. I cannot be if I am not suitably dressed.”
“No more visitors,” he shouted, turning to see what servants were present. A footman appeared at the end of the corridor and took a few steps into the apartments. “Yes, you will do.” Jean-Marc pointed to the man. “Go at once to Rench and tell him no one is to be admitted to this house without my approval.”
“Yes, My Lord.” The man bowed almost double and backed away.
“That deals with that issue. Where is your sister?”
Meg’s distress was immediately evident. “Gone home,” she said. “I could not persuade her to stay.”
“Why are you so nasty, brother?” Désirée poked her head from inside Meg’s sitting room. Halibut was draped around her neck and made it impossible for her to hold her head up. “Why should we not receive visitors? Meg has said I may be with her if Sir Robert comes. I think that will be fun.”
“The Princess may receive another caller?” He raised a brow, but Meg met his questioning stare unflinchingly. “It will not be fun because it won’t happen, for either of you. Meg Smiles, you are to rest, is that clear? Now, into your rooms. I am a busy man. We will speak at a later hour.”
He left the women and stormed to the gallery with Verbeux matching strides. The man had already insisted he was recovered enough to perform his duties, but Jean-Marc suspected it was determination to locate Ila that drove him.
“What do you intend?” Verbeux asked.
“Do you admit it would have been a poor solution for me to flee with Meg Smiles?”
“No. If you had done so, I doubt the events of last night would have occurred. They were to make you take notice, don’t you think?”
Jean-Marc checked his stride. “Perhaps. Yes, yes, very likely. Now we keep our own counsel. I must be ready to move quickly and without being seen. I can’t imagine why this Baggs man would take Ila, but we have nothing else to go on, so I intend to find him and see what he knows. To that end I shall observe Number Seven. My theory is that if Miss Sibyl tells Godly-Smythe she wishes Baggs to marry them, Godly-Smythe will go to him. When he does, I shall follow. I must know a great deal more about those two.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You will remain here and ensure the safety of this household. Are you armed?”
“Of course,” Verbeux said. “I am always armed. Unfortunately, my costume did not allow me to conceal a pistol last night, and I suffered for it. But someone else can stand guard here. I insist on coming.”
Jean-Marc caught his shoulder. “We are wasting time. The less commotion, the better. That means that one man will draw less attention than two. Do as I ask.”
He didn’t await an answer before running down to the foyer and allowing Rench to hand him his cloak. “Thank you,” he told the butler. “I trust you understand my orders that no one, no one is to enter the house without my permission. Since I shall be out for the immediate future, that means no visitors at all. Understood?”
Rench’s face was intent. “Perfectly, My Lord. Not a soul will come here until you tell me otherwise.”
“Good man.” Jean-Marc swung on his cloak, but rather than leave by the front door, he hurried through the house and let himself out through the back garden gate. The stables were located there, and curious grooms stopped working on his horses to stare. He waved as if there was nothing unusual about his leaving his own house by the back door.
A narrow pathway between Number 17 and Number 18, a space large enough for only a single person to pass at a time, made the perfect place for him to linger and overlook the rest of the square. He had an excellent view of Number 7 and settled in to wait.
Frequent glances at his fob watch only proved how slowly time might seem to pass on occasion.
Hunter Lloyd left Number 7 and engaged in a conversation with a man who came from Number 8. That house belonged to Jean-Marc’s old friend Ross, Viscount Kilrood, and his wife. Odd to think that Latimer More was the Viscountess’s brother. The Kilroods were at their Scottish estates and the man Lloyd spoke to was probably the butler in residence, although the two men communicated like familiars before each went on his way.
Rain began to fall, light rain it was true, but damned inconvenient.
The front door of Number 7 opened again. Luck, at last! This time it was William Godly-Smythe who stood there looking around. He pulled on gloves and went down the steps, where he paused to glance about him again. His gaze settled on Number 17, and he stared before setting off at a rapid rate.
Jean-Marc allowed him to reach the exit from the square to the High Street and turn right before he left cover.
Almost at once, he pulled back.
Sibyl Smiles appeared. She lifted her skirts and ran to the flagway, kept on running until she reached the point where Godly-Smythe had made his turn. She looked both ways, paused a moment, but set off in the same direction as the man she supposedly intended to marry.
Damn all interfering women. She was bound to become a liability. If he delayed any longer, Jean-Marc thought he might lose them both. He walked from the alley, his carriage confident, as if he were doing nothing more than taking the air.
The rain grew heavier. Before he turned the corner and saw his quarries, rain already dripped from the brim of his hat. He prayed Miss Smiles would not turn back, see him and slow his progress, but she seemed as determined as he was to see where Godly-Smythe was headed—without herself being seen. In fact, he took her decision to follow as potential proof that Godly-Smythe had told her he would fetch Baggs to talk about a wedding.
Meg had left the house by the steps where she and Désirée took Halibut outside whenever he demanded to go. She knew of a gate near the enclosed rose garden that opened into a yard used by sanitary workers about their unenviable duties in the early mornings.
Wrinkling her nose at the stubborn odor, she hardened herself against her sore ankles, sped to the flagway and turned left in the direction she’d seen first William, then Sibyl go. Her dear sister, unaccustomed to any clandestine behavior, had been obvious in her attempt to watch where William was going, and Meg prayed he wouldn’t see Sibyl. Meg hoped that with luck she would catch up with Sibyl and they could go on together. She thought she knew what was in Sibyl’s mind. If she had told William that Baggs was to marry them, then it made sense for the odious man to go in search of the Reverend. Why he was determined to marry Sibyl, she didn’t know, but he was most determined and would doubtless rush to do so before there could be a change of mind. Sibyl had at least some doubt about Baggs and intended to discover if he might have Lady Upworth with him.
At the exit from the square, she turned right as she had seen Sibyl do shortly before she, Meg, had left the house. The High Street was wide, and carriages rolled back and forth, throwing up mud and water as they went. Those who hurried past on foot did so with their heads down to keep the rain from their eyes. Meg shielded hers and hurried on. In the distance she saw a flash of green she was certain must be Sibyl, and she broke into a painful trot, raising her skirts and ignoring th
e curious glances of passersby.
Verbeux usually avoided defying Count Etranger. Their association had been long and successful because he knew well that his master was a volatile man, and Verbeux refrained from crossing him.
On this occasion, there was no choice in Verbeux’s mind but to follow the Count and to be available if matters became out of hand. Neither of them knew what might be encountered when Godly-Smythe reached his destination. If Verbeux’s hopes were met and Reverend Baggs had indeed played some part in Ila’s disappearance, then going against orders would be worth the danger of dismissal.
He was farther behind the Count than he would prefer, but it had taken time to get Pierre alone and make him understand he was on watch at Number 17, and that considerable responsibility rested on his shoulders.
At least his employer was a tall man. Verbeux had seen the first direction the other man took out of the square. With any luck, since the road he took was long and straight, there might be hope of finding him—and Godly-Smythe—before they either took another street or went inside a building.
Verbeux turned right at the High Street and broke into a run that assured his dignity would be lost. He dodged to the side of the flagway and mounted a flight of steps to search ahead. He almost cheered when he saw an unmistakable tall form in black apparently hurrying toward a park in the distance. All was not yet lost, and when he caught up, the Count might be grateful to have company in the confrontation he expected.
Sibyl slipped through a gap in the high, white railings surrounding Tapwell Park. A bear and a griffin stood guard over each stone gatepost, but the gates themselves were chained shut. The park was private and belonged to the elegant if somewhat shabby house of the same name that could be seen in the distance. Almost at once the noises of the city became muted. Stands of mature oak trees rose up on grassy mounds on either side of a driveway that stretched directly toward the house. William had leaned forward to trudge up the slope to the right. He disappeared from view on the other side. Too aware of the importance of not being seen, Sibyl chose to go around the mound, which stretched for at least a mile.
All Smiles Page 39