by May Burnett
“I suppose you are right.” He scowled briefly. “Then let’s talk of something else – your own fiancé, for instance. The princess told me that you are engaged to a young guard officer?”
Anna hesitated for a moment. “As to that, it is not altogether a certain thing as yet.”
“What! Wasn’t it you who lectured me only days ago, how duty had to be put above everything else? Or does that only apply to others, and not in your own case?”
“No, of course I believe and practice what I said! But there may be circumstances where duty and inclination can be reconciled, and past errors corrected before it is too late.”
“I am glad to hear you say so.” He chuckled after a moment. “You are a lovely hypocrite, Komtesse. But I hope your words turn out to be prophetic.”
Good heavens, what had she just said? Thinking of her own circumstances, she had not considered how her words might be interpreted by the Princess’s unwilling bridegroom.
What had she done? Was he still not reconciled to the match with Gisela?
She spurred the mare on and left him, refusing to deal any longer with his insidious questions and comments. She was not at her diplomatic best on horseback. The exercise, and the need to watch the animal, made it harder to focus on double meanings. Speaking what was in her thoughts was as much as she could do at such a moment.
She’d better remember this weakness, and if she ever rode with the Marquess again, make a point of sticking to unimportant subjects like the weather or the horses. And now she would simply enjoy the sunshine, the beautiful landscape, and the ride.
Chapter 19
The offices of the Society Argus consisted of a single rented room on the first floor of a house in Holborn, next to the chambers of a barrister. The room was locked and nobody answered James’s knock.
It surely was not a coincidence, he reasoned, that there was a printer’s shop on the ground floor of the modest house. He climbed back downstairs to this establishment. An elderly man was typesetting a page with the rapidity of lifelong experience, while a teenaged apprentice in a dirty apron was sorting metal letters into a box.
“Good morning - do you happen to know where I can find the editor of the Society Argus?”
The printer looked up from his task with a grimace of irritation. “We do not gossip about our customers, Sir,” he said baldly.
“I merely asked for information, not gossip, - I have business with the man,” James essayed again, but saw that the man would not say anything more.
The lad, however, behind his master’s back, was regarding him meaningfully. James made a tiny movement towards the place where he kept his purse, and received an imperceptible nod.
“Very well, I will enquire elsewhere,” he said equably, and left the printer’s shop. He did not much care for the smell of printer’s ink, he thought, as he waited outside for several minutes.
As expected, the apprentice turned up presently, and in exchange for a shilling divulged most willingly that the proprietor and editor as well as chief journalist of the Argus was the young barrister whose chambers were next door to the editorial offices. “Nobody is supposed to know it,” the boy said contemptuously, “but such things can’t be kept secret.”
“Thank you,” James said, and watched the dark-haired boy return to his place of work. He had not taken to the lad, who would probably sell his own grandmother for another shilling. Presently he was ushered into the barrister’s office by a morose clerk, and found himself facing a young man who looked no more than twenty-three, blond and guileless. His confidence in the apprentice’s information faltered. Surely this open, youthful countenance could not belong to the author of scurrilous articles? But neither did the young man look like a typical barrister. He would have hesitated to employ this youth for any affair of importance. No judge would take his pleas seriously.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Ellsworthy?” The young man’s accents were those of a gentleman from his own class. James decided to put his cards on the table.
“I understand that in addition to your activities as a barrister you are also the editor of the Society Argus,” he said, watching the man’s face carefully.
He had clearly underestimated the other, for his mien did not change, other than his lips turning into a slight quizzical smile. “I suppose Tom from the print shop sold me out? At least you have not brought a horsewhip, from what I can see.”
“I am not a violent man in the normal course of things,” James said mildly. “Have you really made acquaintance with horsewhips in your profession?”
“Just recently.” There was nothing of shame or anger in the young barrister’s good-natured expression. “Sit down, Mr. Ellsworthy. Did my clerk give you my name? It is Michael Selbington.”
“Any relation to the Earl of Brincastle?”
“Yes, but we are a prolific family, and most of us have to earn our living as best we can. I am a barrister, as you see, but over the last year cases have been slow in coming. I amused my idle hours by writing the Argus, and had a few copies printed up by the printer downstairs, almost as a lark at first. Before I knew it, the paper had become a weekly publication with two thousand regular subscribers; though not profitable until I accepted advertisements.”
“I admire your enterprising spirit,” James said, “though I could wish you had not written about my friend, Lord Molyneux, and his engagement. The story about his secret marriage is pure bunkum, and should be retracted forthwith.”
“So you say,” Selbington said sceptically. “The lady from whom I had the information sounded most convincing. And if it was untrue, why would the Duke of Ottway have come to my premises yesterday, with the afore-mentioned horsewhip?”
“Did he find you?” James looked at the barrister speculatively. Selbington was a tall, strong man. Ottway, though built on similarly generous lines as his son Rook, would not have found it easy to beat him.
“I happened to be next door, and he did indeed find me,” Selbington said. “He did not count on my having a measuring rod at hand, only of wood, but still a handy weapon against a whip. He got me across my arm, but I gave as good as I got, and he will sport a bruise on his cheek for the next few days.”
“You aren’t afraid of being sued for attacking a Duke?”
“Afraid? When it was clearly self-defence, in my own office? I devoutly wish he might try. That would give me a chance to show what I can do in a courtroom.” There was a gleam of wistful enthusiasm in Selbington’s blue eyes. “Because I look so ridiculously young, I am not taken seriously in my chosen profession. A case like that, which would be observed and reported on by everyone, would be just the advertisement I need.”
“Well, if you go on printing articles like that, it is only a question of time till you get the chance.” Much against his expectations, James could not help liking the young man. “But my own purpose is urgent. The young woman from whom you received your information – a very young lady with big brown eyes, is that right?” - to his frustration the barrister remained completely impassive – “is only eighteen, and all alone in town, while her parents are desperately seeking her. It is on their behalf that I am here, and implore you to help me find the girl before it is too late.”
“Why are you here, and not her father? Or Lord Molyneux?”
“Her father is an elderly man, broken by this disastrous event, his only child running away in the middle of the night. From the letter she left, we feared the worst. Molyneux is not here because the story of their secret wedding is not true – I assure you that he never would marry in secret. I know him well, and he’s no more likely to do such a thing than you or I – less likely, in fact.” James’s own wedding had been, if not exactly secret, decidedly hush-hush at the time.
“I see.” The young man looked at him keenly, and James met his challenging gaze without flinching. If there was any chance at all that the young man knew Miss Prentice’s whereabouts, he had to be persuaded to divulge them.
“I don’t know her direction for sure,” Selbington said after a few moments of thought. “I did recommend a place to her, where a young woman could stay in safety, for little money. She promised to come back here yesterday afternoon, but never showed up. I was starting to worry about her.”
“What establishment? I’ll go straight there and make enquires,” James said eagerly. A solid trace at last!
“I shall go with you,” Selbington said, getting up from his own chair. “I only have your word that you have her best interests at heart. And as a journalist, it goes against the grain to betray a source.”
“It is not a betrayal, you must know yourself that a young lady in her situation is in great danger,” James pointed out. “How did you know her story was true, by the way?”
“I knew who she was, since I had written a series on the year’s debutantes some weeks ago. Her description of the Marquess receiving the news of his betrothal was most vivid.” James shook his head, remembering that Miss Prentice had not even been present at the time. “So was her story of the secret marriage, for fear of the Duke’s opposition. From what I have heard of Ottway before, and seen for myself yesterday, that sounded quite likely.”
“Not if you knew Rook – his son – he’s not one to buckle under without a fight, or to do anything in secret, such as allowing his wife to go on pretending that she’s still a debutante. She’s not up to his weight, in any case.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Selbington looked at him angrily.
“A match between the Marquess and Miss Prentice – see, I already know her name – would not be a good idea, for a number of reasons. But as I’m talking to the editor of the Society Argus, I’m not going to say any more on that head.”
The two men made their way downstairs, Selbington leading the way. Within five minutes they came to a modest boarding house, and asked to speak to the owner.
What they learned from the woman was alarming. Yes, a young lady with brown eyes had taken a room there, and spent a single night, though she paid for three nights in advance. She had gone out around noon the previous day, and never returned. Her few belongings were still in the room.
James and Selbington exchanged horrified looks. A small bribe enabled them to look over Miss Prentice’s things – a modest bag, some garments, an expensive hairbrush and comb. There were no papers of any kind, nor did they find a purse.
“This is bad,” the barrister said as they left, after arranging for the landlady to send to them immediately, should the young woman return to her room. “Holborn is not the worst of neighbourhoods, but far from the best, and there is danger everywhere for a pretty young girl on her own. I should not have let her out of my sight when she first came to me.”
“Indeed, but let’s not lose hope yet. Have I mentioned that Bow Street is informed of the case, and that I have offered a reward of three hundred guineas to whoever finds the girl?”
“That should be enough to ensure a good many people looking for her,” Selbington said. “In the meantime, I shall do my best to search right here in this neighbourhood.”
“Tell me at once if you find any trace,” James requested. “I shall write to Mr Prentice and ask him to come to London himself, to assist in the search.”
“And if she’s not found by then, I’ll publicize the search in the next issue of the Argus,” the barrister said. “But I warn you, the Duke of Ottway is not going to like what I’m going to write.”
“I don’t care what you write about the Duke. Give him hell, just so long as we find the blasted girl.”
Chapter 20
George told Rook he had some bad news, and to join him in the library after breakfast. Had Miss Prentice killed herself after all, now that her good name was forever sunk? It seemed only too likely. If not, what else could it be?
The article from the Society Argus, and James’s terse report that the girl had apparently gone straight to the newspaper office when she left the mail coach, made Rook see red, as soon as the first relief was over. What had he ever done to Miss Prentice, for her to take such a devilish revenge on him? So he had not returned her regard - she was only one in dozens who had experienced the same lack of response, and who had gone on with their lives and found other loves, as any sensible person would. Miss Prentice should never have been released from her nursery, and set among adults to wreak havoc on her own life, and his.
“Father must have been enraged,” he said as dispassionately as he could manage, after reading both sheets twice over. “If I know him, he would have gone straight to this newspaper’s office, to punish the author, and put the fear of God in him.”
“Fear of the Duke, you mean,” Amberley said. “It is good news in a way, in that Miss Prentice is indubitably alive and making mischief, but on the other hand it puts you into an even worse position than before.”
“I look like a total fool, you mean,” Rook said. “That has not changed, but now the whole world knows it.” If it had allowed him to escape the unwanted betrothal, he could have borne it better. But this -!
George looked uncommonly serious. “Worse than a fool, if you had really contracted a secret marriage. That is the act of a knave. But look on the bright side. It is possible that the notoriety, and the suspicion that you are already married, will cause your betrothed to think better of your match.”
Rook shook his head. He knew that Gisela would not regard it; she considered herself above such sordid gossip.
“How are you getting on with the Princess, may I ask?”
It was bad form to discuss your betrothed, but Rook had nobody else in whom he could confide. Even so, he hesitated a few seconds, gathering his impressions. “She’s not a bad person, George – just incredibly dull, and interested in entirely different things than I. In these days I’ve gained a fairly good insight into her character and values, and I still do not feel the slightest scintilla of desire to wed and bed her.” George threw him a sympathetic glance. “It certainly is time I was married, but this is not the way I wanted to go about it. If it were the Komtesse, now, I could more easily reconcile myself to the prospect.”
“The Komtesse?” George blinked. “That iceberg? She may be younger and prettier, but no more cosy a handful. She never utters a word that she has not carefully weighed in advance. I grant you she’s good-looking, but in a wife you want a modicum of passion as well.”
“She has that; she just hides it better than most. Anna von Rosenfels is out of the common way, and it is beyond distracting to have to converse with the Princess when I’d rather tease and flirt with the Komtesse. And did you see how well she rides? A veritable Amazon.”
“I suppose that would be important to you,” George said doubtfully. “Under the circumstances, I can only advise you to put her out of your mind, since nothing can come of such misplaced admiration.”
“I know.” Rook already regretted having spoken so openly. “Please forget what I just told you. As for my situation, I have been waiting with growing impatience for a reply from Father, regarding the dowry negotiations. Since the Princess would wed even a dead dog as long as her father commanded it, the only chance of averting the match is through the Prince. That my own father has not replied to my urgent enquiry is beyond vexing. I have been considering going up to London to confront him myself, and wring the information from him.”
“But it would be most discourteous to leave while the Princess is in residence,” George said, “and your father wrote he was coming anyway, didn’t he? You can have it out with him in privacy right here.”
“I will, as soon as he shows up. And I’m not sure he is still in London.” Rook was braced for a monumental clash, and would have preferred that it not take place in Amberley’s house, but apparently there was no help for it. “By the way, I have sent for my dog, he should arrive soon. I hope this is not an inconvenience.” Jarl should arrive within the next three days, if the groom who was bringing him did not dawdle on the road. He better had not.
&nbs
p; “Of course not, but I’m afraid the Princess will not like it. Or is that why you did it?”
“Not entirely, though I want her to know that if she weds me Jarl will be part of our household. I’m not going to defer to her ridiculous prejudice on that point. No, I was rather thinking ahead - in case of a complete rupture with my Father, I would not want him to hold Jarl hostage, and break the poor hound’s heart over our disagreements.” He could have added that his own heart would also suffer, except that it would have sounded unacceptably maudlin.
“I see. I remember the dog from my last visit years ago, when he was a mere pup.”
“He’s much better behaved now, downright civilized.”
“I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t bite Verena’s little dog, or any of the children.”
“No danger of that, Jarl is very good-natured.” Except when he saw a cat or squirrel, but Rook would make sure he did not kill any local feline, and despite his best efforts, Jarl had yet to catch a squirrel. That he could not climb trees caused him ongoing frustration.
“If it should come to such a rupture, have you thought what you will do with yourself?” George asked casually, turning the large globe standing in front of a brimming bookcase, and looking at the Americas, rather than at Rook. Did every one of his friends and relatives worry about his future? Was he as helpless as all that?
“Of course, but I have not come to any definitive conclusions yet. And it may not come to that. Whatever happens, it has done me good to take a good long look at my circumstances. I shall need to find a proper outlet for my energy that is independent of my father. Politics is one possibility, but I’d rather continue to breed horses. It is more fun, and yields better results.” He spoke more lightly than he felt.