The Bride Hunt

by Jane Feather

  “All briefs to be considered by Sir Gideon are presented through me,” the clerk stated.

  They seemed to have reached an impasse. Prudence knew that if she turned and left she would never be able to return, but if she meekly handed over the papers she had in her handbag she had no guarantee that they wouldn’t go straight into the already overflowing wastepaper basket beside the clerk’s desk. So she simply stood her ground.

  Sir Gideon’s clerk continued to regard her with that same shrewdness from behind his pince-nez. He was thinking that his principal had a rather eccentric attitude to some of the cases he took. Sir Gideon frequently took on a brief that Thadeus considered a complete waste of time, quite unworthy of his principal’s attention. When he expressed his reservations they were always met with a careless shrug and the comment that a man’s brain needed something out of the ordinary now and again to keep it alive and well.

  Thadeus was wondering what Sir Gideon would think of his present visitor. A lady of undeniable quality, and some considerable strength of will, he decided. She wouldn’t stand out in a crowd—but then, Sir Gideon didn’t care for the flamboyant, except when it came to the exotic dancers he seemed to prefer as mistresses.

  Prudence glanced at the closed inner door, and then at the barrister’s court dress on the coat rack. If it was there, then the barrister was presumably not in court. “Is Sir Gideon in chambers?” she asked.

  “No, madam, not as yet.”

  “When do you expect him?”

  “Sir Gideon’s personal arrangements are no concern of mine, madam.”

  “Ah.” So, whatever had taken him from his office this morning was not related to the law, she inferred.

  “Leave me the brief, madam, and I assure you that Sir Gideon will see it,” the clerk stated. “Otherwise, I must ask you to excuse me. I have work to do.”

  There seemed nothing for it. Prudence opened her bag and took out the copy of The Mayfair Lady, with the article marked, and the solicitor’s letter. “The suit concerns this broadsheet,” she said. “You will see that I have marked the relevant piece.”

  The clerk took the thin sheaf of papers. “This is the brief?” he asked, raising incredulous eyebrows.

  “No, I wouldn’t call it that,” Prudence said. “I’m not a solicitor, as we’ve just established. But everything Sir Gideon will need to understand the situation is there.”

  “With the exception of your name, madam.”

  “This libel suit is filed against The Mayfair Lady, that’s all the name Sir Gideon needs.”

  Thadeus looked at her and the semblance of a smile touched his thin mouth. “You do not know my principal, madam. I do assure you he will need a great deal more than that.”

  “Well, if he decides to take the case, he shall have more than that,” Prudence declared brusquely. “In the meantime, a message sent to this address will reach me.” She handed him a folded paper.

  Thadeus unfolded the sheet. “Mrs. Henry Franklin, Flat A, Palace Court, Bayswater,” he read aloud. He looked again at her, his gaze drifting to her ringless fingers. This was not a lady with a Bayswater aura. She exuded Mayfair, for all the simplicity of her dress.

  “A message to this address will reach you?”

  “That is what I said, I believe.” Prudence put on her gloves, her movements crisp. “I will expect to hear from Sir Gideon by the end of the week. It shouldn’t take him very long to make up his mind. The issue is very straightforward.”

  “Libel is rarely straightforward, madam,” the clerk responded. He offered her a small bow. “I bid you good morning.”

  “Good morning.” Prudence turned back to the door, only then realizing that Chastity was not immediately behind her. She went out onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind her, revealing her sister, who had been standing in the shadows behind the door. “Chas, why didn’t you come in?” she whispered.

  “It was so cramped in there,” Chastity explained. “It seemed better to stay outside. Did you mind?”

  “No. To tell you the truth, I didn’t realize you weren’t in the room,” Prudence said, still keeping her voice low as she descended the stairs. “Didn’t you think he was an obstreperous man?”

  “Yes, but you stood up to him beautifully. He obviously sees himself as Cerberus, guarding the gates to his principal.”

  Prudence chuckled, then shook her head. “I only hope he shows the papers to that principal.” She laid a hand on the handle of the street door, talking over her shoulder as she did so. The door opened abruptly, nearly knocking her sideways, and she reeled back, still clutching the knob.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize anyone was on the other side.” A male voice that was both well modulated and unusually quiet spoke above her.

  She looked up at the owner of the voice, too startled for a minute to respond. It was hard to get much of an impression in the dim light of the narrow hallway, but she thought his eyes were gray. “Sir Gideon Malvern?” she asked directly.

  “At your service, madam.” There was a questioning note to the courteous response. The gray eyes moved beyond her to Chastity, who still stood on the bottom step.

  “The Mayfair Lady,” Prudence said, holding out her hand. “Your clerk will explain the situation.”

  “Indeed.” He took her hand, his clasp firm enough to be called a grip. “How intriguing.” He dropped her hand and consulted the fob watch that hung from his waistcoat pocket. “I would ask you to explain it yourself, but unfortunately I have to be in court in half an hour.”

  “Your clerk knows how to reach us,” Prudence said, smiling faintly. “Good morning, Sir Gideon.”

  “Good morning, madam.” He bowed and stepped aside so that she could pass into the street. He smiled at Chastity with the same inquiring air as she stepped down from the stair. “Two Mayfair ladies?”

  Chastity merely inclined her head, murmured, “Good morning,” and followed her sister into the street. The door closed behind them.

  “At least that will ensure that the obstreperous clerk won’t withhold the papers,” Prudence said, looking at the closed door, tapping her lips with a gloved forefinger. “Sir Gideon said he was intrigued, so he’s bound to ask what we were doing. His clerk can’t deny we were here.”

  “No,” agreed Chastity. “That was a good morning’s work. I don’t see what else we can do until we hear from him.”

  “I think we’ve earned coffee at Fortnum’s,” her sister declared.

  “It was an inspiration to use Amelia and Henry’s address,” Chastity said as they walked towards Chancery Lane. “No one will connect the Franklins with the Duncans of Manchester Square.”

  “Unless the barrister hires a private detective. He could discover the connection between Henry and Max in the blink of an eye. Politicians’ secretaries are not hard to trace.” Amelia Westcott and Henry Franklin had been the Go-Between’s first official clients. Now happily married and expecting their first child, they had kept close connections with the Duncan sisters, and Henry worked as secretary for Constance’s husband in the House of Commons.

  “He’s hardly going to go to those lengths,” Chastity protested. “If he wants to take the case, he’ll get everything he needs from us. If he doesn’t, why would he go to the trouble and expense of investigating us?”

  “There’s truth in that,” Prudence agreed. But she felt vaguely uneasy. Although it had only been a momentary encounter, and a perfectly pleasant one, something about those gray eyes had disturbed her; but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Sir Gideon Malvern entered his chambers and greeted his clerk in his usual fashion. “Coffee, Thadeus, as strong as you can make it.”

  “The water’s already heating, Sir Gideon. I trust your meeting at Miss Sarah’s school was satisfactory.” The clerk had risen from behind his desk to attend to the water on the spirit stove.

  “Yes, Sarah’s headmistress had only good things to say,” Gideon said.

  “Not
surprising, sir. Miss Sarah is as bright as a button.”

  “And as sharp as a needle.” Gideon’s laugh was both proud and affectionate as he capped the cliché. He took off his gloves and bowler hat, laying them on the bench by the door. “So, tell me about our visitors.”

  Thadeus poured boiling water onto the coffee in a copper jug before he spoke, then he straightened slowly, the jug in his hand. “Visitors, sir? I only saw one.”

  “Oh, there were two, all right.” Gideon went into the inner office. “Mayfair ladies, they called themselves. In other circumstances with such a name I would have thought they were a pair of madams seeking business.” He went behind the massive oak table that served as his desk but didn’t take a seat.

  Thadeus permitted himself a frown of disapproval as he set the coffee and a cup on the table. “The only one I met, sir, was very respectable.”

  “How dull.” Gideon poured coffee, inhaling the aroma with a sigh of pleasure. “I couldn’t see them clearly in the gloom downstairs. I wonder if we should install another gas lamp in the hall.”

  “We have sufficient gas lamps, sir,” the other announced repressively. “But I would consider an additional oil lantern on the hook beside the door.”

  “No . . . no, leave it as it is.” The barrister waved a dismissive hand. “So, enlighten me.”

  Thadeus went into the outer office and returned with the papers Prudence had left him. “A libel case, sir. But the lady wishes to act as her own solicitor. She wishes to brief you herself.”

  “Oh, now, that’s novel. Not in the least dull; just goes to show how appearances can be deceiving.” Gideon drank his coffee and glanced at the copy of The Mayfair Lady. He nodded his comprehension. “We have an explanation for our Mayfair ladies, it seems.”

  “I have not, as yet, had the opportunity to read the details of the suit,” Thadeus said, as if conscious of some dereliction of duty.

  “How could you have done? They’ve only just left you.” Gideon set down his drained coffee cup in the saucer and gathered up the papers. “I’ll read these while the jury’s out at the Old Bailey. It’s an open-and-shut case. I’m hoping they won’t be out more than an hour, so it won’t be worth going back to chambers while they’re discussing a verdict. I may as well use my time profitably.” He strode energetically into the outer office, swinging his black gown off the coat rack.

  “There’s an address in Bayswater, Sir Gideon. The lady said we should contact her there.”

  “Bayswater?” Gideon turned in surprise, his wig in his hands. “Neither of those ladies carried the mark of Bayswater.”

  “No, I didn’t think so either. I’m assuming the address is purely in the nature of a poste restante, to preserve anonymity.”

  “Now, why do they want to preserve their anonymity?” Gideon crammed the wig on his head and took a cursory glance in the mirror to check its position. “Every brief I’ve had in the last six months has been utterly tedious. I’m in need of a change and a challenge, Thadeus. Maybe this will furnish both.”

  He turned the wig a fraction so it no longer sat askew over his left ear, and mused, “Of course, what I’d really like is a nice juicy murder, but our two ladies didn’t look like murderers. However, as I just said, appearances can be deceiving. We must live in hope.” He raised a hand in farewell, and left in a whirlwind of energy that Thadeus regarded with approval and a faint sigh of vicarious exhaustion.

  “I could wish we didn’t have to deal with an At Home this afternoon,” Chastity said as the sisters returned home. “It’s so much more tedious without Constance.”

  “Don’t forget, this is a fee-collecting occasion,” Prudence reminded her. “We’re working.” She put her key in the door. “Just imagine a hundred guineas in the bank account.”

  “Oh, that’ll keep me at the grindstone,” Chastity said. “Hello, Jenkins,” she greeted the butler cheerfully as he came into the hall from the library.

  “Miss Chas, Miss Prue.” The butler had a smile on his face.

  “What is it, Jenkins?” Chastity demanded. “You have a secret. Don’t deny it.”

  His smile broadened. “A telegram, Miss Chas.”

  “From Con?” the sisters asked in unison.

  “So I believe.” He walked with stately tread to the table that held the mail. “Postmarked Calais, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “Calais? They must be on their way home.” Prudence took the wire. “When did it arrive?”

  “About an hour ago. I’ve laid a cold luncheon in the small dining parlor for you. Lord Duncan is lunching at his club.”

  “Thank you.” Prudence tore open the wire.

  “So, when are they arriving?” Chastity tried not to hop with impatience.

  “She doesn’t say exactly . . . the boat is . . . was . . . supposed to leave yesterday morning, but the sea was rough, so they decided to wait . . . except she can’t wait. Oh, here, you read it.” Prudence thrust the wire at her sister, her eyes dancing with delight. “Any day now, I think.”

  “The sooner the better,” Chastity said jubilantly as they went into the dining parlor for luncheon.

  “We have to give them a day to get settled in,” Prudence said, surveying the table’s offering. Cold ham, a beetroot salad, bread, and cheese.

  “You know Con won’t wait a moment before she comes over,” Chastity said, slicing bread thickly and passing a hunk to her sister on the tip of the knife.

  “She might regret being in a hurry when she hears what we have to tell her,” Prudence observed, buttering her bread and taking several slices of ham from the platter. “I wonder how soon we shall hear from Sir Gideon. It can’t take him too long to read the article and get the picture.”

  “It might take him longer to make up his mind.” Chastity speared beetroot. “Shall I pour coffee?”

  Prudence nodded her thanks through a mouthful of bread and ham. Her mind turned now to the afternoon ahead. There was nothing that could be done to hurry the barrister’s decision, but the two hours a week when the Honorable Misses Duncan were At Home had proved fruitful ground for acquiring clients for the Go-Between. They were gathering quite a register now of eligible men and women, who were, of course, sublimely unaware that they had been chosen as possible partners for some future unknowns should the opportunity present itself.

  “I wonder if Susanna Deerfold will come this afternoon,” Chastity said, tuning in to her sister’s thoughts. “I thought she was getting along rather well with William Sharpe last week.”

  “We sowed a few seeds,” Prudence agreed. “If they do come, I thought I’d suggest they visit the Elgin Marbles together. Susanna was extolling the virtues of Greek sculpture the other night, and I’m sure I heard William lecturing someone on the glories of the Parthenon.”

  “And once we’ve set them on the merry course to matrimony, do we demand a charitable donation?” Chastity inquired with a grin.

  “Oh, definitely, but maybe not for indigent spinsters, maybe some fund to help preserve the treasures of Greece,” Prudence said airily.

  “Isn’t this illegal . . . something akin to fraud? Raising money under false pretenses?” Chastity asked.

  “I’m sure it is. But what’s a working woman to do?” Prudence tossed her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair. “I’ll go and change, then check the flowers in the drawing room.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  By half past three the sisters surveyed a pleasantly humming drawing room. “No sign of Lady Lucan or Lady Winthrop,” Chastity murmured as she passed her sister carrying a platter of scones.

  Prudence offered a minute shrug in response and turned as Jenkins announced Lady Letitia Graham and Miss Pamela Graham. “Letitia, how lovely to see you.” She went forward to greet Constance’s sister-in-law with a brushing kiss, then bent to the small girl who stood beside her mother. “Good afternoon, Pamela.” She shook the girl’s hand and refrained from commenting that children of Pamela’s age were better employed
, not to mention more amused, in the schoolroom on an autumn afternoon. A drawing room full of adult gossip was a tedious place for a six-year-old.

  “Oh, the governess left,” Letitia said with a sigh and an outflung hand. “No notice, would you believe? She just packed and left straight after breakfast. And this is Nanny’s afternoon out and the nursemaid has the toothache . . . so inconsiderate. So, here we are, aren’t we, Pammy?” She gave the child a brittle smile that the child received in stolid silence.

  “Oh, how tiresome for you, my dear.” Lady Bainbridge beckoned imperiously from her armchair. “You seem to have so much trouble with governesses, dear. Perhaps you need to try another agency. Do come and sit by me . . . I’m sure I can remember the agency who sent me the treasure who took care of Martha and Mary . . . what was her name?” She swung her rather large head towards her daughters, who sat primly side by side on the sofa opposite.

  “Miss Grayson, Mama,” supplied Martha.

  “She was with us for more than ten years, Mama,” reminded Mary.

  Chastity noted the faintest hint of sarcasm in the daughters’ responses, not enough for their mother to notice. Lady Bainbridge was deaf to all such nuances, but it was quite heartening to hear from a pair of downtrodden sisters who hadn’t managed to look their mother in the eye from the moment of their births.

  “Lady Lucan and Lady Winthrop,” Jenkins announced as the two dowagers sailed into the drawing room.

  Chastity set down her plate of scones and went over to where Pamela, now abandoned by her mother, stood beside Prudence. “Would you like to help me pass around the cream for the scones, Pamela?” She took the child’s hand and led her off to the sideboard, freeing her sister to greet the donators to the charity for indigent spinsters.

  “Lady Lucan . . . Lady Winthrop . . .” Prudence smiled her best smile. “How delightful to see you. How are the wedding plans progressing?”

  “Oh, very well,” said the Dowager Lady Lucan.

  “Quite splendidly,” said the Dowager Lady Winthrop. “Hester is an angel in her wedding gown. The train is nearly ten feet long.” She took a tiny scrap of lace from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “Winthrop would have been so proud . . . to have walked her down the aisle. Such a loss for a poor girl on her wedding day.”