by Mary Nichols
James galloped his horse into the suburbs of London where he reluctantly slowed it to a walk on account of the heavy traffic. The whole country seemed to be descending on the capital for the trial which was due to begin the following Thursday. He wished he did not have to attend as he had no interest in the antics of the Royal family. His concern was solely for Lavinia. He fervently hoped that she had not been such a goose as to accept Lord Wincote’s offer of marriage while he had been away. She had been angry enough to do something foolish, but surely not enough to agree to a marriage that would undoubtedly make her miserable.
He would have liked to have gone direct to Stanmore House but he was tired, dusty and dishevelled from riding on hard-baked roads and so he turned his horse towards home. Tomorrow morning he would seek out Donald Greenaway and tell him what he had discovered. After that he would call at Stanmore House. He was impatient to see Lavinia, though he was unsure how much he should tell her, if anything at all. She might not believe him and would flare up in defence of Wincote as she had done after the fireworks. He must be very sure of his ground before shattering her hopes and dreams.
It took him some time to find Major Greenaway the next day, but he tracked him down at last at the boxing emporium in Bond Street where he was sparring with one of Gentleman Jackson’s assistants.
‘James, you are just in time,’ the Major greeted him. ‘I was about to leave and find some breakfast. Unless you would like to strip off and go a round or two?’
‘No, thank you, I am still saddle sore. Breakfast will do me very well.’
They left discussing the issues which had brought them together until they were sitting in a local hostelry with ham, eggs, meat pies and coffee in front of them, and then it was Donald who spoke first. ‘I’ve questioned all the men who were helping with the fireworks,’ he said. ‘They are all accounted for. Not that I didn’t expect it.’
‘What about the diamond clips, any sign of them?’
‘No. Our man is cunning enough not to use the same receiver twice. And I have been instructed by Lord Graham not to proceed with the enquiry on his behalf, so I think he must have found the money to pay the blackmailer. It appears we are getting nowhere.’
‘Not quite nowhere, my friend. I went up to Cumberland to see for myself.’
‘And?’
‘I discovered the Wincote estate is not only mortgaged, it is almost derelict. The people I spoke to, tenants of the estate for the most part, have not seen Wincote since his grandfather died. The rents are collected by an agent and nothing has been done about the upkeep and repair of their property, though the agent has promised them the trouble is only temporary and everything will be set to rights in a few weeks. As for the mining rights, they have been taken over in lieu of debts.’
‘Whose debts?’
‘The grandfather’s; lost in foolhardy investments. I found a one-time servant who was prepared to talk. He might have had an axe to grind and we should not rely too much on his evidence, but he told me the old man went to pieces after the death of the older grandson, Henry, and he hated Edmund. After the tragedy, they lived together in the same house in a state of dreadful enmity. It was so bad none of the servants would stay.’
‘Why?’
‘My informant, a Nathaniel Birch, was somewhat havey-cavey about it, but hinted there was something strange about Henry’s death.’
‘You mean he was murdered?’
James shrugged. ‘Who’s to say? He fell down the stairs and was impaled on an old pike which was kept on the wall in the hall. According to Birch it was not possible, even if he had dislodged the pike in his fall. I tried to get into the house to see for myself, but it was locked and barred and all the windows boarded up.’
‘Were there any witnesses?’
‘Only the old man.’
‘Where was Edmund at the time?’
‘It was late at night and he was in his room, so he said in evidence. He came out when he heard the commotion and this was corroborated by his grandfather.’
‘And thereafter they were enemies?’
‘That’s the way it was told to me.’
‘Do you believe it?’
‘I don’t know what to believe. As I said, my informant might have had an ulterior motive, but if it is true and Edmund is capable of murdering his brother, a strong healthy man, in order to inherit the estate, then ridding himself of a wife, especially a young and trusting one, would not be difficult. I fear for Lavinia if she accepts him.’
‘James, this is all conjecture, and without proof, it would be most unwise to speak of it to anyone else. But Lady Lavinia will surely not accept him if you tell her the condition of the estate; you need say nothing of your other suspicions.’
‘She will fly into the boughs. She thinks I have an aversion to Lord Wincote for no reason and telling her his house needs repairing would not put her off. It might very well drive her into his arms.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Wealth or lack of it would not count with her if her affections were genuinely engaged.’
‘I can’t see how you are going to prove criminal intent. The old man is dead and Wincote is not going to confess.’
‘No. But we can try to prove he took those jewels.’
‘Not an easy task, my friend, when there are hundreds of angling coves in the capital and the clips could well be broken up by now.’
‘True, but it is our only hope.’
‘I will do my best.’
‘Thank you. I knew I could rely on you, but time is not on our side. Vinny may shackle herself to him at any moment, even though the Duchess did prevail upon her to wait until after the play has been performed.’
‘And if he should be innocent?’
‘I’ll wager he is not.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Sir Percy has another ploy, but I am not sure it will work, and if it does Lady Rattenshaw is also in danger. I shall have to warn them.’ He finished the dregs of his coffee, now grown cold, and stood up. ‘I must be off. Contact me if you discover anything.’ He threw some coins onto the table to pay for the breakfast and left. But when he went to Brook Street, he was told that Sir Percy was not at home and was not expected back until late afternoon.
While James was talking to Major Greenaway, Lavinia was in Hatchard’s in Piccadilly with Daisy, browsing among the shelves for a book her stepmama had asked for when suddenly she saw Lord Wincote and Lady Rattenshaw enter the shop together. They had their heads together, laughing in an intimate kind of way, and did not see her. Instead of coming forward to greet them, as she should have done, she stepped back behind the shelf, pulling the astonished Daisy after her. ‘Shh, not a word,’ she hissed.
They stayed out of sight, while her ladyship chose and paid for two books and then she and Lord Wincote left. Lavinia emerged from her hiding place to see them climb into her ladyship’s carriage and drive away. But she had heard Lady Rattenshaw address Lord Wincote as ‘Edmund dear’ and he had called her Emma. It had been said so easily, as if they were used to the intimacy and it left Lavinia shaken to the core.
‘Well, I never did!’ Daisy said, as she joined Lavinia. ‘Nice and cosy, weren’t they?’
‘Oh, it is of no consequence,’ Lavinia said airily. ‘I believe they are old friends.’ That was not true, at least she did not think it was, but she could not allow Daisy to see how much it had affected her. Edmund had not been so attentive in the last two weeks, but she had supposed he was only doing as she asked and was waiting until after the trial and the performance of the play; now it was clear he had tired of her.
She found the book she was looking for and, having purchased it, hurried home without doing the rest of the shopping she had planned. This new development needed some thought and she could not think properly surrounded by people and with Daisy chattering beside her. As soon as she had taken off her outdoor clothes, she went into the ballroom and began adding to the scene she was painting of a room in Theseus’s palace. The outline had already been done and it was simply a matte
r of adding depth, light and shadow.
The first question she asked herself was how much did she care? The answer was she cared a great deal, but honesty made her admit that it was her pride that was hurt more than her heart. The whole haut monde knew Lord Wincote had spoken to her father and proposed marriage so, even though she had deferred giving him an answer, the offer was binding on him.
She took her mind back to when she had first met Lord Wincote and how he had flattered her and after that how he had used every opportunity to make his intentions known, especially at that demonstration of mesmerism. He had been intent on capturing her heart then, everyone knew it. And since then, at rehearsals, he had said he was waiting patiently for her answer. Had he changed? Had Lady Rattenshaw drawn him away with sweet words and compliments and her vulgar display of wealth? Could it possibly mean that he was a fortune-hunter, after all, and, having found he must wait for her dowry, had decided that Lady Rattenshaw’s wealth was more immediately available?
Only two days before, they had been doing the scene where Lysander wakes up after his eyes are anointed with the magic juice to find himself in love with Helena. Lord Wincote had imbued the scene with deep emotion, schooled, no doubt, by Lady Rattenshaw. ‘Content with Hermia,’ he had declared. ‘No; I do repent the tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia, but Helena now I love.’
Thinking about it, she recalled the looks that passed between them, the way he contrived to touch the lady’s hand when he thought no one was looking, the smiles they exchanged, the tone of their voices when they acted the love scenes. Would she have given that a second thought if it had not been for seeing them together in the bookshop?
The memory of it made her seethe with anger and she daubed great splashes of pink paint on the canvas, so furious she did not care where it went. If he thought… Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and brushed at them with the back of her hand, smudging her face with paint. Hurt pride, she was bound to admit, was almost as painful as a broken heart. Hearing footsteps approaching, she pulled herself together and quickly scrubbed at her eyes, ready to smile at whoever it was.
‘James!’ Her eyes lit up with pleasure, but quickly became clouded again. ‘You decided to come back, then.’
‘As you see.’ He smiled and walked forward, flinging his hat nonchalantly on a chair as he passed it. She was obviously unhappy and, though he was tempted to rush forward and comfort her, he did not want her to frighten her with a show of affection she would not welcome. ‘You know, that backcloth was coming along nicely, and now you have spoiled it.’
‘I do not care,’ she said angrily, throwing another brushful of paint at it. ‘I wish I had never thought of doing the silly play. I wish I had stayed at Risley all summer…’
‘My dear, what has brought this on? I thought rehearsals were going very well, especially since Lady Rattenshaw joined the company.’
‘Lady Rattenshaw! Not you, too.’
‘What do you mean, not me, too?’
‘Toadying to her as if she were the answer to everything. Who is she anyway? Coming here and—’
‘Vinny, Vinny,’ he said, taking her wrists in his hands to stop her flinging paint all over the room. ‘What has she done?’ He took the paintbrush from her and put it down on the table beside the paint pot, then took her shoulders in his hands so that she was obliged to face him. Her distress hurt him so much that he began to wonder if she really did love Wincote. He should never have colluded with Sir Percy in introducing Lady Rattenshaw into Society. ‘Could it have something to do with Lord Wincote?’
‘You know?’ She stared up at him, her huge green eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. Had she somehow discovered the truth?
‘Know what, my dear?’ he asked, endeavouring to keep his voice light.
‘That he and…and Lady Rattenshaw are…are becoming very close?’
‘Are they?’ he queried, relieved that it was not the worst he had feared. ‘I can’t say I noticed.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have, considering you have spent the last ten days in the country, instead of here attending rehearsals. He used to be so attentive. I thought he was sincere…’
‘Perhaps he is and his attention to Lady Rattenshaw is all very innocent.’
‘Then why did he call her “Emma dear”? I heard him say it. And she is driving him around in her carriage for all the world as if… He is making a laughing stock of me.’
‘How can that be? One visit to a book shop together means nothing and you may be sure if he had been seen in the lady’s company more than once, you would have heard of it. There is nothing the haut monde likes better than a good gossip.’ How he hated playing the devil’s advocate, but until Donald found some evidence, he could say nothing.
‘That is just what I mean.’
‘But you have not accepted his offer, have you? There is nothing official.’
‘No, but everyone knows he made it.’ That was what she found so humiliating, that others might have noticed. ‘I may have told him I want time to consider his offer, but that does not mean he can go off and pay court to someone else. He should at least have waited until I turned him down.’
‘Are you going to turn him down?’ he asked casually, though inside he felt like singing.
‘I have not made up my mind and I would certainly not tell anyone before I had communicated my decision to him,’ she said sharply. ‘So you must wait and see, like everyone else.’
Wait and see, those were the words Percy had used. Now their chickens were coming home to roost and he was not at all sure they had done the right thing if it meant his darling Vinny was going to be hurt. And could he be sure his own motives had been altruistic? After all, he hoped to gain the lady himself in the end. And there was no guarantee she would turn to him, simply because Lord Wincote had let her down. ‘Very well, my dear,’ he said. ‘But if you think he is not sincere, why wait to give him his congé?’
‘Because, if I do that, he will surely walk out on the play and where will I find another Lysander so late in the day?’
‘Oh, the play,’ he said, dismissively.
‘Yes, the play,’ she said, her determination returning. Now James was here, she could face them all. ‘If Edmund Wincote thinks I am going into a decline because he sees fit to play fast and loose, then he may think again.’
He laughed and touched her cheek with the back of his finger. ‘Good for you, my love.’
His touch and the endearment were so unexpected that they set her pulses racing and made her breathless. He was so gentle and yet so firm; there were not many men who would put up with her tantrums. She took a huge gulp of air to steady herself. ‘Now you are here, I presume you are going to stay for the rehearsal. It is the last one before the trial starts. It is no use having any while that is on, no one will be able to concentrate and you and all the other peers will have to attend the House of Lords.’
He gave her an exaggerated bow accompanied by a wide smile. ‘I am at your service, as always.’
‘Good. I trust you have not been enjoying yourself so much you have forgotten your lines.’
If she had hoped he would deny he had been enjoying himself and tell her what he had really been doing, she was disappointed. He smiled.
He was tempted to tell her what was in his heart, but perhaps she was not in a mood to listen. Her whole mind was on Lord Wincote and Lady Rattenshaw.
‘Oh, Vinny, I wish…’ he began and then stopped as Sir Percy arrived, followed by Duncan, Benedict and Constance who were in turn followed by Lord Haverley with Sophia and Eliza. Whatever wish James had been going to voice was left unsaid.
In the general hubbub, Lavinia became aware that Lord Wincote and Lady Rattenshaw had not arrived. ‘They have never failed to attend before,’ she said. ‘I hope nothing untoward has happened.’
No one answered her. It may have been that they were as puzzled as she was, or perhaps too embarrassed to say what they thought. James glanced at Sir Percy, wh
o shrugged his shoulders.
‘Perhaps they have been held up,’ Benedict said. ‘I heard the Queen is moving back to town for the trial and is to stay in St James’s Square. There was a huge crowd outside number eighteen when I came past.’
‘It did not stop everyone else arriving,’ Lavinia put in, as they all began discussing the Queen moving into the square and the disruption it would cause to the residents of the area. ‘Oh, this would have to happen today of all days. Mr Lancelot Greatorex is coming to see how we do.’
‘Lancelot Greatorex?’ queried Martin Drew. ‘You mean the actor-manager?’
‘Yes. He will be here soon.’
This news was greeted with mixed feelings. The actor was bound to be dismissive of their amateurish efforts and if he took a part would certainly make them look ridiculous. Others, who did not mind making fools of themselves, realised it would certainly mean they would raise more money for the orphanage if his name was on the bill.
The missing two had still not arrived by the time Lancelot Greatorex had been announced and advanced into the room as if he were making an entrance on stage. He had a commanding presence that made everyone stop whatever they were doing and look at him. Dressed as he was in a green frock coat, pale green pantaloons and a yellow shirt, he outdid Sir Percy in the colourfulness of his attire. He stopped in the middle of the room, swept off his hat which had a peacock’s feather curling about its brim, and bowed right and left.
‘Mr Greatorex, how good of you to come,’ Lavinia said, hurrying forward to greet him while James hid his smile.
‘The pleasure is mine, dear lady.’ He looked about him as if summing up the cast. ‘Are you ready to begin?’
‘We would be, but I am afraid we are missing Helena and Lysander.’
‘Dear me, A Midsummer Night’s Dream without two of its main characters cannot be done. Actors, if they are to be true actors, are always reliable. They appear for rehearsals as assiduously as they appear for the performance.’