by Robyn DeHart
“Well, that simply makes no sense at all.”
“I believe I am the hotelier, not you, madam,” he said. “Now good day to all of you.”
The three of them did not speak until they were once again encased in the carriage.
“He was obviously lying,” Clarissa said boldly.
“I believe so too,” Justin said.
“One way to find out,” Ella said.
“And that is?” Justin asked.
“Lady Manchester, his cousin, it was her hotel. If she has the records, she would certainly allow you look at them,” Ella said, then she frowned. “I’m afraid she suffers from dementia though, so you’ll have to hope to catch her on a good day.”
“Perhaps today will be that good day,” Justin said. He knocked on the carriage ceiling and they stopped. He stepped out, gave the driver the address Ella rattled off for Lady Manchester’s and then they were off again.
“I have met Lady Manchester before,” Ella said. “So I suppose I shall be the one to introduce the two of you. I do hope she finds that good enough.”
“It will have to be. We need to speak with her,” Clarissa said.
Not a quarter of an hour later the three of them waited in Lady Manchester’s parlor. Unlike the hotel bearing her name, this room spoke of more immediate wealth. Justin sat in the only wooden, non-upholstered chair in the room while his wife huddled closely next to her friend on the settee. When the door opened, the three of them stood.
The lady walked in without the assistance of anyone and seemed completely capable, but a woman followed closely behind her. Once Lady Manchester sat, the other woman promptly wrapped her lap in a blanket, then went to stand behind the woman’s chair.
“It’s so rare that I get visitors these days,” Lady Manchester said.
“Lady Manchester, I’m not certain if you remember me, I’m Ella Atkins. I believe you know my mother, Lady Weaver. These are two of my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Justin Rodale. They’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The woman nodded, then looked up to see her guests. Her breath caught when she looked at Justin. “Gracious, you look just like her,” she said.
“Who?”
“Simone,” she said, then shook her head. “I cannot remember the girl’s full name.”
Simone. Was his mother’s name Simone?
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about Manchester House,” he said.
“Thieving bastard took that property right from under my nose, he did,” Lady Manchester said with a frown. The woman behind her put a hand on her ladyship’s shoulder. “Don’t pat me to calm me, Sally, I speak the truth.” She shooed away the woman’s hand.
“Your cousin?” Clarissa asked.
“Yes, nasty little man. I bequeathed the entire hotel to my niece, Charlotte, and her husband, but somehow Winston got it put in his name.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand it.”
“But you owned it and ran it in the 40s?”
She met his gaze again and nodded. “Yes. I simply cannot get over how much you favor Simone.”
“Did you keep records of your guests during that time?”
“Primarily the time when you had all the families from France stay with you during the Season,” Clarissa added.
“Of course, I kept impeccable records,” Lady Manchester said. “My father always told me that you never put anything of importance in the rubbish.”
“Do you have them?” Clarissa asked. “The records?”
“Of course not, they’re at the hotel. In the basement, precisely right where I left them. A record of every guest and every room they stayed in as well as every pence they spent. I kept meticulous records.”
“When we visited there earlier today, your cousin claimed that you had taken all the records with you,” Clarissa said.
“Why would I do a silly thing like that?” She pointed a crooked finger at Clarissa. “That man is nothing but a lying fool. Unless he’s put everything in the rubbish, then it should all still be there.”
“This Simone you speak of,” Justin said. “Did you know her well?”
Lady Manchester smiled warmly. “I did, she was a wonderful girl, so full of life and love.”
“Did she find love here?”
“She did, but it was not to be. Her family had already arranged a marriage between her and a wealthy Frenchman. She left here quite heartbroken,” Lady Manchester said. A wistfulness filled her expression. “She was so very pretty.” She looked up at Justin. “You look like her, you know.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, “for your time and your information.”
There was only one thing to do now. He had to break into Manchester House to sneak a peek at those records.
Chapter Fifteen
Justin had intended to invite her to accompany him back to the hotel that night, but had changed his mind. It was one thing for him to break into a building, but to bring along his wife and make her a criminal as well…
“Are you going back to Rodale’s?” her voice came from behind him.
He considered lying to her, but he’d never been much of a liar. Part of why he’d hated gambling. “No, I am going to Manchester House,” he said. “I need this issue resolved. And I want to take a peek at those records before that man decides to destroy them. If he hasn’t already done so.”
“I’m going with you,” she said.
“Chrissy, there is no need for that. If we get caught, there will be nothing I can do to salvage the rest of your good name.”
She frowned. “This is infinitely more important than that.” When he didn’t immediately agree to her going, she popped her fists on her hips. “Take me or I’ll simply follow you there,” she said defiantly.
“Why do you care so much about this?” he asked. He asked the question before he thought better of it. He wanted her to say that she cared about him, but he knew he’d never hear those words from her. She’d married him because she hadn’t had another option.
“You saved me, helped me, I should like to return the favor.”
“That is the only reason?”
“Should there be another?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted, all innocence and loveliness.
He shook his head. “Are you wearing that?”
She looked down at her muted green gown and nodded.
“Come then,” he said. He assisted her into their carriage. “You will have to follow closely behind me and be quiet. I’d like to get in and out of there without alerting them to our presence.”
“Obviously,” she said. When he looked at her with raised brows she shrugged. “Else we would be going during the day. I suspected you intended to sneak in. Are we to pose as guests?”
“Not anything so obvious,” he said. “We are slipping inside and down to the basement area. If we are seen—” He shook his head. “I don’t want to think about what happens if we’re seen.” If that happened, he’d be lucky if they weren’t arrested.
The ride to Manchester House was relatively quick as the late hour made for mostly empty streets. When they arrived, he helped Clarissa down to the street.
Confusion crossed her features; she looked around them. “Where are we?”
“At the back of Manchester House. We can’t very well go in the front door.”
She grinned. “No, I don’t suppose we can. Makes perfect sense.” She motioned for him to go on. “Proceed. I shall follow closely.”
And she did. They crept into the alleyway behind the hotel and up to the door at the back. “Okay, stay close,” he said. They went up to the door and he tried the handle. “Locked,” he said. He hadn’t expected anything different, which was why he’d brought supplies for such a thing. He retrieved the tool tools from his pocket and stuck them in the keyhole and finagled them around.
“How did you learn how to do that?” she asked.
He looked over his shoulder at her. “They teach this at Eton.”
She rolled
her eyes.
There was a clicking noise and then he opened the door. He pocketed the tools and peeked inside the door. The darkened room appeared empty. He motioned for her to follow him inside.
There was no way to light a candle until they were down in the basement area, so they’d have to do their best in the dark here. They stood for a moment allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Justin took a step forward. They appeared to be in a corridor that led to an enormous kitchen on one side and a pantry on the other.
“We need to find stairs that go downward,” he whispered.
She nodded. The first floor was large. They found parlors and a library, and eventually wound their way back to the lobby they were in the other day.
“There have to be stairs,” he said.
“We should have asked Lady Manchester,” she said.
Justin stepped around the counter where the Lady Manchester’s cousin had stood. Behind there he found a door. “Chrissy,” he said with a nod.
She came around to meet him. They stepped through the door, which opened into a room that appeared to be a private office. A quick survey of the space showed another door at the far end. Justin opened it and there found a staircase that led downward.
“Finally,” Justin said. He grabbed Clarissa’s hand and together they descended into the darkness. Once Justin reached solid floor, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved a candle and match. He struck it and the flame hissed to life. He lit the candle and the small area around them illuminated.
It wasn’t an overly large space and filled mostly with boxes.
Clarissa stepped around him. “Shall we get started?” She stepped over to one of the boxes and pulled off the lid. Justin came over to meet her. Inside they found several of the books similar to the book kept at the counter upstairs, the ledger book where guests were logged in. She opened the book on top, but it was from 1872.
“There must be one book for each year,” he said. “Thank goodness for good record keeping.” He moved over to another box and opened it. The first book he came to was 1857. “Getting closer.”
Clarissa came over closer to him and opened another box. “1849. This must be the right box.” She withdrew the book and set it aside, and retrieved the one beneath. “1848?”
“I think we really need the previous year,” he said. His heart sped. This could be it, if Lady Manchester was right and this Simone was his mother, then he could uncover her name in just a moment.
Clarissa handed him the book. He opened it and flipped through the pages. Page after page of names until the words began to blur.
“There, look, Simone Gauteir, that must be her,” she said, looking up at him.
He nodded and looked down where her finger pointed to the decidedly feminine penmanship. There was an address listed. “My apologies to Lady Manchester,” he said, then he ripped the page from the book.
“Are you ready?” Clarissa asked.
“I want to look through the rest of these boxes,” he said. “That man was nervous for some reason, not wanting people down here. And then something Lady Manchester said. I’m fairly certain he’s hiding something.” Justin moved to other boxes and still found book after book. But there had to be something down here the man didn’t want found. Justin had nearly given up when he caught the sight of a piece of parchment hanging out of the corners of a book. He pulled on it, freeing it from its confines.
“It’s her will. I’ll read through it later, but if what she said was true and she left this hotel to her niece, then Winston upstairs will have some serious explaining to do.” He folded the parchment and put it with the other paper. “Now, let’s go.”
They went out the same way they’d come in only much quicker. By the time they reached the carriage, Clarissa’s breath was shorter.
“That was exhilarating,” she said, once they were on their way. “What will you do with her will?”
“Probably pass it to my barrister and allow him to handle the situation.”
She reached across and put her hand on his. “I’m glad we found it.”
He nodded, but said nothing else. In all honesty, he was glad she was here with him, glad she’d been the one to help him uncover his mother’s identity. Ever since he began the search for her, he’d always assumed that it would be Clipps who’d be with him when he received something in the mail. This was better.
Had it been Clipps, though, the moment would have been quite different. Somehow, though, Clarissa simply knew this moment was more important than he wanted to admit. And he knew that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else here with him tonight other than her.
…
The following evening Clarissa sat in Justin’s study going over her ledgers for Ella’s family. Mr. Bembridge had made some significant headway for their financial distress.
Things had been strained between them since the night Justin had come to her bed. He still spoke to her congenially, but not about anything of worth. He hadn’t spoken again about the information they’d discovered in Manchester House.
She wanted to ask more about what he intended to do, but she was terrified he would shut her out completely. That he would wake up and realize that his desire for her had waned and there was nothing in their marriage he wanted anymore. So she had not said another word about it. She feared that in bringing him that information, in an effort to become closer to him, she’d pushed him further away.
It was one thing to acknowledge the fact that her husband would never love her. She was trying to come to terms with that. But this indifferent friendliness would never do. She might not be able to discuss matters regarding his mother with him. If he needed to keep that separate from her for a while, then she could abide that. But she could at the very last find her way back to his bed. When he returned from Rodale’s she would discuss that with him. Or perhaps, she’d do as he once told her—a seductress takes action. So perhaps she’d merely be in his bed when he arrived home.
The study door opened and she looked up expecting to see her husband. “Did you forget something?” she asked. Then she realized, it was not Justin standing in the study doorway, but rather George.
She came to her feet. “George? What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to have a talk with you, in private,” he said. “Obviously I couldn’t do so the other evening at the Potterfield Ball because your husband was right there with you. So I came here instead.” He eyed her a moment, then smiled. “After I saw Rodale leave for the night.”
She came around the desk, intending to see him back out the door. “I don’t believe we have anything to discuss, George.” There was no longer a reason for her to be pleasant to him. He’d done the unforgivable to her.
“Oh, but we do, Clarissa, we have much to discuss. I will admit that your attempt at coercing me into marriage angered me at first, but I have forgiven you.”
She felt her eyebrows rise. “Oh, you’ve forgiven me, have you?” That was rich. He courted her for more than a year, then he put his hands on her body, yet had chosen to forgive her. Ella had been right about George all along, and Clarissa could kick herself for not trusting her friend sooner.
“Indeed. That was a very naughty thing you did, Clarissa,” he said. He took several steps toward her effectively penning her between himself and the desk behind her.
“It was a mistake, a huge mistake,” Clarissa said, more to herself than in an effort to apologize.
“Now that you’re married, we can come to an agreement.” Again he moved toward her.
She braced her hands on the desk behind her.
“An arrangement that would serve both of our needs.” He ran a finger down the side of her arm.
How had she ever thought him handsome? Now as he stood before her, she saw nothing but arrogance and pride and a smile that made promises it never kept. “There will be no arrangement between us, George. You should leave. Now.”
“No, now is the perfect time for us. Your husband has gone
to Rodale’s. He won’t be home for hours. We have time. Plenty of time to pick up where we left off. Finish what we started.” He grabbed her and pulled her against him. His grip on her arms was tight, uncomfortable.
“Unhand me, George. I am a married woman.”
“All the more reason that we can now have that affair. I know you want me, Clarissa. I’ve seen the desire in your eyes. And the way you kissed me. You are a wanton,” George said. “I cannot believe it took me so long to see it.”
“I am no such thing. And I most certainly do not want you. Justin will be home any moment,” she said. But she knew it was untrue. George had been right. Justin had left for Rodale’s and said he probably wouldn’t be back until dawn. She was at the mercy of George and his unwanted advances. She supposed she could scream, but she was new in Justin’s household and being caught in the arms of another man…there was no way she could explain her way out of that. She certainly didn’t want to make Justin look bad.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and leaned in to kiss her neck. She pushed at him, shoved at him, but his strength would not be swayed.
“I’ll scream.”
He laughed. “Good, I like a woman with fight in her. Makes it more interesting.”
Oh God, how had she been so very wrong about this man? Or how had Rebecca?
He released one of her arms and rearranged her so that he held both of her arms in one of his hands. He was so strong. With his free hand he slid up her skirt, running his palm against her stocking-clad leg. Her stomach churned.
“Help!” she yelled. It was worth it to try to get someone to help, but he slammed his mouth down on hers effectively stifling her voice. She tried to bite him, kick him, anything to get him off her, but her efforts were in vain. Clarissa’s heart pounded so loud, she heard it reverberating in her ears.
And then he was gone, pulled off her and slammed onto the floor.
“Get the hell off my wife and out of my house before I kill you,” Justin said. He stood over George’s body. “Don’t think I won’t.”
George pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “I was just trying to take what she’d offered. Did she tell you the truth about that night?”