by Joan Smith
She was tempted by his persuasions, but to go out with him again could only spell trouble. Because, in spite of the way he had treated her, she was still attracted to him. It was impossible to look at his rugged face and strong body without feeling some physical attraction, and his troubled state appealed to her womanly compassion.
“I do not consider myself quite sunk yet, Dolmain. I have arranged to attend the play at Covent Garden with Lady Georgiana this evening. I cannot like to disappoint her.”
“I have hired a box for the Season. May I do myself the honor of joining you at intermission?”
This would show society she enjoyed his friendship without the necessity of further entanglement. “I look forward to it.” Her tense face eased into a rueful smile. “I must warn you, you will probably be the only caller.”
She read an answering softness in his reply. “Was it very bad last night?”
“Wretched. What were people saying after I left?”
“That Countess Caro was always a hurly-burly girl. There was talk of heavy gambling losses at Waite’s gaming hell.”
“I lost my quarter allowance there five years ago. I have not been back since. What long memories people have. I expect the inference was that I had taken to nabbing my friends’ jewels to make up my losses?”
“Something of the sort. If worse comes to worst, I shall have a paste copy of the necklace made and have Helen wear it a few times. That, along with our being seen together on the best of terms, should squelch the rumors.”
“Hmm, and make it very easy for the thief to sell the genuine necklace,” she cautioned.
Dolmain tilted his head to one side and peered at her. “I had foreseen a different difficulty. Folks would say I had managed to recover it from your grasping fingers, and you had used your wiles to convince me to sponsor you back into society.” She could do it, too. The lady was an enchantress, part innocent girl, part vixen. He could not decide which Caro he preferred.
“That is just what they would say! It is odd how the aroma of disrepute hangs on, once it has been acquired.”
“If you are trying to make me feel guilty, Caro—” He stopped with a conscious look when he realized he had used her nickname.
Caro looked surprised, but did not reprimand him. “Perhaps it is your conscience that is doing that,” she said. The air grew still as they stared at each other. Neither spoke, but he read the accusation in her gaze, and felt, suddenly, not only guilty, but small. Then she put her hand on his arm and accompanied him from the room.
“I think you should leave before we come to cuffs again, Dolmain. We have pulled one crow already, and it is only nine o’clock. You must keep some of your bile to spurt at the illustrious members of the Horse Guards.”
“Is it nine o’clock already? How time flies when we are enjoying ourselves,” he said, with a deprecating grin.
“Yes indeed. If you had come with a summons for my arrest, I daresay we would be rolling in laughter by now. When they clamp me in irons, I expect you will have a ball to celebrate.”
“A ball would be no pleasure without you, Caro,” he said. He had meant to use a light tone, and was surprised at how sincere he sounded. Caro looked at him with a question in her eyes.
Before she could think of an answer, they had reached the front door. Crumm’s scarred face peered around the corner. Caroline shook her head to indicate he was not required.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Dolmain said, rather wistfully. “I wish we could drive into the country again. I have the whole day booked. If I hope to make it to the theater for the first intermission tonight, I had best get to work.”
“I did not realize your only reason for going was to redeem my reputation. You must not let that interfere with your work, Dolmain. England’s safety takes precedence over my reputation.” Yet she was touched at his efforts on her behalf.
“Redeeming your reputation is not the only reason. After looking at York and Hotchkiss and the rest of the ugly members of the Horse Guards, my poor eyes deserve a reward.”
“I hear Esmée, the new actress, is quite lovely.”
“Very likely, but I had not actually planned to remain for the play.”
She made a playful curtsey. “A pretty compliment, sir.”
She opened the door. Dolmain pinched her chin, said, “Don’t give up. We’ll solve this riddle yet.” Then he was gone.
Nothing had really changed much, yet Caroline’s heart felt lighter. A problem was not so heavy a burden when it was shared. She wished with all her heart that the necklace had not intruded itself into their lives. It had seemed, for a day or two, that she had found someone to replace Julian....
Chapter Seven
At ten o’clock Lady Georgiana came to breakfast and was told the gist of Dolmain’s visit.
She just shook her head. “I used to think you were one of those ladies who attracted trouble and attention, as honey attracts flies, but I was mistaken. You go to meet it halfway, Caro. It was not necessary for you to follow Lady Helen home, though it was proper of you to notify Lord Dolmain today.”
“Something might have happened to her,” Caro pointed out.
“So it might, and it was kind of you to watch her, but to go creeping behind bushes, and then to tell Lord Dolmain you had done so! He will think you no better than a hoyden. You must not forget discretion in your wholesale acts of kindness.”
“Dolmain was grateful. He will make a special trip to Covent Garden tonight to visit our box, to show his support.”
“Let him come, and let him accompany you to some formal do to show the world he trusts you. He owes you that much. After that, leave Dolmain to handle his own troubles. It seems to me there is something havey-cavey afoot. You are best out of it.”
“You have done your duty, shrew,” Caro said, softening her words with a smile.
“Who am I to give advice? I have made a confounded mess of my own life.”
“How can you say so? You have never been in a pickle.”
“That is precisely what I mean. I have lived vicariously. It is comfortable, but there is no denying it can become boring at times. Now that I am older, I wish I had a few scrapes and pickles to look back on.”
“You are welcome to share mine,” Caro said ruefully.
“I am afraid I must pass. It is time for my daily constitutional, accompanied by my beau,” Georgie said. This was a joking reference to the footman who would accompany her. Lady Georgiana was one of the sights of Rotten Row, where she rode for an hour every day, rain or shine, mounted on a bay mare.
Georgie had no sooner left than Newton was shown into the saloon. “What are you up to today, Newt?” Caroline asked.
“Thought I might stop off at Manton’s and culp a wafer—or miss it, more like. Then a round at Jackson’s Parlor to refresh my science.”
“Setting up as a Corinthian?” Caroline asked. Neither shooting nor boxing had ever featured in his life before, except as spectator sports. “Who is she? It must be a lady who has driven you to this extremity.”
No effort was too great when Newt was on the scent of a new love. He had once studied the piano for six months to woo a musically inclined lady. Another time he had turned Methodist, and given up dancing and music entirely. The object of his affection on that occasion had abandoned her strict religion and run off with a caper merchant.
“Ain’t a lady. It’s a gentleman,” he said.
“Ah, and whom are you emulating this time? Lord Byron, is it? I hear he takes lessons of Gentleman Jackson.”
“I don’t think it’s Byron. He don’t drag his foot, the fellow I am talking about. Sets a lively pace.”
“Don’t you know his name?”
“No, nor his face. I just know he is always there, a few paces behind me, dogging my footsteps like a dashed shadow. If he turns rusty, I must be ready to defend myself.”
Eliciting hard facts from Newt was never easy. “Tell me all about him,” she urged.
�
��I first spotted him last night. Did you happen to notice the carriage following us?”
“No, I didn’t. When did it start?”
“I figure he must have followed us from the Pantheon. I first caught a sight of him lurking at the corner when I came out of your place after bringing you home. Hadn’t noticed him before that, but he must have followed me there. He ran to his rig and followed me to the Albany. Then when I went out this morning, there he was, tailing me again. Drives a plain black carriage. I noticed him as I rounded the bend to your street. Daresay he was behind me all the while, only the traffic was so thick, I could not spot him. Followed me here.”
“Who can he be?” Caroline dashed to the window.
“Wasting your time,” Newt informed her. “He waits around the corner. Take a peek when I leave. You’ll see he’s not a block behind me. Pair of bays, one with white stockings on her forelegs.”
“That is very odd. What do you think he wants with you?”
“No idea. I ain’t in dun territory. Haven’t insulted anyone that I know of. I figure it must be to do with Lady Helen. Mean to say, it all started at the Pantheon.”
“Let us go out, tout de suite, and see if he follows us.”
“That is just what I have been saying to you. The touter the better. Get your wrapper and let us go.”
Of course, he had not said anything of the sort, but no doubt he had been trying to say it. Caroline got her bonnet and pelisse and they went out to Newton’s waiting carriage. Before they turned the first corner, the plain black carriage, pulled by a pair of bays, rounded the bend and followed them. For an hour they led it a merry chase, first north to Oxford Street, where the traffic was not too heavy, then to High Holborn, south along Drury Lane to the Strand and on to the Mall. At St. James’s Park they alit and walked, to allow them a look at the man in the carriage.
He was as anonymous as his vehicle: a man of middle size and middle years, neither old nor young, wearing a blue jacket and tan trousers. He was a gentleman, or at least dressed like one. Caroline was all for accosting him and demanding why he was following them.
Newton said, “He’ll not tell us anything. Best to play dumb, let on we don’t know he is there. Sooner or later I’ll find the opportunity to get away from him. I plan to follow him and see where he goes. Might be a clue.”
“I suppose you are right. How can we lose him?”
“I shall go back to Manton’s, ask Joe to let me slip out the back door, and have a hired hansom waiting. I’ll let you know what I find out this evening. Are we still on for Covent Garden?”
“Yes, it is all arranged. Georgie wants to use my carriage to pick up her friends, so I shall go in yours, if that’s all right?”
“Right. I’ll take you home now.”
She watched from her saloon window when Newton left but did not see the carriage follow him.
Caro related her morning exploits to her sister-in-law over lunch.
“But the man did not follow Newt when he left?” she asked.
“No, I watched for quite ten minutes. He must have circled around some other way.”
“Your wits are gone begging, Caro,” Georgie said, with a sharp look. “It is not Newton he is following. It is you. Newton said he first noticed the carriage when he brought you home last night. And this morning when he called on you, it was at your corner again. He did not follow Newt here; he was here watching your house. I wager he is still lurking around the corner even as we speak.”
“Good God! Why would anyone be watching me?”
“Newton was right about one thing. It has to do with that visit to the Pantheon last night. And perhaps with the vanished necklace as well.”
Caroline sat, momentarily stunned into silence. Her frown slowly faded, to be replaced by a diabolical smile. “I shall be going out to New Bond Street this afternoon, Georgie. Will you come with me? You are always complaining of a lack of excitement. My shadow might provide us some amusement.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!” Georgiana exclaimed, but there was an unaccustomed note of excitement in her voice.
“Why not? He cannot harm us in the middle of London. I shall try Newton’s ruse of escaping the man, and following him to see where he goes.”
“You still carry that pistol in the side pocket of your rig?”
“Always, and I know how to use it, too.”
Two spots of red burned high on Georgiana’s sallow cheeks. “I’ll do it!” she said, and laughed a tinny laugh.
Immediately after lunch the ladies dressed and had the carriage brought around. Watching from the rear window, they saw the dark carriage turn the corner and follow them when they left.
“This all began at the Pantheon last night,” Caroline said, smiling wickedly. “We shall lose him at the Pantheon Bazaar. Miss Millar will let us slip out her back door. I buy a deal of ribbon and lace from her. We shall have a hansom cab waiting for us there. The footman can arrange it while John Groom minds the carriage. My shadow will stick with the carriage, I think.”
They followed this plan. Miss Millar, who operated a drapery shop at the Pantheon Bazaar, was entirely agreeable to helping out a good customer. She would have assumed Lady Winbourne was arranging a romantic tryst, were it not for the old malkin with her. Caroline and Georgiana spent ten minutes rooting through trays of lace. At the end of that time, Miss Millar beckoned them to the rear of the store.
“The hired hack is here, your ladyship.”
“Thank you, Miss Millar,” Caro said, dropping a coin into her hand. “If a nondescript gentleman comes in here asking for me, don’t tell him I have left. You are quite busy, so you can pretend you did not notice me.”
“Oh lawks, your ladyship. Just like a play on the stage. I’ll not whiddle the scrap.”
“Thank you.”
They slipped out the back door to the hired carriage and asked the groom to drive around and wait a half block away. They pointed out the carriage he was to follow, at a discreet distance. It was a long wait. Their pursuer could not believe Lady Caroline had tipped him the double. He went from shop to shop, peering in at the windows. After half an hour, he knew she had given him the slip and returned to his own rig.
“There, he is leaving now!” Caroline said, and pulled the drawstring to alert the driver.
To her considerable consternation, the carriage they were following drove to Berkeley Square, where it circled the block, obviously awaiting her return. She managed to foil him to the extent of scampering into her own house unseen while he was around the corner, but she had still not learned where he came from.
“Who can he be? Why is he following me?” she asked.
“I cannot imagine,” Georgiana said.
“It must have to do with Lady Helen and the necklace. The man will surely not watch the house all night. He must sleep sometime, like everyone else. I shall have a footman follow him when he leaves. We must get to the bottom of this. It is driving me mad.”
Lady Georgiana said, “I must own, I rather enjoyed it, Caro. What a lot of fun I have been missing all these years by my caution.”
“I would hardly call it fun. The fun will come when I learn who the scoundrel is and why he is following me. I do look forward to that. And now let us prepare for the evening.”
Lady Georgiana’s guests for the theater were all either widows, or spinsters, like herself. A night at the theater was a rare festive occasion for them. Georgiana left in Caroline’s carriage shortly after dinner to pick them up.
Newt came in a few moments later, shaking his head. “Something deuced odd going on,” he said. “I thought the fellow had let up following me. Not a sign of him all afternoon, but just now I spotted him again, loitering about at the corner of Berkeley Square like a dashed hedge bird.”
“It is not you he is following; it is me,” she said, and told him of her afternoon’s work.
Newton did not wipe his brow, but his “That is a relief!” gave that impression. “Thought I had figured it out
. Taylor.”
“You said you are not an dun territory.”
“Not a coat-maker. Jack Taylor. Had a bit of a run-in with him over a game of cards. Took him for a monkey, fair and square. He wanted a chance to recoup. It was four o’clock in the morning. I could hardly prop my peepers open. I offered to meet him another time. Said he had to rusticate, pockets to let. What have you been up to, that someone is following you?”
“I hope to shed some light on that tonight.” She outlined her plan of having the fellow followed by a footman after she returned from the theater.
“Footman!” he exclaimed in high dudgeon. “Dash it, I shall follow him myself. Easy as chopping off a log. I’ll catch the oiler. I can run like a stag if I have to. We’ll get to the bottom of this yet.”
She put on her mantle and they left for the theater.
Chapter Eight
The subtitle of Mr. Sheridan’s comedy The Critic, which Caroline and Georgiana were attending that evening, was A Tragedy Rehearsed. Caroline felt the second title was more appropriate to her situation. Until the curtain opened, it seemed the major drama was occurring in her box on the upper tier. Why else did so many ladies train their opera glasses on her, and so many gentlemen raise their quizzing glasses? Those quizzing glasses could not have aided vision much, but did lend a fine condemnatory air.
When Newt saw her distress, he said, “Won’t the gawpers stare on the other side of their faces when Dolmain joins us.”
This finally brought a trembling smile to Caroline’s lips.
She paid little heed to the carrying on of Dangle and Sneer, the spiteful critics. Her mind was occupied with private problems. She would ask Dolmain to accompany her out to the corridor for wine. They would laugh and joke and show the world they were the best of friends. That should silence her critics.
When Georgiana attended the theater, it was her custom to have wine brought to the box for the first intermission, rather than leave her seat. When the curtain fell, Caroline sat, waiting for Dolmain’s arrival. Her box was not totally ignored. A few of Georgie’s cronies dropped in, and some of Caroline’s friends came to invite her to walk with them. She explained that she was waiting for a friend.