by Joan Smith
“I have a great favor to ask you, Caro,” he said. Not even a good morning. He sat beside her before she had time to offer him a chair, and further surprised her by gripping her two hands tightly in his, as if afraid she would run off on him.
“What is it, Dolmain?” she asked, suspecting this was his manner of apologizing after traducing her so vilely. Whatever the reason for his change of manner, she welcomed it. She spoke softly, and returned every pressure of his grip.
He closed his eyes a moment and frowned, as if collecting his thoughts. When he opened them again, she saw his worry, and noticed the haggard appearance of his pale face. Her heart opened to him in his trouble. He knew Helen was involved! That was it, and the knowledge was a perfect torment for him.
“Tell me everything,” she said gently.
“I shall, but first let me apologize most humbly. How could I have been such a blind fool? Such appalling arrogance, thinking no child of mine could—” He came to a confused stop.
“Is it about Lady Helen?” she asked.
“She is a part of it, certainly, in it up to her eyebrows. Now, where shall I begin?” He took a deep breath, then began to tell his story in a plain manner. “Miss Blanchard was murdered last night when she took Helen’s dog for a walk. She is fond of Rex and usually walks him every evening. She set out with a footman, but sent him home to get her a warmer shawl. Word of her death was sent to me at Lady Marlborough’s. One of the neighbors recognized her and called Bow Street. Her body was taken to my house. Sometime after I had returned home—around midnight—there was a knock at the door. This was left on the doorstep,”‘ he said, drawing out the brooch, wrapped in the handkerchief.
Caroline did not interrupt his story. She just looked at the brooch and nodded to show him she realized it was the missing brooch.
“I have no idea who left it there,” he continued, “but the handkerchief is Helen’s. I believe it has something to do with Miss Blanchard’s murder. Her money purse was not taken; it was not a robbery. In any case, it is clear you did not take the brooch. I want to apologize for what I have been thinking, and for what I have done, Caro. I must have been mad!” He shook his head, as if trying to rearrange the facts.
“When I talked to Helen after the loss of her brooch, I could not get out of my mind that you were with her again, as you were when her necklace disappeared. Much as it went against the pluck, I concluded you were involved in some manner. I disliked to believe it, but I could see no other explanation.”
“It is all right, Dolmain. I understand.”
“I had you followed again, and in an odd sort of way, I am glad I did, because it proves what I have always felt: that you are innocent. I know you returned here directly from the ball last night and did not leave your house.”
“Did you ask Helen about the brooch?”
“I spent an hour trying to pry the truth out of her. She certainly knows something, but she was so frightened—nearly hysterical—that I could learn nothing. She was very fond of Miss Blanchard. The woman’s death, and in such a brutal manner, was a great blow to her. In the end, I gave her a sleeping draft and sent her to bed. I accept, now, that she has in some manner become involved with criminals. Her evasiveness confirms it. I want to send her home to Elmhurst.”
“I agree. It would be wise to take her home at once.”
“The devil of it is, I cannot leave at this time. You know my work is confidential, and that it involves the Peninsular war. I was in touch with York at first light this morning, asking permission to leave London. He positively forbade it. Of course, I could not give him my precise reason for asking. And indeed I am most reluctant to leave just now, yet Helen’s reputation must be protected at all costs. And her life,” he added, with a grimace.
“What is it you want me to do, Dolmain?”
“Go with her,” he said bluntly. “I know it is unconscionable of me to ask, after the way we have treated you.”
She moved her hand, as if brushing this aside. “But Helen dislikes me. You could hardly choose a worse chaperon for her.”
“Companion, not chaperon. Lady Milchamp has agreed to go as well, but she is getting on. It is pretty clear Helen has been pulling the wool over her eyes. I would not ask this of you if I felt there was any danger, Caro. I think you know that. All my staff will be on the qui vive to protect you and Helen. My hope is that you might become friends with her. Perhaps she will tell you what she has not told me.”
“She will never tell me, of all people.”
“She must be longing to unburden herself,” he said simply. “I know there is no love lost between you two, but she is truly an innocent, trusting youngster that some very nasty people have got at somehow or other. I suspect it is her love of the French that was her undoing. Other than her charity work and that trip to the Pantheon, she has not associated with anyone I could conceivably consider undesirable. I introduced her only to the children of old and trusted friends. This undesirable involvement must have come through either Miss Blanchard or Bernard. You were right there, too. I now believe Helen hid both the necklace and the brooch, passed them on to someone, and told me they were stolen. Perhaps Miss Blanchard was killed because she had knowledge of it. I don’t have all the answers, but I mean to get them. Bow Street is looking for Bernard.”
“I agree Helen should be taken away at once, but is there no other aunt or relative you could send with her?”
He looked at her with sad resignation. “Of course. I had no right to ask it of you.” He drew another weary sigh and sat a moment with his head sunk on his palm. Caro had to force herself not to comfort him.
Then he looked up and said simply, “When this awful catastrophe struck, I could only think of coming to you.”
Her heart gave a leap. In his trouble, Dolmain had turned to her, and she was letting him down. His daughter was in trouble. Perhaps Helen was not the unlovable chit she had been imagining. Anyone might behave badly if she was caught in the toils of criminals. She herself was lying to Dolmain now by omission, letting him believe she was ignorant of last night’s doings regarding Miss Blanchard. But as her involvement was innocent, she felt it could keep for another time.
“I will go with her, Dolmain.” she said, squeezing his fingers.
A spark of joy lit his eyes, then vanished aborning. “No, I should not have asked it. I came here on an impulse, for I knew I owed you an apology after all but accusing you of taking the jewels. There might be some danger, even at Elmhurst, although my feeling is that the gang is in London.”
She did not argue, but only said, “We should leave under cover of darkness, in case your house is being watched.”
“No, I have changed my mind. Cousin Isobel and her husband can accompany Helen. It would be good to have an extra man.”
“Newt will be happy to come with us.” She could see that Dolmain wanted to accept but held back, feeling it was an imposition, as indeed it was. But if you could not impose on your friends, on whom could you impose?
“It is settled. For the remainder of the day, you should not let Helen leave the house. If she receives any messages, you should read them before giving them to her. You dare not put her at further risk.”
A smile curved his lips, and his face softened in admiration. “That is why I wanted you to go. You are awake on all suits, Caro. Intelligent, brave.”
“Irresponsible,” she reminded him.
“That was vexation speaking. You cut close to the bone to accuse my daughter. I suppose I feared, even then, that she was involved, or I would not have said such appalling things to you. It was infinitely mean of me.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? Shall I see you again before we leave?”
“I don’t care if all hell breaks loose at the Horse Guards, I shall be home to see you off, and join you at Elmhurst as soon as possible.”
“What time should I be ready to leave?”
“Soon after dark. Nineish?”
“I shall notify Newt.”
>
He drew her hand to his lips and dropped a kiss in her palm, then curled her fingers around it, as if keeping it safe. “How can I thank you, my Caro?” he asked in a husky voice.
“You are too absurd,” she said, but her voice shook with emotion at the way he was gazing at her. “I look forward to Elmhurst. One hears it is a fine estate.”
He rose, still gazing at her. “All the old clichés are true, are they not? Money does not buy happiness.”
She rose to accompany him to the door. “No, it does not, but as Julian used to say, it allows one to suffer in luxury.”
He stiffened perceptibly, making her wonder what she had said to cause it. Julian! Why had she brought his name up at this point? She rattled on swiftly, to remove that question from his eyes. “I have a hundred things to do. I must cancel certain invitations I have accepted—or should I wait until we have reached Elmhurst, as it is a secret that we are leaving?”
“Will you cancel your outing with Alton?” he asked, and looked at her curiously.
“Alton? Oh, I had forgotten all about him.”
“Good! You must drop him a note. For the rest, it might be best to wait. If you offend any hostesses, you can explain it after this is over. Lady Milchamp is not notifying anyone.”
“Very well. I planned to attend the theater this evening, so no one will miss me.”
They were at the doorway of the breakfast parlor. Dolmain took her hands and drew her aside. “I will miss you, Caro,” he said, and pulled her into his arms for an embrace.
Her body responded instinctively to his. She was acutely aware of the pressure of his hands, stroking her back, gently pressing her against him more and more tightly, as if he would mold them together. But the embrace did not escalate to passion. His lips bruised hers with a ruthless ferocity for one brief moment, then he withdrew and just gazed at her.
His voice was husky as he said, “I will miss you very much. More than you know. God, I wish this were over.”
She stroked his cheek. “Soon, Dolmain.”
His fingers closed over hers. “Do you still miss him so much?” he asked.
She did not have to ask what he meant. “Not so much as I used to before I met you,” she said.
“God bless you for that!”
Then he was gone. His step was lighter than when he had arrived. Caroline’s heart was lighter, too, despite the ordeal ahead of her. She would not let him down. Together they would find out what was going on, and rescue Helen.
Chapter Fifteen
After Dolmain left, Caro sat on alone in a bemused state, remembering the way he had looked at her, with a gaze more intimate than the touch of love. Had he seen the same glory in her eyes? His first wife would always hold some corner of his heart, as Julian would hers, but there was room for a new love, too. Even with Helen’s problem looming over them, she was not entirely despondent.
She jotted a quick line off to Newt, asking him to come to Berkeley Square at once. Then she went upstairs and spoke to her maid about packing. She also wrote to Lord Alton, saying she was not feeling well, as that would also curtail any questions about her not being seen in town for a few days.
At ten o’clock Lady Georgiana descended from her chamber and was told the latest development in the case.
“I am sorry I will not be having a share in the migration to Elmhurst with you,” she said. “It sounds exciting.”
Caroline could not like to invite her without speaking to Dolmain first. At ten-thirty Lady Georgiana received a note from Lady Milchamp. She turned quite pink when she read it.
“Well now, what do you think of this?” she asked, and read aloud, “My dear Lady Georgiana: You are, of course, aware that Lady Winbourne will be visiting Lady Helen and myself at Elmhurst for a few days. We would be pleased if you would join us, if it is convenient for you. It would be nice to see you again, and talk over the old days. Sincerely, Lady Milchamp.”
“Lovely, but I should mention, Georgie, that there might be a little more excitement than you bargain for,” Caro cautioned. “When the Frenchies discover Lady Helen is not in London, they will not be long concluding where she is.”
“I could do with a little excess of excitement after fifty years of ennui. I would be alone here, with you gone. You don’t mind, Caro?”
“I’m delighted! I wanted to ask you myself.”
Georgiana bustled off to prepare her trunk, and before long, Newton was shown into the saloon, panting from moving so quickly. “What has happened?” he demanded. “You dragged me away from my gammon and eggs. Have you had Townshend after you?”
“The Bow Street magistrate? No, of course not. We are going to Elmhurst to help look after Lady Helen. I do hope you can come, Newt. I told Dolmain you would.”
“He has been here pestering you, has he?”
“Not pestering,” she said, and filled him in on the visit.
Newt was thrilled with this opportunity of being with Lady Helen, away from the distractions of other gentlemen.
“I will have peace and quiet to get down to serious work on my epic,” he said. “Daresay Lady Helen will give me a hand with the research since she is such a keen admirer of epics. Elmhurst is bound to have a library. I’ll drop by Hatchard’s before leaving and see what books I can pick up, just in case.”
“Don’t forget to bring your pistol,” Caroline said, to remind him he had more pressing duties than poetry.
“Yes, by Jove. I’ll culp a dozen wafers at Manton’s Shooting Gallery this afternoon to hone my aim.”
“We are to be at Dolmain’s at nine tonight,” she said.
“Pick you up at eight-thirty—or would you like me to come for dinner?” he asked hopefully. Newt’s cook was not born to the apron, but Newt was too softhearted to turn him off.
“Yes, do.”
“Good.” He left, smiling.
The day dragged by, every minute seeming an hour, yet there was hardly time to attend to all the details involved in the visit. Notes flew from the Horse Guards to Curzon Street and Berkeley Square. With the increase in passengers, two carriages were now desirable. Newt’s uncrested traveling carriage would provide some measure of anonymity. More notes were dispatched and replies sent back.
Lady Georgiana notified the stable not to send her mount around that morning. There were gowns to be chosen and packed. The ladies decided to take the minimum, sharing a small trunk between them. It was not likely that Lady Milchamp would be entertaining at this time, and if they were chased on the highway, a lightly burdened carriage could move more quickly. Georgie’s cheeks were rosier than they had been in three decades. Crumm was given instructions for the running of the household during the ladies’ absence.
By late afternoon, Caroline could think of nothing else to do but sit down and worry. They took dinner in their traveling clothes for convenience sake. Caroline could hardly swallow for anxiety over Dolmain and Helen. Most of all she worried that the same fate was planned for Helen as had befallen Miss Blanchard. Her dislike of the girl was gradually being replaced by pity. Helen was only seventeen, and had been raised in the country. She would be an easy prey to unscrupulous criminals.
Helen was possibly the only person in London other than the murderer who knew what had happened to the diamond necklace. Whoever had conned it out of her might decide the best way to keep her silent and himself safe was to kill her. Caro shook away the frightening thought. Helen was safe at Curzon Street. In a few hours she would be out of London, heavily guarded and under cover of darkness. She would be safe.
At eight-thirty Newton sent for his carriage. The trunks were stowed, and the three passengers crept out into the night, peering over their shoulders at shadows. Dolmain, Lady Helen, and Lady Milchamp were waiting for them in the elegant Blue Saloon on Curzon Street. The ladies were already dressed for travel. Dolmain looked sober, Lady Milchamp distressed, and Helen looked as if she hardly realized what was going on.
Caroline had met Lady Milchamp before and
knew her to be an elegant creature. Although she was no beauty, where nature had failed, art and science had come to her aid. A henna rinse did for her fading hair what the rouge pot did for her cheeks—gave it a lively touch of color. She had run a little to flesh, with full cheeks giving some illusion of youth. She welcomed the guests, then turned to talk to Georgiana.
Dolmain directed a commanding glance at his daughter. Helen apologized stiffly to Caroline, who accepted the speech more gracefully. Dolmain’s nervous pacing betrayed his eagerness to see his daughter safely out of town. He called Caroline aside to outline the route he had decided on.
“I am sorry to see ladies strike out after dark, but there is no need to travel all night. You should be at Reigate around midnight. Stop at the White Hart there. I have had a footman go ahead to reserve rooms. I am sending four footmen with you, two with my own rig, and two with Newton’s. It might be best if Helen travels with you and Newton in his rig, leaving Lady Milchamp and Lady Georgiana to go in my crested carriage.” Caro nodded her agreement.
“The two carriages will stay together, of course,” he continued. “We’ll let mine go first. If anyone is watching, he will assume Helen is in my carriage. Do you have a pistol?”
“Newt has one in the carriage, and I brought my own, a small one Ju—Julian gave me to carry in my pocket.”
“Good for Julian,” he said, with a look that acknowledged her hesitation over naming him, and told her it was all right. “I hate to see you leave, my dear, but I really think—”
“The sooner we are off, the sooner Helen will be safe. Good-bye, Dolmain. I shall watch her to the best of my ability.”
“I know it. What I do not know is how I can thank you.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “I am sure you will think of something, milord.”
“You may be very sure I will. I only wish we were alone—”
But they were not alone. Even as he spoke, Lady Milchamp came bustling forward. They were off, with fond farewells and a few last-minute warnings to take care.