Since she said that every evening, about every event she attended, I didn’t regard this command as particularly urgent. We went through the usual discussion about what dress she wanted, followed by the drama of my inevitably bringing the wrong gown. Finally, I arranged her hair into a Psyche knot and fastened a string of pearls around her neck.
She surveyed her appearance in the mirror and shook her head. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said, the corners of her mouth tugging downward in a frown. “Have you even been studying the fashion plates, Nelson? I have to stay at the front of fashion, you know.”
Before I could say a word, she swept out of the room. At least I wouldn't have to think of an excuse for there not being any new fashion plates available for me to study.
I worked as quickly as possible to put everything away in the room and to set out what I thought Miss Dunbar might need when she returned. Nearly finished, I was interrupted by Sally entering the room. “A note arrived for you just now, Miss Nelson,” she informed me with undisguised interest. “Mr. Ingram’s footman delivered it.”
How could he? Didn't he care what people would think, him being a gentleman and sending notes to a lady's maid? Uneasily, because I did not want to know what Mr. Ingram had to say to me, I took the letter from her hand. “Thank you, Sally,” I said, putting every ounce of arrogance possible into my voice.
Sally ignored the obvious dismissal. “Will you need to send a response? I had the man wait—”
“No. That will not be necessary. Send him on his way. Thank you for bringing this to me, but I’m sure you have duties to see to now, same as I do.”
A scowl marred her face for a moment. Then she spun on her heel and left the room. I stared at the note in my hand for a long minute. Would there be any point in ignoring it and claiming I’d never received it? Not if I wanted to remain Julie Nelson for a little while longer.
Taking a deep breath, I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. It was a brief note:
My dear lady’s maid,
I am aware that A. Melbourne delivered to you certain letters that had been in possession of your brother. I require you to bring those letters to me. Tonight. If D has nothing for me, bring the messages anyway.
Also, evidence of Mr. Daniel Dunbar’s indiscretions would be appreciated as well but not necessary if you cannot manage to find it. I'm sure you can devise an excuse to get out.
Ingram
“How on earth does he know about the letters?” I sank onto the chair, staring at the words. I’d only just gotten them myself and hadn’t even read them all. How could he take them from me like this? Who could have told him they existed in the first place? Only Mr. Melbourne knew about them. Would he have told Mr. Ingram? Why would he?
Had he told one person who had then mentioned it to someone else?
It would be impossible to know. Instead, my mind raced, trying to think of some way to avoid handing over the only source of information I now had. I couldn’t just give up the last words of my brother when I hadn’t even read them. Of course, I couldn’t forget that the letter intended for Miss Anderson still needed to be given to the lady.
Mr. Ingram couldn’t know exactly how many papers had been given to me, could he? What if I were to keep the most important ones, like the one for Miss Anderson, and copied the others so that I would still have my brother’s words. Would I have time to do so?
I forced myself to my feet and cast a glance around. The dressing room was as good as it was going to be for the evening. Heedless of whether anyone saw me and wondered at my haste, I rushed for my room. I wedged the chair under the doorknob to ensure privacy and then pulled the letters from where I had hidden them.
For a moment, I stared at the papers, slightly yellowed from the years. Reminding myself that they were just ink and paper, I sat down on my bed and pulled the one for Miss Anderson from the pile. Using a book as a makeshift desk, I hastily—which equaled sloppily—copied the note Jonathan had written for our father. If Mr. Ingram could make sense of the original...I shook my head. Perhaps with the “information” at his fingertips, he would be able to do it.
The next paper I unfolded had only a series of numbers, which though easy to copy were baffling: 6-27 13-6 13-7 13-8. 28-1 11-8 26-1 26-2 26-3 26-4 26-5 26-6 5-5 3-12. The top left corner had the strangest group of numerals: XXIIVII. I didn’t dare take the time to ponder what they meant and moved to the next one. Again, it had a strange row of numerals in the top left corner, a row of numbers scrawled across the top, but it did not have any letters underneath the numbers as the first one did.
Coded messages. Maybe ones my brother had intercepted or had someone else, an ally perhaps, sent it to him? He, or someone, had been trying to decipher the meaning behind the numbers.
“I cannot, in good conscience, hand over this one,” I said, lifting the one that had been partially translated. Whatever the meaning, who knew what Mr. Ingram would do with it? Better to keep it hidden and hope it held a clue I could understand.
What was I to do about the second request Mr. Ingram had made? How did he expect me to discover what indiscretions Daniel Dunbar had indulged in, much less provide evidence? Indeed, it was common knowledge that the young man’s behavior was ungentlemanly most of the time. What would Mr. Ingram want with that evidence of it, though, when it was so well known? Besides the obvious desire to blackmail Miss Dunbar’s brother, I mean. What did he want from Mr. Dunbar that he had to resort to blackmail to get it?
“None of my business,” I muttered as I unfolded the next letter. Immediately, tears welled up in my eyes as I read the greeting.
‘My dearest mother....’
He must have written this one before he had any inkling of being in danger, and he spoke only of the delights he was experiencing in Bath, how he wished his family could have joined him, and that he’d met a charming young lady he hoped she would one day be as fond of as he was. He ended with the hope that he would be home in a fortnight.
As I read those words through my tears, I could almost hear my brother’s voice in my mind. His words gave the impression of a carefree young man, enjoying the pleasures of the world and finding love for the first time. How thoroughly he had hidden the truth from Mother.
Had Mother known in the end? Had my father ever told her what her only son was doing? I could only wonder at the truth. She must have known something about it since she’d gone to London with my father when by all rights a grieving mother would have been expected to remain home to mourn her son.
Shaking my head, I reluctantly added it to the others to hand over to Mr. Ingram without copying it. Mother was no longer alive to find comfort from the words. It would take far too long and didn’t seem to contain anything that would help me locate his killer. Whatever he wanted from these letters, it would serve him right to have to read this one.
I wasn’t going to hold my breath for any sudden sting of conscience these letters would give Mr. Ingram.
The last letter of the bunch began with a simple My dear sister and had nothing else on the page. Whatever my brother had intended on saying to me was gone forever. The grief over his death that I thought I had buried long ago came surging back once again.
My tears fell on the paper and blurred the words. I didn’t care, though. No matter what he’d pretended to be or the lies he had told to protect me from whatever his assignment had been, Jonathan was my brother, and he’d been taken from me too soon.
It took some time for me to recover my composure. Though the words were practically illegible, smeared from my tears, I placed the last letter with the others to pass on to Mr. Ingram. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find it odd that I didn’t keep it for myself.
Now I just had to wait for Miss Dunbar to return and discover if she’d learned any good gossip during her evening. If so, she would be sending me to Conrad Ingram’s house and if she didn’t...I would have to come up with some excuse to leave the house.
MY EMPLOYER WAS IN a foul mood when sh
e stormed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her blue eyes flashed with anger. She tore her gloves off her hand. “Was the dinner not to your liking?” I asked, moving to help her.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” She threw herself into the chair and glared at her reflection in the mirror. “I cannot understand why Father insists on keeping company with the Andersons. They are dull beyond comprehension and never have anything amusing planned when we dine at their house. All they do is sit and talk of nothing important!”
There had to be more to her bad temper than boredom. I’d seen her after an evening of boredom, and this was in no way the same. “I see, but I’m sure it’s a connection your family must need to keep,” I said, keeping my tone soothing.
She gave a huff and waved her hand. “Why should I care about that?”
Right off the top of my head, I could think of several reasons why it was better to keep good relations with others in society. In the interest of self-preservation, I kept them to myself. “Perhaps you have been doing too much and need to spend a quiet night at home to restore your spirits.”
“Don’t be absurd. A quiet night at home, indeed! I am not a spinster or elderly woman! I simply do not wish to see Grace Anderson or Adam Melbourne ever again.”
“Mr. Melbourne?” I repeated in surprise. What had the man done to earn her disdain? She’d insisted she cared nothing for the man, so why should his presence have angered her so? “I thought you enjoyed having him in your court.”
“He fawned over Grace Anderson all evening as though she were the only lady in the room.” Miss Dunbar crossed her arms and pouted like a petulant child. “He stood over her and turned the pages for her while she played the pianoforte. And if that were not enough, he sat next to her and talked to her for nearly an hour.”
It was about time Mr. Melbourne finally took my advice, and a sliver of pride rose in me. The note he’d asked for me to give Miss Dunbar was still burning in my pocket, and I was glad I had not delivered it to my employer earlier. What had made him change his mind in so few hours? “Well, you did say you had no interest in him.”
Huffing, Miss Dunbar shook her head. “How could he know that, though? I never indicated to him that I didn’t desire his attention.” She twisted around in the chair, her eyes narrowed. “Unless someone told him. Did you, Nelson?”
“You think a gentleman would seek out a lady’s maid for information?” I tried to infuse as much astonishment into my voice as possible.
She pushed herself up to her feet and advanced towards me. The fury on her face made me back away. “Daniel told me he caught you talking to Mr. Melbourne earlier today,” she said, a dangerous edge in her tone. “Do you expect him to raise you from the life of a servant? Is that why you told him to forget about me?”
“I never said that!” True, I’d meant it, but those exact words had never left my lips. And I’d certainly never expressed any expectations that he would turn his attention to me. Such an idea was ridiculous! “Yes, Mr. Melbourne sought me out, but it was only to learn how he could get noticed by you. That has been the extent of our conversations together.”
“You’re a liar!” She punctuated her words by bringing her right hand up and slapping me. The blow was strong enough to turn my head, and my cheek stung with pain. “Why is everyone suddenly so interested in you? Ingram has never cared about my maids before, but he’s shown such concern that you remain in your position. And now Melbourne has noticed you? Who else have you seduced?”
I pressed my hand to my cheek and tried to calm my breathing. Protesting that it wasn’t my fault would do no good given her volatile mood. “You have nothing to say?” she asked, her eyes glinting with something I couldn’t identify. She shoved me back a step. “Not so clever now, are you?”
There had to be some way to calm her down. “Miss Dunbar, did you require me to deliver a message for you tonight?” I asked, hoping to distract her.
A mirthless smile curved her lips for a moment, and she finally moved back. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? As it happens, no. I do not have any message for Ingram tonight. And you can be sure that the next time I see him, I will be telling him our arrangement is changing. I will find some other manner for him to receive my notes.”
Somehow, I doubted Ingram would accede to her wishes in this. He held all the power, though Miss Dunbar didn’t realize it. “Are you ready to undress now?” It was a struggle to keep my voice calm, but if she was looking for some reaction from me, I wasn’t going to give it to her.
Spinning on her heel, she walked to the dressing table. “I wouldn’t be in here if I wasn’t, would I?”
Cautiously, I approached her and reached to pull the pins from her hair. “If I hear you’ve left the house tonight, Nelson, trust me when I say you will regret it,” Miss Dunbar threatened, staring at my reflection.
“I have only gone out at night when you have sent me,” I said, keeping my voice low. “As you have no message for me to deliver, I have no interest in stepping foot out of this house at night.”
She gave a huff and said no more. At least I had been spared the walk to Mr. Ingram’s house. If Mr. Ingram were angry about the situation, he would have to handle Miss Dunbar himself.
WHEN I ENTERED MRS. Dobbs’ sitting room to break my fast, I found the day’s papers waiting for me, courtesy of Bunker. As I ate, I searched through them and found several notices of ladies seeking a lady’s maid, companion, or governess. I wasn’t going to limit myself. Any occupation that removed me from the Dunbar household but kept me in Bath would be more than welcome.
Idly, I perused the rest of the contents of the paper, coming across only one sentence that caught my attention. ‘Young Mr. R. Douglas found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and has paid for the mistake with his life.’
The name Douglas was familiar to me, although right at that moment, I couldn’t think of why. Did I know someone by that name? I folded the paper and stood up. As sad as the death of a young man was, I had other things to occupy my time and attention. If I thought about it too long, I would begin wondering about the young man’s family —mother, father, sister, maybe even a young lady he wished to marry — and my emotions were too fragile for such thoughts.
I spent several hours washing the more delicate items of Miss Dunbar’s wardrobe. It was a hot, thankless task that wrought havoc on my hands. I’d long ago sacrificed the smoothness of my hands’ skin to the necessary task. It was with relief when Miss Dunbar summoned me for the day’s shopping excursion.
It was inevitable that she met other young ladies on our way to the seamstress’ shop. Miss Dunbar walked with them, and I remained several steps behind. Once we arrived at the shop, I took up position in a corner as the ladies studied the fashion plates and fabrics. In the middle of the deliberations, a familiar trio of ladies entered. The oldest of the three marched up to the shop owner and said with absolute authority, “Madame, I believe this is the time for our appointment.”
Young Lady Leith’s face flushed scarlet with mortification, and I could well understand why. Miss Dunbar and her friends giggled behind their hands. The seamstress said, visibly distressed by the situation but trying not to show it, “My assistant will show you back and I will—”
“I employ your services, not those of your assistant,” the woman interrupted bluntly. “I wish to have my fitting now.”
Lady Leith stepped forward. “Ma’am, I’m sure she will not be long with these ladies,” she said, her tone placating. “Can we not see her stock until then? We could choose the fabric for your next evening—”
“I will do no such thing. I intend to have my fitting now.”
Knowing Miss Dunbar’s temper as I did, I fully expected her to insist on her right to the seamstress’ attention. Instead, she approached the trio. “Of course you must see to the lady’s needs, Madame Leeson,” she said sweetly. “We are more than happy to wait.”
Relieved, the seamstress ushered
the irate lady back, the sour-faced companion accompanying them. Lady Leith softly thanked Miss Dunbar, her expression still holding mortification and embarrassment.
“It is my pleasure. You have a great deal to handle, being a new titled lady and enduring a forceful mother-in-law,” Miss Dunbar said, her gaze moving over the lady. She tilted her head slightly. “When will Sir Horace be joining us? It’s appalling that he would leave you to face society alone.”
Cringing, I dropped my gaze. On the surface, my employer may sound sweet and sympathetic, but there was cruelty hidden in her words. Why was she prying into Lady Leith’s personal life in such a way? Was she looking for something she could gossip about behind the lady’s back?
Or was there a more sinister reason? Did she intend to pass anything she learned onto Conrad Ingram? What could he find interesting about what Sir Horace Leith was doing?
“My husband will join me when he is able, Miss Dunbar,” Lady Leith revealed, her tone calm. “Thank you for asking after him. It is very kind of you to be interested.”
She was polite without giving anything away. I wholeheartedly approved.
“But really, what keeps a new husband from his wife?” Miss Dunbar asked, persisting in her questions. “Surely, he should be by your side.”
At the same time, though, one of the other young ladies exclaimed, “Rose, look at this lace! Is it not just the thing for your gown?”
Daring to glance up, I saw Lady Leith turn away, putting an end to the conversation. Miss Dunbar scowled and then focused on what her friend had to show her. I had to look down to hide my pleased smile. Anything that hindered Conrad Ingram from learning every detail of something, no matter what it may be, was fine with me.
“You are Miss Nelson, are you not?”
Startled, I lifted my head and bobbed a quick, respectful curtsy. “Good day, Lady Leith. Yes, I am.”
“I never did thank you for your kind assistance,” she said, ignoring the suspicious glances that Miss Dunbar was sending our way. “Mr. Harper was abrupt with you, as I recall, and I did not appreciate your perceptiveness as I should have.”
The Debutante: A Regency Mystery (The Sinclair Society Book 2) Page 9