Mistress of Two Fortunes and a Duke Page 5

  Some people were more susceptible to the fear of exposure, of course. But a criminal like Delacroix was hardly in a position to expose anyone. She could understand why Genevieve would be upset by the threat, however. “You have done well, Marie. I shall do my best to sort things out.”

  After breakfast, Tilly retired to a sitting room to enjoy a sweet and creamy cup of chocolate. She had just become engrossed in reading the business section of a newspaper, when a servant interrupted to announce the dowager Lady Delacroix, mother to Genevieve and her blackmailing brother.

  What a coincidence to receive such a call, just when she had learned that Delacroix was back in town. Tilly was immediately suspicious. She shuffled her papers aside, and rose to receive her ladyship with a curtsey.

  “What a lovely surprise, my lady. I do not believe we have seen each other since Genevieve and Frederick's wedding.”

  “I think you must be right, Miss Ravelsham. But then, one gets so busy, and you have been out of town for such a long time.”

  “Oh indeed.” They both sat, and Tilly rang for tea, which arrived immediately. “But I am so glad you have called. I hope you have been well.”

  “Yes, I certainly cannot complain of my health. Though it does tax one's nerves worrying about one's children. One never stops, you know.”

  “Ah yes.” Tilly nodded to Lady Delacroix and poured her a cup of tea—weak, as the lady preferred it. “I suppose I shall have to wait to experience the great joys and sorrows of motherhood.”

  “I am sure you will be an excellent mother.” Lady Delacroix's spine was stick straight as she pretended to drink her tea. “You are so naturally caring and compassionate. And so good at arranging family matters.”

  “Your ladyship is far too kind.” Tilly wondered what sort of favour might warrant this degree of flattery.

  “In fact, speaking of family, I thought, now that your brother and my daughter are happily wed, it might not be too much to make a little request of you.”

  Tilly tried to sound surprised. “Whatever can it be? What service might I perform for your ladyship?”

  Lady Delacroix flicked her wrist in the air, as if to wave away a trifling bit of dust. “It is a very little thing. But you know that my son, Pascal, has been abroad for his health, ever since that horrible carriage man shot him.”

  Tilly forced down the little quirk that was forming in the corner of her mouth, and willed her lips into a bland smile at this edited version of history. She nodded for the deluded woman to continue.

  Lady Delacroix’s face was the model of maternal concern. “It must tear his nerves to shreds to think of coming back to the land where such a terrible thing happened.”

  “Does Mr. Delacroix have some plans to return to England?” The woman knew he was already in town. Tilly was sure of it. He must have been in contact with Lady Delacroix as well. Tilly wondered what he might have to blackmail his mother with.

  The lady's face tightened, then she assumed a smile. “Well, I know of no such plans, but I worry about him being away in these foreign places, you know. I should like to see him settled somewhere nearby, perhaps in the countryside, and starting a family. If the right living should come available, for example. A nice, retired life as a country parson might be just the thing for his health.”

  Tilly believed she now knew where this conversation was about to turn, and she attempted a circumvention. “Perhaps his brother, Lord Delacroix, might offer the living at Dunston Hall.” That is, if, on the last occasion that Lord Delacroix had entertained him, the younger Delacroix had not stolen everything of value in the manor before fleeing the country. Surely Lady Delacroix must know of her younger son's thievery. Tilly suppressed a laugh at the absurdity of putting him forward as a man of God. “That parson that married Genevieve and Frederick is surely almost ready to retire. He looked to be getting on in years.”

  “Well, I am not certain of the particulars, but it seems that living is not available.” Lady Delacroix pursed her lips and hid behind her teacup for a moment. “But as you are such a close friend of the Countess of Aldley, I thought you might know of a living through her husband. The earl has so many estates, and I understand that the family seat, itself, has quite a substantial parsonage.”

  “Your ladyship seems to have the advantage over me, for I know little of the parsonages within Lord Aldley's gift. But, if you believe one may be available, perhaps you should pay Lady Aldley a call, for you have been her acquaintance longer than I.” And, Tilly added mentally, I should love to see the reception that you would get, asking Lydia to assist the man who tried to abduct her. Still, it was probable that Lady Delacroix was ignorant of that piece of her son's effrontery.

  Lady Delacroix squared her already square shoulders. “I have not seen her for some time. I only thought that perhaps it might be unseemly to pay call all of a sudden, only to ask a favour.”

  “Quite. I admire your ladyship's thoughtful forbearance.” Unlike showing up on Tilly's doorstep, asking for a favour. On the other hand, Lady Delacroix was Tilly's relation, not Lydia's. It would be selfish of Tilly to fob Lady Delacroix off on her friend.

  “Will you, then, enquire on Pascal—on my son's behalf?” A crack in Lady Delacroix's armour showed a brief glance of what lay beneath. True maternal preoccupation—the worn and weathered heart that will always believe in the child she once knew, that will suffer every deprivation and humiliation to protect and care for that child, even if he is a nasty, filthy, hateful criminal who would rob and blackmail his own family.

  “I will mention it to Lady Aldley when I see her next. But I must confess that I believe there is little reason for optimism.” For, if Delacroix should show his face anywhere near Lord Aldley, the miscreant would most likely meet his God before he ever had a chance to represent Him.

  “Oh thank you, Miss Ravelsham. We must take these opportunities, even if prospects do not look bright. One never knows what might turn up.” The lady seemed genuinely optimistic.

  It occurred to Tilly, as she listened to Lady Delacroix's peculiar brand of deluded audacity, that it would have amused her to no end, a year ago. But something within Tilly had changed, and she now found this character at turns pathetically broken and irritatingly enabling, but never terribly diverting.

  Perhaps it was Tilly's countervailing need to protect her own loved ones. After all Delacroix had very nearly violated Lydia. Perhaps Tilly had been sobered by her feelings of guilt that Lydia had once been seriously injured, in part because Tilly had failed to protect her, opting instead to amuse herself by sporting with the bad characters of the Delacroix family. Or was it some of Rutherford's broodiness that was rubbing off on Tilly? She did not know what, but something had changed her.

  When Lady Delacroix left, at last, Tilly was faced with a dilemma. She needed to call on Lydia, as she wished to give the Aldleys the earliest possible warning that Delacroix was back in town, but she also should check on Mrs. Johnson—Clara.

  It seemed likely that Clara was feeling quite nervous in her new environment, especially as it was crucial that she not go out of doors, and she would naturally wish to look for her child. Still, Tilly could trust the people running the servant academy to make the new inmate feel welcome and to watch over her. It had been either the academy, or the Academy, as she euphemistically called the Belle Hire.

  She grimaced. Screwe was now on the blacklist at the Belle Hire, but it seemed unlikely that a woman who had so recently been violated and terrorized would wish to hide in a brothel, anyway, no matter how kind and charming the company. And it was the sort of place a person like Screwe would go looking for his escaped victim. He was no doubt working his way through all the brothels in London.

  Or would he leave well enough alone? Would he think it better not to do anything that might corroborate his victim's story, should she choose to tell it to a magistrate? She shook her head. Wishful thinking. Screwe expected to behave however he liked with impunity, and he liked power and suffering. H
e would never let his victim go without a chase, without inflicting whatever punishment he could.

  Tilly drummed her fingers on the ebony table. But Clara was safe now. Lydia might not be. It would have to be Lydia first. She had, after all, not seen Lydia since returning from Amsterdam, and hardly at all even since Lydia's homecoming from her honeymoon. It would be good to see her friend. She only wished she had better news to bear.

  When she arrived at the grand Aldley home, she was shown into a parlour with a great fireplace and a table full of sweets. It was like a fairytale. Tilly wondered, as she selected a delicacy from the table, if a witch might suddenly appear and try to roast her in the fire for cheekily eating sweets that did not belong to her.

  She munched on the confection defiantly, and waited for Lydia to join her. Some time elapsed before Tilly's repose was interrupted, not by the arrival of Lydia, but by the entry of Lord Aldley.

  “Miss Ravelsham, it is good to see you. I only wish you had arrived ten minutes ago, for Lydia has just left, despite my strenuous objections.”

  “Left? She is not yet in her confinement, then?”

  “No.” The earl's face betrayed his feelings on the topic. “And I have not yet been able to persuade her to do so. I had not thought of it before, but perhaps you might hold some sway. Can you not suggest it to her, Miss Ravelsham? You would be doing us both a great favour, though only one of us might know it.”

  “I suppose I might, if I ever get to see her.” Tilly laughed and shook her head. “Do you know where she has gone, my lord?”

  “Where else? Off to another meeting with her business partner.” His lip curled in distaste. “She will not let me accompany her, either. You will think me a tiresome worrier, but I cannot help being concerned that something will happen to her. She is always tripping about in parts of town that I wish she would never set a foot in.”

  “While I understand your lordship's concern, I do not think straying a hairsbreadth from Knight's Bridge is so very hazardous. But I shall have a word with her, I promise.” Tilly poised her hand over a confection with a delicious looking glazed cherry on top. “May I?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. How uncivil of me. Lydia loves to eat sweets now that—now that we are expecting.”

  “I can understand that.” Tilly smiled broadly and munched down the confection in two bites. “Do not trouble yourself ringing for tea, my lord. I shall be on my way again shortly, for I have quite a lot to do today. But,” she licked the sugar off her fingers, “before I go, I have some rather awful news. Your lordship might want to be seated.”

  Chapter 10

  Rutherford waited as Smythe made adjustments to his attire, perfecting his azure neckcloth, and giving his brick red jacket a final brush. When this visual marvel was completed, Rutherford bent down to pet Molly, to the visible irritation of Smythe. “You be a good little princess, Molly. I cannot take you with me, but you shall be well attended to while I am gone.” She licked his hand and rolled over to expose her growing belly.

  When he straightened, the strange pains in his body worsened. His shoulder ached, his leg twitched, and his stomach was cramping. His laudanum bottle was now empty, and he needed more. He thought he might call on his doctor to see if he had any, before he met Frobisher in the sport club.

  As he rode in the carriage, he contemplated his most recent distraction from Tilly. He had not yet come up with an idea of how to track down Delacroix's henchman. He had thought of going to Bow Street, but it seemed pointless when he had so little information and a description that half the men in London would answer to. Besides, he had no offence to report. What had happened to Lady Aldley last season had been quite successfully hushed up, and so could not be laid at the feet of those responsible.

  No, he would have to find the nasty character himself. But the shadowy side of London was a massive and labyrinthine place. He had no idea where to start, except, perhaps, with the horse. The man had ridden a large chestnut mare, with a white diamond on its forehead and a white stocking on its right hind foot. And it was fast. There could not be so very many horses of that description in London. Perhaps he could hire someone to look for it. Or perhaps it had been stolen—after all it was odd to see a cheap ruffian riding an expensive mount.

  His stomach twisted in another cramp, and a cold sweat broke on his brow. Perhaps he should have stayed home and called for the doctor. But no, Rutherford was not a weakling, and he had things to do about town. His carriage pulled up to Doctor Kellerman's home, and he alighted with difficulty, his leg twitching stupidly.

  “Wait here, Elms. I shan't be long.”

  Dr. Kellerman came to him into the small parlour promptly. “Mr. Rutherford! Very good to see you, but you should have sent for me. True, you look peaked and sallow, if you do not mind my saying so—though it may just be the colour of your shirt.”

  “I do not mind. It is just this blasted pain.” Rutherford rubbed his shoulder. “It seems to never go away. And my body has such queer tremblings and pains. Do you not have more laudanum you can give me?”

  “Laudanum? You are still taking it? Have you had some recent injury?”

  Only to my heart, Rutherford thought. “It is just my shoulder never stops aching.”

  “Well, I am afraid I cannot help you for I am fresh out myself. I know of a trustworthy apothecary who mixes up batches. He is not too far away.”

  He wrote out the direction for Rutherford, and as he handed over the paper, he said, “But Mr. Rutherford, I think you must stop taking the laudanum.”

  “It is the only thing for the pain,” Rutherford snapped. Could Kellerman not see he needed medicine?

  “I believe the shoulder pain will subside in time. The other symptoms you describe are from the body's growing need for the drug. Over use can cause great health problems.”

  “I am only using it as necessary. It is medicine given me by a doctor.”

  “And I tell you, as your doctor, that if you do not wean yourself off of it you will go into a decline that shall best you. I have seen it happen to healthy young men.”

  Rutherford had no more time for lectures. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Kellerman. I have appointments to attend, so I am afraid I cannot stay longer.”

  Dr. Kellerman looked sad. “I hope if your condition persists, you will summon me.”

  Rutherford hardly heard the doctor as he quitted the parlour.

  Chapter 11

  When Tilly arrived at the servant academy, she looked around at the improvements. All the peeling wall papers and crumbling plaster in the main hall, dining room and parlour had been cleared away and replaced with plain, unfinished wooden boards. It was not polished or fancy, but clean and practical, and had cost a fraction of the estimate she had been given for the plaster work and wall paper.

  She preferred to spend the money on rescuing the dispossessed from the predators of London. The servants had already gone about decorating the freshened walls with the few paintings that Frederick had donated to the cause, and the carpets and tables were all back in place. Tilly was pleased.

  The woman who ran the servant academy for Tilly entered and greeted her warmly. “Miss Ravelsham, I am glad you are come.”

  “Hello, Dawking. I see the improvements have been quite a success. Have you started with the sleeping quarters?”

  “That will be next week. It is fortunate that we have some extra spaces to shift people into while their rooms are improved.”

  Tilly smiled. “So I suppose my timing with the new guest is not the best, then.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not at all. I believe, as she would have it, your timing was none too soon, Miss.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But we also have the new urchin, so we are a bit pressed for space. However, three of our students will be leaving next week to go to placements, so with a few cots squeezed in here and there, it shall go off without a hitch.”

  “How is the new urchin? Has she told you anything of herself, yet?�
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  “No. She is a quiet little thing, but she is always watching, and is a fast learner. She won't even tell us her name. We just call her Sweep, because she was as filthy as a chimney sweep when we found her. To be honest, she seems to prefer a dirty face above all things.”

  “I am mostly come to see Clara, but would you at least introduce me to the child?”

  Sweep was industriously peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Her face, as Dawking had foretold, was covered in dirt. And she seemed quite unwilling when Dawking sent her to wash it, before introducing her to Tilly.

  “Hello, Sweep.” Tilly examined the child when she returned from washing up. She was a tiny thing, with black hair and skinny limbs that were all lines and angles under her black servant's garb. In contrast to the smudged face, the little girl’s frock was remarkably clean.

  “Hello, Miss.” The child bobbed a curtsey. “Mistress Dawking says I am to thank you for taking me in.”

  “I am very glad that you have a place here. You may thank me by attending your lessons and learning as much as you can.” Tilly remarked how seriously the child's dark eyes looked at her—they had an amber halo around the rim.

  She could see why Wheeler had called them crone-like. They were vaguely disturbing, set in the face of a child. And what a face it was, with delicate bones and creamy skin tinted slightly amber. It seemed strangely familiar, but Tilly could not place it.

  “That I shall, Miss. And I am already learning such a great lot, that Levi says I shall replace her soon.” Sweep smiled impishly.

  Tilly smiled back. The little girl was charming and she would grow up to be remarkably handsome. Tilly thanked heaven that her people had got to her before someone like Red Martha did. Then Tilly had a sudden revelation about why the girl's face was so familiar. “Sweep, have you met the new guest?”

  “The secret guest, what keeps to her room, and no one is to know about?”