Edith Layton (19 page)

Annie nodded, wide-eyed. “Rufus Smythe, the second footman, is going back this very week, and I’d trust him with my own life, I would.”

Julianne cocked her head to the side. “Really?” she asked. “Then I may assume that one day you really might trust him with yours?”

Annie blushed rosily. “Oh, one day, who knows, Miss? But how did you know?”

“I hear you singing all the time now,” Julianne said, smiling, “and I’ve known you a long time, and besides, I saw you talking to him the other day. No one could mistake the look on your face, or the one on his.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Why should I? I’ll miss you, of course, but I want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I will be, Miss. He won’t stay a footman forever,” Annie said. “He’s saving up to buy a share in a shop, one day. I know just the place, back home.”

Julianne took a deep breath. “Good, and I wish you well. So. If I give you a note for you to give to him, to give to someone staying at the White Hart, it will get there safely?”

“He’ll see that it gets into Mr. Christian’s hands and no other,” Annie said staunchly.

Julianne winced. “It is that obvious?”

“To me, Miss. I did see you coming home to squire’s at dawn, and more than once. And I know
you led a horse out in the night…and there’s not a one who’d breathe a word of that, neither, because there’s that many who like you on staff, and what their betters do is their own business, and so say all. There’s not much that goes on in a great house that a good staff misses; but a servant who gabbles isn’t liked by anyone, and money can’t buy friendship, you know.

“And who else should you be going to see?” She saw her mistress’s expression. “I’d be a poor help to you if I didn’t know, wouldn’t I? How can I sleep if I know you’re not home? I didn’t go after you because I didn’t think he’d do you any harm. I asked, see, all innocent-like, and no one at squire’s thought any evil of him either—aside from some thinking he was trying to pull the wool over their eyes, of course. But where’s the dire harm in that? A man should try to better himself, all said. Some noblemen are wicked as can be, and who’s to know who is of the blood even in the best of families? And a fortune is a fortune after all”

“Oh, Annie,” Julianne said, feeling warm and protected, and stupid as a blind calf, all at once.

The note was very brief, but it took a day to compose.

“Dear Christian,” it began, because a number of versions starting “Dear Earl Sauvage” had been crumpled up. As had those starting, “Dear Mr. Sauvage.” Christian was the boy she’d known, she decided, and she was writing to him. The rest was simple enough:

Annie’s footman took the note and placed it next to his heart. He said he would bear it next to his heart until he gave it into the hand of the man who called himself Christian Sauvage. Rufus left London the next morning.

In the next days Julianne went to balls and parties, a concert and a tea. She flirted and laughed, danced, and avoided offers and kisses, and she never once stopped thinking of her note and the answer to it.

Some nights as she lay in her bed thinking about it, she thought he’d answer her in person, braving the baronet’s wrath to ask her to drive out with him again. Other nights she dreamed while awake of him coming up to her at a ball, silently offering her his hand, and leading her into the dance. On darker, later nights she imagined him coming to her without a word, taking her into his arms, and kissing her until she could no longer breathe. As she could not when she thought of it.

A week passed, then Rufus returned.

“He isn’t there anymore, Miss,” Annie reported that very day. “Rufus said he cleared straight out after we left, and no one’s seen him since.”

That evening Julianne was very pale and sat quietly
at the dinner table. No one seemed to notice because Sophie was so merry as she detailed the plans for her upcoming wedding day.

“And we shall dress the church all in white, which should not be difficult even in September,” Sophie said, “because I saw the most cunning idea in a lady’s magazine! We can use camellias and orchids, of course, but how charming if we also used daisies and meadowsweet.”

“Charming,” her mama agreed, “but not too many wildflowers, my love, lest people think you’re being mingy instead of inventive. Surely a countess needs more roses than weeds, right, Hammond?”

Julianne’s head shot up. She knew it would be the wrong thing to say, as welcome as a rainstorm on a picnic party, but she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “But what of the man who said he was Christian Sauvage?” she asked. “What happened about his claim?”

They stared at her.

It was the baronet who broke the silence, his voice full of amusement and thick with triumph. “Why, did no one tell you, my dear? He’s in Newgate Prison, and has been for a while, and is likely only to leave it in a coffin. So he need trouble us no more. I agree, Martha,” he added, “a countess should have more orchids than weeds, to be sure.”

J
ulianne couldn’t ask more about Christian immediately. She didn’t want to discuss it with the baronet, the squire, or his wife. She had to talk to Sophie. Though her cousin didn’t share her concerns, she was at least the most approachable of the three. But soon as the dinner she couldn’t touch was over, they were off to a concert. She sat in her box looking dumbly at the chorus, feeling numbed, too heartsick to bring the subject up even if she dared raise her voice enough to be heard above the music. She didn’t discuss it at intermission because she couldn’t get Sophie alone. And since Sophie and Hammond were permitted time alone because they were engaged, and took the opportunity to be private in the salon after the concert, that chance wouldn’t come for Julianne until the next day.

Julianne woke after a restless night of interrupted sleep. She dressed, and sat waiting until noon, when her cousin would awake and dress. She went to her cousin’s room the moment she saw Sophie’s maid leave. Sophie was still at her dressing table. Julianne got straight to the point.

“He’s in Newgate, awaiting trial,” Sophie said in answer to her first question.

Julianne sank to a chair. “But, why?” she asked, when she found enough breath. “Is there new evidence that he wasn’t telling the truth?”

“He wasn’t, it’s that simple,” Sophie answered. “But that hardly matters now, unless, of course, he wants a silken rope instead of hemp. Sir Maurice said he’ll be tried and hanged, and that will be the end of it.”

Julianne gasped. “Hanged?”

“Yes, because Sir Maurice had Egremont inventoried after the tour he gave, and they found silver candlesticks missing—again! And an heirloom snuffbox and a silver candle snuffer as well. You’d think the fellow would have learned from the first time he was imprisoned, but I suppose he couldn’t resist. The irony of it is staggering, just as Sir Maurice says, considering what the real Christian Sauvage was convicted of. It must have appealed to a twisted, criminal mind, like his—whoever he is.”

“How do they know he took the candlesticks?”

“Why, they found them in his luggage at the White Hart, of course.”

“But what about the proof that he is the earl?”

Sophie stopped adjusting the ribbon in her curls and turned from her mirror to look at her cousin. Her look was soft and pitying. “Poor Julianne. We do understand. You hoped against hope the fellow would be real, so that some way you could recapture your childhood and those happy memories of your dear brother. Sir Maurice said this would be hard on you,
which is why we didn’t tell you. But let it go, because regretting will only bring you sorrow. He was arrested for theft, and when the truth of his identity is known, he’d be hanged for that as well. And as no man can be hanged twice over, however much a villain he may be, either reason is good enough, or so Sir Maurice says. And he’s right, as usual.”

Sophie’s voice became brighter. “Just forget it! You have enough to divert you. George Winthrop is dancing attention on you, and now that his friend Philip Reese is as well—and not just for competition’s sake, I think—your dance card will be full. Sir Mark is sending flowers—although he is a pudding face, so I don’t blame you for not paying mind to his attentions. And then there’s Sir Maurice himself. Mama said it’s clear he’s very fond—aye! I’m mum,” she cried, throwing up her hands.

“Pah. This ribbon will not do!” Sophie went on, as she looked into the mirror again. “White on blond is futile; I think a rose-colored one will do it, though I’d hoped for a new look. And as for Sir Maurice, you’re right, or you might be. It may well be just fatherly interest on his part after all, or so Papa said. He reminded us that the poor man lost his only son and heir, and his son wasn’t much older than you when he died. So that could be it, entirely.” She swung around. “What are you wearing today—and then tonight?” she asked merrily.

“You haven’t forgotten, have you?” she asked, when Julianne didn’t answer. “We’re promised to the Stantons for tea. And then there’s the masquerade
ball at the Royces’ tonight. Don’t worry, we won’t need full costumes, a domino or an eye mask will do. Luckily, Mama told me about the rage for masquerades, so I brought two eye masks with me, and a peacock feather one, too.” She eyed her cousin’s pallor. “But if you like, we can take a jaunt to the shops and buy new ones.”

“I’m not going out this evening,” Julianne said quietly. “This has all been…a great shock to me. I know you’re right,” she said at once. “As is Sir Maurice. And diversion would help me, but not just yet. You must give me some time. Some people can lose themselves in gaiety. I think I can—if I get a good day’s rest, then a good night’s sleep.”

“Of course, I understand,” Sophie said. “You do look heavy-eyed. Perhaps you’re coming down with something, too. Go straight to bed. I’ll make your excuses, and entertain your beaux, and try to drive poor Ham mad with jealousy while I do. As if I could.” She laughed. “Ham trusts in me, as well he should. Now go, you’re much too pale. Go to sleep, and in case you can’t right away, I’ll send you some novels and fruit and sweets, and tell everyone to let you be until you feel better. Why, you’ll soon be so comfortable you’ll never want to leave your room again. But you must. There’s that recital tomorrow night, then a late supper at the Binghams’.”

“Thank you,” Julianne said softly. She rose and went back to her room, still stunned, but relieved that she’d managed to find a way to buy herself time alone, so she could try to think of what to do next.

By late afternoon the baronet’s town house was still. Everyone but the servants seemed to have left, except for Julianne. She had a tray of fruit and sweets and a stack of novels by her bedside, a note from Sir Maurice wishing her better health, and a promise that she wouldn’t be disturbed.

“The squire, he’s out looking at horses,” Annie reported to her mistress. “His lady and your cousin and Mr. Hammond are still out to tea. And Sir Maurice went about his business and told the staff he wouldn’t return ’til dinner. I can tell them all you’re still sleeping when they get back, and they’ll believe me, but oh, miss, I dearly wish you wouldn’t!”

“I’ll be fine,” Julianne said. “Your young man delivered the note?”

“He did,” Annie said anxiously. “Like I said. And like I already told you, Mr. Murchison read it and said, as best I can remember, ‘Tell the young lady she’s gone round in her head, and I’ll have no part of it.’ But he said you wasn’t to worry because he’d keep his own counsel as always. So you see? If even a Bow Street runner don’t approve…oh, please, Miss, don’t do it!”

Julianne tightened her lips. “I wish I didn’t have to. But I must. And I won’t come to harm. Lord, girl, he’s in
prison
! Under lock and key and behind bars. What can he do to me there? I must know the truth about him, and when I do, I’ll be able to put it aside.” She rose from her chair. “I’m ready. I’ve got a purseful of coins and banknotes that Mama gave me when I left
home. Now, all I have to do is find whom to give them to in order to find a way into Newgate. If Murchison won’t help me, I’ll do it on my own.

“Now, remember,” she cautioned her maid, “don’t fall into a panic if I’m not home right away. It may be that I’ll have other errands to run.”
Because if he’s innocent
, she thought,
I won’t stop looking for help for him until I’ve seen every solicitor in Town
.

“But I should be with you!” Annie wailed.

“If you were, who would be here taking care of me in my sickbed? I need you right here,” she added before Annie could protest again, “because so long as you’re here, they won’t suspect that I’m not. Don’t let anyone in my room. I can do it on my own: I’ll be heavily veiled, and I’ll go in a hack, and I won’t give my real name. If I have to, I’ll tell them I’ve a maid waiting for me in the carriage. That way they’ll think me a highborn lady on secret business.” She remembered what Christian had told her about condemned men’s last nights on earth at Newgate, and shivered. Though it wasn’t to be his last night, what he’d said had given her inspiration for what she was about to do.

“I’m told they’re used to that sort of visitor at Newgate,” she said, and couldn’t help shuddering again. Because it was a mad and desperate thing she was doing. She also knew that she had to do it, or never sleep easy again. The thought of him in chains, in doubt as to how she felt about what had happened to him, was too painful for her to bear, waking or sleeping. She’d been dancing while he had been taken away to rot in prison? She’d been flirting, laughing,
living, while his very life was in doubt. Guilt and fear made her braver than she was. She had to do something, and immediately, no matter how much even the thought of what she was going to do frightened her.

“The only thing that may be harmed is my reputation,” she told Annie firmly. “And you know that won’t matter a snap to my mother and father, because they trust me and believe in me no matter what.”

“But what about your cousins, and Sir Maurice, that nice young Mr. West, and all your other fine suitors?” Annie wailed.

“They don’t mean a thing to me, any of them,” Julianne said brutally. “They’re just part of an experience, not my life,” she added more softly. “And so if they find out, and forgive me, I’ll be pleased. But if they don’t, I won’t really care.” She looked at her maidservant and sighed. “Annie, don’t you see? There are times when a woman must deal with her own life directly. She can’t always be protected, if only because other people’s plans for her life mightn’t suit her as well as her own.” She tilted her head and gazed at her maidservant curiously. “Surely you know that. You’ve always had to look out for yourself, haven’t you?”

“Oh, aye, I have and I do,” Annie said. “But sometimes, I think it must be grand to have someone else to watch out for you.”

“So do I,” Julianne said. “But that person must be someone I trust and believe in. And right here and right now, the only person I completely trust and believe in is myself.” She squared her shoulders. “So, I’m ready. You go first to be sure no one sees me. I’ll
leave by the back door. The hackney will be waiting at the foot of the street and just around the corner, you said?”

Annie nodded.

Julianne took a deep breath, then hesitated. She had on her best day gown, low at the breast and trimmed with lace, the whole ensemble the color of ripe peaches and cream. She’d used floral water and powdered her bare shoulders. “How do I look?” she asked.

“Beautiful!” Annie said.

“Oh, what a fool I am!” Julianne muttered, her face growing pink. She whipped a dark cape from the bed, flung it over her shoulders, and pulled it closed, so that no one could see her fine gown. The she crammed on a veiled hat she plucked from her vanity table, securing it with the thrust of a jet pin. She used such force that she was glad she’d angled the pin, or she’d have done herself an injury. “There, I’m as good as invisible, see? Now go make sure the way is clear.”

Annie cracked open the door to survey the hallway, then crept out to look at the stair and the hall below. While she did, Julianne pulled down the veil to cover her face, lifted her head, and marched to her door. She looked to her maid. Annie, white-faced, nodded.

Julianne took a breath, jerked the door open, and stepped out, before she could think of one more good reason not to.

A fine mist was trying to resolve into a soft rain, so there weren’t any of the usual strollers out and about. The nannies and their charges were safe and dry indoors, the old ladies and gentlemen were sitting by
their hearths trying to get the damp from their bones. Only a few servants scurried up and down the fashionable streets, but their heads were down as they went about their errands. It was a dim, clammy afternoon, perfect for her purposes, Julianne thought.

She almost wished it were broad sunlight, so that someone would see her, and she’d be forced to retreat. There was no shame in being bested by Fate. But no one noticed her as she hurried down the street. It was difficult to see where she was going. Her hat, one Annie had from the time when an uncle had passed, was black, with a heavy veil, made passably fashionable by the spray of brave jet feathers splayed on its crown.

The veil was of cheap heavy net, so it also trapped Julianne’s breath and made her a little dizzy. At least, she hoped that was what was making her feel so light-headed, and not the terror she was beginning to feel. But she was comforted by the fact that if she couldn’t see out, at least no one would see in. She could, however, clearly see the only hackney carriage waiting at the foot of the street. As she approached, the driver nodded and saluted her by touching his whip to his hat. Julianne looked down, trying to see the steps on the little stair that had been let down from the carriage. She only hoped she wouldn’t break her neck as she went up them.

She pulled open the door, ducked her head, bent double, and stepped in.

“Good afternoon,” a masculine voice said from the interior of the carriage.

Julianne gasped, but before she could back out, the
man half rose, and, with one long arm, pulled the door shut. The hackney bucked and started moving. Julianne was thrown to a seat by the motion, and she sat down hard, one hand on her heart, trying to make out the figure sitting now opposite her again.

“Captain Briggs!” she breathed.

“The same,” he said with a smile so wide and white she could see its brilliance even through her veil. “At your service, Miss Lowell. Literally,” he added when she didn’t speak. “Murchison told me what you asked him, and I’m here to help you.”

“He said he wouldn’t tell anyone,” she said stiffly, her heartbeat slowing, but her heart sinking as she wondered who else the runner had confided in.

“No, he said you’d run mad,” he corrected her, “and added that he’d keep his counsel. Which he did. But he wanted to help you, so he shared your request with me. Never put your faith in a man who’s sworn to uphold the law, Miss Lowell, because the law has more holes in it than you have in your veil.”

“Than I have in my head,” she said bitterly.

“No, no,” he said, smiling. “I really am here to help you, and I promise my lips are sealed. You want to see Christian. So you shall. Don’t worry, I’m very good at such things, and I don’t think you can do it without me. How were you planning on doing it, by the way?” he asked curiously.