Elizabeth Kidd (12 page)

The hack went on its way, and Carey sighed. It was apparent that Elena would tell him no more than she had, which was little enough, while she was in this mysterious state of agitation. It was equally apparent that if he continued on his present course, he would only place her in danger in ways he could not anticipate, not the least of which was an accident in the street. He would have to wait and watch for an opportunity to approach her in some other way. He could only hope his patience would serve him until then.

He hailed the next hack and directed the driver to deliver him to his club—and the soothing company of whichever of his former army comrades were on the premises and whatever form of liquid anesthesia might be on hand to drown his troubles, at least for today.

Tomorrow he would consult his brother-in-law. Yes, that was what he would do. Duncan might not have an answer, but he would not take Carey’s troubles lightly either. He never did when it really mattered.

Chapter 10

Sleep had eluded Lady Kedrington, and she awoke before dawn, her mind still turning over the questions she had been pondering the night before. Her husband had not come home before she went to bed, where she had slept only fitfully without the security of his presence.

Further thought had divided her mind about his mysterious activities—whatever they might prove to be. She had long thought that he had too little to do when they came to town and only did so because she enjoyed it, and it did give him a chance to meet people who lived too far from their country estate to visit regularly. She knew he occasionally conducted estate business from Brook Street, but it could not be sufficient to occupy his active mind for long. Therefore, whatever he was up to with Robin Campbell had to be a good thing.

On the other hand, she could not shake a sense of there being some danger involved in the undertaking. He was well able to take care of himself, of course, and she did not think he would take foolish risks. Yet she could not help worrying.

When, therefore, she heard the creak of a floorboard in the adjoining room, she immediately rose and knocked on the door of her husband’s dressing room.

“Psst! Duncan, are you awake?”

Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door, only to be brought up short by the sight of her husband nearly fully dressed. Indeed, by the light of the single candle he had lit, she saw that he was in the processing of undressing for bed, not dressing for the day.

“I
knew
it has been too quiet in here all night, even for you,” she declared. “Wherever have you been?”

“Not with you, I regret to say,” he replied with a sigh in his voice. “But if you will be patient a moment longer, I shall join you and explain all. “

Antonia accepted this, although not without muttering under her breath as she returned to her bedroom about the patience she had been forced to show of late and whenever did Duncan explain all of anything? for if there was ever a close-mouthed….

Nonetheless, by the time she had climbed up into her bed again, puffed up the pillows behind her back so that she could sit up, and run her fingers lightly through her hair in a belated attempt to make some order of it, the viscount had entered her room in his smallclothes and climbed in beside her.

He leaned over to kiss her and murmured, “You always smell so delicious after you have been sleeping.”

Antonia would never have revealed that she secretly perfumed her pillowslips every night even had she thought to do so. Instead she allowed herself to relax into her husband’s embrace and enjoy his slow, sweet kiss. However, when she felt herself sliding blissfully back into a supine position under the weight of his insistent body, she pulled herself up again, shook her bemused mind clear, and said, a little breathlessly, “Oh, no. Explain first!”

“Explain what?” he murmured, burying his mouth in the hair behind her ear. He knew very well that this was a particularly sensitive spot, and it was all she could do to push him away from it and slap his wandering hands away from her neckline.

“Duncan! You were going to tell me where you have been.”

He raised his head, looked into her frowning face, and sighed again. “Robin Campbell asked me for my advice.”

“Oh, yes—the mysterious summons. What sort of odd thing did you discover was going on?”

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and resigned himself to answering her questions.

“If you read Robin’s letter, why are you interrogating me?”

“I wasn’t a letter. It was barely a note and even more terse than you are about explanations.”

He searched her expression again. “If I tell you, you must promise not to reveal it to another soul.”

“Duncan! Have I ever repeated anything you tell me in confidence?”

“Well, no. But I had to say that, since it concerns other people, not just ourselves.”

“I promise. Now what is it?”

He gave her a brief summary of the events of the past two nights, beginning with Robin Campbell’s original concern about the authenticity of one panel of one of the friezes. Antonia’s eyes lit with excitement.

“But how thrilling! Who do you suppose could have stolen it? And why?”

“How would be more to the point. If we discovered that, we could guess the who easily enough. At the moment, however—and this may be only my late lack of sleep speaking—I am inclined to think there was never a theft at all and the fake piece was always there. There may have been an exchange for heaven only knows what reason during the sculptures’ troubled transit to England. Or the piece may have been put up to replace a damaged panel when the wall was still in place, goodness knows how long ago.”

He pulled a pillow out from behind his wife, who was now sitting up without the aid of any support, and lay down with his head on it.

“And furthermore,” he said, “I don’t care. I’m getting too old for midnight sentry duty.”

“Oh, pooh, you’re just getting soft. I’ve spoiled you, that’s what it is.”

“In that case, you won’t mind indulging me a little longer and letting me get some sleep.”

Antonia thought for a moment, began, “But, Duncan…” and looked down at her husband. He was fast asleep. He had not yet, it seemed, lost his ability to fall asleep quickly and at any time that he needed to do so. She supposed he would be awake and himself again in no more than three or four hours, so she resolved to consider the problem herself in the meanwhile.

She slid quietly out of bed again, went through the viscount’s dressing room into his bedroom, and pulled the bell there. Milford would respond, and since he was not unaccustomed to finding his master and mistress in each other’s bedrooms at unusual hours, he would not object to bringing her a cup of coffee…and perhaps a roll and a pot of jam…and cream….

* * * *

Three hours later, Antonia’s fourth cup of coffee was cooling unattended on the breakfast room table while she perused the morning papers. That she was looking for something specific was evidenced by the discarded pages on the floor and the fact that she had broached
The Times
before Kedrington had a chance to read it.

She was reading a particularly interesting item in this chronicle, in fact, when the viscount, looking as refreshed as if he had just spent a week in hibernation in the country, entered the room.

“Is that my newspaper you are clutching? If you wrinkle the foreign news, I warn you, I shall claim it as grounds for divorce.”

Disregarding this threat, she said, “I have just been reading a most interesting piece about Sir John Drummond. Did you know that he has spoken in the House about the disadvantages of displaying the marbles in that building Robin is guarding? He demands that more stringent security measures be taken.”

“I was aware of something of the kind.”

“Well, of course you were. But does it not strike you as suspicious?”

Kedrington sat down with a plateful of eggs and bacon but stayed his fork to glance at his wife.

“I fail to see why. He believes the hall to be unsafe and unworthy of the high order of art displayed in it—or the other way around, I don’t recall at the moment. I daresay someone will have pointed out to him by now that mold is scarcely a threat to centuries-old marble and that if the building fell in on them, they would only get dusty. It is Robin and his fellows who would suffer in the event of such a catastrophe.”

“But that is precisely it, don’t you see.”

“No.”

“You know that anything Sir John says in public is only a mask for his private activities.”

“And…?” Kedrington inquired over a mouthful of egg.

“He must therefore believe that there is some danger to the marbles. If they were stolen, he would be credited with foresight and good sense, not to mention that he would score a moral victory against poor Lord Elgin.”

“
Poor
Lord Elgin?”

“I only meant he is no match for someone as devious as Sir John. You know I have little patience for weaklings, and my feeling sorry for them does not mean I feel obliged to
like
them.”

“Disregarding your unjust assessment of Elgin, my love, that is a distinction I have never known you to make before. Indeed, I recall a certain scullery maid who would have stolen us blind because you felt sorry for her and insisted on keeping her on even after she was caught with your silver earbobs in her pocket.”

“Well, I could not let her go to prison for the rest of her life for a momentary lapse! Those earbobs were not even particular favorites of mine—they were my sister-in-law’s discards, as I recall. But we are getting away from the point, Duncan.”

“I beg your pardon. What
is
the point?”

“That Sir John Drummond is perfectly capable of arranging for the theft of one or more of the marbles in order to further his political career.”

Antonia leaned forward, prepared to offer a spirited defense of her theory, but found her husband temporarily speechless. Indeed, he was gazing out the window and seemed to be giving the idea serious consideration.

“Much as I dislike encouraging your fancies,” he said at last, “I must confess that I do not find this one entirely outside the realm of possibility.”

“Can I take that to mean you will investigate it?”

He gave her a sharp look. “Is that what you intended when you fabricated it?”

“I did not fabricate it! Here”—she handed him the newspaper—“see for yourself.”

He took
The Times
and folded it neatly before placing it out of Antonia’s reach.

“And what will
you
be investigating in the meanwhile?”

“I declare, Duncan, sometimes you frighten me. Can you read everyone’s mind so readily?”

He smiled. “Only yours, my dear, and then only through years of studying and admiring it.”

She got up, went around to his side of the table, and kissed him soundly. Then she patted his mouth with her linen napkin, observed that he tasted like nutmeg, and sat down again, having thoroughly silenced him so that she could speak at least three sentences without interruption.

“I shall meanwhile learn all I can about this mysterious brother of Elena’s.”

This unexpected revelation further astonished his lordship, who sat back in his chair and regarded his wife with renewed admiration.

“I did not know she had a brother.”

“Nor did anyone else. That is the mystery. Furthermore, he is Greek.”

“Not a mystery. So is Elena.”

“A Greek
nationalist
.”

“Ah. I begin to see your drift.”

“I told you I am not so illogical as you think.”

“Do you have any reason to suspect this young man’s involvement with the stolen—presumably stolen—panel?”

“No, but one supposes his movements can be traced.”

“If he is found to exist in the first place.”

“Oh, I do not doubt that. Arthur Melville told us all about him—at least, so far as he
knew
anything about him. What is more, I believe that Dimitri’s existence—or more to the point, his activities—may be the reason behind Elena’s breaking it off with Carey.”

“Did Carey know she had a brother?”

“No, it was as much a surprise to him as to me, which is in part why I believe Dimitri had a part in her decision—much against her will, I am convinced, even if Carey is not—to call off the engagement.”

During this fervent speech, Kedrington pulled out his pocket notebook. “What did you say was the brother’s name?”

“Dimitri Metaxis. You were going to investigate Sir John’s activities.”

“So I shall. And I shall inform you of my findings, as I expect you will do as well.”

Antonia smiled. “All will be revealed tonight.”

“That will be fast work. Nonetheless, I shall be home early—in anticipation.”

“You do not intend to spend the night with a collection of cold Greeks again, then?”

He put away his notebook, rose, and leaned over to kiss her before setting out on his mission.

“I had much rather spend it with a warm wife.”

“I shall endeavor to please.”

“You always do, my love.”

* * * *

When Kedrington had gone out, Antonia sighed and rose to dress for her own morning activities. She congratulated herself for not adjuring Duncan to be careful, for he would only tell her not to worry. She would worry whether he said it or not, so she consoled herself as best she could with her restraint.

“I know he dislikes being fussed over,” she said later to Julia Wilmot, referring to her concern that Kedrington found little to amuse himself in town, “even if he never says anything to that effect.”

“He has always been so,” Julia confirmed. Antonia had walked to Berkeley Square, accompanied by one of her footmen, and now sat in the aunts’ parlor bringing them up to date on the news from Brook Street. She had been vaguely disappointed to find Hester at home as well as Julia, for she dared not reveal any details about Kedrington’s nocturnal activities in front of her. Hester never intended to repeat anything she heard in confidence, but she had been known to do so inadvertently on more than one occasion, and Julia’s scolding had done nothing to break her of this unfortunate tendency.