Lady Whistledown Strikes Back (39 page)

Jacobs knocked and announced that not only was breakfast ready but her brother was standing in the entryway, demanding to be let in. Sophia raised her brows; it was early for John to be up and about. As it turned out, he was actually on his way home. Still dressed in his evening attire, he had passed her house, seen lights flickering in the main rooms, and had boldly concluded that breakfast might be had.

“You are a pig,” she told him as he piled his plate high with kippers, eggs, and bacon. “And you are going to get fat.”

“Not me. I have an iron constitution. Besides, it’s a chance I’m willing to take as there are kippers involved.” John sat beside her, his gaze resting on the list at her elbow. “What’s that?”

“The guests at Lady Neeley’s dinner. I’m marking the ones who had a motive to steal the bracelet. I thought to speak with them—without divulging my suspicions, of course—and see if there are any clues as to who might have taken the silly thing.”

“Splendid idea!” he said, salting his eggs. “Where are you off to first?”

Sophia sighed. “I suppose I must start with Lady Neeley, though to what purpose, I’m not sure. She

has quite made up her mind to blame Max.”

“Perhaps she has some new information.”

“She had none to begin with.” Sophia examined her list. “After Lady Neeley, I shall visit Lord Rowe.” Lord Rowe was a loquacious man, warm and humorous, and a notoriously poor gambler. When other men cut their losses and walked away from possible ruin, he’d been known to foolishly continue on, bringing his family to the brink of the poorhouse on more than one occasion.

Luckily, as oft as he lost

his fortune, he also re-earned it, that same stubbornness allowing him to ride out a bad streak to which others would have bowed.

“Rubber Rowe, eh?” John finished his eggs and began to work on his kippers.

“He’s bounced between riches and rags so oft, I never know if I should offer to spot him a guinea or borrow a groat.” John chewed thoughtfully, then nodded.

“If his fortune is once again on the downward swing, he might make a good suspect.”

“Possibly. He’s a gambler, not a thief, and a horribly nice man. I truly hope he didn’t do it, but I simply could not leave any stone unturned.” She stood. “I had best make my calls before it gets too late. I have much to do.”

“Go ahead, my dear,” John said expansively, gesturing with his fork and knife.

“I’ll just finish up here. Unless, of course, you need me to accompany you.”

“You’d be asleep in the carriage before we reached Lady Neeley’s.”

“Balderdash,” John said in a mild tone. “I’ve two good hours left before I fall into a stupor.”

“Two minutes is more likely. Feel free to make use of the guestroom if you find your bed too far away.” She bent and kissed his cheek, then left to call for her carriage.

Her interview with Lady Neeley was as unpleasant as Sophia had expected it to be. The woman was horrid, briskly repeating her accusations without one sign of remorse or thought. Sophia was forced to grit her teeth before replying to such unalleviated twaddle. “Lady Neeley, I cannot believe you’d make such an accusation without proof.”

“Proof?” Lady Neeley held out a bit of a tea cracker for her parrot. It squawked and whistled, turning a haughty shoulder on the tidbit. “Poor bird! I just do not know what is wrong with him for he won’t eat any of his treats! He hasn’t been the same for the last two weeks. Always fluttering about and squawking and stealing my best ribbons.”

Sophia, who knew nothing about birds and preferred to keep it that way, merely said, “The weather has affected us all. Lady Neeley, I wish to speak to you about the missing bracelet. Why do you think Lord Easterly took it?”

“Perhaps he needed the money,” Lady Neeley offered.

Sophia thought of the generous allowance Max had provided for her over the years. “No, he does not need the money.”

“Oh. Then perhaps he collects ladies’ jewelry. I had a cousin once who collected women’s chemises. On his death he had over one hundred and fifty of the things in his possession.” Lady Neeley leaned forward. “At the funeral, I overheard my aunt say that he’d asked to be buried in one, but that the church wouldn’t allow it.”

“Lord Easterly does
not
collect other people’s jewels. Nor does he collect chemises.” Not that she knew of, anyway.

“Then perhaps he took the bracelet merely because he could,” Lady Neeley said, obviously uninterested. “Who knows how the criminal mind works?”

Sophia came to her feet. “Lord Easterly does
not
have a criminal mind!”

There was a stunned moment, then the parrot squawked. Lady Neeley managed an uncertain laugh.

“My dear, it does you great credit to stand by Easterly—”

“I am not standing by Easterly. I am searching for the truth. Lady Neeley, I will find your bracelet and prove how wrong you are. In the meantime, you have no evidence and should not be spreading such horrid rumors about my husband.”

“How can you say that when Easterly all but abandoned you at the altar—”

“My relationship with Lord Easterly is none of your concern.” The words were softly spoken, but Sophia’s anger had frozen into an icy rock of disdain. She clung to the jagged edges, daring Lady

Neeley to step closer.

Lady Neeley flushed a deep red. “Of course I won’t say another word. At least, not unless someone

asks me about it.” That said, she turned her attention back to her parrot.

Though Sophia wished for a more substantial promise, she knew that was all she was going to get. As soon as she could, she excused herself and left for Rowe House.

Sophia stepped out of her carriage into a brisk wind that stirred her skirts. The sunlight was just beginning to peek between the clouds, a fortunate happenstance that lifted Sophia’s spirits immensely.

She discovered that both Lord and Lady Rowe were at home, though the house was in horrible disarray. They were in the process of ordering about several stalwart footmen in an effort to arrange a place for a new pianoforte.

As Lord Rowe wished a place by the window and Lady Rowe favored a place near her harp, away from the burning afternoon light, the poor footmen were torn between a spate of conflicting orders.

These all came to a halt when the pianoforte itself arrived not ten minutes later. The instrument was a piece of exquisite artistry that effectively answered Sophia’s question— the Rowes were indeed on an upward swell, and, judging by the new rugs and other freshly acquired furniture, they had been experiencing good fortune for some time now. Certainly more than a single bracelet could afford.

Sophia made her farewells and went off to locate the next person on her list—Mrs. Warehorse, a widow who stretched her thin income by exchanging dinner invitations for sycophantic utterances. The elderly widow lived with a talkative, distant cousin in a set of lodgings that could only be described as sparse. Sophia tried to make it plain that she was in a hurry, but Mrs.

Warehorse’s cousin was determined to

hold her prisoner, at least through one cup of tepid tea. After much hinting, the cousin finally revealed

that Mrs. Warehorse had gone in search of some ribbon to remake a hat.

Sophia ordered her carriage to Bond Street, and she soon spied her quarry coming out of a shop, meager purchases clutched in one hand. Mrs.

Warehorse brightened when Sophia hailed her, and the widow agreed with alacrity to walk a way down the street and then enjoy the comfort of Sophia’s carriage for the ride home. It was an invitation Sophia would immediately regret, as the older woman could not speak without uttering a flurry of simpering compliments intermingled with deep sighs about her own plight, done in an obvious (and irritating) effort to elicit sympathy and garner favor at one and the same time.

Gritting her teeth at such obvious flummery, Sophia interrupted with a deftly worded question about the night of the fated dinner. The widow immediately poured forth her remembrances. Unfortunately, most of her memories had to do with how lovely Mrs. Warehorse had thought Sophia’s gown. Sophia clamped her lips against such asinine utterances, determined to let the information flow unchecked in case something of importance happened to tumble out. Nothing did.

Finally, the endless chatter was more than Sophia could stand. She cut the widow short and suggested they walk back to the carriage as the wind was picking up. The discourse had proven one thing: Mrs. Warehorse was an unlikely suspect. The woman had neither the gall nor the brains for such an endeavor as a bold theft.

Sophia led her companion back down Bond Street, a warming wind ruffling their skirts and tossing the feather on Mrs. Warehorse’s bonnet. They had just gotten within sight of the carriage when, out of the corner of her eye, Sophia caught sight of a spanking new curricle led by an amazingly perfect set of bays. She had to admire the rig, and she did. At least, she did until she saw who was handling the reins— Max, attired in a new multicaped greatcoat with brass buttons, an elegant hat resting on the seat beside him. The wind ruffled his dark hair as his gaze met hers, a hint of arrogant surety lurking in his silver eyes.

For one brief, unguarded instant, happiness bubbled through her, lighting her from head to foot with

the quickness of a strike of lightning. A wide, welcoming smile almost slipped out. Fortunately, Mrs. Warehorse chose that minute to exclaim, “My dear Lady Easterly! Is that your husband? Oh! Wait. I don’t suppose you’d call him a ‘husband,’ not after he left you all alone all those years. And good thing, too, considering he’s nothing more than a thief.”

Sophia stiffened, coming to such a sudden halt that the man walking behind her almost ran into her

back. She ignored the man’s protestations and said to her companion in a frosty voice,

“Are you accusing Lord Easterly of theft?”

The widow’s smile faded before such an icy wind. “I— I— Everyone knows—”

“All that anyone knows is that Lady Neeley’s bracelet is missing and there is no evidence of who took it.
None
at all.”

“Oh! Well, y-yes. Of course. I … I was just repeating what Lady Neeley—that is, I’m certain I did not mean to imply that—” Mrs. Warehorse’s desperate gaze flew over Sophia’s shoulder. “Oh dear! There is Lord Easterly now.”

Sophia whirled around to see Max attempting to maneuver the curricle through the crowded street toward the curb. The one, brief flare of happiness she’d felt on seeing Max returned in full force, and she clenched her teeth against it. She had no desire to see her recalcitrant husband, not now. Not until she

had some evidence that would show Lady Neeley’s accusations against Max for what they were.

Sophia didn’t know why it was important that she prove herself; perhaps it was just an attempt to pay a long due debt. Yes, that was what it was—an attempt to repay Max for her irresolution all those years ago. And she was determined to be successful.

“My dear Lady Easterly,” Mrs. Warehorse said with a vacuous smile, “it looks as if Lord Easterly has found a break in the traffic. Do you think he will come here—”

Sophia grabbed Mrs. Warehorse’s arm and stepped up her pace, practically dragging the poor woman down the street. “It cannot be Lord Easterly. It must be someone else.”

“It certainly
looked
like him,” Mrs. Warehorse said, struggling to keep up, her package dangling from one hand. She allowed Sophia to drag her along, glancing back over her shoulder, her watery blue eyes sharp with curiosity. “Whoever he is, he looks quite put out that we’re rushing in the opposite direction.”

<> Sophia increased her pace even when Mrs. Warehorse puffed an exclamation of distress at being dragged down the busy walkway. Sophia gave a sigh of relief when they finally reached the carriage.

“Where to, my lady?” the footman asked, assisting Mrs. Warehorse into her seat.

“Anywhere but here!” Sophia climbed in without allowing the footman time to reach for her, then she lifted the step back into the carriage and slammed the door. “Let us go!”

The snap of her voice jolted the footman into action. “Yes, my lady!” He ran to the front of the carriage, repeated Sophia’s instruction to the coachman and with a crack of the whip, they rumbled into the crowded lane of carriages and carts, leaving Max far behind.

After seeing Mrs. Warehorse home, Sophia attempted to interview Lord Alberton. Since he was a sportsman and it was a particularly fine day, he proved a greater challenge to locate than either Lord Rowe or Mrs.

Warehorse. Sophia ended up traveling from one location to another, only to find that she was a good ten to twenty minutes behind Alberton everywhere she went. By late afternoon, tired and hungry, Sophia gave up the chase and repaired for home.

She was upstairs in the sitting room, reading through her list and enjoying the reviving properties of tea and cakes, when Jacobs came to the door.

“My lady, Lord Easterly has come to call.”

Sophia set her cup down on the plate with a snap. “Pray inform him that I am not at home.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jacobs bowed and went back downstairs.

There. That is that.
She lifted the teacup to her lips, pausing at the sound of the front door opening and then closing as Max left the house, aware that her hand was trembling. A faint sense of relief, tainted by a bitter dash of disappointment, made her set her teacup back on the table beside the much-creased list

of suspects.

She hadn’t expected Max to take such a rebuff so tamely. At one time he would have risen to the challenge and thrown one of his own. At one time…

she paused. At one time he had loved her. Or so he’d said.

She sighed, suddenly restless, her gaze landing on the list where it sat beside her cup. Perhaps she

should ask John for his help in locating Lord Alberton. If anyone knew where a man addicted to sporting activities may go, it would be John. Sophia stood and turned to the door, then gasped.
“Max!”

Dark and dangerous, he leaned against the doorframe, his hands deep in his pockets. He quirked a brow. “You look surprised.”