Letters to a Lady (18 page)

Harrup just looked, his gaze centering on the caller’s bodice.

“I didn’t bring them with me,” Mrs. Whitby told him. “No, no, I transferred them to a safe-deposit box after my woman told you their usual hiding place. I know you’re busy, Charles, especially with your dear little bride and her family to be entertained this evening. My, wouldn’t Lord Groden open up his eyes to see the letters. All the Westminster worthies will be assembling there, Markwell tells me.”

“You are back under Markwell’s protection now, are you, Laura?” Harrup asked.

Looking at him, Diana found it hard to believe he was as angry as he should be. He had looked worse when she was railing at him herself a moment earlier. Why didn’t he try to discover where this safe-deposit box was located?

“It has come to that, in the end,” Mrs. Whitby admitted. “I was a little vexed with him for stealing your letters. He didn’t tell me what he was up to, the sly rogue. But I daresay I shall keep him in line.” A bold, mocking smile did much to destroy the woman’s beauty.

Diana saw a trace of how Mrs. Whitby would look in ten years—avaricious, petty, mean. “So, shall we discuss terms?” the hussy asked.

“The terms are that you may take the infamous letters to Lord Groden with my blessing, madam. He’ll have you tossed into the gutter.”

Mrs. Whitby made a tsking sound. “Really, Charles! I am not a savage. I would not dream of interfering with your very profitable marriage. You’ll need the child’s dowry to pay me. I merely meant to sell the letters to one of the lesser newspapers. Markwell suggested a Whig rag might be more generous—the
Morning Chronicle
, perhaps.” She preened her hair and smiled brightly.

“What price did Markwell suggest you might gouge out of me?” Harrup asked.

“Five thousand. I swear the boy is still wet behind the ears.” She laughed gaily. “My friends tell me Lady Selena brings you twenty. I’ll have half. Cash will do fine. You can bring it to me this afternoon. That will leave you a few hours to arrange it with your banker.”

Diana looked from one to the other, wondering what Harrup would do. He had never mentioned such a high sum as ten thousand. Surely he would not comply, but she saw only frustration blazing in his eyes and an effort not to show Mrs. Whitby how angry he was. How could they discover which bank the safe-deposit box was at? Surely the attorney general could gain access to it.

“I wouldn’t want to throw you to the cent percenters,” Mrs. Whitby continued. “If I catch you a trifle short, I’m sure the banks will be happy to oblige Lady Selena’s fiancé and the attorney general.”

It struck Diana that the attorney general ought to be able to clamp this wretched woman into chains. Surely blackmail was against the law. There must be something a man in Harrup’s position could do.

She assumed a bold face and said, “You are brave, coming to threaten the attorney general in his own home, Mrs. Whitby. I fear you aren’t completely aware of the prerogatives he now enjoys.” She shot a meaningful look at Harrup, trying to convey that he should invent some awful threat. She could see he was thinking wildly, but nothing came from his lips.

Left to her own devices, Diana pulled a solution, or at least a delaying tactic, out of the air. She gazed innocently at Mrs. Whitby. “Were you not aware that the attorney general has access to all safe-deposit boxes in the city? So kind of you to tell us where you keep the letters.” She turned to speak to Harrup next. “You really ought to run along to Whitehall, Charles,” using his name for no other reason but to show Mrs. Whitby she was on an intimate footing with Harrup, too. “You will want to put a great many men on this matter. You won’t have time to go to seize all the boxes yourself.”

Harrup nodded thoughtfully. “I believe the better way would be to send word to all the trust company and bank managers and inquire from them which one enjoys Mrs. Whitby’s business. Unless you’d care to save me the bother and tell me yourself. Laura?” he asked politely.

Mrs. Whitby proved indomitable under attack. She smiled blandly. “I don’t believe the attorney general enjoys any such privilege.” she answered.

Diana tossed her a challenging stare. “Don’t you, Mrs. Whitby? But it’s a dangerous chance to take, is it not?”

Mrs. Whitby began to stir restively in her seat. She tried to keep up a firm facade, but there were chinks of uncertainty appearing in her armor. She rose rather hastily and said, “I shall look for you around three, Charles—with my little pourboire.
Au revoir.
Nice to have met you again, Miss Beecham.”

“
Enchantée
,” Diana answered ironically.

The woman swept from the room, and Harrup stared at Diana. “I don’t have access to any safe-deposit boxes!” he said.

“She doesn’t know that. And she won’t dare to take the chance. She’ll dart straight off to her bank and collect the letters.”

“She’s not that stupid.”

“I tell you she’ll do it! We must go after her. Charles, write up something official-looking and stamp a big red seal on it. We’ll follow her, and when she goes to her box, you speak to the manager and insist he give you the contents. Say it’s—say its letters from a spy,” she advised.

Harrup just stared in wonder. “You’re insane! I can’t do that!”

“Yes, you can. You’re the attorney general.”

“That is precisely why I can’t do it!
Noblesse oblige
. My duty is to uphold the law, not mutilate it. I, of all people, cannot use coercion. It would ruin me if it got out, and you may be sure that with Markwell for her mentor, Whitby wouldn’t be long in making a public scandal of it.’’

Diana glared. “I never thought you were so lily-livered!” she snipped, and stormed from the room.

“Stoker, call the carriage at once!” she shouted as she hastened forward.

“What’s afoot, miss?” he asked cheerfully. “If you’re going after the lightskirt, you’d best take his lordship’s curricle. It was brought round ten minutes ago.”

“Stoker, you were eavesdropping!” she exclaimed, and laughed in excitement.

He handed her her bonnet and pelisse and helped her into them. “You was all talking a bit loud, miss.”

He held the door wide, and Diana dashed out. Mrs. Whitby’s carriage was just turning the corner, heading toward Piccadilly. Harrup’s tiger sat on the perch of his master’s dashing yellow curricle. “Move over, and follow that rig!” Diana ordered.

The tiger sat still, just looking over her shoulder. “Hurry up!” she ordered.

“I’ll take the ribbons, Podey,” Harrup said. He had rushed out after Diana. The tiger hopped down, and Harrup took the driver’s seat.

“Spring ‘em,” Diana said eagerly. “She’s going north. She might be going to the bank or home. Did you get a seal onto a piece of paper?” She knew Harrup was a first-rate fiddler, and was happy to see that he didn’t hesitate to use the whip.

“No, but I’ll follow her at a discreet distance and just see where she goes.”

“If she takes the letters out of her safe-deposit box, we’ll have a chance at them,” Diana said, thinking aloud.

“And if she doesn’t?” he asked.

“As long as they’re in a vault, they can’t do much damage. We mustn’t let her out of our sight. There, she’s turning east on Piccadilly.”

Mrs. Whitby’s black carriage didn’t waste a minute.

Harrup’s grays were driven hard to keep up with it. “You shouldn’t have bought her such good nags,” Diana scolded.

“I’ll bear that in mind—in the unlikely event that I ever purchase nags for another woman!” he added hastily.

“I hope this has taught you a lesson! Oh, look, Harrup! She’s going to New Bond Street. I made sure she would go home and dash a note off to Markwell, but she didn’t turn off at Glasshouse. Surely she’s not going shopping!”

Mrs. Whitby alighted from her carriage and, with a footman to lend her dignity, began a tour of the shops. “She’s going to see your curricle. We’ll have to get down and walk,” Diana said.

Harrup drew in at a curb behind a large carriage for concealment and pulled out his watch. “I am now eighteen minutes late for a cabinet meeting. That will make a fine impression—my first meeting as attorney general and I’m late.”

“You’ll have to go on, then,” Diana decided.

“I can’t leave you downtown alone.”

“Oh, really, Harrup! I’m not a child. There, she’s gone into a drapery store. She might be there forever.” Without further ado, Diana hopped down from the perch and began pacing toward the drapery store. Harrup was not two steps behind her.

“Diana, get back in the carriage. I’ll take you home.”

“Go on to Whitehall. Oh, Harrup, perhaps you’d best give me some money in case I have to follow her in a cab.”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he repeated.

“Send Ronald down to bear me company. Oh, and let him bring the curricle in case we have to follow Mrs. Whitby’s carriage.”

Harrup’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Let that cawker drive my grays! He could cripple a Clydesdale.”

“Idiot!” She laughed, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I’ll drive them once he gets here. I am an excellent whip. Now go on, before Lord Liverpool is angry with you.’’

“You couldn’t begin to control this team. This is ridiculous! I’ll pay Whitby the money. Get in the carriage, Diana.”

She held her hand cut impatiently. “I’ll need about ten guineas.”

“Cabs don’t cost that much!”

“No, skint, but I’ve had an idea. I’m going to buy a new bonnet and pelisse so she won’t recognize me if she happens to look over her shoulder. She’s seen this outfit, and unless she’s blind as a bat, she knows we’re following her. If the curricle is gone when she comes out—well, perhaps she’ll think you’ve given up, and then she’ll nip in to her bank and get the letters.”

“What good will that do?”

“We’ll know, and can make new plans,” she explained. “Oh, really, Harrup, I expected better of you. You’re no more help than Ronald. Please go on!” she urged, pushing him toward his carriage. “The sooner you get to your office, the sooner Ronald can come and help me. The money,” she said again, holding out her hand. Harrup, between frustration, hope, and despair, handed her his purse and hopped into the curricle. He gave a worried look over his shoulder as he left and nearly sideswiped a passing gig.

The last thing he saw was Diana shaking her head at him in disbelief as such poor fiddling. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he whipped up the team and darted to Whitehall.

Once she was alone, Diana opened Harrup’s purse and stared at a thick wad of bills. She watched the drapery shop, and as there was no sign of Mrs. Whitby emerging yet, she went into the millinery shop across the street. Stationing herself at the window to watch her quarry, she asked the saleswoman to bring her the hat that was most unlike the one she wore.

With a look at the rather plain navy blue bonnet the young lady had on, the clerk gave her a red straw that suited her notions of what a hussy who dunned her beau for money on the street and went shopping alone would like. It was a high poke bonnet trimmed with white gardenias.

Without even trying it on, Diana said, “I’ll take it. Please put my old one in a box. That might be useful.” She could hold the box in front of her face if Mrs. Whitby looked at her too closely.

“I need a new pelisse, too,” Diana said.

“This is a millinery shop, ma’am. We do not sell pelisses.”

Diana kept looking out the window, speaking over her shoulder. “I must have one. What color is yours, ma’am?”

“It is green, madam, and it is not for sale.”

“I’ll give you five pounds for it,” Diana said.

“But, madam, you haven’t even seen it.”

“Hurry up! She’s leaving.”

Five pounds for a pelisse worth two was too good a bargain to miss. The clerk darted to the rear of the shop and placed a green pelisse over the blue pelisse on this deranged young lady’s shoulders. It clashed horridly with the red bonnet. Diana shoved the money at her, grabbed the hat box, and ran from the store, looking much worse than when she had entered but certainly very different. When the sales clerk saw her crouch behind the parked carriage in front of her shop, she gave serious consideration to sending off for a Bow Street Runner.

Mrs. Whitby stood on the street, looking carefully up and down. She had seen Harrup’s curricle leave, and knew he had been alone. Surely Miss Beecham had no authority to seize her letters? She suspected Miss Beecham was loitering about to follow her and began a leisurely stroll up New Bond Street, stopping at every window for a surreptitious peek around. An occasional glimmer of red and green was seen across the street, but it didn’t seem suspicious. She knew Miss Beecham had been wearing something dark. Only a lower member of the muslin company would be seen in bright red and green. Some country chit just arrived in town, she assumed. But when the red bonnet was still across the street two blocks later, she stepped up her lookout.

Diana jumped into the first passing cab and changed her bonnet. The cab driver was ordered to park, and when he objected to this, he was given two pound notes, for which he would gladly have parked in the middle of St. James’s Palace. When Mrs. Whitby walked on, the driver was told to follow her, drawing to a stop within sight of her. While this game of cat and mouse was going forth, Lord Harrup’s curricle went bucketing past, very inexpertly driven by Ronald.

Diana opened the window and shouted at him before he reached Mrs. Whitby. He stopped, and she clambered up beside him. “Thank heavens you got here. You’ll have to park this rig, Ronald. Mrs. Whitby will recognize it.”

“Di, what the devil is going on? I think Harrup has had a knock on the head. He told me to drive his grays down to New Bond Street and look for you. How did he know you were here, and what are you doing—alone? And most of all, why is he making me drive this wild team?” he complained, jobbing at their sensitive mouths.

Ronald found a boy to hold the reins, and before he knew what was going on, Diana had him following Mrs. Whitby, dodging behind other pedestrians to keep out of sight. She explained the situation to him as best she could. “So that is why we cannot lose sight of her.”

“This sounds like one of your harebrained schemes. And what do we do when she gets her letters from the bank?” he asked.