Miss in a Man's World (22 page)

But how did he know? Georgiana wondered, but refrained from asking anything further. To do so she felt sure would be a grave mistake. He seemed willing enough to pass on snippets of information. None the less, if he thought she had any intention of involving herself further…?

No, her best bet, she finally decided, was to tax Digby about precisely what had been going on since her venture to that lowly tavern in the east of the city. But even with him she was very well aware that she would need to use cunning in order to achieve her objective!

A
s another week drew to a close, a week in which she had been out most every evening enjoying the pleasures the capital had to offer the privileged few, Georgiana was looking forward to spending a quiet afternoon and evening at home for a change, with just the Dowager and her granddaughter to bear her company. She wasn't even expecting Lord Fincham to pay her a visit, either, as he had informed her the evening before, when she had conversed with him briefly at a party, that he had made arrangements to meet with his man of business, and so had every expectation of being occupied for much of the day.

Consequently, it came as something of a surprise when, midway through the day, Digby sought her out to say that his lordship's head groom had called and had left a grey mare round at the stables.

True to his word, the Viscount had found her the perfect mount, as she swiftly discovered when she put the mare through her paces in the park, the faithful Digby,
mounted on one of her ladyship's carriage horses, dutifully bearing her company.

‘She's utterly adorable!' Georgiana declared, after completing a circuit of the park. ‘And not an ounce of malice in her anywhere. Puts me in mind of an animal I saw in Hampshire last summer.'

Other very special memories then returned, and she was reminded again of her transformation within a twelvemonth from page to fiancée. The real reason behind the metamorphosis quickly followed, forcing her to concentrate on the present and some recent disturbing happenings.

As a result she favoured her companion with a considering look. This was the first occasion she'd spent any length of time with him for almost three weeks. He wasn't wholly to blame for that, of course, she was obliged silently to concede. In truth, she had been occupied much of the time herself since her mock engagement to the Viscount had been announced. More recently, most of her days had been spent accompanying the Dowager and her granddaughter out making social calls, or receiving the numerous visitors to the house, and when she had managed a few minutes to herself, and had sought Digby out, she had always been told that he was out on some errand or other.

Of course she knew well enough what was keeping him so occupied, and was immensely grateful for all he was attempting on her behalf. Increasingly, though, she felt he was doing his utmost to avoid too much contact with her; it wasn't too difficult to guess at whose instigation.

‘I am glad I still have you to bear me company, although,' she continued artfully, absolutely determined not to be kept in the dark over any possible recent devel
opments a moment longer, ‘I do not tend to see very much of you these days. Why, I declare we haven't exchanged more than a dozen words in the past couple of weeks or so!'

If he suspected there was an ulterior motive in the topic of conversation he betrayed no sign of it. ‘Well, miss, you've been gadding about a good bit yourself of late… And me? Well, you knows what I've been doing.'

‘Yes, and immensely grateful to you I am, too,' she wasn't slow to assure him, before adding, ‘That doesn't alter the fact, though, that I miss not having you around. And, of course, now I have my very own mount to ride, I'm going to need you to accompany me out regularly. I have no intention of having the Dowager's taciturn groom bearing me company.' Again she cast him a surreptitious sideways glance when he offered no comment. ‘So, I suppose what we must do is find someone else to take over your—er—other commitments.'

This finally brought about the response for which she had hoped. ‘Oh, no, you can't do that, miss!' There was an unmistakable note of alarm in his voice. ‘It just so 'appens his lordship were saying, only t'other day, we're at last seeing some results. 'Is lordship wouldn't want any one else involved, that I do know. 'E's quite 'appy with Jem Fisher and 'is boys. Why, 'e's even sent one of the lads to Dover to keep watch on goings-on there. 'E expects to 'ear from 'im any day now, as the Frenchie 'as already returned to town.'

Had he, indeed? His lordship might at least have informed her of that development! How much more was he keeping to himself…and why? Georgiana couldn't help wondering. Was he merely doing his level best to prevent her further involvement…or was there something he was determined she shouldn't discover?

 

After the lengthy meeting with his man of business, during which, among many other things, he had made a fundamental adjustment to his will, naming his fiancée, Miss Georgiana Grey, as main beneficiary to his private fortune in the event of his death, the Viscount found his good friend Charles Gingham awaiting him in the library.

‘The ever-efficient Brindle has attended to your needs, I see,' his lordship remarked, pouring just one glass of wine before joining his friend by the hearth. ‘I assume you're here in response to the letter I sent early this week.'

Charles nodded. ‘And no doubt you'll be pleased to hear I've already made contact with my degenerate cousin, as you requested. But I'm afraid I discovered nothing to the purpose. And to be perfectly candid, Ben, I don't think I'm likely to uncover much more than you already know. Henri might be a lazy, unprincipled wretch, but he isn't stupid. If I suddenly begin to develop a desire for his company again, after all the years of ignoring his very existence, he's bound to become suspicious.'

‘Assuredly,' his lordship agreed. ‘So you can tell me nothing.'

After sampling his wine, Charles confirmed this with a shake of his head. ‘I did, however, conduct a brief conversation with his landlady, who revealed that Henri has been away on business on three or four occasions within the past twelve months or so, and has stayed away a fortnight or more at a time, as a rule. But whenever he returns he always pays any arrears in rent, so she isn't complaining.'

‘And evidently Henri let nothing slip during your reunion?'

Again Charles confirmed this with a shake of his head. ‘I'll say this for him, though, he's got himself a comfortable little situation there. Although not located in the most fashionable part of town, his rooms are quite charmingly furnished. So he's making himself a reasonable income somehow.'

‘I expect he's several irons in the fire, as it were,' the Viscount responded, ‘and none could bear too close a scrutiny, if I'm any judge.'

Charles readily agreed with this before giving a start. ‘There was something he did let fall, now I come to consider it. He mentioned he intended to be out of town again for a few days next week, attending the races. Which suggests, does it not, that no further robberies have taken place, or are planned. Not that I suppose for a moment he was actively involved in the robberies themselves.'

‘Oh, no, I shouldn't imagine so at all,' the Viscount concurred. ‘The real case-hardened men would have been chosen for that purpose, those who wouldn't balk at the use of violence to attain their ends.'

Charles was silent for a moment while he studied his friend closely. ‘You know who's behind it all, don't you, Ben?'

‘I believe so, yes. But I need proof, Charles, before I disclose the name of the culprit… And that might be the hardest to achieve, unless one can tempt him to show his hand,' he responded, his eyes sliding briefly across to the impressive oak desk, and its one particular locked drawer. ‘But, no matter,' he added, his mind swiftly turning to something else. ‘How long do you propose remaining in town?'

‘Only until tomorrow. My mother's brother is gracing us with his company for a week or so.'

‘Ah, Uncle, the Bishop!' The Viscount cast an amused glance up at the plasterwork ceiling. ‘In that case I must deny myself the pleasure of your company. Assuredly you must return to play the genial host, or risk eternal damnation!'

 

Brindle, that highly efficient ruler of the household staff, had been in service throughout his life and, as such, had become something of an expert when it came to judging his fellow man. Consequently, he had no hesitation, the following day, in ordering the low-bred individual who had had the temerity to present himself at the front entrance to take himself round to the rear. All the same, years of experience persuaded him the lowly caller was no tradesperson. Furthermore, there had been just something in the individual's mien to suggest that he was, against all the odds, possibly acquainted with his lordship, and that he had called for a definite purpose, which he would disclose only to the master of the house. Brindle, therefore, had no hesitation in making the caller's arrival known to his master.

‘As the visitor didn't state his business, did he, perchance, give a name?' his lordship enquired, without looking up from the letter he was engaged in writing.

‘Jeremiah Fisher, my lord.'

This information had an immediate effect upon the Viscount. Losing complete interest in the composition of the missive, he threw down his pen and rose at once to his feet, requesting to see the man in question without delay as he did so.

‘Before you go,' he added, bethinking himself of
something else, ‘have we anything in the house you consider suitable for our visitor to drink?'

Brindle sniffed quite pointedly. ‘I rather fancy rum will suffice, your lordship.'

‘Excellent! Then bring in a bottle and a couple of glasses,' the Viscount returned, smiling faintly at his diligent servant's evident disapproval.

Brindle had been the family's butler as far back as his lordship could remember, and had always been a stickler for maintaining standards of behaviour. Only one very special person had ever induced the very correct major-domo to deviate from strict codes of conduct and adopt a more tolerant approach. No mean feat, his lordship silently acknowledged, as his visitor was shown into the library.

After dismissing the butler, and dispensing the strong liquor himself, his lordship settled his guest in one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. ‘You have something of importance to tell me, Fisher?' he said, not wasting time on unnecessary pleasantries, which he felt sure wouldn't be appreciated anyway.

Fisher nodded. ‘My lad Jack got back night afore last. And an eye's been kept on a certain cove ever since.' He paused to toss the rum down his throat, and then gave an appreciative, near-toothless grin. ‘The lad stayed in that boarding 'ouse, keeping watch as you ordered. Almost a week 'e were kicking his 'eels in Dover afore the Frenchie turns up again. Knew it were 'e on account of 'im 'aving that there particular room in the boarding 'ouse. 'E only stayed the one night, then 'e ups and gets the stage back to Lunnon. My lad bides 'is time there as ordered, and the following week it were, this 'ere cove arrives and stays in the very same room as the Frenchie. Then 'e leaves the next day, and m'son
follows. The cove stays overnight at Canterbury, then goes on the next day as far as Rochester. Then he collects a gig from a local inn and travels the few miles to this 'ere big 'ouse, by name of Chardley Court.'

‘Not wholly unexpected,' his lordship remarked grimly. ‘Can you furnish me with a description of this man?'

‘Can do better than that, sir,' Fisher replied, staring rather pointedly down at his empty glass. ‘'Is name be Ivor 'Encham, and 'e be steward at Chardley,' he divulged, after the Viscount had obligingly refilled his glass.

‘The following week 'e picks up the stage again at Rochester, and travels on to Lunnon, where he puts up at an inn. I were trailing him the following day, and I don't think I need tell 'e at which 'ouse 'e calls at first.'

‘Lord Chard's town house,' his lordship responded, gaining scant pleasure from knowing his suspicions had been correct. ‘Then I imagine he paid a call at the lodgings of our friend Arthur Tate.'

Jem Fisher confirmed this with a nod of his head. ‘Then back 'e goes to the inn and buys a ticket for the stage back to Rochester.' Again he emptied his glass in one swallow. ‘Don't suppose you'll be wanting me and the boys n'more now, m'lord,' he said, casting a longing look at the bottle on the table between their respective chairs.

‘Help yourself, Fisher,' his lordship obligingly invited. Rising to his feet, he then went across to his desk and drew out a leather purse, which he tossed into the appreciative hand of his visitor. ‘No, I do not believe your services shall be required further,' he confirmed. ‘But should I chance to change my mind, I'll get Digby to make contact with you again.' He sighed before emp
tying his own glass. ‘I think it behoves me now to make contact with a highly conscientious personage of my acquaintance closely associated with Bow Street.'

A distinct look of alarm flitted over the visitor's snub-nosed face as he tossed the third glass of rum down his throat and got to his feet. ‘Well, as me and the lads does our best never to 'ave no dealings with that place, as yer might say, I'll bid yer good day, m'lord.'

In spite of the fact that he didn't relish what he must now attempt to do, his lordship couldn't help smiling at his roguish visitor's droll sense of humour as he once again seated himself at his desk. Delving into the same drawer that had contained the leather purse, he drew out a velvet-covered flat box. After flicking open the lid, he considered its sparkling contents for a few moments, before reaching again for his quill and composing two brief letters.

 

Like her Grace the Duchess of Merton, Lady Lavinia Radcliffe had been for many years one of the capital's most accomplished hostesses. Her annual ball, held in mid-May, had long been considered one of the highlights of the Season. Only those making up the cream of society were ever invited. Consequently, invitations were highly prized.

As the Dowager Countess and Lady Lavinia had remained close friends since girlhood, invitations to the prestigious affair had been sent to the Grenville town house several weeks before. This, quite naturally, had come as no surprise to Georgiana. Nor had the hurried note, written in his lordship's bold, if slightly untidy, handwriting, requesting her to don the sapphire necklace for the occasion, which he had duly sent to the house earlier in the day. After all, the Radcliffe ball
was one of those lavish events where all present would be dressed in their finery.