Portia Da Costa (27 page)

“I don’t even like him, Della,” Sybil continued, “I never have done. I just tried to like him because of Mama. It seemed unkind not to be civil to a friend she seemed so fond of.”

Adela frowned. Not at Sybil, but at herself. Once again, she’d underestimated her sibling. Warm, pleasure-loving Sybil did see the truth in people. Her only failing was that most of the time, she preferred to see the
best
in them instead. She wanted to be nice.

“I know, my dear, we’ve all be trying. You, and I, and Marguerite... So, what else transpired?”

“He offered to help. With his services as an intermediary, as he didn’t think a gently bred young woman should have to...to negotiate with the blackmailing classes. He said he’d deliver and collect any correspondence from the
poste restante,
advise me what to write...so he could perhaps ameliorate the terms.”

Sybil rubbed her eyes and drank more sherry. “But that isn’t the very worst thing of all.”

Suddenly Adela knew what that was, too, the very worst thing. In her heart and her gut she knew. She’d always known...well, something. But instead of protecting and advising her vulnerable sister and her vulnerable mother, she’d connived, by default, with a predator; preferring to devote her time and energy to her friends of the Sewing Circle, her drawing...and her sexual appetite.

Adela resisted the urge to toss back her own sherry and pour a second glass. “Go on, Sybil.”

Sybil took a deep breath, straightened her spine and took another fortifying sip. “I’ve a feeling that Mr. Devine is more than an intermediary, Della. I think...I believe that he’s the one with the letters. The blackmailer. It’s just something I heard when I attended an exhibit with Daisy Drummond and Agnes Wentworth yesterday, trying to distract my mind. We fell to discussing a mutual friend who none of us has seen for a while...and a story came out.”

Adela laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “Can you tell me?”

Haltingly at first, then with a growing confidence and a new grit that Adela admired in her flighty sister, Sybil laid out what she knew.

The disappeared friend, Viola Champney, had also had letters stolen from a house party. Mr. Blair Devine had been a friend of that family, too, and offered his help. But later it had transpired that someone had seen a maid suspected of taking the letters in clandestine conversation with the young solicitor...and something, something that might be a small bundle had been seen to be passed across.

Adela didn’t ask how that all might be verified, but she could believe it. It was common knowledge that servants talked to servants, and even if it was not meant in a bad way at all, secrets and ruinous information could travel like wildfire.

If only it had traveled in the direction of the Ruffington women before Devine had pinned them as a possible target.

“That horrible snake! I can’t think why he would believe we had any money to give him. At least not before I married Wilson. Why he would be interested in us at all? He must have known we had very little redress against the Old Curmudgeon, and his blessed will...and yet suddenly he’s Mama’s dearest confidant.” Adela wondered again if she dare top up her glass without seeming a terrible example to her sister.

Sybil gave her a despondent look. “You’ve always been so very self-sufficient, Della. I suppose you decided when your nose got broken, and you had chicken pox, that you’d learn to live without hope of getting a husband.” Despite the gravity of their talk, Adela had to hide a smile. Sybil was shrewder than she looked sometimes. “But Mama isn’t like you. She adored Papa, but she’s a woman who needs company, who needs admiration. I think she was flattered by Mr. Devine, and was probably indiscreet.” Sybil drew in a great breath. “I think Mama was so cross about Wilson getting all the money as well as the title, that she really made herself believe that Mr. Devine might be able to obtain legal recompense for us. For you.”

Adela saw it all now. Indignation welled up like a fulminating chemical. It wasn’t just Sybil’s letters, it was more...so much more. What a sly devil that man was! Once or twice, she’d sensed him on the point of making overtures to her, but he’d made no blatantly obvious move. She’d been repelled by his oily nature and perhaps he’d sensed that, and chosen to bide his time. Presumably his longer plan had been to romance her, and failing that, romance Mama herself, in order to gain access to the Ruffington wealth when the prospect of it was returned to them, rather than Wilson.

“So, that was his plan—help Mama overturn Grandfather’s will, then marry me, or failing that, her, to get his paws on our money.” Gritting her teeth, she topped her glass, and Sybil’s, from the decanter. “But why on earth did he think he could succeed? Wilson
is
the old beast’s closest male relative. He
is
the next Lord Millingford, and if Grandfather chooses to bequeath all his money along with the title, that’s his prerogative.”

Sybil pursed her lips and played with the strap of her small beaded bag. “Yes...but there’s something. Something Mama hinted at, but wouldn’t say more. I believe there was—is—some question about Wilson. Something concerning his parentage... I think Mr. Devine must have obtained some papers...or something.”

“What?” Adela clenched her teeth to stop herself adding an oath, not sure who she was more surprised and vexed with.

Mama could be such a schemer, and it seemed her dear parent had tried to plan for two eventualities. Either she managed to marry her daughter off to Lord Millingford’s heir, or if that wasn’t possible, prove that the heir wasn’t the heir, after all, so that, hopefully, the money, if not the title, would still come to that daughter.

“Ah, Mama. I know you mean well....” Steadying her breathing, Adela took a sip of sherry. Who cared about slight inebriation now? This was enough to drive anyone to the bottle. “But you’re not a very good judge of character.... You should have chosen a better conspirator to share your grandiose schemes.”

“She just wanted the best for you, Della, really.”

“I know that, Syb. I know....” It was true. Mama loved them all, but sometimes her decisions were far from wise. It seemed they might have made an enemy now.

Adela drew in a calming breath. Spiteful enemies were made to be vanquished. Wrongs were placed in the world to be put right. She would not let this viper Devine hurt Sybil or Mama, or anybody else for that matter, if it was in her power to prevent him doing so. But she needed a plan and she needed help...from Wilson.

As she thought of him, the back of her neck prickled, and as if summoned magically like a djinn, her husband appeared in the doorway leading to the house. He was clad in his usual working garb of silk dressing gown, trousers and loose collarless shirt, but to Adela he was a valiant knight in shining armor. As he strode toward them, he seemed almost mythical, his robe turned to a floating cloak of chivalry.

“Hello, Sybil, how are you? How kind of you to call. I’m sure Della has been missing you and Mrs. Ruffington and Marguerite....” He picked up the sherry decanter and poured himself a measure into a glass that he produced from his pocket like a conjurer. “May I pour you both some more?”

When they declined, he took a seat in the wrought-iron garden chair facing them, and stretched out his legs. “Very well, then, tell me immediately what’s wrong and how I can help. I can see from both your faces that something less than pleasant has occurred.”

Adela smiled at him. He was so clever, so observant. He could detect the subtlest signs in a person’s face. Not that anyone would need arcane skills to read the faces in this instance. From the way Sybil glanced nervously and imploringly at her, even the densest of dolts would have been able to deduce a serious dilemma.

“Don’t be scared, Syb. You can put your complete trust in Wilson. If anyone can fathom the correct solution to this wicked business, he can.”

Haltingly, Sybil repeated her tale of woe, but for the first few moments, Adela hardly heard her. She was dazzled, made almost faint by the way Wilson glanced at her from time to time. He was listening intently, and paying attention to Sybil, but at the same time there was a silent aura about him focused solely on her, Adela. It was as if the fact that she had trusted him, brought him instantly into their circle of concern, touched him, and touched him deeply. He effected a little nod in Adela’s direction, favoring her with a tiny but infinitely telling smile.

When the younger woman fell silent, Wilson seemed to contemplate for a moment, fingertips pressed together, touching his lips. His eyebrows had risen when Sybil had touched on his own status, but Adela could see from his face that the revelation wasn’t a complete shock from the wild blue yonder. Had he suspected something akin to it all along?

“What should we do, Wilson?” she prompted.

“Well, naturally, if you wish to pay this creature off, I’ll put all the funds you need at your disposal, Sybil. Regardless of what he’s found out about me, you’re still a cherished member of my family because Adela and I are married. I’ll aid you in any way you need.”

“Oh, thank you, cousin Wilson, thank you!” cried Sybil, her eyes shiny with tears and relief. “I didn’t know what to do, or how I could pay. And I don’t want Mama to know, because she’s so desperately happy about my engagement—” she paused, and glanced between the two of them “—and your marriage. I don’t want to spoil it all for her. And make her feel a fool for trusting that horrible man. And Algie’s parents must
never
hear of the letters. Algie doesn’t mind that I wrote to a sweetheart before him...he’s a darling like that. But some of his family are terribly straightlaced about things like decorum and respectability.”

Wilson sat back in his chair, his fingers still a steeple, his eyes intent on the point where they met. His thinking pose. He was working out something much more than the most discreet way to pay up. Something far grander in scope, and despite her worry for Sybil—and for him, if there were damaging documents about his parentage—Adela’s heart fluttered with excitement. Wilson was brilliant and innovative, and he was afraid of nothing.

“Now then, Sybil...” He gave the younger woman a firm, almost schoolmasterly look. “This taking risks with letters has to end. Now. It isn’t worth putting yourself in jeopardy just for a few pretty words. If you’ve written more letters to Algie, and he to you, you must both destroy them immediately. You must watch him burn yours before your eyes, and vice versa. Do you understand me?”

Sybil nodded, her eyes wide. Adela hid a smile. Wilson, the man of decision, had struck awe in her sibling. And, she’d be the first to admit it, in his wife, too.

“And I need you to give me a full list of what’s missing. I think that before we’re forced to the last resort, that is, paying this blackguard, we should first try to recover the letters by other means and then guarantee their destruction so they no longer represent a risk.”

“But how can we do that?” Adela asked.

“‘We’?” Wilson smiled.

“Yes, of course...I plan to assist you in this. Sybil is my sister, and I’m determined to help resolve her difficulty. With all respect to her, I don’t think she’s in a position to participate, but
I
certainly am.” She held Wilson’s gaze. “And I feel a degree of responsibility. I told Sybil to burn those letters, but I never ensured that she’d done it. If I’d insisted, and watched her do so, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

Again, he dazzled her with that radiant look. Again, her heart wanted to fly. Wilson’s respect was infinitely precious to her. Even more, perhaps, than his desire. Desire would fade eventually, with the inevitable march of age, but respect could go on forever.

His scrutiny created another long pause, and Adela felt dizzy inside.

Speak, you devil, speak!

At last, he nodded. “Very well, I understand how you might feel that way, Della, and I respect it. If there’s any part of this enterprise that you can safely perform without risk of harm, I’ll be glad of your help.”

Sybil had been quiet for a few moments, as if sensing matrimonial undercurrents, but now she almost bounced in her seat. “Oh, thank you, thank you, both of you. I knew I was right to come to you. Mama would just have got into a flap, and I can’t risk Algie getting into a bother with his family.... You’re the only ones who can help.” She sprang forward and gave Adela an enthusiastic hug, then darted around the garden table to embrace Wilson, too.

“Now, to the practicalities,” he announced, when Adela’s sibling had settled again and tea had been brought at Wilson’s request. Adela smiled into her teacup, recognizing his caution. A giggly and intoxicated Sybil might give the game away before it was even afoot. “What specific threat has been made? How much time has been allotted for you to obtain and hand over the money?”

Sybil swallowed. “If I don’t deliver the money by the date of our engagement ball, the letters will be sent to the Marquess of Spencerleigh.” Her lip wobbled. “And if
that
happens, there’ll be no engagement ball because there won’t be any engagement.”

Wilson tapped his finger against his teacup, and seemed to look inward for a few moments. More deep thought. “Now then, Sybil. I don’t want you to do anything for the moment, do you understand me? And say nothing to anyone.” His voice was steady, not domineering but intense, and Adela knew that not even
she
would argue with Wilson in this mode. “I shall visit Devine as your concerned brother-in-law and suggest that he negotiate more time for you, acting as your representative. I have a ruse in mind that will ensure no demand until after the engagement ball, and all I need you to do is ensure that Devine is invited to the event. Are he and your mother still on good terms?”

Sybil looked horrified at the prospect of inviting the man who was now her worst enemy to the greatest event of her life so far, but to her credit she nodded. “Yes, as far as I know. He’s not called on her quite as much lately, since your marriage, but I don’t believe they’ve argued or anything. Just a cooling, now that he’s...well, now he’s changed his plans.”