Stroke of Midnight (35 page)

A cross look on her face, Evelyn lifted her chin. “I wasn’t
alone
. When have
I
ever wanted for male companionship?”

Alex cocked a startled eyebrow. “A man accompanied you? Who?”

When she told him, the name froze his blood. He’d never even considered that knave in conjunction with the robbery. His mind swiftly assembled the pieces of the puzzle. Though he couldn’t see the whole picture, Alex knew enough of it to feel an icy certainty. “Odd that Laura never mentioned he was there with you.”

“As I recall, he departed before she came downstairs. Oh, what does it matter? It’s ancient history!” Leaning into Alex, Evelyn purred, “Now, darling, don’t scowl so. Are you jealous because you heard he was to drive me here this morning? Never fear, he begged off at the last minute and now I’m all yours.”

*   *   *

It took Laura the better part of an hour to reach Lady Josephine’s house. She’d had to cool her heels waiting for the carriage to be brought around. The jam-packed streets had further slowed her progress. She had requested the open barouche in the hopes of spotting Alex’s aunt along the way. But the sight of the milling crowds made Laura realize the difficulty of the task. It certainly wouldn’t be as easy as the other time when Lady Josephine had left by way of the garden gate—and that had been nerve racking enough.

How
had
the old woman managed to escape this time? The gate was now padlocked, and a footman was stationed at the front door. And why had the new companion not been watching her? Perhaps Mrs. Duncalf had been given leave to view the queen’s procession.

The barouche came to a stop at last and the footman let down the step. Laura hurried toward the brick town house. Without pausing to knock, she threw open the front door and stepped into the foyer. The place looked deserted, with nary a soul in sight. There was only the usual clutter of vases and statuary, and the old suit of armor gleaming dully beneath the stairs.

Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. “Mrs. Samson?”

By way of answer, Laura heard a far-off yapping. The muffled sound seemed to have emanated from upstairs.

Charlie? Did that mean—?

With a hopeful cry, Laura made a dash for the stairs. She hadn’t mounted more than two steps, however, when the crowlike figure of the housekeeper flew out of the corridor leading to the rear of the house. “Praise heavens, you’ve arrived, my lady! But where are you going?”

“I heard Charlie barking upstairs. Did you find Lady Josephine?”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened, her knobby fingers gripping her apron as she aimed a frowning glance up the stairs. “No! No, I fear she is still missing. As I wrote in my message, she wandered away a few hours ago. I haven’t seen her since, and with all the other servants gone, I’ve been at my wit’s end…”

“But she wouldn’t have ventured outside without Charlie, I’m sure of it. Are you absolutely certain she hasn’t returned? Perhaps she came in the front door while you were downstairs.”

Mrs. Samson bit her lip, breathing heavily as if in agitation. “I … I don’t think so…”

A movement behind the housekeeper caught Laura’s attention, and a man strolled out of the shadows of the dim passageway. His flaxen hair neatly combed, he wore a finely tailored gray coat over pin-striped gray trousers. “Lady Josephine didn’t take the spaniel with her today.”

His presence in this house astonished Laura. “Mr. Stanhope-Jones! Whatever are
you
doing here? And why are you not at Westminster Abbey?”

“I had a change of plans at the last minute, as I was telling Mrs. Samson just a moment ago. You see, something dreadful has happened. By chance, I glanced out my window this morning and witnessed a horrid accident directly in front of my house.” His patrician features grave, he added, “I don’t wish to alarm you, my dear, but … it involved Lady Josephine.”

Laura’s heart gave a painful jolt. She stepped off the stairs and went straight to him. “Dear God, what is it? What’s happened?”

“Oh, it’s all my fault,” Mrs. Samson cried out, burying her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have given the staff leave to attend the festivities. I thought I could watch her ladyship myself for a few hours. I never imagined she’d steal away while I fetched her breakfast—or that such a dreadful event could befall her.”

“
What happened?
” Laura repeated on an edge of panic. “Please, Mr. Stanhope-Jones. I demand that you tell me at once!”

He took her hand and patted it. “Pray don’t fret. She’ll be fine, I’m quite sure, once she’s had time to heal. You see, the dear old lady was knocked down by a pack of wild revelers. Such uncivilized beasts roaming this city today! My manservant was able to carry her into my house, but … well … it appears she’s broken her leg.”

“Broken—! Are you quite certain? Could you not transport her back home here?”

“No, my lady, she’s in such terrible pain that I thought it unwise to move her until a doctor could be found to administer aid.” Mr. Stanhope-Jones caught hold of Laura’s arm and steered her down the corridor. “Come along, I’ll take you to her straightaway. We must hurry lest she think she’s been abandoned to strangers.”

Fraught with anxiety, Laura took a few steps, and then stopped. “My carriage is waiting out front. Shouldn’t we go out that way?”

“My coach is parked in the mews. The side street isn’t as crowded, and I know a shortcut, anyway. Perhaps Mrs. Samson will be so kind as to inform your servant what’s happened.”

“I shall, indeed,” the housekeeper called after them. “You may depend on me, Lady Copley.”

The plan sounded reasonable, yet as Laura allowed herself be tugged down the passage, she glanced back over her shoulder to see Mrs. Samson still standing by the newel post, watching them go. A ray of sunlight illuminated the sneer on her face—though of course that was her permanent sour look. It seemed odd she hadn’t made a move to obey the order, but perhaps the woman was still in the grips of shock.

Laura certainly was. Distress flooded her at the thought of Lady Josephine’s suffering. As a child, Laura had fractured her arm while climbing a tree, and she knew just how painful a broken bone could be. The befuddled old woman must be even more miserable with no one familiar nearby to reassure her.

As they hurried through the garden, Laura noticed the gate stood ajar. “The padlock is gone!”

“So it is. Mrs. Samson removed it a short time ago. I came around back since the main streets were so congested, and it’s indeed a stroke of luck that she heard my frantic knocking.”

In the mews, a burly coachman sat hunched over the high seat of a black coach drawn by a team of fine bays. His cap was pulled low, and Laura caught a glimpse of his muttonchop whiskers. Something familiar about him struck a chord in her. Then the uneasy impression vanished as Mr. Stanhope-Jones swiftly ushered her into the well-appointed vehicle with its white satin interior and plush blue squabs. A gentle sway indicated that the coach had started down the narrow alley to the side street.

Laura perched on the edge of the seat and peered out the window. Pedestrians thronged the pavement, most of them heading in the direction of Westminster. The muffled blast of distant gunfire brought whoops and cheers from the passersby. They waved their flags and shouted huzzahs.

“Ah,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said, cocking his head. “There’s the signal that Her Majesty has arrived at the Abbey. The ceremony should take nigh on two hours, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.” That reminded Laura of how long it would be before Alex would return home. She felt a keen wish for his presence. No matter how hard-hearted he had been with his own wife, he truly did love his aunt.

“Then afterward,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones went on, “only imagine the horrid traffic jam with all those carriages and coaches. The hordes of riffraff will make the way difficult as well. Perhaps fate has done us a fortunate turn in avoiding that squeeze, hmm?”

A smile crooked his thin lips, and Laura found his attempt at humor distasteful, for there was nothing about Lady Josephine’s calamity that could be termed
fortunate
. Then she chided herself. He had been extremely generous with his time, sacrificing this rare opportunity to attend the crowning of their queen.

“I cannot thank you enough,” she said. “If anything is fortunate, it is only that the accident occurred in front of your home. My husband will be most grateful that you were so helpful in assisting his aunt.”

Mr. Stanhope-Jones narrowed his eyes. Rather than responding to her appreciation, he changed the subject. “I understand from Mrs. Samson that you felt unwell this morning. Pray do not take offense, but you’re looking rather pale. And you’ve suffered quite a shock.”

He reached down to open a drawer tucked cleverly into the base of his seat. Inside lay a silver flask and two crystal goblets in a bed of white satin. He took out one, uncorked the flask, and poured a measure before pressing the goblet into her hand. “There, that should help.”

Laura looked down at the amber liquid. “What is it?”

“A mild sherry. I’ve found it’s an excellent restorative.”

She really didn’t want anything, but after he’d been so kind, it seemed rude to refuse. Lifting the rim to her lips, she took a tiny sip, but the sweet taste and pungent aroma nearly made her gag.

“Thank you, but I-I simply can’t tolerate anything right now.”

Laura tried to give the goblet back to him, but he refused to take it. “You’ll feel better once you’ve swallowed it all,” he said rather forcefully. “Drink it down, now there’s a good girl.”

“I truly cannot. Please, I can’t even abide the smell.” She thrust the goblet at him again, and this time he accepted it, albeit with frowning reluctance. She hesitated to reveal her condition, but felt that some explanation was needed. “I’m still feeling a bit ill, you see.”

“Forgive me. I was only trying to help.” Turning abruptly, he rapped hard three times on the wall nearest the coachman. “Dratted fellow is taking his time.”

His palpable disapproval made Laura uncomfortable. Did Mr. Stanhope-Jones fear she would be sick all over his pristine coach? “I’m fine, really I am,” she told him. “And I doubt we can travel much faster in this crowd, anyway.”

As the coach swayed, she looked out the window to see a dray full of country folk perched on a bed of hay in the back, the excited children waving handkerchiefs and homemade flags. In spite of her anxiety, Laura smiled and waved back.

“Bumpkins,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said, his lip curling. “They oughtn’t to sully the city with their presence.”

“I beg to disagree,” Laura felt obliged to say. “They’re as much the queen’s subjects as you and I. We’ve
all
cause to celebrate Her Majesty’s coronation.”

His keen blue eyes drilled into her; then his face relaxed with a charming smile. “You’re quite right, my dear. At any rate, I shall be going away from London very soon and leaving all this chaos behind.”

“Have you an estate in the country, then?”

“Indeed, I do. In Kent, near the coast. I believe you would enjoy the view from the cliffs. Perhaps you’ll see it sometime.”

Laura thought it doubtful. Even if he planned a house party, she couldn’t imagine Alex consenting to attend. On the few occasions when she’d seen the two men together, they’d appeared less than friendly. Of course, her husband jealously guarded her, seeming to view any man who sought out her company as a rival for her affections.

“Ah, here we are at last,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said.

The coach drew to a halt, and in short order Laura found herself stepping into an elegant foyer. She took fleeting note of the rose wallpaper and statuary on pedestals, making straight for the stairway, where she paused with her hand on the newel post. “Is Lady Josephine in one of the bedchambers? Will you show me to her?”

“We shall go upstairs, of course,” Mr. Stanhope-Jones said, taking Laura by the arm and propelling her up the marble steps and through a doorway. “But pray wait a moment in this sitting room while I check on her condition.”

“But why can I not go to her at once? If she’s in great pain, she’ll want me with her.”

“Patience, my lady. First, do allow me to see if the doctor has arrived. If he’s in the middle of an examination, we mustn’t interrupt.”

Laura didn’t see what difference that would make, but this was his house, after all, and since he’d gone out of his way to help, the least she could do was to respect his request. “As you wish, then.”

He was still holding the goblet, which he set down on a table. “Should you change your mind,” he said in a sympathetic voice, “I shall leave your sherry here. It will do wonders to ease your anxiety.”

Then he bowed to her and went out, shutting the door.

Laura removed her bonnet and tossed it onto a cream-upholstered chair. She walked restlessly around the stylish sitting room. The palette of lavender and cream with touches of green was not what one would expect in a man’s house. Maybe Mr. Stanhope-Jones had a mother or a sister who had chosen the furnishings.

She went to the window and glanced down. The black coach with its team of bays was still parked in front of the house. Was the coachman awaiting instruction in case the doctor allowed Lady Josephine to be taken home? Laura hoped so.

The street had begun to clear, the bulk of the crowds surging toward Westminster Abbey. The ceremony would be under way now, the choir singing and the music playing in a rich display of pageantry. Laura wished with all her heart that she could have seen Alex in his crimson robes seated with the other peers …

At that moment the coachman looked up at the house. She had a sudden, clear view of his face.

A disbelieving gasp choked her throat. That grizzled visage with the beady black eyes was burned into her memory. Constable Pangborn!

She stepped back from the window, her hand pressed to her madly beating heart. No. It couldn’t possibly be him. Why would a police officer be wearing livery and driving a coach? It made no sense at all.

Yet it
was
him; she felt the sinister certainty of that in her bones.