A Wallflower Demands Satisfaction (Revenge of the Wallflowers #55)

13. April 28, 1830

13

APRIL 28, 1830

COUNTESS ZOFTERHOLLEN’S TOWNHOUSE, HANOVER SQUARE

* * *

O livia’s skin literally felt like snakes were slithering across her whilst she watched the baron work his smooth way through the crush of revelers at Lady Zofterhollen’s rout. He had a small notebook he kept secreted within his waistcoat, but pulled out and recorded notations periodically if he heard a particularly interesting piece of gossip.

She and Her Grace frequently exchanged glances fraught with revulsion. At one point, he stopped to talk to Lady Haddon, one of the ton’s most notorious gossips. “Lady Haddon, this is Miss Olivia Whitcombe, my betro...umph” El had immediately stepped in and tramped forcefully on the top of the flimsy slippers he wore as part of his evening attire.

El turned before the woman could see fully what had happened and grasped both of her hands as if they were the best of friends. “Lady Haddon, it has been so long. You must call on us soon.” At the sound of low muttering behind them, the duchess changed tactics. “In fact, we’re having a few friends in for a late supper after the theatre next week. I’ll send round an invitation.

After that, it was simple to escape the baron by disappearing into a large, noisy crowd in the music room. Once out on the street, they raced over to Oxford Street and hailed a passing hack cab.

Once they were safely inside and the driver was headed back to Berkley Square, Olivia cautiously looked over at the duchess who returned the stare, and then they laughed so hard, it took Olivia a while to recover and ask, “Is it all right if we stop by Goodrum’s before we go home?”

Her Grace gave Olivia an odd look. “What do you need?”

“There’s something I left behind in my room, and I really miss it. It won’t take but a minute. You can wait for me outside.”

Captain El shook her head slowly, telling Olivia she didn’t believe that Banbury tale for one moment, but she knocked on the carriage roof. When the driver stopped, she gave him directions to Goodrum’s.

True to her promise, Olivia returned to the hack within minutes with a small box beneath one arm. She tried to ignore the questions on the duchess’s face as they headed back to the ducal mansion, but tightened her grip on the box.

* * *

April 29, 1830

Duke of Chelmsford’s Mansion

Berkley Square, Mayfair

When Jameson announced there was a Peeler at the door, Olivia assumed Will had come back for her. But when her face lighted up with a broad smile, Jameson put a finger to his mouth and motioned for her to follow him to the duke’s study.

Olivia’s world crumbled as she stood behind Jameson and listened to him explain to His Grace that the Peeler at the door had come to search her room and take her back for questioning.

“What?” The duke thundered.

The shouts from the entryway from the Peeler demanding to see Olivia mingled with the duke’s raised voice brought Aunt El racing down from their bedchamber to see what was happening. When Jameson explained the presence of law enforcement in their entryway, Her Grace ignored her husband and strode down to investigate.

The young man who’d been trying to bully the footmen standing by the entryway ceased his complaints when he caught sight of the infamous Eleanor Whitcombe, complete with the scar from a sword slash across one cheek. Added to that was her considerable height which allowed her to tower above most men.

The young man mumbled a bit at her demand to explain himself and then insisted, “I have to search Miss Whitcombe’s bedroom.”

“Why?” El demanded, refusing to yield her ground.

“Because Baron Reynolds was poisoned last night in his home with salts of lemon someone put into a pie in his kitchen larder.”

“What does this have to do with my niece?”

The young Peeler suddenly regained his sense of superiority. “She’s a laundress, ain’t she? And they, of all people, have access to salts of lemon for getting stains out of clothes and such.”

Meanwhile, the object of their discussion, Olivia, had crept back up the stairs to her bedchamber to wait for disaster to swallow her whole.

* * *

All El could think of was getting word to Barrister Stephen Forsythe as fast as humanly possible. Her hands itched to send one of the nearby footmen running to the man’s office, but she refused to abandon the household to the obnoxious young man now blocking her entryway. “All right, if I show you Miss Whitcombe’s bedchamber, and you find nothing, will you leave us in peace?”

The young man was becoming more nervous of the intimidating duchess by the minute and merely nodded. El noticed, out of the corner of her eye through the still open front door, the cumbersome ducal carriage lumbering down the street at its usual sedate pace. She smiled. Percy was always there for her. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, someday that man might make a great smuggler.

“Follow that footman,” she said and brought up the rear as the silly man trudged up her fine, carpeted staircase in his muddy boots. El was afraid of no one, living or dead, but she’d included a footman to stand by while the Peeler searched Olivia’s bedroom. She might need someone with a strong back to get rid of a body later.

* * *

Olivia stood just inside her bedchamber door holding the box she’d gotten from Goodrum’s the night before. She’d donned a serviceable redingote over top of her morning dress so that she’d have some protection to keep her warm once they’d trundled her off to jail. She felt this was for the best. No more scandal would be heaped upon the duke and duchess because of their friendship. At least the blackmailer was dead, and she wasn’t sorry.

When the footman leading the Peeler tapped lightly on her door, she stood there with the box, which she handed over to the young man. He seemed taken aback for a minute and then opened the box. The stringent smell of salts of lemon immediately filled the room.

“Are you admitting you killed Baron Reynolds?”

“No, but I am a laundress, this is one of the tools of my trade, and I’m not sorry the bastard’s dead. Take me away.”

* * *

April 29, 1830

Bow Street Magistrates’ Court

Bow Street, London

Instead of taking her to the nearest police station, the young man delivered her to the Magistrate’s Court on Bow Street. The duchess, of course accompanied her. On the way to court in the hired hack the young Peeler had hailed, she leaned close to Olivia’s ear and whispered, “Percy left to get help, and I’m sure Col and Barrister Forsythe will be there to meet us and straighten out this horrible misunderstanding.

Olivia had been overcome with a strange sense of calm. She was glad the entire nightmare was finally over. There was only one person she wanted to see, but she was afraid he’d abandon her when he found out she was a suspect in a poisoning murder.

When they arrived at the court, the room was full of people shouting over each other. One tall man broke away from the crowd and walked directly to Olivia and took her in his arms. The scary look he levered at the other Peeler frightened even her. “You touch this woman again, and I’ll slit you nose to toes.” The young man’s face turned an odd shade of green, he dropped the box containing the bottle of salts of lemon, and raced from the courtroom.

Olivia smiled up into Will’s face. “Would you really kill a fellow Peeler here in the courtroom, just for me?”

“I’m surprised you have to ask.” He pulled her more tightly against him and threw a crazed, murderous look at anyone who dared step near.

“Stop that,” she said, and laughed. “If you’re not careful we’ll end up in adjoining cells.”

He pulled her more tightly to him and said, “That would suit me just fine.”

Her Aunt El was not a patient woman and demanded, “What are we waiting for?”

“There are several cases ahead of us, and we’re waiting for Dickie, Col, and Barrister Forsythe.”

“That’s good news. What have they found?” Her aunt gave out a huge sigh.

Will loosened his hold on Olivia just long enough to tick off on his fingers: “Baron Reynolds’s little black notebook with the names of all his victims; his housekeeper who saw the woman who was still hiding in the kitchen pantry this morning before she fled when the doors were unlocked…” He paused then in his recitation. “And…the woman who poisoned the baron turned out to be Madame Clarot’s assistant, Marie. He’d been blackmailing her for years because he had proof she’d murdered her late husband. She had a change of heart after implicating Olivia with the salts of lemon. She’s confessed to Forsythe, and he’s bringing her in with him.”

Olivia sagged against Will and sobbed just as the rest of their party walked in, having added Alice and Sinjin to the mix as well.

Alice walked directly to Olivia, pulled out a handkerchief to dry her face, and shook her index finger at her friend. “No more revenge plans, and the next time you’re in trouble, for the love of Hera…wiggle your fingers—.”