Chapter Nine
W hen Edith heard Charlotte mention Lord Wycliffe’s name the next afternoon at Thorne’s Library, she was surprised to find she hadn’t thought much about the viscount that morning or the night before. She’d been too preoccupied with the puzzle that was Lord Harbury.
“What about Lord Wycliffe?” Seated on the sopha next to Charlotte, Edith looked up from her copy of The Times .
“He has been sequestered in my husband’s study with Lord Harbury all morning. I do hope Cecil doesn’t get Ashford involved in one of his dangerous schemes.” Charlotte worried her lower lip, a sure sign she was troubled.
Louisa snorted. “You are right to be concerned. There are rumors that a few months ago, there was an undertaking to prevent the Rundle Bridge from being sabotaged. Supposedly, Wycliffe and a friend were involved.”
“I’m sure the viscount wouldn’t entangle his friends in anything dangerous,” Edith replied quickly, directing a quelling look at Louisa. It was just like their friend to not think of how her words might affect Charlotte. “Ashford is a sensible man. He married you, after all.”
Charlotte smiled at that. “There are so many tales told about Cecil’s exploits one wonders what is fact and what is fiction.”
In addition to his devastating good looks, Edith found Lord Wycliffe’s sense of adventure attractive. Seeing Charlotte’s distress gave her pause. Perhaps the idea of a thrill-seeking beau was more exciting than the reality.
“My parents and brothers are leaving for our estate in Kent in two days.” Louisa relaxed against the back cushion of her stuffed chair. “I shall soon descend upon your household, Edith.”
“The housekeeper is expecting you.” Edith hoped her father remembered they would have a houseguest as she hadn’t spoken to him for any length of time in the last few days. When she came down for breakfast that morning, the butler notified her that her father had stayed at his club overnight and had yet to return home.
Charlotte pulled an ivory fan from her reticule, opened it, and fanned herself with vigor. Although the front door to the library was open, the shop felt stuffy.
Edith looked around the shop, happy to see the lending library running a thriving trade. No matter what changed in her life, it was comforting to have Thorne’s as the one constant.
“We received a new copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine today.”
Edith shook herself from her reverie to find Robbie standing near her, one of her favorite periodicals in hand. The magazine reported on most political news, including Parliamentary debates and decisions, and published opinion pieces.
She took the magazine from him with a smile. “Thank you, Robbie.”
“You’ve reminded me I have a bag of lemon sorbets for you.” Charlotte pulled a small packet of sweets from her reticule.
Robbie accepted the bag with a hearty thank you and returned to the subscription desk.
Looking through The Gentleman’s Magazine , Edith’s attention was caught by an article about the recent increase of prisoners transported to the colony of New South Wales. When she finished reading the piece, she was unsure whether the author was for or against transportation. The article would be a topic of conversation she could broach with her father before she asked him about his relationship with Lady Sandhurst.
Her friends thumbed through their own periodicals as she searched for a topic of conversation. “How did you enjoy your afternoon volunteering at the registry office?”
“Louisa is quite good with the ledgers as she is very organized.” Charlotte then whispered, “She might actually be starting to enjoy herself.”
Louisa shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Town is rather boring at this time of year. I have to stay occupied with something . Mother believes volunteering will help me flourish as a person or some such nonsense.”
“Have you packed?” Edith asked pointedly. Louisa had a lot of clothing.
The other girl waved a languid hand. “My maid has everything well in hand. I’ll only bring a few trunks with me.”
She wondered how much clothing Louisa really needed. It was August, and the ladies expected to leave Town in November.
Charlotte put away her fan and rose to her feet. “La, it is hot. Shall we repair to Gunter’s for an ice?”
“That is an excellent idea.” She could do with something to drink. Edith placed the magazine on the table, hopeful her father might have a copy in his study. She would ask him if and when he returned home.
* * * * *
T hat Saturday morning , Nathaniel was roused from his bed by an impatient Cecil.
“What are you doing in my bedchamber?” he asked groggily, blinking at the man who stood at the end of the four-poster bed.
“The sun is up. You should be as well.”
He grumbled in reply, “You are the only gentleman I know who gets up at the crack of dawn. Several of my servants might well be tossed out because of you.”
“It isn’t their fault I’m here.” Cecil grinned. “You know that.”
Aye, he did. Sitting up and throwing back the covers, Nathaniel was glad he wore short drawers to sleep in. There was a knock at the door.
“My lord?”
“Come in, Branson.”
The valet entered the room warily.
“It’s all right, Branson. I know full well that you are not at fault for my early morning.” Nathaniel frowned darkly at Cecil.
The viscount took himself off downstairs without a word. When Nathaniel arrived in the drawing room dressed for the day, it was to see his friend calmly drinking a cup of coffee.
Cecil held up his cup. “Your maids are ever so accommodating.”
Taking a seat on a hard-backed chair, Nathaniel picked up the pot from a tea tray and poured himself a cup of the rich brew. His butler, the most correct Binns, must have been elsewhere in the house this morning, or Cecil would never have made it past the entry hall.
“To what do I owe this early morning call?”
“One of your veterans is missing.” Cecil rose to his feet, placing his cup and saucer on the nearby tray. “I’ve sent a missive to Ashford and he’s expecting us. I’ll tell you both what has happened when we’re together.”
After taking a long swallow of coffee, Nathaniel put his cup back on the tray and followed Cecil from the room. Once they exited the house, he spied his friend’s unmarked black town coach. The coachman and attending footmen wore basic, nondescript black livery.
Ashford lived further down the square, close enough that the men could walk to the townhouse, and Nathaniel hoped the brief exercise would help clear the cobwebs from his brain.
Nathaniel yawned widely and followed Cecil along the pavement at a brisk pace. He needed more coffee before he could process what Cecil had said. What worried him was the connection the missing veteran might have to the RA. There must be some association, or the viscount wouldn’t have driven to Mayfair to give his friends the news.
When the two men entered his study, Ashford stood to greet them. “Have a seat.”
“How about some breakfast?” Nathaniel smothered a yawn with his hand. “Cecil dragged me out of bed, and I haven’t yet broken my fast.”
Ashford picked up and rang the bell on the corner of his desk. A footman immediately appeared at the open door.
“We require a breakfast tray.”
The servant nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
“Now, what is this all about?" Ashford asked Cecil once the footman had departed.
“One of your registered veterans never appeared for his new position.” Cecil was seated on a leather chair.
Ashford frowned, taking a seat behind his mahogany desk. “And how do you know this?”
“The position was with my neighbor, Sir Henry. The veteran was hired on as a second groomsman and was to report yesterday morning. Sir Henry knows I am associated with the registry office through you, Ashford, so he took it upon himself to visit my home last night and complain.”
Nathaniel didn’t take a seat but paced the perimeter of the room. “Our first week.” He groaned. “We don’t need the negative attention.”
“I’ve told Sir Henry he is probably mistaken about the date his new employee was to arrive and that I would look into it. I greased the palm of his housekeeper in an attempt to keep the incident out of the rumor mill.”
Ashford released a breath. “For now, let’s not inform our employees about the missing veteran. The registry office won’t be open again until Monday, and by then, we may have cleared up this whole business.”
“The RA could be involved.” Cecil crossed his arms across his chest.
“Why on earth would the RA be involved?” he asked the other man grumpily.
A soft knock heralded the arrival of two footmen with trays. One held food, the other a pot of coffee and assorted plates and cutlery. The servants set the trays on a low table in the middle of the room.
“Close the door behind you,” Ashford told the men.
When they were alone again, their host said, “Eat something, Nathaniel. You’re in a foul mood.”
He didn’t reply but merely walked to the table to study the abundance of food on the trays. He was greeted by a basket of warm rolls, a plate of fried eggs, and one of thick bacon. He picked up an empty plate on the tray and selected eggs, bacon, and two rolls. Famished, Nathaniel sat on a small sopha and started to eat.
“Why do you believe the RA is involved?” Ashford calmly asked Cecil.
“Mr. Bones tells me he knows the veteran who is missing. He said the man looked forward to steady employment and wouldn’t have just disappeared.” Cecil looked at Ashford pointedly. “You did tell me the former smuggler was a sound judge of character.”
Ashford nodded. “That he is.” He paused. “Nathaniel, we need to look into this. We can check the man’s home address in the ledger book at the registry office. His disappearance may be a simple misunderstanding.”
“All right,” he said around a mouth full of eggs. “Let me finish eating, and then we can be on our way.”