Chapter 14
Dinner that night was a remarkably different experience than the first week of my stay.
Mr. Rawlings made a point to involve me in the conversation, to ask after my opinions and to listen with care. I knew he only did it because he felt guilty, yet it still helped. My flagging spirits found a bit of hope.
Mrs. Rawlings looked on with clear disapproval. No doubt she wondered what had changed between Mr. Rawlings and me, and she certainly did not like it. I did my best to ignore her, focusing on the lifeline Mr. Rawlings was throwing to me.
I slept better that night than I had since I’d left London, and I woke feeling refreshed and more like myself.
Though the actual circumstances of my situation hadn’t changed—I was still trapped here at Briarstone—just knowing that Mr. Rawlings was on my side now made a world of difference.
I could even face a morning with Mrs. Rawlings with a cheerful smile and an indomitable will.
I went down to the breakfast room, half expecting to see Mr. Rawlings there waiting for me. But the room was empty, as usual, and I tried to stifle my disappointment with a hot cup of tea.
After finishing, I stood and went out into the corridor. I had just started toward the morning room when his resonant voice spoke behind me.
“Miss Albright.”
I spun, taken off guard. Mr. Rawlings stood in the doorway of his study, one hand resting against the frame. Morning light poured in behind him, casting his figure in sharp relief. Was it possible that he was taller than last I’d seen him?
“Yes?” I managed.
“I hoped to catch you before you went in,” he said. “Do you have a moment?”
I hesitated, for reasons I wasn’t quite sure of.
“Unless you are eager for another morning with my mother?” he suggested with a slight narrowing of his eyes that I was beginning to recognize as humor.
“Oh, always,” I said. “But I shall delay that pleasure as a special favor to you.”
I followed him inside his study. He went behind his desk and riffled through a stack of papers.
“Do you recall during our journey here,” he said, “when you noted that odd coincidence in the paper?”
I squinted. “The robbery?”
“Aye,” he said. “The one that took place after the ball hosted at Peak House.”
“I recall,” I said slowly.
“Well, I thought it odd as well.” He straightened, a paper in his hands. “That morning at the inn, I posted a letter to Bow Street, asking for more information on the case.”
I blinked. “You did?”
He waved me closer. I approached, hands clasped behind my back.
“I also asked one of the clerks to search amongst our case files and other newspapers for any similar occurrences,” he said. “I just received his preliminary notes this morning.”
He handed me the note, which was a list of six dates and locations. I examined it, not entirely certain what I was looking at. “What does it mean?”
“It means,” he said, “that you were right to find the robbery at Peak House suspicious. It is far from being the only case of its kind in the last year. All these”—he pointed at the paper in my hand—“are robberies with remarkable similarities to the Peak House case. In each one, there was a large social gathering the night something was stolen, and generally, the items taken were small and easily hidden on a person. In fact, I am beginning to wonder if there are many more cases like this, but we are simply overlooking them because the robberies were reported much later, the owners not noticing their missing items right away.”
“So you think they are all connected?” I asked. “That there is a thief among the ton?”
“I’m hesitant to draw any conclusions without more information,” he said, “which is difficult to come by so far from London. I am waiting on more from my clerk, who is continuing to look back even further in our files. In the meantime, I’ve been attempting to track down any newspaper I can get my hands on, old and new, and look for the coincidences you noticed.
I’ve found another two robberies that I think could be connected to these six. ”
Mr. Rawlings was sorting through his papers again, brow furrowed in concentration, and heaven help me if I did not find his competence and intelligence wildly attractive.
Not to mention that he was speaking to me as if I were an equal to be consulted or that he had acted when he’d felt my suspicion had merit.
“So this is what you’ve been up to the last few days?” I tried to distract myself from being mesmerized by the capable way he sorted through papers.
“I am of no help in the murder case,” he said. “I had to occupy myself or else go mad.”
“I can relate,” I said. “I’m half mad already.”
He met my eyes, and for a moment, I felt that pull again, that unraveling thread between us.
I forced myself to look down at the paper in my hands, my cheeks heating. “I admit, I am quite fascinated by the idea of a thief moving amongst the ranks of London high Society. Heavens, I wonder if I’ve even met him at one point.”
“Not terribly likely,” he said. “These robberies were all within the last year.”
And I had been in the country, hiding. He did not voice that, thankfully.
I held the list back out to him. “You’ll tell me if you discover anything new?”
He took it. “Yes, I will.”
My hands felt awkward now with nothing to hold. I dropped them to my sides. “What news from Mr. Drake? Did he have anything to report on the case?”
Mr. Rawlings frowned. “No. But then, I can hardly expect him to send anything of a sensitive nature in a letter. But he said nothing to make me assume they were close at all to catching the culprit.”
I sighed. “I daresay it will be a while yet before we can return to London.”
He paused in the midst of straightening his papers. “I am sorry. It is far more of an inconvenience to you. This has no doubt thrown off your . . . your plans for your time in London.”
I stilled. Was he referencing the clear interest I’d shown in Mr. Drake? “Yes,” I said hesitantly. “Ginny and I had a great many hopes.”
He nodded, not looking at me. “Certainly, you can still pursue those when we return.”
I swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”
He finished tidying his desk and turned to me, his face clear of emotion. “I hope you’ll not think me presumptuous,” he said, “but I wished to ask you something.”
I sent him a wary look, instantly on guard. “Yes?”
“My mother said that after you read your letter yesterday,” he began, “you fled the room. And I have been wondering—” He paused and looked down to where he’d placed one hand on the desk, as if trying to find the right words.
“In the library yesterday, I noticed that you received two letters, and I feared you’d received more bad news than just Mrs. Travers’s update on the case. ”
I blinked. He was a man of great detail, so I wasn’t surprised he’d notice my letters. But I was surprised that he seemed to care.
“You are irritatingly perceptive, Mr. Rawlings,” I said. “How is a woman meant to keep any secrets around you? I shall lose my appeal without some sense of mystery.”
“You are nothing but mystery, Miss Lacey.” He said it mildly, though the corner of his mouth inched upward.
“Am I?” I managed, his words sparking a low flame beneath my ribs. “I shall take that as a compliment. I daresay it shall go straight to my head.”
“You’re avoiding the question.” His tone had gone serious again.
I pursed my lips and went to the window, that familiar dread rising inside me yet again. “You’re right, of course.” I parted the curtain with one hand but didn’t truly see anything beyond. “I received another letter, from a Miss Clarissa Haythorne.”
“And she is?” His voice was close. He’d followed me to the window, coming to stand beside me.
I sighed. “The same woman who took my reputation from me.”
He said nothing for a long moment. “What did she want?”
“To remind me to keep what I know about her to myself.” I dropped the curtain. “Also to have tea, as one does with blackmailers.”
Mr. Rawlings crossed his arms. “Avoiding that appointment is one benefit of no longer being in London.”
I laughed, a quiet burst of unexpected mirth. “Very true, though I daresay I will have to deal with her eventually.”
“Or your friends can,” he said. “You are far from unprotected.”
“A blessing I am well aware of.” I cleared the lump forming in my throat. “That is something I did not have the last time.”
Indeed, I’d had only Mother and Father, and I’d been far too frightened to tell either of them what had happened with Clarissa.
Mother knew the rumors were false, of course, though I hadn’t told her the truth about their source.
If she’d known, she likely would have tried to denounce Clarissa without proof, making a mess of her own reputation and ruining any chance I might have had of reclaiming my place in Town.
Father, on the other hand, had been indifference personified.
It was baffling how little he’d been affected by my fall from grace.
But Mr. Rawlings’s words—his insistence that I was not alone in this trial—gave me a new strength.
He was right. I had friends now, and I was far from the naive, uncertain girl I’d been two years ago.
If it came down to it, if it were me against Clarissa when I returned to London, this time I would not retreat. I would rally. I would fight.
Mr. Rawlings fixed his eyes on me. “Miss Lacey—”
Footsteps sounded outside the study, and I realized very quickly how precarious our situation was. Notwithstanding the open door, we were alone. What would a servant think, stumbling upon the master of the house with his mother’s companion?
Mrs. Rawlings appeared in the doorway. She took in the two of us, standing beside the window, and she darkened immediately. “I have been waiting for you, Miss Albright.”
“It is my fault, Mother,” Mr. Rawlings said. “I waylaid her.”