Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS
Richard was standing outside Hastings’ house when that gentleman returned after church the following morning. He set forth his case and waited for his colleague’s response.
“An investigator is a fine notion. For our purposes, Weekes has all but left the fold, and we have concerns more pressing than to seek him out. There is a war, after all. But should he fall into our laps…” He nodded appreciatively.
“I have not had personal cause to hire an investigator, but I may have access to some names. I shall ask around and return to you forthwith. You reside with your parents whilst in London?”
“No, with my cousin. I shall leave his direction. I am back at the camp on Wednesday and can receive any communication there.”
Hastings reached out to shake Richard’s hand. “Very good. Leave it with me. Be well, young man.” And the meeting was over.
Next, Richard went by his club. It had been long enough since he was last there that the new doorman had to inquire after his identity, but the Baron Musgrave was walking in at that moment and vouched for him.
“Treat you to a drink?” Musgrave asked. It was early yet in the day, but not too early for a brandy for a man of leisure, and he willingly accepted.
Musgrave, too, had no experience with private investigators.
His holding was solid, his land productive.
He was not the wealthiest of the aristocracy by any means, but he had no concerns, personal or financial, that might necessitate such an engagement.
But Musgrave introduced Richard to Mr Underwood, whose butler had absconded with some family silver two years past.
“Yes, yes,” that gentleman drawled over his newspaper and coffee. “Good man I hired. Found the blighter forthwith. Definitely recommend. Name was Lyons. Young bloke, a Scot of all things, but trustworthy, nonetheless. Let me find his direction once I am home. Yes, yes.”
Now that he had a name and a recommendation, Richard felt a weight off his shoulders. He would wait to hear from Hastings in a day or two, but once Underwood’s message came with the investigator’s direction, he could start to act.
This satisfaction was marred that very day when he arrived back at Darcy’s house. A note from his mother sat ominously on the silver salver by the front door.
Richard darling,
How could you be in London and not come home? Is Darcy’s house so much superior to your very own? I expect you and Darcy for dinner this evening. We shall talk then. Dress well.
Mother
Richard closed his eyes and sighed. What plots did she have in mind now? But there was nothing for it but to order Thomas to prepare his finest attire in preparation for a meal at Matlock House.
A morose party appeared at Lady Matlock’s home that afternoon. Darcy pasted a smile upon his face, but it never reached his eyes, and he was even more silent than usual, and Richard was still stewing over Weekes and Emily.
“Smile, darling,” his mother hissed into his ear as he approached the salon where the guests were assembled. “You are on display tonight. Must make a good impression!”
His false smile turned to a glare. “Who have you invited?”
“Oh, nobody alarming. Only Mr and Mrs Eastway and their charming daughter. You shall not escape me so easily. Now, that smile… Ah, much better.”
In truth, it was not difficult to be friendly to Mr Eastway, for he was an intelligent man and pleasant company.
And even Miss Eastway seemed to improve upon each subsequent encounter.
She had interesting things to say about art and music, and as she got used to Richard and his family, her constant giggles mellowed into the occasional titter.
He was a man given to bonhomie and good humour, and his forced smile soon became genuine as he resolved to enjoy the evening as best he could.
There was a new exhibit of watercolours of exotic birds at one small local gallery, and an upcoming performance of some piano sonatas by Mr Clementi.
“And have you seen the new Italian operas now on stage at the Pantheon?” Miss Eastway asked.
“They started performances at the end of February, with the wonderful soprano Elizabeth Billington. Perhaps, while they are still on stage, your family might accompany mine one evening.”
This was an amiable thought, and Richard did not dread the event.
It was towards the end of the evening that his mother announced to the assembled group, “I look forward to seeing everybody at Lady DeWinter’s ball on Tuesday night. The colonel must return to his post the following day, but he will be joining us on that evening.”
Richard’s head snapped up to stare at Lady Matlock. “Mother? This is news to me.” This was not welcome information. He had other plans for his last night in Town, namely, to sit by Darcy’s fire drinking his fine brandy.
“Did I not tell you, dear? It must have slipped my mind.”
Richard fought not to roll his eyes at this obvious falsehood as his mother spoke on with blithe nonchalance.
“I had the invitation last week, whilst you and Darcy were visiting your aunt. I accepted for everybody. It is the last ball of the season, before the cream of society disappear back to the country for the summer. Darcy, I expect to see you there as well. You are also not too young to consider your future.”
The black glare Darcy sent her would have struck a weaker woman to the ground. But there was no way Lady Matlock could have known of Darcy’s recent failure, and Richard sent his cousin a glance to try to calm him.
Now his mother turned her aristocratic face to pin him to his seat. He knew very well what that look meant, and there was no way to avoid its implication. He turned to Miss Eastway.
“If you are to be present, may I solicit the first dance?”
The young lady gave a quick giggle before accepting with all due honour, and Richard tried to glare at his mother from the corner of his eyes, as if to say, ‘There! Are you satisfied?’ She responded with a smug expression, and then dispassionately asked if anybody would like some more tea.
Monday passed with little to mark it, and soon Tuesday was upon them.
Richard and Darcy were to join the earl and countess for dinner, before all travelling the short distance to Lady DeWinter’s fine and grand home.
The two men were dressed in their finest and ready as the carriage arrived to collect them, Richard in his new black coat and pantaloons with white stockings and a silver waistcoat, and Darcy in the darkest of blue.
Both looked handsome in their evening wear, just as Lady Matlock must have desired.
They dined and fixed their garb and were soon in the carriage. The queue of equipages before Lady DeWinter’s house was long, and it was nearly half an hour before they disgorged themselves at last from the vehicle. “It would have been quicker to walk,” Darcy grumbled.
It was true; the few short streets between houses could have been accomplished in a matter of minutes, but appearances were everything, and they must arrive in the style befitting an earl and his family.
Furthermore, there must be no dust or stones in their elegant dancing slippers; the carriage was the only suitable way to arrive.
Once more Richard found himself surrounded by the light of a thousand candles, all hot and smoky, rendering the air pungent with the smell of slowly melting wax.
As the doors to the ballroom opened and closed, the sounds of hundreds of voices reverberated through the ornate hallway, summoning any new arrivals to join the festivities.
The noise was deafening, even by the front door, and Richard once more glared at his mother for forcing this evening upon him.
Furthermore, he was expected to dance with Miss Eastway.
He would at some point have to disabuse her of any expectations of him.
Surely by now, with all the attentions his mother had forced him to pay her, she must anticipate an offer.
He had no passion for the young woman, but he liked her enough in her bland way not to wish any distress or pain upon her.
One liveried footman took his hat and cane and another waited, in his pompadour wig and velvet suit, to lead the party to the ballroom where Lady DeWinter awaited them. They were announced and greeted and left to melt into the assembled crowd.
Richard stepped forward into the throng, avoiding an elderly gentleman carrying too many glasses of punch and a buxom matron leading a silly-looking girl dressed in too much lace.
He stood still as a woman of about his own age flirted with a fellow officer whom he did not know, clearly not her husband, and pulled him along towards one of the benches that lined the pale walls of the cavernous space.
The odour of too many sweating bodies was strong, mixed as it was with the stench of alcohol and an overabundance of perfume.
He turned about on his spot trying to locate Miss Eastway, to whom he had pledged the first dance, and realised he had lost his party.
His mother was nowhere to be seen, and his father, he assumed, had long since vanished into the card room, there to while away the evening with his fellow refugees from the crush.
Was that Darcy’s tall form walking towards the window?
In the crowd it was almost impossible to know. Of Miss Eastway, he could see nothing.
He felt someone at his back and whirled around in hopes of avoiding a collision.
There, immediately before him and staring into his face was Honoria Ingalls, now Lady Chintford, who had broken his heart so long before.
She seemed as shocked at the encounter as was he, and she blushed a rather unattractive red as she recognised him.