Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m only going out for an hour or two, my darling.
” Blythe smoothed a hand over Coralie’s hair and whispered, “You’ll help Nicholas while I’m gone, won’t you?
He’ll need your steady presence, and I’ll tell Cook to let Roddy, the kitchen boy, come up and play with him later.
” She’d left a note for Lady Hermione as well, though she wouldn’t disturb that good lady’s slumber.
Coralie yawned. “What time is it?”
Blythe shushed her. Nicholas was still asleep and she didn’t want to wake him. Radley had risen to help Blythe dress, and a maid had taken her place in Radley’s chair.
The new maid dozed as well. It had been a grueling night for everyone at Chilcombe House.
A morsel of guilt niggled at her. For all that had transpired since Graeme’s arrival, she’d slept quite peacefully in her lover’s arms until she awakened and found him gone.
Not that Graeme was her lover or ever would be.
Before she could even think about dallying with him, or any other man, she must get to Lunetta, obtain the copy of the will from the woman, if indeed she had it, and destroy it.
It was shameful, illegal, and absolutely necessary, and she wouldn’t involve Graeme. He had an earldom to think of and a future diplomatic career.
Adwick, dear Adwick, who hadn’t slept more than a wink, said Will had crept in at the break of dawn. He’d been keeping late hours, both in going to bed and in rising.
She wouldn’t disturb him. She didn’t need to. Will’s mention of Soho had jiggled loose a memory of something Lunetta had once let slip.
She had a good idea where Lunetta Casale had lived before her arrival at Risley Manor, and she needed to go there while the whores and cutpurses were sleeping.
Dressing quickly in her oldest and plainest gown, she went down to the kitchen.
Cook was up, beginning the preparations for breakfast. The door to the pantry was open and she spotted the urchin who slept there stretched on a pallet, still asleep.
When she returned to London from Matron Manor, she’d found the lad sleeping in the stairwell and taking handouts from Cook.
That good lady looked up from the dough she was kneading. “You’re going out, my lady?”
Blythe put a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Let Roddy help take the tray up to the nursery and play for a while,” she said. “But only when they call for it. It was a long journey and they’re still sleeping. I won’t be gone long.”
“Here.” Cook wrapped two cooling buns in a cloth. “You must eat.”
The warmth of the fragrant bundle sent a shiver through her as she accepted it. “Thank you. Come and lock the door behind me.”
It was cool for late April, and as she opened the door to the service stairs at the front of the house, she saw that it was drizzling.
Cook’s disapproving silence followed her out of the door.
Drawing her shawl over her head, she made her way up the stairs. A small figure moved into view.
“Anything I can do fer ye today, milady?”
“Bobby, I was hoping I’d see you about.” She handed over the warm bundle of bread. “Walk with me to the hackney stand and tell me what you know.”
Bobby was another street urchin who lingered about, kin or just friend to Roddy, she wasn’t sure, but he’d begun appearing on the street after she’d taken in the smaller child.
“There’s been a Runner in your place all night, milady,” he said through a mouthful.
“Yes. Finish chewing before you speak. Lord Chilcombe hired him.”
“Heard the tall bloke what’s been staying here’s your brother?”
“Yes. Captain Lynford.”
Blythe waved to a passing hackney and the driver pulled up.
“Keep your eyes and ears open for me, will you?” she said, reaching for the carriage’s door.
“Where ye going?”
“Never mind, you. It’s none of your business.”
Opening the door, she paused on the step. A hand reached out and tugged her the rest of the way in.
Graeme’s hand.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Where to, Blythe?” Graeme still had hold of her.
Too astonished to speak, she spluttered.
“Soho,” Graeme called. “We’ll give you the street when we get closer.”
Blythe straightened in her seat, her heart clacking wildly as astonishment and anger flooded her. How… He’d been in her room. He’d gone through her things… or…She cast her mind over her memory of her room. She’d left Will’s note on her writing table. Clearly, Graeme had found it and read it.
He didn’t know everything though. He didn’t know where exactly in Soho she needed to go.
Easing in a breath, she mentally ran through her options. They could turn around and return home and wait for Will to arise.
But of course, then she’d have to argue with her brother about allowing her to pay this call with him. And perhaps by then, other parties would be involved—Graeme’s friend, Morley, or even Mr. Jarrow.
Or she could guide them to random addresses in Soho in what would be a futile search for the woman.
“Let me help you,” Graeme said.
Or, yes, that was another option. She could take Graeme’s assistance. And if they found the new will, then what?
She leaned back into the squab, wishing that she could make herself invisible and slip away without Graeme noticing.
He was a silent presence seated beside her. He’d let go of her hand, and she felt the absence of his touch. It had been reassuring. And friendly. Perhaps almost loving.
Such a small intimacy, a touch on the hand. So much more stirring than her late husband’s aggressive groping. Graeme, so far, had been kind.
How long would that last?
Only until he discovers what you’ve done and what you intend to do. This dance with him was getting tiring. She might as well meet her fate.
“Very well,” she said, her voice more brittle than she would have liked. “Bridie Lane,” she called to the driver and then turned to Graeme. “Lunetta Casale claims to have the only copy of the new will,” she said softly. “She wants five hundred pounds for it.”
Graeme looked away and frowned. “What are her circumstances?”
“She says she contracted an illness from Archie.”
“And is unable to work at her trade? What is this place we are visiting?”
“A house where someone she knew had rooms. She had Archie frank correspondence to send to Bridie Lane. She may be living there now.”
“Is it a brothel?”
“That is a good guess but I don’t know. My emissaries have not had success.”
“I’m glad you’re not going there alone. Who have you sent to look for her?”
“My brother, of course, and a street urchin, Bobby, who it seems you have befriended already. Did you bribe him to walk me to the hackney you hired?”
Graeme hid a smile at her shrewdness.
“Bobby is as happy as the next urchin to accept a coin, but in all truth, he was as worried about you going out alone as I am. He regards you fondly, my lady.”
“He regards Cook’s pies even more fondly.”
“What is your plan today? Did you bring the money?”
“If I pawned all my jewelry I could not come up with that amount. And I would not take the Chilcombe jewels, which will rightly belong to the next Lady Chilcombe. I am not a thief. I will simply negotiate with her.”
“You are a cool one, Lady Chilcombe.”
She turned her gaze on him, and he saw the turmoil in her eyes and felt a twinge of guilt. But he must go on.
“I applaud your… adaptability. Your quick thinking. If I were sitting across the negotiating table from you, I might use the word wiliness. You burned the copy of that new will that Sir Morris was carrying to London, didn’t you. How did you obtain it?”
Though her eyes remained open, she’d drawn a shade down on her emotions.
“Let me speculate,” he said. “You followed Sir Morris and found him after his crash. You’re not a murderer, you said, and I believe you. He was already dead when you arrived. You withdrew the will from his baggage and took it back to Bluebelle Lodge, where Coralie saw you burning it.”
That brought the slightest of gasps before her mouth firmed in a mulish line.
“Coralie told me. I don’t believe she’s told anyone else. And who would think to question a young girl? Was it not a bit cruel for you to leave Sir Morris to the mercy of the elements?”
A long moment ticked by before she spoke.
“As you said, he was already dead when I came across him,” she said quietly. “I was going for help at Risley Manor when a coach came along and stopped for him. They did not see me.”
“Was the will the same as Diddenton asserts?”
She nodded. “And as Archie described to me that day.” She took in a tight breath.
“There is more. A letter Sir Morris was carrying to Diddenton. I… I took it also. It was from Lord Vernon to his father, telling him that, as his father had suggested, he’d supplied Archie with the Indian opium and left Sir Morris to persuade Archie to sign the new will.
He said that Archie’s health and his addiction were such that his death would be imminent, and having performed this task, he expected to take possession of Bluebelle Lodge before summer. ”
“Astonishing. The letter—”
“Is hidden. I didn’t destroy it. But I couldn’t see a way to produce it to the court without incurring suspicions of my own.”
Graeme sat, thinking.
“If Lunetta has the will, what do you intend to do with it, Lord Chilcombe?”
“I thought we might burn it together,” he said.
She shook her head. “I won’t have you committing fraud. You’re young and ambitious and talented. Once this matter is settled, you might return to your diplomatic career. And with a title, your chance of a plum assignment is greater.”
A plum assignment would take him far away from her. Unless she came with him.
“I would think of it as correcting a greater, more egregious fraud. But perhaps we might put our heads together and find a better way.”
Before he could explain the carriage drew to a stop at the entrance of a narrow street.
“Which number,” the driver asked.
“We’ll get out here and walk,” Blythe said. “Wait for us, please.”