Chapter Twenty-One
“A re you well?” Pol asked Jackie the next day when he found her in the conservatory that linked the ladies’ drawing room to the garden. At this time in the afternoon, the drawing room was empty, and he had gone there looking for a brief escape from all the friendly, active, interesting people who shared this house. From there, he’d glimpsed a shape beyond a bank of flowers, and somehow known it was her.
“They are all so kind and welcoming,” Jackie said, “but there are so many of them!”
“Exactly!” He sat down on the bench next to her. “I am used to spending much of every day alone.”
“For most of my life,” Jackie commented, “it has just been me and Maman. Even before Papa died, when we still had servants, Papa was usually away, and Maman and I were alone in the schoolroom or her parlor. So many people live in this household! Not just the family, although that is large enough, but also the people that came with the duke from beyond the Caspian Sea.”
The foreign-looking men and women—Pol had seen more than a score of them—seemed to be not quite family and not quite servants. Jackie was right. Between the family, the foreign retainers and the English servants, there must be close to one hundred people in the house, bustling about on their own business, so no room was still for more than a few moments.
“And they do not leave the children to the servants,” Jackie added. “Pol, Lady Sutton had her baby at the breakfast table!” Lord Sutton was the duke’s son and heir, and the baby was little Lord Elfingham, the Sutton’s first son after several daughters, and the apple of his parents’ eyes. “And when Lady Ashford visited, everyone went up to the nursery. Everyone. Even the duke!” Jackie sounded bewildered.
“Yes.” Pol did not have a lot of experience of aristocratic houses, but this behavior was unusual, judging from the astonishment on the faces of both Gran and Maman, who had such experience, albeit not recent.
He put that into words for his beloved. “I don’t think other households are like this one. Your mother and Gran don’t seem to think so, in any case.”
“Maman says that the household is very well run, except that children do not stay on the nursery floor,” Jackie acknowledged.
Proof of how well the house was run came hurrying into the conservatory and took a seat within sight and out of earshot. A maid, come to play propriety. Although Pol hadn’t seen an observer taking note that he and Jackie were alone together, obviously someone had not only seen them but reacted.
A very well-run household indeed.
“I am grateful that you and your mother took my wardrobe in hand,” Pol commented. “I might not have clothing as fancy as that worn by the duke and his sons, but at least everything fits properly.”
“Maman and I are in despair,” Jackie commented. “Maman has always insisted that what we wear is an advertisement for our work, so I need not blush for the gowns I wear, but there are so few of them! I daresay the ladies here do not wear the same gown twice!” She pointed one foot and examined the shoe on it with a frown. “As for my shoes, they are a disgrace.”
The shoe that so offended her was neat and clean, and shod a foot so pretty that Pol felt an urgent need to change the subject lest he discomfort the chaperoning maid. “We are fortunate the duchess is in town and remembers Gran fondly.”
“She has been very kind,” Jackie said.
The duchess had said that Gran had been kind to her when she was a young bride and still finding her feet as a duchess. It was hard to imagine the commanding grand lady had once been unsure of her place. Now, said the duchess, she could return the favor.
“She has been very helpful,” said Pol. The four of them had agreed not to disclose the details of why they were in London to anyone but the enquiry agent, and even then, they had intended to be judicious about what they said.
Gran must have forgotten, for within ten minutes of her reunion with the duchess, she was spilling out everything. Her belief that Pol was the real heir to his grandfather and that her daughter-in-law had hidden the truth. The terrible treatment Pol had suffered in what should be his own house. How Oscar and his mother terrorized the neighborhood, with the connivance of the local magistrate. The trumped-up charges against Pol and Jackie. Even her own poisoning.
When Pol, Jackie, and Madame de Haricot du Charmont had joined the two older ladies, Her Grace knew everything. She asked how she could help. “I will, if you have no objection, ask Wakefield and Wakefield to send an enquiry agent to discuss your case. I am familiar with the firm, and agree they are a good choice.”
The agency had responded to the duchess’s note to say that someone would call as soon as possible. “Do you want to be part of the meeting with the enquiry agent?” Pol asked Jackie. “This affects you as much as it affects me.”
“I would like that,” Jackie agreed.
Her gaze moved to a point behind Pol’s shoulder. He glanced back. A footman was standing a few paces away, waiting to be noticed. “Lord Riese, sir. Mr. Wakefield has called to see you. He is in the Chinese parlor.”
“Thank you,” said Pol. “Can you show us to the Chinese parlor? Jackie? Are you coming?”
Having a guide was essential. The whole of the first floor of the townhouse was given over to reception rooms of one kind or another. The Chinese parlor must have taken its name from the style of the interior. Everything from the wallpaper and light fittings to the furniture and ornaments was in the chinoiserie style that had been highly fashionable in the middle of the previous century.
The person who was waiting for them did not fit Pol’s picture of an enquiry agent. He was expecting some bluff burly character of indeterminate middle age, with a working man’s coat and flat cap, and perhaps a flashy waistcoat.
This man was dressed quietly but neatly in a gentleman’s morning attire—the kind of garment worn by a solicitor or a physician—or, for that matter, any gentleman with no particular desire to scale the heights of fashion.
In appearance, nothing about him stood out. Dark hair, hazel eyes, medium height and build. He was notable only for the smile he was addressing to the other occupant of the room.
The other occupant was a surprise. The Duchess of Winshire sat with the enquiry agent, engaged in warm conversation. She stood when she saw Pol and Jackie, and the man rose, too.
“There you are. Miss de Haricot du Charmont, Lord Riese, allow me to make known to you Mr. Wakefield.” She put an arm on Mr. Wakefield’s arm. “David, dear, do give my love to Prue. And let Antonia know that I was very proud of her last night.”
Mr. Wakefield bent for the peck of a kiss she placed on his check. “I will leave you to business,” she said, and sailed out of the room.
“Her Grace is godmother to my eldest daughter, who is currently enjoying her first Season,” Mr. Wakefield explained. He shuddered. “Unlike her poor Papa.”
Pol rearranged his assumptions about Mr. Wakefield’s social status up another couple of notches.
“Shall we be seated?” the enquiry agent suggested. “I take it the matter you wish to have investigated affects you both?”
Jackie took the seat that Her Grace had vacated, and Pol and Mr. Wakefield both sat when she did. Mr. Wakefield took a leather case out of his inside jacket pocket and opened it to reveal a notebook and a pencil. He set these on his lap and settled back in his seat.
“Pol,” Jackie said, her eyes on his notebook, “you explain.”
Pol did so, starting with his personal history, and then explaining what had happened in the past couple of months to cause them to consult with Mr. Wakefield.
“There are three key issues,” Pol said, finally, “but a tangle of complicating factors. First, I need to find evidence that my grandmother was deliberately poisoned with arsenic, and proof of who did it, why, and for how long. Second, I want to know whether my parents were married before I was born, and if so, whether my aunt by marriage knew that to be true when she had her son declared viscount. Third, if possible, I want evidence that my cousin—and perhaps his mother—are involved in criminal acts.”
Mr. Wakefield’s only reaction was the uplift of a single eyebrow. “I can see how there might be complicating factors,” he commented.
He steepled his hands, and bumped his lips with his forefingers, then lowered them to say, “I will need to know more, of course. To take the first case, what makes you believe that your grandmother was poisoned with arsenic?”
Slowly, over the next hour, he questioned Pol—and Jackie, too, when she offered a comment. He had a way of drawing information out of a person and combining it with another answer to create a new set of questions, taking notes occasionally as things appeared pertinent to him.
Pol found himself telling Mr. Wakefield things he didn’t know he remembered—discrepancies he had never consciously noted, both in his grandmother’s health and in the way the Rieses treated him. “They gave me a gentleman landowner’s education, but had me cleaning silver in my spare time,” he commented.
Mr. Wakefield did not appear to be concerned about the accusations of theft against both Pol and Jackie. “In theory,” he said, “Lord Riese and his mother could pursue the two cases here in London, but there’s a question about whether any warrant is going to be valid so far away from the village where it was issued. Added to that, you are staying in the house of a duke. Any thief taker is going to want to have a strong case before they’d risk annoying the aristocracy. Even so, it might pay to keep a low profile.”
Jackie appeared amused. “I don’t think anyone is likely to be inviting us to balls and dinner parties,” she said.
“You might be surprised,” said Mr. Wakefield. “You are staying with the Duke and Duchess of Winshire, after all. However, if, despite all, Lord Riese and his mother discover you are in London and manage to talk some thief taker into attempting to arrest you before we’ve resolved who, out of you and them, is the criminal, our best strategy would probably be to ask Aunt Eleanor to introduce you in polite Society. I very much doubt your relatives will want the kind of public attention that would ensue under those circumstances.”
With that, he put his notebook back into the leather case from which he’d taken both notebook and pencil. “I’d like to speak with your grandmother, Mr. Riese, on both the poisoning and your legitimacy. I understand she has been in poor health, and must be tired after her recent travel, so that can wait a couple of days, if necessary.”
“I’ll tell her, and let you know when would suit, Mr. Wakefield,” Pol said.
Mr. Wakefield nodded. “On the poisoning, I shall have someone make enquiries in Little Tidbury, and interview the doctor that suggested the investigation. They can investigate what is being said about the claimed thefts, as well, and what locals understood about your legitimacy when you first arrived. I can see if any marriage was registered here in England, and also whether a will was registered for probate. Your grandfather’s, your uncle’s, or your father’s. If your grandmother can give me a direction, I’ll also write to Italy, but it may take some time to obtain a reply.”
Pol nodded. That made sense. “Thank you,” he said.
“One possibly fruitful area of investigation is old gossip. With your permission, I will ask Her Grace to talk to her friends and see if anyone was in correspondence with your father. Again, your grandmother might have an idea of who his friends were, and whether he had aunts or a godmother with whom he might have kept in touch.”
Jackie raised her eyebrows even as she nodded. Pol would certainly never have thought of that.
“Yes, please do that,” he said.
Mr. Wakefield rose. “I shall make weekly reports. More frequently if I discover something of particular interest. Please contact me if you have any further information.”
“So now we do what?” Jackie asked, after Mr. Wakefield had left. “Sit and wait?”
“I suppose I should be visiting employment agencies looking for work as a steward or a secretary.”
Jackie nodded. “And Maman and I need to find a place to sell our gowns and other garments, but surely one day more or less will not make a great deal of difference. We are in London! I have always wanted to see Hyde Park!”
Pol grinned. “The Tower of London.”
“The British Museum!” Jackie said, smiling.
“London Bridge.”
“St Paul’s and Westminster Abbey.”
“The royal parks and palaces.”
“A day of sightseeing?” Jackie asked, and Pol nodded. It was too late today, and in any case, they needed to report to Gran and Madame Haricot. But tomorrow, they would go out to see the sights of London.
*
When Pol and Jackie went up to the little sitting room between Gran’s bedchamber and Maman’s, Maman was flustered. Her Grace had visited Gran while Jackie and Pol were with Mr. Wakefield, and had mentioned expecting them all for dinner, though Gran was excused if she did not feel well enough.
“But what will we wear that is suitable for dinner in the house of a duke?” Maman asked Jackie. It was, of course, a rhetorical question, and Jackie knew better than to imagine otherwise. Maman was already undertaking a mental pillaging of their wardrobes to decide what might be suitable.
“You must come with me this minute, Jacqueline. I think the ivory silk might be made to do, but perhaps we may wish to retrim it. Apollo, you will stay with your grandmother, yes?”
“But Maman, we wished to tell you about our meeting with Mr. Wakefield, the enquiry agent,” Jackie protested.
It was swiftly accomplished. Gran agreed that she would see Mr. Wakefield the following day and answer his questions. Maman, with her mind on what to wear for dinner said that Pol might take Jackie to see the sights without her along as chaperone, as long as they were accompanied by a maid.
“You, are, after all, betrothed,” she commented. “Now come along, Jackie.” And the rest of the afternoon was spent retrimming the ivory silk and making sure it was pressed after being packed for travel more than once.
Jackie was nervous about eating dinner at a duke’s table, since she had never been to a formal dinner except on a Sunday, when her mother insisted on them dining in splendor. She required full table settings and formal manners suitable for a noble—or even a royal—table, even if dinner was nothing more than a potato and leek soup and stick bread cooked over the fire.
The first hint that Jackie need not have worried came when the company gathered in the drawing room before dinner. Those in attendance included adults of all ages—even the duchess’s ward, Frances Grenford, who had not yet made her debut, and several of the foreign retainers, who proved to be on first name terms with the duke, his duchess, and his children.
Jackie’s manners were more than adequate to the meal. Indeed, though the dinner was not as informal as luncheon had been, it was very much a family meal, with people speaking across the table and younger members of the household cheerfully joining in the conversation.
Her appearance was up to standard, too, as was Maman’s. They had done one another’s hair and had paraded for Gran before leaving her to the company of the maid who had been sent to sit with her. When the ladies retreated to the drawing room after dinner, Lady Sutton, the duke’s daughter-in-law, complimented Jackie and asked where she had purchased her gown.
“Maman designs all our gowns,” Jackie replied, “and we both sew them.” Then she caught sight of Maman’s frown and wondered if she should have brushed off the question. Ladies, after all, did not work for a living, or so Maman had always said. But since she insisted that she and Jackie were ladies, despite that, Jackie had not taken her seriously.
It was very confusing.
In any case, Lady Sutton seemed to see nothing wrong with Jackie sewing her own gowns and continued to be lavish in her praise.
One of the other ladies asked what Jackie planned to do while she was in London, and she mentioned her desire to see some of London’s sights. “It will be unexceptional for you to do so with your betrothed,” the duchess declared. “Though I can send a maid to be chaperone if your mother wishes. I think we have Mr. Phillip’s guidebook, Picture of London in the library. I shall ask Miss Pomfritt to find it for you.”
Miss Pomfritt, who was the duchess’s secretary, smiled and nodded. “Of course, Your Grace,” she said.
That prompted others to suggest places Jackie and Pol should go, and the ladies were still discussing the matter when the gentlemen joined them.
After that, the company dispersed. Most of them had social engagements for the evening. Pol, Jackie, and Maman retreated to Gran’s suite, to discuss the day and their plans for the next. Jackie’s heart lifted at the thought she would have a day of leisure seeing the sights of London with the man she loved.
Time enough after that to get back to the business of making a living.