Chapter 5 #2
The modiste showed them to a broad display table, then fluttered away to disappear behind the door.
Standing by the far wall, Emma and Diana had a clear, direct view of Lance.
He left his examination of ribbons and came to take Emma’s hands in his own. “Hello, my darling. See anything you like? What about you, Diana?”
“What are you doing here?” Emma silently praised his selection of chocolate brown frock coat and fawn trousers, with cream wool waistcoat.
He winked. “I buy gifts for my fiancée.”
Another tinkle of the doorbells caught their attention. Miss Frobisher swept inside with a look of alarm on her face. But when she spied Emma and Diana, she rushed over.
“I am so delighted to see you both.” She glanced at Lance, her examination of him one of a person trying to recall his name.
Diana introduced her to him.
The lady took his name with no sign she remembered him from the road. “Pleasure to meet you, Lord Weatherby. I say, are you enjoying the town?” She kept glancing at the shop entrance. “I am. I am.”
Emma nodded. “We take a morning walk along the promenade each morning. Perhaps you would like to join us?”
“I would. I would. Thank you.”
Then the shop bell ting-a-linged again. A tall thin man in informal top hat, black frockcoat, trousers and bright red waistcoat filled the doorway.
Emma did not move a muscle.
Nor did Lance.
Miss Frobisher waved a hand in front of her face in a tizzy. “I’m here for a fitting. You? What do you do here?” She focused on Emma.
“We need a few items and Mademoiselle Vernet has been recommended.”
One of the clerks appeared before the four. “I am ready to assist you, Miss Frobisher. If you will come this way.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. But, you see, I realize, I am not ready. Not really. I must return.”
“Oh, but when?” The young clerk was confused. “You wanted this gown by tomorrow.”
“I know. I know. But I will return, say, in the morning?” Without waiting for an answer from the girl, off Miss Frobisher sailed.
Once she had disappeared, Emma returned her interest to the tall, thin fellow in the shop.
“Lance,” Emma said with lowered voice, “I think that is the same man we saw this morning on the beach.”
“The one who concerned you?” He positioned himself so as not to gaze at the man in question.
“Just so.” She nodded.
Diana leaned in and quietly asked, “Is something wrong with him?”
“No, no. Not really,” Emma replied.
“We had the odd sensation he followed us,” Lance told her.
“Hmmm.” Di thought a minute. “Tell you what we will do. He seems to be interested in muslins, though heavens knows why. One of the clerks has gone to welcome him so we shall see what he wishes to buy.”
“What if—?” A horrible thought crossed Emma’s mind. “Do you think he might be the Runner who searches for that highwayman?”
“No.” But Lance’s face fell. “Just because he seems out of place is no reason to suspect that.”
“But he could have followed us,” Emma added.
“You mean me,” Lance said with concern lining his brow.
Diana folded her hands before her, and pursed her lips, looking very much like a stewed prune. “Let’s continue with Mademoiselle Vernet and order our clothes. We shall see how long he remains.”
“I can leave now,” Lance offered.
“Do that,” said Diana. “If he departs soon afterward, I will suddenly need the air. Stay within sight of the shop, my lord, and I will watch his moves.”
* * *
The three of them met for dinner that night in the dining room of the hotel. The ladies had spent the rest of the afternoon at Vernet’s shop as three seamstresses took measurements and both ladies selected fabrics and trim for their gowns. They had not seen Lance since he left the dressmakers.
As the waiter left their table with their orders, the three finally had privacy.
“We must know about the Runner,” Emma prompted him.
“He left two minutes after you did, sir, and stood on the curb for quite a while watching you walk away,” Diana said. “Then he hurried down a small alley. But I know not what he did after that.”
“What happened?” Emma felt the old familiar vise squeeze her heart. Society would once more ruin her life, her plans…and now, her love. A Runner, of all people, would take Lance from her and send him to gaol.
Lance sighed and dropped his voice. “The news is not good. He followed me at a distance as I visited a book shop and a tailor’s. I lingered so long in the book shop, he finally came inside. I could see him walking all the aisles.”
“And at the tailor’s?” Emma asked.
“He did not enter the tailor’s but took a seat outside on a bench. He’d bought an ice and sat eating it. I could see him from the window. I could not tell if he focused on the patrons of the sweet shop or of me. In any case, he must have tired of his watch because when I came out, he was gone.”
“You didn’t see him after that?” Emma had to know.
“No.”
“I suppose,” Emma said, “he’s read the daily newspaper with word of our arrival here.
” She’d read the latest edition of the town paper upon her return to the hotel from the Lanes.
Her heart in her throat, she’d cursed the reporter who written it.
The article, brief but brutal, resurrected all the old scandal for which she had paid such a dear price for so many years.
The Sussex Express posted news daily of those of note had arrived in Brighton and who had left.
Often, the reporter added personal information about the arrivals.
Emma and Diana were described as ‘The London heiresses who intend to remain in our fair city. Sadly, their journey here was marred by the attack of a black-cloaked highwayman. Oddly, the man took no money or property from the Misses Tomkins nor from their fellow traveler, Miss Rebecca Frobisher. He took only kisses from one lady, who has had previous experience with rapscallions such as this.’
Lance shook his head. “I bought a copy of the newspaper on my way here from the tailor’s. I could not believe they had the nerve to write all that.”
Diana agreed. “Miss Frobisher acted oddly with us in the shop. I wonder if she met with a newspaper reporter.”
Emma clutched her hands together. Disaster. It was happening again. “Or a Runner.”
“Now, now, my dears,” Lance said, brushing off their fears, “we speculate. Not good to do so.”
Diana frowned. “If the coachman told the tale at a pub or two around town, then there is another source. The reporter should have come ask us to reveal details.”
“Oh, no.” Lance was adamant. “That would be too intrusive. Plus, they know we would discourage any mention of that past.”
Diana groused. “Better to be nasty. That gains more readers. But ohhh… look who comes to dine.”
Emma recognized the tall thin fellow immediately. “No. Don’t look.”
Attired in the same clothes as those he wore earlier, their supposed Runner loped into the dining room behind the maitre d’hotel. He took a seat at a table for one, which he had probably asked for, because it provided a straight view of the three of them.
Emma gritted her teeth. At least, he has the courtesy not to stare at us.
“We will ignore him.” Lance bit off his words.
“I have lost my appetite.” Emma felt the pinch of that old vise.
Lance covered her hand with his. “You will not look at him. None of us will. Instead, you will tell me about your purchases at the dressmaker’s.”
Lance’s determination filled Emma with confidence and she launched into a discussion of style and fabric. “I can see by the way your eyes glaze over,” she said with a chuckle as three waiters came with covered trays, “that you have learned enough about silks.”
He sat back, allowing the servers to place their dinners before them. “Tell me about Sir Peter Somerville and his wife Penelope. I wish to be a knowledgeable guest.”