Chapter 21
Two mornings later, Ives let himself out the door and began to descend the fire stairs of the house.
A movement caught his eye and he halted in his tracks.
Down below a woman strolled in the garden.
He watched her a good while. Then, when she aimed toward the back portal, he retraced his steps to Padua’s chamber.
She looked up from where she prepared to wash.
“There is someone in the garden. A woman.”
“They often take the air after they rise. She will not be there long.”
“I find it hard to believe this woman is one of Mrs. Lavender’s young ladies. She is too old, for one thing.”
“That must be Emily. I am told she is older, and works here on an itinerant basis. She lives elsewhere. Mrs. Lavender had complained of feeling poorly yesterday, so Emily took her place in the office. She does that too.”
Ives went back to the door. He did not step outside again, but he watched Emily as best he could through its opening. When she turned toward the house again, the suspicion that had been nudging him was confirmed. He recognized her.
“Has she met you? Does she know you are here?” he asked Padua, upon returning to her chamber again.
He sat on a chair to watch her finish her ablutions.
It charmed him, this simple, common task.
She appeared domestic and fresh in the dawn’s light, with her nightdress down around her waist and her lithe back flexing softy while she washed her breasts and arms.
“We have not met. I heard two of the servants complaining about her last night, however.”
“I recognize her.”
Padua looked over her shoulder. She grinned. “Is your past haunting you?”
“Not the way you mean. If you saw her, you might recognize her too. She has rooms right below your father’s on Wigmore Street.”
“She is that blond woman who likes to sit at the window?”
He nodded. “Her name is Emily Trenholm. I prosecuted her husband.”
“I expect she does not like you much.”
“I thought her living below your father an odd coincidence. That she also has a connection here is one too many.”
Padua slipped her arms back into her undressing gown. “Do you think Mrs. Lavender is involved after all? I hope not. I rather like her.”
“We will not know until all is revealed. However, assume she is for now. Do not let her know we are suspicious.”
“I have been waiting, expecting some kind of overture from her or someone else, and nothing has happened.”
Ives went over, kissed her. “It is time to fix that.”
“How?”
“By setting a trap.”
* * *
Padua tucked her mother’s blue wrap around her shoulders more snugly, and cast her gaze over Berkeley Square. On this overcast, chilled morning, most of the people dotting the paths and grass were governesses with small children.
“Padua.” The voice behind her made her jump. She turned to see Jennie walking toward her, arms open.
They embraced, then Jennie stood back and gave her a good look. “That is a new pelisse. It suits you.”
It was one of the garments Eva had redone for her. “I wore it just for you, so you would know I am not starving.”
“I feared you were, or that I would never see you again. What were you thinking, writing that you were leaving town for an indeterminate period, then never writing again? I have worried the whole time.”
They locked arms and strolled along the path. “I have made some new friends, and learned some things about my family too. It has been an amazing few weeks, Jennie.”
Jennie’s blue eyes glanced at the pelisse again. “Did one of your friends buy you that? I promise I will not scold.”
“Yes, but not a man, if that is your insinuation. A very nice lady gave it to me. An artist.” She told Jennie about Eva and Gareth, and their recent trip abroad.
“Such circles you have moved in, Padua. How did such doors open to you?”
“It is all due to my father.” It was the truth. “There is much I cannot confide yet, but eventually perhaps I can explain everything. I wanted to see you mostly to know you are doing well, Jennie. Please tell me that you are.”
“Little has changed, except I no longer have you to complain with. The woman hired to replace you knows little more than the girls. She has them doing the most basic problems. Mrs. Ludlow does not know, or does not care.”
“London could use a proper school for girls,” Padua said. “One that taught them the way boys are taught. Girls are just as smart. Why should they have to tolerate teachers like this one you describe?”
“Because the one who could do it better got herself thrown out?” Jennie’s eyes glistened with humor.
Padua laughed. “Someday I hope to have a school, Jennie. Would you teach there if I did? Would you be the Mrs. Ludlow?”
Jennie laughed, too, then realized Padua no longer did. “You are serious?”
“It is something I think I may be able to convince my father to support someday.”
“You do?” Jennie gave her an odd look, then averted her eyes.
Ten paces on, the little frown on Jennie’s brow had not smoothed.
“What is it?” Padua asked. “You are subdued all of a sudden.”
“You speak of your father as if there has been a rapprochement between you. If there has been, I am truly happy for you. But—”
“But?”
Jennie took a deep breath. “I saw a newspaper that had a small notice about a man with your name. Belvoir. He is to be tried for serious crimes. I wondered if he was your relative, and asked Mrs. Ludlow. She insisted he was not. But—” She looked embarrassed, and hopeful.
Padua watched poor Jennie try to believe the best, the way dear Mrs. Ludlow had encouraged. If she were told that Hadrian Belvoir was not relation at all, Jennie would probably believe it.
“The notice was about my father. A mistake has been made.”
“Of course it has. I am sure it has.”
“I know he will be acquitted.”
“I know he will be, too, if you have cause to think that. Truly.”
Did she imagine that Jennie moved away? Not a step was taken, but a shifting of weight had Jennie more distant. Her eyes looked worried, and her reassuring smile polite and forced. She fussed with her reticule and straightened her gloves.
“I really must hurry back. I must take my class after lunch.”
“Jennie—”
Jennie stopped walking. “I wish I were as brave as you, Padua. Brave enough to stand up to the world. Brave enough to be different. To think differently. I am not.”
“You do not have to be.”
“Don’t I? Your father— It is the kind of trial that all the papers report. Every word. He will be infamous, once it starts.”
“And I will be too. That is what you are saying, isn’t it?” Jennie could ill afford to have the taint spread to her too. She could not risk this friendship any longer. Padua felt the cut deeply, but she could not blame her friend.
Jennie’s eyes teared. “I really must go.” She walked off, her expression stricken. “I am sorry, Padua. So sorry.”
* * *
“Are you ready?” Ives asked.
They sat in his carriage, two streets from her father’s chambers on Wigmore Street. They had ridden past the building, to ensure a blond head sat near the window on the first floor.
“I am ready, but you must do the shouting. I do not think my voice will carry enough.”
“I will make sure she hears.” Every day this continued, his situation became more untenable. He was in far deeper than he ever thought possible, and he wanted it finished.
Padua stepped out of the carriage. Posture rigid, she walked toward Wigmore Street.
Ives’s mind followed her to the building’s door, and up the stairs. Only then did he set off on the same path.
He approached the building, and spied Mrs. Trenholm at her window.
She peered out, then pulled back, out of sight.
He mounted the stairs like a man on the trail of an elusive quarry.
He found Padua at the bookcase in her father’s apartment, running her finger along the spines.
She paused and pulled out a small, thin schoolbook.
A blue one this time. She held it upside down and shook.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Checking to see if you missed any money. As long as I am here, I thought I might as well see what other of my books were here.”
Finding that money had been the first step on the path that had brought him to where he was today. He did not regret any of it, but abandoning one’s honor would leave any man in a dark humor.
He pointed to the floor. Performance time.
“Miss Belvoir, it is time you and I had a right understanding.”
“Regarding what, sir?”
He raised his voice. “I think that you have the evidence that is sought regarding your father. I am sure of it. If you do not tell me what you have found, it will go badly for you.”
“I am sure I do not know what you mean.”
“The plates, Miss Belvoir. The equipment,” he boomed.
“He told you where to find it. A man was put in the cell with him, to watch you both. He reported a conversation, full of whispers and instructions, through that grating. Your father has made you an accomplice, and if you do not reveal all, you will end up on the gallows beside him.”
“You are all bluster, sir. You know nothing.”
“Then there is something to know!”
Padua waited a five count. “If there were—and I am not saying there is—would I be able to bargain for my father’s freedom if I revealed it?”
“His freedom? I should hope not. Some mercy, perhaps. For him and for you. You know where it is, don’t you? The equipment used to print the notes. The place where the bad money is stored, while it gets passed bit by bit into the economy. Tell me now.”
“If I knew these things, I would expect a lot of mercy before handing the information over. I would need to have more than your word as guarantee too.”
“My word is the best you will get.”
“I am sure you believe it is all anyone would need. I do not agree. We have nothing more to say to each other. Please leave now. You were not invited in, but I will indeed invite you out.”
Ives came over to her. “You did splendidly,” he whispered.