Chapter 50
Miss Summerscale’s Predicament
… it did not surprise her, therefore, that Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious or inconsistent, nothing to require more motives than appeared …
Jane Austen, Persuasion
As a girl, Clara had enjoyed dramas. She had constantly pestered her sisters and her mother to help act out plays she had written. She’d even read some to the horses, when none of her family could be persuaded to listen.
That girl would have enjoyed this moment, marching into a drawing room like Queen Elizabeth on her way to face down the Spanish Armada with a duke at her side and officers at her back.
The Clara of now—who had seen rather too much drama for comfort—simply hoped it would all work. And that she would not be sick or faint in front of Devon.
Olivia Summerscale and her family came to Bath every year so that her mother could take the waters and her father could attend the races.
They always took the same house—a modest residence right in the middle of town.
Mr. Summerscale liked the bustle, and Mrs. Summerscale liked the proximity to the baths.
The footman balked at admitting them until Devon presented his card.
Then, they were shown into the neat little parlor with its blue walls and comfortable furnishings.
The lamps had all been lit, rendering the room cozy, despite the driving rain outside.
Mr. Goutier and Mr. Tauton moved to stand on either side of the windows, where, Clara could not help but notice, they would be able to watch both doors to the room.
Olivia herself appeared a few moments later. “Miss Kinsdale! Your grace! This is … unexpected.”
“We do realize that, Miss Summerscale, and I apologize for the intrusion,” said Clara, because she must say something.
“Not at all!” said Olivia. “It is I who must apologize for not being ready to receive. I was not expecting anyone at this hour.” Olivia clearly took note of the two officers, but as they had not been introduced, she could not properly remark on them.
“We’re looking for Elizabeth,” Clara told her.
“Elizabeth?” Olivia didn’t even blink. She did, however, let her gaze stray once more to Mr. Tauton and Mr. Goutier. “I’m sorry, she is not here.”
“Where is she?” asked Devon.
Olivia’s pause was brief. Clara found herself wondering what lie she would tell.
“Well on the way to Gretna Green by now, I should expect,” she said at last.
Clara made no answer. Olivia, apparently assuming that Clara had been stunned into silence, touched her hand sympathetically.
“I understand this is a shock, and I am sorry for that,” Olivia said. “But I very much hope you will be able to come to terms with it. Elizabeth has eloped with Nathanial Spence,” she declared. “And yes, they had my help to do it.”
She waited, very visibly steeling herself against whatever outraged display they might choose to make.
Clara looked to Devon. Devon nodded.
“I understand that is what you were asked to say, Olivia,” Clara said. “But I need to know where she really is.”
Olivia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Quickly she assumed an attitude of outrage. “Are you suggesting that I have lied to you?”
A fresh wave of exhaustion overtook Clara. She gestured to Devon. He had already pulled the letter she’d intercepted from Cynthia out of his coat pocket. Now, he handed it to Olivia.
Olivia looked at him, and at Clara, and at the officers. She opened the letter and read.
“You had no business with this,” she snapped. “It was private!”
Clara’s patience snapped. “Olivia, that is not the point! Do you know where Elizabeth is or not?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Olivia drew herself up, very much on her dignity. “You should understand that Elizabeth is only doing this because she had no other choice.”
There were times when something in Devon’s presentation of himself shifted; when, suddenly, he was no longer Devon Winterbourne, who danced badly, rode beautifully, was happy to sit up all night with a dog while she whelped, and would be tenderly amazed by all the puppies.
Instead, he was Lord Casselmaine, head of one of the oldest houses in England, who addressed Parliament, dined with the king, and was absolutely done with this nonsense in front of him.
“Listen to me, Miss Summerscale,” he said evenly.
“This isn’t about love, or even family anymore.
It’s about murder. Sir Anthony was murdered.
Admiral Walsingham was murdered. The man who is responsible for at least one of these deaths may be with Elizabeth now.
The longer she stays with him, the more danger she is in of being put up on the gallows beside him.
” He paused, and then added, “And you, Miss Summerscale, are in danger of making yourself into their accomplice.”
This, finally, seemed to reach Olivia. Her bluster wavered, and her face turned pale.
“You are trying to frighten me.”
“I am trying to make you understand the reality of your position,” said Devon. “You should also know that these men”—he nodded toward Mr. Goutier and Mr. Tauton—“are officers of Bow Street and if you persist in sheltering Nathanial Spence any further, they will take you in charge.”
Mr. Tauton and Mr. Goutier did not move. They did not need to. Their presence was enough. Tears sprang into Olivia’s eyes, and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth.
Clara’s heart went out to her. This was not what Olivia had bargained for. She thought she was helping a friend to a rather ordinary escape, not taking the risk of becoming tangled in an investigation into two deaths.
Clara watched the other woman set her jaw. Her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe.
She cannot refuse to answer. She cannot.
“I don’t know for certain,” Olivia whispered.
Clara’s relief was so intense that it drained the last of her strength from her. Darkness swam at the edges of her vision and for a moment, she was afraid she would faint.
Olivia swallowed. “But Elizabeth told me once that Mr. Spence’s cousin had given him the use of a cottage. Mr. Spence was to look after the place while the cousin went out to Canada to see if he could make a start there. It was his way of helping after Mr. Spence lost his place with Sir Anthony.”
“Where is this cottage?” demanded Devon.
Miss Summerscale’s hands trembled. “Haven’t I said enough?”
“No, Olivia,” said Clara. “You know you have not.”
“She is my friend,” Olivia pleaded. “She begged my confidence. She didn’t know. …” She gulped back tears. “I didn’t know.”
Clara made herself step closer, made herself take both of Olivia’s hands. “I understand,” she said. “But now you do know, and you must help us to help her.”
“Yes.” Olivia wiped at her nose. Devon held out his handkerchief, because it was the natural thing for him to do. Olivia stared at the square of linen for a moment, and then took it.
“It’s close,” she said, wiping her eyes and her nose. “Just off the road to Cold Ashton, about three miles or so from Lansdown, I think,” she said. “Now please, I’d like you to go.”
But they were already gone.