10. Two Bank Notes, One Missive
Chapter Ten
Two Bank Notes, One Missive
Later that day, Wingfield House, South Audley Street, Mayfair
Given the limited staff in the small townhouse in South Audley Street, Chessings had agreed to join his master in the capital to run the household.
The former butler had been pensioned following the close of Parliament in early July, but Matthew had decided it best he not replace him. He simply didn’t have the funds.
A knock at the front door had Chessings heading that way as one of the household maids saw to removing the Dutch cloths from the furnishings in the breakfast parlor.
She had already prepared the other day rooms and the master bedchamber for Matthew’s arrival the week prior, and at the sound of the knock, she bundled up what she had collected and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.
“Skittish thing,” Chessings murmured, before he opened the door to discover a street urchin holding up a folded note.
“Is this Wingfield House?” the boy asked.
Chessings was about to close the door, but he noticed the note and took it. “It is,” he said. “Who wants to know, and why didn’t you come to the back door?” he added in a scold.
“Name’s Freddy. No numbers on the back doors, sir.”
Chessings knew the boy had a point. Even if someone in the mews behind this row of townhouses knew who lived where, they wouldn’t necessarily share the information with a caddy—unless they received a coin in compensation. “I suppose you expect a farthing?” he asked rhetorically.
“No, sir. Already been paid. I’m supposed to make sure His Lordship reads the note, though.”
Sighing dramatically, Chessings said, “I will see to it His Lordship reads the note.” Before he could say another word, the boy ran off.
“What was that all about?” Matthew asked from where he stood on threshold of the study, his hands gripping the fruits of a search for blunt.
He had been combing every nook and cranny in the small office in an attempt to find any money his mother might have hidden there.
He had been about to give up when he discovered not one, but two Bank of England five-pound notes used as a bookmark in one of the novels on the top shelf above the sofa.
He was almost embarrassed by the elation he’d felt.
Chessings spun on his heels, apparently surprised by the query.
“This came for you, sir,” he said, delivering the missive to his master directly rather than first placing it on a silver salver.
Usually the tray would be resting on the nearby round table, but like the large ceramic vase and fresh flowers that would normally grace the center of the mahogany table, it had yet to be unpacked.
Matthew frowned but opened the note. The three lines had him scoffing softly.
My lord,
Found your librarian.
Come to the Lyon’s Den for a book.
Need to arrange a place and time for you two to meet.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon
“She wasn’t joking,” he murmured, remembering the matchmaker’s promise he would hear from her in a few days.
“Sir?”
Matthew glanced up. “As much as I resisted this entire idea, it seems I’m to meet a potential wife,” he said. “Have the coach brought round. I need to go to Westminster.” He paused and held out one of the bank notes. “See to it you and the staff are paid.”
At seeing the denomination of the bank note, Chessings raised an appreciative brow. “Very good, sir. I’ll see to changing this at the bank.” He hurried off in the direction of the kitchens.
Scrubbing his face with his hand, Matthew hoped the appointment with the librarian wasn’t going to happen that afternoon. He needed a shave. Glancing down at what he wore—a pair of Nankeen breeches, white shirt, and a simple scarlet waistcoat—he realized he hadn’t even put on a cravat that morning.
He glanced again at the note to confirm he was only to meet the matchmaker. A time and place had yet to be arranged for him to the meet the librarian.
Although he considered putting off the visit with Mrs. Dove-Lyon—he was tempted to return to the study to search for more blunt—he took the stairs two at a time to put on a cravat and a top coat.