Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1) (7 page)

“Maybe blackmail is Conway’s secret income source,” Alphonse said meditatively. “But knowing our James, how bad could it be? He’s not exactly a Bluebeard or Casanova.”

“You must have hidden depths,” Alastair teased.

James had to repress a scowl. It was too late at night to be so playful, he felt. Was he getting stodgy, at the ripe old age of twenty-four?

After thanking his friends for their support and writing out a bank draft for Alphonse, he made his way home, while the other three went on to a discreet establishment catering to the tastes of rich young gentlemen. James felt little desire to join in. His desire for intimacies was entirely focused elsewhere these days.

No doubt about it, his life was changing, and he could only hope that he would like the eventual destination.

Chapter 13

His valet served James some welcome information together with the morning tea.

“Mr Peter Conway is recently married, Sir, to a Miss Miranda Bessemer, the eldest daughter of a rich businessman in the city. He’s in tea and cotton. Her dowry is said to have been twenty thousand pounds. They have a house on Half Moon Street, but Mrs. Conway rarely goes out. He frequents ton events by himself, especially the very crowded ones.”

“That is strange,” James commented. “I played with him last night and he gave me a direction in Bloomsbury, much less respectable than Half Moon Street.”

“Maybe he does not want his wife and her family to know about his gambling, Sir?”

“I suppose that could be the reason.”

“Gentlemen have been known to have another, less public establishment in places like Bloomsbury, Sir, for their liaisons.”

“A mistress, you mean? I should have doubted he could afford that. We need to find out more.”

“Bloomsbury is a bit out of the way for you or me to make inquiries there ourselves, but I happen to know some boys lounging about the streets, who could find your long-lost grandmother for a shilling.”

“Good idea,” James approved, “he is hardly going to suspect them.” He handed the valet a guinea and a piece of paper on which he had scrawled the address before going to bed last night. “Get them to find out all about the household, the man’s habits and any other people living there. I would be especially interested to learn from which part of the country this man Conway hails. With any luck, the people he grew up with may know something useful.”

“I heard a suggestion last night that he might be from Kent, but it was only conjecture. All the staff at the Half Moon address are newly engaged and know very little about their master. I am trying to find any previous and possibly dismissed servants. Surely he must have had a valet during his courtship of Miss Bessemer. But if so, the man may have left London, or gone into some different occupation, or I would already have heard something.”

“Good thinking – if you do find a former servant willing to talk, bring him here, I will speak to him myself.”

“Very good, Sir.”

“Oh, and write me down the address in Half Moon Street. I’ll also need the name and direction of Mrs. Conway’s parents.”

“That should not prove difficult at all, Sir.” As Jouvin left, James reflected that his valet was certainly entering fully into the spirit of this investigation. Well, it had to be far less boring than just pressing neck-clothes and shining boots.

He himself felt more alert and alive with a definitive objective – a dragon or two to slay for a lady. Did the knights of old kill their dragons because it made life more interesting than just sitting at home in a castle?

Even after he had cleared up the current case – two cases, if you included the inheritance mess – he would not simply go back to just dressing, eating, gambling and entertaining. He needed some useful occupation in his life.

For most of his youth James had expected to join the army, though without great enthusiasm. A broken limb and then the end of the long war had prevented that future, and he could not regret it. After Waterloo, he had firmly resisted his mother’s urging to buy a commission in the Guards. Playing soldier in peacetime, when most of the men under his command had seen actual battle, had to be more than a little embarrassing.

Neither did he want some office job where he had to turn up at the same time every day and report to superiors – those were better left to the sons of the bourgeoisie, many of whom, he had observed, seemed to actually like that sort of dull routine. But there had to be something else, surely?

Chapter 14

Charlotte was not having a good day. Since her last conversation with James, she had acknowledged to herself that her deception was far more risky than she and Belinda had envisaged. Her conscience chafed, and she constantly thought about escape from her false position. She could take no genuine pleasure in the attractions of London, her comfortable room and her pretty new clothes.

Even worse were the flowers and compliments she received from a number of obliging gentlemen. 

Her guilt was not quite strong enough to spoil Charlotte’s pleasure in food, and she did full justice to a cold but appetizing luncheon provided by Lady Amberley’s French cook.

The sharp comments and constant criticism of her hostess, which did not cease as they were eating, alleviated her pangs of conscience to a degree; she would have felt worse, she thought as she was daintily biting into a miniature pigeon pie, if she had actually liked that lady. Her adoptive mother had had a far warmer and more generous disposition; it was strange how different siblings could turn out. Had James suffered from his mother’s coldness? Minerva hardly saw her mother, and seemed to be doing well enough, but this was not how she would treat her own children, should she ever have any.

What was she thinking? Barring Peter’s sudden demise, there was little chance of that ever happening.

“You are really going to drive out with James again this afternoon?” Lady Amberley said. “I warn you, Belinda, it is no use trying to set your cap for him. Apart from the close relationship he is a younger son, and much too immature to marry. When you are together you look about the same age.”

Charlotte chose not to comment on this uncomfortably perspicacious remark.

“And don’t tell me that you are just friends. I don’t believe in friendship between young men and women your age. It’s never so simple, at least not on both sides.”

That was also true here, Charlotte uneasily thought, as she picked a small piece of toast with goose liver and a tiny black slice of truffle from the tray.

“I will think on your words, Aunt,” she said. “But as he is already coming here today, I would quite like to see a bit more of the city. I can tell him on the way that I’ll be busy with other engagements for the next few days.”

“Humph. I suppose that will do.”

“Yesterday the weather was so bad that hardly anybody was out, anyway. It does not really count.”

“You are a pea-goose,” Lady Amberley told her. Charlotte popped a grape into her mouth and did not reply. Better a pea-goose than an impostor, she thought, once again feeling the pangs of guilt. She ate another grape and savoured the sweetness of the unaccustomed fruit.

“How many bouquets have you received so far?” Lady Amberley asked.

“Seventeen, but three were from the same man. Lord Rensley. He sent violets, tulips and carnations with three separate notes.”

“A good number, after just the one ball. I must say I am agreeably surprised at how quickly you take. Maybe some of the interested parties like the fact that you are an orphan, without embarrassing in-laws. They can be a terrible encumbrance.”

“For my own part, I would have preferred a bigger and more long-lived family.”

“A proper sentiment, but we must be practical. If your father had not been gadding about all over the place, leaving your poor mother up in Yorkshire, you might have more siblings. Therefore, all things considered, we can probably expect you to be just as fertile as the next woman.”

“Aunt!”

“It is an important consideration. For the old families, the prospect of a rich orphaned wife is all very well, but single children in general are likely to be poor breeders.”

“You talk of me – of us – as though we were cows or brood-mares, aunt. It is insulting.”

“You have much to learn, Belinda. Marriage among the nobility is very like breeding horses or cattle, no use denying it. We older women arrange the matches, and if all goes well the young men and women may even fancy themselves in love, at least for a time. Nothing lasts forever. A properly negotiated alliance is far superior to the sickeningly sentimental ‘love’ matches that are celebrated by the cheap literature catering to the masses.”

Charlotte felt an impulse to protest, but was silenced by the realisation that her own parents’ irresponsibility, as well as her hasty match to Peter Conway, could well be seen as confirming the dowager’s views.

“Then you don’t believe in marriage based on love?”

“A lasting love is about as common as winning the lottery. It would be very foolish to base your whole life on such an improbable occurrence.”

“You have given me much to think upon,” Charlotte said.

“Pray do so. You can leave the choice among your suitors to me. I will make sure that if you don’t have love, at least you will have all the comforts and elegancies of life, security, and the respect of less well-married ladies. That is really all one can expect.”

“Thank you, Aunt. I am sure you know best.”

Charlotte fled to her room on the first floor, to change for the drive with James. Was friendship with a young man really impossible?

She opened her wardrobe and surveyed the garments hanging in it. What did one wear to visit a solicitor?

Charlotte had recently bought a hat with a detachable veil. It was too elegant for a ride to a mere solicitor’s office, but the colour went well with her carriage dress. “This way aunt cannot complain that I am seen too much with James,” she told herself as she arranged the veil so that only her mouth and chin remained visible. She herself could see quite well through the fabric.

James arrived on time, and duly admired the hat. “So I‘m driving a lady of mystery today,” he said. “It’s just as well if we are going to tell your solicitor that you are Belinda.”

“Maybe we can just imply it? If you speak, and say you are there on your cousin’s behalf, letting him think it is me, we might get by without actual lying.”

“So you don’t like lying? People do it all the time, you know.”

“I realise that you must have a very strange impression of me, but I am not usually untruthful. It was almost a relief when you overheard me and Peter at the ball and I could confess all. Only now you are keeping a secret from your family, and I feel bad about that, as well.”

“It won’t be the first time. Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you have so many secrets, then?”

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets any more, would they?”

“That seems unfair, since you now know all of my own.”

“Well then, here is one thing nobody in the family knows – I was glad when the war ended before I could buy a commission. Mother would still like to see me in a Guard uniform, but I am determined to remain a civilian.”

“I am glad to hear it. After my experience with one officer of his Majesty’s army, I don’t think I could easily trust another.”

“That’s just prejudice. Some of my best friends are officers. There are good and bad apples in every barrel, after all.”

“Yes, but in this case, you only get to pick an apple once.” She sighed involuntarily. “This is a melancholy subject. Let’s talk about the solicitor instead. Why would he not have answered any of our letters, in reply to his own communication, after all?”

“We should soon find out. It certainly sounds at least eccentric, if not sinister. Whichever it is, you and Belinda will need to find someone else to look after your legal affairs. I was going to suggest that you retain our own family solicitor. But when I talked to him the other day, I gained the impression that he did not entirely approve of me; and if he doesn’t approve of me, then who knows how he would react when he learns about you using a false name.”

“I can only imagine! He sounds too stern for our purposes, and probably has no great opinion of young ladies’ business sense.”

“Indeed. So then I thought of finding a younger, more flexible man without ties to the rest of my family. I have asked a friend in the city to recommend someone trustworthy.”

“Thank you.”

Charlotte was impressed at his initiative; she had expected having to coach him through every step, but clearly she had underestimated James.

“We’ll have to tell him the truth, I think; I’ll send him to talk directly to you if I think him suitable. And in the meantime, we are nearly at our destination.”

“The street looks dull and respectable.”

“Just where one would expect to find a solicitor.”

“Aren’t they all around Lincoln’s Inn?

“Many are, but there would never be room for all of London’s legal profession in just one place.”

After finding a lad to hold the horses, James and Charlotte made their way up the broad stairs to the solicitor’s premises. James used the knocker, but there was no answer. On trying the handle James found the door unlocked and they entered, James going ahead.

They found themselves in an office which clearly had seen better days. Deed boxes and files, an ink-well and several pens were sitting on a large oaken desk, without any dust, so somebody was clearly still working here.

James cleared his throat. “Is anybody here?” he called, loudly enough to be heard in the two adjoining rooms, though both doors were closed.

They heard a dull noise from behind the door to the left, as though somebody had dropped a box in startled surprise.

“Hello?” James tried to sound reassuring.

Hesitantly, the door to the left opened, and an unprepossessing head became visible. A middle-aged, pale and paunchy man edged into the main office. He was dressed in grey wool, and had ink-stains on the fingers of his left hand. His washed-out blue eyes were squinting at them without a hint of welcome. James returned the look with one of hauteur, barely concealing his own disfavour. He had rarely felt such quick dislike of someone he had just met.

“Who are you? You don’t have an appointment,” the man said in an incongruously high, squeaky voice.

“Are you Mr. Phimes?”

“I am Edgar Phimes. Sir?”

“James Ellsworthy, here on behalf of my cousin, Miss Yardley.” James sketched a bow to the veiled lady at his side, who was watching the scene in ominous silence.

Phimes rocked back and forth on his feet, but made no answer. Politeness dictated that he should greet the supposed Miss Yardley, but he ignored her completely, and was blinking rapidly at James.

“Don’t you have anything to say to the daughter of your client, man?” James demanded, incensed at the man’s boorishness. Receiving no answer, he tried another tack. “Do you have the will of the late Sir Rudolph Yardley in your possession?”

“Yardley,” the man murmured. “Must not touch the file.”

James and Charlotte exchanged baffled looks, though James could only see the veil move in his direction. 

“Why must you not touch the file?” James said patiently, as though to a simple person. Something was not right here, so much was clear.

“Uncle Esau is the only one who may touch the Yardley file.”

“Your uncle, the older Mr. Phimes?” James groped for clarity in a situation that seemed to be rapidly sliding out of control.

“Yes. This is one of the files only he can touch.”

“But your uncle is dead,” Charlotte said.

The man continued to ignore her, as though she were not present in the room.

James took a deep breath, striving for patience.

“Can you give us the Yardley papers in your possession, since your uncle is not here and you must not touch them?”

“No. Nobody is allowed to touch them. Only my uncle.”

“When have you last seen your uncle? Where is he?”

“There is his office.” The man glanced at the door to the right. “He is not in today. Strange.”

“Maybe he is not here because he died?”

At that question, the solicitor became visibly agitated and his blinking increased. James noted his pallor with concern. This man was clearly not well. Had nobody noticed his state before this?

Remembering his interview with Roberts, he asked, “What about your clerk? Where is he? Can he handle the papers?”

“Gone away, I don’t know where.” Phimes looked around the office in confusion. “Haven’t seen him around for a while.”

James shook his head. No solicitor could carry out his routine work without a clerk. This man was clearly unable to handle his responsibilities. He wondered how many other clients were affected by this situation. 

Charlotte stepped right in front of Phimes, and said clearly, “Your uncle wants you to give me the Yardley file. All of it, now.”

That stopped the blinking and rocking, at least momentarily. But then Phimes shook his head. “You’re a woman! Uncle would never have sent a woman. He didn’t trust them. He told me to beware of them.” He stared at her intently, his face twisted in strong suspicion. His pudgy hands clenched into fists. Charlotte took an involuntary step back.

“I don’t think there is anything more to be accomplished here,” she said to James in a low voice. “At least we have found the cause of the problem.”

James gave a tiny nod, and offered her his arm.