Anne Barbour (18 page)

Those with money enough to rub shoulders with the
ton
played in the Upper Rooms or at select card parties. Others confined themselves to less exalted venues, such as the increasingly shabby Lower Rooms in Terrace Walk, or at other, less savory establishments. It would not do for Alison Fox, Lady Edith’s favored companion, to be seen in such locales, but if she were to don her wig and tinted glasses and make a few other slight alterations, she would be unrecognizable. She could not visit these places alone, of course. An unattended woman in the seamier sections of Bath would be fair game for its denizens. However, she had little doubt she could prevail upon Jack to escort her there.

Her main problem would be getting out of the house. Fortunately, Lady Edith usually retired early. Meg had formed the habit of indulging in late-night tête-à-têtes with Alison, but she should have no difficulty in discouraging the girl with pretenses of a headache. It would be a simple matter to slip out of the house when all was still.

She wished she could confide in Lady Edith, but it would not be fair to burden her with this new crisis in her life. When it was all over and Jack had wended his profligate way back to London, then, perhaps, she could divulge what she had done.

As for my lord Marchford, she would simply stay out of his way. She would find chores for herself elsewhere when he came to visit his aunt, and find excuses to stay home when he suggested outings for the ladies of Royal Crescent. Please God, he would go home soon, for surely, once he was back in his own milieu, her life would return to its normal, placid routine. She would forget him—eventually—and if she were to see him again, he would be married, with several tokens of his wife’s affection in his nursery.

Having settled her immediate future to her satisfaction, she closed her eyes and folded her hands over her coverlet, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling for several more hours before she finally fell into a restless sleep. Her dreams were disturbed by visions of a glittering lion, with great, golden eyes, and claws whose touch did not draw blood, but instead left fiery trails of longing on her skin.

* * * *

Three days after Alison’s appearance in the Upper Rooms, the Earl of Marchford hurried to answer a knock on the door of his chamber in York House.

“Come in,” he said impatiently. “Come in, Pilcher.”

The little detective stepped inside the room with an apprehensive glance at the earl. He had been traveling steadily since he had received his summons the day before. What, he wondered, could have happened to have so exercised his lordship?

“I have found Lissa Reynard,” March said baldly, relishing Pilcher’s gasp of astonishment. “Sit down—please.”

He ordered a second breakfast for Pilcher, and detailed his discovery while the grateful detective, who had missed breakfast in his haste to reach his destination, dug into a repast of eggs, York ham, kidneys, and buttered toast. When finished,” the detective asked diffidently, “I’m happy that you have at last found your quarry, my lord. But what has this to do with me? If you have located the woman, surely you do not require my services.”

“Oh, but I do.” Lord Marchford’s smile was not reassuring, thought Jonas Pilcher. In fact, it was downright frightening. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to be asked to commit murder. “I intend to ruin Alison Fox, and I need your help to do so.”

Mr. Pilcher gaped at the earl. “Ruin?” he asked, his nose quivering in distress.

“I should say, rather, that I am going to let her ruin herself.” He shrugged at his employee’s look of incomprehension. “The woman is a cheat, Pilcher. That is how she makes what I am sure is an extremely comfortable living. I am merely going to ensure that she can no longer do so. I believe I have spent enough time at the gaming tables of London to spot her methods—and it was you I hired originally to find the woman because it is my understanding that you make a specialty of unmasking card cheats.”

“That is true, my lord, if I do say so. I’m up to all the rigs and rows, and if you want her scuppered, why, whether the lady chooses to fuzz the cards or tip the double, Jonas Pilcher is your man.”

The earl rubbed his hands together. “Very good. Now then, it will be necessary for you to watch my aunt’s house, where the Fox woman is living now. I do not want her to leave the place to buy so much as a length of lace without my knowing about it. She has an accomplice, as well, and I shall want to know every time they meet.”

“What do you want me to do when I spy her doing something crooked?” asked the detective.

March once again flashed an unpleasant smile. “Why, simply signal to me—for I shall be close by.”

For a moment, Mr. Pilcher said nothing. Then, apparently gathering up his courage, he asked, “If I might ask, my lord, what do you intend to do at that point? I believe you would experience some difficulty in having her arrested for cheating.”

“I am aware of that, Pilcher. I do not need to see Miss Fox in jail. No, when we have ascertained her method of cheating, I shall simply expose her on the spot. With any luck, a good number of my aunt’s set will be on hand.”

Jonas Pilcher’s confusion was evident, as his moustaches trembled and his small, beady eyes peered anxiously at the earl in an effort to fathom his meaning.

The earl raised his hand irritably. “Don’t you see? My aunt will discharge Miss Fox on the spot, and I should imagine the news will travel with the usual lightning speed of titillating gossip. The woman will have no hope of acquiring a position in any other genteel household. Thus, she will lose her entree into the homes of the plump pigeons she had previously plucked with abandon. Moreover, once having been identified as a cheat, she will have great difficulty in getting up so much as a table of silver loo in London’s gaming hells. In short, Alison Fox will find herself very much alone—penniless and friendless. A just fate, I think, for one who has caused such tragedy for others.”

As he spoke, a picture rose before his eyes of Alison, as he had seen her three nights ago. The lost, terrified expression in her eyes had stayed with him for some time after he had left Royal Crescent that evening, and he had spent many hours convincing himself that he had been mistaken in what he had seen. His expression hardened. There was no reason why he should feel a sudden wrench of compassion for this slender witch. She deserved the fate that awaited her, and he would take great satisfaction in bringing about her downfall.

“I see,” was Mr. Pilcher’s only response. He wiped from his lips the last traces of eggs and ham, and rose from the table. He favored the earl with a mournful stare. “I shall make arrangements to have the house watched,” he said. “I’ll need an assistant or two, but that will take a very little time to sort out, for I’ve a couple of acquaintances here in Bath— sharp, young lads, who’ve helped me before. We’ll have the place under round-the-clock surveillance by the end of the day, and shall notify you anytime Miss Fox leaves the premises.”

March nodded curtly, and remained seated before the fire long after the detective had departed, staring at the dying embers in the hearth.

Chapter 14

“But, Alison-nn-nn!” The words came out in a wail. “If you don’t go, the whole day will be ruined!” Meg threw her hands out before her in a dramatic gesture, nearly knocking over a vase of flowers set on an occasional table in the drawing room.

“Sally’s brother was to accompany us tomorrow, but now he cannot go, and Charlotte’s older sister, who was also to go, sprained her ankle yesterday. Rosamund’s mother declares she is still too weak from the effects of the influenza she suffered last week. Jane’s governess is visiting relatives, and no one else has anyone who could chaperon. We have been planning the ride to the Oaks for weeks! Peter has promised to show me how to shoot a bow and arrow, and James Arbuthnot wishes to take us all to lunch in the village.”

“But, Meg—” Alison interjected weakly.

“Oh,
please,
Alison!”

“I thought you said Lord Marchford had agreed to be one of your party.”

“He has—but if he is the only older person there, he will very likely change his mind. If you come, his presence will be assured, and then all will be unexceptionable. I know Aunt Edith will want you to come with us.” Meg plumped down on a damask-covered armchair and watched expectantly.

Avoiding her beseeching stare, Alison let her gaze fall to the carpet. To think that just yesterday she considered that her world had brightened considerably. It had been precisely two weeks since she had set out to win five hundred pounds for Jack Crawford, and yesterday she had reached her goal. She had thrust the money into Jack’s hands, informing him tersely that she hoped never to set eyes on him again. He had laughed as he accepted the heavy bundle of” cash, and depositing her cheerfully on her doorstep in the wee hours of the morning, tipped his hat and strode off, whistling.

And now, she most assuredly did not want to join Lord Marchford—damn and blast the man, why had he not taken himself back to London by now?—in an expedition in which they would be thrown together as allies amid a party of youngsters. On the other hand, she was sure that Lady Edith, once apprised of the proposed journey, would not only grant Alison permission, but would insist that she take part.

She sighed deeply. So much for her determination to avoid Lord Marchford’s company. She would just have to plan the day carefully, assuring that she never strayed more than an arm’s length from her charges.

Meg evidently read capitulation in her demeanor, for she threw her arms around Alison and drew her into a rollicking waltz around the room. Despite herself, Alison laughed, until the dance ended abruptly in a collision with a large, masculine form near the drawing room’s entrance.

“Oh!” gasped Alison, finding herself clutched in an impromptu embrace against March’s chest. Blushing hotly, she disengaged herself with as much dignity as she could command and retired hastily to the other side of the drawing room.

“March!” cried Meg, not in the least discommoded at finding herself in a similar position. Indeed, she twisted about to plant a noisy kiss on her brother’s cheek. “Alison has consented to join us tomorrow for our ride to the Oaks!”

If the earl’s response to this information was less than enthusiastic, Meg appeared not to notice. “We are going to have a marvelous time!” Meg continued, still bubbling happily. “I have not been out on horseback for ever so long. The weather promises to be fine, and Sally’s mother’s cook is going to pack good things for us to eat.”

“I thought we were going to lunch in Step Walford,” remarked the earl.

“Oh, we are, but we shall need something to sustain us till then—we shall be starting out right after breakfast, after all.”

“Of course,” murmured her brother. He shot an involuntary glance at Alison, brimful of amusement, before turning back to Meg. “We can’t have you fainting from starvation a whole three or four hours after your last meal.”

Alison’s eyes twinkled in response before she caught herself and looked away abruptly. March, too, stiffened and moved into the room to seat himself. Lady Edith joined them a few minutes later, and the conversation continued with plans for the next day’s outing.

* * * *

That night, sitting in his rooms at York House, March tried to prepare for whatever tomorrow’s outing might bring; he never knew what to expect anymore, for that damned witch kept him constantly on edge. He acknowledged ruefully that his unsettled mental climate was perhaps not surprising, since he had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of frustrated anticipation. Alison Fox had displayed an inexplicable reluctance to participate in the doings of Bath Society. How, the earl had fumed, did she plan to carry on her nefarious deeds, when she refused to accompany him and his aunt to a single assembly? She had even pled a headache the evening they were to appear at a select card party, at which a liberal sprinkling of the wealthiest persons in the west of England were guaranteed to be present.

All was explained the morning Jonas Pilcher had appeared at York House to report strange goings-on in Royal Crescent.

“The Fox female,” reported the little detective, thumbing through a tattered notebook, “hasn’t set foot out of the house for three days, according to my agents. However,” he added meaningfully, “every night, after the house is dark and silent, a woman has crept from the servants’ door. She meets a tall, thinnish gent and the two of them set off for the town center. My man didn’t follow them, since he perceived his duty to stay at the house.”

“My God!” exclaimed the earl. “Of course. She knows she would be inviting disaster if, after carefully crafting a reputation as a dim-witted gambler, she starts winning money by the potful from Aunt Edith’s friends. She’s been going elsewhere to ply her trade. The Lower Rooms for a start, I’d wager. And I’d also be prepared to wager my strawberry leaves that the thinnish gent is jack Crawford.”

After that, Alison’s nightly forays were carefully monitored. Once or twice March joined Pilcher, who had taken over his operative’s shift, in a journey to the Lower Rooms and watched from a distance as an odd-looking female with muddy brown hair and tinted glasses proceeded to relieve Mister Lindsey’s customers of substantial sums of money. She did not win every hand, but her losses were minimal, and at the end of every evening, she turned money over to Jack Crawford. Strangely, her face bore the same haunted look March had observed on that other night, at the Upper Rooms.

March, of course, was unable to observe Alison at close range, particularly when she and her partner abandoned the Lower Rooms for seedier establishments in Avon and Kingsmead Streets. After a few nights of watching from behind posts and doorways, his sense of anger and betrayal becoming nearly uncontainable, he had forced himself to await Pilcher’s reports in the confines of his chambers al York House.

It had been obvious, from their last meeting, that the gentleman was growing increasingly perplexed.

“I’ve watched her for over a week now,” Pilcher had said, paging through a notebook now nearly falling to shreds. “Right at her elbow, I’ve been, and she never twigged I was there, neither.”