Damsel in Distress (6 page)

He led her to a box in the upper gallery that gave  a view of the dancers below, and ordered a bottle of wine. From this height, Caroline could see that the behavior was not so polite as she had thought. The music was a waltz, causing a wince of memory of her waltz with Dolmain. He thought no more of her than those trollops below. The dancers did not keep the proper distance between them by any means. Some of the gentlemen danced with both arms around their ladies, often swooping off into corners to embrace quite licentiously.

Most of the gentlemen wore black dominoes and masks, but some of the females wore colors. Upon examining the women, Caroline was surprised to recognize a few of her own friends amongst the throng. Surely that was Miss Tallman in the red domino, and her fiancé
with her. A bishop’s daughter, imagine! She recognized a few others as well. One elegant blonde in a blue domino caught her attention. Had she not seen that lady at some ton party last night? The hair was arranged in a familiar manner, drawn back from the face into a bundle of curls,

“Good God! That is Lady Helen!” she exclaimed.

“Eh?”

“The blue domino on the left side of the floor.”

Newt peered down. “I believe you’re right. Shockin’!”

“Who is she with? It cannot be Dolmain!”

“No, the man ain’t tall enough. I don’t recognize the lad.”

“You must find out who he is, Newt. I wager Dolmain has no idea his daughter is here. What a bold baggage she is. I feel guilty for being here, and I am a decade older than Lady Helen, and a widow besides.”

“How would I find out?” he asked.

“We shall wait until the dance finishes and see which box they go to.”

They both watched Helen and her partner. The couple did not behave in any licentious manner. The gentleman held her a respectful two inches from him at all times. Lady Helen had obviously been taking waltzing lessons, and equally obviously, one of the two required more lessons before waltzing in public. They often stopped, indicating a misstep on someone’s part. When she figured the dance was nearly over, Caro asked Newt to go belowstairs to follow them.

He was gone an unconscionably long time. Long enough for two separate gents to try their hand at joining Caroline. She had a little difficulty dispatching the second man, until she spotted Mr. Talon, a friend, passing in the corridor, and called for his assistance.

Mr. Talon returned after he had ejected the unwanted guest. “Surely you are not alone here, Caro?” he asked.

“I am with Mr. Newton. He will be back presently.”

“I shall stay with you until he comes. Do you think this a wise time for you to be here?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, but she had a sinking feeling that she knew.

“With the Dolmain necklace business hanging over your head. Of course, we all know you did not take it,” he assured her, “but it might be wise to stick to the straight and narrow for a few weeks. Chapel Royal on Sunday, concerts of antique music
—
just until the necklace turns up.”

“Where did you hear about it?” she asked.

“At St. James’s. The odds are five to one you are innocent, if that makes you feel better.”

“I see the gentlemen are more lenient than the ladies,” she said with a
tsk
of annoyance. Now she was a subject of gossip at the men’s clubs. Was there no end to her shame?

“The cats have been cutting you, have they?”

“Not the cut direct. Let us say they have been avoiding me.”

“I hope you know you can always count on me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Talon. I appreciate it.”

Newt soon returned. Caroline thanked Mr. Talon and saw him out of the box before quizzing Newton. “Did you discover who she is with?” she asked him.

“I loitered outside their box, pretending I was waiting for someone. They left the door open. They all took their masks off except Lady Helen, once they were in their box. There was an older, respectable-looking lady with them. Not Lady Milchamp. I did not recognize the dame. Dark hair with a bit of gray on the sides. A sharp-faced lady, but not actually hatchet-faced. The chit called her Mam’selle Blanchard. The lad was a handsome rogue, a Frenchie. She called him Bernard. There was another couple as well. A good-looking lady they called Renée, and a gray-haired gent with her. Foreigners, the lot of them, except for Helen. They was all parlaying the bongjaw.”

“French? I wonder who they could be.”

“That is as much as I could discover.”

“You have done well. How on earth did Lady Helen escape her chaperon? You may be sure Dolmain has no idea she is here. Let us follow them when they leave and make sure she gets home safely.”

“She ain’t wearing any diamonds, if that is what concerns you.”

Caroline blinked. “Are you hinting that this Bernard fellow is the thief? What an interesting idea!”

“Except he wasn’t at Castlereagh’s last night. Never saw him before. Pity they was all rattling off the bongjaw. I could not make heads or tails of what they was saying.”

“Helen’s mama was French,” Caroline said, wondering if this was of any importance. How could it be? The lady had been dead for over five years. And as she had left England in 1802, when Helen was only seven years old, the girl would have very little recollection of her mama. No, this was all irrelevant. The necklace had disappeared in Lady Castlereagh’s parlor last night.

“Let us have your carriage called and wait outside to follow Lady Helen when she comes out,” Caro suggested.

“Sure you have had your fill of low life? Mean to say, you have not had a jig yet.”

“Another time. This is more important.”

“Just as you wish,” Newt said. He took an uninterested look around and said, “A dandy place.” Then he finished off one glass of wine, looked unhappily at the nearly full bottle, and rose.

He had his carriage called and ordered his groom to wait half a block down Oxford Street, ready to follow when he gave the signal. It was not long before a blue domino came out, accompanied by Bernard but no chaperon.

“That’s them right enough,” Newt said, and gave the drawstring a jerk to signal his groom to follow the carriage.

“Imagine the chaperon letting that child go unaccompanied in a carriage with a strange man,” Caro scolded. Despite her disgust with Dolmain, she could not let his innocent young daughter fall into the hands of some roué. After her experience with Dolmain, her sentiments were all on the side of innocent ladies.

“We don’t know he’s strange,” Newt pointed out. “Mean to say, he might be a cousin for all we know.”

“That is true, but we shall keep close behind them. If he tries to spirit her off
—
”

Newt reached into the side pocket and drew out a pistol. “I always come prepared,” he said.

“An excellent idea. Julian told me I should always keep a pistol in the carriage.”

It was almost a letdown when the carriage proceeded at a stately pace directly toward Lord Dolmain’s mansion on Curzon Street. It stopped half a block away, however. Newt’s groom pulled to a stop at the corner. They waited for five minutes, the tension mounting higher by the moment. Caro was struck with awful images of the poor girl struggling with an amorous man
.

“I am going to see what is happening,
”
she declared, and opened the door.

Just as she alit, the other carriage door opened and the man assisted Helen from the rig. Caro was overcome with curiosity. She wanted to learn what was passing between the two. She scanned the dark street, and thought she might approach Dolmain’s house without being seen in her dark domino. She would not walk on the street, but stay close to the two intervening houses. By running, she reached the house next door to Dolmain’s before Helen and her companion. A stand of tall yews grew in front of the house. She darted behind it, just at the outer edge of the house, and listened.

The conversation between Lady Helen and her friend was by no means amorous. “You are sure she is all right?” Helen asked in a worried voice. She spoke French, but Caro caught the gist of it. “She can come to London, now that she has the money?”

“She will be here soon.”

“How soon? When can I expect her?”

“Very soon. We shall be in touch. You must go now. Be brave,
ma petite.
”
He squeezed her fingers and left. Caroline waited, wondering if the girl would go into the house alone. How would she explain herself to the butler? The girl took a key out of her purse, unlocked the door, and walked in. Nothing further could be learned, so Caroline hurried back to Newt’s carriage.

“Where the deuce was you?” Newt asked. “I was half of a mind to go after you.”

“I was eavesdropping. Let us follow Bernard.”

Newt pulled the drawstring, but when they turned the corner in pursuit of Bernard, two similar carriages were on the road in front of them. One of them turned at the next corner. They followed it for a block; it stopped, and a party of four got out and went into a house.

“We’ve lost him,” Newt said. “Pity. Shall we take a run back to the Pantheon and see if Blanchard and the others are still there?”

“No, I think not. I am more interested in Bernard.” She told Newt what she had overheard as they drove to Berkeley Square. Newt went in for a drink and to discuss what they should do.

“Lady Helen said, ‘Now that she has the money.
’
I wonder what she meant by that,” Caroline said.

“And who ‘she’ is,” Newt added, tugging at his ear.

“It could be anyone.”

“I daresay it is.”

“It must be someone she is very eager to see in London, though.”

“A friend or cousin,” Newt suggested. “Lady Helen must have sent blunt to someone. Kind of her.”

“Yes, if that is what is going on.”

“No mention of the necklace?”

“Not a word. She seems remarkably unconcerned for a young lady who has just misplaced a necklace worth a fortune.”

An idea was scratching at the back of Caroline’s mind. It was so devious, she hardly liked to express it, but she had to wonder if the money Helen spoke of had come from selling the necklace. That would mean Lady Helen had hidden the necklace and only claimed it had been lost or stolen to get the money without Dolmain becoming suspicious. But would the girl give so much money only to assure the company of a friend or cousin? No, she must be mistaken. Besides, the necklace could hardly have been sold so quickly. It had only gone missing the night before.

The whole affair was very odd. Caroline was extremely loath to call on Dolmain. She would rather have a tooth drawn than speak to him, but she felt it her duty to inform him that his daughter had been at the disreputable Pantheon, and come home alone in a carriage with a man. She also disliked to tattle on the girl, but if Helen were her daughter, she would expect her friends to do no less. Bernard might be anyone, a gazetted flirt, a fortune hunter, a rakehell.

She decided she would write to Dolmain rather than call on him. Helen was safe at home, so she would write her note tonight and have it dispatched early in the morning, to ensure Dolmain’s receiving it before he went to the House.

“A taking little thing, Lady Helen, ain’t she?” Newt said, with a moonish look on his face that revealed he was once more on the trail of a wife. “A mile above me, of course. I could not hope to win her with a ten-foot pole.”

“She is a minx. I do not trust her above half.”

“I like those green eyes,” Newt continued. “Not cat eyes. I don’t care for a cat’s eye in a lady’s face. More like a dog’s eye really. Friendly. I wonder if she would like to go for a drive tomorrow.”

Caro did not think there was much danger of Lady Helen accepting the offer. She had seemed quite vexed with Newt for destroying the buckle of her slipper the evening before.

“
You can ask her,” she said with a shrug.

“P’raps I will. Well, I am off. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Bernard. I wonder if that is his first or last name, I know a Bernard Tyson, and a George Bernard. Odd, that.”

“Do let me know if you discover anything.”

Newt finally left, and Caroline wrote her note to be delivered to Dolmain early in the morning. She left the note with Crumm, then went to bed, where she tossed and turned for an hour before falling into a fitful sleep.

Caroline looked so pale the next morning after her poor night’s sleep that she resorted to the rouge pot before going downstairs. She felt certain Dolmain would call in person, and did not want him to see how much he had hurt her. She chose a gold-and-green striped lutestring walking dress in the latest jet of fashion to give her confidence. She would behave with cool civility, and when he left, she would not spend her day hiding her head and repining as if she were guilty, but would go on the strut on New Bond Street.

The rouge gave her a touch of color, but nothing could give her an appetite. She did not even lift the lids of the hot dishes on the sideboard, but accepted a cup of coffee and sat, sipping it, waiting for Dolmain to come. Her note to him had given no details; she merely said she must see him urgently on a most important matter. If he assumed it had to do with the diamonds, that was his business.

He came at a quarter to nine, trying to suppress a smile of triumph. Caro assumed he had heard of her disgrace at Lady Brockley’s ball; he thought she was going to beg for his help. Who could have told him so soon? And why the deuce should he be smiling about it?

He bowed and came in, “Good morning, ma’am. I had your note. I see you are ready to act sensibly now, after last night’s fiasco.”

She greeted him with a cool “Good morning, Dolmain. Good of you to come,” and nodded him to a chair. He chose to sit not across from her, but beside her. “Who told you?” she asked, reining in her temper,

“I stopped in at Brockley’s around midnight and heard you had been frozen out. Everyone spoke of it. Naturally I squashed the rumor, to the best of my ability. It will be laid to rest for good and all when we are seen out together this evening.”

A dangerous spark glowed in her eyes. “You are too kind, but I did not invite you here to gloat, milord.”