Lady Vengeance (26 page)

 The marquis had regained his composure and he asked in a faintly bored voice.

 ‘Did not the lady have a house in Town?’

 The gentleman in the flowered waistcoat shook his head. ‘Lived out at Knight’s Bridge, Northaw’s place, I understand. But there’s only her servants living there now. ‘Fore Gad, sir, what a hand you’ve dealt me! Call for another bottle of burgundy while I decide upon my discard.’

 The game once more became the main interest but the viscount played mechanically, his attention taken up by the effect of what had been said upon the marquis. Lord Thurleigh seemed completely taken aback, and it was not long before he excused himself from the game and left. Davenham remained a little longer, but as he made his way back to Warwick Street that night he had much to think about.

 Thurleigh had clearly been upset by the news of Boreland’s death, so perhaps the two men had been hatching some plot together. Davenham had not considered it necessary to have Thurleigh watched when he returned to Town, but now the viscount changed his mind. He wanted very much to know what the fellow would do next. Thoughts of Madame de Sange disturbed him. Was she in some way involved in Boreland’s murder, too?

He pushed the idea away, telling himself it was absurd. She had asked him to trust her and he very much wanted to do so, yet the doubts continued to haunt him and he decided to act. From his lodgings in Warwick Street, Viscount Davenham knew it was but a short drive westwards along Piccadilly and out of town to the small hamlet of Knight’s Bridge. On summer days the village could be filled with carriages whose occupants were intent upon enjoying themselves in the tea gardens, but on a cold January day, with a biting easterly wind that cut through the thickest coat, there were very few travellers abroad and no-one to impede the viscount’s progress.

 Despite the noise of his arrival as the coach swept around the drive, no servant appeared to usher the viscount into the house. He jumped down from his carriage and signalled to his coachman to take the vehicle around to the stables and wait for him there. Then he trod up the shallow steps to the front door and rapped loudly upon it with the hilt of his sword. He waited for a few moments, and was about to knock again when he heard the rasp of a bolt being drawn back. Shortly after this the door opened a fraction and he found himself being regarded by a young serving maid.

Sensing the child’s apprehension, he said in a kinder tone than he was wont to use: ‘Is your mistress at home?’

 The girl shook her head.

 ‘Is there anyone I can speak to?’

 ‘There’s nobody here, ‘cept me and Mrs Grisson.’ came the reply, scarcely above a whisper. ‘She’s my lady’s companion – came with my lady from France,’ the girl volunteered, overcoming her fear.

 ‘Ah, then we have met. Will you tell her that Viscount Davenham would like a few words with her?’ He read the doubt in her face and added helpfully, ‘You may lock the door again while you go and find her. I shall not come in until she gives me leave to do so.’

 The door was closed against him, and he waited in the cold, the suspicion that something was amiss helping him to bear the delay. At last the door re-opened and he was shown into a small parlour at the back of the house by the same young maid, her nervousness only slightly abated. The viscount regarded the occupant of the room, a spare female dressed entirely in black standing before the fireplace. The woman’s features were harsh, but even so it was possible to detect a look of strain around the eyes, and her hands were never still, the fingers continually pulling at each other.

 ‘Mistress Grisson – you remember me?’ She eyed him warily, yet he was sure she recognized him. ‘Where is Madame de Sange?’

 ‘I do not know, my lord.’

 Something in her tone made Davenham glance at her, frowning, but after a slight pause he said gently, ‘I wish your mistress no harm, if you will but tell me the truth.’

 ‘It
is
the truth, sir! I have already told them all I know!’

 ‘Who? Has someone been here before me? Come, woman. You can speak freely, there is no need to be afraid.’

 ‘Can you protect my mistress from Lord Thurleigh?’ she demanded, her tone sceptical.

 ‘Thurleigh has been here?’

 She nodded. ‘He came yesterday, with several of his men. When I could not tell him where to find my lady be became abusive.’ She broke off, pressing a handkerchief to her lips with one shaking hand.

 The viscount quickly crossed the room, putting out a hand to support the woman as she swayed.

 ‘Come and sit down, Mistress. Is that Madeira upon the tray? I shall pour you a glass and you will oblige me by drinking it, if you please, before you resume your story.’

He poured two glasses, handing one to the woman, then he took a chair opposite her own, watching her closely as she sipped her wine. When he judged her to be more composed he spoke again. ‘Did he threaten you?’

 ‘Not me, but his men frightened the footmen so much that they would not stay on here – there is only Cook, and Clara and myself here now. Lord Thurleigh demanded to know what had happened to Madame de Sange. I told him I did not know, that I had no news of her.’

 ‘And is that true?’

 She smiled grimly. ‘Not entirely. I
did
receive a message from her, a week or so after Christmas, saying that she had left Weald Hall and was quite safe, but I was not to try to discover where she was, and that she would contact me presently. I burned the letter as soon as I had read it.’ The tired eyes met his steadily, a measure of trust in their depths. ‘You are the first to know of it since that moment.’

 ‘Was Thurleigh satisfied that you knew not where your mistress might be?’

 ‘He – he was very angry, and threatened dire consequences if he found I was lying, but he did not fright me – my little one has suffered too much at his hands for me to feel anything but hatred for such a man! Then he asked for the ruby. I told him it was not here, but he set his men to search the house. ‘She took another sip of the Madeira and a few deep breaths to calm herself before continuing. ‘They turned out every jewel case, broke open every cupboard, even the servants’ quarters. But of course, they did not find it.’

 As the wine took effect, Hannah Grisson began to relax and the viscount refilled her glass.

 ‘What is this jewel that my lord Thurleigh was so anxious to find?’

 ‘It is a large brooch. A ruby set in gold. He claims my mistress stole from him years before, but that is not true, sir, for never would Miss Nell do such a thing. If it was Lord Thurleigh’s, he must have given it to her, and later changed his mind. When I think of what my poor lady has already endured at his hands, that he must add this insult –’ She broke off, her voice totally suspended in tears.

 The viscount waited patiently while she checked her sobs and grew calm again.

 ‘Madam, you say your mistress was previously known to the marquis? Forgive me, but I thought Madame de Sange had lived in France since her childhood.’

 Hannah hesitated, gazing uncertainly at the viscount.

 ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I think your mistress is very dear to you, and you must see that she might be in need of a friend now. I wish you would tell me everything.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘You can trust me.’

 The smile won. She began, haltingly at first, to give lord Davenham an account of Elinor’s history. The viscount listened attentively, interpolating a question upon occasion when some point was not clear to him, and when she had finished her tale he remained perfectly still for some minutes, a faint crease upon his brow as he pondered all he had heard.

 ‘I pray you, sir, do not think too harshly of my mistress!’ begged Hannah, worried by his serious mien. ‘I confess that when we came to England and she told me of her intention to be avenged upon the men who had ruined her life, I did not believe her to be serious.’

 ‘Surely the death of Julian Poyntz should have convinced you.’

 ‘But my lady did not kill him, it was his heart.’

 ‘How fortunate for Madame de Sange.’

 The old woman bit her lip. ‘You do not believe it.’

 ‘Nay, Mistress, I know it to be true, but I believe Poyntz had been frightened out of his wits beforehand, which doubtless caused his heart to fail. But let us turn our attention to the death of George Rowsell. That was also convenient for your mistress, was it not? And yet you tell me she had no hand in it.’

 ‘I swear to you she did not!’

 ‘How can you be so sure of that? You have told me she showed you the list of names she obtained from Poyntz – at sword-point, if your mistress is to be believed. Why then should she scruple to arrange for Rowsell’s death? A bag of gold and a word in the right quarter…’

 ‘My mistress had no need to hire anyone!’ cried Hannah, much incensed.

 ‘Oh? How do you know that?’

 ‘Because she planned to kill him herself!’

 ‘What!’

 She looked sullenly across at the viscount, resenting his persistence that made it necessary to tell him so much.

 ‘She planned to poison him that night, but by chance he became involved in the brawl. ‘Tis the truth!’ she added, seeing his look of disbelief. ‘I wish it were not so, for it has led my lady to believe that some divine spirit is aiding her, and thus she accepted Mrs Boreland’s invitation to go to Weald Hall. She did not think she could fail – and now Heaven only knows what has become of her.’

 ‘And Boreland is dead.’

 Hannah looked up from wiping her eyes.

 ‘And you blame my lady for that also?’

 He stood up and walked to the window.

 ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘The coincidence is too marked to ignore.’

 The housekeeper stared at him for a moment, then gave way to her grief. She threw her apron over her face and cried unrestrainedly. Lord Davenham remained at the window, almost oblivious to the weeping figure behind him. After a while the tears subsided, and Hannah emerged from her apron, her face blotched and red, but composed.

 ‘Your pardon, sir. It – it is not my custom to – to …’

 ‘Would you like me to summon the maid?’

 ‘No, thank you. It will not be necessary.’

‘Then let us now work to find a way to help your mistress.’ He took a turn about the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘You say your mistress had a list of names – where it is now?’

 ‘I know not, sir. She may have hidden it here, or taken it with her to Weald Hall.’

 ‘You are sure Thurleigh’s men did not find it?

 ‘I am certain of that, my lord.’

 ‘Can you remember any of the names upon that list?’

 She shook her head. ‘I never read it, sir. The only name I know to be on the list, apart from those we have already mentioned, is Lord Thurleigh himself.’

 ‘And he is the most dangerous man of all.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘I thought Madame de Sange to be in league with him, when in fact – the cunning little vixen!’

 ‘It seems to me, sir, that you do not approve of my mistress,’ observed Hannah, listening in growing indignation.

 ‘Approve! How should I approve of her becoming involved in something that is likely to get her killed?’ he saw the fear in her face and continued in a milder tone, ‘We must hope that your mistress is still safe, but if she should contact you again, you must come to me, immediately. If you will permit me, I will arrange for some of my own people to stay here until such time as Madame returns. You may trust them to protect you from any future unwelcome visitors. Also, you must persuade your mistress to let me help her, for I, too, have an interest in bringing about the downfall of my Lord Thurleigh.’

 ‘But if she does not contact me, how then shall we find her?’

 ‘I will set about the business this very day,’ replied Davenham, preparing to take his leave. ‘There’s little doubt that his lordship is already looking for your mistress, but we must hope that I find her first!’

 During the next few days the viscount made discreet enquiries concerning Madame de Sange, but without success. He began to wonder if she had returned to France, until an unexpected visitor convinced him she was still in hiding in England. Lord Davenham entered his rooms one morning to find Lord Thurleigh idly perusing a news-sheet. Upon the viscount’s entrance, the marquis tossed aside the paper and stood up.

 ‘Ah, Davenham. You will forgive the intrusion, I am sure. Your man let me in.’ He paused, a faint unpleasant smile touching his lips as he observed the viscount’s look of displeasure. ‘A good fellow in many ways, I am sure, but perhaps you should turn him off. My own servants know that I will permit no one to enter beyond the hall if I am away from home. It is a rule they dare not disobey.’

 ‘Perhaps you have more need of such precaution,’ retorted Davenham, tossing aside his hat and beginning to strip off his gloves. ‘What can I do for you?’

 The marquis took out an elegant silver snuffbox.

 ‘I believe you have been making enquiries concerning a certain lady.’ He helped himself to a pinch of snuff. ‘Do you know where she is?’

 ‘What is that to you?’

 ‘My dear fellow, why so brusque?’ murmured my lord, looking pained. ‘My interest in the lady is not of an amorous nature. No. I am interested only in retrieving some property that has been – shall we say, lost? That is all. I have no other interest in the woman.’

 ‘I am sorry, I cannot help you.’

 ‘But you did visit the lady’s house recently, did you not?’

 ‘Only to find you had been there before me.’ The viscount watched his visitor carefully. ‘You seem to have made quite an impression upon the staff. Very few now remain.’

 The marquis inclined his head. ‘Thank you. That was my intention. It did not, however, help me to find what I am looking for.’

 ‘I realize that. You would not otherwise be here.’ Davenham looked across the room, holding Thurleigh’s cold grey eyes with his own straight gaze. ‘Do you know what happened to Madame de Sange when she left Weald Hall? Where did she go?’

 The marquis shrugged. ‘She disappeared. Have you spoken to Boreland’s widow?’