Laura Matthews (13 page)

At sight of him she dropped her skirts and attempted a noncommittal smile. “Good morning, Lord Alvescot. Were you about to take a stroll?”

“Actually, I was hoping to find you, Mrs. Damery. There are a few questions I'd like to ask about the estate books.”

Vanessa glanced up at the sky, as though the answer were written there. Apparently it was, for she said, “It’s a little close to luncheon to have some uninterrupted time. Would afterward be as convenient?”

“I’m at your disposal, ma’am. Don’t you go to your children then?”

“Usually, but I can delay that.”

“Please don’t. Perhaps we could meet at three in the Library.”

Vanessa nodded her agreement and waited while he opened and held the door for her. Alvescot would have liked to tag along but decided there was no point to it. “I think I’ll just walk for a while before luncheon,” he said.

When she disappeared into the house, obviously finding his statement of purpose of little or no interest, he strode over to the stairs and down into the shrubbery. He surprised Edward scowling at a statue of a nymph.

“Moronic-looking thing, ain’t it?” he demanded of Alvescot.

The earl had never taken a close look at the statue and gave it only a cursory glance now. “I suppose it is,” he agreed, indifferent.

“Don’t know why anyone wants such rubbish in their gardens,” Edward complained. “If this were my place, I’d chuck it all.”

“But it’s not your place,” Alvescot reminded him.

Edward gave him a measuring look and appeared satisfied that no scurrilous meaning could attach to the words. “I say, I wonder if you’d let me have one of your horses to ride into town this afternoon. There’s rather an urgent matter I have to take care of and without the curricle . . .”

If he thought to play on Alvescot’s sympathies, or even some latent guilt for the curricle accident, he was far off the mark. A smarter man would have noticed the way the earl’s jaw clenched, the way his eyes narrowed, but Edward was only listening, half hopeful, and what the earl said was, “You may take Satin, if you think you can do so without damaging him. However, I should warn you that he’s a little difficult to manage and any rough treatment will earn you my absolute enmity, which is nothing to take lightly, Mr. Curtiss. Handle him properly and he’ll behave; handle him poorly and you’ll be lucky to make it back to Cutsdean.”

With a flush of anger, Edward turned away. But he was not one to take offense where it would inconvenience him. “I’m sure I can handle your horse, Lord Alvescot.”

“I hope so,” the earl replied grimly.

Chapter Nine

Since Edward’s absence provided the opportunity Alvescot needed to search his room, the earl waited only until he saw Edward ride off on Satin before setting to work. He had previously ascertained that the young man had a bedchamber in the South Wing, something called the Tapestry Bedchamber, which Alvescot did not recall from his youth. Possibly he had simply never heard of it; possibly it had been renamed; possibly one of the two Mrs. Damerys had outfitted it since his last visit to Cutsdean. In any case, he was uninterested in its origins, only in its contents.

Edward shared a valet with Captain Lawrence (and Mr. Oldcastle, when he was in residence), and Alvescot wanted to explore Edward’s room while the valet would be at his meal with the other servants. The maids, too, would be finished with the bedchambers and at luncheon if he proceeded there directly after the family ate, so he ruthlessly detached himself from Mabel Curtiss and her daughter, mumbling something about correspondence he simply
must
take care of, and went directly to the first floor.

There was no one in the corridor as he approached the Tapestry Bedchamber. Without the least hesitation he walked up to the door, opened it, and let himself in. It was an enormous room, probably a combination of two smaller ones, as the Library below obviously was. Though not originally the master suite, it had for some years served that purpose with its sitting room comfortably furnished with a desk, bookshelves, and several winged chairs, and the bedchamber beyond appointed with every conceivable amenity. Why the devil did she put him here? Alvescot wondered, frowning at the needlework hangings on the four-poster bed. Beyond doubt it was the most prized bedroom of the lot, excluding Vanessa’s own suite, which had been Hortense’s. Momentarily, Alvescot considered the order in which the various relations had descended on Mrs. Damery and been assigned to their bedrooms. Deciding that didn’t explain anything, Alvescot shrugged off the unimportant matter and looked about himself.

There was no way to tell what he was looking for, or if there was anything in the room itself which would give him a clue. It seemed reasonable that Edward had learned some unsavory secret in the captain’s past which he was using to extort money, but it wasn’t necessarily anything which would leave a tangible trace in Edward’s room. Nonetheless, Alvescot was determined to have a thorough look about him. Captain Lawrence might not be the only victim. It was possible Vanessa tolerated Edward’s presence because of some sort of pressure on her, a thought that left Alvescot feeling an icy anger. He didn’t really believe it, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

The bedroom itself was devoid of everything except Edward’s personal toilet articles, clothing, and some old editions of the
Turf Remembrancer.
Alvescot felt some distaste in going through the drawers and looking in every conceivable hiding place, but then he felt some distaste at the idea of Edward’s nefarious activities as well. When he had finished with the bedroom, he started to work on the sitting room, running an eye over the books on the shelves and through the contents of the desk, which were minimal. Edward apparently undertook little correspondence. The letters he had received Alvescot did not peruse, since they would not likely have any bearing on Captain Lawrence. But when he had finished with the desk there was no place else to search. He stood for some time absently staring at the bookshelves, not really seeing them, while his mind tackled the problem of where to go next for some solution to the problem.

As in each of the guest chambers, there was a selection of reading material on the bookshelves. Alvescot doubted that Edward had ever touched any of the volumes, though they were well dusted and neatly organized on the shelves. It was the usual collection—some volumes of sermons and other uplifting reading, some historical works and biographies, a few light novels by Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Maria Edgeworth, poetry of Pope and Byron. Alvescot couldn’t see titles on all of them but he doubted there was anything here he wished to read. No, it was something about the symmetry, or the lack of it, in one particular row which drew his cursory attention.

One book appeared overly plump, wider at the back than the front, so it left a small gap between it and the books on either side. Alvescot absently reached out to tighten the arrangement but, finding this didn’t work, took out the book to see wherein lay the problem. As he lifted the book from the shelf something slid to the floor, leaving him with only the binding in one hand. Glancing down, he was surprised to find that an entire volume lay there, and not just the interior pages. Curious now, be picked it up and turned to the flyleaf, which announced it to be the diary of Captain Charles Lawrence for the years 1802 to 1808. Most decidedly what he was looking for, else why would it be in Edward’s room?

A fair amount of time had passed by now and he heard some movement in the hall, but he was intent on restoring things to an order that wouldn’t attract Edward’s attention. The empty binding which he held in one hand turned out to be for Ned Ward’s
The Whole Pleasure of Matrimony.
Trust Edward to destroy that for his hiding place, Alvescot thought, and not to do it well enough to escape detection.

Choosing a smaller volume on herbals, Alvescot inserted it in the empty binding and carefully replaced it on the shelf. He slid the captain’s diary under his coat, holding it tight to his side with one arm as he opened the door silently and checked the hallway. At the far end a maid was polishing a sconce, but she had her back to him and he slipped from the room, closing the door soundlessly, and headed in the opposite direction. When he turned the corner into the West Wing, he glanced back at the maid, who gave no sign of having noticed him.

In his room he set the diary on the bedside commode-table and rang for his valet. Bibury appeared in a matter of minutes, a faint question in his eyes.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your meal, Bibury. If possible, I’d like to have a word in private with Captain Lawrence. Do you think you could find him and bring him here? It’s not a matter I’d like to discuss in any of the public rooms.”

The valet nodded. “Yes, milord. I saw him on the terrace only a few minutes ago.”

“Don’t approach him if he’s with anyone, Bibury. If I can’t see him now, I’ll see him later.”

While the valet was gone, Alvescot paced about his small room trying to decide exactly how to handle his knowledge and some resolution of it. He did no more than glance at the diary sitting on the commode, though his curiosity was roused. Just what was in it that gave Edward such power over the old man? Alvescot wasn’t fond of Captain Lawrence: he was opinionated, uncivil, self-righteous, and overbearing. But the earl liked Edward even less, and he hated the kind of extortion by intimidation that the younger man was using. There was something naturally repulsive about it which Alvescot wouldn’t tolerate, no matter what Captain Lawrence’s failings or the possibly petty amounts of money involved.

There was a soft rap at his door and Bibury entered to announce Captain Lawrence, who stalked into the room muttering, “What is so important that I must see you in your bedchamber, Lord Alvescot? Surely if you wished to speak with me you could have sought me out yourself?”

The earl waved Bibury off with a nod of thanks and only spoke when the door had closed behind him. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a seat, captain. As you see, my room has only the one chair and I have reason to doubt its sturdiness. As for why I invited you here, I thought we needed the utmost privacy for our discussion, which concerns Mr. Curtiss’s blackmailing of you.”

A flush of color rose to the captain’s sallow cheeks. “Has the little rat made you privy to his allegations, sir? I would have thought you above such slimy dealings.”

Alvescot successfully concealed his annoyance. “On my first evening here I overheard the two of you in the spinney, where he extorted most of your quarter’s allowance, I gather. I have no idea on what basis this blackmail is based, but I want it stopped. Mrs. Damery has enough on her hands without such goings on at Cutsdean.” Turning away from him, the earl walked to the window where he said, “I searched Mr. Curtiss’s room a few minutes ago and discovered one of your diaries hidden inside another book. It’s there on the commode-table and I hope you will take it with you and make some effort to conceal it from him should he try to recover it. I haven’t looked at it, but I presume it contains damaging material.”

Captain Lawrence drew himself up to his full height and said harshly, “Only a snake such as Curtiss would find it damaging. He threatened to read it out to the company one evening if I didn’t hand over any money I had. And having the diary back won’t prevent him from making a to-do about it. He doesn’t have to read it to make those silly women believe him.” Nevertheless, the captain picked up the diary and rammed it into the pocket of his coat, glaring at the earl as he straightened. “Your retrieving the diary won’t do the least good.”

“I’m delighted that you appreciate my efforts,” Alvescot murmured.

“I’d have appreciated your minding your own business.”

“Then you intend to keep on supplying Mr. Curtiss with money forever? Supplying him with money from Mrs. Damery?” Alvescot’s voice had taken on a sharp edge.

“It isn’t only Mrs. Damery’s money,” the captain protested, indignant. “I have an income from the funds that supports me as well. There were plenty of years when I put my prize money in the funds to provide for my old age.”

“Then what are you doing leeching from Mrs. Damery?”

“My income isn’t sufficient to live in such a style as prevails at Cutsdean. She supplies me with an income because of the services I render as an experienced older man: the guidance I provide and the protection she receives from my residing here.”

Alvescot regarded him with astonishment. “Can you really believe that? Is it truly possible to delude yourself so thoroughly? And why do you think Mrs. Damery houses and provides an income to your two sisters, and Mabel Curtiss’s children?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, and I'm sure I could care less,” the captain retorted. “She’s doing me no favors, young man. I could hardly be further from the sea, where my real interest lies. I stay here only because she has need of my presence. One could hardly consider Edward Curtiss a satisfactory male protector. He’s more likely to lead the ravaging hordes over the place than protect it from them.”

“Mrs. Damery has servants to protect her from the ravaging hordes, if there were any about to menace her,” Alvescot snapped. “She houses her mother-in-law and you and all the Curtisses out of a feeling of family obligation. Nothing more. You are all a vast drain on her widow’s jointure and your interference in the rearing of her children is unwelcome.”

The captain stared him straight in the eye and growled, “I don’t believe you.”

“Ask her.” Alvescot felt a stirring of doubt as soon as the words left his lips. Vanessa was not likely to be so rude after all this time as to tell Lawrence the truth. He made a slight tack in direction. “And I’m sure she wouldn’t wish you to stay here under threat of being exposed by Edward. She’s not a woman to ask such a sacrifice from you or anyone else.”

“I told you, there’s nothing to expose, save the interpretation of a few passages in the diary.”

“And yet you are alarmed enough by the thought to pay Edward for his silence.”

Captain Lawrence lifted his shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt at indifference. “There are a lot of vindictive people here who would be pleased to believe the worst of me. I prefer that they not be given the opportunity. What a man writes in the privacy of his own diary is not meant for the consumption of others. We all have doubts and I’m of the opinion that it does one more good than harm to express them in some form. Only a consummate villain like Edward would use them to his own advantage.”