Love's Harbinger (3 page)

Lady Lynne drew a deep sigh and asked in a soupy voice, “Did you notice his eyes? And that scar—from a duel, I daresay.”

“More likely he got his head caught in a dustbin when he was rooting for a story.” Again she was ignored.

“And his shoulders—they dwarf an ordinary man’s.” Then the dame reluctantly turned her mind to business. If her niece knew anything at all about Thomas’s movements, it was necessary to squeeze the information out of her. “This Elwood fellow, Faith, you met him, I think?”

“Yes, a few times in the park, with Thomas. I didn’t much care for him. I have no idea where he lived, but we met him once at his office on Tottenham Court Road just north of Great Russell. Thomas despised him. Of course it is Elwood who took the money.”

“You should have told Mr. Delamar so!”

“I’m sorry we ever went to see him. He won’t listen to reason. Let the bloodhound do his own sniffing.”

“You forget I have five thousand pounds in that nonexistent company, my dear. You owe it to me, if not to Thomas’s erstwhile reputation, to do what you can to find him. Perhaps when I tell you Thomas tried to get his hands on your dowry as well, it will open up your eyes. Fortunately, your papa would not hear of it. I only wonder he didn’t wait till he had married you, then run off with your pittance as well as mine.”

“This gives me the megrims. I hope we don’t have to attend that rout party this evening?”

“I am not up to it,” her aunt said, though it was not the megrims that would keep her away. She was on thorns for Mr. Delamar’s visit and planned to entertain him without Lady Faith to chaperone them. She wished the girl farther away than upstairs in her bed and proceeded to convince her of her duty. “Of course you must attend the rout, Faith. It is as good as an indictment of Thomas if you shab off.”

“How can I go? Everyone will be staring and talking. It will be horrid.”

“That is precisely why you must go, to give the lie to the rumors in case Mr. Delamar finds the money and we can wrap the whole affair up in clean linen. Tell everyone what you told Mr. Delamar, that Thomas was feeling poorly and went home for a rest. I cannot go, but I shall write a note to Mrs. Coates and send you off to her early, before she gets away. She will be happy to take you and save her own horses. You need do no more than put in an appearance. Come home as early as you like—any time after ten.”

Lady Faith’s first instinct was to object, but a second thought showed her the possibility of helping Thomas. It was an excellent chance to get away from her chaperone for an hour to do a little investigating of her own. There was no point in going to Thomas’s flat or to Mr. Elwood’s, but that office on Tottenham Court Road . . . Mr. Delamar didn’t know about it. She was sure she would find some evidence there to exonerate Thomas. He would be revealed as a flat, of course, taken in by Elwood, but better an honest dupe than a criminal. She gave a resigned sigh and said, “Oh, very well, if you think I should.”

The ladies went through the farce of sitting down to dinner. When Lady Lynne’s appetite was up, she was an excellent trencherman, but that evening she was able to manage no more than half a pheasant and a dish of peas, though she was tempted back into appetite by the fresh strawberries and clotted cream served for dessert. Lady Faith’s appetite was quenched by foreboding and her chaperone's ranting praise of Mr. Delamar. He was by turns a tiger, a noble savage, and once “an extraordinary specimen of virility.”

“He certainly lives like a savage in that dismal hut above his shop,” Faith pointed out for her aunt’s edification.

“Not shop, my dear! A newspaper proprietor is head and shoulders above a merchant. Why, Fleet Street is a famous breeding ground for titles. I daresay he will be Lord Delamar before too long if he keeps his nose clean and learns to support the Tories. Then he will move into a respectable establishment. A man has to cut a few corners when he is getting started on his career.”

Lady Lynne realized that Lord Thomas was lost as a husband for Faith and, with a mind to her duty, took the girl upstairs to enliven her toilette on the off chance that she might yet, in the two weeks of the Season that remained to her, make another catch. Faith, while not aspiring to the title of Incomparable, was by no means an antidote. She possessed that element rarer and more prized than ordinary beauty: she had countenance. Indeed, she had so much of it that it almost amounted to a flaw. Composure was all very well, but it ought to be ruffled at times; for instance, when a particularly eligible
parti
approached. Not Lady Faith; she would remain calm if her petticoats caught fire.

It never occurred to Lady Lynne that this monumental calm might be caused by shyness, for Faith tried very hard to conceal it. She forced herself to speak up, but getting much liveliness into her expression was beyond her.

Her worry about Thomas, however, was nearly enough to unsettle her sangfroid that evening. Her gray eyes sparkled and a blush of color stained her cheeks. The provincial hairdo she had worn to London had long since been revised to a more stylish Méduse coiffure, and her gown, though not much embellished with lace or ribbons, was exquisitely cut. The jonquil shade of Italian crepe, which had seemed at first too pale, looked very well this evening.

“That Fraser lad who used to dangle after you, Faith—if he makes a rapprochement this evening, don’t cut him. He is only a junior member of the diplomatic corps, but he’s young. He may go somewhere yet.”

“At least he won’t be going to Mordain Hall, where I’ll end up if—” Faith began, then stopped in midspeech. She must not even think such things.

Lady Lynne laughed gaily and tried to reassure her. “Don’t you believe it. I nabbed a viscount for your cousin Emily the last week of the Season, and I’ll do as well for you yet. I won’t have my record spoiled by that demmed Thomas Vane.”

The niece was ushered out the door, and Lady Lynne bolted upstairs to add a touch of rouge to her cheeks and to put a very pretty, very long mohair shawl on her shoulders, for there was no denying that her waist had achieved such proportions that it was best concealed.

While Lady Lynne awaited the arrival of Mr. Delamar, Faith invented a tale to satisfy the groom that she must make a short stop on Tottenham Court Road before going to the rout. Her haughty mien and unexceptionable behavior to date gave John Groom no grounds for suspicion, though he did find it odd. But then the servants all knew that odd things were afoot vis-à-vis Lord Thomas and Lady Faith.

She hardly knew what she might find in Mr. Elwood’s office, but her hope was that the money would be there. She had to accept that Thomas had left town—freely, too—for he had packed his trunk and had been alone. No pistol or knife had been at his back. But if she could at least prove that he had not run off with the money, the marriage would go forth. What worried her considerably was her aunt’s belief that Thomas had taken it. How could she believe such a thing? Thomas was carefree and sometimes a trifle unreliable about keeping appointments, but it was a long jump from there to call him a thief. Of course he was always short of money—what younger son was not? He owed his tailor and probably a few gambling debts, but his father planned to take care of all that when they married.

Tottenham Court Road was not in the elegant part of London familiar to debutantes. Faith felt a twinge of fear when she was let down into an unkempt shadowy street and approached the building where she and Thomas had once met Mr. Elwood. He had only one room in a corner of it. The front door was locked, of course. That was the first obstacle, and naturally the office door inside would also be locked. Mr. Elwood’s office window looked out on the south side, so she ventured to the side of the building to try for access there. The groom came after her, warning her away from the dark alley.

“I must get inside. It is a matter of—of life and death,” she asserted. “Can you pry that window open for me?”

“Let me call in Bow Street,” John Groom suggested.

“That wouldn’t do, Nubbins,” she answered simply, but he understood that secrecy was vital and helped her. He also got the lantern from the carriage to aid in her search and suggested that she draw the curtains for privacy’s sake.

“I’ll keep an eye peeled here and come to your rescue if you have company,” he offered.

“Thank you, Nubbins,” she said as calmly and politely as though he were a footman handing her a glass of ratafia. Then Nubbins gave her a boost to allow her to scramble through the window into Mr. Elwood’s office.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed that the places of concealment in the single room were few. There were three chairs, the large cubbyhole desk, a coat tree, and a row of cupboards along one wall. The lantern showed her the outlines of these furnishings, and she went directly to the desk. She was pleasantly surprised when the drawers slid open easily, but when she looked in at their emptiness, she knew why Elwood hadn’t bothered to lock them. Next she went to the cupboards. The lamp resting on the desk behind her threw long, menacing shadows on the wall. The office was perfectly still; you could hear a pin drop or your own breaths suspended on the air. The cupboard held some record books, which she took to the desk to peruse. She was reading a list of contributors to the Anglo-Gold Investment Company when she heard a soft sound in the hall beyond the locked door, and her heart raced in fear. The sound was so slight that she at first mistook it for a stray cat or a gust of wind. As she listened, the sounds came closer and then stopped at the door.

Was it Nubbins, come to see if she was safe? She was about to call when it darted into her head that it might be Mr. Elwood. She hastily blew out the lantern and crouched behind the desk. She could feel the current from the open window and gauged her chances of getting out before he came in. They were slight, as she would require the chair to reach the window and a key was already turning in the lock. There was nothing for it but to stand up and face him, then. Yet when the key did not open the door easily, she hesitated. It might be anyone . . . a common thief who would slide a knife between her ribs before Nubbins came to her aid. The key turned, the door opened, and someone came in, closed the door quietly behind him, and turned the lock. The locking of the door was more frightening than the rest. He wasn’t locking himself in. Did he already know she was there? A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and she felt her skin turn to gooseflesh.

From her hiding place behind the desk, she saw a dark shadow move and realized that someone was coming toward her but so softly she couldn’t gauge the direction. Even the shadow had disappeared. Her breath caught in her lungs while she waited, looking helplessly at the window, which was too high for her to jump out of, and then at the locked door, where the unknown person blocked her exit. It seemed she waited a long time, wondering why the person didn’t move, didn’t do something or say something. Who could it be? Elwood wouldn’t have to act so secretively. Was it—could it possibly be Thomas, come to try to extricate himself? Her nerves were screaming, and if that unknown presence didn’t do something very soon, she would scream, too.

When the intruder at last moved, he moved so silently and swiftly it caught her unawares. The first intimation she had of it was the feel of cold steel against her temple. It froze her to the very marrow of her bones. “Nice and easy now, stand up, and no tricks.” The voice was soft as silk—a mere susurrus, low-pitched and as menacing as the pistol muzzle that seared her flesh.

“Light the lantern,” he said. “Let’s have a look at you, miss.” How did he know she had a lantern? How did he know she was a “miss”—he hadn’t touched her. The man was magic.

She rose, trembling, and reached for the lantern. “I don’t have a tinderbox,” she said in a nervous, breathless voice. But she had the lantern in her hand and realized it made an excellent weapon. Without further delay, she raised it and struck out at her captor. She knew exactly where his head was, for he had just spoken. So how was it possible she missed him and swiped empty air with the lantern?

A light laugh floated from behind her—from a different direction than before—yet the pistol was still against her temple. “Tch, tch, Lady Faith! Mind your manners!” Were there two of them? No, only one had come in. How did he know who she was? Her heart pinched in fear as she realized that whoever was here she was no match for him. The man was directly behind her now; so near she felt the heat of his body against her back. She felt one arm go around her waist, not with any amorous intent, but only to feel around the desk’s surface for the tinderbox, which he shoved toward her fingers.

“Light the lantern,” he ordered.

Her fingers trembled so badly she had to make three strikes of the steel against flint before she could ignite the charred linen and then the lantern. Again that long arm brushed past her waist, picked up the lantern, lifted it high, and then stood back. Feeling as if she were in a nightmare, she turned slowly to see who she had to deal with and found herself staring into the slightly slanted yellow eyes of Mr. Delamar. They glowed like the eyes of a wild animal in the dark. His high cheekbones stood out prominently in the shaft of light that shone up from the lantern. She could even distinguish the long, thin scar. He wore a perfectly diabolical expression.

“You!” she spat contemptuously.

“Good evening, Lady Faith.” He performed a brief parody of a bow. “You must be lost. I didn’t expect to see you so far from the West End. I trust I didn’t frighten you?”

“You scared me to death!”

“Surely you exaggerate—you look more lively than when we first met. A little fear is becoming to you, and good for the constitution as well. Are you alone?”

As the fear dissipated, she assumed her more usual façade of stiff politeness. “The groom is waiting outside.’’

“I am impressed at your daring. Lord Thomas must be something quite out of the ordinary to lead you so far from the path of propriety. Hiding his light under a thimble, no doubt,” he added with an ironical smile. “I expect we’re both looking for the same thing. Did you have any luck?”