The Counterfeit Lady (15 page)

He rose and walked off with a grace I couldn’t help but watch. Phyllida cleared her throat.

I turned my attention to her. “Are you doing all right?”

“Yes, thank you. Lady Bennett has been watching you watch the duke. The evidence of your liaison is obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one could mistake your gaze. Well done.”

I hadn’t been acting, but I wouldn’t tell Phyllida that. “Good,” I said with finality.

In a little while, Phyllida felt comfortable enough with the rocking of the train that I could walk over to sit on the couch with Rosamond Peters. “I feel cooler already,” she told me.

“I’ve come to love London, but it will be nice to spend a little time in the country. Is it always so hot this time of year?” Georgia Fenchurch knew it wasn’t, but this was just the sort of question Georgina Monthalf would ask.

“No. This heat wave has been far different from our weather the last few years. Tell me, where did you get the courage to chase after a robber? I’ve heard he knocked over your maid and stole some of your purchases, and you stopped him and had everything returned.”

I laughed. “Where did you hear that?”

“Lady Bennett.”

“Who heard it from the baron. He’s the real hero of the story. He came to Phyllida’s aid and gave us a ride home in his carriage once the excitement had passed.” I looked over to see the baron in close conversation with Sir Henry while Lady Bennett flirted outrageously with the duke. Could the baron and Sir Henry be taking this opportunity to discuss terms for Sir Henry to sell Germany the blueprints?

I mistrusted every conversation I couldn’t hear between our suspects. Finally, I turned back to Lady Peters.

She was saying, “But you chased down a robber? You ladies from the Far East are very brave.”

“I only had to chase him a few steps. He ran into a dead-end alley. All I had to do was stop him until the bobby came, and my maid did most of that.”

“How clever to have a useful maid. Minette would have expected me to save her.”

“You have a French maid? However did you manage that?” French maids were favored over English ones by anyone who could afford a lady’s maid.

“I have family who helped me arrange it.”

“Do you speak French?”

“Of course. Just as you must have learned to speak French in school. And now I guess you speak Chinese or some other Far Eastern tongue.”

I shook my head. No sense in getting caught in a lie over that. “I never managed to learn a word. I’m a dunce at languages.” Wanting to change the topic, I said, “You were carrying a hatbox when we saw you. It was a lucky thing you weren’t the one the robber attacked. You were on your own, having sent your maid back. You could have been hurt.”

“Do you think he was after hatboxes? How very odd.” Rosamond Peters studied the thick blue carpet at her feet as she spoke.

“I know he was. He said he was hired to steal hatboxes.”

She looked at me with a half smile. “Probably a rival milliner. They can be ruthless competitors.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

Rosamond Peters laughed at me. “Georgina, you are such a mistrustful soul.”

Sir Henry Stanford joined us. “What’s so amusing?” His gaze told me to watch my step.

“Mrs. Monthalf has the measure of most of London. You must watch what you say around her.” Her tone was light, but I wished she hadn’t warned him to be careful of me. The more helpless he thought I was, the safer I’d be.

His eyes narrowed as he gave us both a smile, waiting to hear more. I wasn’t going to enlighten him.

“Being near government and the queen, Mrs. Monthalf believes we have all taken to being mysterious and deceitful,” Lady Peters said.

I shook my head and laughed. “I don’t believe I said anything of the sort.”

“Then forgive me,” she said with a nod, “I misunderstood you.” She turned to Sir Henry. “Mrs. Monthalf said the most amazing thing. The thief who stole Lady Monthalf’s hatbox told her he was hired to steal hatboxes.”

“The heat is getting to people,” Sir Henry scoffed. I thought he looked relieved. Perhaps I could eliminate him as the man who’d hired the hatbox thief, but he could certainly have orchestrated stealing the warship plans.

The duke came over from where he’d been talking to Lady Bennett, his face unusually red. “There have been strange incidents occurring in London lately. I challenge you to make sense of any of them.”

“Stranger than stealing hatboxes?” I asked.

“Leading a goat through the cellars beneath Parliament.”

Sir Henry chuckled. “I read about that. Bizarre.”

The duke glanced over his shoulder. “Mrs. Monthalf, you might want to check on your cousin. Lady Monthalf looks unwell.”

“Excuse me.” I leaped from the sofa, but just as I did so the train swayed and I bumped into the duke. With masterly charm, he tucked my arm inside his and walked me to the chair next to Phyllida’s.

I sat heavily and said, “Phyllida, are you all right?”

She gripped my arm. “Are we going to crash?”

“No. It’s just a stretch of track that is bumpier than before.”

“Please stay here with me.”

“Of course.” I smiled at the duke, who nodded in return and walked off.

“Learn anything?” Phyllida asked when we were alone in our area of the carriage. She looked at me intently, gripping my arm with one hand. She must have believed our journey would prove Gattenger’s innocence, else she would never have withstood this train ride. She was terrified.

“Sir Henry was in love with Clara. Did you know about him? What did Clara think of him as a suitor?”

Phyllida leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “I’d seen Clara and Sir Henry together a few times before her marriage to Kenny. The last time she and Kenny called off their engagement, I thought she would marry Sir Henry, but he was disappointed.”

“Were their feelings equal, or did Sir Henry love Clara more than she did him?”

Phyllida pursed her lips together for a moment. “Their loves were different. Clara loved him like a brother. Sir Henry’s feelings were more romantic.”

“Was Sir Henry angry enough at Ken Gattenger to hire the burglar to steal the blueprints?” I asked.

“But Clara was killed.”

“Not the result that was expected or wanted. But what if Kenny was the one who was supposed to die?”

Phyllida’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling of the train carriage. “Then the Germans might not have anything to do with the burglary and we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

W
E
both jumped when Sir Henry pulled over a chair and sat at my side. “I don’t think I’ve properly expressed my condolences on the death of your cousin Clara Gattenger,” he said to both of us.

“Thank you,” Phyllida said. Her face looked like it would crumble at any moment, but her eyes were fearful as she looked at him.

“I accused Sir Henry of being in love with Clara. I should apologize,” I said. It was a clumsy way to interrogate him again, but I needed to learn more without making him suspect I was more than a penniless widow and a chance thief.

“Please don’t apologize. You’re correct. I was a little in love with her. Had been for years. Not that anything inappropriate happened,” he rushed to assure us. “She saw me as a friend of her father’s. Nothing more.”

“I’m sure we all loved Clara,” Phyllida said and reached out a hand to Sir Henry. He grasped it for a moment and nodded over her fingers.

When he let go of Phyllida, I said, “I hope Clara’s not the reason you haven’t remarried. That’s not something she would have wanted.”

“No. I’ve grown used to having my freedom to come and go as I want. But, like my close relationship with Clara, I would like your friendship, Mrs. Monthalf.” He gave me a fearsome smile, teeth showing.

“As I would like yours. I’m sure you and I and the duke and Lady Peters can all be good friends.” I smiled, hoping he got the message that I wasn’t entirely friendless.

Sir Henry smiled broadly. “I hope we’re better friends than you are with them.” He took my hand and clutched it.

When he didn’t let me go, I said, “Tell me about your shipyard. You said it’s the most modern in Britain.”

He gazed into my eyes, looking uneasy. “Yes.”

“Installing new machinery must have cost a fortune.” I tried to pull free and failed.

“But it will be worth it in the end. I’ll be able to build ships faster and better to satisfy my customers.”

“Including the queen.”

“Her Majesty’s government is my biggest customer.”

I jerked my hand free. “With your important position in the industry, of course you were called on to bid on building Gattenger’s new warship.”

“Of course.”

“Did you discuss the bidding with Clara?”

“No, with Gattenger. He knew how keen I was to build the ship. If that warship lives up to expectations, it will make the reputation of both Gattenger and whoever is chosen to build the first models.” He stressed the “if.”

“And I imagine a tremendous windfall for the builder.”

He nodded. “Only if it floats. Otherwise, the shipyard that builds it will be ruined.”

I lowered my voice. “I told you, Gattenger said the design is sound.”

He studied me for a moment. “I hope you aren’t lying to me. That would be unwise.”

“The Admiralty heard doubts and had Kenny check his calculations again. All is well.” He moved as if to get out of his chair and I set a hand on his arm. “Did Clara know about your doubts?”

“No. I’d never tell her. When I talked to her the night before she”—he swallowed and swiped at his eyes—“was murdered, I’d planned to see Gattenger. Not Clara.”

Across the railway carriage, Lady Bennett and Lady Peters laughed at something Blackford had said. Tamping down jealousy, I focused on Sir Henry. “You spoke to our cousin the night before she died?”

He looked embarrassed to have admitted it. Then he glanced around to make sure no one could overhear us. “Kenny wasn’t there that evening. Being old friends, Clara kindly invited me in.”

“So you two were quite alone,” Phyllida said, for the first time looking fierce.

Sir Henry reared back. “It was nothing like that.”

“You kept quiet to protect her reputation?” Phyllida sounded as if she were interrogating Sir Henry.

“Exactly.”

“Where was Gattenger? Was he expected home soon?” I asked.

“Clara didn’t know where he’d gone or when he’d come back. She seemed lonely. Frightened. It wasn’t hard to see something was wrong.”

“Did she tell you what was bothering her?”

“She only said she was distressed. She refused to give me any details. Said it had nothing to do with me, that it was personal. Between her and Kenny. If only I’d pressed her harder to tell me, perhaps I could have done something to save her.”

“You think Gattenger killed his wife.”

“Isn’t it obvious, with something between her and Kenny upsetting her? Scotland Yard thinks so, too.”

“You’ve talked to Scotland Yard about your talk with cousin Clara the night before her death?” I’d have been surprised to learn he’d volunteered any information. He seemed to want to use anything he discovered for his own benefit.

“Of course not. The police would see it as another nail in Gattenger’s coffin. And Britain needs Gattenger alive designing ships.”

“Could your doubts about Gattenger’s warship design have led to her death?” I pressed him, not knowing how much longer I had until we’d arrive in Cheltenham Spa.

“If I thought I had done anything to lead to her death, even indirectly, I’d shoot myself. I adored Clara.” The pain in his eyes spoke of his honesty. I hoped the pain was real.

“When you saw her that last time, did you tell Clara how much she meant to you?”

Sir Henry blinked at my question. “No. Never. Gattenger was the one who wandered before their marriage. Clara stayed true to him, although I told her how much I cared for her while she was still free to choose me. In the end, Gattenger returned to her and I lost the love of my life.”

“I’d imagine Clara blamed Ken for their breakups if she blamed anyone. It usually is the male who’s the pursuer,” Phyllida said.

He glanced at Phyllida. “Not this time. Lady Bennett deliberately came between them, causing Clara to break off their engagement for the second time. That estrangement wasn’t as long as the first one, only a few weeks, but I took the opportunity to court Clara again.”

“‘Again’?” I was beginning to sound like a parrot. Hopefully Stanford would mark my verbal clumsiness down to being a middle-class colonial.

“I also courted her before her original engagement to Gattenger, and then when they called it off the first time.”

“How long ago was that?”

Sir Henry was looking at me suspiciously. “They were engaged eight years ago, and then broke up about three years later. Several months passed before Gattenger came crawling back to Clara. Poor woman forgave him both times.”

“So you’d been courting Clara off and on for eight years. That shows a rare dedication.” I tried to sound sympathetic. Truly, I thought he was a little mad.

“Clara was a very special woman.”

Phyllida interrupted us. “It was Kenny who broke off the engagement both times after Clara refused to set a date for the wedding because of her father. She wouldn’t leave him, and Kenny grew frustrated. Men do, I’m afraid, and so they begin affairs.”

I glanced at Phyllida, surprised at her worldly insight. Either she hadn’t been as cloistered as I’d thought in the days when the queen had a growing family or Emma and I had unwittingly provided her with an education.

“Gattenger’s a good-looking man. He’s always attracted women. Not always high-moraled women,” Sir Henry said.

I’d only seen him in Newgate Prison and at Sunday dinners. He’d always seemed pale and timid. Once I’d met Blackford, I discovered my tastes ran to dark and bold. “He is?”

“Yes, the man has that blond Greek god look that women find impossible to resist. Clara couldn’t believe her good fortune that Gattenger chose her. I wish to God he hadn’t,” Sir Henry said with feeling.

Blackford walked over to us, glaring Sir Henry and me farther apart in our chairs. “We’ll be in Cheltenham in fifteen minutes. Perhaps less.”

“Oh, that is good news,” Phyllida said with the most animation she’d shown all morning.

“We’ll have a few more miles to go by carriage to reach Lord Harwin’s estate.”

As it turned out, Lord Harwin sent only one carriage for us, so Phyllida rode with Lady Bennett and the baron on the first trip. The luggage and the servants followed in a large, open wagon. Emma gave me a half smile as she passed on her way to the wagon, following a porter with our trunks. Being Emma, she would manage to sit on the bench next to the driver while the rest of the servants had to sit on trunks in the back.

The weather was noticeably cooler on the street in front of the Cheltenham railway station than it had been in London, sunny but breezy. While I stood there with the duke, Lady Peters, and Sir Henry, I watched as another coach pulled up. Lady Ormond and a couple I didn’t know ignored us, and each other, as they climbed into the carriage, their faces stiff with suppressed anger. Their servants loaded the luggage into a pony cart that waited a short distance behind the first vehicle.

Looking past them to the opposite side of the street, I saw my parents’ killer. He was here in Cheltenham Spa.

My gasp might have caught my travel companions’ attention, but I didn’t glance their way. I darted out into the street between Tewes’s carriage and a wagon being loaded with crates of fruit off a freight train.

My quarry was almost within reach. I could see his long nose, his thin lips, his silver hair beneath his top hat as he walked along the sidewalk. He appeared unaware of the woman dashing across the wide street as he strode along, a newspaper folded under one arm.

There was a carriage coming toward me in one direction and a wagon carrying barrels lumbering along in the other. This was a busy road, but I’d had plenty of practice crossing busy roads in London. I had time to cross. I’d just hurried out into the middle of the street, glancing down to avoid horse manure, when a sound to my left caught my attention.

A small, chariotlike carriage driven by a young dandy raced around the slow carriage, its horses urged on by shouts and the snap of a whip. It was nearly on top of me. I tried to back up, but not fast enough.

I looked at my parents’ murderer. He’d noticed me now. His cruel, pale eyes widened in surprise as he stared at me.

An arm smashed against my waist and jerked me backward. Something struck my foot as the vehicle raced past.

I was nearly thrown onto the sidewalk. “What do you think you’re doing?” Blackford snarled, staring down at me.

I adjusted my hat, which had slipped over one eye. “You’ve ruined everything,” I snapped back at him. “Didn’t you see him?” I was trying to look past him and the vehicles in my way to view the opposite sidewalk.

“Who?”

“My parents’ killer.”

Blackford stopped and blinked, as shocked as if I’d just slapped him. He spun around and stared across the busy street. There was no one there. “I don’t see anyone.”

“He’s gone now. You ruined it.” I took one step forward and nearly landed on my face as my foot and ankle screamed
fire
.

By now, Sir Henry and Lady Peters had reached my side. “Are you all right?” Lady Peters asked.

Sir Henry handed me the shoe I’d lost in the street when the chariot raced past. “That was a close call with the curricle. Quick thinking, Your Grace.”

I put my shoe on my aching foot, took a tentative step, and winced. “I’ve injured my ankle. I guess I can’t have that first waltz with you like I promised, Your Grace.”

“Whatever possessed you to run out in the road like that?” Lady Peters said.

I gave Blackford a glance and said, “I’m sure I saw an old friend of my father’s. I was surprised to see him and wanted to let him know I was in the area. I could have had a nice chat with him if that crazy driver hadn’t nearly run me over.”

“Did either of you recognize the young pup?” the duke asked. “I have a mind to have a word with him about his driving.”

“Who still drives a curricle in this day and age?” Sir Henry asked of no one in particular.

Blackford put an arm around my waist and helped me toward a bench by the front of the train station. “If you will sit still, perhaps we’ll be able to continue our investigation,” he muttered into my ear.

“He’s here,” I whispered back. “This is a small area compared to London. Someone must know who he is.”

Blackford dumped me onto the bench and then Lady Peters came and sat beside me. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

“Besides salve my wounded dignity?” I smiled at her. “No, but thank you.”

“Who’s the man you wanted to meet? Perhaps someone knows where he’s staying and we can send him a note to visit you,” Sir Henry said.

“That’s the problem. I don’t remember his name. He was a good friend of my father, but at the time he seemed terribly old and stuffy. He left before my father died and I got married, so my name would mean nothing to him now. Hopefully we’ll see each other again.”

Rosamond Peters raised her eyebrows and said drily, “And if the fates decree that you don’t?”

“Isn’t that how life is sometimes? Chances slip through our grasp. I could be mistaken about the man’s identity. He might not be my father’s friend, although the likeness is uncanny.” I gave her a look that was supposed to say I was unconcerned about failing to greet the unnamed man. Actually, I was seething.

He knew I was here now. Would he leave, ruining my chance to meet him? Or would he stay, possibly ruining our investigation into the stolen plans since he knew my true identity? Either possibility was troubling.