The Great Christmas Ball (12 page)

“You are certainly full of juice at any rate.”

“I should say so! You have hit it on the head. Just so long as you are not calling me sour.” Again he peered toward the Incomparable.

She had moved away, and Mr. Edison suddenly lost all his hilarity. “Well, are you enjoying the performance?” he asked.

“Indeed I am.”
Especially since leaving our box,
she added to herself.

Cathy kept her eyes peeled for Lord Costain and Mrs. Leonard, but did not see so much as a sign of them. The intermission was long, giving her time to see everyone in the corridor. They were not there. She could conclude only that they had left, and hoped that Gordon had contrived to follow them.

When the warning bell sounded, Mr. Edison escorted her back to the box. As they struggled through the crowd, she spotted Mr. Burack. He seemed to be looking around for the rest of his party. He saw her and nodded, then continued his scan of the crowd.

As soon as Cathy was in her seat, her eyes flew across the hall to Mrs. Leonard’s box. Only Mr. Leonard and the female companion were there. Cathy raised her glasses, and saw that Mrs. Leonard’s wrap still hung over the back of her seat. She planned to return then.

Suddenly Gordon appeared at her side. He tapped Cathy on the shoulder and beckoned her to the back of the box. “Swinton’s left. You can sit back here beside me and talk.”

She gave one last look to the other box just as Costain led Mrs. Leonard to her seat. They were both smiling innocently. Cathy joined Gordon as the curtain rose.

“What happened? Where did they go?” she demanded.

“He took her down to the lobby for a breath of air. I managed to overhear that much. She said she was feeling faint. I crept downstairs behind them, but it was impossible to go to the lobby without being seen. There was no one there but the fellow who takes the tickets and a couple of post boys. We shall follow them home, of course.”

“What can happen? Mr. Leonard is with them.”

“Then we’ll follow Costain.”

Cathy had no objection to this idea. The play seemed to last a very long time. Her head was splitting long before it was over. What occupied her mind was what she should do now that she was convinced Lord Costain had turned traitor to his country.

Obviously someone in authority must be told. The logical person to tell was his superior, Lord Cosgrave. She sensed that Cosgrave already mistrusted Costain, so he would listen to her.

Tomorrow she and Gordon must go to the Horse Guards and seek an interview with Lord Cosgrave. The interview loomed before her with all the horror of a trip to the tooth drawer. How could Costain do such a thing? He was an officer and a nobleman. What had he to gain by betraying his country? It was all
her
fault. The beautiful Mrs. Leonard had led him astray. He must love her very much.

Cathy did not feel up to any more sleuthing that night. She could not believe that Costain would attempt anything when the lady’s husband was of the party. “You follow them, Gordon. I have a headache.”

“How the devil can I follow them if I have to take you home? Perhaps Edison ...”

“I cannot like to ask him. If we left now, you could take me home and be back on time to follow Costain.”

“Yes, by Jove. I have lost all track of the play anyhow, so I shall have to come back another time. Grab your wrapper, then, and let us go.”

Gordon whispered a word in Edison’s ear and he and Cathy left the theater. When they reached King Charles Street, Gordon said, “If you want to learn what happened, wait in the study. We can talk there without disturbing anyone.”

“Yes, I should like to hear what happens.” Since she knew sleep would be impossible, the study was as good a place to wait as any.

Lady Lyman had just retired when Cathy reached home. Cathy was relieved to be spared putting on a smile and pretending she had had an enjoyable evening. She went to the study and lit the fire that was laid for the morning, then poured a glass of sherry and sipped it while gazing into the grate.

The leaping flames did not warm her. She felt cold and empty inside. Costain was a traitor, and it was her duty to report him. She had no idea how long it might be before Gordon came home, but as it would probably be over an hour, she curled up in a padded chair and tried to get comfortable.

She had fallen into a lovely daydream when the tap came at the study door. Gordon had decided to enter this way. She rose and hurried to let him in. When she opened the door, Lord Costain stepped in, uninvited.

“Miss Lyman, I know it is late, but may I have a moment of your time?”

Cathy just stared, incapable of speech. She was not so much frightened as momentarily stunned beyond any sensation.

Costain watched as her lips trembled and her eyes, wide with fear, blinked nervously. “What an idiot I am! I’ve frightened you half to death. I am sorry, Miss Lyman. It is only your faithful old lion, Leo,” he said, smiling to ease her fears. His gloved hands reached out and gripped her wrists to steady her. “You’ll catch your death here. Let us close the door,” he said, and placing an arm around her shoulder, he drew her into the study.

She twitched away. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. Her voice, though breathless, sounded truculent.

“There is no need to bite my head off. I didn’t come to steal your books,” he replied in an injured tone. “When I saw your light on, I thought perhaps you expected me. I noticed you noticing me at the theater.” A smile grew on his handsome face as he removed his coat and tossed it aside, sure of his welcome. He walked toward the grate and held his hands out to the fire. “Ah, that feels good.”

“I thought it was you in that box,” Cathy said. When she took a seat on the sofa, he joined her. She was unsure how to behave, but soon decided to act as normally as possible. He thought a smile and a flirtatious word was all it took to con her. Let him think it! His conceit might serve her well.

“Those were the Leonards I was with,” he said. “You would have recognized the fair Helena. The old fellow is Harold.”

She nodded. “So I assumed. Who was the elderly lady?”

Costain stretched his long legs toward the blazing grate and drew a sigh of satisfaction. “A neighbor and relation, a Mrs. Newhart. Are you not curious to learn how I came to be with Helena?”

“I was wondering why you were with the Leonards,” she said, not stressing the plural, but using it intentionally.

He cocked a brow and said brashly, “Point taken. Harold was there, too, though he is eminently forgettable.”

“I noticed you forgot to include him at the intermission.”

“Oh, that was intentional. I am not
that
forgetful. But we are beginning in media res here. Let me begin at the beginning. I decided to follow Gordon’s lead and keep an eye on Mrs. Leonard this evening,” he explained. “That is why I did not call on you. I followed the Leonards to the Royal Coburg and went in behind them, hoping to add myself to their party. The boxes were sold out, and when Mr. Leonard saw me turned away, he offered me a spare seat in his box. Naturally I jumped at the chance.”

“Naturally.”

“A demon for work, you see,” he said modestly, but there was a dash of amusement in his manner. “At the intermission Mrs. Leonard said she felt faint.” His eyebrows lifted in a manner that invited her to share his doubt of the claim. “And I, being a perfect gentleman, offered to take her out for a breath of air.”

“Is Mr. Leonard not a perfect gentleman, that he might tend to his own wife’s needs?”

“Certainly he is, but he is a gentleman of a certain age, and a certain physical infirmity. It is not only ladies who are plagued by advancing years. He offered to accompany her, but his wife expressed a great concern for his health. Well, to get to the cream of the story, I took Mrs. Leonard down to the lobby and propped the door open to give her the needed air without quite freezing the poor lady— and poor me.”

“It is strange she left her wrapper behind.”

“You used those glasses to good effect! Or did Gordon tell you? If he usually follows Mrs. Leonard as clumsily as he followed us tonight, I fear it can be no secret to her that she has picked up a shadow. I shall tell Gordon to stop dogging her.”

Cathy didn’t answer the question. “Did you learn anything of interest?” she asked.

“Mrs. Leonard is harmless,” he said, waving a graceful hand in dismissal of the idea.

“And are her long visits to Mademoiselle Dutroit’s establishment also harmless? She must have a great love of bonnets.”

“Doesn’t every lady?
She
certainly has, and she also possesses great skill in devising them. She works for Mam’selle Dutroit, to make a little money to eke out Leonard’s earnings.”

Something in his manner annoyed Cathy. Perhaps it was his smile of admiration when he spoke of Mrs. Leonard. “How did you learn all this during half an intermission, milord?”

“I can be a close questioner.” He laughed. “It is not only you ladies who excel at gossiping. We got to chatting of this and that. Mrs. Leonard has had a hard life. She was married once before. Mr. Fotherington left her unprovided for. She was working as a milliner when she met Mr. Leonard at a small private party of mutual friends. He was a widower, she a widow, both lonely and both in straitened circumstances. One sees how it might have come about. I believe it is a marriage of convenience, but with genuine love on his side, and what our elders call ‘esteem’ on hers.”

“I would have thought such an Incomparable could have done better than Mr. Leonard.”

“One would think so indeed, but then, she went about very little. I sensed some irregularity in the first husband’s demise, though she did not actually say so. Perhaps it was nothing more than a load of debt. That will always cast a cloud on the widow’s social acceptability. And whom would she meet, working in a shop? Ladies, for the most part. It has not been my experience that ladies are likely to lend a helping hand to a woman more beautiful than themselves.”

“On behalf of the less beautiful ladies, I must object to that cynical remark, sir. To say nothing of comparisons being odious.”

“Present company is always excepted, ma’am,” he said with a gallant bow. Cathy gave him a gimlet glance. “That lowered brow tells me I have inadvertently offended you. Naturally your beauty takes second place to none.”

The compliment was a poor one, and its mundane delivery did nothing to redeem it. Cathy decided the best course was to ignore it. “So you think Mrs. Leonard is too beautiful to be involved?” she said blandly.

“Now, that, Miss Lyman, was downright nasty. I am shocked at your sharp tongue. It is not Mrs. Leonard’s beauty but her story that convinces she is innocent. The only thing I could accuse her of is a slightly forward manner, and that would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, so I shan’t suggest that she might be open to a carte blanche, if the right gent made an offer.”

“And did you?” she asked.

“No, Miss Lyman, I did not. Morality aside, it is poor policy to mix business and pleasure, and I work with the lady’s husband.”

Cathy poured her caller a glass of sherry, to give herself time to think. Costain could be telling the truth. She must not allow jealousy of Mrs. Leonard to color her judgment. If he were lying, he had gotten up a credible story that covered all angles in very short order and related it fluently, with no air of guilt or even apology. She decided to suspend judgment until she had had time to think, and discuss it with Gordon.

She passed him the glass of sherry. “So you think Mrs. Leonard is innocent?” she said.

“She is a bit of a twister, not much inhibited by virtue, but no worse than most ladies.” He took a sip of his drink, then asked, “Where is Gordon?”

“He went on somewhere after the play.”

“Ah, I thought when I saw your light in here that the two of you might be waiting for me to come and explain myself. You have some explaining to do as well, Miss Lyman. What of those letters you were going to write this evening?”

“I decided to go out instead.”

“That denotes a sad unsteadiness of character,” he said, shaking a playful finger at her. “I expected more firmness of character from you.”

“Another case of the pot calling the kettle black?”

“No, gray. I am convinced you only delayed the writing till a later time. Which of the many gentlemen in your box lured you from your correspondence? Was it the blond fellow you rescued from falling over the railing? I must congratulate you on your quick rescue, and on your patience in the face of gross provocation. Had my escort been so inattentive, I would have given her a nudge over that railing.”

“Mr. Edison is only a friend.”

“Still, one expects a little consideration from one’s friends. Why, he is the sort of fellow who would abandon his lady at supper. But then, that would be nothing new for you. Did you read him a lecture, as you did me?”

“Actually he is Gordon’s friend.”

“I wondered why he paid so much attention to Miss Stanfield when he had a more charming lady by his side.”

“You know her?” Cathy asked.

“I see a comparison loses its odium when it goes in your favor! Elizabeth Stanfield is my first cousin. As there is more than a decade difference in our ages, we were never close. Since making her debut, she has turned into a devout flirt. I fear the chit has lost what little propriety she ever had. And who am I to be preaching propriety when I come barging in on a solitary lady at this hour of night? I must go.” He set his glass aside and rose to put on his hat and coat. “You will tell Gordon to stop following Mrs. Leonard?” he said.

Costain’s easy manner had nearly convinced Cathy he was innocent. She had second thoughts when he repeated that Gordon must cease watching Mrs. Leonard. Perhaps he intended to accept the lady’s hints that she was available as a mistress? Or perhaps she already occupied that position. That, while horrid, really had nothing to do with the spy at the Horse Guards.

“I shall tell him what you said,” she replied.

Costain had put on his coat and was doing it up. He looked up, surprised at the ambiguity of her reply. Then he walked toward her. “What is the matter?” he said simply. Without waiting for a reply, he added, “You don’t believe me.”