Authors: Amy Corwin
His feet moved of their own volition toward Archer's house on Portman Square.
“Is Mr. Archer at home?” William asked as he removed his hat.
The butler took his hat and waited while William fished a card out of his pocket. He laid it on the silver salver the butler held out for that purpose.
“Yes, sir.” The butler examined the calling card as if he had never seen William before and suspected the calling card to be a fake.
He wondered briefly if the butler would request he use the back entrance like the rest of the tradesmen. However, after a final disdainful sniff, the servant turned away. He drifted up the staircase.
William paced restlessly around the foyer. He stopped a moment to study an English pastoral scene of a stream bubbling through a verdant pasture. A particularly stupid-looking herd of Guernsey cows populated the undulating fields. The bull was the only intelligent-appearing animal, although the clump of clover sticking out of its mouth didn’t appear succulent enough to account for the greedy gleam in its eyes. Maybe the dull-eyed cow nearest the stream accounted for the lascivious look.
“Mr. Trenchard, if you would follow me, please?” The butler plodded back up the stairs in front of William. He moved at such glacial pace that William had to pause after each step to keep from ramming into him from behind.
“Trenchard! What brings you here at this time in the morning?” Archer asked, waving him to sit on one of the sofas flanking the fireplace.
It was rude to pay social calls before noon, but William didn’t particularly care. Truth be told, he rather liked breaking that particular rule. It was one of the few times one could be sure of catching the nobility at home and unprepared.
He drew the packet of papers out of his pocket and set the bundle, along with the box, on the low, japanned table in front of him. “What do you make of these?”
Archer flicked a quick glance at William. Then he scooped up the papers and examined them carefully. He read through them twice before he looked up and noticed the box. “Is that the missing box? Is that where you got these?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you find it? Was it still where Sarah hid it?”
“No. Mr. Carnaby found it after she was arrested.”
“So you got the box and these documents from Carnaby?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure they were the only contents of the box?”
“No. However, I’m hoping Sarah can confirm the contents. So what do you make of the papers?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. A few bills of lading and what appears to be a list of names in a pay schedule. And Sarah’s genealogy. I suppose that’s why my wife’s brother thrust the box into Sarah’s hands. So she would have the marquess’s seal on this document showing her birth.” He sighed. “Not that she needs such proof of her identity. She has the look of the Sandersons—there can be no doubt.”
“You think that's all?”
“Most likely. You must remember the events of the fire. The marquess was trying to save his family and his son’s life. He must have thrust this box into Sarah’s hands in case she became lost in the madness.” He ruffled the papers in his hands. “The invoices and payment schedule just happened to be in there, along with the genealogy. That's all.”
Half afraid Archer would throw the fragile sheets into the fire burning behind him, William held out his hand. Archer refolded the papers carefully. He eyed William before slapping the packet firmly onto his palm.
William sat back and placed the bundle back into the box, keeping a bland expression on his face. If Archer didn’t find the documents important, perhaps they had no value, after all.
“Did you know a man named Major Pickering?” William asked, his eyes studying Archer’s lean face.
“Pickering? I…” He scratched the back of his head. His eyes shifted to the right, focusing over William’s shoulder for a moment before meeting his gaze. “I met him a few times at Elderwood. Why? Has he something to do with this?”
“It would appear so. He was murdered on his way to meet with your niece.”
“Indeed. Interesting.” Archer’s glance dropped to the maple box resting on the table between them. “And you got this box from Mr. Carnaby?”
Was it possible that Major Pickering was Anthony Carnaby’s commanding officer? That would fit…
“Yes.” William abruptly changed the subject. “Do you remember what outfit Major Pickering commanded?”
“It's been over thirteen years, lad. I never knew him that well. One of the rifle corps, perhaps. I remember the man wearing a dark green uniform. The rifle corps is one of the few that wear that color. One of my nephews was also in the rifle corps.”
“May I speak to him?”
“I’m afraid not. He died in 1807. However, my niece, Oriana, married a man who may be able to help you.”
“Is he in London? Now?”
“Yes. Lord Dacy.” Archer got up and rang the bell. “Let me leave word for my wife. We can go there directly—if that would suit you?”
William arose. He collected the box and his walking stick, his excitement rising. “Yes, thank you.”
“Think nothing of it. We shall get to the bottom of this mystery.” His brown eyes gleamed with humorous intelligence. “And you might even come to trust me.”
“Anything is possible,” William replied lightly, thinking of Sarah. “Even miracles.”
Far from being insulted, Archer seemed to find this vastly amusing. He chuckled and slapped William on the shoulder before ordering the footman to let Lady Victoria know they were going to visit Lord Dacy.
Collecting his hat from the butler, William followed Archer outside. With Mr. Archer leading the way, William considered his companion. He was a difficult man to read, and he could only hope Lord Dacy was not involved in the original scandal. There were already too many threads running in too many directions.
Fortunately, according to yet another disapproving butler, Lord Dacy proved to be at home. They were early. The approved visiting time would not arrive for several more hours, late enough to provide time for even the most somnolent nobleman to escape the tedium of receiving guests in his own drawing room.
Chuckling at the butler’s expression of distaste, Archer strolled upstairs to a large sitting room as if he was quite at home.
“Archer!” a very tall, dark-haired gentleman exclaimed as they entered the room. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Archer pushed William forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Have a few questions to put to you. A mystery, in fact.”
A loud sigh escaped Lord Dacy before he focused on William. William was surprised to see a scar bisecting Lord Dacy’s left brow and ending on his sharp cheekbone. The man stood straight and moved easily, so the injury had only affected his appearance. Mercifully, it had not damaged his gray eyes that studied William just as assiduously as he was examining Dacy.
After introductions, Dacy turned to Archer with a cynical smile twisting his mouth. “You haven’t been gambling again, have you?”
Archer laughed and shook his head. “No. However, we’ve had a surprise turn up. Little Sarah Sanderson.”
“Your niece?” Dacy asked, his brows arched in surprise. “I don't suppose she's happily married, is she? Since you can’t be overjoyed at the prospect of supervising another unmarried relative. Not if it means you’ll be required to escort her instead of visiting your clubs.”
Archer drew himself up and frowned. “She is unmarried, and we are delighted. Of course. And it shall have no impact, whatsoever, on my ability to enjoy the comforts of White’s.”
Turning to William, Dacy explained, “Archer’s wife has a habit of assigning her unmarried nieces and nephews to accompany her husband in an attempt to curb his overly adventurous spirit. My wife was one of the unfortunate chosen ones, until I rescued her. I suppose poor Miss Sanderson will be next. Bound to put a damper on your activities, Archer.”
“Unlikely,” Archer replied. “And we’re all relieved the girl survived.”
“Is that your news, then?”
“No,” William said. “Miss Sanderson managed to save a box from the fire. It contains some papers I’d like you to review. I was also hoping you might remember a man in the Rifle Corps called Carnaby. Anthony Carnaby.”
“Lt. Carnaby?” Dacy asked, his scar puckering as he frowned. “Yes. I remember him. Why?”
“He might be part of this mystery,” Archer interjected. “Show Dacy your papers. I still think they’re just ordinary household bills and the like.”
William withdrew the packet from the box and handed the bundle to Dacy. “What do you remember about Lt. Carnaby?”
“Excellent marksman with the 95th,” Dacy commented, unfolding the sheets. His lips twisted. “Almost lost a wager to him. But I managed to hit the playing card dead center. His shot was a fraction of an inch to the left. Blew the nose off the queen of diamonds, however.” He chuckled, still glancing through the sheets. “Why?”
“Do you remember what happened to him?”
“Yes. I do.” Dacy raised one long-fingered hand and briefly touched the white scar on his forehead. His face grew grim. “We were overrun by the French. I was one of the lucky ones. He was not.”
“He died?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“If you were injured badly in the fighting, wasn’t it possible that he was also wounded? That he survived?”
“No. The men dragged us both off the field. But the doctors could do nothing for him. His throat was cut.”
“You saw the body?”
“I saw them stitch him into a shroud to be sent home. Yes,” he replied, his voice harsh. “Is that proof enough? Surely, his family can confirm this. Why ask me?”
“Sorry, I’m merely trying to understand the situation. There is something odd here—some hidden deviltry,” William said. “Did you know a man named Major Pickering?”
“Major Pickering? No—not directly. I recall a sergeant, however, who knew him at one time.”
“And these papers don’t have any significance for you?”
“I’m sorry, no.” Lord Dacy refolded the sheets and handed them to William. “Do you suspect pay irregularities?”
“It crossed my mind when I saw the paper listing the names and amounts. What was your experience as far as pay?”
“Not what you’d believe if that is the road you’re following. We were paid properly.” He stopped with a dark chuckle. “Just too bad the men couldn’t have eaten better under the circumstances.”
“What do you mean?” William’s blood tingled. There had been invoices for grain in the packet. “Surely you were given sufficient supplies?”
“Certainly, the officers were. But there were rumors, as you must be aware. And after the war, several men were brought to justice for selling moldered, spoiled grain. You must have read about it.”
William nodded. “So it's possible that the extent of the conspiracy was not uncovered?”
“Possible? Of course.” Lord Dacy pulled a thick, creamy piece of paper out of a nearby writing table. He picked up a quill and dipped it in a crystal pot of ink before tapping the surplus ink off the tip. His dark eyes flickered over William’s face before he started to write. “Here are a few men you may wish to contact. They would know more than I.”
When Dacy handed him the list, William glanced at it briefly. He was about to fold it and place it in his pocket when Archer plucked it out of his fingers. The older man had been so quiet that William had nearly forgotten him.
Archer's quick gaze flicked over the list. He handed it back to William before turning to Dacy.
“The Duke of Rother?” Archer asked, fidgeting in his seat. He always seemed to have an excess of energy and an inability to sit still for any length of time.
“Yes,” Dacy said. “His southern estate supplied a great deal of our food. He, or rather his man of business, may have heard if there were any irregularities. He was never involved in any scandal. However, he may know something that was not brought out.”
Studying Archer’s tense face, William realized that Archer wasn’t listening. He stared at the letter in William’s hand and moved restlessly, his feet tapping the floor.
Even Lord Dacy noted it with a touched of annoyance. “Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you,” William replied.
Rising to their feet, Archer and William took their leave. William was conscious of an air of distraction winding around Archer. The older man hummed in a low monotone while they walked briskly toward Pall Mall.
“Shall we split the list?” Archer asked abruptly. He took a rapid step back from the curb as a curricle, drawn by a gaudy pair of bays, barreled past them. The wheels scraped the curbstone near their feet.
“I appreciate the offer, but I won’t impose,” William replied. “It is, after all, my purpose at Second Sons.”
Archer’s low hum grew slightly louder. Finally, he said, “The duke may be reluctant to meet with you. Or answer questions. He has no reason to do so.”
“Perhaps,” William replied, perfectly aware of the difficulties. “I’ll manage.”
“If you need my assistance, you will let me know?”
“Most assuredly.” William wondered again if he could trust Archer. The man had been fretful, almost nervous, when Dacy had mentioned the duke.