When the butler came out, Dolmain was not a pace behind him. The butler had picked up the handkerchief and handed it to Dolmain. In their surprise, they had not even bothered to look into the street to see who had left it. Ned Stork had told Crumm that his lordship looked “stricken all of a heap when he opened the handkerchee and spotted the sparklers.”
Caroline was so relieved, she gave Crumm twice his usual bonus. He left with his pockets jingling and a smile on his vast, misshapen face. The excitement was over for the night.
Newt said, “I will call early in the morning. I am on nettles to learn what Dolmain has to say now.”
“And Lady Helen, too,” Caroline added, but she still regretted that Crumm had not left the brooch in Miss Blanchard’s pocket in the first place.
As she lay in bed with one lamp burning low, she smiled ruefully at Julian’s portrait. He would have enjoyed this evening. It was quite in his style, except that he would have gone to spy on Miss Blanchard himself, and he would have known enough to leave the brooch where it was.
Then she wondered what Lord Dolmain would say tomorrow. Would he come full of apologies, or would he wear his stiff face, thinking she had stolen the brooch and returned it out of fear? Perhaps he would not come
—
and that would be the worst of all. Sleep was a long time coming. Had she known what he would have to say when he did call, she would probably not have slept at all.
Caroline knew Dolmain usually went to the Horse Guards early in the morning, due to some crisis brewing there. With this in mind, she was in the breakfast parlor at eight-thirty the next day, feeling like a limp dishrag. Her mirror told her she looked nearly as fatigued as she felt. A light touch of rouge gave the illusion of color to her wan cheeks, but did nothing to conceal the purple shadows under her eyes.
At the expected sound of the door knocker, she tensed visibly. When Crumm appeared at the doorway, Dolmain was right behind him. He had not waited to be announced, but came pacing in with a distracted air about him. He stopped when he saw her looking so pale and vulnerable. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and carry her off to some safe place where neither of them would ever have to think of the necklace or scandal again, and instead he had the temerity to ask her to voluntarily pitch herself into the middle of his troubles.
“I have a great favor to ask you, Caro,” he said. Not even a good morning. He sat beside her before she had time to offer him a chair, and further surprised her by gripping her two hands tightly in his, as if afraid she would run off on him.
“What is it, Dolmain?” she asked, suspecting this was his manner of apologizing after traducing her so vilely. Whatever the reason for his change of manner, she welcomed it. She spoke softly, and returned every pressure of his grip.
He closed his eyes a moment and frowned, as if collecting his thoughts. When he opened them again, she saw his worry, and noticed the haggard appearance of his pale face. Her heart opened to him in his trouble. He knew Helen was involved! That was it, and the knowledge was a perfect torment for him.
“Tell me everything,” she said gently.
“I shall, but first let me apologize most humbly. How could I have been such a blind fool? Such appalling arrogance, thinking no child of mine could
—
” He came to a confused stop.
“
Is
it about Lady Helen?” she asked.
“She is a part of it, certainly, in it up to her eyebrows. Now, where shall I begin?” He took a deep breath, then began to tell his story in a plain manner. “Miss Blanchard was murdered last night when she took Helen’s dog for a walk. She is fond of Rex and usually walks him every evening. She set out with a footman, but sent him home to get her a warmer shawl. Word of her death was sent to me at Lady Marlborough’s. One of the neighbors recognized her and called Bow Street. Her body was taken to my house. Sometime after I had returned home
—
around midnight
—
there was a knock at the door. This was left on the doorstep,
”
‘ he said, drawing out the brooch, wrapped in the handkerchief.
Caroline did not interrupt his story. She just looked at the brooch and nodded to show him she realized it was the missing brooch.
“I have no idea who left it there,” he continued, “but the handkerchief is Helen’s. I believe it has something to do with Miss Blanchard’s murder. Her money purse was not taken; it was not a robbery. In any case, it is clear you did not take the brooch. I want to apologize for what I have been thinking, and for what I have done, Caro. I must have been mad!” He shook his head, as if trying to rearrange the facts.
“When I talked to Helen after the loss of her brooch, I could not get out of my mind that you were with her again, as you were when her necklace disappeared. Much as it went against the pluck, I concluded you were involved in some manner. I disliked to believe it, but I could see no other explanation.”
“It is all right, Dolmain. I understand.”
“I had you followed again, and in an odd sort of way, I am glad I did, because it proves what I have always felt: that you are innocent. I know you returned here directly from the ball last night and did not leave your house.”
“Did you ask Helen about the brooch?”
“I spent an hour trying to pry the truth out of her. She certainly knows something, but she was so frightened
—
nearly hysterical
—
that I could learn nothing. She was very fond of Miss Blanchard. The woman’s death, and in such a brutal manner, was a great blow to her. In the end, I gave her a sleeping draft and sent her to bed. I accept, now, that she has in some manner become involved with criminals. Her evasiveness confirms it. I want to send her home to Elmhurst.”
“I agree. It would be wise to take her home at once.”
“The devil of it is, I cannot leave at this time. You know my work is confidential, and that it involves the Peninsular war. I was in touch with York at first light this morning, asking permission to leave London. He positively forbade it. Of course, I could not give him my precise reason for asking. And indeed I am most reluctant to leave just now, yet Helen’s reputation must be protected at all costs. And her life,” he added, with a grimace.
“What is it you want me to do, Dolmain?”
“Go with her,” he said bluntly. “I know it is unconscionable of me to ask, after the way we have treated you.”
She moved her hand, as if brushing this aside. “But Helen dislikes me. You could hardly choose a worse chaperon for her.”
“Companion, not chaperon. Lady Milchamp has agreed to go as well, but she is getting on. It is pretty clear Helen has been pulling the wool over her eyes. I would not ask this of you if I felt there was any danger, Caro. I think you know that. All my staff will be on the
qui vive
to protect you and Helen. My hope is that you might become friends with her. Perhaps she will tell you what she has not told me.”
“She will never tell me, of all people.”
“She must be longing to unburden herself,” he said simply. “I know there is no love lost between you two, but she is truly an innocent, trusting youngster that some very nasty people have got at somehow or other. I suspect it is her love of the French that was her undoing. Other than her charity work and that trip to the Pantheon, she has not associated with anyone I could conceivably consider undesirable. I introduced her only to the children of old and trusted friends. This undesirable involvement must have come through either Miss Blanchard or Bernard. You were right there, too. I now believe Helen hid both the necklace and the brooch, passed them on to someone, and told me they were stolen. Perhaps Miss Blanchard was killed because she had knowledge of it. I don’t have all the answers, but I mean to get them. Bow Street is looking for Bernard.”
“I agree Helen should be taken away at once, but is there no other aunt or relative you could send with her?”
He looked at her with sad resignation. “Of course. I had no right to ask it of you.” He drew another weary sigh and sat a moment with his head sunk on his palm. Caro had to force herself not to comfort him.
Then he looked up and said simply, “When this awful catastrophe struck, I could only think of coming to you.”
Her heart gave a leap. In his trouble, Dolmain had turned to her, and she was letting him down. His daughter was in trouble. Perhaps Helen was not the unlovable chit she had been imagining. Anyone might behave badly if she was caught in the toils of criminals. She herself was lying to Dolmain now by omission, letting him believe she was ignorant of last night’s doings regarding Miss Blanchard. But as her involvement was innocent, she felt it could keep for another time.
“I will go with her, Dolmain.” she said, squeezing his fingers.
A spark of joy lit his eyes, then vanished aborning. “No, I should not have asked it. I came here on an impulse, for I knew I owed you an apology after all but accusing you of taking the jewels. There might be some danger, even at Elmhurst, although my feeling is that the gang is in London.”
She did not argue, but only said, “We should leave under cover of darkness, in case your house is being watched.”
“No, I have changed my mind. Cousin Isobel and her husband can accompany Helen. It would be good to have an extra man.”
“Newt will be happy to come with us.” She could see that Dolmain wanted to accept but held back, feeling it was an imposition, as indeed it was. But if you could not impose on your friends, on whom could you impose?
“It is settled. For the remainder of the day, you should not let Helen leave the house. If she receives any messages, you should read them before giving them to her. You dare not put her at further risk.”
A smile curved his lips, and his face softened in admiration. “That is why I wanted you to go. You are awake on all suits, Caro. Intelligent, brave.”
“Irresponsible,” she reminded him.
“That was vexation speaking. You cut close to the bone to accuse my daughter. I suppose I feared, even then, that she was involved, or I would not have said such appalling things to you. It was infinitely mean of me.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? Shall I see you again before we leave?”
“I don’t care if all hell breaks loose at the Horse Guards, I shall be home to see you off, and join you at Elmhurst as soon as possible.”
“What time should I be ready to leave?”
“Soon after dark. Nineish?”
“I shall notify Newt.”
He drew her hand to his lips and dropped a kiss in her palm, then curled her fingers around it, as if keeping it safe. “How can I thank you, my Caro?” he asked in a husky voice.
“You are too absurd,” she said, but her voice shook with emotion at the way he was gazing at her. “I look forward to Elmhurst. One hears it is a fine estate.”
He rose, still gazing at her. “All the old clichés are true, are they not? Money does not buy happiness.”
She rose to accompany him to the door. “No, it does not, but as Julian used to say, it allows one to suffer in luxury.”
He stiffened perceptibly, making her wonder what she had said to cause it. Julian! Why had she brought his name up at this point? She rattled on swiftly, to remove that question from his eyes. “I have a hundred things to do. I must cancel certain invitations I have accepted
—
or should I wait until we have reached Elmhurst, as it is a secret that we are leaving?”
“Will you cancel your outing with Alton?” he asked, and looked at her curiously.
“Alton? Oh, I had forgotten all about him.”
“Good! You must drop him a note. For the rest, it might be best to wait. If you offend any hostesses, you can explain it after this is over. Lady Milchamp is not notifying anyone.”
“Very well. I planned to attend the theater this evening, so no one will miss me.”
They were at the doorway of the breakfast parlor. Dolmain took her hands and drew her aside. “I will miss you, Caro,” he said, and pulled her into his arms for an embrace.
Her body responded instinctively to his. She was acutely aware of the pressure of his hands, stroking her back, gently pressing her against him more and more tightly, as if he would mold them together. But the embrace did not escalate to passion. His lips bruised hers with a ruthless ferocity for one brief moment, then he withdrew and just gazed at her.
His voice was husky as he said, “I will miss you very much. More than you know. God, I wish this were over.”
She stroked his cheek. “Soon, Dolmain.”
His fingers closed over hers. “Do you still miss him so much?” he asked.
She did not have to ask what he meant. “Not so much as I used to before I met you,” she said.
“God bless you for that!”
Then he was gone. His step was lighter than when he had arrived. Caroline’s heart was lighter, too, despite the ordeal ahead of her. She would not let him down. Together they would find out what was going on, and rescue Helen.
After Dolmain left, Caro sat on alone in a bemused state, remembering the way he had looked at her, with a gaze more intimate than the touch of love. Had he seen the same glory in her eyes? His first wife would always hold some corner of his heart, as Julian would hers, but there was room for a new love, too. Even with Helen’s problem looming over them, she was not entirely despondent.
She jotted a quick line off to Newt, asking him to come to Berkeley Square at once. Then she went upstairs and spoke to her maid about packing. She also wrote to Lord Alton, saying she was not feeling well, as that would also curtail any questions about her not being seen in town for a few days.
At ten o’clock Lady Georgiana descended from her chamber and was told the latest development in the case.
“I am sorry I will not be having a share in the migration to Elmhurst with you,” she said. “It sounds exciting.”
Caroline could not like to invite her without speaking to Dolmain first. At ten-thirty Lady Georgiana received a note from Lady Milchamp. She turned quite pink when she read it.