*
Ellery counted his funds as privately as one could in a public conveyance. This little excursion had better be worth it, it was probably going to cost him more than he had to invest. Where the deuce was the little chit carrying her blunt? If only she’d let him hold it. He knew a nice little gambling hell down by the quay, where he might just have been able to parlay some of it into a neat profit, doubled—tripled it even, while she was buying her damned unmentionables. He’d jumped on that too soon. She didn’t trust him yet. That was what this little jaunt was all about—to win her trust enough to get his hands on some of Drake’s hundred pounds.
Thus far, however, he had to admit that things were progressing far more smoothly than he ever imagined they would. No one had seen him leave or return to the inn last night. He had a leisurely breakfast in full view of all—hardly the behavior of a murderer—and they’d gotten off casually before word reached the village of the fire, or Drake’s untimely death. It had hardly been a chance meeting. The minute he saw her heading for the coaching station, the wheels began turning. He had no business in Truro, except chatting up Lady Demelza Ahern to the purpose of increasing his wealth.
All in all, he was proud of himself—particularly proud of the way he’d behaved since the murder—of the way he would react to the news of his lifelong friend’s demise, because he’d already rehearsed it. Admitting that he and Drake had a falling out was a nice touch. A murderer would never have done such a thing. He just wished he’d had some news of Drake’s Lair before they embarked.
Drake had gotten to the gel; that was obvious. He would have rather enjoyed comforting her over his demise, but the present plan would work just as well in the meanwhile. He’d be only too glad to tell her what happened five years ago, in order to cool whatever fire Drake had ignited in her, but he would tell it his way, in his own time, and if he had to use the information to hijack her for the day, so be it. He would just have to take care how the tale was told. It mustn’t be done vindictively, but rather a plain and simple statement of facts—unbiased, and without malice. He might even take some of the blame. Yes. He was very proud of himself.
*
They reached Truro well before nuncheon, and Melly went first to Old Bridge Street, for a tour of the milliners and linen drapers, then on to Duke Street, for the bootmakers’ establishments. She would save the Lemon Street dressmakers, corsetieres and readymade establishments for after nuncheon when, hopefully, she would have bored the steward sufficiently enough to afford herself some privacy while he tended to his business.
The first thing she purchased was a modest black faille reticule, with one stylish silk tassel at the bottom at the milliner’s shop. Then after a word aside to the proprietress, she was directed to a private dressing room at the back. There, she deftly transferred some—not all—of her notes to it, and tucked the rest back inside the little embroidered bag that Rosen had given her, which she wore about her neck beneath her bodice, with Ellery none the wiser. How dared he presume to ask her where her blunt was concealed?
Before she left the shop, she also purchased gloves for dress, and a fetching straw bonnet with brown silk ruching inside the brim and a silk ribbon bow that tied under the chin. It was extravagant, but it didn’t come too dear, since it was nearly the end of the Season, and the milliner needed her space for the new fall and winter styles. She bought one of those as well, of the same black faille as the reticule, trimmed in a sumptuous shade of wine, with a plume dyed to match. She would, of course, save that one for dress.
She wasn’t a skilled seamstress by any means, but Mrs. Laity was, and she had offered to make up a few everyday gardening frocks for her, and one or two more fashionable ones as well. She bought several dress lengths of serviceable muslin and twill, as well as a length of irresistible blue silk crepe, and another of patterned silk, strewn with dainty violet flowers on an ivory background. She may have left Drake’s Lair, but she knew she would see Mrs. Laity again. She was one of her best customers after all.
By the time she’d left the bootery after choosing a sturdier pair of Morocco leather slippers than the ones she was wearing, and a serviceable pair of ankle boots for every day and herb gathering, Ellery was scarcely visible behind the packages he was carrying. He didn’t look too happy. It served him right. If he insisted upon tagging along, she would certainly make use of him, and that before they’d even stopped for nuncheon, with all of Lemon Street to shop before returning to St. Kevern. That, unfortunately, would have to be by two-seater post chaise, since the next stage wasn’t due until very late, and the mail coach wouldn’t be passing that way again for a sennight. She had counted on the stage returning. She wasn’t looking forward to going home post, but it couldn’t be helped. She was hardly about to wait around and get stuck traveling half the night with James Ellery.
Wilburtson’s Cafe, on Boscawen Street, was clean and cozy, with fare that ranged from salads and chowders, served with fresh baked bread and assorted cheeses buffet style, to assorted meat and poultry pies and pasties, with removes. Unfortunately, it was crowded.
Melly opted for savory rook pie and julienne soup, with her eye on a very tantalizing Charlotte Russe on display for dessert. She was ravenous. Ellery, who should have worked up a healthy appetite in his role as beast of burden, on the other hand, settled for a small bowl of watery fish chowder and a caraway roll.
“Would you like some of mine?” she offered, since his eyes devoured her pie from across the table.
“No, no, not at all,” he replied. “I really haven’t much of an appetite. The coaches always do that to me. They turn my stomach inside out. The quality looks good, though. I just want to be sure you’re satisfied with the fare.”
“Ummmm,” she groaned, rolling her eyes in reply as she took another mouthful, and after a moment he went back to his chowder.
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, and it wasn’t until Melly had her dessert before her that she attempted to broach the subject of the coil she longed to unravel and dreaded to hear about all at once.
“You said that you would tell me what occurred five years ago at Drake’s Lair,” she prompted.
“I know,” he said, glancing around the café, “but it’s awfully crowded just now.”
“Have you gotten me to come here with you under false pretenses, Mr. Ellery?” she demanded.
“Certainly not,” he said. “It’s just that it’s a rather… indelicate tale, my dear, hardly something a gentleman would be speaking of to a lady at all, let alone over nuncheon in a crowded café.”
“Why did you suggest it, then?”
“I can hardly be held responsible for this establishment’s patronage today,” he said smoothly. “I’ll make a bargain with you. I shall tell you what is respectable here now, and save that which is not for our return to St. Kevern. We will be alone in the post chaise, after all. Will that suit?”
“I suppose,” she said, “but we haven’t much time if I am to shop Lemon Street before we start back.”
“You see?” he said, gesturing toward her parcels. “I told you it was wise that I accompany you. How would you ever have managed all of this without me, my dear, and we’re only half done.”
“Easily,” she pronounced, tossing her curls. “I would have had all this sent. What possible difference could a day or two more make, all things considered? But, since you did insist…”
“Yes, yes,
Touché
again, my lady. My motion is… defeated.”
“Thank you. Now then, may we get on with your ‘respectable’ portion?”
“First, I owe you an apology,” he said, setting his serviette aside, since he hadn’t ordered dessert. “I had a little too much wine one evening not too long ago, and behaved like a boor—made a complete fool of myself as I recall. I know it’s hardly an excuse, but as I told you then, wine and I do not get on well. I had no right to presume to… take liberties. I have no defense except that I think you know how I feel about you… how I have felt about you since you first set foot in St. Kevern. I lost my head and overreached myself. I do hope you shan’t hold that against me. I sense… mistrust, and I certainly can’t say that I blame you. What I’m trying to do here now, and bungling badly, is put your mind at ease.”
“The plain and simple fact, Mr. Ellery, since we are being honest with each other, is that I do not think of you in that way. I believe I made myself plain at the time. I simply do not wish to encourage you.”
“I am content to be your friend, as I said then, but your hackles have been raised since in my presence, and that saddens me. May we have a truce?”
“So long as you keep your distance, sir,” she said coolly.
“Good,” he said, with a smile and a deep nod. “Now then, to get on with our discussion, it’s only fair to warn you that much of what I said about Drake that night was unfortunately true. He has always run fast and loose with the women. Why, he hardly left a bed un-slept in, in the old days—our Corinthian days. He was quite the rake back then—we both were, I’m sorry to say, so you know I shan’t embroider this to the purpose of slander. I am, for the most part, just as guilty as he is and would only be damming myself right along with him if I were to stoop to such tactics. We were both quite scandalous rapscallions… until Eva.
“You’ve seen her portrait. She was irresistible—the catch of the Season when Drake swept her off her feet. He was the envy of all London, the golden boy of the
ton
, parading her about at Almack’s, attending Hamlet, and Henry the V at Drury Lane Theatre. He exhibited her at Vauxhall, and Covent Garden, he had her to the races at Newmarket, took her riding in Hyde Park, displayed her like the jewel she was. There wasn’t a fête, tea, or ball that excluded them, and the wedding reception at Drake’s Lair went on for days, with everyone who was anyone attending.”
He had painted a vivid picture, and a lump rose in Melly’s throat. How foolish she had been to hope that the Earl of Shelldrake could ever have genuine feelings for the likes of her after such a checkered past amongst the
ton’s
elite, after such a vivacious and exquisite wife?
“They were inseparable then,” he went on, “—madly in love, but Drake wanted an heir—needed an heir for the earldom, and Eva was not disposed toward providing him with one.”
“She didn’t want children?” Melly breathed. She couldn’t imagine it.
“No, she did not.”
“But surely she must have known when they married what was expected of her?”
“To be perfectly honest, my dear, I think she expected the social whirlwind to go on forever,” he opined. “She was marrying the catch of the Season—taming the
ton’s
bad boy, London’s most lovable, sought-after scapegrace. She had succeeded where all others had failed. That was quite a feather in her cap. Children would have cramped her style. And that is as far as I dare go in public, my dear. I know Drake and I have had a falling out, but that will eventually be put to rights; we’ve had them before. Two people cannot be as close as we have been for so long a time without a few sparks flying now and again. Meanwhile, I shall remain a gentleman. Far be it from me to air his dirty linen for him in a public place. He hardly deserves that. I’m only telling it to you at all, because you are entitled to an explanation, considering, and because, being the lady you are, I know I can trust you to keep it to yourself.” He consulted his pocket watch. “It’s growing late,” he said. “If you want to do Lemon Street, we’d best get on with it, my dear. There’ll be plenty of time to finish the tale in the post.”
Melly didn’t object. She watched him pay for their meal, and after he’d gathered up her parcels, they set out on the final lap of the shopping exposition.
After offering one of the shop girls a generous tip for checking the purchases she had made thus far for safekeeping, Ellery disappeared for a time, explaining that he needed to be about the business he had come to Truro to conduct. She was relieved, since she would have gone home without underthings before she let him stand over her gawking at her selections.
It was over an hour before he returned looking decidedly downcast. She had just finished shopping. Among her purchases were two serviceable dresses for gathering, one of which was made of plain gray twill almost identical to the one she had lost in the fire. The other was of cornflower blue, which wouldn’t be as forgiving when kneeling in the mud as the gray, but she simply couldn’t resist it. It reminded her of the bluebells she’d loved as a child growing up in Manchester. Ellery collected her earlier purchases, gathered up the new, and together they moved on to the coaching station to arrange for the chaise.
Once his burden was lifted, and the groom was loading the packages onto the coach, she expected his spirits to lift, but they did not. There was no question that something was amiss. He had grown decidedly sullen, and she wondered if it would be prudent to address it. Curiosity once more won out.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Ellery?” she said at last. “You look quite the thundercloud of a sudden.”
“No, no,” he replied. “My business didn’t quite go as I’d hoped is all. You know how bankers are, I’m sure. A fiendish lot, I’ll be bound. It’s not all that catastrophic. Don’t give it another thought, my dear. Come, I do believe we are ready to board.”
It was a four-wheel coach drawn by two horses that were ridden by post boys. It promised to be a reasonably swift trip back. The groom had already taken his place on the dickey in back, and Ellery helped her inside. The squabs were thick and plush, and the interior roomy for a two-seater conveyance. That was a definite plus. They had scarcely rolled out of the station, when the steward took up his story where he had left off.
“I told you that this was to be a rather indelicate tale,” he began. “If you should find it… too indelicate, please feel free to stop me. We’ve just gotten back on congenial terms, and I certainly wouldn’t want to offend.”
“You may proceed, Mr. Ellery,” she said. “I am no milk-and-water miss to ravel over ‘indelicacies’, I assure you.” How anything could be more indelicate than that which he had already shared, she couldn’t imagine.