“I quite understand.” Mrs. Hoxton gave Ambrose a cursory glance and instantly dismissed him as beneath notice. She turned eagerly back to Concordia. “What did Lady Chesterton tell you about me?”
“Cynthia gave me your name and assured me that you could advise me on the matter of establishing a charity school.” Concordia accepted a cup of tea from the maid. “She mentioned that you have successfully undertaken a similar philanthropic project.”
The maid disappeared discreetly, closing the door of the drawing room softly. Ambrose realized that no one was going to offer him any tea so he took out the little notebook and pencil he had brought along and did his best to fade into the floral-print upholstery of his chair.
“Lady Chesterton, I mean
Cynthia,
is aware of my philanthropic efforts?” Mrs. Hoxton could scarcely contain her delight. “I hadn’t realized.”
“Yes, of course,” Concordia said. “She has heard about the good works you are doing at the Winslow Charity School for Girls.”
Mrs. Hoxton nodded happily. “I see.”
“My late husband left me a rather large sum of money,” Concordia explained. “It is my dearest wish to use a portion of it to establish an academy for orphaned girls. But I am not quite certain how one goes about that sort of thing. I hope you can give me some practical guidance in the matter.”
Mrs. Hoxton’s expression went blank. “What sort of practical guidance?”
“Well, for example, how much of your time must be devoted to managing the charity school?”
“Oh, I see what you mean.” Mrs. Hoxton brightened. “No need to concern yourself on that point. I find that being the school’s benefactress requires very little time. I give out a few gifts to the girls at Christmas and allow them to express their gratitude to me, but that is the extent of it, I assure you. One extremely dull afternoon a year is all that is required.”
“I don’t understand,” Concordia said. “What about hiring the staff ?”
“One leaves that sort of thing in the hands of the headmistress, of course.”
“But who hires her?”
Mrs. Hoxton appeared momentarily perplexed. Then her features
cleared. “In my case, there was no need to hire anyone. The Winslow Charity School for Girls was already established when I chose to become its benefactress. Miss Pratt was the headmistress at the time and there was no reason to let her go. Every reason to keep her on, in fact. She is an excellent manager. Maintains a very close eye on expenditures. Never a penny wasted.”
“What happened to the school’s previous benefactor?” Concordia asked.
“He died. Heirs didn’t want to be bothered with the school. As it happened, I was looking around for a suitable charity project at the time. It was all quite convenient.”
Concordia sipped tea. “How did you discover that the school was available, as it were?”
“That was a simple matter. My very good friend Mr. Trimley learned of the situation and recommended that I consider becoming the benefactress.”
Concordia paused, her cup in midair. It was impossible to see her expression through the heavy veil, but Ambrose knew that she was watching Mrs. Hoxton closely.
He was doing the same but making very sure not to reveal his interest.
“I don’t believe I am acquainted with Mr. Trimley,” Concordia said delicately.
“He is a very charming, very elegant gentleman,” Mrs. Hoxton said. “I am entirely dependent on him when it comes to matters of fashion and taste.”
“Fascinating,” Concordia commented. “How did you meet him?”
“We were introduced at the Dunnington soiree last year.” Mrs. Hoxton assumed an air of polite inquiry. “I expect you were there, also, Mrs. Nettleton. I don’t recall meeting you, though. But then, it was a dreadful crush, wasn’t it?”
Damn, Ambrose thought. He had not prepared Concordia for this sort of question.
“I was not going about much at the time,” Concordia said smoothly. “My husband was enduring his last, fatal illness. I felt that it was my place to be at his side night and day.”
Ambrose felt a small tingle of admiration. The lady was very fast on her feet.
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Hoxton said quickly. “Forgive me. I did not stop to think. Well, as I was saying, I became acquainted with Mr. Trimley on that occasion. We got along famously.”
“You see a great deal of him, then?” Concordia pressed gently.
“Indeed. He will be escorting me to the Gresham ball tomorrow evening, in fact.” She smiled proudly. “I assume you received an invitation?”
“Yes, of course. Unfortunately I do not yet feel up to attending that sort of thing.”
“I understand.”
Concordia placed her cup very carefully on the saucer. “I assume you employ a man of affairs to handle the business aspects of your charity school?”
“Mr. Trimley sees to that side of things for me. I do not pay any attention to those sorts of details. As I told you, I have found that engaging in good works is really no great trouble at all.”
“Mr. Trimley sounds extremely helpful,” Concordia concluded.
“I do not know what I would do without him,” Mrs. Hoxton said.
A
SHORT TIME
later, feeling quite proud of her performance, Concordia allowed Ambrose to take her arm and escort her down the front steps of Mrs. Hoxton’s town house.
They turned and walked toward the corner.
“I trust you enjoyed yourself back there in the drawing room,” Ambrose said. He sounded wryly amused.
She concentrated on maintaining an air of aloof, fashionable dignity. “Whatever do you mean by that? I thought I did a very creditable job of acting.”
“You did. In fact, I got the distinct impression that you rather fancied playing the role of arrogant employer to my humble man of affairs.”
“If it is any comfort to you, sir, you were excellent in your part. Indeed, I do not think I have ever seen a man of affairs who looked more like a man of affairs.”
“Thank you.” He hailed a passing cab. “Over the years I have become quite expert at receding into the wallpaper.”
She smiled behind her veil and gave him her hand so that he could assist her into the cab. “You do possess the most astonishing array of skills, Ambrose.”
“So do you, Concordia.” He closed the door and dropped down
onto the seat across from her. “My admiration for the teaching profession increases every day.”
“Well?” She looked at him through the veil. “I assume the next step is to find out more about this mysterious Mr. Trimley?”
“I think so, yes.” Ambrose turned his attention to the window. “He seems to be an important figure in this affair. Perhaps he will prove to be Larkin’s gentleman partner.”
“I think it is safe to say that Mrs. Hoxton is not one of the conspirators. She obviously views the charity school strictly as a means of enhancing her image in the eyes of Society.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Ambrose said. “I suspect that her very good friend Mr. Trimley is manipulating her. It would certainly not be the first time that a gentleman scoundrel has latched on to a wealthy woman in Society and used her for his own purposes. He appears to have been equally successful convincing Edith Pratt to cooperate in the scheme.”
Concordia wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I suspect that obtaining Miss Pratt’s assistance would merely require a suitable bribe.”
“You have her measure.”
“How will you go about finding Trimley?” she asked, very curious now. “Will you keep a watch on Mrs. Hoxton’s town house to see if he visits her?”
“That is certainly one way of handling the matter,” he said. “But it is very likely that I would waste a considerable amount of time lurking in doorways waiting for him to put in an appearance. I think there is an easier approach.”
“What is that?”
“Mrs. Hoxton mentioned that Trimley would be escorting her to the Gresham ball tomorrow night. I will also attend. There will be a great many people around. It should prove relatively easy to observe Trimley in the crowd.”
She stared at him, astonished. “You’re joking.”
He frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“You cannot be serious about attending a fashionable ball.”
“Why not?”
“For starters, there is the little matter of an invitation.”
“Easy enough to forge, were it necessary,” he said. “But in this instance I see no need to go to the trouble. Lady Gresham’s affairs are always crushes. No one will take any notice of an extra person.”
“I wish I could go with you,” she said. “I could help you make observations.”
He gave her a long, thoughtful look.
“Hmm,” he said.
She shook her head. “Impossible, I’m afraid, but I thank you for considering it.”
“I don’t see why you cannot come with me. As a woman you might be in a position to learn things that I could not.”
“There is the little matter of the proper gown, sir,” she reminded him. “The dresses that you had made up for me are quite lovely but none of them is suitable for a ball.”
“The gown will not be a problem.”
“Are you certain?”
He smiled. “Quite certain.”
Excitement spiraled through her. “It sounds very exciting. I’ve never been to a ball. I shall feel just like Cinderella.”
“Nothing like a good fairy tale, I always say.” Ambrose stretched out his legs and folded his arms. “On another topic, I have been meaning to tell you that I took a close look at the little book that I found in Cuthbert’s desk last night. I thought it might be a journal of accounts, and it is, in a way.”
“What sort of accounts? Do they relate to the charity school?”
“No. I think the entries are actually a running tally of his gaming losses.” Ambrose paused. “Evidently Cuthbert was not a particularly lucky player. He owed someone a great deal of money at the time of his death.”
“Alexander Larkin?”
“I suspect that was the case, yes.”
She reflected for a moment. “Do you suppose Larkin and Trimley used the gaming debts as a way of forcing Cuthbert to assist them in their scheme?”
“It seems very probable, yes.”
She shivered. “And now Cuthbert is dead.”
“People who get involved with Alexander Larkin often end up that way. But in the past most of his victims have been other villains or members of the less respectable classes. It is safe to say that, in general, they were the sort of crimes that did not make sensations in the press. Nor did they inspire the forces of the law to conduct serious, in-depth
investigations. But now Larkin and his new partner seem willing to take more risks.”
“I see what you mean. The recent murders have included a professional educator, the proprietor of an agency that supplies teachers to girls’ schools and a man of affairs.”
“None of them moved in Society, of course, but they were all considered to be more or less respectable. Unlike the case of my client’s sister, such murders do draw attention.”
“But only when they are discovered,” Concordia reminded him. “Miss Bartlett simply disappeared. Mrs. Jervis supposedly committed suicide. And Cuthbert’s body has yet to turn up.”
“True. Nevertheless, it strikes me that Larkin and his associate must consider your four students very valuable, indeed.”
C
oncordia grasped the sides of the ladder and looked up at the top of the brick wall that she was about to ascend.
“You will never believe this, Ambrose, but when you told me that we would attend the Gresham ball tonight, I pictured myself in a slightly different style of gown.”
He clamped both hands around the rails of the ladder to steady it for her. “Rest assured, you look very fetching as a ladies’ maid. The cap and apron suit you.”
“At least I am spared the indignity of that flashy footman’s costume that you chose to wear.”
“I thought I explained the logic behind these disguises. A hostess of Lady Gresham’s rank will have taken on extra staff for tonight’s affair. No one will notice one additional maid and a spare footman.”
She started up the ladder, aware that he had brought it along solely for her convenience. He could have scaled the wall quite easily without one.
“Now I understand why you were not concerned with obtaining an engraved invitation,” she said.
“Why bother with trivial details when one can simply climb a garden wall?”
“I suppose that is a very practical way of looking at things.”
She reached the last rung on the ladder and paused to hoist the folds of her gray cloak and her skirts out of the way.
Gingerly she swung first one leg and then the other over the top of the wall. The heavy linen drawers she wore beneath the plain servant’s dress protected the skin of her thighs from the rough bricks.
When she was safely seated atop the wall, she found herself looking into a vast moonlit garden. The lights of the Gresham mansion glowed in the distance. Music drifted out into the night from the ballroom.
She had a fleeting image of herself, dressed in a fairy-tale gown, waltzing in Ambrose’s arms. In her private fantasy her hair was fastened in an elegant chignon studded with jeweled flowers. Ambrose, of course, looked spectacularly handsome in formal black and white.
She smiled to herself.
“What the devil are you thinking?” Ambrose asked from the top of the ladder.
She jumped a little at the sound of his voice right next to her ear. She had not heard him come up beside her.
“Nothing important,” she said lightly.
“Try to pay attention. I don’t want any mistakes this evening.”
“There is no need to lecture me, Ambrose. I am well aware of what I am to do tonight.”
“I certainly hope so.” He hauled the ladder up and lowered it on the garden side of the wall. “Remember, you are not to take any chances. If you run into any difficulties or feel uneasy for any reason, signal me immediately.”
“That makes the tenth time you have given me those instructions since we left the house, Ambrose. Do you know what your problem is?”
“Which one?” He went down the ladder with the agility of a cat. “I seem to have quite a variety lately.”
That hurt but she was careful not to let her reaction show in her voice. She moved cautiously onto the ladder and descended with what she feared was considerably less grace than he had exhibited.