The Bride Hunt (16 page)

He unfolded his arms and leaned his elbows on the table. “Now, if that answers your question, perhaps I could return to mine.”

“Well, you obviously couldn’t consider someone who disliked children,” Prudence pressed on. “There’s one possibility who might suit you. A widow called Agnes Hargate. A charming woman, very attractive. She has a five-year-old son. Would that be a disadvantage?” She looked up from her notebook and raised one hand to adjust the set of her glasses as she examined his expression.

“The prospect leaves me less than joyful,” he stated. “Now, are you and your sisters in the habit of consorting with fallen women?”

“No,”
she said. “At least, I don’t know what you mean by
fallen
women. I’m sure there are plenty of women of our acquaintance, not to mention of Lord Barclay’s, who’ve indulged in a little extracurricular activity. And that’s another question for you. Are you only interested in prospective brides who have an unblemished reputation?”

He sighed. “I’m trying to get across to you, Prudence, that I am not at present in the least interested in any prospective brides.” He glanced impatiently at the clock, and his voice was irritable as he said, “We haven’t covered as much ground as I wanted to this evening. I was hoping we could have a working dinner, something simple, but since you have to leave . . .”

“Your message—or summons, rather—made no mention of dinner,” she said. “But I would have had to decline, anyway,” she fibbed blithely. “I have another engagement.”

“It wasn’t a summons,” he said. “It was a request.”

“It read like a summons.”

“Then you must forgive me.” But he didn’t sound in the least apologetic. He got briskly to his feet and suddenly pointed a finger at her. “Are you and your sisters in the habit of consorting with women of the street, Madam Mayfair Lady?”

Prudence opened her mouth to answer a resounding and indignant negative and then realized what he’d said. “They won’t know there’s more than one of us,” she protested. “We’ve agreed. It’s just one representative. The Mayfair Lady. They couldn’t ask that question because they won’t know anything about us.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be so certain. They’re going to move heaven and earth to track you down. It wouldn’t surprise me if they employed a detective agency. I assure you, they’re going to be no happier than I am at putting a sheet of newspaper on the stand.” He moved out from behind his desk as the grandfather clock in the corner of the library struck a sonorous eight bells.

“Detectives?” Prudence said, sounding shocked. “Surely not.” She thrust her arms into the sleeves of her coat that he was holding for her.

“Just be on your guard,” he said, going to open the door for her.

Prudence went past him. “How long do we have, do you think, before the trial date?”

He shrugged. “Three, maybe four weeks. Sam Richardson has some influence on the bench and his clerks are extraordinarily efficient. They’ll discover who’s presiding, and Sam, I’m sure, will have a pleasant chat over a more-than-satisfactory dinner in his club, and the case will come up when he wants it to.”

Prudence frowned. “But don’t you have influence like that?”

“Certainly I do, but I don’t intend to use it.”

“But we still don’t have our case put together.”

“Bring me the evidence, Miss Duncan, and I believe you said that we’ll have all the case we need.” He opened the front door. The street lamps were now lit and Cobham sat smoking his pipe on the driver’s seat of the barouche, the horses shifting their hooves impatiently as the autumnal night air grew chilly.

Gideon walked her down the steps and saw her into the carriage. “But do
you
believe that?” she asked, stung by the tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

At that he laughed, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant laugh in Prudence’s estimation. “I have no choice but to do so, my dear. Confidence is half the battle. I can’t go into court expecting to lose.”

“But do you expect to?” She took off her glasses and fixed him with an anxious gaze, the light of the streetlamp giving her eyes a golden hue, tingeing the russet hair with touches of gold.

For an instant an arrested gleam appeared in his gray gaze; he half opened his mouth, as if about to say something, then shook his head with another slight laugh, stepped back, and waved her away.

Chapter 10

A
nother letter for you, Miss Prue. From Sir Gideon.” Jenkins put the long envelope beside her plate at breakfast the next morning. “If I may say so, the barrister seems an assiduous correspondent.”

“I trust it means he’s equally assiduous in his efforts on our behalf,” Prudence said tartly. She slit the envelope with her butter knife and perused the contents.

“You have no reason to believe otherwise, Prue,” Chastity protested mildly, looking over the top of the
Times.

“No, I don’t suppose I do,” Prudence agreed with a little sigh. “It’s just that he made me feel last night that it was a wasted effort and we had no chance of winning and basically he resented the time he was spending.” She crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fireplace.

“Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood to talk about brides,” Chastity suggested. “You’d just met his daughter, after all. That must have been awkward for him.”

“No, it wasn’t,” her sister stated. “He was not in the least put out. The girl was being curious and he had no real problem with it at all. It amused him. I just don’t think he’s serious . . . ever has been . . . about this bargain. He’s going to insist on his eighty-twenty split.” She shrugged and refilled her coffee cup.

“Well, we can but persevere,” Chastity said with customary optimism. “I was wondering about Lavender Riley, or even Priscilla Heyworth.” She regarded her sister with a raised eyebrow, waiting for the objections she instinctively expected.

Instead, Prudence shrugged again and said, “They’re possibilities, I suppose.”

“So, what was in the letter?” Chastity gestured with a piece of toast to the crumpled sheet that had not yet caught flame.

“A surprisingly polite request that I make myself available all day tomorrow for a more intensive preparation session.”

“In his chambers?”

“No, he says he will collect me here at the house at eight-thirty in the morning.”

“He does like to make an early start, even on a Sunday,” Chastity commented. She folded the newspaper carefully along the crease. Lord Duncan had not yet come down to breakfast, and he abhorred an obviously previously read newspaper.

“Well, he made it clear last night he has to work on this brief in his leisure. I can hardly insist on mine, even though tomorrow
is
Sunday.” She took up her coffee cup again.

“Good morning, my dears.” Lord Duncan entered the breakfast parlor, his complexion ruddy from his morning ablutions, his white hair impeccably coiffed. “Jenkins has promised me kippers,” he said, rubbing his hands. “A morning that starts with kippers can only lead to good things.”

“You’re very cheerful this morning, Father,” Chastity observed, placing the newspaper at his plate. “Considering that it’s pouring with rain.” She gestured towards the long windows, where rain slanted against the panes.

“Oh, what’s a little rain?” his lordship said. “I’m going with Barclay to meet with his solicitors and the barrister. They want me to take the stand as a character witness.”

Prudence took an overly large gulp of hot coffee and choked, tears filling her eyes as she buried her face in her napkin.

“Really,” Chastity said rather weakly. “How good of you.”

“Good God, it’s hardly good to stand by a friend in need. Oh, delicious, Jenkins, thank Mrs. Hudson for me.” Lord Duncan sniffed hungrily at the aroma rising from the plate of steaming kippers placed before him. “And brown bread and butter, of course.” He patted his embonpoint, where his silver watch and chain rested in state.

Prudence poured coffee for him and passed the cup. “Will it be a long meeting?”

“Oh, no idea,” her father said. “Judging by the exorbitant fees these fellows charge, it ought to last all day.” He attacked a kipper, scraping aside the larger bones before taking a forkful that he consumed with an air of bliss. “Manna,” he murmured. “Sheer manna. Can’t think why you girls don’t eat them.”

“Too many bones,” Chastity said. “By the time I’ve fiddled with them, the kipper’s stone cold and I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Oh, you just chew ’em up,” Lord Duncan said, suiting action to advice. “The little ones don’t do you any harm.” He opened the newspaper with a flick and perused the headlines.

“Will you be in for luncheon?” Prudence inquired, spreading marmalade on her toast.

“Shouldn’t think so, m’dear. If we’re done with these lawyer fellows in time, Barclay and I’ll lunch at the club. What’s today?” He glanced at the date on the newspaper. “Oh, Saturday. Odd that they work on a weekend.” He shrugged. “Not to worry. It’s steak and oyster pie today. We’ll definitely be lunching at the club.”

“You haven’t forgotten we’re having dinner with Constance and Max this evening?”

“Oh, no. Pity Barclay couldn’t accept the invitation. Some relative or other come to town.”

“I think Con’s invited the Wesleys though,” Prudence said. “You know how much you like to play bridge with them. Con will partner you.”

“Oh, yes, it’ll be a capital evening, I’m sure. Capital.” He returned to his paper.

Prudence glanced at Chastity and folded her napkin. “If you don’t mind, Father, we’ll leave you to your breakfast. Chas and I have a few errands to run this morning.” She pushed back her chair and dropped a kiss on her father’s cheek as she headed for the door, Chastity at her heels.

In the hall, she paused, tapping the folded thumb of her fist against her chin. “We have to do it this morning, Chas.”

“Go through the papers?”

“Yes. There’s no knowing when we can be sure Father will be out of the house again for a decent stretch of time.”

Chastity nodded. “Should we send a message to Con?”

“Yes, get Fred to run around to Westminster. With three of us looking, if there’s anything to find we’ll find it.”

Chastity hurried off to the kitchen. Fred, the errand boy and general handyman, was polishing shoes by the range and chatting amiably with Mrs. Hudson. “Lord Duncan’s delighted with his kippers, Mrs. Hudson,” Chastity said.

“Oh, I thought he’d find ’em tasty,” the housekeeper said. “’Tisn’t often the fishmonger has ’em on his cart when he comes of a Thursday, but this week he did. And they weren’t too expensive neither. Twopence halfpenny apiece.”

“Well, they gave his lordship more than fivepence worth of pleasure,” Chastity told her. “Fred, when you’ve finished with the shoes, could you run around to Mrs. Ensor and ask her if she could visit this morning? As soon as she can.”

Fred spat on one of Lord Duncan’s evening shoes. “I’ll be done here in ten minutes, Miss Chastity.” He polished vigorously, working the spittle into the leather.

“Miss Con will be here for lunch, then, Miss Chas?” Mrs. Hudson inquired.

“Yes, but bread and cheese will do fine.”

“Oh, I might turn my hand to a bit of pastry,” the housekeeper said. “Seeing as there’s no dinner to cook this evening. There’s a nice piece of ham in the pantry and I think I could lay my hands on a bit of stewing veal. How would you fancy a veal and ham pie?”

“Very much,” Chastity said.

“And a jam roly-poly for pudding.”

“You spoil us, Mrs. Hudson . . . even on our budget.”

“Oh, ’tis not difficult, Miss Chas, if you’ve an eye for a bargain,” the woman said with a pleased smile. With an answering smile, Chastity left the kitchen, reflecting that they should all count their blessings when it came to Jenkins and Mrs. Hudson. But, of course, they did, every waking minute.

She had stopped smiling when she reached the upstairs parlor. “We have to stop Father from taking the stand,” she stated as she entered. “What if he recognizes your voice, Prue. Even if you disguise it, you’re his
daughter.
”

“I know,” her sister said. She was standing at the window watching the drumming rain and the sodden trees in the square garden. “And Gideon will be cross-examining him. It’ll be hideous, Chas.” She crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Everything we tell Gideon about Father will be armor for his cross-examination.” Chastity shook her head. “I don’t see how we can do it, Prue.”

“We have to,” her sister said simply. “We have to find a way. We can’t lose, Chas, you know that. If we do, Father will be devastated . . . broken.”

“Then you’re going to have to act as you’ve never acted before,” Chastity said, now briskly accepting the reality. “You need a voice, one that won’t slip under pressure, and won’t bear any resemblance to your own.”

“The one thing we have in our favor is that it would never occur to Father in his wildest nightmares that we would have anything to do with the case,” Prudence said, turning away from the window. “Even if he had an inkling that there was something familiar about the veiled witness for the defense, he would never associate her with one of us.”

“I only hope you’re right.” Chastity came over to the window to stand beside her sister, and they stood looking down onto the street until a hackney disgorged Constance, under a big umbrella.

Constance didn’t pause on the pavement to look up at the parlor window as she might have done on another day, but scurried up the steps to the house. The door opened as she reached the top, and she nearly ran into her father, similarly equipped with a big, black umbrella.

“Good morning, my dear,” he said hastily while waving his umbrella at the cab that had just delivered his daughter. “Can’t stop. I’ll take your cab.”

“I’ll see you this evening, Father,” Constance said to his retreating back. She turned to the door, shaking the rain off her umbrella.

“I’ll take that, Miss Con.” Jenkins deftly removed it. “It’ll dry in the back scullery. Weather’s not fit for ducks.”

“That it’s not,” Constance agreed, taking off her hat in the hall. “Are my sisters upstairs?”

“Waiting for you, Miss Con.”

Constance nodded, and ran up the stairs. “So, what’s happening?” she asked as she opened the door. “That was a rather urgent message to someone who’s giving an important dinner party this evening.” She was laughing as she spoke, but her laughter died when she saw her sisters’ expressions. “Trouble?”

“Of a kind. But we also need your help this morning.” Prudence explained the situation.

“Damn and blast,” Constance said. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes, he would,” Prudence agreed with a resigned shrug. “Loyalty to his friend.”

“And we’re going to blow that loyalty to smithereens,” Chastity stated.

They were silent for a minute, then Prudence said heavily, “Well, let’s go and find the evidence to do that. I asked Jenkins to light a fire in the library.” She went over to the secretaire and opened one of the small drawers. “I have a key to the safe.”

“When did you get that?”

“Months ago. Jenkins had it copied for me. I can’t keep control of the finances if I don’t know what Father is spending. All his bills are in the safe, so I see them before they come due. That way I can make sure there’s enough in his bank account to cover them . . . or at least make sure that he’s not too overdrawn.”

Constance put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Prue, why didn’t you tell us?”

“This is my job. I didn’t see any reason to burden you both with the more dubious aspects of its operation. I don’t like the idea of snooping and prying into Father’s personal affairs, but since he won’t give me any information freely I had to find a way to get it without his knowledge.” She tossed the tiny key from hand to hand, her expression hard to read.

“Prue, love, this isn’t a burden you carry alone,” Chastity said. “We would have supported you in this if you’d told us. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Maybe not. But I do. Let’s go and dig ourselves deeper into this slough of deceit.” She strode to the door.

“So, how was your evening, Prue?” Constance asked as they entered the library. “Does our barrister seem to have a handle on the case?”

Prudence closed the door behind them, and then after an instant’s hesitation, locked it. “He’s very aggressive with his questions but I’m sure he’s right that opposing counsel will be and I need to be forearmed.” She leaned against the door for a moment. “He also says that we can expect them to put detectives onto finding our identities.”

Her sisters turned to stare at her. “Detectives?” Chastity repeated.

Prudence nodded. “I suppose, if you think about it, it’s almost inevitable.”

“Where would they start?” Constance wondered. “Oh,
The Mayfair Lady,
of course.”

“Yes,” Prudence agreed. “That was what I was thinking. They could start asking questions at all the places that stock it. No one knows us, of course. When we go to collect our money, we’re always heavily veiled, but . . .” She shook her head. “It’s still alarming. Maybe on Monday we can go to some of the outlets we use—Helene’s Milliners, Robert’s of Piccadilly, a few of the others—just to see if there’s been any unusual interest or inquiries.”

“We’ll do the rounds,” Constance said.

“That might put our minds at rest. Help me with the Stubbs.” Prudence went to the far wall and moved aside a large George Stubbs painting of a racehorse. Constance held it to one side while her sister unlocked the wall safe behind and took out its contents, passing them to Chastity.