Authors: Margaret Bennett
“I can well imagine the nature of those favors, too,” she snipped in an acidic undertone
and cast another spiteful glance in Chloe’s direction.
“Shrewishness is one of your less endearing traits, my dear,” he remarked derisively, then shucked himself of her hold.
“Oliver, please, stay a while longer. I have not seen you all day.” But he ignored her plea and started toward his host when out of desperation she cried, “I have the jewels.”
He halted in his tracks and stared at her, keeping his expression unfathomable. Camden could see her anger in the set of her mouth, anger tinted with fear in her eyes induced by blurting out that he was the anonymous buyer
for the jewels Pearson had stolen. He watched her surreptitiously look about through her lowered eye lashes to see if anyone was paying them any heed. Finally, he asked barely above a whisper, “How did you come by them?”
“I did as you bid, dropping hints about having a friend who was interested in acquiring some jewelry of heirloom quality, very discretely, and of course, at a good price.”
“And Pearson took the bait?” he almost growled, for he wasn’t in the mood to play her idiotic games.
He could tell that Judith was not pleased with his tone. Still under his searing gaze, she only hesitated a moment and said, “He said he needed the money to cover gambling debts.”
“Naturally,” he said mockingly. “You have the gems in your possession?”
“
Not exactly,” she said. “Leslie promised to deliver them tomorrow night.”
“My name never came up?”
“No, and neither did he ask who my friend was. He seemed anxious, Oliver, almost desperate to get his hands on the money. In fact, he could talk of nothing else. And just like you said, he insisted the payment be in gold sovereigns.”
“Did he show you the jewels?”
“Only one, a lovely diamond broach.” Her voice held an anticipatory note as her blue-gray eyes held an avaricious glint. “Quite the loveliest trinket I have ever seen.” There was no mistaking her meaning. She coveted the pin for herself.
Camden let out a low, harsh laugh. “You never fail to disappoint me, Judith.” She looked at him quizzically
, as though she were trying to decide if he was pleased or not, when he added, “If you continue to be a good girl, I’ll see that you are well compensated.”
Obviously satisfied to receive such a sop for her wounded pride, she made no further protests when Camden left her side and quit the room. Though tired, his steps were purposeful for the time had come to marshal his forces together.
Much later in the wee hours of the night after everyone had sought the privacy of their bedchambers, Camden was comfortably ensconced in his host’s study. The glass of excellent brandy he’d been sipping had helped dull the throbbing pain in his shoulder. Seated beside him in the mate to his leather wingback was Lord Gordon Howard, and behind the carved oak desk sat the Marquis of Clairmont.
Somewhat away from the other, straddling a straight back chair, a fourth man sat twirling his black knit cap in one hand.
Raikes’s clothing, a dark corduroy jacket and well worn buckskin breeches, was another factor that set him apart from the three noblemen elegantly attired in evening garb. Shortly before the Viscount arrived, Raikes had slipped through an open window and gave his report to the other two distinguished peers. Then, all three had listened with undivided attention to the Viscount as he described the curious events leading up to that evening. A heavy silence followed while each man digested all that had been imparted before Lord Howard spoke up.
“To further muddy the water, Camden, Mrs. Palmer saw Lady Milbanke’s companion leaving your room this morning. As one would expect, the widow insinuated the circumstances were quite different. My Agatha came to me right away when she heard the gossip. Agatha’s taken a liking to Miss Woodforde and didn’t much care for Judith Palmer spreading such a slanderous tale. I figured something was in the wind, but by Jupiter, never got the notion you’d been shot.”
“Nor I, Camden, and I must say you did an exceptional job of hiding it tonight,” added the Marquis. “However, for our enemy to engage in such a cowardly stunt—and in broad daylight with a witness present—well, it must mean he is getting desperate.”
“Thing is, Camden, can you trust Miss Woodforde?” asked Lord Howard.
“I’d stake my life on it,” was his curt reply.
Clairmont, rearing back in his chair to better study Camden, stated bluntly,
“Sounds like you already have. I’m concerned the lady knows far too much of this matter.”
“She knows nothing,” Camden corrected his superior. “Although she has caught me out enough walking that blasted mutt to suspect me of a great deal.”
“Hhmmm.” Lord Howard didn’t sound convinced. But like the other gentlemen, he seemed surprised by Camden’s ready defense of Miss Woodforde. “I’ve seen Pearson and the émigré both sniffing around her,” Howard commented. “She might unknowingly give you away.”
“She won’t,” Camden replied as he gave each gentleman a direct look.
“How about the other mort?” Raikes asked. Normally he would not interject anything in such a discussion with the other two members of the peerage present. But he knew too much was at stake here.
Camden leveled the wiry man with a knowing eye. “Plain and simple, Mrs. Palmer is greedy. She’ll do what I say for the reward, if for no other reason. She knows only what I told her, which was that I wanted the jewels to replace some of the family heirlooms I sold a while back to cover gaming debts. Whether she believes my story or not is immaterial.”
“Don’t know as I would trust that one, Gov?” Raikes persisted with an uneasy note in his voice.
“I never said a word about trusting the lovely Mrs. Palmer,” said Camden smoothly, although he quirked a questioning eyebrow. Raikes was a good man, but Camden resented any implication that he didn’t know his own business.
Lord Howard cleared his throat in an attempt to defuse their dialog and asked, “Who’s the other Frenchman, Raikes?”
“Don’t know, your lordship. He’s been keeping low during the day. Got to be hiding out or I’d a heard about him since a bloke that big ain’t likely missed. He keeps busy at night stalking the estate, that’s for sure.”
“We’ve reason to believe he’s the French agent who is Pearson’s contact,” added Camden. “There’s also Guyot. He’s a mystery, always one step behind Pearson. We’re not sure if he’s a middle man or a toad eater, leaching off a friend. At any rate, both have been acting deuced peculiar of late.”
“Begging you
r pardon, your lordship,” Raikes addressed the Marquis, “but if you were to ask me, I’d say Pearson’ll be making a dash for Dover soon to hop a boat so he can join up with them Frogs.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me none, Raikes,” concurred Clairmont. “Last report we got said his creditors were beginning to close in on him. That could explain why he’s trying to unload the jewels as well as sell the dispatches to the French.
”
“Captain Hawker
has his men surrounding the estate,” Lord Howard reminded them. “He’s not likely to get away.”
“Good.” Clairmont paused for a moment. “That means the stage is set. A message arrived this afternoon from Whitehall that
said our courier was waylaid yesterday. Whoever the attacker was made off with the diplomatic pouch containing the dispatches.”
From the set of his jaw, Raikes was ready to do battle. “The
courier, did the blackguard kill him?”
“Fortunately, no,” Lord Howard said. “Our man took the main pike to Portsmouth and had stopped at the White Hart Inn in Guildford to change horses. Someone hit him on the noggin from behind when he went to the privy.” Howard shook his head. “He never saw his attacker.”
“What happens next?” The Marquis directed his question to Camden.
“We wait,” said Camden. “Raikes informed me earlier that Captain Hawker’s men have been put on the alert for tomorrow night, ready to follow your orders, my lord.”
Clairmont nodded his head, apparently satisfied with Camden’s answer. “Very well, gentlemen,” said Clairmont, rising. “Let’s hope that tomorrow evening my wife’s ball will be a huge success and we nab our traitor at long last.”
*** Chapter 15 ***
Everywhere about the great house the next morning, footmen and maids were bustling and scurrying around, performing last minute preparations for the
ball that evening. Most of the guests had ridden out with their host who was leading a short excursion around the countryside, more so to get the demanding aristocrats out of the way of the busy servants than anything else.
Predictably, Lady Milbanke opted to lounge in her room in anticipation of the late night ahead, and Chloe dutifully remained behind. Se was on her way to the library to find a
nother diverting Minerva press plot to read to her aunt when she encountered the Marchioness at the broad base of the stairs, instructing a footman where to place flower vases.
Chloe hovered a few steps above her busy hostess, not wanting to appear too forward. She was dreading the day’s inactivity since the baroness required very little, especially with the redoubtable Hannah at hand. Any task would be welcomed and so Chloe asked, “My lady, perchance there is something I may do for you?”
“How kind you are, Miss Woodforde,” the Marchioness replied, turning away from the servant. “Actually, the floral arrangements are the most pressing problem at the moment.”
“Have all the vases been made up?” Chloe asked. “If not, I would be happy to assist you.”
“I would never dream of imposing on you, my dear.”
“It would hardly be an imposition, my lady. Besides, I am rather good at
creating arrangements.”
“Are you?” asked the Marchioness with a quizzical smile. “I confess I lack inspiration and end up sticking the blooms and greenery any which way in a container. The gardeners can do wonders with the grounds, but they know nothing about cut flowers. And as luck would have it, the maids can do little better than me.” She paused a moment, obviously considering Chloe’s offer. “But what about Lady Milbanke?”
“There is Hannah, her abigail, at her disposal, my lady.”
“In that case, I would be grateful for your assistance. The truth is, my dear, I am in a fair way of being completely done in, running between the conservatory and the
kitchen. Armand, our French chef, has picked this day to display his touchy Gallic temperament. The kitchen staff is near revolt with my housekeeper having threatened twice to give notice if the silly man raises the meat cleaver at her one more time. These Frenchmen and their prickly egos,” concluded the Marchioness feelingly before sending for the head gardener, whom she instructed to do whatever Chloe bid.
Chloe did indeed possess a flare for arranging flowers. Upon becoming a part of her aunt’s establishment in Mount Street, she had taken it upon herself to brighten the townhouse with fresh floral bouque
ts the housekeeper purchased from the flower girls who were among the many street vendors hawking their wares on the streets of London.
Thus supplied with a profusion of blooms and greenery garnered from the Court’s extensive gardens and exotic hothouse flowers from the conservatory, Chloe spent an enjoyable morning letting her artistic juices flow, deftly creating dramatic floral designs. When the urns and vases were placed throughout the halls and ballroom
, the Marchioness reviewed the results and showered Chloe with praise.
The Marquis returned with the other guests around lunch time, all in high spirits from the tour of the district. Several guests made flattering observation about the floral decorations, which
highly pleased the Marchioness, who was quick to give Chloe due credit. Their gaiety carried over to a picnic luncheon of cold chicken, sliced ham and mutton, a variety of cheeses and breads with fresh fruits and plenty of wine, served out on the terrace. Since the dining room was being prepared for the elaborate dinner, the Marchioness hoped this would cause a minimal disruption in the preparation of the evening’s meal.
T
hroughout lunch, Chloe stayed by her aunt. Still, it was impossible for her not to notice the sly looks Judith Palmer directed toward her from where the widow sat with Leslie Pearson and the French émigré. Of Camden there was no sign, which caused Chloe to worry that his absence might well be due to his wound, especially when she learned from Sir Morley that the Viscount had been absent from the morning’s excursion about the neighborhood.
Lady Milbanke had been suspiciously gay throughout lunch, and Chloe found the source of her aunt’s mood when the old gal nearly tipped the table over trying to rise from her seat. The infamous silver flask tumbled from the folds of a cashmere shawl that had been in the baroness’s lap and hit the terrace stones with clanging racket, drawing everyone’s eye. With Sir Albert’s supportive arm about Lady Milbanke’s waist, Chloe managed to get the thoroughly soused baroness up to her room and deposited her on the bed. Before Chloe had finished removing her slippers, the old lady was snoring softly.
Afterwards, most of the guests drifted off either to their rooms for a nap or to the back salon to pursue quiet activities. While the ladies applied themselves to needle work, the men played cards or billiards, for all were conscious of keeping out of the way of the harried staff.