And Only to Deceive (11 page)

“I expect he will begin visiting you regularly,” Ivy said.

Mrs. Dunleigh called to her daughter. Evidently my mother had persuaded her to join my father and herself at a soirée that evening; as far as I knew, the rest of the party planned to attend. No one suggested that I come. At the last moment, Margaret declared it vastly unfair that I would be left home alone, and she stayed with me. We brought the port to the library and took turns reading aloud from the
Iliad
until nearly midnight.

I leaned against the doorway for some time after her carriage pulled away, watching shadows in Berkeley Square. Ever since the break-in, I had watched for the man with the scar, but neither I nor my vigilant staff had caught sight of him. Tonight, however, one of the shadows moved more than it ought. It was he. I stepped down from the doorway and onto the sidewalk, peering into the dark. He was with someone, but the moonlight was not bright enough to reveal the other man’s face. Without
pausing to think, I rushed across the street and into the park. My long skirts made running difficult, and I nearly tripped as I crossed the square. The men must have heard me coming and had disappeared by the time I reached the spot where they had stood. On the ground I found a single glove made from the finest leather. It had to belong to a gentleman.

21 J
UNE
1887
B
ERKELEY
S
QUARE,
L
ONDON

I
RODE FOR LONGER THAN USUAL THE NEXT MORNING, ALL
the while trying to determine how I might find the owner of the glove. There were no markings inside it that might identify either maker or owner. I had little hope of figuring out where it had been purchased. Frustrated, I returned home, where I lingered over a late breakfast looking through a stack of letters that needed to be answered and reading the
Times
. The maid serving me was remarkably attentive. Both tea and toast were perfectly prepared and hot when served, and I complimented Susan on her work.

“All of us belowstairs were rooting for you last night, madam,” she replied with a quick curtsy.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I replied, placing my teacup on its saucer.

“Mr. Davis told us you stayed with the gentlemen, madam. I don’t think any of us has ever seen Cook look so pleased. She started planning a special menu for tonight almost at once, said the queen herself would envy it.” Susan leapt to attention at the sound of a soft cough behind her back.

“Mr. Andrew Palmer to see you, Lady Ashton,” Davis said in his most austere tone. “Are you finished here, Susan?”

“Yes, Mr. Davis, sorry,” the maid replied, bobbing another curtsy to me before rushing back downstairs.

“I most humbly apologize, your ladyship. The standard to which I attempt to hold myself was severely compromised by my behavior last night. Please do not think that I encourage gossip among the staff. I—”

“Davis, it’s all right. I don’t mind. They would have found out somehow, and I’m quite pleased to know that Cook, at least, stands behind me.”

“We all do, Lady Ashton.”

“Thank you, Davis. Where did you put Mr. Palmer?”

“He’s waiting in the drawing room.” I finished my tea before going upstairs and paused in front of a large mirror in the hallway to check my appearance. I had not bothered to change after returning from the park; my riding habits had become favorite outfits, as they were the only dresses I owned that would have been black regardless of my being in mourning. I spared no expense on them. The one I donned that day was made from a wool softer than any I had felt before and was cut in a new style, with a vest and jacket over the bodice, all tailored in the most flattering fashion. Pleased with how I looked, I glided into the drawing room.

“Mr. Palmer, how nice to see you. Your father said he expected you soon, but this is quicker than I would have imagined.”

“He received my cable late. By the time he read it, I was nearly home.”

“And what brings you to me at this ghastly hour? Some urgent business?” I smiled as I sat on a crimson velvet chair.

“Frankly, Emily, I assumed that any woman who dares drink port would never keep to conventions concerning the proper hours to call on a friend.”

“Beast.” I laughed, but his face turned serious.

“My poor, dear girl. You must have been more upset by the robbery in Paris than I imagined. I shall have to make a point of taking better care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of, thank you very much. Furthermore, I don’t believe that I have given you permission to do any such thing.”

Now
he
laughed. “You are too sweet. But, really, you have shocked society and given me an unexpected thrill. Though you must realize that I
wholeheartedly disapprove of what you did.” I was not sure if he was teasing me.

“I imagine that by now everyone in London knows what I did, courtesy of the kind efforts of Mrs. Dunleigh.”

“Yes, you were the talk of the party last night, but I shouldn’t trouble my pretty head about it if I were you. Half the people decided you were crazed with grief over Ashton, the other half that you were out of your wits following the burglary. At any rate, no one will remember nor care in another week. Especially after they hear the news I am about to tell you.”

“What?”

“Only the most sensational piece of gossip I’ve ever heard.”

“Tell me!”

“What will you give me in return?”

“Why should I give you anything? You clearly are bursting to share your information.”

“I think I deserve something.”

“Fine. A glass of my infamous port.”

“It’s too early in the day for port, naïve girl.”

“I didn’t mean now.” As I looked at him, his appearance appealed to me more and more. He was not strikingly handsome like Colin, whose features reminded me more of the Praxiteles bust than of the typical Englishman. Instead Andrew’s face was filled with character that jumped to life when he spoke.

“Will you kiss me?”

“Horrible, horrible man!” I said, laughing. “Of course not.”

“Then let me hold your hand in mine when I tell you. It’s the least you can do after such a heartless rejection.”

I sighed and allowed him to take my hand, enjoying his attentions more than I let him know. “Your story had better be good.”

“You do, of course, remember our dear friend Emma Callum?” I nodded. “It appears that her wedding to Lady Haverill’s son will not take place as planned.”

“Good heavens! Why not?” He held my hand more firmly as I tried to lift it from his.

“Because Emma has eloped to Venice with some Italian count.”

“No!”

“Yes. Her father and brother are tracking down the couple even as we speak. She’ll never be able to return to England.”

“Her father will never cut her off. She’ll still have her fortune—and now a title, even if it is Italian.”

“You women are dreadfully prejudiced against younger sons. I feel keenly for my poor brother.”

“I am sorry for Emma’s fiancé. Although there is no doubt that he is out of a bad deal. Perhaps I should be sorry for the count instead.”

“You are priceless. May I have my kiss now?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, but did bestow on him my most charming smile.

“I’m told you’ve been seeing a lot of Hargreaves lately. He must be more entertaining than I thought.”

“Colin? I don’t see him often.”

“You know I would never tell you what to do, but you would do well to watch yourself with him. His charm can be deadly.”

“I assure you I am not at risk.”

“Good. I’m very jealous, you know.”

I wondered if I was letting this flirtation go too far but was enjoying myself too much to stop. Andrew could play the game as well as I could, and he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

“Now, to leave this uncomfortable topic before you persist in breaking my heart further, I do have something serious to ask you.” My heart stopped for a moment, as I feared he was about to propose. “My father keeps meaning to get some ridiculous papers from you. Something Ashton was studying? Alexander and Achilles, I think? Are you familiar with this?”

I sighed. “Yes, I am. I have meant to locate them for some time but
keep getting distracted.” This was the first time I had heard the topic of Philip’s work; now I, too, was interested in finding the papers. I wanted very much to know his thoughts on Achilles.

“Why don’t you let me help you? Where did Philip keep his papers?”

“In the library. But let’s not look for them now,” I said, not wanting to search through Philip’s papers with Andrew watching me.

“I’m afraid I must press you on the matter. My father is quite set on having the monograph published. Can’t imagine that anyone will ever read it. He couldn’t invent a more boring topic if he tried.”

“That’s unfair, Andrew. I find it quite fascinating and would love to read more about it.”

“Emily, Emily, I really must insist that you begin your return to society. Clearly you have spent too much time locked up with yourself if you prefer long-gone civilizations to the living one around you now.”

“The people in those civilizations were not so different than we are, Andrew, and the art and literature they produced are still meaningful today. Surely even you must be moved when you read Homer.” I picked up the
Iliad
and began to read.

Andrew immediately interrupted me. “If you force me to think about prep school, I shall have no choice but to resort to kissing to silence you.”

“Then I shall say nothing more. Come with me, and I will try to find what your father needs.” We walked to the library, where I sat down at Philip’s desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a pile of papers. The manuscript was nowhere to be found. “I’m very sorry, Andrew. Please tell your father that I shall keep looking. It’s sure to be filed away somewhere.”

“I’d happily do it for you if it weren’t such a beautiful day. I want to go riding. Come with me?”

I did not reply.

“Emily? Are you all right?”

I nodded. “Fine, Andrew. Just a bit distracted. What did you say?”

“Want to go riding with me?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.” My eyes rested on a small piece of paper, not unlike the one I had found earlier in Philip’s guide to the British Museum, that was pushed into the back of the desk drawer. I waited until Andrew left to remove and open it. The handwriting was identical to that on the first note. Its message was brief:
“Grave danger.”

26 J
UNE
1887
B
ERKELEY
S
QUARE,
L
ONDON

I
COMPARED THE HANDWRITING ON THE NOTE WITH EVERY
document I could find in Philip’s desk, carefully analyzing each invoice, receipt, and letter. Nothing matched. Furthermore, my husband’s papers could not have been more mundane and gave no indication of what he might have been doing to receive such unsettling correspondence. I locked the note in a desk drawer, next to the other note and the gentleman’s glove.

After a quick luncheon, I changed into an afternoon dress and prepared to leave the house.

“Davis? Where is my bust of Apollo?” I asked, adjusting my hat, which, although black, was still rather smart, in the hall mirror before heading to the front door.

“I’m very sorry, madam. The new parlormaid knocked over its pedestal while she was dusting this morning and broke the nose off the statue. I did save the pieces in case you wish to have it fixed,” Davis replied as he opened the door for me.

“Thank you, Davis. Don’t be too harsh with her; I’m sure it can be repaired adequately,” I said, walking out of the house. I had crossed the tree-filled park in the center of Berkeley Square and was heading to Bruton Street when Colin Hargreaves approached me.

“Mr. Hargreaves, where have you been hiding?” I asked.

“I’ve been meaning to call on you for some time, but business did not allow me the pleasure until this afternoon.”

“Well, as you see, I am not at home. In fact, I am on my way to the British Museum.”

“Surely you do not plan to walk the entire distance? Your carriage would be much quicker.”

“It’s a fine day for a walk. I always feel I must take advantage of a sunny day.”

“There is something most particular about which I would like to speak with you. May I join you?”

“I don’t see why not.” I took the arm he offered, and we continued up Conduit Street. As always, his touch made my skin tingle and brought a smile to my face.

“Do you have any record of the antiquities Ashton purchased in the final months of his life?”

“I imagine so; he kept meticulous records. Why?” I thought back to the receipts I had seen that morning. None had been for antiquities.

“No reason in particular. Did he show you the things he bought?”

“No. I had no idea that he owned such things. You know they were not on display in the town house.”

“Of course. He had a splendid gallery in Ashton Hall. You haven’t seen it?”

“I’ve never been to the estate.”

“That’s rather odd, don’t you think?”

“I never really thought about it.” I looked at him, wondering where this line of questioning would lead. “We returned to London after our wedding trip, and Philip left almost immediately for Africa.”

“Did he ever suggest that you go while he was in Africa?”

“No, quite the contrary. He told me that the house was something of a shambles and suggested that I stay in London.”

“Surely you could have directed the servants to prepare the house.”

“I cannot imagine why you are so concerned about this, Colin.” We began walking again. “I passed the fall with Ivy on her parents’ estate. Why would I have wanted to sequester myself in Derbyshire, away from all my friends?”

“Do you remember Ashton shopping for antiquities while you were on your wedding trip?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Did he ever leave you to conduct business during your travels?”

“Yes, he did. Is that so uncommon?”

“No, but it would be of great assistance to me if you could remember what he was doing.”

“I never asked him. Why all these questions? Had Philip discovered some new archaeological secret? Some long-forgotten Greek vase?”

“No, I’m not suggesting any such thing. I’m wondering if he left any unfinished business that should be completed.”

“It’s awfully late to be considering that, isn’t it? Lord Palmer has asked me to look for papers on one of Philip’s projects. He plans to edit and publish the material. I imagine that any of Philip’s nonacademic business has long since been taken care of by his solicitor.”

“What sort of papers are they?”

“They’re the draft of a monograph. Why are you so interested?”

“I’ve already said more than I ought.” He paused at Tottenham Court Road. “Shall we turn here or continue in Oxford Street?”

“I thought I would go up Bloomsbury Street,” I replied. We walked in silence until we reached Great Russell Street, where Colin deposited me at the entrance to the museum.

“Please excuse my questions if they seemed strange. I only want to help.” I watched him rush back to the street and hail a cab. I shook my head, curious to know what on earth had prompted him to become so belatedly concerned with my husband’s business affairs. Could Colin have written the notes?

Looking at my watch, I realized that I was late for my rendezvous with Lord Palmer, who had promised to give me his own tour of the Greco-Roman collection. Once inside, I found him quickly; I was a bit let down to see that Arthur Palmer, Arabella Dunleigh, and her mother accompanied him, certain that Arthur would have little to contribute to any discussion of classical artifacts.

“Andrew will be disappointed to have missed this party,” Arabella said, smiling at me. She wore what had to be her finest afternoon dress,
blue and green stripes of gauze and moiré over yellow taffeta, with fine lace cuffs. I don’t know that I had ever seen her look so well turned out.

“My brother prefers to spend the afternoon at his club, my dear,” Arthur said with a tone of familiarity that surprised me. I would not have guessed that his relationship with Arabella would progress so quickly.

“Then he must not have realized that Lady Ashton planned to join us,” Arabella replied. Clearly Arthur’s attentions had put her in a generous mood.

“I didn’t tell him because I knew that she hoped for a serious discussion today,” Lord Palmer said. “Andrew’s presence would have detracted from that, I’m afraid.”

“Your son’s talents lie elsewhere, Lord Palmer,” Mrs. Dunleigh said, smiling broadly.

“Yes, I suppose they do,” Lord Palmer answered. “Come now, let’s begin our tour.” I wanted Lord Palmer to show me some simple inscriptions suitable for me to attempt to translate as I studied with my tutor, since I liked very much the idea of working on a text whose original form I could see in the museum. Alas, the rest of our party forced us to move through the exhibits with more speed than I would have wished.

“I’m afraid that I shouldn’t have brought the others,” Lord Palmer said to me quietly. “I had hoped that the young people would amuse each other and that Mrs. Dunleigh would be too busy playing chaperone to detract from our plans.”

“That’s all right, Lord Palmer. It’s been a wonderful afternoon.” I stopped in front of a blue-and-white cameo-glass vase. “This is lovely. Is it Roman?”

“Yes, early first century
A.D.
, I believe. It is one of the more famous pieces in the museum. It must have been nearly fifty years ago now that some…ah, intoxicated bloke leaned on the case and smashed the vase. As you see, the museum staff have done a capital job of repairing the
thing, although, if I remember correctly, they weren’t able to make all the pieces fit.”

“That reminds me, Lord Palmer, that my lovely bust of Apollo has lost its nose after a too-zealous dusting by a maid. I wonder if Mr. Murray could suggest a restorer for me?”

“I know several qualified chaps who could help you out. I’ll send their names to you. I hope your butler reprimanded the maid.”

“Well, it is only a copy, but I’m sure that Davis was as severe as necessary with her.”

I turned around at the sound of a shriek from Arabella, who had just spotted the vase.

“I like this!” she cried.

“It is nothing more than a standard Wedgwood, my dear,” Mrs. Dunleigh said.

“Not quite,” Lord Palmer corrected. “It is the piece that inspired innumerable Wedgwood copies, but they were done in jasperware rather than glass. There was a prize offered to anyone who could duplicate it in glass. The chaps who won were so successful that we are now barraged with cameos in all forms.”

“I should love to have something so beautiful for my own,” Arabella said.

“You could, my dear, for the right price,” Arthur said, his uneven teeth marring his smile.

“Oh, I should never want a copy. I’ll follow Lord Ashton’s example and stick to originals.”

“All originals have a price, Arabella, even those in museums.” He laughed, and I looked at him, wondering what he could possibly mean by such a statement. Before I could inquire, he took Arabella’s arm and whispered something that made her laugh loudly. Mrs. Dunleigh then asked Lord Palmer if we could see the Rosetta Stone, adding that it was the only thing she considered
really
worthwhile in the museum. I closed my eyes and sighed, realizing that the sooner our excursion ended, the better.

T
HE NEXT FEW WEEKS
found me in Andrew’s company more than ever. He took me to the theater, to dinner, and we walked together in the park frequently. At soirées he brazenly monopolized me, something to which I rarely objected. His sarcastic commentary on the scenes before us was always more entertaining than the polite, nonsensical conversation to which I was accustomed. He possessed a seemingly incompatible way of disregarding some rules of society at the same time as he rigorously upheld others. Nonetheless, he grew more charming with closer acquaintance, and I determined that the rules he chose to uphold were the ones he thought would protect me. A foolish effort, of course, but I appreciated it regardless.

My mother did not entirely approve of my spending so much time with Andrew. She liked his family, of course, but felt that I could do better. In her mind, given my own title and fortune, I should be able to attract the most eligible men in the empire. Andrew was heir to a large estate, but one that included very little cash. The property he stood to inherit would make it easy for him to secure generous lines of credit, and I assumed that this was how he, like many gentlemen, supported his flamboyant lifestyle. This, of course, did not impress my mother. The fact that Andrew and I did not observe the social niceties troubled her greatly, and she admonished me to change my behavior lest I ruin my chances of remarriage. Contrary to her intentions, her concerns served only to encourage me.

My becoming more familiar with Andrew did little to fade the specter of Philip’s memory; if anything, it intensified it. After spending an evening with Andrew, I would go home to my empty bed keenly missing my husband. How unfair that I had never laughed with Philip, that I had never teased him, that I had never flirted with him. I thought of our wedding trip and how, when I retired before him, I would lie awake anxiously wondering if he would rouse me when he came to bed, always hoping just a bit that he would. Although he did not inspire any passion in me, I did enjoy our physical encounters; if nothing else, they certainly satisfied my curiosity.

The memory of Philip did not trouble Andrew; as far as he was concerned, the dead are dead and it should be left at that. He did speak about Philip periodically and told me many stories about their friendship. As always, I devoured any new information about Philip, and everything Andrew told me confirmed my belief that my husband had been an extraordinary man.

Margaret, though supportive of anything I did in an attempt to reject society, was not overly fond of Andrew. She said he distracted me from my work, an observation that, while not wholly untrue, I considered unfair. I met with Mr. Moore, my tutor, three mornings a week, and he had been both surprised and pleased by my quick progress toward learning ancient Greek. The only point of contention between us was that I wanted to translate Homer; Mr. Moore insisted that I start with the Xenophon, which was written in the standard Attic dialect spoken in Athens. Margaret and I attended numerous lectures, at both the British Museum and University College, and we hoped to descend upon Cambridge in the near future. What, precisely, we would do there, I was not entirely certain, but I had no doubt that Margaret would come up with something marvelous. If Andrew were less than enthusiastic about our plans, he never suggested that I should abandon them.

Though she would not admit it to me, Ivy clearly harbored the hope that I might marry Andrew. My dear friend longed to see me share the happiness the married state had brought her. Nonetheless, although I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with him, I still had no intention of marrying; I did not want to relinquish control of my life to anyone.

We lunched together frequently at my house, spending an hour in the library afterward before he left for his club. Ivy felt this to be consummate proof that we were near marriage, despite my protests. I was happy to have someone with whom to dine on a regular basis; being a widow sometimes felt very lonely.

“I don’t understand why you spend so much time in the library,” Andrew said after one of our lunches. “Why don’t we go to the drawing room?”

“I much prefer it here. The wood has such a feeling of warmth, and I find being surrounded by books to be greatly comforting.”

“You are a funny girl,” he drawled, sliding closer to me on the settee.

“I like thinking of Philip in here. Colin tells me that they spent many happy evenings in this room.”

“Spare me Hargreaves’s opinion, if you don’t mind.” He stood up and paced in front of my husband’s desk.

“Why do you dislike him so?”

“I don’t dislike him; I just have never felt I could trust him.”

“Has he done you some grave injustice?” I asked mockingly.

“Not precisely, but he’s the sort of man who is very difficult to read. Do you know him well?”

“No, I suppose not, but he’s always seemed to be very straightforward. Philip thought his integrity beyond reproach.”

“Well, I’ve always valued Ashton’s opinion, but I fear in this case he may have been deceived. Hargreaves spends too much time rushing around on spur-of-the-moment trips to the Continent. If you ask me, he’s either up to no good or has a very demanding mistress in Vienna.”

“You are too terrible!” I cried. “I rather like Colin.”