Art and Artifice (8 page)

So even the members of that elite gentlemen’s
club could be fooled. “Corpses should remain flat, if you please,”
Emily reminded her.

Ariadne puffed out a sigh but lay back on the
carpet and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Being pockets to let isn’t enough to
threaten an engagement,” Priscilla said. “A great many people find
themselves with less money than they’d like. That doesn’t make them
criminals.”

“But how is Lady Emily to know he isn’t up to
something more nefarious?” Daphne asked.

“An excellent question,” Emily replied.
“Please forgive me, Ariadne, but I deviated from your plan. I sent
one of our footmen with a note asking if Lord Robert would come
calling this afternoon. I thought perhaps I’d get him to take me to
see the Parthenon Marbles.”

Ariadne smiled. “An excellent strategy. Draw
him out.”

Emily stroked her brush across the oil on her
palette. “I thought so. Unfortunately, he already answered me. He
is too busy today to assist me but will take me to see the Marbles
tomorrow. The footman reported that Lord Robert intends to spend
the day shopping, and this evening he will attend the Marchioness
of Skelcroft’s ball.”

“Well, I like that,” Priscilla said, eyes
narrowing. “He’s only too happy to attend a ball when it isn’t
ours!”

“That seems most unfair,” Daphne agreed.

“He must have some reason,” Ariadne insisted.
“Could the marchioness be the married lady with whom he’d
dallied?”

Emily’s hand jerked, smearing her stroke. She
set the brush and palette down before she could do more damage. “I
suppose I shall have to find a way to ask him, if ever I lay eyes
on him!”

“If Lord Robert is shopping,” Priscilla said,
“you can be certain where he’ll be at some point or other.”

Ariadne and Daphne nodded. “Bond Street,”
they chorused.

And that was how they all arrived on Bond
Street, in search of Lord Robert.

Lady Minerva hadn’t protested when Emily
mentioned that she and her three friends would be visiting the most
famous shopping district in London. She’d even ordered Warburton to
bring around the carriage.

“Just be discreet,” she’d murmured to Emily
as she bent closer to pat the shoulder of her Navy short jacket.
“If you are caught, I shall disavow all knowledge.”

So much for having an ally.

Still, Emily could not help that her spirits
rose as their coachman Mr. Phillips maneuvered the horses down
Brooke Street and out into the crowds along New Bond Street. She
would never have thought it possible, but it was rather a lark to
be dashing about after a gentleman, trying to discover his secrets.
What would she learn about Robert today?

Daphne must have had the same thought, for
she was fairly bouncing against the cushions. “What do you think
Lord Robert is doing right now?” she asked.

“Going to a cunning loan broker to borrow
gambling money against Lady Emily’s dowry,” Ariadne predicted. “Or
to whoever helps him dispose of the virgins he’s probably selling
into slavery.”

“Consulting with his tailor, more likely,”
Priscilla said. “We need only find the shop.”

And that would not be easy, Emily saw.
Fashionable shops hugged the street, their windows displaying all
manner of wonders, from satins that caught the light in a rainbow
of colors to cakes topped with sugared plums. Everywhere strolled
ladies in feathered hats, gentlemen in shining boots. Maids with
parasols and footmen laden with packages followed at a respectful
distance, and children in tattered clothes leaped among them,
offering to hold horses, begging for coins.

“There!” Daphne cried, and Emily jumped.
Following the line of her friend’s finger, she saw a certain tall,
russet-haired gentleman just coming out of Number 13.

“That’s Gentleman Jackson’s,” Ariadne said.
“You know, the Boxing Emporium where gentlemen go to learn
fisticuffs.”

Emily found it hard to imagine Lord Robert
taking a punch to the jaw, but perhaps he was quick enough that he
did more of the punching himself. He certainly didn’t seem any the
worse for wear as he paused to tip his hat to a particularly pretty
woman. Emily rapped on the panel overhead to get Mr. Phillips’s
attention and directed him to let them out at the next corner. But
the moment they set their feet to the pavement, Daphne seized Emily
and Ariadne by an arm and dragged them into a recessed doorway to a
linen draper’s.

“Priscilla,” she hissed, “quick, or he’ll see
you!”

Priscilla slipped into the shadows with them.
“Why are we hiding?” she asked as a group of young Hussars strolled
by, the gold braid of their uniforms winking in the light. “The
entire point of shopping on Bond Street is to see and be seen.”

“The point in shopping today is to learn more
about Lord Robert,” Emily said. “Which will be a bit difficult in
here.”

“I cannot imagine why this works in books,”
Ariadne muttered, shifting to keep her elbow out of Emily’s
stomach. “It’s quite uncomfortable.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want anyone to
notice us following him,” Daphne said. She paused to peer out. “Oh,
it’s all right. He’s moved on.”

They spilled back onto the pavement in time
to see Lord Robert strolling south toward Conduit Street. Emily
tugged down the edges of her jacket and smoothed the wrinkles from
her blue gown. “I appreciate your zeal, Daphne, but as I do wish to
speak to him, I rather have to let him see me.”

Daphne colored. “Sorry.” She absently
adjusted her green wool pelisse as well, stroking over the jade
braiding of the long, fitted coat as if her hands needed something
to do. Priscilla and Ariadne were also tweaking their pale muslin
skirts or straightening a bit of lace across their shoulders.
Anyone would think they’d come to speak to Lord Robert too!

With a shake of her head, Emily started after
him. The scent of lavender was strong from the perfumery next door,
but she fancied she smelled the tang of cloves over it. Then she
spotted him just ahead. He had stopped at a bow window and stood
looking at the merchandise displayed therein. His head was cocked,
as if whatever he contemplated required his complete
concentration.

“That’s Stedman and Vardon,” Priscilla
whispered over the rumble of passing carriages as the four of them
ventured closer. “Jewelers to the Aristocracy.”

Ariadne sighed. “What if he’s purchasing an
engagement present for you, Emily?”

“He’s wasting his time,” Emily informed her.
“At any formal function, I have to wear the Emerson emeralds, at
least until my sister Helena produces an heir, who will then have
to give them to his wife.”

“Still,” Daphne pressed, “it is rather
romantic.”

Emily had no time to comment, for Lord Robert
seemed to have made up his mind. With a nod, he set off away from
them. They hurried to keep up. Other shoppers exited in front of
them, and they detoured around the knot. A street urchin darted
past, shouting, and they lifted their skirts out of the way. The
Hussars caught sight of Priscilla and converged, and that took a
few moments to straighten out, leaving Priscilla with four calling
cards and Daphne, to her amazement, with three.

By the time they caught sight of Lord Robert
again, he was turning the corner onto Vigo Lane.

“Where is he going?” Ariadne panted, one hand
on her straw bonnet, which was already a bit squashed from their
time in the doorway and their confrontation with the soldiers.

“I don’t know,” Priscilla said just as
breathlessly. “But if he continues at this pace, I shall expire on
the pavement!”

“I have some lavender-sulfuric smelling
salts,” Daphne offered. She alone had no trouble keeping up,
striding along with her muslin skirts flapping. “Lord Snedley
highly recommends them after an exertion of a quarter mile or
more.”

Lord Snedley must have the constitution of a
butterfly. But having a weak constitution certainly wasn’t Lord
Robert’s problem. Emily even tried calling to him at one point, but
she must have been too out of breath, for he didn’t so much as
turn.

In fact, he kept walking and walking, and Emily
couldn’t help but notice that they were straying ever farther from
fashionable Bond Street. Soon the shops were narrower and darker,
with no windows facing the avenue and far fewer shoppers. Women
lounged in doorways, eyeing the girls with narrowed eyes. Men in
rough coats and heavy boots stalked past or worse, stopped and
stared.

One slouched up in front of them and held out a
grimy hand.

“Penny for an old man?” the toothless fellow
begged, face even grimier.

Daphne began to open her reticule, but
Priscilla snatched her hand and pulled her on.

“Do not show your money here,” she whispered.
“Emily, I think we should go back.”

Ariadne was gazing about wide-eyed. “No, this
research is priceless.”

“So is your virtue,” Priscilla countered.
“And I for one do not intend to lose it to a ruffian.”

Up ahead, Lord Robert had just entered a
shop. Emily could see the sign hanging above the door.

“Messiers and Sons,” Ariadne read as they
paused to catch their breaths. “And see the diamond below? It’s
another jeweler.”

“Odd place for a jeweler,” Emily mused.

“It’s a consignment shop,” Priscilla said
quietly. “People sell their jewels here when they have nothing left
to sell, or change them to paste copies so no one will know they’re
destitute. Father’s mentioned it.”

So Emily had been right about the money.
Perhaps Lord Robert’s father had gambled away the funds. She
couldn’t see how Robert could have done so; surely his brother
would have put a stop to it.

“We should go,” she said, taking a step back.
“Lord Robert won’t want us to know his family’s in such dire
straights.”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Ariadne murmured. “To
be blighted in his expectations. It’s a classic plot.”

And it explained his need to marry. Emily’s
dowry and estate would come in very handy. But her father must have
been aware of the Townsend’s financial straights from the marriage
settlements, so once again, she had nothing to use to convince him
to break the engagement. Disappointment bit sharply. Could nothing
go right?

Shoulders slumping, she turned with the
others to go back the way they had come. Then she jerked to a
stop.

Blocking their way was the toothless fellow
who had begged for a penny earlier. His face was red and blotchy,
his nose crossed with bulging veins. His shoulders were bunched
under his tattered coat, and his fists were as big as hams.

“Spare a penny or two, love?” The request was
more like a demand, and he shoved out his hand again as if
expecting obedience.

Daphne bumped into Ariadne in her haste to
move away, and Priscilla clutched her reticule closer. That was not
the right approach, Emily was certain. Bullies you had to face
down.

“We have nothing for you,” she said, forcing
herself not to tremble. “Step aside and let us pass.”

“Bossy little thing, ain’t you?” he grumbled,
straightening and narrowing his eyes. “If you’re such a fine lady,
where’s your escort then? Who’s to stop me from taking what I want,
from any of you lot?”

“I am,” a voice said behind him, and Emily
caught her breath.

The toothless behemoth swiveled, and Emily
saw James Cropper standing behind him, feet planted and arms at the
ready. He gave her his two-fingered salute before turning his frown
on the fellow.

“Do as the lady says and step aside.”

The creature easily had a stone’s weight on
Mr. Cropper, and she shuddered to think how his handsome face would
look after it met those grimy fists.

The Bow Street Runner meant to protect her,
but perhaps he was the one who needed protection the most.

Jamie eyed the mountain in front of him. The
bulging veined nose said the fellow drank to excess, and he thought
he detected the least tremor in those once-mighty fists. He’d seen
the man’s like too many times growing up in Ratcliffe. In fact,
beggars, thieves, and no-accounts were no strangers to him. He met
the bully’s gaze straight on, one hand going to the truncheon at
his waist. So long as no more of the fellow’s friends showed up,
Jamie could hold his own.

The beggar seemed to realize as much, or
perhaps he caught the flash of red from Jamie’s waistcoat. Either
way, he ducked his grizzled head and shuffled his feet. “Didn’t
mean no ‘arm, sir. ‘Ow was I to know the lady was with you?”

“I’ll grant you you’ll not meet her likes in
the stews very often,” Jamie said, stepping around him and offering
Lady Emily his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting you
home?”

He avoided her title and name. It wasn’t wise
to advertise either. In such a place, a duke’s daughter would fetch
a high ransom.

But she didn’t seem convinced she was any
safer with him. As Jamie kept one eye on the beggar, Lady Emily
regarded his outstretched arm. He willed her to accept, considered
what he’d do if she refused. Pride that she’d followed Lord Robert
as easily as he had vied with concern for her safety.

But scowling at her would surely do no good,
and he thought her friends at least were as worried for their lives
as he was. So he gentled his smile, gave Lady Emily a nod in
encouragement.

She put her hand on his arm. “The honor is
all mine, sir.”

“Sir, is it now?” The beggar chortled. “Since
when does a lady walk with the likes of you?”

“When the lady is sufficiently gracious,”
Jamie said, steering her past him. “And so are her friends.” His
pointed look sent the other three girls scuttling in their
wake.

Jamie thought the beggar would follow, but
he’d obviously realized Jamie’s calling as a Runner, for he shook
his shaggy head and moved away. Gaze wary, Jamie escorted Lady
Emily and her friends back down the street.