Art and Artifice (9 page)

She strolled along beside him as if they were
touring Hyde Park on a lovely spring afternoon. But she wasn’t
nearly as calm as she pretended. She walked so close her skirts
brushed his boots, and her fingers were so firmly attached to his
arm, he wasn’t sure she’d ever let go. She cast him a quick glance,
but he tugged his hat down lower over his eyes so she couldn’t
catch a glimpse of them. He rather thought her own gaze was far too
knowing. She’d see right through him, and then where would they
be?

But the others appeared to be regarding him
just as fixedly. He’d done a little research, and he was fairly
sure the beautiful blonde was Miss Priscilla Tate, niece to the
Countess of Brentfield. She had settled in on his opposite side, as
if just as loath to be alone in this place. Her gaze roamed over
his coat before she looked away. The material was good brown wool,
the cut serviceable, but the garment was likely not nearly as fine
as what she was used to seeing on a fellow. He glanced back to make
sure the other two were safely in tow. They were the Courdebas
sisters, daughters of Viscount Rollings, he’d learned. He caught
the elder girl eying his shoulders as if wondering how strong he
might be. Her sister had already slipped a journal and pencil from
her reticule and was scribbling notes. She’d be lucky not to trip
over the crooked paving stones.

“It seems we owe you our thanks,” Lady Emily
said as he faced forward once more. “You may well have saved our
lives.”

So she did understand the danger. “You
shouldn’t be here,” he said. “This is no place for a lady.”

Ahead of them, a knot of men had stopped and
were watching. Jamie gave them a nod, hitched aside his coat so
they could see the truncheon hanging from his belt. They turned and
hurried away.

“Yet it appears you are well known here,”
Lady Emily said as if she’d noticed the exchange.

Jamie chuckled. “Oh, I’m no stranger to the
stews. But you should be. Why would you put yourself in such
danger?”

She raised her chin as if she didn’t much
appreciate the reminder. It was a decidedly determined little chin.
“While I acknowledge your help, sir,” she said, “I cannot like your
tone.”

Very likely not. “I imagine most people bow
and scrape when they meet you,” Jamie acknowledged. “You’ll pardon
me if I prefer to save your life.”

“Nice,” Miss Ariadne Courdebas murmured
behind him as if she approved of his phrasing.

“Do you truly think our lives were in
danger?” her sister asked, and Jamie glanced back again to find her
looking about nervously. She had to notice that the shops bumped
into one another, the windows dark and dusty. Only the desperate
found themselves here.

“Four beautiful young ladies, wandering the
streets with purses full of silver?” he replied, turning his gaze
to the front. “What do you think?”

“Beautiful,” her younger sister muttered in
an awed voice. What, did she doubt it? Hadn’t they peered in their
looking glasses recently? Once they came out, he wouldn’t have been
surprised to find a herd of besotted gentlemen following them about
London like bleating sheep on their way to the market.

“I don’t recall Lord Snedley covering the
stews,” Jamie heard the older sister whisper to Miss Tate. She’d
mentioned the name the other day as well. Was he related or someone
from their school? He hadn’t heard the name associated with Lord
Robert, he was sure. But then, who knows how many had been harmed
before someone had been brave enough to step forward and beg for
help from Bow Street?

“I told them this was foolish,” Miss Tate
said aloud. Her hand grazed his arm. “And I for one thank you for
your gallant assistance, Mr. Cropper.”

Jamie nodded to her, winning him a lazy-eyed
smile that was no doubt supposed to knock him to his knees in
adoration. As if Lady Emily had seen the look as well, and
disapproved of it, she tightened her grip on his arm. The movement
had a possessive air about it, but he found he didn’t mind.

“It was fortunate you happened upon us,” she
allowed, detouring around an oily puddle. “And why were you in the
area?”

Jamie grinned at her. “Even a fellow like me
can appreciate the sights of Bond Street, your ladyship.”

Her cheeks turned a warm red. The color
favored her.

“I told her he was following her,” the older
Miss Courdebas murmured behind them.

“Positively romantic,” her sister replied,
pencil scratching even faster against the paper.

Jamie couldn’t leave them with that
impression. “It wasn’t my intent to follow any of you. As a Runner,
I’m about in London a great deal. It isn’t all that surprising our
paths would cross. In fact, I might wonder whether
you
were
following
me
.”

Miss Tate trilled a laugh designed to
enchant, but Lady Emily stiffened. Was there more truth to his jest
than he knew?

“We were not following you, Mr. Cropper,” she
said with a look to her friend as if to ensure her silence on the
matter. “We had other business in the area.”

Jamie raised a brow as he regarded her.
“Business. In the stews.”

Her color rose even higher. He decided to
have mercy on her and leaned closer, catching the scent of lemon
again. “You were following Lord Robert Townsend, even after I
advised you that was a bad idea. Admit it.”

She raised her chin. “If you recall, I also
advised you that if you would not help me I must help myself, Mr.
Cropper.”

“Yet you won’t give me anything to go on,”
Jamie countered. “If you suspect Lord Robert of something, tell
me.”

Her gaze met his in challenge. “And if you
know something about him, sir, I demand that you speak plainly. We
have found nothing worth documenting.”

One of the Courdebas sisters puffed out a
sigh as if to prove as much.

“Which is why you chose to follow him all
over London.” He shook his head. “Have a care, Lady Emily. He may
just turn out to be a scoundrel. For everyone’s sake, it would be
better if you left the fellow alone.”

* * *

James Cropper insisted on escorting them back
to the Southwell townhouse. He and Daphne took the rear-facing
seat, and Emily felt his gaze on her all the way. What, did he
think she’d leap from a moving carriage? Pull a pistol from her
reticule and hold him hostage until he admitted why he was
following them? As if he suspected her thoughts, he leaned back,
crossed his arms over his broad chest, and winked at her.

Her dratted cheeks would heat.

She thought he would say his goodbyes when
they reached the townhouse, but instead he spent several moments in
stern conversation with Warburton. When he touched two fingers to
his forehead in goodbye, Emily raised her chin and looked away.
Priscilla nodded as if she were quite proud of her.

Warburton, however, was far less
complimentary. “I hope Mr. Cropper was able to impress upon you the
seriousness of your actions,” he said, affixing them all with a
hard-eyed look. “If your parents found out, Miss Tate, Misses
Courdebas, I rather doubt they’d allow you to visit Bond Street
again.”

Daphne and Ariadne hung their heads, and
Priscilla’s expressive eyes filled with tears.

“We are sincerely sorry, Mr. Warburton,” she
said tremulously. “And we would be most grateful if you could find
it in your heart not to tell our parents. Surely we should spare
them such worry.”

Ariadne began looking for her pencil.

Warburton gazed down at her. “I believe that
can be arranged, Miss Tate. However, you must understand that
London can be a dangerous place, whether you are on Bond Street or
in Mayfair. Are you aware that this house was robbed the other
day?”

If he had not had their attention before, he
had it now.

“When?” Priscilla demanded, tears
evaporating.

“Why wasn’t I told?” Emily scolded him.

Warburton’s calm demeanor did not waiver. “It
was before you arrived, your ladyship. Lady Minerva’s pearls were
taken. Your father was most displeased, and Lady Minerva spent some
time speaking with Bow Street about the matter.”

“That’s how you knew Mr. Cropper,” Emily
realized, frowning up at her butler. “He’d been here before, about
the pearls.”

Warburton inclined his head. “That was my
most recent acquaintance with Mr. Cropper, yes.”

“Most recent?” Ariadne put in. “Then you’d
met him before.”

Warburton lowered his head and regarded her
so steadily Emily could see her friend’s color rising. “I believe,
Miss Courdebas, that we were discussing your recent behavior, not
mine.”

He might not wish to confess before
witnesses, but Emily resolved to quiz him further later.

As if satisfied he had made his point, he
straightened. “In exchange for not burdening your parents or Lady
Minerva with news of your escapades, I will have your promises that
you will not be so foolhardy again.”

Of course, they all promised to be more
careful. Once again, the butler’s smooth face did not betray his
feelings, but Emily thought by the quirk of his mouth that he was
not entirely sure he believed them. “And as it appears that you
lack ideas for appropriate activities for young ladies,” he
continued, “allow me to provide you with entertainment more fitting
to your stations. I’m certain I can find something to keep you
occupied until her ladyship returns from visiting.”

* * *

“Cleaning the attic!” Daphne moaned as they
stared into the dark recesses atop the Southwell townhouse.

“We are not cleaning,” Priscilla said,
running a finger along the top of the nearest trunk and shuddering.
“Maids clean. We are looking for gowns that might be useful to
Emily during her Season.”

“If I have a Season,” Emily reminded her. Her
mood was nearly as dark as the shadows crowding the eaves, her
thoughts as dry as the musty air. What was James Cropper doing? He
knew there had been a theft in her home, yet he’d never seen fit to
mention the fact to her. Worse, he followed them around and then
had the audacity to claim that
she
was following
him
!
While she had already admitted that his help had been welcome in
facing down the beggar, he didn’t have to escort them home and then
tell Warburton, in excruciating detail no doubt, about their
activities. He might be a prestigious Bow Street Runner, but James
Cropper was nothing but an overweening tattletale in her book!

“Are there any gowns up here?” Ariadne asked,
poking at something tall, bulky, and draped in a white Holland
cloth.

Emily shrugged. “Who knows? Do not mistake this for
entertainment. Warburton was doing us no favor.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Daphne said, venturing
deeper into the space. “Who knows what we might find.” She raised
the lamp Warburton had given them, and boxes, trunks, odd chairs,
and mysterious shapes cast grotesque shadows in the golden
light.

“The treasures of the ages,” Ariadne intoned,
lifting a gilded globe and giving it a spin. Dust flew out in all
directions, and she sneezed.

“Better treasure than at my house,” Priscilla
said, bending over the trunk. She lifted the leather-strapped lid
and made a face. “Or perhaps not. These are old bed linens. Try
that one.”

Daphne obligingly set the lamp on an old
table and bent over one of the larger trunks.

“But if there was treasure here, how do we
know it wasn’t taken as well?” Ariadne mused, lifting another
Holland cover and peering underneath. “It must have been someone
quite bold to steal from a duke.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had been
home, Emily,” Daphne said, wrestling open the larger trunk nearest
her. “You aren’t afraid of anything, and you’re far too clever.”
Her face brightened. “Oh, look, bonnets!”

Priscilla and Ariadne hurried over and peered
down into the depths. Emily came more slowly. It was rather nice
that her friend thought her so brave, but at the moment, fear was
beginning to gain a hold on her. What if they could find no fault
to lay at Lord Robert’s door, no reason to accuse him to His Grace?
Would she actually have to marry the fellow?

The attic felt tight suddenly, the roof too
low, the air too stuffy to breathe. She rubbed her hands up and
down the sleeves of her gown, but the panic kept rising.

“Perfection,” Priscilla declared. She pulled
a bonnet from the tissue that had wrapped it and clapped it on
Ariadne’s head. “What do you think, Emily?”

The woven white reed cage wrapped about
Ariadne’s round face, making it look as if she had disappeared down
a long tunnel. The four blackbirds on top stared out with a
malevolent gleam in their amber glass eyes.

The panic that had been bubbling upside Emily
popped, and she started to laugh. “Very fetching. You should wear
it to the Ball.”

Ariadne pulled it off. “No, thank you. I
intend to pick my own gowns and bonnets. I’m sick to death of white
muslin, white silk, white anything!”

“Lord Snedley advises it for young ladies on
their first Season,” Daphne explained. “As does Mother.”

“Plain white passed out of fashion ages ago,”
Priscilla said, lifting her skirts to kneel before the trunk.
“Simply tell your mother that Lord Snedley is mistaken.”

Daphne gasped at the heresy, but Ariadne
dropped her gaze with a sigh. “It’s much easier for me to write my
thoughts than to speak them, Priscilla. Except with all of you, of
course.”

Priscilla sighed as well. “Then I suppose
it’s good that you have us all to support you. Though I do think
you could do with a bit of boldness.” She put aside the other
bonnets and reached for the material they could see stored
beneath.

“So long as you aren’t as bold as Lord
Robert,” Daphne said, giving her sister’s arm a squeeze, “and
announce your engagement without having seen your intended.”