Damsel in Distress (20 page)

“It might be best to let him handle it, though. His daughter, after all. If anything goes wrong ...”

“He was in such a state when he left. I fear he will do something rash and get himself killed. I would like to have it all over before he gets here.”

“I hope it ain’t all over for you, my girl. Biting off more than you can chew, but between the two of us, we might manage to chew it up and spit it out. You can count on me. Anything for Helen.” He lifted his fat chin and added nobly, “King Arthur, I daresay, would do no less.”

She tweaked his ear. “What an excellent cousin you are. I shall buy you a round table if we succeed.” And I shall talk Dolmain down out of the boughs for countermanding his orders, she added to herself.

When they reached Marine Parade, the first item of business was to assure Lady Milchamp that Helen was alive, but in danger. The second was to outline the plan, and discover whether there was a likeness of Lady Dolmain in the house.

“In Lady Helen’s room,” Lady Milchamp said. “A smaller copy taken from the original. Helen had it done so that she would always have a picture of her mama. It is not so good as the Lawrence portrait, of course, but quite like.”

“May I see it, ma’am?” Caro asked.

Mrs. Lorimer was sent to fetch it. Caroline was accustomed to hearing herself called beautiful, but the lady in the portrait took her breath away. Her hair was a cloud of golden curls encircling a heart-shaped face. A band of laurel leaves sat on her head like a crown. Long-lashed emerald green eyes gazed serenely out at the world. The full lips were drawn up in a small, seductive smile.

“No wonder Dolmain fell in love with her,” Caroline said.

“The original flattered her; this copy gilds the lily. Her eyes were not that large and much lighter, though it is true the whole city was running mad for her,” Lady Milchamp said, which did little to restore Caro’s confidence.

But she had a job to do, and settled down to study the portrait with a view to imitating the hairstyle and gown. There was, alas, no hope of her face suddenly turning into a heart shape, or her eyes doubling in size. The hair was the most distinguishing feature, however, and it was capable of being copied in a wig. The gown would be even easier to duplicate. A simple band of white rolled gauze encircled her shoulders and nestled between an enviable pair of breasts, like two satin melons. A few inches of green material had been sketched in below the white collar. She wore no jewelry save a pair of pearl drops at her ears.

“You can wear my pearl eardrops,” Georgie offered.

“And my gauze shawl around your shoulders,” Lady Milchamp added. “There is a laurel bush in the backyard.”

“Good. Now all we require is a wig,” Caroline said.

“A wig? Oh, my dear, I doubt there is such a thing for sale in the whole town,” Lady Milchamp said. “Monsieur Dubé sells hairpieces, just a lock or two to fill out a thinning head, but a whole wig
—
no one wears them nowadays.”

“Whoever supplies the theaters would have them,” Georgie said. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement again.

“Leave it to me,” Newt announced, and left to tour the town until he found either a theater or a shop selling wigs.

Georgie cleared her throat and said, “This might be a good time for you to ... er, clean yourself up a little, Caro.”

Glancing down, Caroline was surprised to see the dusty old gray gown. She had forgotten she was still in disguise. She had cast off the gloves in the carriage. Her white hands stood out in sharp contrast to her soiled arms.

“Yes,” she said distractedly. She rose and looked in the mirror at her bedraggled and dusty hair sticking out around the mobcap. “I certainly do not look much like Lady Dolmain in this outfit, do I?” she asked in a wistful voice.

Lady Milchamp made a statement that went a long way to overcoming the aversion she had caused thus far. “Dolmain would not have singled you out for his attentions if you did.”

It would have been too farouche to thank the lady, but Caro honored her with a warm smile.

She went to seek Mrs. Lorimer and order hot water for a bath. The housekeeper showed her to a guest room and said she would have Lorimer take up the water right away.

“I knew hot water would be needed and have both cauldrons full. Your things are laid out in the rose room, milady. Have you had any luck finding Lady Helen?” she asked hopefully.

Caroline outlined what she had discovered, and what she meant to do. The rose room was prettily elegant. The combination of mahogany furnishings and rose lutestring window and bed hangings was a felicitous one. The walls were covered in a creamy paper dappled with roses.

After Caroline’s bath, Mrs. Lorimer helped her dress and arrange Lady Milchamp’s white gauze shawl in the proper fashion around her shoulders. Caro’s rose shot silk did not expose as much breast as the gown in the picture, but the general effect was similar. She added Georgie’s pearl eardrops.

“Now, if only Newt finds a wig,” she said.

“It is nearly time for dinner, milady. Come and eat a bite first. The wig will be uncomfortable. You can put it on at the last minute? I intertwined a laurel branch with wire to make a crown of it. It turned out well.”

When Caro went below, Newton had returned with a white wig he had bought in a pawnshop. The color was wrong, but the style was almost right.

“I figured at night, it might pass for blond,” he said.

Lady Milchamp added, “I daresay Marie-Hélène’s hair would no longer be that pretty reddish blond shade, if she were alive. Not the way she lived. She would be over forty now.”

Georgie shook her head. “How fleeting life is.”

“And beauty,” Lady Milchamp added, with a note of satisfaction. She had never been a beauty; it pleased her to see the Incomparables with whom she had made her debut sink into flesh and wrinkles, until they were no lovelier than herself.

But for Caroline, it was a sad thought. Her youth and beauty were slipping by, and with Julian gone, she had no one with whom to spend the rest of her life. More and more, she knew it was Dolmain she wanted to be with. Would he ever risk marriage again after his disastrous experience with Marie?

She pondered the incongruity of their positions. Both matches had been frowned on by the families. Yet she had had such a wonderful life with Julian that she feared she would never find anyone to replace him. Marie had shown Dolmain such a wretched time that he feared to love again. What they had in common was a wish to have a family. It seemed like fate that they had found each other. She knew he could replace Julian, but could she make him forget the faithless Marie?

She was hungry, yet did not feel like eating. The turbot in cream sauce reminded her of Renée. She wondered if they were actually trying to eat that horrid concoction she had made. She wondered, too, if Dolmain had eaten yet. He had been on the point of exhaustion when he left, hours ago. She sipped her wine, brooding as the shadows lengthened into twilight. She and Newt would not go to Bartholomew Avenue until after dark. They would watch the upper-story windows to see which room Helen went to after dinner. A light would go on, briefly at least.

“About the ladder, Caro,
”
Newt said, drawing her from her reverie, “I discovered one in an unlocked shed at the back of the Town Hall. The outfit looks good. Did I tell you I bought some makeup to try to make your eyes look bigger? Had a word with an actress in the pawnshop. Had black lines drawn around her eyes. She says all the actresses use it to make their eyes look bigger. Pity hers was so squinty.”

Lady Milchamp and Georgie carried the burden of conversation over dinner. They discussed mutual friends from the days of their debut. Caroline let the talk wash over her. It was eight o’clock. Darkness was fast closing in. Was Dolmain on his way to Brighton yet? Had he got the money rounded up? She wondered how much Bellefeuille had demanded, and hoped it was a sum Dolmain could manage.

When dinner was over she went to her bedchamber to try on the wig and to use the kohl pencil. Newt went with her. The pencil had a tendency to smudge at the slightest touch. Newton sharpened the point with his clasp knife, and she applied a line around her eyes. It lent her an exotic appearance. Then she put on the white wig, and was suddenly transformed into an old lady. She felt again that sense of urgency at time passing, at life passing her by. The crown of laurel leaves looked exactly like the one in the portrait. Perhaps it had come from the same tree. Lady Milchamp mentioned the portrait had been done in Brighton at the time of the marriage.

“Lower the lamp,” Newt suggested.

She did so, and the white wig became a pale blur. She smiled the coquettish smile of the portrait. The likeness was striking enough to fool someone from a distance.

“By Jove! That’s something like!” Newt said. “Why, if I didn’t know you, I could fall in love with you myself.”

She made a moue at him in the mirror. “Not to say that I couldn’t ... I mean ... Oh, dash it, you know what I mean.”

“
Yes, I know. It is time to go, Newt.” She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer for success.

“Take your pistol,” Newt said. “The Lord helps them that help themselves.”

Lady Milchamp, Georgie, and the Lorimers approved of the impersonation, wished them well, and saw them off at the door.

Lady Milchamp called from the doorway, “I just remembered something that might help, Lady Winbourne. Marie-Hélène was used to call Helen
Minou
as a pet name.”

“Good, I shall call her that.”

She and Newt climbed into the carriage, and were off to Bartholomew Avenue.

* * *

Lord Dolmain was not in his carriage, but mounted on a blood gray gelding, riding hell for leather toward Brighton. The ransom of fifty thousand pounds was in his saddlebag. It had taken him an hour to accumulate the sum. The majority of his funds was tied up in various investments. Fortunately, his credit was good, but if he lost that much money, things would be tight. He could hardly ask Caro to marry a man who would have to skint and save for ten years. Caro
—
Helen
—
the two cherished names and faces swirled in his brain.

He had not stopped to eat dinner. His housekeeper had made him a cold beef sandwich to take with him. He had nibbled at it when he stopped to change mounts, but couldn’t swallow for the lump of anxiety in his throat. He had drunk a little wine. He didn’t want to become bosky, but needed some bottled courage.

The note ordered him to place the money in the southeast corner stall of the fish market, which would be unoccupied at midnight. If he got to Brighton early enough, he could have constables or friends hiding to catch Bellefeuille as he collected the money. Of course, that was why Bellefeuille had sent the note to London and arranged the pickup in Brighton; so that he would have to scramble, leaving no time for plans.

Riding back instead of driving saved him a few hours, but it was taking its toll on his strength. Every muscle ached; he felt as if he had been marched over by an army. A note telling him where he could find Helen was supposed to be waiting for him at half past midnight at the Bull, a tavern at the west end of Brighton, well removed from the fish market, of course. Bellefeuille had added a dozen warnings. Any wavering from his orders would be instant death for Helen.

But who was to say the note would be waiting for him, or that Helen was even alive? If anything happened to her
—
If anything happened to Caro! No, she wouldn’t do anything foolish. She had promised she would not. Losing one of the women he loved would be bad enough. If he lost them both ...

He dug his heels into the gray’s flanks, urging it on faster, faster, until he was flying through the night.

Newton drove his carriage into the driveway of the Town Hall. He and Caro got out and peered through the bushes to Bartholomew Avenue. There were lamps burning on the ground floor of the little cottage, but none in the upper story.

“They would be dining now,” Caro said.

Newt’s groom, Ankel, had been conscripted to assist them. They watched the cottage for thirty minutes. Caro passed the time by describing in detail her visit to the derelict little cottage. It helped to keep her fears at bay.

At nine-thirty she said, “The dinner was to be a simple one, with plenty of wine for Helen. Half an hour seems enough time.” Yet there was still no light abovestairs.

“Happen they’ve stashed her in a back room so’s no one would spot her at the winder,” Ankel suggested.

“That’s it. Clever thinking, Ankel!” Caroline exclaimed.

He touched his temple. “Just using what the good Lord give me. I’ll ankle along and have a peep, shall I?”

“Good lad,” Newt said. “I’ll get the ladder. If a guard or such comes along, Caro, you must distract him.”

“How?” she asked.

“That’ll be no problem,” Ankel said. “He will take  you for a lightskirt. Hee hee. A painted woman out alone after dark.”

“Now, see here, Ankel!” Newt blustered.

“Mind you, a very choice bit o’ muslin, meaning no disrespect, milady,” Ankel offered apologetically.

No guard came while the men were away. Newt was the first one back, dragging a long ladder behind him.

Ankel soon joined them. “Top left corner,” he announced. “Window shut, blind drawn, a light inside.”

“That’s it, then,” Newt said. “Take an end of this ladder, Ankel. Caro, you run into the street and see no one is about.”

“They’ll take us for a pair o’ ken smashers,” Ankel said, shaking his head and laughing. “Or are we eloping, sir? We will never live it down if word gets about. Hee hee.” He slapped his thigh in appreciation of his wicked wit.

Caro went around the corner first and returned to tell them the way was clear. The street was dark, with only a fingernail of moon and a light sprinkling of stars to show the way. They kept to the shadows of a row of straggling houses that lined the street, moving so quickly that Caroline had difficulty keeping pace with them. At the cottage, they slipped along the side of the house to the rear. The ladder clattered as it was placed against the house.