Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (19 page)

“Relax, Gywn,” said Jason, “or you’ll make the boy nervous.”

His words did not register. Her eyes were trained on Mark. She was only vaguely aware of the coachman who approached Jason and, after a moment’s conversation, of Jason’s sudden departure from the scene. She was beginning to think that Mark was too confident by half, and she didn’t much care for the pony either. Now she knew why his name was Bouncer. Though one part of her mind told her that her fears were groundless, that children could take falls far better than adults could, another part of her mind was busily dredging up every bizarre riding accident she’d every heard about.

It started to rain, and Gwyn tried to look disappointed, though what she really wanted to do was cheer. The riding lesson would have to be postponed, and next time she hoped she would be more like herself, and not this shivering jelly she’d turned into in
the last few days. Mark’s pleasure hardly dimmed. The pony had to be rubbed down and stabled. He was in his element.

She couldn’t run or walk quickly so that by the time they entered the house, they were all wet through. In the vestibule, they halted to strip off their coats. The door to the dining room was closed, and from behind that closed door came the sound of voices, a man’s and a woman’s, raised in anger. She recognized Jason’s voice, but not the woman’s.

Brandon looked as though he’d turned to stone. Judith could hardly contain her mirth.

“How did she get in here?” she asked Brandon.

“Who?”

“Who!” scoffed Judith. “You know perfectly well who I mean.” Then to Gwyn, “It’s the divine Lady Daphne, you know, the worldly widow, Jason’s erstwhile mistress, or maybe not so erstwhile if she can come and go here as she pleases.”

Brandon suddenly came to life. He scowled at Judith. “Must you be so vulgar?”

“Must you be so stuffy?” she retorted.

“Upstairs!” Brandon pointed to the archway leading to the stairs.

“What? And miss the fun?” Judith shook her head. “I’m staying right here.”

Brandon gritted his teeth. “Gwyn is soaked through. Do you want her to catch a lung fever?”

“I am not soaked through,” protested Gwyn. Her ears were straining to catch the conversation on the other side of the door.

“Come along, Gwyn.”

“No.”

She wasn’t given a choice. Brandon grasped her elbow and propelled her through the doorway to the stairs. The sound of breaking china halted their
progress. The dining-room door opened, crashing back on its hinges, and a dark-haired Vision in pink velvet, followed closely by Jason, stormed into the vestibule.

“Upstairs!” commanded Brandon in Gwyn’s ear.

But Gwyn dug in her heels and held on to the bannister. She wasn’t going to miss this for anything.

“You told me,” said Jason to the Vision, and sounding thoroughly bored, “that you never wanted to see me again. I took you at your word.”

Lady Daphne pulled up short when she saw Judith. Her frown vanished. Her lips turned up in a smile.

“Miss Dudley, is it not?”

Judith bobbed a curtsy. Her eyes were sparkling. “How do you do, Lady Daphne. I don’t believe we’ve met since Mrs. Crambe’s ball.”

The Vision ignored this idle observation. “I hope you will invite me to the wedding,” she said pleasantly. “Jason and I are such
close
friends.”

“Oh, I don’t expect there will be a wedding,” replied Judith.

At Gwyn’s side, Brandon stiffened. “What in Hades does she think she’s playing at? By tomorrow morning, it will be all over town that she’s Jason’s new mistress.”

Gwyn paid no attention to Brandon. She was peering through the arched doorway, making a thorough inventory of Lady Daphne, and what she saw made her heart sink. This woman wasn’t merely beautiful. She was arresting, the kind of woman who would turn men’s heads when she walked into a room. If she had a failing, it was that she was all in pink. Gwyn couldn’t abide pink.

Jason, she reflected, had always had an eye for the beauties. Nothing had changed, it seemed.

“Permit me to show you to your carriage,” Jason said.

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Lady Daphne. “I’ve forgotten something. What is it? Oh yes, now I remember.”

There was a handsome Sèvres vase on the hall table. She picked it up and smiled at it as though it were a long lost friend. “Oh, dear me,” she said. “How clumsy! Look what I’ve done. I’m afraid it slipped from my fingers.”

“Daphne!” said Jason in a warning tone.

But Lady Daphne paid no heed to Jason. She dropped the vase on the marble floor where it smashed to smithereens, then with a satisfied smile, she sailed out of the house.

There was a prolonged silence, then Gwyn giggled. After a moment, so did Judith, then Brandon’s shoulders began to shake.

With a face like thunder, Jason made straight for Gwyn and Brandon on the stairs. Judith trailed after him.

“That vase,” he said, “that vase … oh, never mind that now. The porters must have let her in. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding.” He raked Gwyn with his eyes. “I don’t think she noticed you on the stairs. And what were you doing on the stairs, anyway? As soon as you saw we had company, you should have retreated to your room.”

“I couldn’t get her to budge,” said Brandon.

“No,” said Gwyn, “because it was so entertaining. It certainly relieved the boredom of the sickroom. Didn’t it, Judith?”

“Mmm,” replied Judith.

“I—” Jason breathed in slowly. “We’re leaving for Haddo at once. No, I don’t think there’s any cause for alarm. But Daphne may have seen you. I don’t want anyone to know you’re here. Be ready in half an hour. I’ll order the carriage round.”

He turned and left them.

“Well!” said Judith, glancing from Gwyn to Brandon. “He might have thanked me for my quick-thinking. I thought I gave a brilliant performance.”

Brandon was livid. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve ruined your reputation. It will be all over London that you’re Jason’s mistress.”

Judith sighed theatrically. “Brandon, does this mean that you care?”

“This is not a joke! Can’t you be serious for once in your life?”

Judith linked arms with Gwyn and they began to climb the stairs. “He’s so stuffy,” she said in a confiding whisper. “But adorable, too. I’m halfway persuaded to ask him to marry me.”

Brandon looked as though he would explode. “Marry you! I’d as soon marry a man-eating tigress.”

Judith pouted. “Now you have cut me to the quick.” She glanced at Gwyn and winked. “Only consider, Brandon, we are a perfect match. You are a fortune hunter, and I am rich beyond your dreams.”

“I am not a fortune hunter!”

“No? Pity. Then perhaps you’d like to marry me for myself?”

Brandon opened his mouth and quickly shut it. In a more moderate tone, he said, “When I decide to marry, Judith, I’m the one who will do the asking.”

“I told you he was stuffy,” said Judith.

Gwyn left them to continue with their endless sniping, and she slipped into her own room. She felt strangely passive, and sat on the edge of a chair, her mind still dwelling on the scene in the vestibule with Lady Daphne.

Since the porters had allowed her carriage through, they must have recognized it on sight. That meant, of course, that Lady Daphne was no passing fancy, but had been Jason’s mistress for some time.

There flitted into her mind a succession of nameless faces, the faces of Jason’s lightskirts; all of them pale copies of Lady Daphne. It had been a great source of amusement to her and Trish to watch them come and go. The good girls, the ones who were angling for marriage, didn’t stand a chance.

She looked around the room and decided it had Lady Daphne stamped all over it. No expense had been spared to furnish it. In comparison, the rest of the house was Spartan, as though it was rarely used. Her eyes strayed to the huge tester bed that dominated the room. It didn’t take a leap of imagination to conclude that the house had only one purpose, and it was right there in that bed.

Jason deserved better than this, better than the likes of Lady Daphne. He should have been married long since. He should have had a wife who loved him and children who adored him. She didn’t want him to be alone, as she’d been alone. He’d turned Haddo around after George’s death. Why couldn’t he turn his own life around? The world was full of eligible, accomplished young women. Why hadn’t he the sense to marry one of them, instead of living like this?

He’d told Mark it was because he was waiting for Princess Charming to come along.
Princess Charming!
Gwyn huffed. Princess Charming was as useless as Lady Daphne. He should be looking for a real flesh-and-blood woman who could be a true companion to him.

She tried to picture Jason married to some lovely young woman, a kindred spirit who would share his life with him. The picture that formed in her mind was so sugary it was sickening.

She was still sitting on the edge of her chair, lost in reverie, when Mark came thundering into the room. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed.

“Haddo!” he cried out. “Cousin Jason says we’re
leaving for Haddo as soon as we’re packed and ready.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but dashed into Jason’s dressing room where he’d slept in a trundle bed for the last few nights. Gwyn could hear him dragging some heavy object across the floor. A moment later, he was back.

He walked over to her and took her hand; his eyes anxiously searched hers. “Don’t you want to go to Haddo, Mama?”

Gwyn looked into her son’s troubled eyes and felt deeply chastened. There was no getting out of going to Haddo. The least she could do was put a face on it. What a pathetic coward she was turning into.

“Of course I want to go to Haddo,” she said, smiling. “I was just waiting for someone to come and help me pack.”

Mark’s face cleared. “I’ll help you, Mama.”

She looked up at that moment to see Jason framed in the dressing-room doorway. He’d obviously entered the dressing room from the other side. He didn’t say anything; he simply stared at her with an enigmatic smile on his face.

He left without saying a word.

At his house on the Strand, Hugo Gerrard threw his newspaper aside, left the dining room and his half-eaten dinner, and made for his library. He hadn’t heard a thing about the Barrie woman and that made him irritable. He’d scoured the papers every day, but there was nothing about a body being discovered in Sutton Row. And there was no word from Harry to say that the job was done.

He had just sat down at his desk when Ralph Wheatley walked in. He’d sent Ralph to Bow Street to find out if the magistrates or runners had heard anything.
Ralph couldn’t ask openly, but his business took him there often enough so that his presence didn’t arouse suspicion and he could pick things up without anyone being aware of it.

“Well?” was all Gerrard said.

“There was a report of a burglary. No one was hurt. There are no suspects and no arrests, but no one knows where Mrs. Barrie is. All they can tell me is that she’s gone to live with relatives.”

Wheatley took a chair without waiting to be invited. “I learned something else. Everyone at Bow Street is hopping mad at Special Branch. They’re throwing their weight about, asking questions about Sackville’s party. Bow Street wants them to back off, but they won’t, and they’ve got the prime minister’s authority behind them.”

Gerrard didn’t like the sound of this. Special Branch was something new, a police force with special responsibility for internal affairs. National security came under its umbrella, not ordinary murders like John Rowland’s. “Why is Special Branch involved?”

“Because one of the guests at Sackville’s party is a cabinet minister. I’m not worried. They can’t connect Rowland to the cabinet minister. Their investigation will grind to a halt in a few days.”

“I suppose they’ll connect Rowland to me eventually. Not that it matters. He wasn’t in my employ that long, and I’m not afraid to answer their questions. I’m above suspicion.”

After a moment, Gerrard went on. “Who was the cabinet minister?”

“Sir James Davenport.”

Gerrard’s lip curled and so, thought Wheatley, must Caligula have looked when one of his murderous rages was on him. “You don’t like him?” It was the nearest he would come to provoking his father.

“No, I don’t like him. I detest him. He has no shame. He should be made to resign, but he’s one of Lord Liverpool’s favorites.” Gerrard’s eyes narrowed on Wheatley. “I thought you said Harry was the best.”

“He is.”

“Then where is Mrs. Barrie? Where is the portrait? And why haven’t we heard from him?”

“We’ll hear from him when the job is done,” replied Wheatley soothingly. “That’s how he works. He sent us a message about Gracie, didn’t he? I have every confidence that in a few days we’ll hear that he has completed this assignment as well.”

Gerrard drummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t like it. I don’t like Mrs. Barrie disappearing like this. What if she tries to blackmail me?”

“There was always that possibility,” Wheatley said carefully.

“Then let’s make sure it never happens.”

Wheatley waited silently for his father to elaborate.