Lady Madeline's Folly (16 page)

“Yes, do that, Fordwich,” his sister said. “You’ll hear they had some reason to open the letters themselves before sending them to you, and did not bother to put on a new seal.”

“I think not. There are no cross-outs in the letters. I am going to get dressed. Call my valet, Maddie.”

“A tempest in a teapot,” Lady Margaret said to Madeline as they returned belowstairs. “Where is Henry? Will he be dining with us?”

“Probably not. Papa wants him upstairs now in any case. Evans, has Mr. Aldred come in yet?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s in the study.”

“Send him up to my father, please. Papa will want him to go off to Westminster.”

It was a full hour before Aldred returned. When he came back from Westminster, he had Lord Tilsit and Lord Eldon with him. Fordwich was dressed and awaiting them in his private study. The ladies and Aldred were excluded from the discussion that went forth. There was no shouting, no vocal sign of anger, but the closed door told them the matter was troublesome. After perhaps fifteen minutes, Mr. Aldred was sent for.

“They cannot think
Henry
had anything to do with it!” Madeline said to her aunt, outraged at the notion.

“He was here. He handles your father’s correspondence.”

“He doesn’t handle the dispatch boxes, except perhaps to pass them on to Papa. And he wasn’t here when it arrived either. Evans told me he had gone out.”

“Maybe he came back.”

“Yes, and maybe Eskott took a look while he came slipping in, unannounced. He was here; he told us so, remember? But Evans and the footman say he did not knock at the door.”

“He often comes in without knocking.”

“Yes, to see what he can learn at keyholes.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

Before their conversation had quite deteriorated into a fight, Aldred was back. “What a brouhaha! They’ve got the footman up on the mat now, trying to discover if he knows anything. The letters had not been opened and resealed before their departure from Westminster. Unless the courier has turned spy, it looks as though it happened here. A clumsy enough job too. The work of a servant, if you ask me. I daresay half our servants are serving the Whigs, if the truth were known.”

“I cannot think so, Mr. Aldred,” Lady Margaret said stiffly, bristling over his casual
“our
servants.” “Our servants have been with the family for years, and in most cases, their parents before them. Servants do not concern themselves with politics in any case. It is nothing to them.” With a truly blighting stare, she arose and swept from the room, to stroll slowly past the closed study door, trying to overhear what was passing within.

Henry turned to Madeline. “I hope your father does not think
I
had anything to do with it,” he said.

“Of course not. You weren’t even here at the time. He had already sent you on an errand, had he not?”

“To tell the truth, I didn’t notice if the red box was on the table when I left. It might have been.”

“It wasn’t. Evans says you were already putting on your coat when he went downstairs for tea, and the box had not arrived yet.”

“Yes, but I didn’t leave immediately. I went back to the study to get some letters of my own to post while I was out. I stopped and had a few words with the footman who was dusting—just teasing him a little about that maid he is always ogling, you know. Then he left the room for a minute, and I collected and sealed up my letters. There was no one in the hallway when I actually left. Eskott’s carriage was just drawing away when I got on to the street. I recognized it, but I’m afraid I didn’t notice whether the dispatch box had come while I was busy in the study. You don’t suppose Eskott... ? No, of course he would not. He is too fine a gentleman to do such a thing. What
is
the great commotion all about anyway? What was in the box, that they are so upset about it?”

Madeline was about to tell him when she changed her mind. “I don’t know. Some highly secret business, I assume. Something the Whigs would turn to their advantage if they knew of it. You’re
sure
you can’t remember whether the dispatch box was there when you left? Red—it stands out. You would have taken it up to Papa before leaving if it had been there.”

“I can’t be positive. I was distracted at your seeing so much of Eskott, to tell the truth. I haven’t said anything, Maddie, but—well, you
are
seeing a good deal of him lately. That was on my mind. Some little corner of my mind seems to remember, but I can’t be sure the box was there. If it was
not,
then of course it cannot have been Eskott who tampered with it.”

“No, it cannot.” And it cannot have been
you
either, she thought to herself.

“Unless he spotted the courier as he drove away, and came back, knowing the hallway was unattended,” he added reluctantly.

“It would be attended when the courier knocked on the door, Henry.
He
would not enter unbidden,” she pointed out.

“That’s true. He would have had to wait till the footman left, and there would be no saying the box was not taken immediately to Fordwich, as it should have been. I personally cannot think for a minute Eskott would do such a thing. I place my money on the servants, your aunt’s prejudices notwithstanding.”

Lady Margaret returned to them, no wiser than when she had left. Nothing could be overheard through the door except Fordwich sneezing his head off. He was coming down with a cold; that was why he felt so wretched. They’d all get it. Before she sat down, dinner was announced.

“Will Lord Fordwich be joining you, as he has left his bed?” the servant asked.

“I doubt he’ll be finished before midnight. We shall eat without him,” Lady Margaret answered.

“I am leaving now,” Henry said, “Your father does not need me. As you told me you were staying home, I made plans to dine with Taffy and some friends at one of his clubs. I shall be back tomorrow bright and early, to discover what happened.”

“Thank God for that,” Lady Margaret said when he was gone. “This evening will be vile enough without his chattering.”

Madeline glared mutinously, but said nothing.

Chapter Fourteen

There was little conversation over dinner. Madeline was
trying to decide whether Eskott could possibly have wanted badly enough to know what was transpiring at Downing Street to open letters that did not belong to him. There was no denying he was ambitious. He wanted that woolsack very much. The Whigs had been waiting endless years to form the government. This was the best chance that was likely to come their way.

If the prince regent did not bring in his erstwhile friends now, when would it ever happen? They all knew it, and were furiously frustrated. And if that red box had been at the door when he came... The only other possible culprit was Henry, and why would
he
bother to risk so much to open letters he would soon have easy and proper access to? He was a Tory; there was nothing for him to gain by this underhanded trick. She wondered if Eskott had put Henry up to it, for she knew that vague hints had often been proffered to her cousin by Eskott.

But if that were the case, Henry would not have mentioned Eskott’s being at the house. Had she mentioned it first? No, it was Henry who’d volunteered the information.

Aunt Margaret chatted on about the malign influence of a cold on one of Fordwich’s years, about returning to Highgate Park, and about the bishop’s wife and daughters, while Madeline answered in monosyllables. It had to be Eskott. Nothing else made any sense. She had not a gentleman’s strict ideas of honorable behavior, but she knew this was conduct heinous enough to ruin his reputation, at least amongst the Tories. If the Whigs were able to come into power by acting on what he had learned, on the other hand, she doubted very much he would long wear the guise of a villain.

When dinner was over and the ladies retired to the Gold Saloon, Fordwich and his cohorts were already there, having a glass of wine.

“The ladies know all about it,” he explained. “I trust my own family’s discretion. They do not go out this evening.”

“Do you trust your cousin’s boy equally implicitly?” Lord Tilsit asked blandly.

“What would be the point of his snooping? He is one of us. Certainly I trust him. What we must decide is whether to pull back on the matter of Sidmouth’s appointment as lord president of the council. It is a risky business. The appointment could always be made later.”

“Sidmouth would never sit still for it. He still has his own circle of influence. Prinney already knows we want him. The fat is in the fire,” Eldon said fatalistically. “If the Whigs come up with an acceptable cabinet—if they back down on some of their less attractive policies—I fear we are for oblivion.”

“We must count on the influence of our friends on Manchester Square,” Tilsit said.

“Thank God Lady Hertford still has something to say about it,” Eldon added.

Into the midst of this controversy, Lord Eskott’s presence was announced by the butler. He entered, outfitted in black formal clothes for his night’s activities. A mischievous smile sparkled in his eyes as he looked around the room, where every face wore a frown.

“A small caucus to discuss the imminent demise of the government?” he asked leadingly. “I think it excessively poor decision-making on Perceval’s part to put Sidmouth forward so soon after dispensing with Prinney’s bosom beau, Wellesley. But then you Honorable Gentlemen excel at the fine art of making bad decisions. Good evening, Lady Margaret, Maddie. Got a chair for a Whig, or shall I be discreet and retire?”

He was soon aware that the latter was the wiser choice. The men glared at him with open hostility, while Madeline’s eyes narrowed in conjecture. How did he
know,
if he had not read the letter?

“May we know how you come to be so well informed of private matters, Eskott?” she asked.

“Private? It is quite publicly discussed at Brook’s I assure you. Did you hope to keep such a choice tidbit secret? Not much chance. The prince regent is blubbering all over his mistress’s bosom what a foul trick you hope to play him.”

“I cannot think Lady Hertford told anyone she does not trust,” Tilsit suggested.

“Then it seems she must have misplaced her trust, does it not?”

“It seems to
us
the affair was not circulated by Lady Hertford, but by someone else,” Madeline said.

“Some demmed Whig like myself, you mean?” he asked, enjoying their discomfort.

“Precisely!” she shot back angrily.

Eskott looked at her, realizing there were some undercurrents here he had not fathomed. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me your theory in this regard?”

“It is not theory but
a fact
that my father’s dispatch box was pilfered this afternoon. His letters were opened and perused, then clumsily resealed.”

“I am dismayed to learn state secrets are left lying about the house unguarded. When and how did this occur?”

“It happened here sometime around the hour of your visit, Lord Eskott,” she answered.

“That is a highly provocative statement, ma’am,” he answered, his voice becoming tense with indignation. “There is at least an inference in there that
I
was the one to do the tampering.”

“I don’t know who else it might have been!”

“Do you not? I must say someone else occurs to
me.”

“We do not have other
Whig
callers, Eskott, and obviously this is not the work of one of our own,” she answered hastily, knowing he referred to Henry.

“In fact you are accusing me of opening private and confidential correspondence directed to someone else?” he asked, his voice nearly inaudible with incredulous ire.

She tilted her chin an inch higher and glared, saying nothing. Eskott was suddenly on his feet, his glance slowly circling the room, finally settling on the three distraught lords, every one of whom wished to give Madeline a sound shaking. Her aunt said angrily, “Shut up, you foolish girl!”

“Am I to understand you gentlemen share the young lady’s suspicions?” Eskott inquired, his tone haughty.

There was a general, hasty, unanimous disclamation of any such view. “Nothing of the sort!” Tilsit exclaimed.

“Certainly not
my
interpretation of events,” Eldon averred, scowling at Madeline.

More to the point, Fordwich said to his daughter, “You will apologize at once for that impertinence, Madeline.”

She regarded him, stunned into momentary silence by the angry reaction she had evoked. Her father did not often speak to her so harshly. When he did, she obeyed unhesitatingly. “I’m sorry,” she said, but with neither feeling nor conviction. It was the automatic response to her father’s command, and she looked at him even while she spoke the apology.

Then her glance went to Eskott. She had never seen such a face on him before. He was white-lipped with fury, the nostrils flared, the eyes two burning coals that bore through her, accusing, outraged, almost unbelieving.

She waited for what seemed an eternity, half fearing he would walk forward and strike her.

Finally he spoke, suppressing all the violence that wanted to pour out. “I accept your apology, ma’am. Pray excuse me now, gentlemen. Lady Margaret.” With a slight ducking of the head toward her aunt, he strode swiftly from the room.

“I don’t see what he is so angry about,” Madeline said.

“You will go to your room at once,” her father commanded.

Still frowning, she arose and left. Eskott was just having his coat put over his shoulders by the butler. She hastened her steps toward him. “Eskott, I...”

He stared at her. “Good evening. Lady Madeline,” he said. Then he accepted his hat with a show of indifference, pushed it down on his head, and left, without another glance at her, though she stood waiting for him to say something more.

She went up to her room to reconsider the meeting. She was there five minutes later when her aunt came storming in. “I hope you’re happy now! All we need is for your poor father to have to fight a duel, and him already sick with worry about the state of affairs.”

“Fight a duel? What are you talking about?” Madeline asked, blinking. “You mean with Eskott?”