Little Coquette (14 page)

Nessie and Mama—each had only half a life. Nessie lived on the edge of her brother’s life, picking up the crumbs of his success. She had nothing but her social life and the charity work that was almost a part of it. She had missed out on the satisfaction of a husband and family, a home of her own. Nessie’s major achievement, if she did achieve it, would be to reign as one of the hostesses at Almack’s. She had her charity work, but Lydia was no longer convinced that would be enough to fill her own life. If she married someone like Beau, who was not so managing as most gentlemen, marriage might be tolerable.

Then her mind turned to the more immediate puzzle of finding the plates and discovering who had murdered Prissie. Dooley, of course, was the obvious suspect. He had followed her to Kesterly. When he saw her heading to Trevelyn Hall, had he feared she was going to reveal her guilty secret to Sir John and ask his help? He realized Sir John was a man of power and influence. Had Dooley killed her, thinking he would find the plates in her reticule or in her hotel room? But Prissie had outwitted him. Where had she hidden them? Perhaps Papa had put them in the attic. She would search it first thing in the morning.

It was late when she finally fell asleep, and late the next morning when she awoke. A glance at the clock told her it was nine o’clock. The golden shafts seeping into her room from the edge of her window blind promised a sunny day. As she rang for tea and a maid to help her prepare her toilette, she thought with a pang of Prissie and Sally and all their sisterhood, living hand to mouth in a small flat, with no servants.

As the day was fine, she dressed in her pink-sprigged muslin with the green sash. Even before going belowstairs for breakfast, she went up to the attic. Four large rooms, half full of trunks and discarded lumber, suggested it would be a daunting task to find one small parcel concealed there. She would have breakfast first, and speak to the butler. The parcel might have arrived after Papa left. Blake would have put it away, possibly in his own room. When she went below, she asked Blake if a parcel had come for her father within the last week.

“It’s Lady Trevelyn’s French clock you’re thinking of. It arrived two days ago. I put it in Sir John’s study, Miss Trevelyn.”

“Did any other small parcels arrive?” she persisted.

“No, miss. I’ll let you know at once if it comes. A birthday present for Master Tom, is it?” he asked. Blake had been with the Trevelyns forever and felt quite one of the family. He knew her brother’s birthday was looming at the end of the month.

She nodded and said, “Very likely he asked to have the parcel sent to the Hall,” to quell his curiosity.

“That would be it. Sir John is always very thoughtful of his family, despite his heavy load of work.”

Nessie had arisen early and was busy with her correspondence in the small parlor set aside for her private use. She came out when she heard Lydia.

“Such a load of cards have arrived, congratulating your papa,” she said happily. “And dozens of invitations. I wonder when he will be arriving. I must answer these, but cannot like to refuse an invitation to Carlton House. I’m sure John will arrive today. He would have written if he could not come.”

Lydia also felt her papa would soon be landing in on her, and with this in mind, she made a quick search of the rest of the house in case Prissie had given him the parcel in person, thus avoiding Blake’s sharp eye. She was in the attic, delving into trunks of old clothes packed in camphor, when a maid came up to find her.

“Sir John has just arrived, Miss Trevelyn,” she said, all smiles. “He has been asking for you. I know you would want to congratulate him.”

“Oh, indeed. Thank you, Mary. I’ll be down as soon as I wash my hands.”

Sir John was in Nessie’s parlor, discussing the correspondence with her. Lydia stood a moment, looking at him. He wore a triumphant smile as Nessie mentioned her various social conquests. When he saw Lydia, he looked up and held out his arms. All her old anger resurfaced when she saw him, wreathed in glory, with never a thought to poor Prissie.

She didn’t fly into his arms, but just said, “Congratulations, Papa,” in a cool voice.

“Is that all you have to say?” he asked, hurt at her obvious reluctance to go near him.

“I do have something I would like to say in private, Papa, if you will excuse us, Nessie.”

“Not a lovers’ spat, I hope!” Nessie said. “You and Beaumont have been getting on so well, I quite expected to see him for breakfast. Don’t keep your papa long, Lydia. I have a hundred matters to discuss with him.”

“This won’t take long,” Lydia said, watching as her father’s smile dwindled to a frown. She noticed that he was looking hagged, with circles under his eyes and a drawn look about the mouth.

Nessie, always the soul of discretion, closed the door behind her as she left.

Sir John cast a wary eye on his daughter. “What is it, Lydia?”

There seemed no subtle way to ask what she had to ask. “I want to know about your mistress, Prissie Shepherd, Papa,” she said bluntly.

His color faded, and his eyes opened wide. “Prissie Shepherd! How did you— Where—”

“You know she’s been murdered? She was the woman found in the river at home.”

He slumped onto a chair, his shoulders sagging, and shaded his eyes with his fingers. “Yes, I learned of it yesterday,” he said in a shaken voice. “Your mama kept it from me. She didn’t know of my relationship with Prissie. She just didn’t want to upset me, because of it happening so close to home. Horace Findley called to congratulate me on this appointment. He told me they had identified the girl in the river as Prissie. They found her reticule under her bed at the inn.”

Lydia remembered then that she and Beau hadn’t looked under the bed. Dooley must have put it there.

“You knew about the counterfeit plates?” she asked.

He removed his hand and looked at her in confusion. “What is this? She told me she had got rid of those Dürer plates. I told her she would come to grief. Is that what\”

“I am talking about plates for counterfeit money, Papa.”

“Counterfeit money? I know nothing about that.” His baffled expression told her he spoke the truth. “But I wager a fellow called Dooley had a finger in it. He used to be a friend of Prissie’s when she first came to London. He has been hounding the poor girl, threatening to run to Bow Street over the Dürer business, which is why she destroyed those plates.”

“Dooley is mixed up in it. I believe he killed her.”

Sir John was silent a moment. When he spoke, it was not about the business at hand. “Where did you hear about Dooley? I don’t want you to have anything to do with the scoundrel, Lydia. Good God! How did you get mixed up in any of this? How did you learn Prissie and I were ... associated?”

“She went to Kesterly to see you. She asked directions to Trevelyn Hall the last time she left the inn. Did you meet her there? I know you were not so ill as you let on, Papa.”

“I did not meet her. I didn’t know for sure she had gone until yesterday. I knew she had been worried about Dooley for some time now. He wanted her to do some forging job for him. She refused, and was afraid what he might do in revenge. She wrote me, here at Grosvenor Square, that she wanted to get out of town. I went to call on her. She was so upset—actually afraid for her life!—that I went home to the Hall at once to look about for a little cottage where she would be safe. Meanwhile she had to call on a friend in the country.” Lydia mentally said, Richie!

Sir John continued. “She was to go to the inn in Kesterly after her country visit. The estate agent who was handling the matter for me was to notify her there. She registered under a different name, of course. We had arranged that I would stay at the Hall until the matter was settled. I took to my bed, claiming an attack of gout. Truth to tell, I needed the rest. I have been working pretty hard, and with the strain of wondering if I would get the appointment to the Cabinet, I was about ready to collapse. I feared that Dooley might make trouble for me as well if I returned to London. And just when I could least afford a scandal. I wouldn’t put it a pace past the weasel. All things considered, it seemed best to rusticate for a spell.”

“Prissie did make the plates. She needed the money. You must not have been very generous, Papa,” she said with an angry look.

“I kept her in decent style. I am not a nabob after all, and naturally my own family must come first. She knew that when we ... became friends.”

“When you took her under your protection, you mean. You did not protect her very well, did you?” Sir John gave a wince of pain or guilt. “How long ago did you and she become friends?”

“Ten years ago, when your mama told me definitely she had no interest in coming to London, even for the Season. She used to accompany me for a few months a year at least. We had a great, thundering row about it. I could not budge her an inch, and I didn’t feel I could give up my work in politics. I did not want to become a country squire. Politics was my—half my life. Prissie and I came to terms at that time, and I have never welshed on our bargain.”

“What about Richie?” she asked, and observed her father closely. The name came as no surprise to him. He knew about Prissie’s son.

“So you know about Richie. What about him?” he asked brusquely.

“Do you support him as well?”

“He is no concern of mine. What business have you to question me in this way? Have I not been a good father to you? What have you ever lacked that money could buy, or love for that matter?”

“I lacked a father for ten months of the year!” she flashed back. “You never even came home for my birthday—or Mama’s. You might have spared us a day at least.”

“I came as often as my work allowed, Lydia. It was not Prissie who kept me away. Perhaps I was overly ambitious in my career. I thought you understood, if your mama did not.”

When he shook his head sadly at her, she rushed into his arms and hugged him. “I’m sorry, Papa. I just thought—”

“That I didn’t love you?” he asked, with a rueful, sad smile. “I wanted you—you all—to be proud of me.”

“We are! I know it was not all your fault. I should have—and Mama—”

“Don’t blame yourself. And don’t blame Miriam. She was a fish out of water in London. She hated it. People do what they must and can do. That’s the sum and total of it. It was an unfortunate marriage. But that is the way when the heart rules. Think twice before you marry, Lydia, and make sure it is not mere infatuation. That doesn’t last a year. And what is this I hear of you and Beaumont, eh? Does he know of my . . . troubles?”

“Yes, he’s been helping me.”

“Pity. I hope it don’t put him off offering.”

“Beau and I are just friends, Papa. Pray don’t say anything to him to suggest we expect an offer.”

Her father gave her a long, penetrating look. “So it is young Beaumont who has been ferreting around in my past, is it? Finding out about my association with Prissie. I am relieved to hear it, though I am sorry he told you. For a moment there, I feared you had been talking to the muslin company. I know I can depend on Beaumont’s discretion. He is a man of the world.”

Lydia left her father under the comfortable illusion that Beau had been doing all the hobnobbing with the demimonde. She felt her father had taken enough blows for one day. Before leaving, she said, “Prissie didn’t give you a parcel to look after for her?”

“You are thinking of the counterfeit plates? No, I didn’t even know she had made them. Poor girl. If she needed more money, she should have told me. I could have found some funds. But she was never a grasping sort of girl. Just a sweet country lass who went astray. She reminded me a little of your mama when she was young—in her looks, I mean. Only in her looks. Poor Prissie, I shall miss her. I sent her mother a check to tend to the burial expenses.”

They were interrupted by a tap at the door. Nessie poked her head in. “Lord Castlereagh to see you, John. He’s waiting in the saloon.”

“I’ll be right there. We’ll talk later, Lydia.” He left.

“Beaumont is here as well,” Nessie said, twinkling a smile at Lydia. “Has he come to speak to your papa?”

“No! Don’t get your hopes up, Nessie.”

Nessie just continued smiling. All was well with her world. Castlereagh had invited her and John to an intimate dinner party on the weekend. Before John’s promotion, they had been invited only to the Foreign Secretary’s large parties. They were now part of the inner circle that ruled the country.

When they went into the saloon, Beaumont was just offering Sir John his congratulations.

Castlereagh, who had an eye for young ladies, said a few words to Lydia; then Sir John led him down the hall to his study, and Nessie returned to her correspondence.

“Did you come for any special reason, Beau?” Lydia asked when they were alone. She feared he would have some unpleasant news regarding Dooley.

“You certainly know how to make a fellow feel welcome! And after you asked me particularly last night if I would not be calling this morning.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.” Last night seemed a year ago. But she was glad he was here. She felt the need of someone to share her troubles, and Beau had been a friend for as long as she could remember. “Since you’re here, we might as well go out.”

“I am underwhelmed by your enthusiasm. And I am wearing a new jacket, too.”

“It’s very nice,” she said, just glancing at it. Beau was always so well dressed that she hadn’t noticed it was new.

“No one will ever accuse you of flattery, Lydia. Well, as your mind is on business, did you speak with Sir John?”

“We’ll talk outside.”

She got her bonnet, and they escaped into the sunshine.

“You might have warned me your papa is here,” Beaumont said, as he helped her into his carriage. “I believe he expected me to crop out into an offer, coming at such an early hour of the day.”

“Never mind that. We have more important things to discuss. Prissie did not give Papa the plates.” She repeated to him what she had learned from Sir John. “We must get busy and find them before Dooley does. He is so determined to get them, I’m sure we can think of some way to catch him if we have the plates for a lure.”