Lord Perfect (29 page)

After staring at Peregrine for an aggravatingly long
time, the peddler said, "All right, then. I'll take you."

* * *

BENEDICT CLIMBED INTO the carriage beside Bathsheba.
"Bristol, then?" he said.

"As you said before, we cannot know whether they
are ahead of us, behind us, beside us, or right under our noses,"
she said. "We cannot even be certain we're traveling the same
road. The one thing we do know is that they're headed for
Throgmorton."

"It is a gamble," he said.

"I know," she said. "But whatever we do
is a gamble, and they will be at risk whatever we do."

"Bristol, then," he said, and gave the horses
office to start.

AT THIS SAME moment, Rupert
Carsington stood in the vestibule of his brother Benedict's town
house.

"Not at home?" he said to the butler, Marrows.
"Has he left for Edinburgh already?"

"No, sir," said Marrows in the completely
noncommittal manner butlers had to master before they learnt anything
else.

"Urgent government business got in the way, most
likely," Rupert said. "Well, no matter. I can see him
anytime. I wanted to take my leave of the boy."

"Lord Lisle is not at home, either, sir," said
Marrows.

"Really," said Rupert.

"Yes, sir."

"Where are they?"

"I cannot say, sir."

"Yes, you can, Marrows. I don't doubt you could say
a great deal. But it seems you'd rather I blunder about the house
looking for clues."

"Sir, I cannot say where they are," Marrows
said.

Rupert walked past him into the hall.

"Sir, I do not
know
where they are," Marrows said. His voice held a faint note of
panic.

"Do you not?" said Rupert. "That's
interesting." He continued on to Benedict's study. "Maybe
Gregson can clear up the mystery."

Men who became secretaries to titled persons were
usually gentlemen of good family and limited means. Unlike the
butler, Gregson could regard himself as one of his lordship's
confidants. Unlike the butler, too, Gregson would not consider his
position to require an impassive countenance and a stubborn
determination to give no visitor, even a family member, any
information of any kind whatsoever about anything.

Gregson sat at his lordship's desk, which was not its
usual well-ordered self. At the moment it more closely resembled
Rupert's desk. Letters, cards, and invitations lay carelessly strewn
about. A stack of apparently untouched correspondence stood at the
secretary's elbow.

"What's got into His Perfectionship, I wonder?"
Rupert said as he entered.

"Sir." Gregson stood.

"Sit." Rupert waved at the chair.

The man remained standing.

Rupert shrugged and walked across the room to look out
of the window. "What the devil is that back there?" he
said. "Is my brother going to tear up the garden at last and put
in a bowling green as I recommended?"

"There was some damage in the area near the back
gate," said Gregson.

"Intruders?"

"Lord Rathbourne."

"My
brother
did that?"

'This is what the servants say. I did not witness the—
er—"

"Demolition?"

"Thank you, sir. I did not witness the demolition."

"My brother wrecked the garden," Rupert said
thoughtfully. "This grows more interesting by the minute. Any
idea what's become of him?"

"I am not at all sure," Gregson said. "His
lordship has been behaving rather oddly of late. As you know, he is
scrupulous about keeping me apprised of his appointments. But late
yesterday afternoon he departed without a word to anybody. It seems
he took the footman Thomas with him. It is vastly puzzling. I was
sure Thomas had gone out some hours earlier with Lord Lisle—to
a drawing lesson, I believe. But no one has seen Lord Lisle since
then."

"So Rathbourne found Lisle a drawing instructor,
after all," Rupert said.

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. Lord Lisle has been taking
instruction from…" Gregson drew toward him a ledger and
flipped the page. "Here it is. The instructor is a B. Wingate,
care of Popham Print Sellers." He gave an address in one of
Holborn's more dismal neighborhoods.

"B. Wingate," Rupert said, careful to keep his
countenance blank. He had no trouble recalling the evening Peregrine
had uttered the famous name at Hargate House.

Benedict thought himself the coolest of customers, but
both Rupert and their mother had sensed something in the air.

Gregson, the innocent, had no idea who B. Wingate was,
or he would have loyally protected his employer.

Not wishing to distress the man, Rupert returned his
gaze to the scene outside and choked back a whoop of laughter.

Lord Perfect had answered the siren's call.

Wait until I tell Alistair
,
Rupert thought.
Wait until
…

It was then he realized he'd better not tell anybody.

Lord Hargate had ears everywhere, and he would not find
the matter amusing.

His countenance sober, Rupert turned away from the
window. "Gregson, I thank you for being so helpful," he
said. "I must ask you, however, on my brother's behalf, to be as
unhelpful as possible to everyone else."

The secretary looked alarmed. "Sir, I am sure I did
not intend—"

"Rathbourne has been under a strain recently,"
Rupert said. "That would explain why he forgot to inform you.
This Wingate is connected to a government matter. Highly secret.
That's all I know. But if anyone else asks, I must beg you to know
nothing at all about B. Wingate or my brother behaving strangely. A
great deal may be at stake. Governments might topple. No telling.
Best to play it safe and know nothing."

"But sir, if Lord Hargate inquires about Lord
Rath-bourne—"

"In that case, Gregson," said Rupert, "I
should develop an incapacitating and highly contagious disease, if I
were you."

Chapter 13

"I HAD NOT REALIZED IT WAS SO FAR," BATHsheba
said as they passed through the Walcot tollgate.

Though she knew Rathbourne had driven as fast as the
horses were capable of traveling, night had long since fallen. Ahead
sprawled the town of Bath, famed for its healing waters. Bristol lay
another half dozen miles or more to the northwest, and Throgmorton
"some ways from there," according to the tollgate keeper.
When pressed, he could not say whether it was five or ten miles.

"Whatever it is, it might add another two hours to
our journey, depending on the state of the country roads,"
Rath-bourne said. "We had better stop in Bath. We might enjoy a
proper night's rest and set out fresh in the morning."

"And when we reach Throgmorton, then what?"

"Ask me tomorrow," he said.

"I cannot wait until tomorrow," she said. "We
need a plan of action. We cannot simply set up camp at the gates and
wait for Olivia and Lord Lisle to turn up. What are the chances of
their entering in the normal way?"

"We have plenty of time to discuss what can and
can't be done," he said.

"I've been discussing it with myself," she
said. "For most of the last several hours I've counted
milestones and tried to sort out courses of action in an orderly
manner, the way you do."

"Is that how you occupied yourself?" he said.
"What a boring way to spend the journey. And what an appalling
waste of time. Why did you not ask me to sort it out?"

Because she could not get into the habit of letting him
solve her problems for her, she thought.

"You seemed preoccupied?' she said. "I did not
wish to disturb your meditations."

He shot her a surprised glance.

"I did not think you needed to be entertained,"
she said. "I do not need to talk constantly. I am happy to have
a quiet time for thinking. Such times do not come often. And I wanted
to work it out for myself."

"You are too accommodating," he said. "I
am in the habit of traveling alone. I was not ignoring you. You are
impossible to ignore. But I let myself become lost in thought. I wish
you had reminded me to say something now and again to pass the time."

"I was not bored," she said. "I had a
good deal to think about."

There was a short silence, then, "I am not the most
attentive of men," he said.

"You have a great deal on your mind," she
said. "Especially at present."

"I am not attentive," he repeated impatiently.
"I finally recognized that… though it took me long
enough. A valuable insight—and what use do I make of it? I have
spent all this time with you—more time, I think, than I have
spent in constant company with any woman since I was an infant. Yet
now, when the last thing I want is to waste our remaining time
together, I fall into old habits."

"It is not your duty to entertain me," she
said. "You must watch the road and—"

"You wondered how my wife could
be a stranger," he cut in, his voice taut. "This is how.
Lack of conversation. Lack of—gad, I hardly know. I treated her
like a handsome piece of furniture—she, a
Dalmay
.
She needed to swim in an ocean of feeling. She needed attention.
Small wonder she turned elsewhere."