Lord Scoundrel Dies (20 page)

‘Nothing, probably,’ Harry said, glancing at
the girl affectionately. ‘She isn’t the least bit interested in
anything that goes on around her. All she really wants to do is
flirt with young men. She is supposed to have an understanding with
one of the footmen at home but I have come to believe that her
affections are not fully engaged.’

They began to stroll towards the gates
leading out of the park, Hyacinth trailing along behind, like a
smaller craft being towed by a larger vessel, present but
pleasingly preoccupied.

‘How did your ride go with Talisker?’
Charlie enquired.

Harry tried not to grind
her teeth. ‘That man is
utterly
impossible.’

‘So not very well, then?
Unfortunate. He
is
returning those chits though, isn’t he?’

‘He has agreed to do so. I told him about
what happened to you last night. I rather think he was intending to
turn up this afternoon and see what it was all about.’

‘Really?’ Charlie looked alarmed. ‘That
could be awkward. Talisker is rather a forceful sort of man, keen
for any dust up, or so I’ve heard. He’ll probably scare the fellow
off and the next thing anybody knows, I’ll have that tiresome thug
waving his knife at me again.’

‘Don’t worry. I told his lordship the wrong
place and the wrong time.’

He cast her an admiring glance. ‘Oh, well
done. Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment but I was rather
hoping not to have to further my acquaintance with that particular
gentleman.’

‘So I should imagine. Truthfully, I had a
feeling his lordship would forbid me to come, which would have
prompted an argument. Although it seems to me we had one of those
anyway.’ It had been remarkable how quickly the conversation had
escalated into outright hostility. Harry hoped that she was
sensible enough to realise that it wasn’t entirely Lord Talisker’s
fault – there was something about him that just rubbed her up the
wrong way – but he seemed to be unable to master his desire to
coddle her. While, as for his attitude towards her marital
prospects – apparently he did not think she had any. ‘Men like
Talisker cannot help but interfere.’

‘Just his way, I daresay. No harm in him,
really,’ Mr. Lampforth said soothingly.

‘That’s as may be but I do
not like being forbidden to do things by a man who hardly knows
me,’ Harry replied. Truthfully, she did not particularly care to be
forbidden to do things by any man, but it would have been far
easier to hear it from the likes of her father (who was most
unlikely to do anything of the kind) than someone like Lord
Talisker who seemed to
always
think he knew best.

Prudently, Mr. Lampforth remained silent
which seemed to suggest to Harry that he was a far better judge of
people that his lordship could ever claim to be.

It was a pleasant day and
an easy stroll to St Martin’s Place. The museum that Harry had
visited the week before was open and beside it stood the place that
was called Richmond Square, part of the building that housed the
museum. Once the entire place had been part of a monastery,
complete with dormitory, kitchen gardens and the church, which had
sat behind high walls. Over time, the structure had been absorbed
and now it had been opened up. Richmond Square was a large, paved
area that still shared several of the original monastery’s ancient
stonewalls. An elegant fountain had been added and there were stone
seats laid out, along with a pretty little garden. The rear wall
still housed a double width gate over which stood a broad stone
lintel carved with the Latin inscription
In Deo Sunt Aeterna
– the old priory
gate. The urns that Charlie’s brute had mentioned stood at head
height and had been placed into the curved arches set in the thick
stone walls next to the gate.

‘There you are. Which urn was it?’

‘Third from the left, he said.’

They stared at the wall. ‘Which left?’ Harry
enquired dubiously.

‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed heavily. ‘Did he mean
the third urn on the left hand side from the wall? Or the third urn
on the right hand side, counting inwards? Or…’ Mr. Lampforth
paused, squinting at the far wall. ‘Blast!’

Harry shook her head. Digging into her
reticule, she withdrew the small parcel she had made up, having
placed the sapphire necklace in a silk cloth bag. She handed it to
Mr. Lampforth. ‘Go and put it behind the urn on left hand side of
the wall. Your instructions were far from specific so they will
undoubtedly check behind the other ones if we choose the wrong one,
don’t you think?’

‘Good idea,’ he said, relieved and, taking
the small bundle, he went over and deposited it behind the third
urn from the left then returned to her side. ‘Done. What do you
think we should do now?’

Harry had been thinking about that. ‘We
could take a seat and observe who comes to collect the necklace.
Just to ensure somebody does. It is a valuable necklace and it
would be a pity if it were taken by the wrong person.’

‘You just want to see who comes for it.
It’ll be that chap from last night and of course he’s going to take
it. That’s why we’re here,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘Besides, he might
recognize me.’

‘True.’ Harry glanced up at the museum
beside them. ‘Are you interested in history?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘Then you might like to accompany me on a
tour through the museum. There are some particularly fine examples
of ceramic glazing on the first floor.’

Mr. Lampforth looked mildly horrified. ‘Is
there?’

‘Indeed. Just below that window up
there.’

He glanced up, light dawning. ‘That
window?’

‘Indeed.’

‘I might like to look at those thingummies
after all,’ he agreed.

They turned towards the entrance of the
museum, only to be brought up short by the sight of the tall,
imposing figure of Lord Talisker standing several feet behind them,
arms crossed, face grim. Harry’s heart sank and a small niggle of
apprehension made itself known in the pit of her stomach but she
refused to acknowledge it.

‘My lord,’ she said, raising her chin.

‘Miss Honeywood,’ he returned icily. ‘How
fortunate that I happened to run into you. I’m afraid I was rather
lost. You see, I was on my way to Grosvenor Square when I happened
to catch sight of Mr. Lampforth heading in quite the opposite
direction.’

That was unfortunate. She should have told
him that Charlie was supposed to leave the necklace at three
o’clock. He had probably seen them emerging from Hyde Park, which
was simply bad management on her part.

‘We were just visiting the museum,’ she said
coolly. ‘Were we not, Mr. Lampforth?’

‘Indeed.’ He gave an uneasy smile.
‘Fascinating things, museums.’

‘You put the necklace you had been told to
leave behind that urn over there,’ his lordship pointed out.

‘Well… yes. I did do that,’ Mr. Lampforth
admitted.

‘When is it to be picked up?’

‘Two? Two-thirty? Couldn’t quite remember so
we came early.’

‘You brought Miss Honeywood?’ The
disapproval in his voice was obvious. ‘Did it not seem a little
rash to bring a young woman of gentle birth to such a dubious
rendezvous?’

‘She has her maid with her,’ Mr. Lampforth
replied feebly, waving towards Hyacinth who was watching the
proceedings with dreamy blue eyes.

‘There was no reason why I should not come.’
Harry scowled. ‘I offered to show Mr. Lampforth where Richmond
Square was as I was here only last week. He very sensibly accepted
my offer. And now,’ she added, ‘we are going to go and watch from
that window up there. Just to see who picks up that necklace.’

‘I think it a far better idea that you go
home,’ his lordship returned, voice tight. Clearly he had yet to
forgive her for her earlier misdirection.

Harry drew a deep breath, and then another.
When she was quite sure she could speak with a measure of calm, she
met his eyes. ‘I will allow that I cannot stop you from thinking
anything you wish, my lord. But I still intend to go into that
museum and study the collection of Roman ceramics that stand before
that window. And as I am almost certain that you have not become my
legal guardian overnight, you cannot stop me.’

It was Lord Talisker’s turn to breathe
deeply. Harry watched as he stopped the words he so badly wanted to
say from escaping. Mr. Lampforth looked from one to the other,
expression anxious. After a time, his lordship inclined his head
stiffly. ‘As you will, Miss Honeywood. I would, of course, be
delighted to accompany you.’

She didn’t want him accompanying them. What
she really wanted was for him to stalk off in a huff but clearly he
had no intention of doing anything of the kind. Determined to
ignore him, she turned and headed towards the museum entrance.

It was dim inside the interior. The four of
them – for of course, Hyacinth remained with Harry – climbed to the
second floor immediately and went to the window that overlooked the
square below. Harry had been worried that a leafy rhododendron
would block their view of the urn but fortunately, it stood a
little to the left and they had an unimpeded view of the urn behind
which Mr. Lampforth had left the necklace.

‘There,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘The
perfect view. Not that I quite understand why you are here, my
lord,’ she added, turning towards him. ‘I believe that Mr.
Lampforth has the matter well in hand.’

Lord Talisker gave her a look. ‘I wished to
see if the necklace was picked up by the person who threatened Mr.
Lampforth or if somebody we know is coming to retrieve it.’

‘Does it matter?’ Mr. Lampforth inquired. ‘I
mean, the thing is gone. Good riddance, I daresay.’

‘You were threatened at knifepoint,’ his
lordship reminded him dryly. ‘It would be interesting to know who
would go to such lengths.’

Harry thought so too, which was why she had
suggested overseeing the pick up. At least in this, she and his
lordship were of one mind. Two o’clock was upon them and they stood
waiting, looking out the window intently. Harry’s heartbeat
accelerated a little when two gentlemen wandered into the square
below, heads together as they spoke. They did nothing more than
wander around it however, deep in conversation and presently they
departed. She blew out a breath.

‘I think it must be two-thirty after
all.’

The sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs
made her realise that standing together staring fixedly out the
window when others were likely to be wandering about the place –
perfectly natural, as it was a public museum – must look extremely
peculiar. She turned to the table with the bits and pieces of
ceramic bowls and urns laid out on it and said lightly; ‘It’s
rather like a puzzle, isn’t it? One can almost see how some of the
pieces fit together.’

Mr. Lampforth turned from the window and
gave her a bewildered glance before eying the small pieces of
ancient history on the table. ‘They all look like they could do
with a good wash, to me.’

A gentleman had ascended the stairs and was
peering at a display of Roman spears. He was an elderly gentleman
who appeared extremely studious, clothing dark and unostentatious,
his face graced with an enormous pair of grey mutton-chop whiskers.
He leaned forward, staring at the inscription beneath the display,
hands clasped behind his back. He looked like he might remain all
afternoon. This was a nuisance as Harry did not want to move away
from the window and three people permanently positioned in front of
it must look very odd. Hyacinth, having realised that her mistress
was unlikely to be moving anytime soon, had taken up a seat nearby
and was humming quietly to herself while she fiddled with the tie
of her cloak.

‘It’s quite a collection,’ his lordship said
gravely. ‘In particular, do you observe these markings here? The
blue and the ochre? Clearly this urn had been decorated.’

It didn’t look like an urn to Harry.
Actually it didn’t look like anything in particular but she bent
her head gravely and studied it. ‘Oh, yes. I see what you
mean.’

They continued on in this fashion for some
time, at least, she and Lord Talisker did. Charlie seemed unable to
come up with anything to contribute apart from the occasional grunt
and he kept turning to stare out the window. Time seemed to pass
with interminable slowness, much as the gentleman who was browsing
the room’s exhibits hovered before one example of ancient body
armor to another of aged verdigris covered coins. Never had a table
of pottery filled fragments seemed so uninspiring. After fifteen
minutes of nonsensical prattle, she felt as if her tongue might
cleave to the roof of her mouth. The only thing that gave her any
gratification was the discovery that Lord Talisker was able to hold
up his end of the conversation, sounding positively rapt by the
discovery of a similar bowl to one he had found when he was
studying archeological finds in Brittany only last year.

When at last the scholarly gentleman drifted
into another room and consequently, out of earshot, Harry leaned
against the wall and groaned. ‘I never want to see another glazed
pot in my life!’ she murmured.

Lord Talisker, his previous annoyance with
her apparently gone, grinned. ‘Hand painted frieze? On a pot?’

‘Just as good as neo-classical Romanesque
design, I should think,’ she retorted, but without heat. During the
last part of their conversation she had been hard pressed not to
giggle at the glib nonsense that had been falling off her
companion’s tongue.

‘All perfectly acceptable words.’

‘Yes, but not in the same sentence. I was
praying he was not a scholar of the period who would suddenly feel
the need to correct us. I fear a lecture would have left me
prostrate.’