Lynne Connolly (32 page)

The lines around his mouth tightened. “We have him in a safe place. Although at this rate, we’ll run out of safe places. He begged us not to leave him. I thought about letting him go home with a few of our special servants, but it’s too dangerous. He couldn’t carry it off, behave calmer and spy for us. He’s in a blind panic.”

“So which safe place?”

He sighed. “I hired a house in the City. Very small, very discreet, and I have men with him, guarding him. He’s made us a promise in return. I made sure of it this afternoon.” His eyes gleamed. “Guess where the next premises of Thompson’s will be?”

I groped for the explanation, then it struck me. “Not their house, so—Maiden Lane?”

Laughing, he drew me closer and delivered a smacking kiss to my lips. I decided to take it further and opened my mouth, inviting him in. We took a few moments to ourselves.

“Once we’ve refurnished and cleaned it, it will make an excellent office. We thought of rebuilding the old place, but it’s little more than a shell and it would take some time. That’s a corner building, so we’ll probably rebuild it later. But this will get us up and running much faster. Timothy’s delighted because Alicia had considered running the business temporarily from home.”

I smiled at the thought. Timothy wouldn’t have appreciated the domestics of London trampling through his house, but he’d have agreed, if only until we found another solution. “Is Alicia well now?”

His mouth tightened. “Completely recovered. She admits it was a moment’s madness that sent her back into the offices. We have three boxes, so the list of our special operatives was never lost, and Alicia has a duplicate set of the accounts locked up at her house. The only thing we might have lost was the current journal and the list of servants requiring work. I doubt they’ll stay away once we reopen.”

“Reopening on those premises might bring more business. The place was notorious.”

“Yes.” He kissed my forehead. “I can’t say I’m sorry to see that go.”

Events moved fast after that. They had to, because with Steven’s defection we couldn’t afford for Julia to realise she was in such deep trouble before we sprang the jaws of the trap. The next day took Richard to the magistrate’s office in Bow Street, where he laid information and caused John Smith to crack his face in a smile, as he told me later. They took Julia an hour later from her house.

After that, society erupted. This was proving the most interesting season in memory, some said, with a female member of its hallowed portals arrested for the murder of a newly arrived man, one around which some mystery still remained. We could hardly hide away, although I was tempted to use my condition as an excuse. But it would be wrong, and someone would set about that I had something to hide. So I put on my society face and sallied forth.

I attended another ball, had tea at one of the literary salons, went shopping in the Exchange and found myself more popular than ever.

And at Lady Wentworth’s ball, a huge affair and one of the highlights of the season, or so the lady declared, matters came to a head.

My sister Ruth was still mourning the loss of John Kneller. Her hysterical declarations in private had abated, however, so in order to present her as a young lady totally unaffected by current events, Martha chose Lady Wentworth’s. I thought it unwise. Ruth’s volatility made her unpredictable, but when I saw her, I thought she had her temper well in hand. Her hair smoothly dressed and powdered, her gown a pretty apple-green confection that made her look like fresh springtime, she was drawing her share of swains when she saw me. I smiled at her, despite the way her mouth turned down a little at the corners, always a sign that she was about to pout.

“You don’t powder, Rose,” was her first sally.

“No. Not tonight. The powder disagrees with me, and at this time it’s more important that I’m healthy than fashionable. Besides, I believe I’ve set a new style.” I knew I had. I looked much better with my chestnut curls smoothed back and dressed without powder. The stark white didn’t suit me one bit and I rarely used it, preferring to wear it with a hint of colour. But I’d decided to eschew it now. Ruth, being a pale blonde, appeared to advantage with her hair powdered and usually dressed that way. “You look charmingly, Ruth. Is that a new gown?”

She glanced down as if she wore a rag. That irritated me, but it could have been as much of an affectation as my careful use of my fan, or Richard’s snuff-taking. I smiled, and then turned my attention to the young men dancing attendance on her. Very eligible young men. My sister’s association with John hadn’t done her any harm, but if we’d left it any longer, it might have done. John would have ensured it. He’d have seduced her and left her to bear the consequences. I knew his methods now.

Ruth flicked her gaze up and down me with a disdainful sneer on her lips. It didn’t suit her. I prepared to walk away, avoiding a possible scene, but as I turned with a satisfying swish of silk, she said, “How is your husband? And his children—no child, now one is dead?”

Several gasps told me she’d said it loud enough for more than her little court to hear. I had no choice but to reply. “Helen is very well. You should come to see her sometime.”

“No, not Helen. The children he had with that other woman—what was her name? Oh, yes—”

I stopped her there. “My husband has only one child. And another on the way.” I had done what he tried so hard not to do and denied his other children. A sick pit opened in my stomach, and I wished I hadn’t had so much lamb fricassee at dinner. But I could only say what I knew. Perhaps people would interpret it that way.

Not when several others stood by, the ones who wanted to catch the Kerres out in some way. And none of our friends, I noted belatedly. I kept my head steady, prevented my instinctive wild desire to seek him out, so I didn’t see the approach of someone I could definitely call a friend. “Rose? Would you like to dance?”

I turned, relieved, to see Gervase, his hand outstretched. As I took it, Ruth drew in a sharp breath and muttered, “I don’t know how she can dance with him.”

I stared at her, eyes wide, face as disdainful as I could make it. Was she trying to create a breach between us? Possibly.

Before now I’d excused my sister because of her youth, but that wouldn’t work anymore. At her age, Richard had suffered the departure of his brother in disgrace and the prospect of a solitary Grand Tour that he had no desire to undertake. At her age, many women were mothers. At her age, women had died in childbirth. I could have ignored her, but I chose not to, but before I could speak, Gervase laughed.

“You believe everything you hear? How charming.” His deep voice sounded anything but charmed. “I would have thought your brother would have informed you of the true state of affairs.” Again the gasps, and a sudden silence around us. “I’m tired of my past transgressions following me around, and I will not have anyone else traduced. Your brother is an excellent secretary and a good friend. And as for the children—did you really think they were Richard’s? I’m proud to acknowledge Susan as mine, not his. Richard and I shared everything at one time in our lives, but I never let him share that maid when I had her. My own shameful secret. But youthful transgressions shouldn’t follow one about all of one’s life—don’t you agree?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but led me on to the dance floor. His hand trembled in mine, so I knew how angry he was. His temper was as terrifying as Richard’s and expressed in much the same way these days. In cold, calculating indifference, a killing cut that could destroy a career. And there was worse to come.

Chapter Nineteen

The Old Bailey Criminal Court in April wasn’t the most salient place I could have chosen, but Richard was here, and so was I. Bracketed by Gervase and Freddy, with Nichols behind me and Carier in front, they’d isolated me from the rest of the audience for this, the trial of the year. Society had thronged to the trial and sat next to the most insalubrious. Anyone who could afford the vails was here. Tellingly, Steven Drury had taken a seat next to Freddy.

Julia stood in the dock facing her accusers and the jury. She held her head high and wore a simple blue gown with a substantial fichu covering her cleavage and a linen cap on her head with very little lace. She must have spent a fortune to get all that into Newgate and kept spotless. I suspected that Richard might have sent some money to her, because her father had acted swiftly to curtail any claim she had on his money, what was left of it. If he hadn’t, the Crown might have claimed it once she was convicted.

If
she was convicted, I kept reminding myself. I held the spray of flowers and herbs to my nose, mindful of Richard’s warnings to use it frequently. Five years ago, a wave of gaol fever had swept the prison and courthouse, killing indiscriminately. If I’d heard about that outbreak once in the last two weeks, I’d heard it a thousand times. But I promised not to mix with the general populace, promised to go home the moment the verdict was announced and promised to sniff this nosegay. In the days of witchcraft he’d have bought one for me to cast a spell of good health. In fact, I wouldn’t have put it past him to do it anyway. If anyone could find a witch, it would be my husband.

Elijah Jones had just given evidence. Clear, concise and precise, he’d created a good impression on the court. After this, Alicia would find him a position in a place of his choice. We couldn’t employ him, it would appear that we’d bought him, but all we’d done was to provide protection against Julia and made it possible for him to appear here today.

“Richard, Viscount Strang, come into the court!”

A stir went around the audience, and Mr. Fielding, resplendent in the garb of the judge with a black velvet band firmly tied around his eyes, lifted his head. He had a sense of the theatrical, did Mr. Fielding, and now he rapped his gavel firmly on his desk, demanding order.

The court fell dramatically silent as Richard entered the witness stand. Anyone else, mindful of the occasion, would have dressed soberly and with a propriety due to the gravity of the affair. Richard wore pink embroidered with brilliants, his coat catching the light every time he moved. His pure white waistcoat was embroidered with signs of the zodiac, including Libra, the scales of justice, stars frolicking through the design in riotous profusion. He lifted a lace-edged handkerchief to his nose and directed his attention to the prosecutor. Prepared to commit perjury, if he had to. I’d argued with him long and hard about this, but the only concession he gave me was to avoid it if he could.

I waited, along with everyone else, my heart in my throat. The prosecutor stepped forward. “Would you please relate to us the events leading up to the death of the man known as John Kneller?”

Richard regarded him for a few seconds. He related the account simply and without embellishment, answering the prosecutor’s questions honestly. Recently the men of the City had employed their own lawyers to defend them in court, and Julia had done the same.

The man stepped forward, rustling his sheet of notes and perching gold-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any evidence that Mrs. Drury was involved in the death of John Kneller?”

Richard considered his reply. “I had seen her with him. I visited her house, which was then the headquarters of the Cytherean Club, with a view to purchasing the premises.” Clever, I thought. “I saw her with him in a state of undress that left nothing to the imagination.”

“But did you see them during sexual congress?”

“No. That has never been one of my preferences. I prefer to take part.”

“And did you take part?”

“Absolutely not. My tastes have—matured.” The delicate little pause before the last word spoke volumes, and a ripple of laughter went through the court. “I left. But I heard from various sources, including her husband, that they were having an
affaire.
They made no secret of it.”

I held my breath. Would the prosecutor ask about me? “Is it true that you left that house with a lady in your arms?”

“Yes. The lady was my wife.” A murmur and several heads turned to view me. I kept my demeanour impassive, not without some effort. “Ruffians set upon her outside, and she was overcome by that and the sights that met her eyes in that house. Seeing Kneller in a state of undress overset her sensibilities.”

“Why was that? Did she want Kneller for herself?”

Richard gave him such a disdainful look that he should have shrivelled and died where he stood. “Hardly.”

That gained him another laugh from the assembled multitude.

“I understand that you and Mrs. Drury were once betrothed.”

“That is true. It was an arrangement between our parents. Mrs. Drury, or as she was then, Miss Cartwright, kindly released me from the agreement after I met my present wife and she met Mr. Drury. We agreed we would suit better elsewhere.” He made it sound so civilised when it had been anything but.

“Did you still want Mrs. Drury in your bed?”

“No.”

The prosecutor glanced at Julia. Obviously she’d led him to think so. “What do you know of the actual death of Kneller?”

“Only what Mr. Jones has related to you. He gave me a similar account and I advised him to come to Bow Street and lay information. He responded that he was afraid Mrs. Drury would have him killed too, so I promised to protect him from that threat.”