Melinda Hammond (7 page)

‘I could, but I don’t see how that will help you.’

‘Could you not arrange a meeting for us?’ Glancing up at him, she saw that his expression was unusually grim. ‘N-nothing improper, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘B-but if you could just see him, talk to him - please, Vivyan.’

His frown melted as he met the anxious entreaty in her green eyes. He sighed.

"Very well. If you have no news of him within the next two weeks, I will see what I can do to find him, but I think we must then find some way for the two of you to meet as if by chance. After all, you don’t want him to think you have followed him all the way to Town, do you?’

The little chin went up.

‘Why not? It is the truth, after all, and I’m not ashamed of loving Rupert.’

Mr Lagallan was about to make a retort, when a shout attracted their attention, and a gentleman came trotting towards them on a showy bay hack.

‘Lagallan! Well, my good friend, we meet again! And Major Lagallan, is it not? We met at the Meldrums’ rout the other night. How do you do, sir?’

Major Lagallan silently inclined his head, and Vivyan forced a small, tight-lipped smile.

‘Good day to you, MacCauley. You know my sister-in-law, Mrs Lagallan?’

Mr MacCauley raised his hat, and treated the lady to his wide smile, but his grey eyes were resting all the time on Eustacia.

‘This is Miss Marchant,’ said Caroline. Mr MacCauley bowed.

‘Marchant,’ he said, with a slight, interrogatory lift to his brows. ‘I don’t recognize the name, but I feel sure we have met before.’

‘I think it very likely,’ put in Caroline, calmly. ‘Miss Marchant is staying with Lady Bilderston, and is often seen about the town in my lady’s carriage.’

‘Ah,’ murmured that gentleman, his eyes still fixed upon Eustacia. ‘That would be it.’

He stayed beside them a moment longer, exchanged a few more pleasantries with the gentlemen, then rode away. Eustacia cast an anguished glance at Mr Lagallan.

‘Oh, Vivyan, I am sure he recognized me!’ She saw Caroline’s look of surprise and flushed slightly. ‘We, um, saw him when we stopped at Reading, on the way to Town.’

Mrs Lagallan threw a startled look at Vivyan, who shook his head at her.

‘We exchanged but the merest bow in passing, Caro.’

She did not look convinced, but after a moment she shrugged, and smiled at Eustacia.

‘Don’t worry, Stacey. You look nothing like the boy Vivyan brought to me.’

‘But my hair!’ cried Miss Marchant.

‘Well, there is that,’ admitted Vivyan, ‘but even if he did suspect, there is nothing to be gained by it. You can rest easy, child.’

‘How do you come to know him, Vivyan?’ asked Caroline.

‘I had some — er — dealings with him in the past.’ He grinned. ‘Let us say his past would no more bear investigation than mine own — probably less.’

‘Well, he has some entrée into society,’ remarked the Major. He smiled at Eustacia. ‘However, I think you can put him out of your mind, child. While you are living under the protection of your godmother, even if MacCauley
did
recognize you, he could hardly say so, for who would believe him? Rest easy, child. He cannot hurt you.’

Chapter Six

Miss Marchant found it easy enough to follow the major’s advice and forget about Nathan MacCauley, for her days were taken up with numerous fittings for new gowns, and trips to such fascinating shopping-places as the Pantheon Bazaar with Miss Cardwell, her ladyship’s dresser, to purchase the gloves, stockings and reticules necessary for any young lady’s wardrobe. However, Eustacia did not lose sight of her reason for coming to London, and as each day passed she fretted that she was no closer to finding Rupert Alleyne. Miss Marchant’s nature was to act, and the idea of meeting Rupert by chance did not appeal to her, but Lady Bilderston had announced that she should live quietly until she had suitable gowns to wear, so that her entrance into society would be at Lady Trentham’s ball, a full week away. Eustacia’s impatient spirit chafed at such a delay, and the only outlets for her energies were an occasional drive in the park with her godmama or Mrs Lagallan, and her daily walks with Snuffles, Lady Bilderston’s pet spaniel. Taking Snuffles for his morning exercise had very quickly become Eustacia’s first task of the day, and because of the proximity of the little railed gardens that gave their name to the area, she was allowed to sally forth unencumbered by a maid or a footman.

* * * *

It was on one such outing, the morning following her carriage ride with Caroline Lagallan, that the idea first came to Eustacia. As she left the gardens she caught sight of a young couple standing on the corner, closely studying a guidebook. Eustacia halted as a plan began to form itself in her mind, then, with a quickened step, she hurried back to the house, almost dragging Snuffles along with her.

‘Avebury,’ she addressed the butler as he took the dog’s leash and prepared to lead the animal away, ‘do we have a guidebook of London in the house?’

‘I believe there may be some such thing in the red saloon, Miss.’

‘And - and does it contain a street guide, do you think?’ she pursued.

‘Why yes, Miss, I believe it does. Perhaps you would like me to find it for you?’

‘No, no, I will do that myself, while you take Snuffles to the kitchen for a titbit. The red saloon, you said?’

‘Yes, Miss. It’s on the first floor, and was used to be called the study, when his lordship was alive, and any books we may have will be found there, her ladyship not being much of a reader,’ he added, his countenance wooden. ‘But if you was wishful to go anywhere in particular, Miss, I am sure one of the footmen would be perfectly able to escort you . . .’

‘No, no, that will not be necessary, thank you, Avebury.’ Eustacia favoured the old retainer with a sweet smile, and made her way upstairs.

The red saloon was a small room tucked away at the back of the house and furnished in an outdated style with heavy, dark furniture, including a large desk. Although the furniture was not shrouded in Holland covers, the room was rarely used, Lady Bilderston preferring to write her letters at the pretty little writing-desk in the morning-room. After several minutes, Eustacia found the guidebook in a large glass-fronted bookcase, and sat down at the desk to study this informative little tome.

She had heard enough from her godmama, and from Mr Lagallan and his brother to know that the most probable places to find Mr Alleyne during the day would be in the fashionable areas of New Bond Street, the Mall or Piccadilly. She also knew that the gentlemen’s clubs most likely to appeal to a young man, such as Brooks’s or White’s, were in St James’s Street. Of course it would not do for her to walk unattended in such a location, but there was no reason why Snuffles should not enjoy an expedition to the Green Park, and it would be an easy matter to slip through one of the adjoining streets to take a peep at St James’s Street. Eustacia was well aware that the chances of meeting with Mr Alleyne in these circumstances were slim, but they were certainly greater than if she remained hidden away in Fanshawe Gardens!

* * * *

Eager to put her plan into action, Eustacia stepped out the next morning with Snuffles, but instead of heading for the gardens, she turned south and set off for the heart of fashionable London. Snuffles was surprised at this break in routine, but he was happy to trot along beside his young mistress, enjoying the new scents of this hitherto unexplored area. Miss Marchant was anxious not to draw attention to herself, and had chosen for the occasion a demure, dark-green walking-dress and pelisse of impeccable cut but with little ornament, and a close-fitting bonnet to cover her distinctive red hair. Thus attired, and with the guidebook clutched firmly in one hand, she set off on her task in a mood of excited optimism.

* * * *

New Bond Street was bustling with pedestrians and carriages, and Eustacia made her way through the crowd, confident that it would not be thought improper for an unescorted lady to be walking her dog in such a busy thoroughfare. However, she felt a little less sanguine as she made her way along Piccadilly towards the Green Park, for one fashionably dressed gentleman lifted his eyeglass to study her as she passed him. The starched points of his collar were so high that he was obliged to swivel his whole body to watch her progress, and although at any other time Miss Marchant would have been amused at this behaviour, she began to wonder if it would have been prudent to bring her maid. However, such thoughts were put to flight when she reached the Green Park. The rural setting, complete with a herd of cows, and milkmaids dispensing fresh milk for a small sum, delighted Eustacia. The noise of the busy streets was muted by the trees and bushes that bounded the park, and for a while she could almost imagine that she was at home again in Somerset. But charming as this idea was, she would not let it sway her from her purpose, and she soon slipped out of the park to hurry along a quiet side street. At the junction with St James’s Street she stopped, looking up and down the famous thoroughfare, hoping for a glimpse of her quarry. It did not surprise her that Rupert was not in sight, and Miss Marchant consulted her guidebook before hurrying back to the Green Park, determined to try again. It was a fine morning, and the spring sunshine made it a pleasant day for walking. Eustacia was just congratulating herself on her plan when disaster struck.

Snuffles was also enjoying his walk on new territory, and had so far been content to trot along beside Eustacia, but as they walked along Park Place towards St James’s Street, a ginger cat that had been sleeping on a sunny wall suddenly caught sight of Snuffles, and took exception to this invasion. The cat, used to leashed dogs parading on the sidewalk below him, arched its back, spitting venomously. Snuffles was a small dog, but there was enough of the wild animal in him to resent such an insult, and he voiced his displeasure by barking loudly. Eustacia scolded him and tugged on the leash, intending to walk on. Snuffles, however, could not ignore the challenge thrown out to him by the ginger tom. He squatted, digging in his heels. Miss Marchant, her attention fixed upon St James’s Street, which was but a step ahead of her, gave an impatient tug on the leash.

‘Come
on,
Snuffles!’

The leash went slack and, looking down, she saw with dismay that Snuffles had slipped his collar. For a moment, the three participants were frozen into a tableau before the cat realized that its adversary was no longer fettered, and took off along the street with the spaniel in close pursuit.

‘Snuffles!’ cried Eustacia, but she knew enough about dogs to be sure he would ignore her. She watched in horror as the animals raced towards St James’s Street, then, with only the smallest hesitation, she picked up her skirts and hurried after them.

* * * *

Mr Lagallan attributed his habit of rising at an unfashionably early hour to his years adventuring on the Continent. Unable to lie in his bed while his valet brought him coffee or hot chocolate, and then waste another languid hour deciding upon which coat to put on, Vivyan preferred to fill his mornings with physical pursuits such as boxing or fencing. Having spent a profitable hour at small-sword practice with Viscount Denny, the two gentlemen put on their coats and set off from the discreet little duelling-school in King Street to walk to the viscount’s lodgings off Piccadilly, where they planned to break their fast. They made their way at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sunshine and discussing plans for the coming day.

‘Going to look at Grisham’s carriage-horses later,’ drawled the viscount, polishing his eyeglass. ‘Poor devil’s quite done up, you know. Lost everything, apparently, and is selling all his cattle.’

‘Is he, by Gad? Carriages, too? Then I’ve a mind to come along with you, Denny, for he has a very pretty perch-phaeton that would suit me very well.’

The viscount frowned at him.

‘Are you sure it’s just the phaeton that interests you? I tell you to your head, Viv, I ain’t taking you along with me if you are going to bid for his match-bays! I’ve had my eye on that team for ever, and I’m dashed if I’ll let you steal a march on me!’

‘No, no, Denny,’ said Vivyan, his soothing tones at variance with the gleam in his dark eyes. ‘I may cast an eye over the horseflesh, but I’ve more than enough cattle already eating their heads off in my stables.’

‘Dashed if I know why I put up with you,’ grumbled the viscount, not at all reassured. ‘You’ll take a fancy to those bays and outbid me, I know it. And I haven’t forgiven you yet for that trick you played me this morning!’ he added, with a darkling look at his companion. ‘Knocking the blade out of my hand — damned ungentlemanly of you!’

Vivyan laughed and took his friend’s arm as they crossed into St James’s Street. ‘Denny, you know you were trying to do the same to me. The maestro had just shown us the trick.’

‘Aye, only you already knew it!’ declared my lord, grinning in spite of himself.

‘Well, you will learn it in time. It takes practice. The secret is in the wrist action. I was taught a similar trick by a fencing master in Orleans.’

‘Ah, yes. France.’ The viscount shook his head. ‘You have a sadly chequered past, my friend.’

‘I prefer to call it colourful, Denny. Merely colourful.’

The viscount had stopped, and now raised his quizzing-glass.

‘As colourful as the stockings adorning those astonishingly pretty ankles across the way?’ he drawled.

Vivyan looked up in time to see a small figure in a dark-green pelisse running along the opposite flagway, red hair streaming behind her and skirts held up to display her scarlet stockings.

* * * *

Eustacia sped on, oblivious to the stares and catcalls that followed her progress. The wind had caught the wide brim of her bonnet and tugged it free of her head, so that it now bounced playfully at her back as she ran. Ahead of her, the ginger cat darted round a corner with Snuffles almost snapping at its tail. Eustacia reached the turning in time to see Snuffles disappearing into one of the alleys that criss-crossed the area behind the fashionable buildings which fronted St James’s Street. She hurried on, peering into each alley and calling to the spaniel. When she heard a bark, she knew she was closing in on her quarry, and quickened her step again. As she entered a narrow, cobbled mews she saw two men ahead of her. They were wearing rough workmen’s clothing and one was holding a struggling Snuffles under his arm.