The Bride Hunt (2 page)

“No, they probably had the sense to leave it alone. There’s no evidence for it, or at least none that we offered. I’m sure there’s some somewhere, but we were all so fired up about nailing Barclay, we just threw everything in.” Prudence sighed. “What naive idiots we are.”

“No,” Chastity said. “Were. We were, but I don’t think we are anymore.”

“A case of shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted,” Prudence pointed out with a dour smile. She turned towards the door at a discreet knock.

“Would you like the sherry decanter in here, Miss Prue? Or will you be using the drawing room this evening?” Jenkins inquired.

“No, I don’t think we’re in the mood for the drawing room tonight,” Prudence said. “We’ll take sherry in here, and we’ll eat shepherd’s pie in the little dining parlor.”

“Yes, I rather thought that would be your decision.” Jenkins entered the room and set down the tray he was carrying. “What time shall I tell Mrs. Hudson you’d like dinner?” He poured two glasses and carried them over on a silver salver.

“Eight, I should think?” Prudence looked a question at her sister, who nodded her agreement. “And I don’t think we shall dress, Jenkins. We’ll serve ourselves, if you like. I’m sure you’ve got things you’d rather do this evening.”

“When I’ve served you, Miss Prue, I shall go off duty,” Jenkins stated with a note of reproach. He bowed and left them.

“He’s only going to the pub for his pint of mild-and-bitter,” Chastity said, taking a sip of sherry. “It doesn’t warm up there until around nine o’clock.”

“All the same, elaborate service for shepherd’s pie seems a little unnecessary,” Prudence observed. “Why don’t we eat up here on trays beside the fire?”

“Because Jenkins and Mrs. Hudson would be horrified,” Chastity said, laughing slightly. She set down her glass and went to throw another shovel of coal on the fire.
“There’s no call for a lowering of standards, Miss Prue, just because times is hard.”
It was a perfect imitation of the housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, and Prudence laughed and applauded.

The moment of levity, however, died a swift death. “How do we find a barrister?” Chastity asked.

“I think we’re supposed to find a solicitor who will then instruct a barrister on our behalf. I’m sure that’s the way it works,” Prudence replied.

“You know more than I do.” Chastity took up her glass. “Father would know someone, of course. Could we sound him out, d’you think?”

“You mean ask a couple of casual questions?” Prudence leaned forward, her light green eyes sharp.

“He’s not going to put two and two together,” Chastity pointed out.

“No.” Prudence pursed her lips. “I just wonder if he’ll know the kind of lawyer we’re looking for.”

“Someone inexpensive,” Chastity stated the obvious.

Prudence shook her head. “This kind of barrister comes expensive. However we can but try. There might be some way around it.”

The sound of impatient footsteps in the corridor outside reached them just before the door was flung open after the most perfunctory knock. Lord Arthur Duncan stood on the threshold, his whiskers awry, his cheeks rather redder than usual, his bowler hat clutched to his striped waistcoat. “I have never heard the like,” he declared. “Bounders, absolute bounders. Should be hanged from the nearest lamppost. Oh, I see you’ve seen it.” He gestured to the
Pall Mall Gazette.
“Disgraceful, disgusting calumny. It was one thing for that effeminate gossip rag to point the finger . . . no self-respecting red-blooded man gives a tinker’s damn what a group of airheaded cowards have to say . . . but when that sanctimonious, tub-thumping twit in the
Gazette
starts pointing the finger, there’s no knowing where it will lead.”

He sat down heavily in a wing chair beside the fire. “If that’s sherry, I’ll have a glass, Prudence.”

“It is, and certainly, Father.” She poured and brought him the glass. “Is Lord Barclay very upset?”

“Upset?”
his lordship boomed. “He’s beside himself.” He drained his small glass in one sip, and glared at it. “Not enough to slake the thirst of a butterfly.”

“Would you like Jenkins to bring you whisky?” Chastity asked with customary solicitude.

“No . . . no need to bother him.” He wiped his moustache with his handkerchief. “Just fill it again for me.” He gave her the glass.

“What is Lord Barclay going to do about it?” inquired Prudence, leaning over to stir the coals with the poker. “He must have some redress, surely.”

“Well, he’s suing that
Mayfair Lady
disgrace, for a start. That’ll fold once Barclay and his lawyers have finished with it. Won’t have a penny to its name and its editors will be lucky to escape gaol.”

“I imagine he must be using the best lawyers in the business,” Chastity said, bringing a recharged glass over to the earl.

“Oh, yes, you mark my words . . . best money can buy.”

“Are there many good libel lawyers in London?” Prudence asked. “We never meet any.”

“Hardly surprising, m’dear.” He regarded his middle daughter with a benign smile. “Not saying that you and your sisters couldn’t compete with the brightest brain, but these men don’t frequent the kind of circles you girls like. You’ll find ’em in clubs, not drawing rooms.”

Prudence looked askance. “I wonder if that’s true. Give us some names of the really good barristers and Chas and I will see if they ring any kind of a bell.”

“Party games,” he scoffed, but he seemed to have calmed down somewhat in the soothing companionship of his daughters and under the equally soothing influence of the sherry. His cheeks had taken on a less rubicund hue.

“Well, now, let me see. Barclay’s solicitors, Falstaff, Harley, and Greenwold, have briefed Samuel Richardson, KC. Any name there ring a bell?” He gave his daughters a smug smile. “I’ll wager not.”

“We don’t expect to know the solicitors,” Prudence told him. “But Samuel Richardson . . .” She shook her head. “No, you win that one. Give us another.”

Lord Duncan frowned, thinking. “Malvern,” he said finally. “Sir Gideon Malvern, KC. Youngest KC in a decade, knighted for his services to the bar.” He chuckled suddenly. “I believe it was for services to the king . . . one of His Majesty’s friends found himself in a spot of bother, you know the kind.” He tapped the side of his nose significantly.

“Malvern defended him . . . man came out smelling like a rose garden. But I’ll wager you haven’t heard of him either, for all the royal connections. They say he’s the brightest candle in the Inns of Court sconce these days. Man’s far too busy to mingle.”

He set down his glass and rose rather heavily to his feet. “Well, I have to dress, I’m dining with Barclay in Rules. Must show solidarity, you know. Can’t let this kind of . . .” He waved a disdainful hand at the
Gazette.
“Spiteful rubbish . . . that’s all it is. Can’t let that rubbish win the day over honest men.” He dropped a paternal kiss on each forehead and left them.

“Honest men,”
Prudence said with heavy scorn, taking her glass to the decanter for a refill. “It’s not as if Father’s either blind or stupid. What is it about Barclay that so captivates him?”

“Oh, I think it has something to do with the fact that the earl was there when Mother died,” Chastity said quietly, gazing into the fire. “Father was distraught, and so were we. Distraught and exhausted after nursing her those last few months.”

Prudence nodded, crossing her arms over her chest in an involuntary hug. Their mother’s final days had been excruciatingly painful, and all the laudanum available to them hadn’t been sufficient to ease her suffering. Lord Duncan hadn’t been able to bear his wife’s pain and had retreated to his library, where Lord Barclay had kept him company while Lord Duncan’s daughters had shared vigils at their mother’s bedside. They had had no energy to spare for their father’s grief—not until many months later, by which time Lord Barclay had become Lord Duncan’s most intimate confidant.

Prudence let her arms drop and raised her head. “Well, there’s nothing we can do to change that now. Let’s see what we can discover about this Sir Gideon Malvern.”

“If he’s made King’s Council, he has to be at the top of the tree,” Chastity said. “I wonder what it means to be the youngest KC in a decade.”

“We need a recent copy of
Who’s Who,
” Prudence said. “At least that’ll tell us which of the Inns of Court he’s affiliated with. The volume in our library is decades old; it probably predates his law degree. We’ll go to Hatchards in the morning and take a quick look under the M’s.”

“
Who’s Who
won’t give us an address, though.”

“No, but once we know which of the Inns he belongs to, we can go there and find his chambers. I’m sure if he’s that important and well-known he’ll have chambers somewhere around the Temple.”

“But we can’t just beard him in his chambers,” Chastity pointed out. “I thought we had to go through the proper channels, get solicitors to brief him.”

Prudence shook her head. “I think if we have any chance at all of getting his help we’re going to have to jump him . . . surprise him. If we give him time to think for one instant, he’ll laugh us into the street.”

“‘Be bloody, bold, and resolute,’ ” Chastity quoted with an upraised fist.

“‘Laugh to scorn the power of man,’ ” her sister continued.

“If only,” Chastity said, getting to her feet. “We’ll go to Hatchards first thing in the morning.” She stretched tiredly. “I’m hungry and it’s nearly eight. Shall we go and eat shepherd’s pie?”

“I wonder what Con’s eating for dinner,” Prudence mused as she accompanied her sister downstairs.

“Goats’ eyeballs,” Chastity said promptly. “I read that’s what the Bedouin nomads eat in the Sahara.”

“Oh, I can imagine Max’s reaction faced with a goat’s eyeball. Can’t you, Jenkins?” Prudence took her seat in the small dining parlor they used when they were alone.

“As I understand it, Miss Prue, the eyeballs of sheep are a delicacy. I believe that the goats are roasted whole and the meat is considered most succulent.” Jenkins held the steaming dish of shepherd’s pie at her elbow.

“I’m not sure goat or sheep make much difference to the concept,” Prudence said, helping herself. “This smells delicious . . . thank you, Jenkins.”

He moved around the table to Chastity. “Mrs. Hudson used grated cheese on the potato. I think you’ll find it nice and crispy.”

Chastity cut through the crisp crust, and the butler presented a dish of buttered cabbage before filling their wineglasses and quietly removing himself.

“It is actually very good,” Prudence said after a forkful.

“Mrs. Hudson does remarkably well with what little she has to work with much of the time,” Chastity said. “Did we manage to pay her this month?”

“Oh, yes. I had to pawn those little pearl earrings of Mother’s, but we’ll redeem them as soon as we get the
charitable donations
from Lady Lucan and Lady Winthrop.”

“That’s such an outrageous idea of Con’s,” Chastity said. “To ask them to donate to a charity for indigent spinsters as a means of collecting our Go-Between fee.”

“Well, they have no idea that they—or rather, their progeny—received the services of the Go-Between,” Prudence reminded her, helping herself to more cabbage. “It’s going to be a most useful way of collecting payment . . . should we find ourselves setting up other couples for their own good.”

Chastity couldn’t help a grin. “For their own good. How altruistic that sounds, when all we want is their money.” She took a sip of wine and pulled a face. “This is a thin and ungrateful beverage.”

“I know,” Prudence agreed with a rueful headshake. “Jenkins found some bottles of a burgundy at the back of the cellar that are clearly over the hill. We thought we ought to drink them up, those that Mrs. Hudson isn’t using for cooking.”

“Don’t let Father get a sniff of them.”

Prudence shook her head again and took a sip from her own glass. “It’s not too bad with food, but you couldn’t possibly drink it alone.”

“So, when are we going to receive these charitable donations from
La Lucan
and
La Winthrop
?”

“They promised to bring checks to the next At Home. I suggested around fifty guineas apiece would be suitable,” Prudence told her blithely.

Chastity choked on a forkful of potato. “Fifty guineas apiece! That’s outrageous, Prue.”

“Con thought it was a little much too, but I thought it was worth a try. It isn’t as if they can’t afford it,” her sister declared. “The wedding is to take place in December, and it’ll be the biggest, most lavish Society affair of the year. Hester and David are so absorbed in each other it’s nauseating. And their mothers are pleased as punch. We did them all a great service. Not to mention you,” she added with a grin. “Anything to give David an alternative love interest.”

“The adoration
was
getting a little tedious,” Chastity admitted. “By the way, were there any other letters for
The Mayfair Lady
? Besides the legal one.”

“Several. They’re still in my bag. We’ll look at them after dinner.”

“I wonder what’s for pudding?” Chastity mused.

“Apple crumble and custard, Miss Chas.” Jenkins answered the question as he reentered the parlor on cue. “Mrs. Hudson was wondering if you’d like her to make some scones for the At Home?” He gathered up their plates.

“Oh, yes, please,” Prudence said. “We’re collecting money at the next one, so the sweeter the tea, the better.”

“Yes, Miss Prue. I’ll explain to Mrs. Hudson. I imagine she’ll make another chocolate sponge.” Jenkins was quite matter-of-fact as he bore away their discarded plates. The dubious moneymaking activities of Lord Duncan’s daughters met only with his approval.

Chapter 2

T
he sisters entered the bow-windowed bookshop on Piccadilly within minutes of its opening. They headed straight for the reference section at the rear of the shop and found what they were looking for. “We probably ought to use the lending library for research,” Chastity said in an undertone. “It seems like cheating to use a bookstore. I’m sure they’d rather we bought the up-to-date
Who’s Who.
”

“I’m sure they would,” Prudence agreed. “But it’s five guineas that we don’t have, and we only need one entry.” She leafed carefully through the pages. “Ah, here we are, the M’s.” Her finger ran down the entries. “Maburn . . . Maddingly . . .
Malvern.
This is it. ‘Sir Gideon Malvern, KC; Member of the Inns of Court, Middle Temple; Appointed to the bar, 1894; Appointed King’s Council, 1902; Education: Winchester, New College, Oxford . . .’ Predictable enough.” She raised her head. “Well, that gives us what we need.”

“Isn’t there anything else, anything personal?” Chastity inquired, peering over her sister’s shoulder. “Oh, look at this. It says he’s divorced. ‘Married Harriet Greenwood, daughter of Lord Charles and Lady Greenwood, 1896; Divorced, 1900. One daughter, Sarah, born 1897.’ ”

She looked up with a frown. “Divorced . . . that’s unusual.”

“Very,” Prudence agreed. “But it’s not going to affect us. We know where to find him, or at least his chambers. Let’s go to Middle Temple Lane and look at some nameplates.” She closed the tome gently and replaced it on the shelf. Outside, they jostled with the shoppers crowding Piccadilly until they found an empty hackney cab.

“Victoria Embankment, please,” Prudence called as she climbed in, Chastity on her heels. “The issue now,” Prudence said, her brow furrowed, “is how to approach this famous man. D’you have any ideas, Chas?”

“Nothing specific,” her sister said, adjusting the brim of her straw hat. “We need to make an appointment first. Isn’t he likely to be in court . . . the Old Bailey or somewhere? The Bailey is open for business now, isn’t it?”

“Early this year, I believe,” Prudence said vaguely. “Even if he’s not practicing there, he’s most likely to be in some criminal court this morning. We probably won’t get further than his law clerk today, always assuming, of course, that we don’t get thrown out onto the street before we can open our mouths.”

“Well, we look respectable enough,” Chastity said.

That was certainly true, Prudence reflected. Her own neutral tweed jacket and skirt with a plain black straw hat was understated, unfrivolous, respectable, and unremarkable. Chastity’s day dress of dark brown silk was a little more adorned, but still could not be called frivolous. She had debated their both dressing to the nines in an attempt to overwhelm the barrister with their elegance and femininity but had decided in favor of a more moderate approach. Once she had some idea of the kind of man they were dealing with, they could adapt accordingly.

Divorced was interesting, though. It was very unusual in their circles, and carried considerable stigma. But, of course, more for the woman than the man, she thought acidly, hearing in her head Constance, the suffragist, railing against the injustice of society’s laws when it came to women, both openly in the courts and in covert daily convention. Who had been the guilty party in this case? Sir Gideon, or his wife? If they could discover that, it might give them some clues as to how to deal with the barrister.

The hackney stopped on Victoria Embankment and they got out, pausing for a moment to look across the gray sweep of the Thames to the South Bank. The sun was struggling to emerge through an overcast sky and a few faint rays lit the dull, rolling surface of the water. A brisk gust of wind sent colored leaves tumbling from the oak trees in the Temple Gardens behind them.

“It’s too cold to stand around,” Prudence said. “Let’s walk up Middle Temple Lane. You take one side and I’ll take the other.”

Every door on either side of the lane bore copper nameplates listing the occupants of each tall, narrow building. Each name was followed by the insignia
Barrister At Law
. Sir Gideon Malvern’s name was found midway up the lane.

Prudence waved at Chastity, who crossed over towards her. “This one.” Prudence indicated the nameplate.

Chastity tried the shiny brass doorknob and the door swung open into a gloomy interior that could barely qualify as a foyer. A set of wooden stairs rose directly in front of them. The sun had gone in again and there was little enough natural light at the best of times from the narrow window at the corner of the stairs, but someone had thoughtfully lit the gas lamp at the top, so a little illumination showed the way up the ancient, rickety staircase.

The sisters exchanged a glance. The shiny nameplate and doorknob facing the street belied the shabby interior, but Prudence knew enough about the practice of law to realize that she should not judge the barrister by the air of dilapidation in his chambers. Rooms in the ancient Inns of Court were highly prized and available only to the select few. It was a matter of pride and tradition that no modern conveniences should invade the hallowed chambers.

“I’m surprised there’s a gas lamp,” she murmured. “I thought they hadn’t progressed beyond oil lanterns and candles.”

“Shall we go up?” Chastity asked in a similar undertone.

“That’s what we came for.” Prudence sounded more confident than she felt. She set foot on the stair, Chastity behind her. It was too narrow for two to climb abreast.

The door at the head of the stairs stood slightly ajar. Prudence knocked, thought it had been too timid a knock, and rapped rather more smartly. A creaky voice bade her enter. Presumably it did not belong to Sir Gideon Malvern, KC, she reflected. Her father had described him as the youngest barrister to achieve that accolade in a decade and she remembered from the entry in
Who’s Who
that he’d been appointed to the bar twelve years ago. He couldn’t be more than forty, she calculated. She went in, leaving the door ajar, and failed to notice that Chastity didn’t follow her.

“Madam?” An elderly man in a threadbare frock coat and frayed collar looked at her in surprise from behind an overloaded desk. He glanced up at the clock, which chimed eleven o’clock as he did so. “Can I help you, madam?” He rose from a tall stool and peered at her in the gaslight.

“I would like to see Sir Gideon Malvern,” Prudence stated, glancing around her with interest. The walls were invisible behind bookshelves groaning beneath the weight of thick leather-bound volumes. A telephone hung on the wall behind the clerk’s desk, an expensive piece of modernity that surprised her even more than the gaslight. It stood out like a sore thumb. On a coat rack beside the door hung the barrister’s working garb, a black gown and an elaborate white curled wig.

The clerk opened a ledger on his desk, slowly turned the pages, and then peered through pince-nez at the entries. He looked up after what seemed an interminable length of time. “Sir Gideon has no appointment for this time, madam.”

“That’s because I haven’t made one,” Prudence said, an impatient edge to her voice now. She took off her gloves, aware that the gesture felt almost symbolic. The man was playing games with her. “As I’m sure you are well aware. I would, however, like to make one.”

“You are a solicitor, madam?” He stared at her, and she saw that his eyes were a great deal sharper than his rather bumbling manner might indicate.

“Hardly,” she said. “But, nevertheless, I wish to brief Sir Gideon on a libel case. One I think he will find both interesting and profitable.” The last lie slid off her tongue as smoothly as water off oiled leather.

The clerk pinched his chin, regarding her in silence for again an unnerving length of time. “This is most unorthodox, but if you have the documents pertaining to the case, I will look them over and consider whether Sir Gideon might be interested,” he said finally, holding out his hand.

“Do you make up Sir Gideon’s mind for him?” Prudence inquired, the same acerbic edge to her voice. “I would have thought such a distinguished barrister would be capable of making up his own mind.”

“All briefs to be considered by Sir Gideon are presented through me,” the clerk stated.

They seemed to have reached an impasse. Prudence knew that if she turned and left she would never be able to return, but if she meekly handed over the papers she had in her handbag she had no guarantee that they wouldn’t go straight into the already overflowing wastepaper basket beside the clerk’s desk. So she simply stood her ground.

Sir Gideon’s clerk continued to regard her with that same shrewdness from behind his pince-nez. He was thinking that his principal had a rather eccentric attitude to some of the cases he took. Sir Gideon frequently took on a brief that Thadeus considered a complete waste of time, quite unworthy of his principal’s attention. When he expressed his reservations they were always met with a careless shrug and the comment that a man’s brain needed something out of the ordinary now and again to keep it alive and well.

Thadeus was wondering what Sir Gideon would think of his present visitor. A lady of undeniable quality, and some considerable strength of will, he decided. She wouldn’t stand out in a crowd—but then, Sir Gideon didn’t care for the flamboyant, except when it came to the exotic dancers he seemed to prefer as mistresses.

Prudence glanced at the closed inner door, and then at the barrister’s court dress on the coat rack. If it was there, then the barrister was presumably not in court. “Is Sir Gideon in chambers?” she asked.

“No, madam, not as yet.”

“When do you expect him?”

“Sir Gideon’s personal arrangements are no concern of mine, madam.”

“Ah.” So, whatever had taken him from his office this morning was not related to the law, she inferred.

“Leave me the brief, madam, and I assure you that Sir Gideon will see it,” the clerk stated. “Otherwise, I must ask you to excuse me. I have work to do.”

There seemed nothing for it. Prudence opened her bag and took out the copy of
The Mayfair Lady,
with the article marked, and the solicitor’s letter. “The suit concerns this broadsheet,” she said. “You will see that I have marked the relevant piece.”

The clerk took the thin sheaf of papers. “This is the brief?” he asked, raising incredulous eyebrows.

“No, I wouldn’t call it that,” Prudence said. “I’m not a solicitor, as we’ve just established. But everything Sir Gideon will need to understand the situation is there.”

“With the exception of your name, madam.”

“This libel suit is filed against
The Mayfair Lady,
that’s all the name Sir Gideon needs.”

Thadeus looked at her and the semblance of a smile touched his thin mouth. “You do not know my principal, madam. I do assure you he will need a great deal more than that.”

“Well, if he decides to take the case, he shall have more than that,” Prudence declared brusquely. “In the meantime, a message sent to this address will reach me.” She handed him a folded paper.

Thadeus unfolded the sheet. “Mrs. Henry Franklin, Flat A, Palace Court, Bayswater,” he read aloud. He looked again at her, his gaze drifting to her ringless fingers. This was not a lady with a Bayswater aura. She exuded Mayfair, for all the simplicity of her dress.

“A message to this address will reach you?”

“That is what I said, I believe.” Prudence put on her gloves, her movements crisp. “I will expect to hear from Sir Gideon by the end of the week. It shouldn’t take him very long to make up his mind. The issue is very straightforward.”

“Libel is rarely straightforward, madam,” the clerk responded. He offered her a small bow. “I bid you good morning.”

“Good morning.” Prudence turned back to the door, only then realizing that Chastity was not immediately behind her. She went out onto the landing, pulling the door closed behind her, revealing her sister, who had been standing in the shadows behind the door. “Chas, why didn’t you come in?” she whispered.

“It was so cramped in there,” Chastity explained. “It seemed better to stay outside. Did you mind?”

“No. To tell you the truth, I didn’t realize you weren’t in the room,” Prudence said, still keeping her voice low as she descended the stairs. “Didn’t you think he was an obstreperous man?”

“Yes, but you stood up to him beautifully. He obviously sees himself as Cerberus, guarding the gates to
his principal.
”

Prudence chuckled, then shook her head. “I only hope he shows the papers to that
principal.
” She laid a hand on the handle of the street door, talking over her shoulder as she did so. The door opened abruptly, nearly knocking her sideways, and she reeled back, still clutching the knob.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize anyone was on the other side.” A male voice that was both well modulated and unusually quiet spoke above her.

She looked up at the owner of the voice, too startled for a minute to respond. It was hard to get much of an impression in the dim light of the narrow hallway, but she thought his eyes were gray. “Sir Gideon Malvern?” she asked directly.