Waking Up With a Rake (35 page)

“Distract Mr. Tweadle for me,” Olivia said, rising with purpose and swiping her glistening eyes before the first tear could fall.

“Why, my lady?”

“Because I’m going to Wapping Dock to find Sergeant Leatherby.”

***

Babette tried to dissuade her for a bit, but Olivia remained firm.

“
Ah, bien
,” the maid said, shaking her head. “But after you are away, you must make to wait on the corner for me, and I shall slip out the kitchen and down the alley. A lady, she should not travel the city by herself. Besides, I shall bring your reticule and pelisse.”

Olivia agreed, and after Babette led Tweadle away from Warrington House’s front door, Olivia sneaked out. The sense of freedom would have been more invigorating if a cold wind wasn’t whipping down the man-made canyons of Mayfair.

Or if her heart weren’t still numb from Mr. Alcock’s revelations.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she put her head down and walked into the wind until she reached a corner. She tried to hail a cab, but with no purse in evidence, hackneys simply rumbled past her.

She stamped her feet against the cold and glanced over her shoulder down the block. Babette was nowhere to be seen.

Then a carriage rumbled to a stop before her.

“God’s garters! Olivia Symon, what are you doing out in this wind without a coat?”

Olivia looked up to see Amanda Pinkerton leaning out of the carriage window.

“I guess I should call you Lady Rhys Warrington. You slyboots, running off to Gretna Green with none of us the wiser! What have you to say for yourself?” She paused long enough to snatch a breath. “I can see the cold has your tongue. Well, come then. I’ve a heated brick at my feet and I’m glad to share.”

At her signal, Amanda’s footman leaped down from the rear of the carriage and opened the door for Olivia. She let the servant hand her up into the conveyance, grateful to be out of the wind.

“Here you go,” Amanda said as she tucked a bearskin blanket around her. Then she rapped on the carriage ceiling to signal the driver to move on. “You’ll catch your death out there like that, I shouldn’t wonder. Now where can we take you? Are you staying with your parents or have you and Lord Rhys set up housekeeping somewhere?”

“I need to go to Wapping.” Olivia knew she ought to ask Amanda to wait until Babette arrived, but if she could catch a quick ride to her destination, she’d brave the docks alone. Sergeant Leatherby might be boarding the ship for Portsmouth this very moment. “Can you take me there please?”

“Don’t tell me you’re running away from your husband and intend to take ship. First an elopement; now this!”

“No, I’m not running away from Rhys,” she said, though she doubted she could bear seeing him. “Will you take me to Wapping or not?”

Olivia didn’t care that she sounded snappish. She didn’t have time for a gossip’s prying questions. Besides, she was trying very hard not to think about her husband at the moment. Her chest might split open if she did.

“Of course I can take you to Wapping. The docks aren’t so far from the home Father leased for us,” Amanda said without the slightest show of offense. “It’s not Mayfair, but you just won’t believe what a cunning little place it is. Why, it even has a tower, and Father says there used to be a moat.”

Olivia listened with half an ear. The way Amanda chattered on made Olivia realize she probably didn’t have many people to talk to in London. As a doctor, her father wasn’t considered “in trade,” but neither was his blood blue. That placed his daughter on the fringes of Polite Society. In her way, Amanda Pinkerton was as isolated as Olivia.

When the forest of masts bobbing at Wapping Dock rose up in the carriage windows, Olivia asked Amanda to signal for a halt.

“And let you wander Wapping by yourself and without a coat? Not likely.”

“But I have to find someone before they take ship. A Sergeant Leatherby. It’s most urgent.”

The coach slowed and stopped before a gray stone house of venerable age. It did indeed have a tower that listed only slightly to the right. Olivia suspected the ancient edifice had been overlooking the Thames back when the Danes flooded into England.

“Oh, that’s easily done. I’ll send our man Hector round to find this Sergeant Leatherby for you.” Amanda climbed out of the coach and waited while her footman helped Olivia down as well. She gave the footman orders to scour the dock for the ship bound for Portsmouth, apprehend Sergeant Leatherby, and bring him back, willing or not, to meet with Lady Rhys Warrington. Then she linked arms with Olivia companionably. “You and I will take some tea while we wait for Hector to come back. I’m so longing to hear about…Scotland.”

The plan did seem a good one. Better than wandering about the docks on her own. An unescorted woman would be easy prey for unsavory elements. Now that she had time to consider it, Olivia realized she wasn’t thinking clearly when she set off on this quest. “Tea sounds lovely. Thank you, Miss Pinkerton. Or may I call you by your Christian name?”

“Of course, if we take it turn and turn about, Olivia.” Miss Pinkerton dimpled prettily and led the way into the stone house. Given the severe exterior, Olivia expected heavy Tudor furnishings, but the parlor off the entrance hall was dotted with elegant mahogany and ebony side tables. The fashionable wing chairs were covered with tiny fleur-de-lis-patterned fabric.

“We live simply here,” Amanda said as she hung up her own coat on a peg by the door. “It’s Cook’s half-day off, and besides Hector, we have no other servants. Even the coach is hired.” She sighed. “It’s not at all like India. We had servants for everything there. Do you know we even had one who did nothing but fan us on hot days?”

“I expect there are many differences between here and India.”

“Oh, yes. For one thing, there were no rooms in the house in India where I wasn’t welcome,” Amanda said. “Here at first, Cook tried to keep me out of the kitchen completely.”

The aroma of fresh bread wafted down the hall toward them. Amanda sighed. “Mrs. Pennyworth must have baked this morning. Come.”

They followed their noses toward the source of the yeasty scent.

“Fetch me a cup of milk from the crock, if you please,” Amanda said as she lit the hob and filled the kettle at the hand pump by the sink. “The larder is through there.”

Olivia was strangely comforted by the lack of ceremony. Friends would be so informal with each other. At least, she suspected they would be. Beatrice Symon had so regimented Olivia’s life, she’d never had opportunity to make many true friends. She found the stone crock where the milk was stored and ladled up a dipperful. She delivered it to Amanda, careful not to spill a drop. “Will this do, you think?”

“Perfect.” Amanda gave her a quick hug. “We really didn’t get the opportunity to know each other while Father and I were visiting at Barrowdell. I hope we can rectify that here in London. Please sit down while I fix our tea.”

Olivia settled at the long oak table while Amanda chattered about being invited to a ball at Sir Nigel Cavendish’s lavish town house a fortnight hence. Amanda let slip that she was a trifle old for a debutant, and Olivia knew she was a couple years her senior, but Amanda hoped her exotic upbringing would render her “interesting” to the ton.

“Of course, I’m not truly ‘out’ yet,” Amanda said as she cut the fresh loaf into thick slices and slathered each with clotted cream. “I haven’t a voucher for Almack’s, but Sir Nigel’s ball will be almost as good. Father assures me I’ll meet lots of eligible fellows there and I so love to dance. Don’t you?”

Her mother engaged several dancing masters, but Olivia never moved with enough grace to please Beatrice Symon. “I’m afraid I never learned.”

Amanda’s eyes went round. “You’re joking.”

Olivia raised a mock solemn hand. “As I hope for heaven, I swear that I have two left feet.”

“Well, that is something we shall have to fix. Perhaps I’ll teach you. After we have tea, of course.”

Amanda brought over two steaming cups. “Humor me and try these scones, will you? Cook made them yesterday with a new recipe.”

Olivia nibbled at the delicate pastry and pronounced them heavenly. The tea revived her spirits considerably. Hector would find Sergeant Leatherby. She’d give Rhys a chance to explain himself on the matter of Mr. Alcock’s pernicious bargain. And she and Amanda would become friends in a city where both of them needed one.

“Now, tell me what it was like to run away to Scotland with that handsome husband of yours.” Amanda sat down opposite Olivia with her own cup of tea.

Olivia found herself relaxing, telling Amanda about her unorthodox wedding over the anvil. She recounted her meeting with Rhys’s sister and brother-in-law. Amanda laughed at the tale of Rhys playing hide-and-seek with his nephew in old Braebrooke Cairn.

Whether it was relief at seeing a friendly face or the drowsy warmth of the kitchen, something compelled Olivia to tell her why she sought Sergeant Leatherby and how she hoped to help Rhys clear his name once and for all time. It all tumbled out of her like water gushing from a break in a dike.

“Just imagine,” Amanda said as she poured out another serving of tea for Olivia. “Proof that Lord Rhys is guiltless in that unfortunate French affair may be walking the docks at Wapping this very moment. But I confess to a bit of puzzlement. My father says politicians don’t even sneeze unless it benefits their position. Why did Mr. Alcock deliver those documents to you now?”

Olivia gulped the second cup of tea and grimaced. It was much sweeter than she liked.

“I put three lumps in this time,” Amanda explained. “Drink up, dear. You really have very little meat on your bones, you know. So what about this Mr. Alcock business?”

“Well, it was because—” Olivia covered her mouth with her hand. She almost admitted that the MP delivered the documents because Rhys had fulfilled his commission to ruin her. Her vision faded for a moment, nearly going black. She blinked slowly, trying to make her eyes focus. Light streamed in the high kitchen window in a long shaft, illuminating countless little dust speck worlds. She gave herself a shake to keep from being pulled into orbit with one of them. “They had a business arrangement. Oh, me! I can’t seem to…”

Her brain felt so fuzzy, she couldn’t put another two words together. Amanda smiled and leaned toward her. The room tilted strangely, and suddenly Olivia’s head was too heavy for her to hold up.

Darkness gathered at the edges of the room and then rushed in on her. She blinked into nothingness, as suddenly and completely as a pinched-off candle.

Chapter 33

Rhys was coldly furious with Tweadle for letting Olivia slip out of Warrington House undetected.

“But she had help, my lord,” Mr. Tweadle said. “That French maid of hers drew me away from my post and then sneaked out the back after her. However, Lady Olivia must have given her the slip as well. She came skulking back, with your wife’s reticule and pelisse in tow.”

“Where is Babette now?”

“I had Dirkwater shut her up in the cold larder until you returned, sir. Shall I summon the authorities?”

A Bow Street Runner would merely take statements and file a report. By the time someone might think of where to start the search for Olivia, it would be too late.

“No, fetch her here,” Rhys ordered. “And step lively.”

When Babette appeared, she bore not only Olivia’s things, but a parcel tied with a string.

“Where is she?” Rhys demanded.

“First, you must know the why my lady she made to disobey you.” Babette dropped the packet on the marquis’s desk and laid Olivia’s effects carefully on one of the Sheraton chairs. Then in her stilted English, she described Alcock’s visit in detail.

Rhys listened in stony silence, rifling through the much folded documents that would clear him if they could be substantiated by a witness. Then, with arms crossed over her bosom, Babette recounted how Alcock had revealed their cursed agreement.

Olivia now knew he meant to ruin her at first. The backs of his eyes burned.

“But even though you meant to do her the ill turn,” Babette said with undisguised loathing, “my lady, she is on her way to Wapping Dock to find the man who can clear your name.”

Rhys swore softly, then muttered, “I don’t deserve her.”

“This thought it is also in my mind,” Babette said agreeably. “But if you wish to know where she might be now, you would do well to ask Miss Pinkerton. The last I saw of my lady, she was riding away in a coach with that young miss.”

Rhys made for the door, but Babette stepped into his path.

“Take me with you, my lord. I can help.”

Rhys chuckled mirthlessly. “Just because you were lady’s maid to a French courtesan, it doesn’t signify that you would be useful in a tight spot.”

“I was not only a maid,” Babette admitted. “I was a help to La Belle Perdu
in
all
her
endeavors
.”

Rhys frowned down at her. “The French spy.”

“Not a spy, a double agent. Her father was French, but her mother, she was English. Just like me. My loyalty and La Belle Perdu’s, it is to the British Crown.”