A Crimson Warning (17 page)

She’d done a credible job turning the chamber from French contemporary to medieval fantasy. A suit of armor stood in one corner, and in the one opposite was a display of horse armor, complete with rider on top. Lances, swords, and an assortment of shields hung from one wall, while the other three were covered with fine tapestries. All of the furniture was heavy and dark. Candelabras on the large table in the center of the room provided the only light save that coming through the windows, which she’d somehow managed to replace with panels of stained glass.

“How did you do this in so little time?” I asked.

“Money makes all things possible,” she said. “What do you think, Mrs. Brandon?”

“I … I…,” Ivy faltered in search of words. “It’s extraordinary. I feel as if I’m in the keep of some Scottish castle.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Glover said. “I was aiming for fifteenth-century France. But it’s a start.”

“How does Mr. Foster like it?” I asked.

“He’s not yet seen it,” she said. “I’ve been keeping him in the Egyptian room, even if he does fancy himself a courtly knight. It’s still my favorite.”

“And your husband?” Ivy asked. “Which is his favorite?”

“His dreadful smoking room,” she said. “Which has been in dire need of refurbishment since approximately 1817. I think he refuses to update it just to ensure I won’t disturb him in his little sanctuary. He knows I can’t bear to spend a moment there as it is.”

“You must know I’ve come to you with the same question I have every day,” I said.

“And today, at last, I have a positive response for you,” she said, pulling a rolled paper from her décolletage. I stifled a laugh and took it from Lady Glover as Ivy did her best to hide her embarrassment.

“We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.”
Across the bottom of the page, just as before, was an ominous swish of red paint.

“It’s
As You Like It,
” Lady Glover said. “I admit to having to undertake quite a search to find the quote. I didn’t expect something from the comedies, you see.”

“No, why would you have?” I frowned. “I wish he’d given some indication of whether he received the reply you’d sent to his first note.”

“Well, of course he received it,” Lady Glover said. “I saw him collect it from my stoop.”

“And you didn’t see fit to share this information with me?” Frustration was replacing my feeling of discomfort.

She fluttered her eyelashes. “A lady must have some secrets.”

“What did he look like?”

“Well, I suppose I must admit—but only to you—that he didn’t come for it himself. He sent a servant of some sort.”

“Was he in livery?” I asked.

“No.” She sighed and leaned forward. “Truth be told, he was rather scruffy for a manservant.”

“How do you know he wasn’t some beggar off the street?” Ivy asked.

“Well, he wasn’t that filthy. At least, not quite.”

“I don’t suppose you had someone follow him?” I asked.

“I followed him myself,” she said. “It was quite an adventure. At least I’d thought it would be. But he went nowhere interesting—just into the back door of Claridge’s Hotel.”

“How is that not interesting?” I asked.

“Because he was summarily ejected not two minutes later,” she said. “And then went towards the East End. I stopped following at that point. The neighborhood was appalling and I quite feared for my own safety.”

I wondered if he had gone to Mr. Majors’s match factory.

“Was there anything that stood out about his appearance?” I asked.

“He must have been in a fight recently,” she said. “He was rather banged up, though the injuries did not look fresh.”

I would have bet anything it was Dobson.

“And you still think he’s the servant to a gentleman?” Ivy asked.

“Dear girl, I never said my correspondent was a gentleman! Do you want tea, either of you?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I do think the man sending these notes is a gentleman. Who else would have such ready knowledge of Shakespeare?”

“An actor, Lady Emily,” she said. “He’d have a far better command of the Bard’s work than any half-interested gentleman with a perfunctory education.”

“I suppose you would know more about actors than us,” Ivy said, then turned bright red. “I’m so sorry … I wasn’t meaning to insult you. I just thought that, in the current circumstances, your background as—”

“Don’t upset yourself,” Lady Glover said. “I’ve never received such a bungled apology in all my life. You can’t be anything but sincere.”

“I assure you, I am,” Ivy said.

“My experience on the stage has certainly enhanced my view of this entire situation,” Lady Glover said. “The stories I could tell you!”

Ivy leaned forward, her eyes wide. She was no longer embarrassed. The red had faded away and she looked well and truly captivated.

“What was it like?” she asked.

“That, my dear, will have to be a story for another day,” Lady Glover said. “For now, I want to focus on this man and his ill-bred servants.”

“You think he has more than one such person at his disposal?” I asked, my suspicions growing again.

“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked, waving her hands dismissively. “Particularly if he’s an actor. He’d have any number of unsavory acquaintances at his disposal.”

“Surely you don’t think ill of stage people?” Ivy asked.

“Not at all,” Lady Glover said. “But there are hangers-on to be considered. People in unfortunate circumstances who seek to advance themselves on the stage, when in fact they have no talent, no beauty, and no chance at success.”

“But surely even a person like that wouldn’t be so scruffy as the man you followed?” I asked.

“He may have been in costume, Lady Emily,” she said. “You must consider every possibility.”

*   *   *

“She’s not at all what I expected,” Ivy said as I walked her home. “Which is not to say she’s the sort of woman with whom we should be cavorting. But I do like her—much more than I ought.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in the stage,” I said, checking my reticule to make sure the note was still in it. I’d asked Lady Glover for it so I might show it to Colin. She acquiesced to my request, but only on the condition that he return it to her himself.

“I’ve always quite fancied it,” Ivy said. “I would love to play Juliet.”

“Would you?” I asked. “How is it that you’ve never shared this with me before?”

“I think I was afraid to admit it out loud.”

“Perhaps we should stage an entertainment.”

“Don’t even think of it,” she said. “Robert would be horrified.”

“No, he wouldn’t, not if we did it at home and only for our friends. It would be perfectly acceptable.”

“But what if I really liked it, Emily? And wanted to do it again?”

“Afraid of being consumed by the urge to act, are you?”

“Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper, looking around furiously as if she were afraid someone might have heard.

“I shan’t harass you about it now, but I think we should consider it for Christmas.”

“I’m not listening,” she said. “I noticed there was yellow sealing wax on Lady Glover’s note.”

“Well done for changing the subject,” I said. “You’re right.”

“It’s identical to that which Winifred has,” she said. “I wonder if in the end, Lady Glover will prove the more acceptable acquaintance?”

“That, Ivy, would be an irony I’d love to see.”

2 July 1893

Belgrave Square, London

I’m desperately excited for the ball at Devonshire House tonight. We all need a break from the hideous tension—the Lloyds, the latest to be marked with paint, have refused to show themselves in public since their steps were splashed red and are showing signs of distress. One of their parlor maids has left without giving notice, saying that she couldn’t bear to be in the house. Apparently her mistress is on edge to the point of madness. No one has the slightest clue what the family is so desperate to keep hidden, but speculating about it are topics number one through ten at every social gathering these days.

I wonder how I would react if I received a warning in crimson? Would I become a recluse? Or would I have the courage to admit what I’ve done? I’m already excessively fond of Lady Glover, despite the many misgivings I have regarding her character, and hope I would use her as a model. She wouldn’t apologize for her sins. She’d be proud of them.

I don’t think I have it in me to be like her, wish though I might for the strength.

Tonight I’m going to do my best to avoid all unpleasant thoughts. A certain young lady will be at the ball tonight, and she’s already promised Mr. Barnes her first dance. I’m hoping it will be the first of many. It would be an excellent match for them both.

18

Devonshire House was buzzing with energy. The duchess always had the finest musicians in London, and I’d danced and danced, particularly enjoying the waltzes I shared with Colin, his eyes locked on mine as he spun me around the floor. I’d decided to wear my favorite gown—a frothy creation of the palest blue silk damask. Garlands of pearls and crystals hung from the skirt and the bodice in elegant cascades, and flounces of filmy lace fell from my tightly laced waist into a modest train. Meg had spent nearly an hour on my hair, weaving pearls into the curls she’d formed into a coil on the top of my head. I’d refused to wear the sapphires she suggested, choosing instead a dainty diamond necklace set in platinum, fashioned in an intricate pattern that looked more like flowery lace than jewelry.

I turned the matching wide antique cuff bracelet on my wrist and looked around the crowded room, smiling when I saw Mr. Barnes dancing with the daughter of a minor noble whose family had run through its fortune. As the youngest of six girls, all hope had been abandoned that she might marry. Her dowry was nothing, and rumors had been swirling since Christmas that her mother was searching for an elderly lady in need of a companion. She couldn’t stay in her parents’ house forever. She was smiling at Mr. Barnes, who also seemed to be enjoying himself. Perhaps this would come to a happy end.

Colin, tired of dancing in the heat, had disappeared with Jeremy to play billiards. The thought of the two of them becoming friends was somewhat alarming. I was about to set off in search of them both when Mrs. Dalton appeared from out of nowhere and grabbed me by the arm.

“Please, Lady Emily, please come with me at once.”

Seeing the desperate pain in her eyes, I did what she requested with no delay, and sent a footman to fetch Colin before following her to her waiting carriage.

“It’s my husband,” she said, as soon as the door was closed behind us. “He went off to try to find Cordelia this morning and still hasn’t returned.”

“Have you any idea where he planned to go?” I asked.

She shook her head. “None. He wouldn’t tell me anything. But he did assure me he was going to keep Mr. Hargreaves abreast of the situation.”

Colin joined us, his face full of worry as he listened to Mrs. Dalton’s story. “I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing from him. Not at home, anyway. Tell your driver to take us to the Reform Club at once. We had an agreement. If he needed to contact me confidentially, he was to do so through my club, knowing it would be unlikely someone watching him would suspect anything.”

He poked his head out the window and called to the driver. “Quickly, man. You’ve never driven for so urgent a cause.”

*   *   *

We reached Pall Mall in record time, the Daltons’ driver proving himself an excellent man to have on hand in an emergency. He dodged omnibuses, hansom cabs, and carts with a skill that took my breath away, partly because I was impressed by him, and partly because I was terrified out of my mind that we would crash. When we reached the club, Colin leapt from the carriage and darted inside. He returned in fewer than five minutes, the grave expression on his face having carved itself deeper into his handsome features.

“To Park Lane,” he said to the driver, then closed the door with a loud thud and produced for us a letter. “He’s gone to the warehouse where Dillman died. Said he’d received another communication from the wretch who took Cordelia and planned to meet him at noon. The club was supposed to forward any messages from him to me at home, but something went awry.”

“What time did he leave the house?” I asked.

“It was much earlier than noon,” Mrs. Dalton said. “Nine-thirty at the latest, I’d say.”

“I want the two of you to return to our house and stay there,” Colin said. “I will do everything I can to locate your husband, Mrs. Dalton.”

“Thank you.” She was clasping her hands together, gripping them so hard her knuckles were all white.

“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?” I asked.

“Take care of her,” he said. “And make sure Davis has someone stationed at every door into the house.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Keep him with you. In the room,” Colin said. “I don’t want her alone, even for a minute.”

The carriage stopped to let us out, then flew away again as soon as we’d cleared its step. Davis opened the door and took our wraps. I relayed to him Colin’s request, and he moved at once with master efficiency. Taking his orders as seriously as always, he brought us to the library and rang the bell. A footman appeared moments later, confused when he found it was the butler, not me, summoning him.

“A man on every entrance to the house,” Davis said, his voice low and measured. “And one on the door to whatever room Lady Emily is in. You know who to send?”

“Yes, sir, of course.” The man bowed to me and left the room.

“You were ready for this, weren’t you, Davis?” I asked.

“Yes, madam. Mr. Hargreaves took me aside before you were married and explained to me the nature of some of those in his employ. Most useful chaps, I’d say.”

“I’m glad to have them,” I said, resisting the urge to add that I wished I, too, had known about them before my marriage. “I’ll need you to stay in the room with us.”

“It will be my pleasure, madam,” he said. “Do you and Mrs. Dalton require anything?”