A Sister's Secret (30 page)

‘Yes, milady, but it still won’t come to hand.’ Helene’s worry increased, since she knew it would be all of unpleasant for suspicion to fall on one of the servants, or even on herself. The clasp was priceless. It adorned Lady Caroline’s auburn hair as brilliantly as a tiara.

‘Tush, Helene, don’t look so worried,’ said Caroline. ‘I vow it must be somewhere in my bedroom. There, you can turn the whole room over in the most thorough way after Miss Annabelle and I have left this afternoon.’

‘Yes, Your Ladyship,’ said Helene. She would have liked to accompany Lady Caroline to Sussex, but had not been asked.

Caroline entered her bedroom and sat down at her dressing table. She mused on her reflection and thought about the hair clasp. She had last worn it on the night she fell asleep at the card table, and Captain Burnside had had the audacity to carry her up to her suite. Helene had reported it missing the following morning. A sudden little
shock disturbed her, and cold tingles ran down her back. Captain Burnside. The oddest kind of man, with a penchant for getting his hands on trinkets.

The shock wave increased, spreading numbing coldness. A feeling of terrible unhappiness became trapped by ice and could not escape. She came to her feet with an effort. Her legs trembled. She made her way into the corridor, to the door of the captain’s room. There she hesitated. Then she turned the handle and entered. The bedroom was tidy. His bed had not been slept in. It occurred to her that the reason he was not going to Sussex with herself and Annabelle was simply because he had not intended to. He had already decamped, no doubt, taking with him the clasp and the small fortune it represented. But no, he would not have left his many clothes and personal possessions behind. He was too smooth and self-assured not to be able to put on a face of innocence. She must search his room, she must, and if she found the clasp then no one else need know he had taken it. She could give him a chance to confess and explain. He might, perhaps, have been motivated by heavy debts, debts that could mean imprisonment unless they were settled. No, she must not find excuses for him. He was a wretched thief of a particularly despicable kind.

She looked around, her unhappiness a cold, leaden thing. Already the bedroom seemed to bear his imprint. It was as well ordered as his appearance. A leather razor holder lay on the dressing table, with hairbrushes and a little box of toothpicks. The wardrobe beckoned, as did the drawers of a tallboy. But she could not bring herself even to begin the search. And perhaps she should not condemn him as guilty before giving him an opportunity to prove himself innocent.

Something else occurred to her. She rushed to her
library, to her desk there. The drawer in which she kept ready money was always locked. It was locked now. She turned the key and pulled open the drawer. The money lay undisturbed. That at least gave her great relief. She went back to the bedroom, but still could not bring herself to search it. Wait. If he returned this afternoon, bringing his friend with him, she would search in his presence. Oh, why did such a man laugh at the virtues of honesty and integrity? Why could he not be as trustworthy as Mr Wingrove? She walked slowly from the room, wondering why she was so much more unhappy than angry.

Betsy bobbed along in her approach to Horse Guards Parade. Sometimes there were handsome officers with time on their hands. She favoured being set up by a handsome officer, who would buy her presents and also make her an allowance.

‘Why, there you are, sweet puss,’ said a pleasant and friendly voice, and Betsy, startled, found her gentleman friend walking beside her.

‘Oh, sir, you be springing out of nowhere again,’ she said, but her smile was bright with pleasure and her bobbing walk became sprightly.

‘Not to bite you, Betsy. How very pretty you look.’

In her dark blue servant’s gown and white cap, Betsy’s prettiness was neat.

‘Mr Burnside, sir, some gentlemen flam a girl, but it be a pleasure to hear you call me pretty, even if it’s only just to sweeten me.’

‘Come, come, Betsy, ain’t I been bowled over by your pretty looks since I first met you? Shall we go on to Collins? Yes, I think we will, for I can’t buss you here.’

‘Oh, you be passioning to buss me?’ asked Betsy, delighted at the thought that he was.

‘Not in public, puss. It don’t do to passion in public. Now,’ he said, as they began to proceed in the direction of Collins, ‘when do you have your next free Sunday?’

‘This coming one, sir.’

‘Capital. We shall go out, then, you and I. We have our Lord Chancellor’s permission.’

‘Sunday out with you, sir?’ Betsy’s walk became even sprightlier. ‘Oh, I ain’t never had any gentleman more kind to me. But your wife?’

‘Heavens, it won’t do to let my wife know.’

‘Oh, I won’t say a word.’ Betsy pulsated. The thought of spending Sunday with her exciting and pleasuring gentleman was bliss. ‘I’ll spit on silver that I won’t even whisper.’

‘Silver, yes,’ murmured Captain Burnside. ‘Well, you shall have a few shillings, pretty pussy, for you’re a dab hand at holding your tongue.’

Inside the private room at Collins, Betsy waited until coffee and confectionery had been served, then drew herself close to the captain.

She lifted her pursed mouth. He indulged her. Betsy exhaled moist sighs against his lips.

‘There, I be ready to be bussed like I can hardly bear,’ she said.

‘Quite so, my pretty kitten, but go and sit down and drink your coffee.’

Betsy complied. She sipped coffee, nibbled at the confectionery, and eyed him sighingly. ‘You be sweetly exciting to a girl,’ she said.

‘Faith, you’re a precocious temptation, Betsy, but there’s my wife and our Lord Chancellor. But a kiss or two here, another there, and a few on Sunday – that shouldn’t upset either of them.’

‘But that Lord Chancellor, he be more fond of hanging than kissing,’ said Betsy.

‘A stern taskmaster,’ said the captain, ‘but he’s come to look kindly on you. I’ve sworn ferocious oaths on your reliability. Now, you haven’t forgotten you’re to let me in on the twenty-ninth?’

‘I’m all a-tremble every time I think on it, but I’ll do it, sir.’

‘Splendid puss. Is Mr Erzburger still going out each afternoon?’

‘Most afternoons, yes, sir.’

‘Good. Now, let me in this evening, Betsy.’

‘Oh, Lor’,’ said Betsy, and perceptibly quaked.

‘Between nine and ten.’

‘Oh, must I, sir?’

‘Damn it, Betsy, I’ll get hanged if you don’t. So will you.’

‘Oh, that Lord Chancellor,’ breathed Betsy, ‘he be a terrible hanging gentleman, like I never did dream of.’

‘Well, I can’t deny it, he is,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘but hanging a few from time to time ensures that the rest of us remain willingly conscientious. He don’t encourage backsliding, my young beauty. But come, cheer up, I’ll wager you’re as conscientious as any of us.’

‘What’s conscientious?’ asked Betsy.

‘Why, obeying orders. So, you’ll let me in this evening.’

‘Oh, Lor’,’ said Betsy.

‘Good,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘I’ll be waiting between nine and ten, which means you can pick the time that’s safest during the hour. Now, purse your rosy lips and I’ll deliver a partner’s true kiss.’

‘Oh, but there be time for loving kisses,’ said Betsy. She jumped up, swooped, and plumped herself down on his knees. Her bottom wriggled ecstatically and secured its warm place in his lap. She put her lips to his and brought his hand up to her bosom. She sighed and kissed, she
murmured and kissed, she quivered and kissed. Her breathing was sweetly rapturous. ‘Oh, I be going to swoon,’ she said.

‘Well, that won’t do at all, puss,’ said Captain Burnside, and came to his feet.

Betsy spilled to the floor with a gasp. She sat up, lifted her face and laughed. ‘Oh, I hardly ever knowed a more blissful gentleman,’ she said, ‘and there be silver coins as well, didn’t you say, sir?’

‘Yes, I fancy I did,’ he said. He extracted some coins. She cupped her hands, held them up and he dropped the coins into her palms. Her eyes sparkled and she came to her feet. ‘This evening, then, sweet puss.’

‘I won’t mind my quiverings and tremblings, Mr Burnside, sir, but I’m begging you’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’

‘We’ll be as quiet as two mouses, Betsy.’

‘Two mouses be mice, sir.’

‘You’re right, my kitten. Ah, kindly tidy yourself up.’

‘Your Ladyship,’ said William Anders, Caroline’s quiet, studious-looking secretary, ‘Thomas informs me there’s a person asking to see you.’

Thomas, the footman, was presently holding the person at bay at the front door.

‘A person?’ Caroline spoke absently. Her mind could relate to little except her missing hair clasp. ‘Oh, is Captain Burnside with him?’

‘No, milady.’

‘I see.’ Her heart was sinking. ‘Never mind. Show him in, please.’

The person was shown in. A young man in his mid-twenties, he doffed his brown top hat and bowed.

‘I have the honour, Your Ladyship, to present myself:
Mr Jonathan Carter. At your service. I am informed by a friend of mine that I am to escort you to Sussex, with your sister, Miss Annabelle Howard; that I am further to guard and protect you both, and to lay low any miscreant whose intentions towards you don’t look too friendly. In the interests of your well-being, I can offer—’

‘Wait, please.’ Caroline held up a hand. She studied the young man, finding him pleasant of face, broad of shoulder and cheerful of smile. His blue eyes were alert, his legs and thighs strong. He wore a brown velvet coat, green waistcoat, a neat white cravat and brown knee breeches. His dark brown hair was tidily brushed. He exuded self-confidence. ‘Your friend is?’

‘Captain Charles Burnside, Your Ladyship. He—’

‘Where is Captain Burnside?’

‘At the moment, I ain’t sure,’ said Jonathan, ‘but he hopes to be here to see us off. You’re ready, Lady Clarence? That’s your coach and four outside, with luggage? Shall we depart, say, in ten minutes?’

‘We shall depart, Mr Carter, only after I have seen and spoken to Captain Burnside.’

‘Eh?’ said Jonathan. ‘Captain Burnside was very precise. Away by three o’clock, he said. So three o’clock it is, don’t you see.’

‘No, I do not see, sir,’ said Caroline, stiffly upright and almost haughty. ‘I repeat, we shall not depart until I have seen and spoken to Captain Burnside.’

‘Well, he ain’t going to like it, Your Ladyship. He’s an exacting gentleman and—’

‘He’s a gentleman of a kind, no doubt,’ said Caroline, clad in a green travelling gown. ‘Mr Carter, it is no use muttering and scraping your feet. Captain Burnside may order your comings and goings, but he does not order mine. How long have you known him?’

‘Since he pulled me out of the river seventeen years ago,’ said Jonathan. ‘Fell in. Set up a hullabaloo. Damn cold, Your Ladyship, and deep. He pulled me out and carried me home over his shoulder. To my mother. My mother boxed my ears and Charles stayed for tea. ’Pon my dear soul, a friend he is and always will be, but if we ain’t away by three fifteen at the latest, I’ll get my head cracked.’

‘You share the same way of life?’ asked Caroline, face set and stiff.

‘Common interests, Your Ladyship.’

Caroline gave him a cold look. Annabelle entered the drawing room at that moment, looking her prettiest and fairest in a gown of dark blue. She regarded the visitor coolly, for she guessed who he was, the friend who was to escort Caroline and herself to Sussex, and she was by no means reconciled to going.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Jonathan briskly. ‘I fancy you’re Miss Annabelle Howard.’

‘I surely am,’ said Annabelle. ‘And who are you, pray?’

‘Annabelle, this is Mr Jonathan Carter,’ said Caroline, ‘the gentleman recommended by Captain Burnside.’

‘How interesting,’ said Annabelle.

Jonathan bowed. ‘I hope, Miss Howard, that things ain’t going to get as interesting as that. Though I can box, fence, lay an accurate pistol and kick the wind from a footpad’s breadbasket, I’d favour a peaceful journey and a tranquil Sussex. But if that don’t come about, I’ll break a few heads with pleasure, but beg to suggest you and Lady Clarence stand quietly aside with your smelling salts. When dealing with things ugly, it don’t do to have ladies screaming and swooning, you understand.’

‘Well!’ breathed Annabelle. ‘Sir, I declare you the sauciest and most impudent scallywag I have ever met.
My sister and I are proud Americans, and don’t suffer the swooning vapours of the fragile English.’ She tossed up her chin. ‘Do not address me further, sir. Caroline, are we to go now?’

‘We are not,’ said Caroline. ‘I am determined to see Captain Burnside before we depart.’

‘But we may not see him at all today,’ said Annabelle.

‘Then we shall not go today,’ said Caroline.

‘Oh, gad,’ said Jonathan, ‘here’s a pretty dish of nettles.’

‘Jonathan, damn it, why ain’t you up and away?’ Captain Burnside spoke from the open door. Caroline turned with a swift rustle of her gown, her emotions a sudden turmoil of relief and anguish. ‘Ladies, where are your bonnets and jackets?’

‘Captain Burnside.’ Caroline swept towards him. ‘Come with me, sir. I wish to speak with you. At once.’ She swept past him, into the hall and towards the staircase. She turned her head. He was still in the doorway, looking at her, and even daring to frown at her. ‘Do you hear me, sir?’ She ascended the staircase, gown hitched. Captain Burnside followed. She went up to his room and entered it. She turned. He appeared. ‘Close the door, sir.’

He closed it.

‘Marm, it’s a four-hour journey—’

‘I do not care to discuss that.’ Caroline’s breathing was agitated, her eyes darkly green. ‘I wish to be frank. My jewelled hair clasp is missing. It’s been missing since the night I fell asleep playing cribbage with you. I must ask you, Captain Burnside, do you know anything of it?’

He regarded her in some puzzlement for a moment, then in comprehension. He coughed. ‘I fancy, marm, you mean did I filch it?’ he said.

‘I am sorry,’ said Caroline, voice unsteady, ‘but yes, I do mean that.’

‘Quite understandable,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘but beg to inform you it ain’t a principle of mine to take advantage of a patron, dear lady. I fancy you’ve made an exhaustive search?’