Escaping Notice (8 page)

Ned stared back, puffing his lips in several, rapidly-aborted
complaints.

“But what about you?” Miss Archer asked.

“I shall be the house steward. I’ve been meaning to — that is, I
understand the earl has indicated to his lawyer that he wishes to
hire one. So my arrival shall come as no surprise to the
household.”

“This is — this is so simple!” Miss Archer said. “Why, this is
wonderful. I’m so grateful we met you at the outset.”

She rose from her chair and reached over to give Ned’s jacket a
small tug. Rising with obvious reluctance, Ned trudged after her.
At the door, he gave Hugh a black look over his shoulder.

“Indeed.” Hugh stood. “Now, when can you leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she replied without pausing. “Shall we meet you
here?”

“No. I’ll come by with a carriage. What is your address?”

“We’re staying with my sister, that is, at Lord Dacy’s
residence.” She recited the address before clasping Ned’s hand
firmly and pulling him after her.

Hugh watched them go before turning to find Mr. Gaunt strolling
down the hallway in his direction. He held Mr. Petre’s letter in
one lean hand.

“You
are
Lord Monnow, aren’t you?” Mr. Gaunt looked like
a tall, slender scarecrow dressed entirely in black with the
somber, thoughtful air of a member of the Spanish Inquisition.

Hugh studied him for a moment, taking in the sardonic
intelligence in Gaunt’s dark eyes before nodding. “Yes.” He
gestured toward the room he had just vacated. “I have a few matters
to discuss with you.”

“And I with you, my lord,” Mr. Gaunt murmured, following Hugh.
He slipped behind the desk and waved Hugh to the chair Ned Brown
had previously occupied.

Mr. Gaunt broke the silence first. “Am I to understand you’re
desirous of becoming an inquiry agent?”

“No.” Hugh grinned. “The lady mistook me for one of your staff.
I was a little slow in correcting that impression.”

“I see.” Mr. Gaunt steepled his hands and rested his mouth
against his forefingers. “I hope you did eventually correct her.
While business has been good, I dislike losing patrons.”

A chuckle escaped. “Sorry, but you lost that one. Not much of a
case, anyway. And as it happens, it dovetailed quite nicely with my
own plans.”

“Which are?”

“How much did Petre explain in his letter?”

“Your lawyer indicated who you are, of course,” Gaunt paused,
his gaze resting first on Hugh’s unshaven chin and then drifting
down to his ill-fitting jacket. “He requested that I assist you
with some inquiries.”

“A murder investigation.”

“I see. Who was the victim?”

“I was the intended victim, but they killed my brother, Lionel
Castle, instead.”

“I’m sorry. Please accept my condolences,” Mr. Gaunt said, his
discomfort proving his sincerity. He fell silent for a moment, out
of respect. “You wish me to investigate?”

“I intend to go back to Ormsby in the guise of a servant. I can
learn a great deal by listening to the staff. They may know
something.”

“Hence the clothing. I see. What do you require of me?”

“While I’m investigating at Ormsby, I want you to check the dock
in Newport where I kept the
Twilight
. Someone sawed her
rudder partially through. There may be witnesses. Something.”

Gaunt nodded. “I understand. Do you suspect anyone in
particular?”

“No.”

“Then are you sure it was directed at you? Perhaps your brother
was the intended victim.”

“No.” He repeated the information he had given to Petre.

Gaunt listened, his eyes hard and intent. Once or twice, he
asked penetrating questions, particularly about Hugh’s conclusion
that the rudder was purposely damaged. After going through his
story twice, Hugh felt exhausted and annoyed by Gaunt’s ruthless
logic. The man tried to pick apart Hugh’s tale, searching for flaws
and inconsistencies.

When Gaunt finally sat back in silence, Hugh rubbed his face.
Had this all been a mistake? Was he sure?

He remembered the clean edge on half of the rudder.
No, no
mistake. Yes, he was sure
.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Gaunt asked at
last.

He shook his head. “No. That’s the lot.”

“I understand your conclusions.” Gaunt did not claim to agree
with them, Hugh noted. “However, you indicated you have instructed
your lawyer, Mr. Petre,
not
to inform your family that you
survived. You wish the responsible party to remain in ignorance.
And yet you say you will return to Ormsby to investigate. Do you
seriously expect to enter your house without anyone realizing
you’re alive?”

“No one will recognize me with this beard. I don’t intend to
shave. They will see what they expect to see.”

A wry grin quirked Gaunt’s mouth. “But your physique … you are
not an ordinary-sized man, my lord.”

“I’ll be engaged as a servant. Petre is making the arrangements.
No one looks too closely at a servant, and I have made other plans
to assist with my disguise.”

“Your
other plans
don’t involve that attractive young
lady and the boy who were just here, do they?”

“As a matter of fact, they do,” Hugh replied, trying not to
sound too sheepish. “The young lady lost something at Ormsby that
she wishes to find, and the boy is simply lost. They are to be my
sister and brother.”

“Safety in numbers?”

“Anonymity in numbers.”

“And a bit of adventure for everyone.”

For some reason, the remark touched off a flare of anger, as if
Gaunt accused him of taking the situation lightly. Hugh did not
find it amusing. His anguish over his brother’s death remained
close to the surface, always waiting to sink him. He could never
forget the moment when he had lost his grip on his brother’s
collar, when he had felt that unbearable lightness, that relief
that he had survived after all ….

He should have been the one who had died, not Lionel. He had let
his brother go in order to survive.

What kind of man would do that?

He pushed the pain down. “Some might consider it an adventure,”
he said in a deliberate, calm voice. “I’m just interested in
discovering the truth, before anyone else is harmed.”

“Or killed. Yes, I understand. Well, I believe we can come to an
agreement. I’ll contact Mr. Petre about my expenses. I’ll provide
daily accounts of my activities and the costs incurred. Is there a
way for me to contact you at Ormsby?”

“I’ll be acting as the house steward and expect to arrive there
in two days or so. By that time, I’m sure a few of the residents
will start to wonder where Lord Monnow is. When my cousin, Miss
Leigh, contacts Petre, he’ll suggest that he hire you to find out
what has become of me —
a
nd Lionel.” He
cleared his throat. “He’ll suggest that you report to the new house
steward — me. Once this occurs, communicating should present no
difficulties.”

“What if she doesn’t contact Mr. Petre?”

“She will. What else can she do? He’s our lawyer. That is the
natural course for her to take.”

“Then let’s hope she performs as expected.”

Hugh stood, feeling more drained than he thought possible.

He held out his hand to Gaunt, and was surprised when he said,
“Where are you staying for the night?”

“The night?”

“If you intend to remain dead, you can hardly go to one of your
clubs and demand entrance as the late Lord Monnow.”

“An inn will do.” Why could he not see that it did not
matter?

“May I offer a room? It’s only for the one night. There’s no
point in trying to find other quarters at this hour. My wife would
be glad of your company at supper as well. We’re dining late
tonight ….” He pulled out a gold watch and flipped it open. “In
fact, I believe we’ll be dining in fifteen minutes. Will that suit
you?”

“Down to the ground.” He shook Gaunt’s hand again more
vigorously.

“There’s no need for thanks.” The inquiry agent gestured to the
butler. “It’ll be on your bill.”

“No doubt,” Hugh replied laconically, following the butler up
the wide staircase.

“
It
is a more serious thing to leave a good situation than many are
aware of.” —
The Complete Servant

The next morning, Helen stared morosely at her reflection in the
mirror while her maid scraped back her hair. Not one curl remained
to soften the line of her square chin. Helen sighed and gazed at
the floor, instead of at her appalling reflection.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but it’s what you wanted. ‘Though why you
should want to make yourself so plain and wear that old bombazine
dress is a puzzle.”

“I’ll be travelling today and can’t bring you along. It’s best
that I dress plainly. You know grandmother doesn’t like too many
ribbons, anyway.” She glanced wistfully at the red Chinese lacquer
box containing an assortment of silk ribbons. The box looked so
lovely, so full of delightful things, things of fantasy and desire.
Her fingers itched to pick out the royal blue ribbon and thread it
through a few curls loosened from the severe style she had chosen.
But she had to look demure. She was Miss Helen Caswell now, not
Helen Archer.

She had not even started her adventure, and she already felt
like admitting she was a lack-wit and ending the entire thing. But
Mr. Caswell depended upon her. She was part of his plans.

Unfortunately, she already felt exhausted. Last night, she had
faced unforeseen difficulties in introducing Ned Brown to her
sister’s household, particularly on such a temporary basis. Only
her sister’s preoccupation with her newborn son had allowed Helen
to carry it off. Oriana could scarcely find the time to greet Helen
and Ned, much less concern herself with precisely
why
Ned
planned to stay a single night.

After a sleepless night spent thinking about all the humiliating
ways in which she might fail on her mission, Helen had announced at
breakfast that she was leaving first thing to travel to Cheltenham
and visit her grandmother, the dowager Duchess of Peckham. She had
decided on this excuse since the dowager was well known for her
dislike of servants, particularly those of her guests. The dowager
preferred her family to come without any extraneous persons,
despite the extra burden it placed upon her own servants. This
peculiar whim gave Helen ample reason to leave Sally behind,
although Oriana had protested that the maid should at least
accompany Helen during the trip.

The sudden, loud awakening of Oriana’s baby distracted her,
however. As she rushed to his succor, she agreed off-handedly to
Helen’s plan. Oriana’s husband, Lord Dacy, was not present, so
thankfully, Helen was not subjected to his probing questions. She
escaped and packed a few meager belongings in peace.

“I should go, Miss,” Sally complained, picking up the valise and
bandbox Helen had prepared. “Why, you’ve not got a thing with you!
Whatever will you wear while you visits the dowager?”

“I left so many dresses there the last time that I need hardly
bring anything. You complained I hadn’t a stitch left when we
returned to London, don’t you remember?” Thankfully, it was true,
so Helen was able to meet Sarah’s anxious gaze.

“But they be at least a year old and outmoded, besides!”

“I’m only going to stay a few days. It doesn’t matter. Now hand
me my bonnet — no, not the chipped straw — the black poke.” Helen
leaned over the bed, reaching for the funereal hat.

Sally grabbed it and held it up to the light. There was only one
sad, black plume remaining and that one had a broken tip. “You
can’t wear this, Miss! Why I wouldn’t even wear it.”

Snatching it out of her servant’s hand, Helen pulled it onto her
head, tying the gray ribbons under her chin. Without glancing at
the mirror, she grabbed her valise and bandbox, and walked out of
her room before Sally could make any further remarks about her
dreadful appearance.

It was only for a few days, she reminded herself, just until she
found the necklace. Immediately afterwards, Helen Caswell would
disappear and Helen Archer would reappear. She would then hand the
Peckham necklace back to Oriana and make a trip to both Grafton
House and Layton & Shears to buy some new ribbons. And lace.
And perhaps a yard or two of sprigged muslin as a reward, if she
had sufficient funds left after this brief — but already unpleasant
— interlude.

Ned was not ready when she went to his room to collect him. In
fact, he remained a-bed although it was nearly eight. She dropped
her valise at the foot of the bed and grabbed his toes through the
covers. She shook them.

“Leave off!” he grumbled, pulling his feet up and curling into a
ball under the covers.

“You must get up. Now. Mr. Caswell will be here shortly. You
have five minutes to dress and come out into the hallway, before I
send one of the footmen to wash your face and dress you.”

“I thought you were nice, but you’re not! You’re meaner than
….”

“Than whom?” Helen asked.

“I can’t remember.”

She pulled the blankets back, ignoring his yelps as the cool
morning air nipped at his bare feet. When he tried to yank the
quilt out of her hands, she bundled the blankets into a ball and
placed them on the chair next to the bed.

Picking up her bag, she walked to the door and paused with her
hand on the brass knob. “Now, remember what I said. You have five
minutes.”

In the hallway, she sat down on a rather fragile chair that
creaked alarmingly whenever she moved. Her eyes remained on Ned’s
door as she reflected that Lord Dacy had been remarkably astute
when he assigned a third floor bedroom to Ned and suggested that
Helen lock the door and keep the key. Lord Dacy had intended the
precaution for Ned’s safety, in case he awoke in the night, forgot
where he was, and tried to run away again. London was not a safe
place for young children without adult protection.