The Officer and the Proper Lady (22 page)

Julia saw a barouche proceeding sedately along the nearest ride and ran, casting aside her prayer book and parasol. ‘Stop! Please stop!'

When she returned with it, the owner, an elderly widow, urged her two stout footmen to help. Between them they got Lord and Lady Narborough into the carriage, Hal climbed up with the driver and Marcus swung up behind.

‘As fast as you can, Roberts!' the widow called as Hal gave him the direction.

‘Go on,' Julia urged, ‘I'll bring Verity home.'

Verity, in tears, was being held firmly to Alexander Veryan's shoulder. His father looked grim.

‘Will you please go and get a cab, Mr Veryan,' Julia said, disentangling her sobbing sister in law from his arms. ‘We will follow.'

‘Miss Carlow needs my support—'

‘I feel, sir, that you have done more than enough for one day,' Julia snapped. ‘Verity, take my handkerchief and blow your nose. Weeping is not going to help. Thank you, my lord.' Ked din ton handed her her parasol and prayer book as his son hurried off towards the Palace.

Julia led Verity, hic cup ping into the handkerchief, after him.

‘My son was appallingly tactless,' Lord Ked din ton remarked. ‘I fear that the rather sheltered academic life he leads has not given him the Town bronze necessary to deal with such delicate matters.'

Julia merely nodded, intent on getting Verity into
the hackney carriage before anyone observed her tear-streaked face.

‘Please tell Lady Narborough that I stand ready to do whatever is in my power to assist,' Ked din ton continued as he stood by the open door. ‘Alexander will, of course, write to apologise.'

‘Oh, he meant no harm,' Verity said anxiously. ‘But Julia, please can we go?'

‘Yes, of course. Thank you, my lord.' Julia sat bolt upright away from the dingy squabs and held Verity's hand as the cab rattled up St James's Street. Despite the calm face she showed Verity, butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. Hal had told her about these rumours, but he had thought they circulated only amongst a small, discreet group. If the likes of Alexander Veryan was prattling about them, who else was?

And, anxious though she was for her father in law, Julia realized her greatest fear was for Hal. He would be furiously angry now, set on finding the truth at whatever personal cost. Someone had tried to kill him once—what would happen if Hal threatened them directly?

By the time they got to the house, Lord Narborough was in bed, the doctor had been summoned, and Hal and Marcus were in heated discussion in the library. Julia took Verity off to the drawing room and tried to keep her distracted until the doctor arrived.

Finally, Lady Narborough came in and sank onto the chaise. ‘Well, my dears, that was a bad attack, I am afraid. The boys are with him, watching while he sleeps.'

Verity jumped up to pull the bell for tea, then sat by her mother, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. ‘Poor Papa. I do not under stand why Alexander upset him so. I am sure Alexander did not mean to say anything alarming.'

‘It was about some business long ago that has always distressed your father, my dear.' Lady Narborough patted her
daughter's hand. ‘Would you call your maid and walk round to Bruton Street to let dear Nell know what has happened. She will be worried that Stanegate has not returned home and sending a note may alarm her. Whatever you do, Verity, make sure she stays at home. She must rest, in her condition.'

‘Yes, of course, Mama.' Obviously happy to be able to do something, Verity hurried out.

‘That wretched, wretched man,' Lady Narborough said vehemently, the minute the door closed behind her daughter.

‘Mr Veryan? He was certainly most tactless,' Julia agreed.

‘No, dear Alexander is simply gauche. An admirable young man, very steady and reliable, but not the so phisticate his father is. He will do excellently for Verity.' Fortunately Julia managed to control her expression: it seemed she was the only one who felt Alexander Veryan was completely un suitable for her sister in law. But that was hardly the problem just now.

‘Who then, ma'am, is rousing your ire?' She poured tea and placed a cup beside her mother in law.

‘Wardale,' Lady Narborough almost spat the name.

‘Nell's father, Lord Leybourne? The man who was hanged for the murder?'

‘Oh, I do my best to keep my lips closed for dear Nell's sake, and I know she cannot believe other than that he was innocent—he was her father after all and she is loyal. But he was fornicating with Hebden's wife, he wrote letters as good as accusing George of the most dreadful things—and he would not admit his own guilt! So poor George had the added burden of having to support the truth in the face of those denials. It broke his health, almost broke his spirit.' Lady Narborough stirred cream into her tea as though stabbing the long-dead man.

‘I know I did right to keep that letter from him,' she mur
mured. ‘Goodness knows what poison Will Wardale would have spread with those final words.'

‘A last letter?' Julia put her own cup down with a rattle. ‘From Nell's father? And you did not read it, ma'am?'

‘Read it? I did not so much as open it.'

‘So it was destroyed,' Julia sat back with a sigh. It could have held a clue, something that Hal might interpret. But it was too late now.

‘Destroyed it? Oh no. I did not feel I should do that.'

Julia sat up again, trying to speak calmly. ‘So what happened to it?'

‘Why, it is in my file of old letters.' Lady Narborough appeared to focus on her properly at last. ‘You think it might be helpful?'

‘Perhaps, ma'am. If you could give it to Hal and Marcus to read—'

‘No.' The older woman got up. ‘There might be something it to distress them and
I
certainly do not want to read it. You must.' She swept out leaving Julia staring after her.

‘Me?' she said faintly into the empty room.

‘T
here.' Lady Narborough thrust a sealed letter into Julia's hands. ‘Read it and see.'

The paper was of poor quality, yellowing and dirty. The seal was just a brittle lump of candle wax that splintered under Julia's fingers. She pressed it open and read.

Julia stared at the desperate scrawl in the faded brown ink. They could not show this to Lord Narborough, it would kill him, and she must prevent the other woman reading it and realizing she had snatched away help from the surviving Wardales.

‘What does it say?' her mother in law asked, her voice fearful. She did not hold out her hand for it.

‘That he is innocent,' Julia said, swallowing hard against the tears that were blocking her throat. This was Nell's father's last testament. The stench of the prison, the fear soaked into the stones of the cell, seemed to ooze out of the paper, but so did the spirit of the man who had written those words. She believed him.

‘May I give this to Hal?' she asked when she had her voice under control again.

‘Yes, if you think it will help.' Lady Narborough drank the last of her cold tea and got to her feet. ‘I will go up to George again, you talk to Hal and Marcus, my dear; I will send them down. I do not care what you do, just do not let George see that letter.'

Julia waited at the bottom of the stairs for the men. ‘How is he?'

‘Worse than I have ever seen him,' Marcus said, running both hands over his face then raking them through his hair in weary resignation. ‘The doctor thinks he will pull through, but he will be an invalid for a long time. Perhaps for ever.'

‘What is that?' Hal nodded at the grubby paper in Julia's hand.

‘Come into the drawing room and have some tea, and I will tell you.'

When they had both read the document, she thought they were as shaken as she was. More, no doubt, for they had lived with this story almost all their lives.

‘Hell's teeth,' Hal said at last, without apology.

‘Quite.' Marcus stared at the letter. ‘Do you believe him?'

‘Yes,' Julia and Hal said together.

‘Why should he lie, then of all times?' Hal asked. ‘The man would have had to have been twisted beyond belief to have written that minutes before he died if it were not true. My God, if father sees it—'

‘He must not,' Marcus said. ‘You realize what this means, don't you? There is a murderer and a spy to find.'

‘You have a potential ally,' Julia ventured. ‘Stephen Hebden.'

‘What! That bastard? He is no-one's ally, he's a dangerous vengeful maniac.'

‘He wants vengeance on the man who killed his father,' Julia said patiently. ‘He thought it was Nell's father, so he
attacked his family. He felt betrayed by his own father's legitimate family, so he attacked them. He thought your father betrayed his by his inaction, so he hates all of you. If he hears the rumours, he might suspect your father of the murder or of being a spy.

‘Yes, the man is dangerous,' she agreed, leaning forward to urge her words on them. ‘But he also acts outside the law with amazing ease, and he is unscrupulous and obsessive. He can do things you never could—never would. If you can convince him with this letter that both Wardale and your father are innocent, then you will have him on your side. And never forget you have a present-day at tempted murder to solve.'

She saw Hal look at his brother. ‘I did suggest—'

‘No.' Marcus slammed his fist down on the table by his side, making the fragile piece rock. ‘You know what he did to Nell, what he threatened. I will not go near him unless it is to put a bullet in him—she is your sister now, you swear to me you will never go to him for help.'

‘I swear,' Hal said, reaching to clasp his brother's hand.

Julia's heart sank. She could under stand, she could sympathise, but she was certain in her heart that they were wrong. Their half-Romany nemesis could be a powerful weapon on their side.

The letter had fluttered to the floor when Marcus thumped the table. Julia picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.
She
had promised nothing.

 

It was a long Sunday. They all sat around, not knowing what to do to help, yet feeling it was wrong not to be there. Julia woke the next morning to find Hal's side of the bed un rum pled and the bed in his dressing room un touched. As she was looking at it he came in, yawning.

‘I sent Mother to bed at two,' he explained. ‘And packed
Marcus off back to Nell at the same time.' Julia put an arm around his waist, tugging him towards the bedroom.

‘Come and undress, get into bed,' she urged. ‘How is your father now?'

‘Better, a little. Mama is with him again.' Hal tossed his coat aside, he seemed to have discarded his neck cloth long since. Julia began to unbutton his shirt when he made no effort to do it himself. ‘His lips aren't so blue and he seems to be sleeping.'

‘And so should you,' Julia said, attacking his breeches fastenings. ‘Come on, help me. And then I will get dressed and see if your mama needs me.'

 

By luncheon, Hal was up again and Marcus had returned with Nell. Between them, they devised a rota for sitting with the patient; Julia insisted on taking the hours between dinner and midnight. Which left her, she calculated, enough time to locate Stephan Hebden.

As everyone dispersed after the meal, she found the butler alone. ‘Wellow, whereabouts does Viscount Milden hall live?'

‘Hanover Square, ma'am.'

‘Thank you. I wish to visit Lady Mil den hall. Is one of the footmen free?' Julia had read enough Gothic novels where the intrepid heroine plunges off into danger without so much as a note left behind her not to take precautions—like one of the Carlows' strap ping footmen.

‘Certainly, ma'am. Richards is available. Do you require a carriage?'

‘The small town coach, if you please. I will be down in fifteen minutes.'

Julia had not become accustomed to the luxury of being able to take a carriage for distances she could easily walk, but she had no idea where she might locate Hebden, and she
did not want to have to rely upon hackney carriages. Always assuming his half-sister was at home and would receive her: without her help, Julia would be at a stand still.

But she was in luck. Not only was Lady Mil den hall at home, but positively eager to receive a visit. Julia liked her on sight, with her flyaway brown hair and her candid grey eyes. She looked, Julia thought, nothing like her half-Romany brother.

She waved Julia to a chair and sank back into her own with a grimace. ‘Oh my, another four months still to go,' she lamented, resting a hand on the swell of her very pregnant belly. Julia did some quick mental arithmetic and hid her smile behind an expression of sympathy. The Mil den halls had been married just five months: she wondered if she would begin increasing so soon and what Hal's feelings would be if she did.

‘So, you are Hal's new wife, Julia! He was at my wedding and my step-brother was teasing him about settling down—and here you are, married.'

‘Indeed, Lady Mil den hall. That would be Captain Bredon? I met him in Brussels and then, after the battle, he helped me find Hal. I think that saved Hal's life.'

‘You must call me Midge,' Lady Mil den hall said with a friendly impetuousness that Julia guessed was habitual. ‘I have been dying to meet you. I am so glad you saw Rick. Tell me, truth fully, was he badly hurt? He writes that he had just a scratch, and he is still over there and
seems
to be all right—but one can never tell with him.'

‘Rather more than a scratch,' Julia admitted. ‘But nothing worse than weariness, cuts and bruises. He was walking and had the use of all his limbs when I saw him, I promise you.'

‘That is a relief.' She blinked hard for a moment, then
smiled. Julia suspected that Midge was rarely cast down for long. ‘It is good of you to come and visit.'

‘I am afraid I should have waited and called with my mother in law, or Lady Stanegate,' Julia admitted. ‘But I need your help, you see.'

‘Oh.' The ready smile faded. ‘What has Stephen done now?'

‘Nothing,' Julia hastened to assure her. She was not going to tell tales of teasing encounters in book shops or the mystery of the attack on Hal. ‘I think I have found something that will convince him to halt his campaign of vengeance.'

‘Oh, thank goodness.' Midge closed her eyes for a moment. ‘He is not the evil man they make him out to be, you know. He has had such cruelty in his life.' She bit her lip as though to stop herself pouring out the entire story, then smiled, a lopsided smile that suddenly made Julia see a fleeting similarity to Stephen. ‘What can I do?'

‘Help me find him. There is a letter I must show him. Is he in London?'

‘Yes. He has a house in Bloomsbury Square. Here.' She took some paper from the table beside her, scribbled a few words. ‘There's the number—and a note to his man to admit you—the servants defend the house like a fortress.'

I'm not surprised,
Julia thought grimly. Stephen Hebden made enemies, it seemed, as easily as breathing. ‘Thank you, I do so hope this will put an end to this awful feud.' She got to her feet.

‘But won't you wait, take tea? Monty will be home at any moment, I do so want him to meet Hal's wife.'

‘I will come back,' Julia promised, taking the note and gathering up her things. ‘But I must hurry now.'

The streets were crowded, and Julia was soon lost. Bloomsbury Square must be somewhere close to the British Museum, she supposed, although she had not visited this temple to
learning. Hal had expressed himself forcibly on the subject of fusty holes when asked to accompany her.

But she could not think about Hal now; she must focus on convincing Stephen Hebden that his campaign of vengeance had missed its target. As the carriage drew up, Julia looked out at a terrace of pretty town houses with ornate iron balconies running right along at first-floor level. It seemed an improbable home for a half-Romany adventurer.

She paused on the edge of the pavement, her hand still resting on the footman's arm. The clock of some nearby church struck three. ‘Richards, if I am not out by the time that clock strikes four you must go immediately to find Major Carlow, or, failing him, Lord Stanegate. Tell them where I am. And take no notice if anyone from the house comes out and says I will be longer. Do you under stand?'

‘Ma'am.' The footman looked distinctly unhappy. ‘Should you be going in there? The Major won't like it, not if it's somewhere that isn't safe, he won't.'

‘One of Lady Mildenhall's relatives lives here,' Julia said lightly. ‘I am probably being over-cautious, but as I have never called on them before…'

‘Very well, ma'am.' Still looking less than happy, he mounted the step and banged the knocker.

The door opened to reveal an impassive Indian in a green coat. Trust Hebden not to have a conventional butler like everyone else. ‘Good afternoon, I am here to see Mr Hebden,' Julia said brightly, holding out her card.

‘You have the wrong address,
Mem Sahib.
' The man did not glance at the card.

‘Mr Beshaley then.'

‘I am sorry,
Mem Sahib.
' The door began to close.

Julia stuck her foot out, jarring her toe. ‘I have a note from Lady Mil den hall.' She flourished it under his nose—which
someone appeared to have recently broken—while rubbing the wounded toe on the back of the other calf.

Without a word of apology, the man stepped back, holding the door. It shut behind her the moment she was through. ‘Stephen
Sahib
is in his workshop.' The Indian took her card, turned his back and moved silently across the hall. Julia followed, through the green baize door, down three stone steps and into the kitchen. The man kept going, pushed open a door at the far end of the kitchen and announced, ‘Carlow
Mem Sahib
, from Imo
Mem Sahib
.'

Julia stepped past him into what must once have been a long wash house. Now it looked like the workshop of aneccentrical chemist. Shelves and cup boards lined the walls; strange tools hung from hooks; jars and boxes were stacked every where; a sword was propped against a vast safe in one corner. A bench, covered in stretched leather that had been caught up to make a trough at the front, ran under the barred windows and in the middle stood a small brazier, glowing red despite the warmth of the day.