The Sinister Spinster (15 page)

"Next I shall return to London," Creshton replied decisively. "I'll meet with the Home Secretary and apprise him of matters here. I'll also contact the Foreign Secretary and seek his advice. Prince Bronyeskin presents something of a complication, and I fear it may prove necessary to remove him."

Adam thought of the volatile Russian prince he'd come
to admire, despite his many doubts. "What do you mean 'remove'?" he asked, eyeing the duke suspiciously.

The duke gave a rich chuckle. "Nothing so grim as what you seem to think," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I merely meant I may have to arrange to have him recalled to London. It's dashed odd he should be here in the first place, if you want my opinion. But"—he waved his hand, dismissing the matter—"that is for another time. First things first, eh?"

"Yes, your grace," Adam agreed, thinking proving Elizabeth innocent was the first of his priorities. "But it is a pity I shan't have more time with you—and Lady Elinore, of course," he added, not wishing to appear less than a gentleman.

"Oh, Elinore remains here," the duke replied, studying Adam with an enigmatic expression. "The agent I spoke of, remember? He can hardly be here if she is not, what?"

Adam grimaced, recalling the footman Creshton had only just put into place. "I'd forgotten about that," he admitted, feeling sheepish. "But won't it be considered odd if she remains behind when you leave?"

"Shouldn't think so." Creshton led the way out into the hall, carefully closing the door behind them. "Gel's no green miss in the midst of her first Season, you know. She is more than of an age to make country visits without her papa trailing at her heels. Besides"—the smile he sent Adam could only be described as a smirk—"she already has the perfect reason for extending her stay."

Adam braced himself as if for a blow. "What reason is that?" he asked, already fearing he knew the answer.

"You, of course. She'll put it out, reluctantly of course, that she is here to consider if an agreement between the pair of you will suit."

Even though he'd been expecting it, Adam felt himself pale. "I beg your pardon?"

The duke gave a delighted chortle of laughter.

"You needn't look so horrified, old boy," he said, clapping a friendly hand on Adam's shoulder. "You had your
chance with the gel and you failed. No need to think Elinore would give you another. Besides, how else is she to meet with you so that you may pass on what you have learned?"

That was so, and Adam resisted the urge to heave a relieved sigh. Then he thought of all that could happen should the thief learn the truth behind Lady Elinore's presence.

"I'm not certain I approve of your making use of your daughter in this fashion," he informed the duke as they made their way down to the floor where the guests' rooms were located. "What if something goes wrong?"

"I look to you to see that it does not," Creshton said, shaking a thick finger at Adam. "Guard my little chick well, Falconer, else I shall be most displeased."

It was past midnight before Charles was able to slip away from the rest of the house party. The others were already abed or engaged in some silly game or another, and he was fairly confident his absence would not be noted. And even if it was, what matter? He'd already seen to it that the wagging tongues had more than enough to keep them occupied.

The news that the earl had given orders that no one was to leave the Hall until the papers were found caused almost as much tattle as the fact Miss Mattingale had been exonerated of all suspicions. It was obvious most of the guests still believed otherwise, and Charles had done his best to add to their suspicions, tossing out just enough hints to make them wonder. Charles was also wondering, and the sort of things he was wondering had the sweat breaking on his forehead.

"I thought I made it plain you were not to contact me."

The soft voice sounded from the shadows, and Charles whirled around as the hooded figure emerged from the darkness.

"You lied to me!" he accused hotly, taking care to keep
his voice low-pitched. "You told me the papers would be found in that bitch's room, and they were not!"

"Of course they are there," the figured soothed, inching closer. "Those idiots just didn't look hard enough. Tell them to look again."

The memory of the chance he'd taken slipping the note under the earl's door had Charles sweating anew.
"You
tell them to look again!" he snapped. "Wills told me his father said they did everything but tear up the floorboards, and they didn't find anything, not even those damned letters you told me about!"

The figure jerked as if in shock. "They didn't find the letters?"

"No, they did not," Charles replied, temper and fear making him incautious. "If they even existed in the first place, which I am beginning to doubt."

There was a charged silence, and then the figure gave a wry chuckle. "Really, Charles, you're not questioning my honesty, are you?"

Charles thought of whom he was dealing with, and the suspicions he was beginning to have. "No, of course not!" he denied hastily. "It's just that Wills is beginning to make noises; saying we had ought to give the papers back before someone gets hurt He says if I don't give them back by the end of the week, he'll tell his papa I am the one who took the damned things."

"Does he?" The figure sounded thoughtful. "That could make things awkward."

Charles thought of what could happen to him and tossed caution to the four winds. "Awkward?" he repeated with an ugly laugh. "They could hang me! And if they hang me, you had best be certain I shall make certain you are there beside me. Taking those papers was your idea, and so I shall tell them!"

There was another silence. "That sounds suspiciously like a threat," the figure observed coolly.

"And if it is?" he asked, deciding he'd had enough. He was the one who'd first thought of making Miss Martingale
the object of tattle, he reminded himself. Mayhap it was time he was taking charge of things, instead of playing the obedient lapdog.

"Then I take leave to tell you I do not take well to threats."

Now that he'd worked up his courage, Charles wasn't about to surrender his hard-won position. "I don't care if you take to them or not!" he sneered. "I'll tell, do you hear me? I'll tell them all about you."

"I hear you."

Charles turned his back at the quiet words, gazing out at the moonlit garden. "Then mind you believe me," he said, a feeling of raw power surging through him. To the devil with that damned prince and Falconer, he thought smugly. They'd just see who was the one to be reckoned with.

"Oh, I believe you, Charles," the figure purred, moving behind him. "I believe you." And slid the stiletto into Charles's back without a moment's hesitation.

Eight

"Will there be anything else, Miss Mattingale?" The footman hovered attentively at Elizabeth's elbow, the silver coffeepot clutched in his hand. "Some eggs, perhaps, or some ham?"

Despite her exhaustion, Elizabeth scraped up a smile for his benefit. "No, thank you, Thomas," she managed, her stomach rolling at the thought of food. "I fear I'm not very hungry this morning."

The footman's face flushed a dull red, and he ducked his head. "No, miss," he said, looking down. "I don't reckon you are." He stepped over to the sideboard, busying his hands for several moments before clearing his throat.

"Miss Mattingale?"

Elizabeth's fingers tightened about her cup. "Yes, Thomas?" she asked, steeling herself for his words of reproach. She'd spent most of last evening sitting in stoic silence while the other guests poked and jabbed at her. She supposed she would have to do the same while the servants let their opinion of her be known. Heaven knew it couldn't be any worse than what she'd already heard.

"I just wanted to say, miss, we—t'other servants n' me—we none of us think you done like they say," he said, his words tumbling over each other in a heartfelt rush. " 'Tis nonsense, and we know it. You're a lady."

The awkward words brought the sting of tears to Elizabeth's eyes. Dealing with kindness, she discovered, was much harder than dealing with animosity. With animosity one had but to construct barricades strong enough to keep out the pain, but there was no such defense against those who cared about you.

"Thank you, Thomas," she said, struggling not to cry. "That means a great deal to me. Please tell the others I am most grateful for their faith in me."

"Yes, miss," he said, and then, as if fearing he'd said more than was proper, he picked up the coffeepot and fled the room.

When she was certain she was alone Elizabeth indulged in a brief bout of tears, giving in to the fear and despair she'd refused to acknowledge, even to herself. Yesterday had been the most horrific day in her life, and she knew that had it not been for Adam and Alexi standing so solidly at her side, it would have been worse. Only their presence, she was certain, kept her from being clapped in gaol. As it was, she might as well be locked away, for all the freedom she would have.

"The fact that we failed to discover the missing papers in your possession changes nothing, Miss Mattingale," the earl had informed her during their private interview. "You are still suspect, and you may be very sure your every movement will be scrutinized.

"Naturally," he'd added, his eyes sparkling with malevolent glee, "you may not leave the grounds until this matter has been resolved. His grace's orders, you understand."

The idea of the powerful duke thinking her guilty was terrifying, and she wondered if even the support of her two knights-errant would be enough to protect her.
If
he thought she was guilty, that is, she brooded, dabbing at her cheeks. He'd been unfailingly kind to her last evening, and his daughter hadn't left her side for more than a few minutes. Surely he wouldn't allow Lady Elinore to consort with her if he suspected her of treason?

She was puzzling over the matter when she suddenly sensed she was no longer alone. Glancing up, she was annoyed to see the earl's younger son standing in the doorway. When he saw she'd finally noticed him, Mr. Carling nervously cleared his throat.

"Good morning, Miss Mattingale," he said, tugging at his cravat. "Might I join you? I'd like to speak with you, if I may."

Suspecting a trap, she inclined her head with wary graciousness. "Certainly, Mr. Carling. What is it?"

He shuffled into the room, his actions reminding her of a guilty pupil about to confess some heinous crime to his tutor.

"I—dashed awkward business, this," he muttered, taking his seat at the table and looking everywhere but at her.

"Awkward for me most certainly," she replied coolly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. She'd noticed him watching her several times last evening, a look she couldn't describe on his unprepossessing features. He was up to something, she was certain, and her heart began hammering with a cautious sense of fury as she considered what that
something
might be.

He bobbed his head, his fleshy cheeks turning a bright pink. "To be sure," he agreed, picking up a knife, studying it, and setting it down carefully again. "I just wanted to apologize for my parents," he began, addressing his remarks to the table. "Mama's mama, don't you know, and the pater has always been a bit of a rasher of wind. Still, it will all turn out right in the end."

"Will it?" Elizabeth concentrated on keeping her voice from betraying her anger. Why hadn't she thought of this before? she wondered, annoyed she'd allowed her fear to block her reason. The missing papers smacked of nothing more than a schoolboy's prank, and the lout sitting across from her and his doltish friends were three of the biggest schoolboys in the vicinity.

"Bound to, eh?" Mr. Carling raised his eyes to hers
and quickly lowered them again. "Those papers are only mislaid; I am sure of it. Once they are found, all will be forgotten."

"One may only hope, Mr. Carling," she said, seeing no reason why she shouldn't make him experience a little of what she had endured. "Since I am like to hang if they should not be found."

He grew even redder, the tips of his ears fairly glowing. "Oh, they will be found," he said, the panicked edge in his voice confirming her suspicions. "In fact, I—I think we had ought to look for them. That ought to be fun, eh? Like a—a treasure hunt."

Elizabeth refrained from pointing out that there'd been no trace of the papers found last evening, despite the fact that more man half of the guests' rooms had been meticulously searched. Still, if the search revealed the missing papers, who was she to argue with the results?

"That might be just the thing," she agreed cautiously. "Where should we start the search, do you think?"

Mr. Carling's head came up, the expression of relief on his face obvious. "I'll just ask Charles!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "He knows—that is," he corrected hastily, "he will know where to start looking. He's a dashed clever fellow, you know."

Elizabeth's lips thinned in a bitter smile. "Oh, yes, I know."

"I'll just go find him, then," he said, hurrying to the door. "You've not seen him this morning, have you? We was to ride out earlier this morning, but he never came."

Thinking it was just as well she hadn't seen the wretch, Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I have not."

Mr. Carling frowned. "Not like him to miss a gallop," he said, looking vaguely concerned. "Especially since he knew I was most anxious to speak with him."

"Perhaps he is merely still abed?" Elizabeth suggested. "He's prone to late hours, I take it."

"But his bed wasn't slept in," Mr. Carling said, and then blushed again as he realized the inappropriateness
of his remark. "That is, I am sure that must be it. I'll just have his man take another look. Good morning, Miss Mattingale, and—and I am sorry for all this. I am truly sorry." And he bolted before she could think of the words to stop him.

Elizabeth scarce had time to draw a breath before a scowling Alexi stormed into the room.

"What was that
sabaka
doing in here?" he demanded, blue eyes stormy. "If he has upset you—"

"No, he hasn't upset me," Elizabeth retorted, gesturing at the chair opposite her. "Stop growling, Alexi, and sit down. I'm too tired to put up with your nonsense this morning."