The Theft Before Christmas (4 page)

The Regent nodded morosely.

"Is there perhaps a closet where someone could have been concealed?" Jack asked.

Good idea. Why hadn't she thought of that?

"Not in this chamber," the Regent replied.

Then she thought of something. "Had any ladies attending been presented yesterday?" She knew that ladies' prevailing fashions of soft, close-fitting dresses would never allow for concealment of any kind. (How could they when even a lady's undergarments were so easily viewed beneath the wispy fabrics of today's frocks?) However, the dresses ladies wore to be presented at court adopted fashions of the last century, when the voluminous skirts could have concealed a school room of dwarfs.

He shook his head sadly.

"What was Miss Wilson wearing?" she asked.

The Regent frowned. "Very little. It was quite scandalous."

"Why would your servants allow such a woman. . ." Daphne's query was cut off by Jack's deep scowl and shake of his head.

"I am ashamed to say there have been times in the past when some women of that sort may have gained entrance. . ." The Prince Regent could not make eye contact.

"But you'd never before met Harriette Wilson?" Daphne asked.

He shrugged.

Jack eyed him somberly. "Can you direct us to her house?"

Chapter 3

It was nearly dark when Daphne and Jack finally returned to their carriage awaiting in front of Carlton House. “It’s prodigiously late to be goin’ on to Addersley Priory,” Andy told them.

Unlike the other coachmen and grooms Jack had observed, their young man was given to expressing his opinions. Daphne rather mothered the lad since she had plucked him from his own family in Portsmouth several months earlier. “I’m afraid we’re not going to Addersley just yet,” Jack explained.

“You will be happy to know,” Daphne told Andy as he handed her into the carriage, “that we’re to be undertaking another clandestine investigation.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “For His Majesty?”

Jack scowled at her.

“Darling, you know how clever Andy is with this sort of thing.”

“I do, but you also told the Regent our investigation would be in the strictest secrecy.”

She frowned. “Andy doesn’t count. He’s an integral partner in all we do.”

Jack knew better than to waste his breath.

“Where to, Gov’nah?” Andy asked.

“Do you know where St. James Street is?” Jack asked, knowing full well the boy studied maps like Turner studied landscapes. He put into Andy's hand the scrap of paper which bore Miss Wilson’s address.

“As well as I know me own name.”

Once they were on their way to St. James, Jack turned to his wife. “Why did you look so shocked when I asked the Regent for Miss Wilson’s direction?”

“I had a mental lapse. I cannot in my wildest imagination ever picturing you going to an establishment like that woman’s. You’re far too moral.”

“I would hardly say that. It’s just that I have a high regard for honesty.” One who broke marriage vows was not one he could admire.

“And integrity.” She scooted closer, and he could smell her fresh spearmint scent. He settled his arm across her slender shoulders and dropped a soft kiss into the mass of her unruly hair—which he quite loved. Just as much as he loved her spectacles.

Within a few minutes, their coach pulled up in front of the stately white-stone house where the famed courtesan resided. “You, madam, are
not
to come with me.” He moved to leave the carriage.

“I am too coming!”

He spun toward her and glowered. “I will not have my wife in the same room with a woman of that sort.”

 “Don’t be silly. You know what a good interrogator I am. And it’s not as if I’m a maiden.” She moved toward the door, her hand seductively snaking along his thigh.

His hand clamped her wrist. “I won’t allow you to step one foot inside that woman’s house.”

She sighed. “You’re being very obtuse. I know you’re brilliant at getting information about troop movements and weaponry and things of a military nature, but I happen to know how to extract information from women.”

“You know nothing of that sort of woman.” He prayed she did not reverse that question for he wasn’t
that
innocent or
that
noble. Before he married.

She coiled her fingers around his forearm. “I won’t have
you
going in there with that sort of woman!”

They would be there all night if he didn’t break the stalemate. “Very well, but I don’t like it one bit.” Why was it his wife always seemed to get her way?

This section of St. James was home to some of the wealthiest courtesans in the Capital, and it happened to be close to the most prestigious of the gentleman’s clubs. Which was no coincidence.

“I pray she’s in,” Daphne said as they climbed the steps to the front door.

“There’s light at the window.”

“Which is good.”

He rapped at the door.

When a liveried servant answered it seconds later, he almost laughed aloud at the pretentiousness. He’d been told Harriette Wilson and her debauched sisters, whose father was a Swiss clockmaker, had been mistresses to titled men before their fifteenth birthdays. Which begged the question. . . had they been instructed reading, writing, and pleasuring at their mother’s knee?

He must put aside his own judgment and try to treat the amoral woman with a modicum of respect if he hoped to get any information from her. “Captain Dryden and Lady Daphne Dryden to see your mistress,” Jack said.

The man looked taken aback at having a respectable
female
member of the aristocracy at Miss Wilson’s door.

“Pray, come to the drawing room while I tell my mistress the nature of your business. Which is?”

“The Prince Regent has sent us,” Daphne interjected.

His powdered wig askance, the servant’s eyes widened. “If you will just follow me.”

Jack knew nothing about décor, but it seemed to him Miss Wilson may have gone a bit overboard with gilt looking glasses on every wall as well as a profusion of gilded furniture which, like the Regent’s, was in the French mode. He’d wager hers wasn’t nearly as costly as the Regent’s, but Jack was incapable of telling one from the other.

The scarlet draperies in the drawing room were drawn. At least the woman was sensible to guard the privacy of her visitors. The sofa upon which he and Daphne sat was also covered in scarlet fabric. Was it silk? Daphne might know, but then Daphne was not much more interested than he in matters of what was fashionable—even if she had been born into one of the most fashionable families in the English aristocracy

He hated that this courtesan who’d seen more undressed men that the Dragoon’s tailor lived in a nicer house than his Daphne.

A moment later, Harriette Wilson strode into the chamber. Like all those in the Regent’s saloon the night before had, Jack easily recognized her. Not only was she a fixture in her box at Drury Lane, but she was also widely caricatured by Cruikshank.

Like his own wife, Miss Wilson was taller than average. He was grateful the brown-haired strumpet’s dress wasn’t indecent. Its fabric was very sheer, and its bodice was very low, but nothing of too personal a nature was on display. He stood and slightly bowed. “Good of you to see us, Miss Wilson.”

Daphne also stood, and even though he knew nothing of fashion, a quick glance from one woman to the other confirmed that the fallen woman dressed much finer than his aristocratic wife. He was going to make Daphne get a new dress as soon as Christmas was over. Better yet, he would have the duchess select one for his wife, for Daphne’s sister was said to be an arbitrator of good taste. But then he recalled the duchess
had
selected an entire new wardrobe for Daphne's trousseau. It was just like his wife to prefer her old things.

Daphne flashed a smile at their hostess and curtsied. “I am Lady Daphne Dryden.”

Miss Wilson elevated a brown brow and returned the curtsey. “I am honored, my lady.”

The three of them continued standing, eying each other awkwardly until Miss Wilson finally said, “Pray, let us all sit.”

“Hopkins tells me that you’ve come from the Regent?” Miss Wilson began, eying Jack, who was still in uniform, as she took a seat on a second sofa that was much like the one Jack and Daphne had been sitting on. “I suppose you’ve spoken with
him
today?”

Jack nodded, but before he could say anything, she continued.

“Did he tell you how rudely I was treated?”

Before Jack could respond, Daphne answered, even though she wasn’t the one being addressed by Miss Wilson. “I must agree, Miss Wilson. It was very insensitive of him. After all, you had a royal invitation.”

The courtesan warmed to Daphne, directing a smile at her as she nodded enthusiastically.

“Pray, Miss Wilson,” Daphne continued, “did you know the invitation was a forgery?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you must have suspected,” Jack said.

Now their hostess returned her attention to him—which made him deuced uncomfortable because she ran her eye over him top to bottom as if he were a filly at Tattersall’s. “Had the invitation been for a later hour in the night, I would not have questioned it, if you understand my meaning, Captain?” Her gaze raked over him once again.

“I am particularly interested in how you obtained the invitation.” He’d be damned if he’d address this. . .harlot as politely as Daphne had.

She shrugged. “I know not who sent it.”

“How was it sent?” Daphne asked.

“It was delivered. After the first message.”

“What first message?” he asked.

“The day before I received. . . what you say is a forgery, I received a note telling me that if I would appear at a Carlton House fete – with a proper invitation—I would receive £500.”

Daphne’s mouth gaped open. “Who was the note from?”

Miss Wilson shrugged. “I know not.”

“Then what made you believe the sender would make good on his promise?” Jack asked.

“There was a £100 note enclosed, with the promise of £400 more upon completion of my task.”

Daphne pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “Have you received the other £400 yet?”

“No, but it’s been just one day.”

How stupid could one woman be, Jack thought. “Who delivered the notes?”

“I asked the same question of Hopkins when he brought the first one to me, but you know how men are. . .” This she addressed to Daphne. “They have no ability to observe things as we do.”

Daphne nodded. “I completely agree.”

“Then what did Hopkins manage to convey to you?” Jack demanded.

She shrugged. “He said it was a liveried servant who may have been a mute because he did not say a single word.”

Jack eyed her suspiciously “What of the servant’s conveyance?”

“Hopkins said he did not see one.”

Daphne smiled upon her. “Pray, what color was the man’s livery?”

Miss Wilson glared at Jack. “Do you see what I mean? You would never have thought to ask about colors, now would you? It takes a woman to look for things of that nature.”

Jack was quite sure had he the time, he would have questioned her about the color of the servant’s livery.

Miss Wilson shrugged. “Alas, I forgot to ask. Allow me to ring for Hopkins.” She got up and pulled the bell, and her servant came straight away.

“Yes, madam?”

“What color was the livery of the man who delivered those two letters to me?”

“’Twas a blue, but I’m not good at saying what kind of blue it was—though it weren’t light.”

“Was it as dark as a naval uniform?” Jack asked.

The man shook his head. “Not that dark, either.”

“Was it the kind of color that brings to mind royalty?” Daphne asked.

He nodded happily. “That it were.”

“I believe it may have been what we call royal blue,” Daphne said to their hostess. “Like for the House of Bourbon.”

"Pray, Miss Wilson, did you perchance keep the letter?"

"A woman in my position keeps all her letters, Captain. One never knows when their value may rise."

"We would be ever so appreciative if you could show it to us," Daphne said.

Miss Wilson called back her servant. "Have Annette give you my little wooden box, Hopkins. She'll know which one."

A moment later, he returned with a locked box. She extracted a key from around her neck and opened it. It was crammed with letters. She took two off the top and handed them to Daphne. "Here they are, my lady."

Jack came to peer over his wife's shoulder. Each was on a single piece of paper, a high-quality velum with no crest, and the writing was neat and easy to read. Both were just as she had represented them to be.

He had hoped some clue on the page would help him identify the thief, but there was nothing.

Miss Wilson put them back into the box, locked it, and instructed her servant to return it to her maid. “Is there anything else you wish to know?” she asked Daphne and Jack.

Jack shook his head.

"Then I wish to ask a question. For what purpose was I used last night?"

She was trying to demonstrate her ignorance, but he wasn't believing. "I am not at liberty to say. The Regent has asked that everything concerning last night remain secret."

"Then I shall have Lord Hertford tell me." She tossed her head back and laughed.

Daphne stood. The other two took their cue from her and also stood. “You’ve been exceedingly helpful," Daphne said. "Can I ask that you let me know when you receive the rest of your money?” From her reticule, Daphne extracted one of her cards and presented it to Miss Wilson. “I assure you, this is not a forgery, and I would always welcome you at my home.”

Tears welled in their hostess’s eyes as she dropped into a deep curtsey. “Bless you, my lady.”

Just as Jack was thinking that woman would never be welcome at his house, his wife shamed him with her pure humanity. His chest swelled with pride in the woman who had done him the honor of marrying him.

As they strolled from her house toward their waiting carriage, Jack remembered something and let out an oath.