A Lady's Vanishing Choices (21 page)

On the seedy edge of London, Freddy ambled into the Red Rooster Tavern and headed for the taproom. Peeking around the door into the dim interior of the building, he glanced at the only patron in sight. The customer leaned against the bar with a glass in his hand, staring down into the content.

Freddy hated the odor of strong whisky mixed with ale permeating the place. He gulped in a breath of air, lowered his lids, and peered further into the room to locate the Frenchman. He headed toward the gentleman sprawled nonchalantly in a chair in the shadowy corner. Glasses and a bottle sat on the table before him. Freddy picked his way to the back of the taproom through the empty, scuffed tables with up-ended chairs atop them. Flopping down in a chair across from the Frenchman, he grabbed a glass. The Frenchman poured a measure of whiskey into the tumbler and settled back in his chair.

“Well?”

“Never mind politeness,” Freddy sneered.

“I’m warning you,” the Frenchman hissed. His cold, dark eyes held a deadly glint. “My patience is nearly at an end, Agent.”

Freddy held up one hand. “No sense in getting into a pucker, Gentleman—if you will.” He continued in a lowered voice. “I searched the entire place, every drawer, everything. I was nearly caught too.”

“What?”

“A parlor maid came looking for me. I flirted with her earlier, and she was most obliging,” Freddy finished with a grin. “I dropped a hint in the housekeeper’s ear, so likely the maid will be turned off.” He sniggered. “She’ll probably be blamed for everything.”

“Get to the point,” the Frenchman demanded with an exasperated sigh.

“I found his papers. No names were mentioned and the memorandum wasn’t there either. Never expected it to be, so no loss.” Freddy swallowed a sip of whiskey and coughed, wiping his mouth with a linen handkerchief. “A warning, if you please. Officials are searching high and low for your sister.”

The Frenchman gave a cold laugh. “My half-sister, to be exact, but let ‘em search. The authorities will never find her. I’m above half too clever for those blokes. I buried her name with a body. Joliet is no more. She now has another.”

“I say, that is clever.”

“Enough of that.” The Frenchman waved dismissively. “You need to make another attempt to locate that memorandum. It’s vitally important.”

“I realize that. Gentleman, since that is what you prefer to be called. Don’t be concerned. I plan to make another trip to the Horse Guards while I’m in town.”

“Don’t try to antagonize me.” The Frenchman flung his head back and shot a withering stare at Freddy. “Be very cautious when next you appear at the Horse Guards.”

“Posh. I’ve been running tame at their headquarters for the last ten years. Nobody thinks anything of it.”
He thinks he’s so superior.
Still, perhaps I should heed him
. Freddy forced out a chuckle. “I have always admired their jack-o-dandy uniforms, you know. Nothing is going to happen.” He lowered his voice and glanced around. “Even if I snag that memorandum, what’s to stop the military from changing plans?”

The Frenchman smiled with a grimace of his lips. “Changing the launch site and date of thousands of troops would be close to impossible—and costly. Wellington won’t risk it.”

After thinking on it for a moment, Freddy gave a curt nod. “Consider it done. I have an idea where the memorandum is kept. Probably somewhere in the same location I collected the list of the half English, half French agents undercover for the crown.”

“Don’t be too cocksure. Be cautious.” A heated expression flared in the Frenchman’s eyes. “That damn list of traitors. Half English, half French. Half foolish is my take on the blighters. At any rate, it is in code. I have someone decoding it even now. I hope this memorandum we’re searching for isn’t in the same condition.”

“Waste of precious time. When I have the thing, I’ll leave it in our usual hiding place.” Freddy stood to his feet. “I’ll let you know when we meet in a week or perhaps a little longer.”

He saluted the Frenchman with his glass, gulped another swallow, and strode to the exit.

Chapter 25

The next morning John and Sara arrived at the Rivton’s place in London with much fanfare and a mountain of boxes and trunks.

Sara swept into the house and hugged Bethany. “I do apologize for intruding on your bride trip, but we received word John is urgently needed in town. Upon arrival, we discovered our lodging has developed a leak in the ceiling. It’s under repair.”

“You are most welcome at any time,” Royce assured her. “John, let us retire to my library. Allow the ladies to catch up on all the on-dits floating about the town while we enjoy a chat.”

Sara sniffed. “Off with you, then. I know how you two enjoy a good coze.” After the men left, she turned to Bethany. “Thank you for receiving us at such an awkward time.”

“Nonsense,” Bethany said with a hollow laugh. “The more the merrier.” She only hoped her disappointment didn’t show on her face. Here was another thing to separate her from her husband. Defeat stirred through her and, with an inward sigh, she forced her fingers to uncurl.

Sara drew a deep breath and her voice held a defensive tone. “We could stay at a hotel, but John needed to consult with Royce.”

Bethany reached for Sara’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Forgive me for my churlish attitude. It isn’t your visit. You are always more than welcome.” She allowed a wicked grin to surface. “But you shall pay for your presence by helping me entertain our other guest, Eleanor. She arrived a single day before you.”

Sara snorted, “How droll. One big, happy family under a single roof again. At least, she shall be one of the crowd instead of the sole, honored guest.”

Bethany raised her brows. “How did you know?”

“I know Royce. He is a gentleman, through and through. How else would he treat your cousin?”

John and Royce entered the library behind a servant. He placed a fresh pot of steaming coffee on a side table and exited with a bow.

“I love the smell of hot coffee.” Royce poured and passed a cup to John before sinking into his wingback chair. “I thought you were fixed at the hall. What has happened?”

With his brows furrowed, John sat forward and explained, “I left Sir Blair in charge. The Prime Minter wanted me here in London.” He hesitated and he lowered his voice to a deep, intense level. “The list I mentioned to you—it’s missing. That’s to say nothing of the traitor.”

“Blister it,” Royce uttered and raked his hand through his hair. “That list has always been an accident waiting to happen.”

“This whole endeavor is a disaster.” John moved to the edge of his seat. “As you can imagine, the Prime Minister is anxious and wants this to end. It goes without saying, to end well, with no fanfare or heads shall roll. Everyone is checking under his own desk to see if he accidentally dropped any papers.” He laughed with little amusement. “Now the search is on for this extra missing document.”

“You think this list is connected to the other sensitive documents?”

“That’s the devil of it. I don’t see how. The memorandum went missing after Joliet Savoy had supposedly died.”

“A friend was with her at the end, but for a deceased person, she certainly manages to move around. I set Hopkins on the trail of Perry’s missing watch. He reported a widow lady sold my brother’s items. A remarkable feat, since she identified herself as Joliet Savoy. The same Joliet buried the week before.”

“Remarkable indeed. Has Hopkins located her yet?” John questioned with an intense look.

“No doubt, this friend is Joliet. She is residing in Billingsham under the name of Mrs. Dorothea Fronsworth. I had intended to question her immediately, but locating the gravesite took precedence over tracking her down. It seemed more important to take Bethany away from the danger. With three attempts against her life, I thought it prudent to leave that area until the villain is caught.”

“Do you think she is safe now?”

“I thought she would be when she married me, but now I’m not so certain. Catching the killer is most urgent. And now that you are here, I shall leave Bethany in your charge and travel to Billingsham to question Joliet. It stands to reason, if she sold the fob and watch, she has more information. Perhaps she has the documents you are seeking as well.”

John’s eyes lit up. “Wouldn’t that be a clapper? Everything tied up in one neat little package.”

Royce puffed out a breath. “In all probability, her brother has charge of any incriminating evidence. He guards his identity jealously and he seems one step ahead of us.”

John grimaced and tension permeated the room. “That girl, Abby, might be able to identify him. She visited while he attended the supposed Joliet Savoy’s deathbed. What a break that would be. I’ll have my man post down to Bath and keep an eye on her when she returns.”

“Capital idea. Let us join the ladies. Set them to planning for the ball. That should keep them out of harm’s way.”

The men entered the parlor a few moments later. Sara and Bethany had their heads together over a few fashion plates. Eleanor slumped in a chair until the gentlemen arrived. Royce nearly laughed at how quickly she struck a pose. She folded her hands demurely in her lap and gazed up beneath her lashes.

Sara called everyone’s attention to the book when she pointed to a figure draped in a stunning gown of silk on the open page. “Come and see Royce. I think Bethany would look lovely in that one.”

Royce bent over her shoulder and viewed the fashion plate. Before he could make a comment, Eleanor said, “Let me see. You know Betha has no idea of fashion.” Eleanor examined the picture too. “She is way too short for that gown.” Shrugging with a smile, she continued, “Betha doesn’t know what shall suit her, of course.”

With a haughty lift of his brow, Royce said, “I think the choice is correct. She shall be lovely in just such a gown.”

“Royce has an excellent eye for fashion.” Sara defended her own suggestion.

John added under his breath, “He should, as many lady birds as he’s had in his keeping.”

“John.” A pink tinge crept into Sara’s face.

Royce blinked. With a certain cool aplomb he raised his chin. He assumed as bland an expression as he could manage, deeming any comment on the subject best left unspoken. He made note to avoid an introduction of his bride to Mme Lalef and her establishment. Not for his bride, the modiste showroom where he had escorted many of his past high flyers, and they were in the past. He demanded loyalty and he would give the same.

Sara sighed. “It will be so grand. The latest fashions and everything up to scratch. I can hardly wait to gush over each single purchase. When do you set out?”

Royce cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the shopping trip is delayed. Urgent business must take precedence.”

“Perhaps, Sara and I—.”

He interrupted with a frown. “No indeed. I shall have the privilege of escorting you on your first round of shopping.”

“But Royce.”

He held up one hand. “I shall hear no more on that head. This business is pressing.” He only hoped he hadn’t left it too late. “Although the wardrobe is high in importance, it can wait for a day or two.” A sense of urgency raced through him, making it impossible to take a seat. “I must be off at once.” Kissing Bethany’s hand, then her cheek, he continued, “I should return on the ‘morrow or the day after. Keep safe.”

The sun hung low in the sky, slowly sinking toward the tree line as Royce rode into Billingsham. Carriages and carts alike rolled along the dust-covered High Street, running between several storefronts before continuing out of town. The clatter of hooves mixed with the clank of vehicles. The sound of voices emerged from the stores and a tavern further down the path.

Royce dismounted before the Rusty Dog Inn & Pub, a two-story affair, quite large for a village of this size. Tightening his jaw, he entered the inn. He intended to secure a room for the night and ask for directions.

A lean-faced clerk, with thin hair parted in the middle and slicked down, glanced up from the ledger on the desk. He nodded, placing his pen aside.

“I require a room for the night.”

The clerk swiveled a register around and presented Royce with a pen. “Sign here, please.”

Royce paid for his room, signed the register, and asked, “If you please, point me to Henderson Street.”

He slipped the key to his room into his pocket and a thrill of anticipation raced down his spine.
Almost there.
Intending to conduct an interview with this Fronsworth woman well before nightfall, he hoped to discover her true identity. He suspected it was indeed Joliet Savoy, but he needed proof. Perhaps if he mentioned Perry’s fob and watch being stolen and sold, she could be persuaded to cooperate. He waited for the clerk to finish writing in his ledger.

The attendant closed his book and came out from behind the desk. He glanced towards the entrance. “It’s over and down the way. I’m not certain if it’s east or west of here. Directions never make sense to me unless I’m outside.” He strode to the door. “It’d be best if I point.”

Royce followed him outside and halted behind the man while he indicated an easterly direction. At that moment, a lovely young woman stepped out of a shop, catching his attention. What was Bethany doing here?
After further inspection, he grimaced
.
Thankfully not Bethany, but she walked with the same graceful sway. The shape and flawless complexion were similar as well.
Her eyes aren’t the beautiful color of Bethany’s, but still lovely.

The clerk straightened his cuffs and nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he cleared his throat and said, “Ah. Mrs. Fronsworth, a very pleasant afternoon to you. Lord Rivton needs directions to Henderson Street. Perhaps . . .”

Before the clerk could finish the sentence, the woman glanced at Royce and the color leached from her face. With her eyes rounded in fright, she stepped back before turning to run across the street.

Royce uttered a savage oath under his breath and started after her.
She’ll not escape.
Her fright alone condemned her.

A rapidly moving gig rolled between him and the girl, obscuring his view. The next thing he knew, the vehicle skidded sideways, knocking the girl to the ground. The wheels rolled over her before the gig picked up speed and hurled down the lane. She lay crumpled in the dust of the fast disappearing conveyance.

In a few strides, Royce reached her side. No heartbeat pulsed under his fingers and no breath moved her chest. He gently turned her over. Blood gushed down the side of her face, and her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle. Her neck had been broken.

Rage choked him, not only because he could no longer question the girl, but because his heart had nearly failed him when he watched her fall beneath the gig. It almost seemed he’d watched Bethany’s death and had been helpless to prevent the tragedy. A desperate urge to race home drummed through him. He couldn’t protect Bethany from here.

The clerk peered over his shoulder. “Is she gone?” He swallowed, and his voice sank to a little above a whisper. “So lovely to be snuffed out and so young. The constable must be called at once.”

Royce rose and glanced around at the small crowd gathering and whispering to one another. He took charge and said, “The constable can view her inside instead of in the middle of the road. I’m certain he shan’t be annoyed if we move her.”

The clerk piped in, “We can place her in the private parlor.”

Royce picked her up and made his way into the inn. The feel of her in his arms reminded him of how closely she measured with Bethany in height and weight. He gulped in a breath to steady his breathing. His gut clenched when the images of the woman’s death circled in his mind, and with that thought, the realization of his love for Bethany came roaring to life. He’d tried to tell himself he married her for honor’s sake, to restore her reputation as any right-thinking gentleman would, but that had been only a small part of it. What a dolt. He loved her, and he must tell her so.

Desperation to return to Bethany and the need to investigate the woman’s lodgings warred within him. He laid the woman on the couch and straightened to glance at the clerk. “You take charge here. Deal with the constable and the like. I have an appointment, but I’ll be available to answer any questions he may have later tonight.”

He strode out of the inn and made his way to Henderson Street. Pulling the doctor’s scribbled directions from his pocket, he read the paper again and glanced around. A sign hung from a post announcing Mrs. Pratt’s Boarding Establishment.

When a little lady with graying hair answered his knock, he attempted to make his expression bland. He handed her his card. “I regret to inform you there has been an accident with one of your tenants.” Glancing at the slip of paper in his hand, he continued. “A Mrs. Fronsworth, I believe she called herself. Only moments ago, a gig ran her down. She’s deceased.”

With one hand to her thin bosom, she stammered, “Oh dear, such a sweet little thing, and so young to die.”

Determined to gain access to the room, he exuded an air of confidence, trying to build her trust. There might be evidence of the woman’s identity inside. Softening his voice with concern, he asked, “Do you know of any relatives we should notify?”

The landlady clasped her hands in front of her. “The dear had only been here a short while. Her being a widow lady, no one came to call. I have no record of a relative.”

His heart picked up speed.
Perfect.
“Perhaps I should search her room. If she received any correspondence, there may be someone’s name.”

“You being a gentleman, I suppose that would be proper. Your cards states you are a Lord Lieutenant, is it?”

“Indeed,” he assured her with all the authority he could muster.