Francesca (14 page)

Threats would weaken her resolve, and if they failed to do the trick, he would sweeten the pot with a bribe of three hundred guineas. If all else failed, he was determined to go to the limit. He arranged with a friendly judge to have a warrant sworn out to allow a search of Miss Sullivan’s premises. He took the warrant and an officer of the law with him, to prevent Miss Sullivan from removing the necklace from her house.

The outside of the building gave no idea of the baroque opulence within, with gilt, crystal, and red plush everywhere. Sir Percy did very well by his piece. She had no need of the necklace. Her toilette, too, was of the first stare. She was a petite blonde, very ladylike, very pretty
;
and not at all stupid, though she affected an air of vulnerable simplicity that seemed to work very well with the gentlemen. Her eyes widened in guileless wonder as Devane emptied his budget, and she did not fail to recognize the significance of the Bow Street Runner standing aloof in the corner and the document he held in his fingers.

“I don’t understand such long words as you use, Lord Devane. Misappropriate? What does that mean? You must know, Lord Camden gave me that little necklace as a token of his esteem.”
A flirtatious fluttering of the lashes accompanied her speech.

“Lent, surely. The necklace was not his to give. It is entailed.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means it now belongs to Lord Maundley, until his remaining son reaches his maturity. Not a good gentleman for you to tangle with.”

“But who is to pay me for it?”
She pouted.

“No one. You are holding stolen property, which is a crime in itself.”

“Surely not when I had no idea it was entailed,”
she shot back. She quickly recovered her slipping innocence and added, “David said nothing of its being entailed.”

“That was certainly wrong of him, but two wrongs do not make a right. It is not David who will be on trial. It is you. The court can make a case that you were aware the necklace was stolen. Why else have you not worn it? I notice you do not hesitate to wear Sir Percy’s gifts.”

A necklace of sapphires sparkled at her throat. Nervous white fingers played with a fan as Miss Sullivan conned her options. “Sir Percy is fiercely jealous. He likes me to wear only his gifts.”

“He would be very displeased to have his mistress involved in a scandal involving another man.”

She knew this was true and decided she must resort to tears. The fluttering fingers rose and shadowed her eyes. Sniffles began to escape her pretty lips. “Oh, whatever shall I do, Lord Devane? Truth to tell, I have heard a rumor—no more—that the necklace belonged by rights to Lady Camden. I have been wanting to return it, but could hardly call on her.”

“You might have used an intermediary. Sir Percy, for instance.”

“He knows nothing of this wretched affair.”

“Shall we keep it that way?”
Devane suggested in the tone of a conspirator.

She gave a helpless but withal an encouraging smile. “That might be best. There will be no scandal?”

“If you write a very pretty note to Lord Maundley explaining the misunderstanding, there will be no public scandal. He won’t be eager for the world to know his son was a scoundrel. A scoundrel with excellent taste, if you don’t mind my saying so,”
he added with a gallant bow.

She smiled softly and said, “Would you care for a glass of wine, Lord Devane, while my woman gets the necklace?”
She pulled the cord and gave the woman who answered it instructions to bring the diamond necklace in the blue velvet box. When the box was in Devane’s hands, she said, “Perhaps the man from Bow Street can leave us now?”

“Shall we just get your letter of explanation first?”

Miss Sullivan went to a desk in the corner of her saloon and wrote her note of explanation and apology.

Devane hastily scanned the note and put it in his pocket. “Wait for me outside,”
he said to the officer, and accepted a glass of wine from Miss Sullivan.

“It is a great relief to have this business settled so amicably.”
She smiled. “Whose behalf are you acting on, Lord Devane?”

“Lady Camden’s.”

“Ah. Is there some possibility of a match between you?”

“Anything is possible. I would appreciate it if you not mention it to anyone yet.”

“Then you would not be taking Mrs. Ritchie under your protection?”
she asked, hiding all her glee under a show of nonchalance. She had heard of that outing in the park and had a fair idea where Devane had gotten his information.

“It is not the time for me to be thinking of that sort of thing.”

“I’m sure we all regret the loss,”
she said, peering at him from the corner of her eye. There was nothing to be gained here, but at least Mrs. Ritchie, the spiteful cow, hadn’t snared this prize.

Devane finished his drink hastily and rose. “I see by your toilette that you are going out for the evening. I shan’t detain you further. It has been delightful making your acquaintance.”
He fingered the three hundred guineas in his pocket, wondering if he should offer a pourboire for her help. As he noticed the sparkle of sapphires, and the rich appointments provided by Sir Percy, he decided the money could be better spent elsewhere, and took his departure.

The next stop was Lord Maundley’s, where he learned that his lordship was at a night meeting of the House of Lords. Devane wished to atone for his scandalous behavior to Lady Camden by taking her his explanation and a letter of apology from Lord Maundley. That, he hoped, would reinstate him in her good graces, or at least make further visits possible, to fully heal the breach.

As Maundley was unavailable, Devane had no option but to wait till morning. He spent a quiet evening at his club. Mr. Irwin was not there, so he played for only an hour before leaving. Going to a ball or rout had no appeal for him that evening. There came a time in a man’s life when he had had a surfeit of meaningless parties. His visit to Miss Sullivan had disgusted him with lightskirts. He was ready to settle down, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that no one suited him as well as Lady Camden.

Her brief and innocent attempts at dissipation he could well understand. He even approved. He liked a dash of fire in his ladies. She was no milk-and-water girl, to let a man ride roughshod over her.

While Devane recovered the necklace, Lady Camden prepared for her move to Surrey to visit Mr. Caine’s sister and her family. She did not expect to hear from Devane again, and sincerely hoped she would not, yet each time the knocker sounded, her heart went into violent palpitations. But it was only Mr. Irwin, come to say farewell, or Selby, come to announce that he had heard from Mary, and she was eager for the visit. He wanted to arrange their time of departure the next morning.

“The earlier the better,”
Francesca said, and meant it.

The Elms, Mary and Ronald Travers’s estate in Surrey, could be comfortably made by afternoon if they left early. There were dozens of last-minute chores to be done. Outstanding bills had to be paid, appointments cancelled, books returned to the circulating library. Mr. Caine volunteered his assistance in this last chore, and also in purchasing a gift for Harry. At eighteen months Harry had already displayed an interest in horses, and Mr. Caine bought him a finely carved and painted horse.

Caine took dinner with Francesca and Mrs. Denver that evening, as he had sent his man back home to prepare for his arrival there in a few days’
time. He found that one pessimist at the dinner was enough and tried to cheer Francesca by repeating her lawyer’s opinions. “Mr. Duncan is virtually certain it will never come to court, and once the necklace turns up, there will be no blame attaching to you, Fran.”

“Unless people think Maundley forced me to return it, to avoid prosecution,”
she replied. “I
do
wish we could have recovered the necklace. That would have proved my innocence.”

Mr. Caine shook his head. “It is like drawing teeth to get a word out of a lightskirt. Dealing with such creatures was never my long suit. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You did more than anyone could reasonably ask,”
Lady Camden assured him. “And I shall be eternally grateful. What a wretched nuisance I have been to you, and so ungrateful. I don’t know why you bothered with me, Selby.”

“My pleasure, I’m sure,”
he said, blushing, and hurried along to a different matter. “I am having a last visit with Duncan at his house this evening, as soon as I leave you. I’ll ask him about taking legal steps to recover the necklace. There might be something he can do. With a lawyer waving an injunction or some legal paper before their eyes, the muslin company might be more forthcoming.”

“That will be something for the long term,”
Mrs. Denver said. “Meanwhile, we’ll be well out of it all.”

“Yes,”
Francesca said, and tried to smile.

But when Selby left, and she was alone in her room preparing for the move, she felt again that reluctance to leave. She consoled herself by thinking of the future, when the necklace would be recovered and her name cleared. Perhaps she would return then, and meet Lord Devane somewhere or other. She would look right through him, as if he were a dirty pane of glass. But it was cold comfort. She wanted to do much worse than that to him. She wanted to revile and humiliate him as he had shamed and insulted her.

In spite of rising at seven-thirty the next morning, and in spite of the utmost haste and bustle, it was nearly nine by the time the house was put to rights and the carriages drove out of London, Mr. Caine’s leading the way. By ten they were into wooded country, away from the clamor of the city. As they proceeded through a series of delightful villages, where children played cricket on the greens and ancient churches lifted their spires into the blue sky, Francesca felt the peace of calmness descend on her battered spirits. She should never have stayed in London after David’s death.

Her thoughts went forward to the Elms and Mary, her oldest and dearest friend. The travelers stopped for lunch at Croydon, and by midafternoon they passed through Reigate. The Elms, just skirting the North Downs, was four miles beyond. Mr. Caine pointed out where Ronald Travers’s property began. Neat tenant farms hugged the bank of a stream, and dairy cattle harbored beneath trees, seeking shelter in the heat of the afternoon. The Elms sat on a mound, visible half a mile away.

It was a stone house formed of three cubes, the largest protruding in front, the two smaller ones recessed on either side. The elm trees that had given it its name provided beauty and shade. It was not a lovely house, and not nearly so grand as the Maundley estate, where Francesca would eventually have resided had David lived. After her troubles she could think of nothing more peaceful and satisfying than living here, with a good husband and a young family, sharing the simple country pleasures and duties. All else was mere vanity.

Her life, till now, had been useless. She had been a toy doll for David to outfit in finery and show off to his friends, and when they had all seen her, he bought a new doll. Never again would she become involved with a man of fashion. If she ever remarried, it would be to a solid, sensible farmer like Ronald Travers.

Here, in this idyllic spot, with the only sounds the smooth rumbling of the carriage wheels blending with the lowing of cattle and the raucous caw of the rooks overhead, the future did not seem utterly hopeless. As the two carriages proceeded in state up the drive toward the house, Mary came flying out to meet them. Francesca hopped down, and the two young women embraced warmly.

“Let me look at you!”
Mary exclaimed. “You look peaked, Fran. We’ll soon get the color back in your cheeks, and a little flesh on your bones. Oh, and look at your bonnet! How lovely! The latest crack in London, I daresay.”
Over her shoulder she welcomed Mrs. Denver and her brother, Selby.

Fran regarded her old friend and saw a total contrast to herself. While she had been wasting away to a bagged skeleton by late nights and worries, Mary had blossomed into satisfied motherhood. The results of her settled life were to be seen on her rosy cheeks and full figure. Her gown and her hairdo would have caused a snicker in the polite saloons of London, but they did not cause a snicker in Francesca. She felt stupidly overdressed, especially for the country. It was at her friend’s sparkling eyes and bright smile that she gazed enviously.

“You look wonderful, Mary. Where is Harry? I want to see my godson.”

“He’s having his afternoon nap, but he’ll be down soon. Come inside. Cook has prepared a special tea. Your old favorite, gingerbread and clotted cream. That will fill out your figure. Mind you, you might not want it quite as full as mine. Ron says I am a proper armful, but I expect you think I’m fat.”

“No, just right.”

They went inside arm in arm, chattering like schoolgirls. Mrs. Denver and Mr. Caine exchanged a mute look of satisfaction. This visit was an excellent idea, the look said. The feeling was strengthened over tea. Francesca had not eaten so heartily in weeks. Ham and Tewksbury mustard and plain bread seemed sweeter than cake because of the company. And though she was already satisfied, Francesca had to try the gingerbread and clotted cream for old times’
sake.

“And now we shall have the scion of the family brought down,”
Mary said proudly.

At eighteen months, Harry was walking. He had his brown eyes and dark hair from both parents, but his mischievous charm was all his own. Within minutes he had enchanted all the guests by the simple expedient of messing cream and cake all over his dress and laughing in delight at the unexpected treat. He was coaxed to say his few words—Mama, Dada, booboo, and tata.

“We’ll have him saying
Fran
before your visit is over,”
the beaming mother promised.

Ronald was busy on the estate, but was back by dinnertime, another jolly meal, during which Francesca ate like a ploughman. “It must be the trip that gave you such an appetite,”
Ronald said. He was a country man with no airs or graces about him, but he possessed a handsome face and figure, and enough liveliness to please his family and friends.