Little Coquette (18 page)

“Yes, you can get a message off to Grosvenor Square by hansom cab as soon as Dooley leaves you,” Beaumont said, and handed her a golden coin. “To pay for the delivery. Let us know what he says when he reads the note.”

“I will.”

They rose to leave. “Where are you going now?” Sally asked.

“To Bow Street,” Beau replied. “I want to have a few officers nearby to follow Dooley and catch him with the evidence on him.”

“Will they be able to prove he killed Prissie?”

“They’ll try. Someone may have seen him following her at Kesterly, and you can tell Bow Street about the watch—no need to say who gave it to her, but just that she treasured it.”

“Don’t worry that I’ll drag Sir John into it. He was a real nice gent. Always treated Priss like a lady, and me, too, any time I met him.”

“Dooley will pay, whether we can prove it or not,” Beaumont assured her. “They can only hang him once.”

“That’s true. I’m glad Richie has somewhere to go. He seemed a nice fellow. I wonder what Nancy’s really like. It’s good to know Dooley will never get hold of her anyhow. I’ll see she finds some nice gent.”

They left and returned to Grosvenor Square. Lydia was happy that they had the house to themselves. Her papa was still at Whitehall, and Nessie was out visiting. She asked Blake for some sandwiches, as they had missed their luncheon.

“What time should we leave for St. John’s Wood?” she asked as she poured the tea.

“If we leave just around twilight, it will be dark when we arrive. I’ll call for you after dinner. Around eight-thirty. How will you get away from Nessie?”

“You are taking me to a rout party this evening, sir.”

“Lucky me!”

She looked at him questioningly. “Do you mind terribly, Beau, that I’ve more or less dragged you into all this? It’s not really your problem.”

“Mind? I am delighted,” he said, and looked as if he meant it, to judge by his fond smile. “Who else would rescue you when you overestimated your own abilities but your old childhood guardian, who has rescued you from innumerable trees?”.

“Overestimated!” she said at once, rising to the bait. Then she saw the amusement lurking in the depths of his dark eyes and laughed at herself.

As soon as they had eaten, he said, “I shall go to Bow Street now and arrange for company at Maddox Street at six A.M. Let us be there by five-thirty. We’ll want to scout out the area. It will soon be over, Lydia.”

She took his hand. “You’ve been very helpful, Beau. I couldn’t have done it without you. Most gentlemen would have tried to take over and elbow me, a mere girl, aside.”

He just looked at her and shook his head. “Don’t think I haven’t wanted to. You’re not easy to elbow.”

“I was sure you would try to keep me away from Prissie’s flat when Dooley comes. I appreciate that you treat me like a fully rational human being, and not some foolish child who must be protected from reality. That is so degrading.”

After this statement Beau found it impossible to suggest she remain at home during the last stage of Dooley’s capture. Was that why she had said it? He tried to read her thoughts, but he could see no sly light, no laughter or mischief in her expression. She looked genuinely pleased with him. It was amazing how much more attractive Lydia was when she wasn’t mounting her high horse.

“Men don’t act that way because they think women are foolish,” he said. “They just want to protect them because they care for them. Indeed it concerns me that you will be in jeopardy tomorrow morning.” He looked at her, wondering if he dared say more. There, where he fully expected to see the stern face of objection, he saw a sweet, soft smile.

“I appreciate that, Beau.”

“Then you’ll let me go alone?”

“I didn’t say that! I appreciate that you are concerned, and I am concerned about your safety, too. We’ll look after each other. Dooley is a wily customer, from all accounts. I depend on his greed to overcome caution. And in any case, I shall be armed. I brought my pistol to London with me.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Oh yes. I have made it a point to be as self-sufficient as possible.”

He just shook his head. “Of course you have. You make it difficult for a fellow to be a hero.”

“Who wants a hero? From what I have read, they are just show-offs who got lucky. I would prefer a gentleman of common sense.”

“That lets me out. I must be mad, agreeing to this harebrained scheme. Let us hope we are both lucky.”

He picked up the last sandwich and left.

Nessie rushed home at six o’clock, pink with pleasure. “Such a day! I was visiting Lady Hertford and who should be there but Prinny! He could not have been kinder, my dear. Such marvelous things he said about your papa. We are dining with the Jerseys this evening. You are invited as well, Lydia, if you are free. I told her you might be going out with Beaumont.”

“Oh. Yes, Beau has invited me to a rout party.”

“That’s nice, dear. You can borrow my Hildie to help you dress for the rout, for I shall be finished with her long before you need to prepare. Your papa will be dining out with me. Ask the servants to make you something nice for dinner. And tell Cook I am expecting half a dozen ladies to tea tomorrow afternoon. As Lady Hertford will be joining me, the prince might possibly drop in. We shall want something quite grand.”

She dashed upstairs, still babbling about the prince, so very complimentary.

Lydia relayed the messages to the butler and scampered abovestairs to make her own preparations. The note from Sally had come. Dooley had been back to visit her, and she had given him Lydia’s note. He seemed angry, but Sally was sure he would show up at six A.M. As directed.Lydia forwarded the note to Beaumont at Manchester Square.

Having the house to herself was a great advantage in Lydia’s preparations. She would not have to leave home in a party frock, which would be inconvenient for fishing in the pond for the plates. She would wear her afternoon gown and a pair of stout walking shoes. Her good evening mantle would conceal the frock from Blake’s Argus eyes when she was leaving and returning.

Sir John arrived home just in time to make his evening toilette. He stopped at Lydia’s room for a word before leaving.

“Are you still angry with me?” he asked, trying to make light of the situation.

His attitude annoyed Lydia. “What will you do, now that Prissie is dead?” she asked.

His first smile faded to resignation. “I shan’t take another mistress, if that is what concerns you, my dear. I have learned my lesson. And with my new duties, I shan’t have time for that sort of thing. Truth to tell, I am getting a little old for all that carrying on.”

“How very French. La Rochefoucauld said something of the sort, did he not? That when age overcomes our vices, we claim the victory for our own.”

“Very likely he did. He also said if we had no faults of our own, we would not take so much pleasure in noticing those of others. Don’t look too hard for others’ faults, Lydia. I am referring not only to mine, but to Beaumont’s. No man likes to be forever apologizing and explaining. A carping woman is no pleasure to be with.”

“I hope I am not a carper!”

“You have a tendency that way. I hope you can overcome it or you will lose that lad. He is an excellent parti. I trust you have not spoken to your mama about this Prissie business?”

“Certainly not.”

“Good. I am trying to convince her to join me here, as I shall be spending virtually all my time in London now.”

“She won’t come,” Lydia said. She knew it as well as she knew anything. “She would be terrified of meeting prime ministers and princes. She would be happier at home.” She would go on embroidering her fire screens and chair covers and wall hangings. No wonder her husband sought solace elsewhere.

Sir John must have been excessively hurt and worried to learn of Prissie’s death, and there had been no one for him to turn to. Of course not Mama, and not herself either. She had only carped and complained, harping on her papa’s offense, and not thinking on how he must feel. She was not as good a daughter as she might have been. This shocking thought sent her mind reeling.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said.

“For what?”

“For everything. For my carping, and that you and Mama could not—get along.”

“We had a few good years. Perhaps that is as much as one can hope for.”

“No, we can at least hope for more. Did I congratulate you on your promotion, Papa? I am very happy for you. You deserve it. You have worked hard all these years. I am proud of you.”

She felt embarrassed when she saw a tear start in his eye. Had she never complimented him on his work before? If that was true, she had been a horrid daughter, asking him only what he had brought her when he came home and wanted to boast a little of his various successes.

“That means a good deal to me, Lydia. It will be nice to have you in London when you and Beaumont marry,” he said in a husky voice, and left.

How to atone for years of neglect? She could at least keep her father’s name free of scandal in this business about Prissie and the counterfeit banknotes. She thought, too, that it would be nice to be in London, near her father, sharing in his exciting life. She could not and would not want to replace Nessie, who had devoted her life to Sir John. Lydia didn’t want to live vicariously, forsaking any life of her own, but just to share things as a father and daughter. She thought of Beaumont, too.

Since he had taken his seat in the House, he was taking an interest in politics. It would be a worthwhile project to help him in his career, to offer the sort of companionship and support her papa had been lacking. She felt almost a surge of panic to think of him resorting to the muslin company for such companionship, or worse, to some obliging married or widowed lady. She did not really think Beaumont would be satisfied with such simple folks as Sally or Prissie. He would have no trouble finding more interesting company. Nessie’s friends had made a great fuss over him that morning.

She continued with these musings as she ate alone in the formal dining room, wishing she had asked for a tray in her room. How often had her papa eaten alone when Nessie was out? Being alone made a good excuse for not changing into an evening gown in any case.

At eight o’clock she went abovestairs and examined her pistol to see that it was loaded and in working order. Her papa had bought it for her at her request. He had always been kind in executing any little order for her. Indeed, he had seemed to take pleasure in doing so. And he had never complained about selecting Mama’s patterns and woolens at Mr. Wilks’s on Regent Street either. She was bedeviled by a hundred past kindnesses, none of which she had properly appreciated, nor even begun to repay.

At ten minutes past eight, she donned her evening mantle and went belowstairs to await Beaumont’s arrival. Newly awakened to her former carelessness, she greeted him warmly when he arrived.

“I truly appreciate all this, Beau,” she said. “It is very kind of you to go so far out of your way to help me.”

“No need to thank me. I’ve already told you I’m enjoying it very much. Where is everyone?” he asked, looking around the empty saloon.

“They are out for dinner. Did you make the arrangement with Bow Street?”

“Townsend will have a couple of men lurking about Maddox Street at first light tomorrow. Shall we go now?”

They went out into the lingering twilight of a late June evening. A few carriages stopped in front of other houses, carrying guests to and from their evening’s entertainment, lent an air of excitement to the street. This could all be a part of her world, if she moved to London.

The shadows were drawing long as they drove out of town toward St. John’s Wood. “We should be home well before midnight,” Lydia said. “And tomorrow morning, I shall be up and out of the house for the trip to Maddox Street before Papa and Nessie are awake.”

“Then it will be back to Trevelyn Hall, eh?” Beau said.

“Yes, for the summer, but in autumn, I shall come to London to be with Papa.”

Beaumont gave her a quizzing grin. “Poor Papa! You will keep a sharp eye on him to see he don’t stray again.”

“I am not his jailer! That’s not why I am coming. In any case, he will be too busy for that. I just want to look after him a little. He’s been very kind to me, you know, and I never truly appreciated it. I’m afraid I have been a selfish daughter.”

“Modesty don’t become you, Lydia. Or is that my cue to recite your manifold virtues? You have never given your mama a moment’s worry, other than not making a push to nab a husband.”

“I think I have given Papa a worry or two, though,” she said, still modest. “He has been lonesome, Beau. I seldom even wrote him a letter, except to ask for things.”

He studied her a moment, then said, “All right. What has happened to put you in this slough of despond?”

“I have grown up. That’s all.”

He patted her fingers. “You have my condolences. It’s so nice and easy being a child.”

When he realized she was fighting back her tears, he looked out the window, pretending not to notice, but he was touched all the same. What could have happened to soften her former stiffness? Very likely Sir John had given her a good Bear Garden jaw. Should he try to comfort her, or would she cut up at him?

“Much farther?” she asked, before he had made up his mind.

He looked at her then and saw she had dried her tears. “Almost there. We shall stop the carriage at the next corner and proceed on foot. Did you wear stout shoes?”

She lifted her skirt, showing him her stout, laced walking shoes and a few inches of dainty ankle.

“Hussy,” he chided, and pulled down her skirt. Then he lifted it again for another quick peek, to show her he was joking.

Overhead, the deep blue sky of twilight had darkened to black with a white moon and a scattering of stars to show them their way. When the carriage stopped, they noticed a gig following them.

“You don’t suppose that would be Dooley?” she asked in alarm.

The gig turned in at a farm before it reached them, however, and they proceeded on foot.

“I should have brought a rake or some such thing to fish the plates out of the water,” Beaumont said, fully expecting ridicule for not having done so.