Lord Gray's List (18 page)

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Authors: Maggie Robinson

BOOK: Lord Gray's List
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December 21, 1820
 
E
vangeline lay in bed as the snow floated past the windowpanes. How delightful that she didn’t have to spring out of bed this morning and walk to the office. And she truly had no reason to feel guilty, as she had brought a case home yesterday crammed with folders of letters to settle. She would write letters of her own back to some of them, explaining she’d found a way to answer their advertisements without publishing them in the newspaper, or clarifying their terms. She truly did not think that Lady Paulette Veryan meant to seek
“a fat footman to see to my every need.” Fit
was so much more usual, but perhaps the marchioness had eclectic tastes.
Evangeline stretched, then rang for Patsy. After an interminable wait, the girl shuffled up the stairs with a jug of lukewarm water and a copy of a rival newspaper.
Evangeline shook it out, skimming the headlines. How novel to know she had time to read every word if she chose to. In bed! Such luxury, although her Spartan room was hardly a haven of indulgence. “How is my father this morning?”
“The night nurse told the day one he had a restless night. Mrs. Spencer’s given him some laudanum to help him sleep a little.”
Evangeline frowned. Laudanum could give one bad dreams—she hoped her father wouldn’t suffer as his nurse had tried to give him some respite.
“Ain’t you going in to work this morning? I got your clothes all laid out. The fancy red waistcoat I stitched up for you myself.”
Evangeline had been avoiding the haphazard pile on the chair ever since she opened her eyes. Patsy was always trying to make Evangeline more “fashionable,” although her tastes were diametrically opposed to Mr. Ramsey’s, a gentleman who wished to remain unremarkable in every way. But today Evangeline could don the red waistcoat, not that she wanted to wear the garish thing—it looked like it had been made out of some whore’s cast-off dress that Patsy cadged from a former colleague.
However, no one except Patsy and the rest of her little staff would see her. Evangeline had already decided to lounge about the house in trousers and shirtsleeves—far more comfortable than trying to pinch herself into a corset. Her female clothes were seasons out of date and dispiriting to get into. She’d not time yet to improve her wardrobe by spending some of the money Ben had given the household. It was quietly earning interest in her father’s bank, waiting for the rainy day that would inevitably come.
But today it was snowing, coating grubby London with a dusting of deceptive purity.
“I’m working from home today, Patsy. Isn’t it lucky I don’t have to traipse through this wretched weather? I might as well still be in Scotland. When you get a chance, I’d love some breakfast brought to the parlor. I’ll be there if Father needs me today.”
Patsy held up the offensive waistcoat with a look of pride on her face. Damn, Evangeline really would have to wear the dratted thing.
“Poor old soul needs his sleep, he does. Mrs. Spencer’s that worried about him. He tried to go walking last night again. Mrs. Mendenhall doesn’t think she can keep stopping him.”
Evangeline’s heart sank. Mrs. Mendenhall, the night nurse, was a strong, strapping woman nearly as tall as Evangeline, and much broader. Between the nurse and her father’s old valet Wilfred, Evangeline had counted on them to keep Robert Ramsey comfortable and contained. But if she had to hire another minder—several, if necessary—at least she had the funds to do so, thanks to Ben. She might even find the perfect candidate in one of the letters in her case.
“Please tell Mrs. Spencer I’ll speak to her once I’m dressed. It shouldn’t take me long.”
So much for lolling about in bed. Evangeline washed and quickly pulled on the clothes Patsy had selected. Blinking against the scarlet glare, she shrugged into the waistcoat and forced a button through a mangled buttonhole.
After looking in on her sleeping father, she had a depressing interview with Mrs. Spencer, who relayed Mrs. Mendenhall’s travails at great and alarming length. Then she shut herself in the little front parlor, sat down in a worn chair before a welcome fire, and opened her case. Patsy brought in a pot of coffee, a boiled egg, and some toast, and for a few blissful minutes there was no sound but the hiss of the coals and Evangeline’s unladylike chewing of her breakfast. Even the bad news about her father could not stave off her hunger—she was starving. She’d been too nervous to enjoy her lunch yesterday with Ben—rubbing knees with him under the plank table was disconcerting, and her light supper, however virtuous, had worn off.
She brushed crumbs off the ghastly waistcoat and set to work, organizing her papers into Truly Desperate, Possibly Desperate, and Not Quite Desperate Enough to Merit Extraordinary Action. Thankfully the latter pile was larger, and would fill several future editions with paid advertisement. The prospect of publishing more frequently in the new year cheered her, even if she might not be around to see it.
For Ben was too tempting, too male, too
something
.
Satisfied with her progress, she spent several minutes staring into the fire imagining Ben’s something until Patsy poked her head around the door.
“There’s a grand young lady downstairs in the hall to see you, miss. I mean Mr. She’s looking for Mr. Ramsey, see. Good thing you’re rigged out in your fine gentleman’s clothes. You do look a treat today. And she
is
a lady, even though she didn’t bring no maid with her. Quite sniffy, she is.”
A caller here? Evangeline had never been sussed out at home, no matter how Truly Desperate the circumstances had ever been. She doubted Ben would have sent a supplicant to the house after going on and on about giving her a day off. Uneasy, she rose and put on her jacket.
“Did she tell you who she was?”
“Imogen Eggman. No, that ain’t right. Ima—Ima—”
“Imaculata Egremont?”
“That’s it! Said you would know her as you’ve been spying on her for years.”
Oh dear lord. Evangeline considered picking up the poker from the fireplace to fend off the earl’s mad little daughter. No doubt she was just as furious with her as Ben had been, but
The London List
had not featured Imaculata’s antics for more than two months. Perhaps the anger had festered over time, so Evangeline girded herself for a tongue-lashing.
Or something else. Imaculata was visiting a gentleman’s residence alone. Definitely not the done thing.
“Send her in. And don’t go too far afield.”
“But I got to go to the market for Cook else your poor da won’t have nuffink for luncheon when he wakes up.”
“Where’s Wilfred?”
“Asleep. Your da kept him up all night.”
“Damn. Leave the door open after you bring her up. I might have to make a quick getaway.”
Patsy winked and was off. Evangeline arranged herself in front of the fire, trying to look severe at the interruption.
Lady Imaculata sailed in, chin high. And then she said something that surprised Evangeline to her toes.
“Thankee, guv! A happy Christmas to you and yours!”
Where had she heard those very words? And in that cockney accent, which so jangled with Lady Imaculata’s appearance? The girl wore a hat with so many feathers it looked like it could fly, and an exquisite fur-lined pelisse and muff. Russian sable, if Evangeline was not mistaken. She’d had to bone up on fashion for her articles even if she owned nothing comparable herself.
“I—I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t you remember the last time you saw me, Mr. Ramsey? You’ve passed me on the street lately often enough. I thought for sure someone with your nose for news—and it is rather an enormous nose, is it not?—would recognize me.”
Evangeline tried not to let her voice betray her. “You were the chestnut seller? What sort of game have you been playing, Lady Imaculata?”
“No game. No game at all.”
And she pulled a tiny pistol out of her muff and aimed it squarely at Evangeline’s erratic heart.
Evangeline told herself she wasn’t really frightened. It was hard to believe that Lady Imaculata Egremont was vicious enough to pull the trigger. Violence had never been part of Lady Imaculata’s notoriety, although it was said she punched the private investigator her father had hired to fetch her home from France. When Evangeline had hunted Mulgrew down for an interview, he was still sporting a black eye but had kept mum on the method of Lady Imaculata’s return. Evangeline could almost sympathize with fisticuffs—Lady Imaculata had finally escaped her strict father’s household only to be brought back in shackles and disgrace and locked in her room for weeks with gruel, if her servants were to be believed.
Nevertheless, she was out of her room now and Evangeline didn’t like the way Lady Imaculata’s unshackled hand was trembling.
“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to put that gun away so we can talk like civilized human beings.”
The earl’s daughter shook her head. “You know I find civilization vastly overrated. I’m a free spirit, unfettered by society’s conventions. You’ve written about me and my little adventures often enough. Thirty-two articles, I believe.”
So she was out for vengeance as Ben had been.
“But I haven’t written about you for months!” Evangeline protested.
“Why did you stop?”
Evangeline didn’t want to insult the girl by telling her that her exploits had looked increasingly pathetic. Her rebellions had a sad, desperate quality to them. Lady Imaculata needed to rehabilitate herself in some constructive way before she did something truly stupid.
Or deadly.
“You must know Lord Gray became the focus of my investigations. Won’t you sit down?” she asked hopefully.
“I’ll stand, thank you. Benny is such a dear, although I fear I was much mistaken in him. Did you know I once fancied myself quite, quite in love with him?”
Benny?
Evangeline doubted Ben would approve of the nickname or Lady Imaculata Egremont’s affections. If he was really turning over a new leaf, it would not do to be linked to a lunatic.
“You won’t mind if
I
sit while we chat about Lord Gray?” If Evangeline was murdered in it, the chair needed replacing anyway.
Imaculata nodded regally, the feathers on her hat shaking as much as Evangeline’s knees.
“I
did
notice that it was Lord G grabbing the headlines week after week. That’s why I chose to dance with him in my altogether that night in my garden. He tried to give me his jacket, but I refused.”
“Yes, he’s a true gentleman,” Evangeline said wryly. “The epitome of respectability.” She’d been lurking in the bushes herself in order to get her exclusive. Lady Imaculata had more freckles than sense. Everywhere. Evangeline remembered that Ben and his friends were jug-bitten and disheveled, but only Lady Imaculata had removed all her clothes and plunged into the fountain.
“That was the last time you printed anything about me.” Lady Imaculata sounded nearly wistful.
Evangeline’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. You mean you
want
me to write about you?”
“Of course! It annoys Papa so. I kept hoping he would finally wash his hands of me and give me access to the trust Mama set up. I’d go back to France and take a lover. Or two! I have every single clipping from
The London List
pasted in an album, you know.”
Good grief. “Well, if you don’t shoot my head off, I can promise you next week’s front page.”
Benny
wouldn’t like it, but Evangeline had a strong sense of self-preservation. She would happily succumb to the blackmail of a gun pointed in her direction and write
anything,
even if she had to make up the details of the incident herself.
Lady Imaculata shook her head again, her feathers in flight. “It’s too late now. I can’t think of anything else to do that I haven’t already done. I’ve become quite jaded.” The girl looked as if she might cry.
“What about this kidnapping and assault?” Evangeline asked, ever helpful.
“Oh, pooh. You’re in your own front parlor, sitting down comfy as you please in that ratty old chair. I haven’t assaulted you. Yet.”
“What a relief,” Evangeline murmured.
“I was going to seduce you to get you to write about me again, if you must know. But now that I know—” Imaculata’s freckled cheeks turned fiery.
Evangeline was afraid she knew what was coming. Apparently Lady Imaculata had been skulking around the office in disguise for days now, exactly as Evangeline had when she was on the hunt for a story. And just the day before yesterday she had foolishly been in Ben’s arms over the office, where anyone might have heard them.
Like Lady Imaculata Egremont in her chestnut seller’s disguise. Dripping honey into the sorts. Writing idiotic letters.
“Know what?”
“That you and Benny are more than employer and employee. I heard you upstairs going at it like rabid dogs Tuesday when I left that threatening note. You should lock your doors, you know. Not everyone is as modern as I. It’s quite all right, I won’t judge you. Love is love. But if you want your secret kept, you’ll come up with some juicy bit of gossip about me, something so outrageous my father will have no choice but to let me go.”

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