Never Trust a Rogue (16 page)

Turning her attention to Jocelyn, Lindsey said, “I’ve brought my sister Blythe this time. You’re almost the same age and I thought you might enjoy meeting each other. Blythe, this is Miss Jocelyn Nevingford.”

Blythe glided to the chaise to shake the girl’s hand.
“Hullo. We decided to come and visit you instead of going to the shops.”

“Oh!” A look of sheer envy shone in Jocelyn’s green eyes. “Do you mean Bond Street? Or Regent Street—or both? I would love to go there if only I could. Please sit down right here and tell me, what is it like?”

“It’s wonderful. Did you know there is a shop entirely devoted to corsets? And another that deals only in fans?” Blythe plopped down on a stool beside the chaise and launched into a detailed description of the best milliners, shoemakers, and glove purveyors that were frequented by the upper crust.

Hiding a smile, Lindsey took the wing chair that Fisk had occupied. No one would guess she’d had the very devil of a time convincing Blythe to forgo the shopping expedition in favor of calling on an invalid. Blythe had had her heart set on finding a new straw bonnet to match one of her pelisses. Unlike Lindsey, who found the whole process tedious, her sister could spend hours examining bolts of fabric, selecting a fan, or poring over the latest issue of
La Belle Assemblée
to determine the most flattering style of gown.

Yet Blythe had been generous enough to postpone the trip. She now looked to be having great fun, chattering with Jocelyn as if they were fast friends.

“It’s truly dreadful about your accident,” Blythe was saying in her usual forthright manner, “but I don’t believe that being crippled should keep you from going to the shops.”

Jocelyn gave a wistful sigh. “But how would I ever manage? And I couldn’t bear to see people pointing at me and whispering.”

“Oh, pooh. They’ll do no such thing. And even if they did, well, Lord Mansfield is your guardian, is he not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then he can carry you inside. There are always chairs and chaises to sit upon. The shopkeeper and her assistants can bring over items to show you. And should anyone dare to say an unkind word, the earl will set them straight. Don’t you agree, Linds?”

Both girls looked at her for guidance.

Lindsey hesitated. She didn’t want to raise Jocelyn’s hopes only to see them dashed. The truth was, she couldn’t guess how Mansfield would react to such a proposition. He remained an enigma to her, an amiable gentleman one moment and a brooding misogynist the next.

Was
he the Serpentine Strangler? The only proof she had was circumstantial, mere conjecture. Somehow, she had to put her hands on some irrefutable bit of evidence to link him to the crimes. . . .

“I would hope so. However, his consent must be sought before any promises of outings are made.” Casually she added, “By the by, is he at home today?”

“I don’t believe so,” Jocelyn said. “I saw him from the window when the footman was carrying me downstairs two hours ago. The earl was mounting his horse by the stables.”

“No matter,” Blythe said. “Linds can ask him the next time he comes to take her for a drive. Perhaps we can all go to the shops together. There now, the matter is settled.”

Jocelyn tilted her head to the side and stared at Lindsey. “Has he really taken you out for drives? When you were here last, I thought you didn’t like him very much. Is he courting you now?”

Lindsey fought back a blush. She had to offer some semblance of explanation, since she intended to spend time in his company in order to investigate him. And then there was the sticky problem of his resolve to announce
their betrothal in less than a month’s time. “In a manner of speaking, yes. But so are a number of other gentlemen—including Lord Wrayford.”

“The Earl of Mansfield is the handsomest of the lot,” Blythe said, clasping her hands to her bosom in rapturous admiration. “He’s tall and dark and broad of shoulder, with the most gorgeous military bearing to his walk.”

Lindsey frowned. “How on earth would
you
know that?”

“Oh, I watched him from the top of the stairs yesterday when you were leaving with him.” Blythe waggled her eyebrows. “You’re not the only one who spies on people.”

“Then we have that in common, too,” Jocelyn said in a confiding tone. “I adore eavesdropping on the servants. Especially when they think I’m asleep.”

Lindsey seized the opportunity to change the subject: “Speaking of which, have you perchance learned anything more about Nelda? You know, my maid’s cousin, the servant who vanished.”

“Oh my, I’d almost forgotten about her,” Blythe said. “She was employed by Lord Mansfield, was she not?”

Jocelyn nodded. “As you know, he lives in the house right beside this one. There’s a connecting door, so I’ve met most of his servants.” To Lindsey she said, “I’ve asked a few questions here and there, but no one seems to know what happened to her. Yet there are some peculiar aspects to her disappearance. . . .”

“Such as?”

“While I was napping here the other afternoon, the housekeeper came in to have a little chat with Fisk. They were whispering about Nelda having had a sweetheart and how she often bragged he was a fine gentleman. And they were wondering . . .”

Lindsey reflexively leaned forward in her chair. “Go on.”

“They were wondering if she might have been nabbed by . . . the Serpentine Strangler.”

Blythe gasped. “How horrible!”

It would be worse than horrible if Mansfield was the killer, Lindsey thought. The possibility made her blood run cold. “Did they have any idea who he was?”

Jocelyn solemnly shook her head. “No, I’m afraid they didn’t. In truth, I’m certain they had no notion at all, or they would have said so. And yet . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’ve a suspicion His Lordship might know what happened to Nelda.” Glancing at the open doorway, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur: “You see, after you left last time I remembered something rather peculiar. At the very same time that Nelda disappeared, the earl went away for two days.”

Lindsey clenched her fists in her lap. “Where did he go?”

Deep in thought, Jocelyn tapped a slim forefinger against her chin. “I’m not quite certain. Although I do recall hearing Bernard speaking to Lord Mansfield out in the corridor.”

“Who is Bernard?”

“Lord Mansfield’s valet. I gathered that the earl had important business to attend to in the country.”

“Do you mean at his estate?”

The girl shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

It might be nothing out of the ordinary, Lindsey told herself. Most noblemen owned rural properties that required oversight from time to time. And there could be any number of other reasons for a gentleman to leave London for a short time, such as a duty visit to a relative—or a tryst with his paramour.

She thinned her lips, remembering how he had flirted with Lady Entwhistle at the ball on the same night he’d
kissed Lindsey in the garden. Her wayward mind conjured up the image of him embracing the older woman in a bedchamber. Lindsey had to stop her imagination from running wild. It was too disgusting, too infuriating, too . . . embarrassing.

There was little reason for him to leave town with Lady Entwhistle, anyway, when they could easily arrange an assignation at her residence. Frowning, Lindsey pondered the fact that at least one of the murdered maids had been throttled with a gentleman’s cravat. Was it merely a coincidence that Mansfield had left at the same time Nelda vanished?

Or was there a sinister purpose to his actions?

A wealth of auburn curls slipping over her shoulders, Blythe leaned forward on the stool to stare with widened eyes at Jocelyn. “Are you implying that
Lord Mansfield
abducted Nelda? And that
he
could be the Serpentine Strangler?”

Casting a sidelong glance at the girl, Jocelyn plucked at the blanket on her lap. “I haven’t the slightest idea. But anything is possible, isn’t it?”

Blythe blew out a breath. “What humbug! Why, I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in all my life. The earl is a war hero. He’s far too refined to be a common murderer.”

Jocelyn lifted her chin. “He killed soldiers during the war, didn’t he? So perhaps murder means little to him. Did you ever consider that?”

“Shooting an enemy on the battlefield is a far cry from strangling maidservants in London. For heaven’s sake, he’s a peer of the realm. It’s ridiculous to suspect him!”

“Hmph. Well,
I
think
I
know him better than
you
do. And if
I
say he’s behaving suspiciously, then you ought to listen to me.”

Their squabbling reminded Lindsey of growing up
with two sisters. It hampered her ability to focus her mind on the case. Besides, she was beginning to suspect that Jocelyn loved the drama of being in the middle of controversy.

Lindsey clapped her hands. “That’s enough, both of you. It’s all useless conjecture. And it’s wrong of us to gossip when Lord Mansfield isn’t even here to defend himself.”

Her waiflike features taking on a woebegone expression, Jocelyn lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I’m not being a very polite hostess, am I?”

“Since he’s your guardian, we ought to afford him more courtesy. As for you, Blythe, I don’t want any of this speculation to go beyond these four walls.” The last thing Lindsey needed was for her nosy sister to inveigle herself into the investigation. “If you breathe a word of our conversation here to anyone, I won’t take you on any more outings. Is that clear?”

Scowling, Blythe crossed her arms. “I’m not a tattletale, and you know it.”

Lindsey deemed it wise not to remind her of the time she’d told Mama about the stash of adventure novels underneath Lindsey’s bed. Better Lindsey should change the topic of conversation to something that had been weighing on her mind. “I’ll take you at your word, then. Jocelyn, there’s a rather delicate matter I should like to discuss, and I hope you don’t find my inquiries too intrusive. You see, I wanted to find out a bit more about your injury.”

Jocelyn eyed her warily. “What did you wish to know?”

Lindsey pondered how to frame the subject, then decided it was best to be blunt and forthright. “Did your legs heal properly? Are they whole and straight, rather than crooked?”

Nodding, the girl blushed a delicate shade of pink. “Y-yes.”

“You do have sensation, don’t you? You can feel heat and cold, or the prick of a pin?”

Another tentative nod.

Lindsey found that encouraging. “Then are you certain you cannot walk at all? Not even to take a few small steps?”

Alarm widening her eyes, Jocelyn shook her head. “Oh, no, I could
never
manage that! It would hurt terribly! I’ve no strength whatsoever in my limbs.”

“But can you stand, at least? What if you leaned on me?”

Lindsey arose and came forward, but the girl shrank back on the chaise. “No! No, I couldn’t possibly. The doctors told me never to attempt it lest I fall and hurt myself.”

The sheen of unshed tears in her eyes proved that Jocelyn had a deep-seated fear that would be difficult to overcome. Yet it was disturbing to think of this vibrant young girl sitting here day after day, dependent on servants and the occasional visitor, cut off from the activities that she ought to be enjoying.

Lindsey perched on the edge of the chaise, near Jocelyn’s feet. “Shh. Pray, be still and listen to a story about a girl I knew in India. She was a servant, no older than you. One day, she was sitting on the rim of a dry well when she lost her balance and tumbled down into it. Like you, she broke both of her legs.”

“Farah!” Blythe exclaimed. “That was the most dreadful accident. I remember how Mama wouldn’t let us go see what was happening.”

Lindsey kept her gaze on Jocelyn, who was listening with an intent, if somewhat dubious, expression. “It was quite fortunate that some men heard her and they were able to pull her out with ropes. She was forced to lie abed for many weeks afterward while her bones healed. At last, when it was time for her to get up, she couldn’t manage to
do so. Her legs had become weak, and her muscles were puny from lack of use.”

Jocelyn plucked fretfully at the fringed edge of the blanket. “Why are you telling me this? It’s gloomy to hear about someone else who is crippled like me.”

“Oh, but Farah isn’t crippled, at least not anymore. You see, she recovered the ability to walk.”

“Indeed so,” Blythe added. “When last I saw her, she was running along the docks, waving good-bye to us as our ship set sail.”

Jocelyn lowered her chin. “Hmph. You’re just trying to make me feel bad. Why are you being so mean?”

Lindsey scooted forward to take hold of Jocelyn’s hand. “No, you’ve mistaken us completely,” she said. “Rather, I’m wondering if you, too, can learn to walk again.”

Wistfulness in her eyes, Jocelyn glanced out at the sunny garden. “I heard the doctor talking to Lord Mansfield outside this room one day, not long after we arrived in London. He said it’s improbable that I’ll ever regain use of my legs.” She returned her gaze to Lindsey. “Anyway, this Farah is a servant and a native girl at that.
I
have a far more delicate constitution than her.”