Once Upon a Scandal (12 page)

“Not right away,” Montford replied. “I’ve too many things to figure out with the running of my properties. They’ve been reinstated, you know.” Not that Montford had done anything of note to earn them.

“I’m sure Miss Fitzsimmons would have been pleased to hear it.”

“What could have possessed her, jumping into the Thames like that?” Montford asked with a shake of his head. “Even though it did me a world of good. Didn’t think I’d have much to inherit, once Lord Reginald kicked off.”

Instinctively, his hands fisted at his sides because Montford, whom he did not know well, was obviously an ass. But Benjamin Marworth did not brawl. He did not lose his temper, no matter how great the temptation.

Something must have shown, though, in the stern set of his jaw, because Montford suddenly flushed. “Oh dear, I am sorry, Marworth. I’d forgotten you jumped in after her. Who’d have thought my prissy little cousin would draw your eye?”

“Nothing had been formalized, of course,” he said, perpetrating the myth of his devotion. “But Miss Fitzsimmons was a remarkable woman. Her father should have seen her better provided for.”

“Shocking, wasn’t it? Do you know he had the audacity to ask me for money? Just days before he died. Can you imagine? The titleholder gone begging to his heir?”

It
was
highly irregular, and Benjamin forced back the anger distracting him. Why would Fitzsimmons have approached Montford for money if he had the dispatches safely in hand? Or had he simply been covering a shortfall before the information could be sold? “Perhaps you’ll find something among his papers that will offer an insight into his difficulties.”

“I thought of that. Problem is they’ve all gone missing. No correspondence. No tradesmen’s bills or receipts. Seems Jane took them off somewhere after he died. But of course, we can’t expect women to understand the importance of such things.”

“I’m sure you’ll persevere. If there’s anything I can to do help, don’t hesitate to send a note round.”

“Why thank you, Marworth. Thank you!” He seemed overcome with gratitude. They hardly ran in the same circles, after all. But Benjamin needed to ingratiate himself with Montford. No matter how unpleasant the notion, it was a sacrifice he’d make. Just this morning, he and the others had discussed stealing into the man’s home to see if the dispatches were still there. There was no need for that when you were welcomed through the front door.

• • •

When Montford sent a note the next day, asking for advice on an urgent matter, Benjamin cleared his afternoon and made his way on horseback to Jane’s former home on Curzon Street. Black crepe cloth had been draped over the limestone window cornice and the front door lintel as well—all appropriate signs of mourning—so it was a surprise when Jane’s former butler, looking disgruntled indeed, ushered him into the main hall. The faded damask walls he’d spied on his last visit had been reupholstered in crimson silk, and the previously empty room was now stuffed with oversized furniture. There was an enormous marquetry credenza beside the stairs, topped with an elaborate, bronze garniture clock set. A matching mirror hung above the pairing, reflecting the high-backed gilt chairs that now flanked the hall and the large Romanesque urns spaced between them, potted with palms. Also new were the gold velvet curtains framing the doorways to the adjacent rooms. They were fringed with fat tassels that puddled on the marble floor.

“Obviously, mourning hasn’t kept Lady Fitzsimmons from redecorating,” he murmured as Thompson took his hat and gloves.

“Indeed not, Lord Marworth. She’s eager for the house to look fresh and new when she casts off her blacks. She’s expecting any number of visitors.” The butler nodded discreetly towards a side table and the elaborately wrought salver settled upon it. Every home in Society kept a tray near the door for calling cards, but that was no ordinary tray. It was a veritable sea of silver.

“A single card would look quite adrift. Rather than subjecting mine to feelings of inadequacy, may I ask you to tell Lord Fitzsimmons I’ve arrived? I’m here at his request.”

“Of course, my lord. But if I may be so bold … ” The butler paused, collecting himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was tight with emotion. “My wife and I thank you for your efforts to rescue Miss Fitzsimmons. Her loss has been a terrible blow.”

“Yes, it has. She is missed by many, myself included.” And it was true. He’d missed her since his return to London. And thought of her far more than he should. But unlike Thompson, he would see her again. The butler’s grief was a reminder this deceit had a tangible cost. God willing, it would be justified in the end.

With a mute nod, the butler went off in search of the new Lord Fitzsimmons as a sound from above drew Benjamin’s attention. Charlotte Montford was descending the stairs, her face wreathed in a happy smile. Plump and petite, she was an attractive woman, perhaps twenty-five, with childlike features, bright, blue eyes, and blond ringlets. In that fluffy, pink dress, with its bows and rosettes along the bodice and skirt, she looked like a bonbon at the confectioner’s. Sweet and insubstantial.

“Lord Marworth,” she exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise! Gerard mentioned we should expect you, but of course, we could not be certain you’d find the time, given how many requests you must have on your person. You are so very sociable, after all. To think you are our very first visitor to Fitzsimmons House, other than dear Uncle Aldus, of course. I’m quite flattered. I certainly am!”

On the few occasions when they’d had cause to exchange words, she’d been happy to speak enough for the both of them. Apparently, today would be much the same.

“It’s my honor, Lady Fitzsimmons,” he said, bowing over the hand she’d extended. “Although I am sorry to interrupt you at this difficult time.”

Her smile was still wide, but her eyes had glazed over, apparently with confusion. “Oh, but it’s no difficulty at all. We’re very well and good. Gerard feels the weight of his new title, of course, but little Violet is ever so happy here. She just adores her new room, and I myself am settling into my new chambers quite nicely. I’ll need to have them redone, of course. I’ve ever been one for cheerful colors, and this house has a touch of the dreary.”

“I was referring to the unfortunate passing of Miss Fitzsimmons.” He stared pointedly at her pink dress.

“Oh, of course. Darling Jane, such a tragedy. I miss her so! Did I mention Violet has been crying herself to sleep? It’s so difficult for a small one to understand the very permanent nature of death. Just this morning, she said, ‘Mommy, I’m so tired of black. It makes me sad.’ So I asked Nurse to dress her up in her happiest dress, and I’ve done the same, as you see. One needs color to chase away the doldrums, don’t you think?”

“Don’t badger Lord Marworth, my dear,” Montford called out as Thompson escorted him into the hall. “He’s here to help with a pressing concern.”

“We’ve been enjoying a delightful conversation,” he said. “But of course, business matters will not wait, no matter how we might wish them to.”

“Is there anything I can do, Gerard?” Lady Fitzsimmons asked. Turning to Benjamin, she blushed prettily. “He’s been locked away in his study all morning, and while I don’t understand most of what my husband does, I’m actually quite good with facts and figures.”

“Of course you are, dear,” Montford replied, his head shaking in silent denial as he peered over his wife’s shoulder. “But these are things better left to a man’s attention.”

Jane would bristle at such a suggestion, but Lady Fitzsimmons didn’t seem the least bit bothered. “Of course, you know best then, my dear,” she said, smiling brightly. “Violet and I are planning a tea party for her dolls this afternoon, and I must speak with Cook about the menu. She makes the most delicious little treats and petit fours. If I don’t limit myself to just a small plate, all of my clothes will need to be let out at the waistline. Which would never do. Should you like me to have some made up for you both to enjoy? I can bring them into the study while you’re working, along with a pot of tea or something stronger, if you prefer.”

“That sounds lovely,” Montford said affectionately, even if he was clearly eager to move her along. “But have Thompson bring it in, won’t you? We’ve no wish to be disturbed.”

• • •

“I can’t thank you enough for answering my note,” Montford said, running a hand through unruly hair as he settled behind the desk in Lord Reginald’s office. “I’m at sixes and sevens and don’t really know to whom I can turn.”

The man was short of friends if he’d turned to him on so limited an acquaintance. He and Jane had planned her demise in this very room. And it was jarring that Gerard Montford was now settled here; the shelves behind him still held Lord Reginald’s books and travel ephemera. All of which Benjamin needed to inspect. “I’m happy to help. I run several estates myself and understand their challenges.”

“This doesn’t have to do with estates,” Montford replied, waving him into a seat. “It has to do with Lord Reginald’s final days. If news of this gets out, I’ll be ruined.”

“I understand he had significant gambling debts. Perhaps you can negotiate their repayment.”

“It’s far worse than gambling debts, I’m afraid.”

Just what had he uncovered? The missing dispatches? “Perhaps if you explain … ”

“Sir Aldus paid me a visit this morning. With all that has happened of late, we hadn’t previously had a moment to speak at length. And he shared some disturbing news.”

“Go on.”

“I’d mentioned to you before that Lord Reginald tried to borrow money from me. It seems he also approached Sir Aldus for money but was, of course, refused. They were friends, but Sir Aldus knew any funds would go to a roll of the dice.”

Any true friend, to Benjamin’s mind, would have tried to help Fitzsimmons conquer his addiction. And he certainly wouldn’t have importuned his daughter. “How did Lord Reginald respond?”

“In short, he threatened Sir Aldus with scandal. He claimed he’d ruin his standing in the House of Lords.”

“More easily said than done, of course. Rempley is well respected, while Fitzsimmons was a social outcast. The threat was an empty one.”

“It should have been, but the next morning, Sir Aldus discovered that several documents important to our war efforts had been stolen from his desk. Documents normally kept under lock and key at Whitehall.”

“And he thinks Fitzsimmons took them in order to embarrass Rempley before the Lords. Is that correct?” If only the motive had been so juvenile.

“Far worse. Sir Aldus believes Fitzsimmons intended to sell them for money and accuse him of the crime.”

Benjamin pretended to surprise. “You’d known the former Lord Fitzsimmons the whole of your life. Surely he wouldn’t have compromised the security of his country for a bit of coin and a dose of revenge?”

“He was desperate. What if those documents end up in enemy hands? No one will receive us. Charlotte will be brokenhearted.”

Obviously, the potential ramifications to his country were not a paramount concern. But it was an opening gambit all the same. “What are the chances Fitzsimmons died before anything could be done with the documents?”

“Sir Aldus believes they might be hidden among his private correspondence. He wanted to sort through it, but, of course, Jane bundled it all up. Supposedly she opened a box at the Bank of England shortly before her death, but I’m not authorized to gain access to it, if you can imagine the gall. By rights, it should all be mine anyway. The chit left everything to a cousin in France I’ve never even heard of. A Mrs. Lillianne Fauchon.”

“The name sounds familiar,” he said, with a great show of rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes. I saw it in the social notes of the
London Times
just this morning. She’s traveling here from Paris at the end of the month to honor Jane’s memory. The trip must have been cleared at the highest levels. No doubt she’ll be welcomed with great enthusiasm.”

“That’s good news, then,” Montford said, looking relieved. “She’s certain to give me that bank box, don’t you think?”

“Now as to that, I can’t say. But isn’t there a chance Lord Reginald hid the documents here, in this very house? He’d not have left them out in plain sight, after all.” Unlike Rempley.

“Why, you’re right, of course.” Montford was wide-eyed. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

“I’d be happy to assist in your search, if it would be a help.” In fact, more than happy. He’d all but counted on it. “You can trust me to tell no one.”

“I know you’re a top-of-the-trees sort. Everyone says so. And with the two of us at it, we’ve a better chance of staying one step ahead of Charlotte.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s been so busy renovating the rooms here, there’s every chance she’ll throw anything important out with the garbage.”

They were in a race, it seemed, against Lady Fitzsimmons and her questionable taste in décor.

• • •

“You are certain?” Greystoke asked, his face dark as he fisted his hands on the table, a prelude perhaps to pounding them in frustration. Torrington had been delayed, but Winchester sat with them in their private room at Whitehall, where the mood was tense and the evening late.

“Trust me when I say I’ve spent far too much time in the company of Montford these past few weeks. Together, we went over every crevice of Fitzsimmons’s house. The dispatches are not there. At least not in any form I might recognize.”

“What about Lord Reginald’s personal effects, his jackets and waistcoats?” This from Winchester. “Could he have hidden them in the linings?”

“If he did, they are already gone. Montford’s wife starting packing up his belongings the day they moved in. Most, I believe, have either been sold off to the ragman or donated to the church.”

“Because the faster they can distance themselves from the man’s legacy, the better.” Greystoke’s fingers were working absently on the latch of his snuff box. “What about the possibility Fitzsimmons hid the dispatches among Jane’s things?”

“I think it’s unlikely. He’d have risked her finding them.”

“But are her possessions still in the house?” Winchester asked. “Her clothing?”