Stroke of Midnight (4 page)

At a sound from the doorway, she pivoted to see a mob-capped maid wheeling in a tea cart. Lady Milford entered a moment later. “By the hearth, please,” she instructed the girl, who scurried to obey.

Laura was struck anew by the woman’s beauty. Lady Milford glided forward, the slenderness of her waist enhanced by a violet muslin gown that matched her eyes. It was difficult to guess her age, for she bore no resemblance to the fusty old matrons of society. Laura recalled hearing whispers of a long-ago scandal attached to Lady Milford’s name, something about her having once been mistress to a son of King George III. Her stately manner certainly brought to mind royalty.

“Do join me, Miss Falkner,” her ladyship commanded as she picked up the silver urn to pour the tea.

Laura gratefully accepted a steaming cup, and then sat down to stir a lump of sugar until it melted. She tried not to be greedy on being offered a plate of dainty sandwiches. But in her famished state, she felt too faint to care for appearances. Nothing had ever tasted more delicious than those thin slices of fresh-baked bread spread with soft white cheese and spiced by watercress.

Only after eating several and then reaching for another did she notice Lady Milford sipping a cup of tea without partaking of the food. “Pardon me,” Laura said, drawing back her hand. “I didn’t mean to have more than my share.”

Lady Milford smiled slightly. “My dear girl, I insist that you eat your fill. No guest will starve in my house. Besides, you will need fortification to relate this story of yours.”

Was it her imagination, or did her ladyship place a slight emphasis on the word
story
?

Laura couldn’t blame Lady Milford for harboring doubts about Laura’s honesty. The evidence against her father was quite insurmountable. Yet if Lady Milford could not be convinced of his innocence, then Laura’s hopes would be dashed.

Her teacup rattled as she placed it in its saucer. “I can only reiterate what I told you already, my lady. My father swore to me that he knew nothing of the robbery—and that was proven by our lack of funds. I assure you, he was an honest man. In all our years together, I never knew him to steal so much as a fig from a neighbor’s tree.”

“How did the jewels come to be in his possession, then?”

Laura lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “I … don’t know. Perhaps the police were asking questions and the robber needed to pin the blame on someone else. Perhaps someone held a grudge against my father and wanted to ruin him. Since it happened so long ago, we shall likely never know.”

Laura kept her suspicions about the perpetrator to herself. Until she could sleuth for more information and confirm that her father had indeed been murdered, she preferred not to involve her ladyship. Besides, she didn’t trust Lady Milford not to warn the persons in question. These aristocrats would close ranks and protect their own.

“Why have you not gone to the police?” Lady Milford asked.

Laura thought it best not to complicate matters by mentioning Constable Pangborn and the chase through the slums. “I was afraid … I might be arrested.”

“Why?
You
were never accused of thievery.”

“Surely you know that I’m tarred by the same brush as my father. And the Blue Moon diamond is still missing, my lady. It’s only logical that I would fall under suspicion since they no longer have my father to accuse.” Laura strove for a forlorn expression, not a difficult task given the day she’d had. “Besides, they will consider me an accomplice for the way I lashed out at Lord Copley.”

Lady Milford arched an eyebrow. “According to the newspapers, your father struck Lord Copley. Are you saying it was actually you?”

Laura froze, wishing she could erase the inadvertent confession. But it was too late for a retraction. And it would hardly help her cause to be viewed as a wild termagant who’d attacked a peer of the realm with a penknife.

Clasping her hands like a supplicant, she leaned forward to look Lady Milford in the eye. “Please understand it was an act of desperation, my lady. His lordship was attempting to apprehend my father and take him to Bow Street. I couldn’t allow Papa to be thrown into prison. He would most certainly have been sentenced to hanging—for a crime he didn’t commit.”

A pregnant pause stretched out as Lady Milford pursed her lips. “I seem to recall that Lord Copley had been paying particular attention to you. There was talk of a marriage between the two of you.”

Laura stiffened. “Youthful folly, nothing more.”

She burned to denounce Alex as a bully who’d cared nothing for her father’s good character or her own pleas for mercy. But those harsh words, however well deserved, would ruin the docile image that she needed to foster.

In a subdued tone, she added, “My old life is long gone, my lady. Though it was lost through grave injustice, please be assured that I harbor no ill will toward anyone. The past cannot be changed, I can only accept matters as they are and look to the future. And now that my father has been laid to rest, I must make my own way in the world.”

“You’ve no other family?”

“No, my lady. I have been hoping that I might find a kind, decent person in society to hire me, perhaps as a companion. Unfortunately, given my damaged reputation and having no previous employers to write a reference for me, I’m in rather a pickle.”

Laura paused. Was she being too obvious? She could read nothing in the enigmatic expression on those perfect features.

As desperately as she needed to secure a position that would allow her some means to move about society, Laura didn’t want to overplay her hand. A letter of recommendation from Lady Milford certainly would open closed doors. But it wouldn’t be written if her ladyship became irked by Laura’s presumptuousness.

Lady Milford set aside her teacup and rose to her feet. “You will wait here for a moment.”

Offering no explanation for her actions, she glided out of the sitting room. Laura was left with only the hissing of the fire for company. Her ladyship couldn’t have gone for pen and paper; Laura could see those supplies resting on a dainty desk against the wall. She waited on pins and needles, wondering if she would be tossed out on her ear. Perhaps Lady Milford intended to fetch a footman to escort Laura to the door.

The more she thought about it, the more plausible that scenario sounded. She imagined the encounter from Lady Milford’s perspective—to have an uncouth fugitive burst into her coach, to bring her home only to see her eat all the tea sandwiches, to be made to listen politely to her sob story, including a confession that she’d maimed a peer of the realm. To top it all, the shameless hussy had all but insisted that her ladyship compose a counterfeit reference.

Yes, Lady Milford might well be intending to evict her—or even to summon the police.

Laura jumped to her feet. She ought to depart right now and spare herself further trouble. Yet a sense of desperation made her hesitate. Wasn’t she allowing pride to overrule common sense? If she walked out now, she might never have the chance to discover who had stolen the Blue Moon diamond. She might never clear her father’s good name. For Papa’s sake, she must humble herself and beseech her ladyship …

Her musings came to an abrupt end with the reappearance of her hostess. Lady Milford was alone, much to Laura’s relief, and she was carrying something in her hands, something that glinted a deep rich red in the late-afternoon light. Reaching Laura, she bent gracefully to set it on the floor in front of her.

Laura looked down to see that there were actually
two
things: a pair of low-heeled dancing slippers. Covered in exquisite crystal beadwork, the shoes were fashioned of the finest garnet satin. They were so gorgeous she could scarcely take her eyes off them.

She blinked in wary confusion. “My lady?”

Those violet eyes held a hint of mystery. “It would please me greatly if you would try these on.”

“But … why?”

“It’s an old pair that I’ve owned for quite a long time. Rather than allow them to gather dust in my dressing room, I thought you might be able to use them—provided, of course, that they fit you properly.”

Laura felt an unpleasant jolt. Was
this
all the help she could expect from Lady Milford? A pair of castoffs that Laura would never even have occasion to wear?

Flushed with mortification, she wanted to kick them away. Everything in her rebelled against being viewed as a beggar in need of charity. To add insult to injury, she was being offered something that was utterly impractical to a woman in her circumstances.

She wanted a letter—not
shoes
.

Lady Milford stood watching, the faint smile on her lips indicating her pleasure in the gift. Instantly Laura regretted her own ingratitude. The woman was only trying to be kind. Having never experienced a life of penury, Lady Milford didn’t even realize the absurdity of her bequest.

Oh, well, perhaps the slippers wouldn’t fit.

Good manners made Laura resume her seat and tug off her practical brown leather shoes. She was conscious of their scuffed and worn appearance as they thumped to the carpet. Before Lady Milford could notice the much-mended state of her plain white stockings, Laura quickly wriggled her toes into the fancy slippers.

To her surprise, they enclosed her feet as if fashioned expressly for her. She turned one foot to and fro, admiring the elegance of the garnet satin and the sparkle of the beads. A shower of pleasure rinsed away all her troubles. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt to wear pretty things. Perhaps it had been necessary for her to lose everything in order to truly appreciate such a luxury.

Rising from the chair, Laura took a turn around the sitting room, her steps light. She no longer noticed any weariness from her long trek through the city. Rather, she felt awash in a soul-deep desire to dance all night, wrapped in the arms of—no, not Alex—a handsome,
trustworthy
gentleman who would court her with polite respect.

“They’re perfect, my lady,” she said. “How remarkable that we should wear precisely the same size.”

“You should rather regard it as a blessing,” Lady Milford said, a certain enigmatic satisfaction to her expression. “You will do me a great favor by taking the shoes.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Laura lifted her skirts and regarded the shoes with wistful regret. “Though perhaps there’s someone else who’s more deserving of them than I am. I’ve really no place to wear something so lovely.”

“Quite the contrary. You’ll need the proper attire for balls and other society events.” Surveying Laura up and down, Lady Milford tapped her chin with a dainty fingertip. “I believe a wardrobe allowance can be arranged. One cannot have a ragtag appearance when serving as companion to a dowager.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “Companion? To whom?”

“To a dear acquaintance of mine. She’s become a trifle forgetful in her old age, and her nephew recently mentioned the need to hire a nurse to assist her.” Lady Milford’s face again took on an inscrutable quality. “I rather think
you
will be perfect for the post.”

Chapter 5

“I don’t wish to be a bother,” Lady Josephine apologized as she inched her way down the grand staircase with the help of a cane. A striped yellow gown hugging her round form and a silk turban wrapping her gray hair, she brought to mind a benevolent gnome. “You needn’t feel obliged to help me, my dear. Such a lovely girl as you surely has more important things to do.”

Laura gently cupped the woman’s arm to steady her. “There’s nothing more important to me than your comfort, my lady. That’s why I’m here.”

Lady Josephine flashed a sunny smile. “You
are
a peach, Norah. I’ve very much enjoyed your stay with me.”

“Laura, my lady.”

“Upon my soul, how silly of me to forget your name! It’s certainly no way to treat a houseguest.”

Laura bit her tongue to keep from explaining again that she wasn’t a visitor, she was a paid member of the staff. The information would go in one ear and out the other, just as Laura’s name also was forgotten more often than not.

Nevertheless, she had grown quite fond of the elderly woman in the four days since her arrival. Lady Josephine had been starved for company, if her constant chatter was any indication. Widowed and childless, she had no immediate family except for a nephew and a niece who apparently didn’t bother to visit very often.

Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Laura tilted her chin down to peer over the cheap spectacles perched on her nose. She had purchased the eyeglasses in a secondhand shop as a means of disguise. The only trouble was, they blurred her vision and required her to spend most of the time looking over the rims.

In this cluttered house, it was important to see where she was going. The entrance hall held an impressive array of bric-a-brac: oversized vases on side tables, alabaster statuary in niches, even a full suit of armor that most fashionable Londoners would have consigned to their country seat. Numerous age-darkened portraits hung on the walls, and the air smelled rather musty—as if the place had not been aired in half a century. Laura itched to put things in better order. But when she’d tried to move several extra footstools out of Lady Josephine’s bedchamber, Mrs. Samson, the hatchet-faced housekeeper, had forbidden Laura to alter anything, insisting that the mistress preferred everything exactly as it was.

Laura had her doubts about that. Sweet-tempered Lady Josephine likely would never even notice if some of the excess was put into storage. Then Laura had to remind herself that organizing the household wasn’t really her concern. It wouldn’t do to become attached to her employer, either, since her stay here was temporary.

Befuddlement on her heavily wrinkled face, Lady Josephine stopped at the base of the stairs. “Now, where did I say I was going? It has quite escaped my mind.”

“Outside,” Laura said. “Since it’s such a pleasant day, you expressed a desire to sit in the garden.”

“Ah yes, the garden.” Lady Josephine began hobbling down the corridor that led to the rear of the house. “I do like the sunshine, always have. Too many girls these days look as pale as ghosts.” She flashed a smile at Laura who walked alongside her. “Not you, though. You’ve a healthy glow to your cheeks. Are you married, dear?”