Page 24 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Yes, Cynthia can shift over!’ Lady Hesse encouraged – really, Lydia’s dislike of the lady was vanishing by the second, for she was being so very helpful.

‘I am afraid I would not dare to crowd her and sadly cannot sit backwards as Mr Brandon does,’ Ashford said evenly. ‘A cursed affliction – after you, Miss Hanworth?’

He gestured towards the second carriage pulling up. Lydia scowled at him but accepted his hand into the carriage. Pip followed closely behind, taking the seat opposite her and pulling out his notebook to flick through it. Lydia frowned at him.

‘Is today not a good opportunity for the search?’ she asked, voice low and quick. ‘With so many of us away from the house?’

‘I’m lying low,’ Pip said. ‘Yesterday, I was caught trying to get a nosey in Dacre’s rooms.’

‘By whom?’ Lydia said, alarmed.

‘Reeves,’ Pip said. ‘Managed to smooth it over – said I was lost, you know – but he’s been watching me closely ever since. As if I am the suspicious one!’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Going to have to be more careful,’ Pip said. ‘But Simmons suggested in his letter would be a good thing to have a snoop around the town, anyhow – never know what one might come across.’

‘You are writing to one another?’ Lydia whispered. ‘Is that wise?’

Private correspondence was night impossible, here. With Lord Dacre, Hesse and Ashford franking all the billets – removing the price of postage – and Reeves organizing their passage to the mail coach by way of a post-boy, there several pairs of eyes upon each letter that left the house.

‘Everyone knows he is my mentor.’ Pip’s eyes returned to his notebook, unconcerned. ‘They will not think it abnormal. Gentlemen do write to one another, you know.’

Lydia bit her lip. ‘ Gentlemen do – but will such frequent correspondence raise brows on Bow Street?’

Indeed, was it so unlikely that one of the billets be opened, even by accident? And how difficult would it be for prying eyes – of Simmons’ fellow detectives no less – to divine more than mere friendship between the lines?

‘But the billets are not signed by me,’ Pip said, turning the page with a frown, ‘but by Miss Philippa Higglepiff – a widow of unimpeachable honour with an interest in detective fiction, with whom Simmons struck up a friendship in Lyme Regis last year.’

Pip raised his head from his notebook to give her a theatrical wink.

Only partially reassured – could Pip not have landed on a more inconspicuous name for his alias? – Lydia leant back as Ashford entered the carriage, depositing himself next to her and wrinkling his nose in distaste at the close quarters experience of her fishiness.

‘It serves you right,’ she muttered. ‘You could be having a lovely conversation with Miss Hesse at this moment, but instead you had to be difficult.’

‘I see,’ Ashford said. ‘Today’s plan of campaign, I take it?’

‘No,’ she muttered disconsolately.

‘I’d expected a grander manipulation.’ Ashford settled back next to her, his arm brushing her own in a rather distracting fashion. Distracting in how – how vile it felt. Yes, that was it. Vile.

‘Are you running out of ideas, Miss Hanworth?’

‘Certainly not,’ she said, leaning away from him. ‘I have hundreds – thousands.’

‘Very convincing.’

They quietened as the captain leapt in after them, taking the seat next to Pip.

‘Sir Waldo is still advising Dacre on best care for his lady. Truly, is there anything so joyful in the world as love?’

He turned a beaming smile upon Ashford, who did not return it. Could there be two men more different? The captain sitting there, with a heart as open as his smile, while Ashford, across from him, had all the warmth of a thorn.

‘Yesterday it was friendship,’ Ashford noted.

‘I agree entirely, Captain,’ Lydia said, frowning at Ashford. Did he have to be such a prig?

‘Oh, do call me Prett,’ he said. ‘All my friends do.’

Lydia beamed at him.

‘Such blue skies,’ Prett said, gazing out of the window. ‘It puts one in mind of a quote from Blake – goodness, what on earth is that smell?’

‘Miss Hanworth’s perfume,’ Ashford said. ‘Lavender with notes of – ah – trout? It’s all the rage in France.’

‘Oh – oh I see, how modern,’ Captain von Prett unwrinkled his nose with great effort.

‘Lord Ashford jests,’ Lydia put in hastily. ‘There was this incident with a fish, and then cotton does so absorb and …’

The noise of wheels on gravel prevented further explanation as the carriage drew off. After a beat, the captain opened the carriage window and turned his face further into the breeze. Ashford looked away to hide his smile, and Lydia had to restrain herself from throwing an elbow into his side.

It did not take them above half an hour to reach Eagleton, a pretty town whose prosperous market, priory and nearby motte and bailey Castle kept it well populated by residents and visitors alike.

It being a Saturday, the streets were busy, and more than a few curious glances were directed their way as the shining equipages made their way from the outskirts to the centre.

‘I fear I may be recognized,’ Captain von Prett said, leaning his head out of the carriage. ‘Ever since my miniature portrait was copied, the places I can travel without some stranger approaching me are few and far between.’

Next to her, Ashford tried and failed to hide a grimace of distaste, but in Lydia’s view Mr von Prett appeared more fatigued than boastful.

‘That sounds difficult,’ she said. ‘Do you find it so?’

Captain von Prett turned to regard her. He did not appear to mind the fish smell anymore – perhaps he had grown used to it.

‘You are so kind to ask,’ he said. ‘I own, it does take its toll, but … I must honour my audience. I have been fortunate to experience the world in such a way. It feels my duty to share it.’

‘How beautifully put,’ Lydia said.

‘Well, I hardly think you at risk of recognition here,’ Ashford dismissed – but he was proven wrong not five minutes later.

They had checked at a junction when three young ladies approached the carriage window in transports of excitement.

‘Excuse me, sir, but are you Captain von Prett?’ they asked.

‘Why yes, yes I am,’ Prett said, smiling in welcome and leaning almost his whole torso out of the carriage to greet them. ‘Driver – may we pause? How wonderful it is to meet you – my signature? Yes of course.’

‘Good God,’ Ashford muttered.

Lydia glared at him.

‘I think it a very charitable thing,’ she said. ‘To be so kind to strangers.’

‘Yes, that’s what motivates him,’ Ashford said, watching Prett accept kisses to his hands. ‘Charity.’

After a minute more of observing the scene, getting visibly crosser, Ashford grew so impatient that he abruptly slammed a hand up into the carriage roof causing the driver to set the horses to so quickly that Pip dropped his notebook and Prett almost fell out of the window.

‘I say, you might have given some warning!’ Lydia said indignantly.

‘It is all for the best,’ Prett said, tugging his coat back into position. ‘I do try to wrap up such encounters quickly, but it is difficult …’

Ashford let out a sceptical snort, and this time, Lydia did not stop herself. She threw a reprimanding elbow into his side.

‘Ow,! Ashford complained.

Prett’s eyes swivelled to him, enquiring.

‘Miss Hanworth has just elbowed me,’ Ashford explained, making a great show of rubbing his side. ‘Miss Hanworth, how have I displeased you?’

The captain’s brows shot up and Lydia flushed.

‘I did not mean to,’ she said at once. ‘The – ah – bumps in the road, you know.’

‘But it has been an entirely smooth journey,’ Ashford said. ‘Is this another one of your eccentric turns? Sporadic acts of violence?’

‘Goodness,’ Prett said.

‘I am not violent or eccentric,’ Lydia insisted.

‘We all have our faults,’ Prett said sympathetically.

‘I am not—’

‘There is no need to be ashamed,’ the Captain von Prett said. ‘To love oneself is a great act of bravery.’

‘That on your family crest, is it?’ Ashford said, his smugness fading into irritation.

Prett only smiled gently.

‘It would be jolly good if it was, I think,’ Lydia snapped. ‘Usually mottos are so frightfully boring.’

‘Yes, “persevere” and “persist” and all that rot,’ Pip agreed, looking up from his notebook.

‘What are yours , my lord?’ Captain von Prett asked.

‘“Honour always”,’ Ashford said.

‘Bad luck,’ Pip said sympathetically.

‘“Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered”.’ Prett quoted with a sage nod.

‘I’m not sure I understand the relevance, here, sir,’ Ashford began.

‘It is Shakespeare ,’ Lydia hissed. ‘ Cymbeline .’

‘You have a good memory,’ Prett praised. ‘Impressive.’

Lydia preened.

‘Even more so,’ Ashford said. ‘Given she cannot read.’