Page 43 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

Tuesday – Two days remaining

Very little of the plan went well, of course.

Pip slipped out of the house easily enough, leaving vague excuses for his hosts that they did not receive until gone eleven o’clock.

After the diversions of the day before, and ahead of the planned revelry of the night coming, Lady Phoebe had suggested they all rise late and breakfast outside.

As Lydia approached the table, she saw that the only empty seat remaining was next to Ashford.

Of course it was. A few hours of snatched sleep had done little to soothe her and the memory of their conversation still stung fresh in her mind, and so she seated herself without looking at him, busied herself with buttering a warm roll of pillowy bread.

Lydia leant forward to take up the sugar bowl – and Ashford seized her hand before she could take it. Lydia jumped half out of her skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said under his breath. ‘I forgot – it is salt again.’

Lydia shot him an acidic look.

‘How embarrassing,’ she said. ‘To reuse an idea.’

‘Is it?’ Ashford said. ‘Given how effective it was last time?’

Lydia flushed in remembered embarrassment and opened her mouth to retort.

‘Let us not argue,’ Ashford muttered, ‘we have a truce, recollect.’

‘Perhaps you might let go of my hand, now,’ she said through clenched teeth.

He let it go with a start.

‘The post has arrived,’ Reeves announced quietly from the head of the table, and – as he had every morning since their arrival – took a silver tray bearing billets around to each person. Ashford, with only one look at the handwriting upon his, noticeably paled.

‘Who is it from?’ she said sharply.

He tucked the billet into his breast pocket without opening it.

‘The duke?’ Lydia guessed. Ashford did not answer, which was as good as confirmation. Their eyes caught, and Lydia was the first to look away.

‘Are you excited for this evening, my lady?’ Dacre asked Lady Phoebe, taking a billet from Reeves with a small smile of thanks. Reeves’ expression meanwhile, was even and neutral and a hundred miles away from the open warmth with which he had looked at Dacre the night before.

Once again, Lydia marvelled at it. With all the adversity facing them, they had chosen to be together as best they could, no matter what. What she would not give for that kind of clarity. She had never felt so confused, in all her life.

‘Yes, though there is still so much to do!’ Lady Phoebe said. ‘We have invited all the local gentry and every room in the house will be thrown open and made common.’

‘So many nooks and crannies for us to explore,’ Lady Morton said, with a sidelong look to Lord Hesse.

‘I do hope Mr Hanworth feels better soon,’ Lady Phoebe called down the table to Lydia. ‘We do not wish him to miss the masquerade, do we Waldo?’

‘Hmm?’ Waldo said, without looking up from his billet, which he was frowning over.

‘Is there ought amiss, Waldo?’ Lady Phoebe asked, frowning in concern.

‘Of course not’ Sir Waldo said. ‘Just an invitation I should rather not deal with – bound directly for the fire.’

Ashford and Lydia tensed.

‘To what?’ Lady Phoebe said. ‘Am I invited, as well?’

She leant in, but Sir Waldo twitched the billet out of reach.

‘We cannot attend,’ he said. ‘I will decline.’

‘Without telling me what it is?’ Lady Phoebe said, voice teasing. ‘How mysterious.’

‘What difference does it make? We are going overseas. We shall have to decline everything.’

‘Oh, stop, I cannot bear to think of it,’ Lady Hesse said.

‘Neither can I, so I shan’t,’ Lady Phoebe said merrily. ‘Today, I am not spending a thought on the future.’

‘I commend you, my lady,’ Prett said. ‘If my life has taught me anything, it is that one should endeavour to live in the moment.’

He looked to Miss Hesse for a reaction, but she did not appear to be attending, sneaking Brutus slices of ham from her plate.

‘I myself have too many relying on me,’ Hesse said, ‘to take so cavalier an approach.’

‘“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,”’ Lady Morton quoted, looking up from her letters to send him a caressing smile.

‘We should discuss a plan of action,’ Ashford muttered in Lydia’s ear, so close that his breath tickled her neck.

Lydia twitched hastily away.

‘Sir Waldo!’ she said across the table. ‘Reeves told us, upon the tour, that you have a Ming vase in your study.’

‘I do,’ Sir Waldo confirmed, puffing out his chest proudly – good humour restored at this opportunity to boast. ‘A gift for Lady Phoebe. It cost the moon – Dacre has never forgiven me for outbidding him!’

‘It was I who told you about it in the first place,’ Dacre protested, good-humouredly. ‘It did seem a bit rich for you to then outbid me.’

‘You bottled it,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘You always do.’

Dacre’s smile faded.

‘I should dearly love to see it,’ Lydia persevered. ‘I am so interested in the study of – ah – that particular time period of …’

When was it?

‘Fifteen-century China,’ Ashford muttered in her ear.

‘Fifteenth-century China,’ she finished.

‘Commendable!’

‘Do you have a moment today to show it to me?’

Sir Waldo hesitated for a moment but then shook his head.

‘Not today,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I have too much to do.’

‘Perhaps Lady Phoebe could show me?’ Lydia persevered.

‘Oh, Waldo doesn’t permit me in his office,’ Lady Phoebe said.

‘You would only cause a mess,’ Sir Waldo said, spearing another sausage onto his plate. ‘Another time, Miss Hanworth.’

Frustrated, she rose from her seat to approach the nearby serving table, pretending to examine the plates of grilled ham and clusters of boiled eggs.

After a moment, Ashford joined her.

‘That was your plan?’ Ashford muttered. ‘Asking him?’

‘It’s better than you asking him,’ she whispered, keeping her voice very low as she accepted a fresh bread roll from a helpful footman. ‘Recollect he hates you now, because of the horse palaver.’

‘Oh, it’s palaver now, is it?’ Ashford said. ‘Yesterday you were all for anointing me a hero.’

‘I was not ,’ she said.

‘We are meant to be a team,’ he hissed at her. ‘You are being careless and hot-headed and it is going to ruin everything.’

‘I suppose we should do it your way, should we?’ she hissed back. ‘Act on such bizarre and cautious logic that no one ever gets anything they actually want?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Ashford said.

The truce was not going so well.

They took their seats again in mulish silence until the party began to rise from the breakfast table – murmurs all around about enjoying a ride or a stroll or a rest ahead of the festivities.

‘You take a turn,’ she muttered, ‘if my ideas are so stupid.’

‘Well, I will,’ he muttered back. ‘Waldo!’

Waldo had already made it halfway back to the house, and Ashford strode purposefully after him, Lydia following as closely behind as she could, without looking as if she was doing so.

‘Waldo!’ Ashford called again.

‘What can I do for you old boy,’ Waldo said, so cheerfully that Lydia could hardly believe it. Did he not remember in what terms they had spoken yesterday?

‘I was wondering if we might speak, about yesterday,’ Ashford said.

‘Oh, no need, no need,’ Sir Waldo said, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘The heat of the day, no need to apologize.’

Oh, the gall of it! Despite her own frustrations towards him, Lydia felt a rush of anger on Ashford’s behalf.

‘Nonetheless I must,’ Ashford said, through gritted teeth. ‘Perhaps we might go somewhere to speak.’

‘Speak away,’ Waldo said.

‘Somewhere … private,’ Ashford said. ‘Your study.’

‘Perhaps later then, old boy,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘I’m afraid I promised my lady I would perform a full check of the grounds before tonight.’

He pulled out his pocket watch, to see the time and there, on the same chain, was a ring of glinting keys.

‘It is past midday,’ he said regretfully, placing the watch and the keys back inside his coat pocket.

Lydia scurried forward as fast as her legs could take her.

‘Sir Waldo! Beware – a bee!’

It was the first thing which sprang to mind.

‘Eh?’ Sir Waldo said.

‘It has flown inside your coat!’

‘Yes, I saw it too!’ Ashford said, catching on. ‘You must take off your coat at once lest it—’ He broke off and made a violent, jabbing gesture with his right hand.

‘I really don’t think …’ Sir Waldo began.

‘Men can die of such things, you know,’ Lydia said.

‘Come, Waldo, this is no moment to play the martyr,’ Ashford said briskly. ‘Lady Phoebe will not forgive me if I allow you to be stung – come, off with your coat.

Sir Waldo let out a frustrated sigh but began unbuttoning himself.

‘Yes, there it is,’ Ashford said.

‘Allow me to take your coat,’ Lydia said, pulling on Waldo’s sleeves.

‘Hang on, hang on … ’ Sir Waldo said.

Ashford began slapping his hands over Waldo’s torso.

‘I say, you will anger it!’ Sir Waldo said indignantly.

Quick as a flash, Lydia had her hands in his pocket and pulled out the ring of keys and – for want of her own pockets – thrust it quickly down her bodice. Over Sir Waldo’s shoulder, she gave Ashford a surreptitious nod.

‘There, its flown away,’ Ashford said.

‘Well, thank goodness,’ Sir Waldo said. ‘You were beginning to get rather handsy, my lord!’

He let out a great guffaw at his own joke, adjusted his coat, and made off. As soon as he had turned round the corner, Ashford and Lydia turned to each other, giddy with victory.

‘You have it?’

‘I cannot believe that worked!’

‘The bee – how did you think of it so quickly?’

‘How did you understand what I intended?’

They were speaking over one another as excitable as puppies, hardly able to contain their glee, until …

‘We make a good team,’ Ashford said.

Their smiles suddenly faded, excitement elapsing into awkwardness as the memory of their conversation the night before resounded in both their minds.

Ashford cleared his throat.

‘To the study, then?’

By now, Hawkscroft was abustle with activity: the front drive noisy with the wheels of tradesmen’s carts, four footmen laying a red carpet down the front steps under Reeves’ exacting eye, while four more were arranging a series of gigantic potted palms around the entrance hall, and innumerable maids and errand boys were flocking up and down the staircase and to and from the ballroom.

One could not have asked for a more distracting atmosphere, though Lydia still waylaid Elspeth and Jane to find something to do at each end of the corridor and act as lookouts.

If they were caught, in Sir Waldo’s study, there would be no talking oneself out of it.

‘How long do you think we have?’ Lydia asked Ashford as they approached the door.

‘Perhaps ten minutes?’ he said.

Nodding, Lydia slid a hand into her bodice.

‘What are you doing?’ Ashford expostulated.

‘ Hush ! ’ she reprimanded him sharply. ‘The key, recollect! Goodness, it has fallen deep.’

‘Quickly,’ Ashford said, voice strained, eyes staring determinedly up at the ceiling.

‘There!’

‘Is it out?’ he asked, still holding his eyes aloft, as if the sight of her rummaging would turn him into stone.

‘Yes, yes,’ she said impatiently, thrusting what she hoped was the correct key into the lock.

For a moment, she did not think it fitted, but after a few moments of Ashford’s careful jigging, the door at last creaked open.

He shut it carefully behind them, leaving it just a sliver ajar. ‘Just in case this door sticks too.’

It was tempting to throw open every cupboard and utterly ransack the place, but they forced themselves to remain calm and systematic and began with the grand mahogany desk that stood at the very centre of the room, which was covered in sheafs of disordered papers, pens, ink and wafers.

‘Such disorganization,’ Ashford said critically.

‘Your desk is as neat as wax, I take it.’

‘I certainly would not leave it in such a state as this – how is one meant to find anything?’

‘It is almost as if he does not wish us to find anything,’ Lydia said, picking up a stack of papers, and beginning to leaf through. Beside her, Ashford did the same.

It became quickly apparent that most of the papers were bills.

Even knowing Sir Waldo and Lady Phoebe’s extravagance as she did, the sheer quantity was still shocking.

There were bills for servant’s wages, for coal, for liveries, candles and wine.

There were bills from the coachmaker, the butcher, the florist and the tailor, all jostled amongst one another in hopeless confusion.

As Lydia progressed further through the pile, she began to see duplicates, reminders, politely worded final warnings that the credit was overdue.

‘This is a mess,’ she said, and she meant more than just the desk. ‘How can one couple spend so much money?’

‘Quiet,’ Ashford hissed. She turned sharply. He had stilled, cocking his head to one side.

‘Good afternoon!’ Elspeth called loudly. She had been stationed far down the corridor, so as to give us as much warning as possible.

‘Quick – hide!’ Ashford instructed.

‘Where?’ she said, looking wildly about.

‘Get behind the curtains,’ Ashford said. ‘I’ll think of some excuse to explain my presence.’

The sound of footsteps from outside.

‘I’ll be discovered straight away,’ she hissed. ‘It will look more suspicious.’

‘Will you stop arguing for once in your life?’

‘I am right, and you know it!’

‘Do you have anything better ?’

There were audible footsteps along the hallway now. Lydia and Ashford stared at one another, naked panic in their eyes.

‘We shall say we were having a liaison?’ she said. ‘Waldo will be so shocked, he won’t—’

‘A liais—?’

Lydia was not sure who was more surprised when she kissed Ashford.

As the door began to creak open, she threw herself bodily toward him with such force that he had to put his arms about her just to keep her from falling to the ground.

He made a muffled noise of shock against her mouth but after a single frozen moment where she was doing rather the lion’s share of the work – which was not the most sensible division of labour, given she was certainly the lesser experienced of the two – he began to return it.

Quite convincingly, actually – and yes, she rather thought she understood what the books had all been going on about now, for this was truly rather—

‘What on earth are you doing?’

They leapt back from one another in shock. For a moment, Lydia had entirely forgotten the purpose of such a stunt, to shock Sir Waldo out of any suspicion. But it was not Sir Waldo standing in the doorway.

It was Lady Phoebe. And sitting around her neck was the stolen diamond necklace.