Page 22 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock (The Rogue’s Alliance #3)

D espite the recent turmoil in his home, the rooms at Curzon Street were now in order, and Cecil had acquired a valet.

Henry quickly restored Cecil’s garments to their proper place and cleaned some of them. The man laid out clothes for Cecil the night before and announced he would visit the market stalls in the morning for foodstuffs.

Cecil had given Henry a few guineas, not concerned if the man ran off with the funds. His hard work so far had surely earned him that much.

The fire was dying in the grate, but his bedchamber was warm enough. The water in the pitcher Cecil splashed on his face was not.

“Blast!”

Once dressed, he descended the staircase to see Nathaniel waiting for him in the entry hall.

“Good morning! You look well rested despite the upheaval around here. Bones just went out.”

“Coffee. I need coffee.” Cecil walked down the corridor to the kitchen, happy to find a pot of something on the kitchen table with cups nearby.

The pot held lukewarm coffee and he drank a cup of the fragrant brew greedily.

Nathaniel perched on one of the stools.

Cecil sat on the other stool after pouring another cup of coffee. “And to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“I’m here to deliver a note from Lady Louisa. Not a proper note, mind you, but some information she unearthed about Daventry.”

He took the proffered vellum and read it.

“So we have our connection to the Diana clock. Perhaps Louisa can next decipher the Cupid clock.”

“In secret without putting herself in danger,” Nathaniel replied shortly.

“Of course.” Cecil could hear the doorknocker being utilized at his front door. He rose from his stool. “Excuse me.”

Cecil opened the door to see a young, well-dressed man on his stoop.

“Lord Wycliffe?” The man stood very straight.

Cecil surmised from his bearing that the young man worked for the crown.

“I am he.”

“A missive from Lord Sidmouth.” The man handed over the letter and promptly took his leave.

Cecil closed the door and returned to the kitchen. Retaking his stool, he took a long swallow of his coffee.

“Well?” Nathaniel raised a brow.

“A message from Lord Sidmouth.” Placing his cup on the table, Cecil used the end of a nearby spoon to break the wax seal on the letter and then read the missive.

“You don't work for him anymore,” Nathaniel replied.

He shrugged. “I imagine he heard about my burning the ebony boxes yesterday and wishes to discuss the matter.”

“Why?” Nathaniel frowned.

“The Home Secretary may not have been overly interested in the RA three years ago, but the organization has become more powerful. Even The Home Office can no longer ignore their activities.”

“When does he want to see you?”

“Now.” He folded the letter and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket along with the note from Louisa. “Thank you for bringing me Lady Louisa’s findings.”

Cecil escorted Nathaniel out of the house before making his way to the mews, subsequently rousing his groom and driver from a nap.

“My lord!”

“I’m off to Castle Street. Bring my carriage around.”

It was a nuisance there was no servant to send to call for his carriage. More and more he was determined to reopen his principal residence in Town and hire a full staff.

Cecil entered the house, donned his outerwear, and took up his walking stick. A moment later, he stepped out on the front stoop to see his coach pull up in front of the townhouse.

His groom held open the door of the carriage. As Cecil entered the conveyance, he called to the driver, “The George and Vulture on Castle Street.”

Sidmouth had suggested they meet for a meal in a neutral spot. The traffic through Mayfair was heavy, and his stomach rumbled several times during the hour long drive. The carriage stopped to pay the tolls on each end of the congested timber-built Pulteney Bridge; moments later, his carriage halted on Lombard Street. Cecil was starved for a good chop by the time he ambled a few yards down Lombard Street and turned into the narrow alleyway that was Castle Street.

The messenger who’d delivered the letter from Lord Sidmouth stood near the entrance to the chop house. “Lord Wycliffe, I’m one of the secretary’s clerks and will conduct you to Lord Sidmouth.”

“Proceed.”

They entered the main dining room, a dimly lit, low ceilinged chamber. The paneled walls and heavy wood furniture provided a vast expanse of brown, aging wood wherever he looked. The clerk stopped in front of a table in the left corner of the inn, where Sidmouth was seated alone with his back against the wall.

Henry Addington, 1st Viscount Sidmouth, nodded to Cecil. “Have a seat, Wycliffe.”

The clerk took a seat on a chair at a table some distance away.

“Port?” Sidmouth lifted a bottle in one hand.

Cecil nodded. “Please.”

A pretty buxom young woman appeared with two pewter plates and placed them on the table before sashaying away.

“I took the liberty of ordering,” Sidmouth said with a smile. “You mentioned several times before your preference for this establishment’s beefsteak, so I determined it was time I sampled the fare.”

Their plates held warm, fresh bread, golden roasted potatoes, and huge steaks. Both men began to eat as if by silent agreement. Several minutes later, Cecil had nearly finished his steak when the Home Secretary sat back in his wooden chair. He was nearly fifty years old but appeared younger. Cecil realized the man was the right age to be the third founder of the RA.

“You destroyed the mythology clocks.” The secretary narrowed his gaze on Cecil’s face.

“I did.”

“I’m not sure I believe you would do that.” Sidmouth frowned. “I imagine you have illustrations of the clocks.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged.

“Is there any credence to the tales the clocks could identify the founders of the Rogue’s Alliance?”

Despite his surprise that the secretary knew so much about the clocks, Cecil replied smoothly, “I thought you weren’t concerned with their activities.”

“You’re going to dredge up your brother’s murder again.”

“And you’re still holding a grudge because of your daughter.” He shook his head. “ My resentment is warranted. My brother was killed in cold blood, and you wouldn't support an investigation.”

“At the time, all clues pointed to footpaths murdering your brother during a robbery. If he was in possession of one of the mythology clocks it lends credence to the idea that he was a victim of the RA.”

Cecil threw up his hands. “And what has enlightened you to the danger the RA poses?”

“Over the last few years, you have brought to the Home Office’s attention several people in the government involved in criminal enterprises. Black Jack Henley was a legend among the runners. It was a blow to their morale when he was discovered to be a criminal. When the Assistant Chief Magistrate was named as a member of the RA, that was the last straw.”

“It’s comforting to know a preponderance of evidence is needed before you take my concerns seriously,” he replied dryly.

The secretary sighed. “I’ve asked you here today, Cecil, to advise you that I have operatives working to bring down the RA just as you are attempting to do.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied blandly.

“Would you consider joining our investigation in an unofficial capacity?”

He shook his head. “I would not. I will share the names of any further RA members I discover, but I will not work with you.”

“You’re a stubborn man,” Sidmouth replied, lowering his brows.

“I’m investigating how I see fit without regard to manpower, politics, or budgetary concerns. All I’ll tell you is that the Duke of Montagu and Lord Daventry were founding members of the RA. I’m attempting to discover the third founder. I believe he is still alive.”

“And the clocks led you to these men? A duke no less?”

“A letter from a dying Daventry led me to him and the duke. I will not discuss the clocks further at this time.” He rose to his feet. “If there is nothing else?”

“The Home Office could lend you its protection.”

Cecil grimaced. “My brother was one of your agents if you recall. You couldn’t protect him.”

Turning to the door, he let himself out of the inn and returned to the street outside. The day was bright for April. Bright but chilly.

Cecil entered his coach.

Sidmouth wanted to recruit Cecil to go after the RA, but he was content to follow his own lead. However, having others out there disrupting the activities of the criminal operation wasn’t a bad thing.

If Sidmouth knew about Cecil burning the clocks, then the rest of London knew by now.

His mind turned to the note from Lady Louisa, and he pulled the vellum out of his pocket and reread her words. She’d found the connection between the clock and Daventry. By now, Leopold would have heard about the burglary at Cecil’s home and the burning of the clocks. He was curious what story Louisa would have told her brother about giving him her timepiece.

Cecil had no doubt the bright young woman would have spun a creative tale. She seemed always ready for any situation she found herself in.

He needed to speak with Lady Louisa soon. But how to bring about a meeting? He would be surprised if Louisa’s brother and possibly her father hadn’t warned her against keeping his company. And they were correct to safeguard her welfare.

When he returned home, he would ask Bones whether the young woman had any appointments on the morrow. He would not contact Lady Edith as he didn’t wish to alarm Nathaniel by including his wife in further investigations.

Cecil refolded Louisa’s note, shaking his head as he observed her elegant handwriting. “Yet another activity she excels at.”