Page 24 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock (The Rogue’s Alliance #3)
C ecil observed his appearance in the Cheval mirror in the corner of his bedchamber. “You are a wonder, Henry. That knot is more intricate than any I’ve seen.”
“Something I picked up on the continent, my lord.”
“Very soon, I plan on reopening my townhouse in Hanover Square. If you decide to stay on, I shall have a full staff. You won’t be required to do as much as you’ve taken on here.”
“It keeps me busy, my lord. I won’t complain.”
Cecil would visit the exhibition at the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Bones had followed Louisa and Edith yesterday and overheard them planning an outing today. The gallery had recently opened to the public, and he was interested in viewing the collections on display.
His coach was waiting in the street; Cecil vaulted inside after giving his driver directions.
The drive to Dulwich in South London would take nearly an hour in the afternoon traffic. The trip would take him across the new Regent Bridge, the first iron bridge in London. It was a bright day, and he observed the passing scenery through the uncovered windows of his coach.
Upon arrival at the museum, he was surprised by the yellow stone and square lines of the building. It wasn’t a style of architecture he was accustomed to. Once inside, he wandered through the rooms, bemused by the abundance of skylights.
“Lord Wycliffe!”
He hadn’t had to look for Louisa and Edith as they had found him. Louisa looked the picture of elegance in a cream gown and violet Spencer. She smiled softly at him, and he caught his breath. What was wrong with him lately? He was no young buck to be won over by pretty manners.
Finding his equilibrium, he said, “Lady Harbury, Lady Louisa, it is a pleasure to see you here. Are you enjoying the exhibition?”
“We are. Are you a devotee of Wilkie?” Louisa asked. “His paintings are in the next room.”
“I like what I’ve seen of his work very much. Shall we?” He held out his arm to the lady.
She took it, and Edith followed them into the next room. Cecil held himself stiffly, determined not to be affected by the lovely, sweet-smelling lady beside him. Their party came to stand in front of the painting The Bag-Piper.
Once alone in the room, Louisa whispered, “I discovered who Cupid is. My father says that when she was young, Lady Cairs was known by that moniker.”
“That makes sense,” he whispered back, his head close to hers, the musky undertones of her signature citrus perfume enveloping his senses.
“We still have no idea who Venus is.”
A couple entered the room, and he led Louisa to the other side of the chamber. After finishing their viewing of the Wilkie collection, they moved on to a room with a placard pronouncing the works included as part of the Bourgeois Bequest of 1811, stopping in front of a work titled Venus and Adonis.
“Adonis...” Edith stepped closer to look at the painting. “I was recently told someone calls their husband Adonis. I can’t remember where I heard it. If we find Adonis, we might find our Venus.”
“Try to remember who told you about Adonis,” he replied quietly.
The lady was silent for a few moments before she shook her head. “It’s not coming to me. I’m sorry.”
“The identity of Adonis may occur to you later if you don’t think too much about it, Edith,” Louisa replied.
Their party moved on and viewed every room. After they returned to the vestibule of the building, Cecil felt at a loss for words. He was in unknown territory as he felt a strange reluctance to part from Louisa.
“Cecil, if we determine the identities of Venus and Adonis, we will let you know through Nathaniel,” Edith said quietly. “You shouldn’t visit Carstairs for the time being.”
He looked to Louisa.
The lady nodded. “My father and Leopold are concerned for my safety after the burglary and all the talk about you and the Rogue’s Alliance.”
“I understand. You ladies have been extremely helpful. I would not wish either of you to suffer for helping me. I should leave you now. It may have been a terrible idea to seek you ladies out.” In his desire to see Lady Louisa, he might have put her in danger. “Good day.”
Cecil exited the building and entered his waiting coach, the day not seeming as bright as it was mere moments ago.
* * * * *
L ord Wycliffe was right . If her father or Leopold heard she’d walked the gallery with the viscount, they would be upset with her. The coach ride back to Grosvenor Square was a quiet one, her thoughts full of Lord Wycliffe. It might be her imagination, but she thought he'd looked happy to see her today.
“Don’t forget my dinner party is at eight o’clock,” Edith called as Louisa exited Nathaniel’s carriage in front of Carstairs.
“I won’t forget.”
Once in her bedchamber, Louisa sat at her writing desk, unsure of what to do next. She couldn’t stop thinking about the viscount. He had listened to her at the gallery and hadn’t been rude or condescending. And it had felt nice to be escorted around the gallery holding his arm.
She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting at her desk when a knock came at her door, and Lucy peeked in. “Lady Louisa, your mother wants to speak to you in the drawing room.”
“Mother!” Louisa swept into the room and dropped onto a settee across from her mother. “Lucy said you wished to speak with me.”
“Leopold informed me you were seen at the Dulwich Gallery with Lord Wycliffe today.” Her mother cocked her head to one side, waiting for a reply.
She shrugged in response. “I was at the gallery with Edith. Lord Wycliffe was there as well. We did not arrange to meet.”
“Very well. I believe you. In future, you will leave any venue where he appears.” She paused. “I don’t wish to upset your father with this news.”
Nor did she. There was no telling how long it would take Lord Wycliffe to bring down the RA. If he ever did. She was fooling herself if she thought he would consider a future with her or any woman before he dismantled the criminal organization.
“My dear, the viscount is handsome but dangerous. He’s just not what we want for you, Louisa.”
“I understand, Mother.” She rose to her feet listlessly, a smile pasted on her face. “I’m going up to my room to sketch a bit.”
Louisa couldn’t concentrate on sketching, but stood by her bedchamber window, staring at the back garden where numerous types of flowers were beginning to bloom. Lucy found her there when she came to help her mistress dress for Edith’s dinner party.
She listened to Lucy prattle on about a kitten that had wandered into the kitchen before Louisa went downstairs and walked across the square with a thick shawl over her shoulders. Edith could always lift her mood. If only she didn’t die of boredom listening to Alicia and Lady Kettering drone on.
When Louisa entered the entry hall of Edith’s home, a maid was cleaning a spot of mud off the floor. She looked up from her work to stare at Louisa. “Excuse me, my lady.”
“Off with you now, Eliza,” the butler said sternly to the maid.
Louisa remembered Edith mentioning that she had taken in Lord Wycliffe's butler and maid. She was sure the name of the maid was Eliza.
When Louisa arrived in the drawing room, it was to find the guests of honor had already arrived. She greeted everyone and accepted a glass of sherry. In conversation, Alicia and Lady Kettering talked over each other, and Louisa was relieved when the dinner gong sounded. She placed her glass on a nearby table as Edith and Nathaniel led the way into the dining room.
Lord and Lady Kettering were next, and she heard the lady whisper to her husband, “Come along, Adonis.”
* * * * *
C ecil arrived on Curzon Street to find Bones waiting for him with the same dour expression he’d worn the day of the burglary.
“What is it?” he asked urgently as he climbed the steps to the front door of the townhouse.
“Cook has been found. In the mews.”
“Found?” Bones’ solemn tone of voice did not bode well.
“He’s dead, my lord.”
Cecil narrowly avoided yelling in frustration, sure that this was another death to lay at the feet of the RA.
When the two men had made their way to the kitchen and out of the back door to the garden behind, Cecil was surprised by the number of people milling near the stable block.
“Tell me what happened,” he said in a low voice to Bones.
“A short while ago, Lord Hastings’s groom opened a trunk which stores brushes and blankets. He found a body instead.”
He didn’t have to ask where the groom was; the young man stood to one side looking green, the coachman patting his shoulder awkwardly. Cecil’s coach rested at the end of the alley.
Two men speaking with his neighbor Lord Hastings sported the distinctive scarlet waistcoats of the Bow Street Runners.
“Lord Wycliffe,” one of the runners addressed him.
He thought the young man looked familiar but couldn’t remember how he knew him. Then he recalled. The runner had been new to the job when he took Cecil’s statement after he found his brother’s body. “Officer.”
The other runner said, “That will be all we need for now, Lord Hastings.”
His neighbor looked at Cecil and shook his head. “Nasty business this is. First the burglary and now a murder.”
The man stalked away, his expression and words having conveyed his displeasure at residing next to the trouble at number four Curzon Street.
“Where is the body?” Cecil asked the young runner. His companion looked even younger.
“In the stable, my lord. The coroner is in there. It’s a ghastly sight.”
Cecil did not heed the warning but walked into the building where the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh hung in the air. Placing a handkerchief over his nose, he took up a spot near the coroner’s shoulder.
The man glanced up, seemingly undisturbed by the smell. “Poison, I’ll warrant.”
The remains of Cecil’s cook were at the bottom of the old trunk. His eyes were open, a frothy substance about his mouth. Cecil would guess arsenic poisoning. Unlike Daventry, the cook had been given a fatal dose all at once.
A cursory glance around the area turned up no clues. The cook had most likely been there since the day of the burglary two days before. The grooms and coachmen had been in and out of the area several times since.
Cecil left the stall without a word to the coroner.
The young runner was waiting for him. “You may not remember me. I’m Officer means. Your valet, Henry Bones, states that you left the house this morning for Dulwich. Your groom and driver were with you. Your other employee, Mr. Francis Bones, was also out.”
Francis . He hadn’t known Bones’ first name. “That is correct, although my whereabouts aren’t relevant as the man was most likely killed two days ago when he disappeared. The day my home was ransacked.”
Officer Baines replied, “The coroner believes the man was poisoned. Murdered.”
He sighed. “Yes. I doubt he put himself in the trunk.”
The other runner covered his mouth with a hand as if to stifle a chuckle.
“Is there anything else, Officer Means? If not, I have matters to attend to. My cook was murdered by the Rogue’s Alliance, the same organization that ransacked my home. I doubt we will ever know who perpetrated either crime.”
Neither officer responded, although their eyes widened at the mention of the RA. Bones had remained near the runners throughout the conversation, quiet and unobtrusive.
“Please advise my groom and driver when they may see to my carriage and horses,” Cecil said to the runners, turning on his heel.
He strode back to the house, Bones in his wake. When he entered the building through the kitchen door, Henry was there, perched on a stool.
Henry rose to his feet. “My lord.”
Cecil addressed both men when he asked, “Are you sure you wish to continue in my employ?”
“We’re up to the task, my lord,” Bones replied firmly, glancing at his cousin.
The other man nodded. “Bones has told me a bit about your scuffles with the RA. They’re a nasty bunch, preying on the weak. He tried to recruit me once, that Black Jack did. They’re a murdering, thieving lot, and I’ll have no truck with their sort. If staying helps you fight them, I’ll stay.”
“It’s your life. I hope you both don’t regret it.” He thought a moment. “Bones, have a word with my driver and groom. If they choose not to stay on after this, I won’t blame them. I’m going out. I’ll return in a few hours.”
He needed to walk. To think. He was so close. Sidmouth would hear soon enough about the murder, so he felt no need to notify the Home Secretary. Everything was coming to a head. He felt it. The end was near.
But what would the end look like? And what would it cost him?