Page 6 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock (The Rogue’s Alliance #3)

T he food was delectable , and the company was pleasant. Louisa took a second helping of Blancmange, her favorite dessert.

“How are Charlotte and Ashford?” she asked Diana, not desiring the subject to return to her auction win. At present, she didn’t feel like sparring with the viscount.

“Have you not received letters since you’ve been in town?” Edith grinned. “I swear Charlotte writes me almost daily.”

She nodded. “That is true for me as well. I hoped Diana could reassure us that Charlotte is content in her confinement.”

Diana replied, “Charlotte is blooming, although restless in the countryside without her friends. She wants you ladies to inform her of any news concerning Thorne’s Lending Library, and I’m to let her know how the veteran’s registry fares.”

“There have been no reprisals since Lady Devon took over the registry?” she asked Diana.

“None. Lord Wycliffe checks in on us often, which may help keep the wolves at bay.”

Lady Diana nodded to the viscount, and he nodded back. Louisa was aware they’d known each other for years. Louisa was no expert in matters of the heart, but from her observations, she thought the only thing between them was respect and friendship.

For a moment, she wondered why she cared whether the two had an understanding. She must think of something else. How much did Lord Wycliffe know about the mythology clock? Had he heard of the riddle?

“That dress of yours is très magnifique!” Diana leaned closer. “Who is your modiste, Louisa?”

“I use Francesca, although I designed the dress myself.”

“You did?” Diana shook her head. “I saw the exquisite table you had commissioned for Charlotte. I didn’t know your design abilities ran to fashion in addition to home textiles and furnishings.”

She felt warmth on her cheeks.

“Louisa advises me on my wardrobe,” Edith said proudly. “Her taste is impeccable.”

She mumbled a thank you, ignoring Lord Wycliffe’s gaze.

The last course was removed, and Edith rose to her feet. “Ladies, we will leave the men to their own devices.”

Again settled in the drawing room, Edith sent for a tea tray.

“I can’t believe how calmly Cecil is taking your winning that clock,” Diana said once the teacups were sorted.

“You know him better than we do,” Edith replied, “but I am surprised as well.”

“My brother Leopold was determined to best Lord Wycliffe.” She frowned. “It was extremely odd. If there is a rivalry between the two, I’ve never heard about it.”

Diana shook her head. “I haven’t heard of one either.”

“Perhaps my husband knows something,” Edith said with a wink. “I will ask him.”

Louisa certainly wouldn’t broach the subject with Lord Wycliffe and wasn’t sure her brother would tell her anything. “I will ask Leopold, but he is usually tight-lipped about personal matters. Oh! Edith, my mother has approved of your acting as my chaperone for the rest of the season.”

“That is wonderful news.” Edith grinned. “You won’t have Leopold dogging your steps at every turn on the marriage mart.”

Soon after, the gentlemen entered the room.

“Cards?” Edith asked.

“Perhaps not,” Nathaniel replied with a glance between herself and Lord Wycliffe.

“Then charades it is!” Their hostess clapped her hands as her husband released a groan.

* * * * *

“I was rather taken aback when Edith told me Louisa had won the clock,” Nathaniel said the words idly, seemingly transfixed by the brandy in his glass.

“Yes.” Cecil shrugged. “Her brother Leopold would have spent a fortune bidding, so I let him have it.”

“He still holds a grudge?”

He nodded. “Evidently.”

There had been a girl. She’d preferred Cecil over Leopold. The man had since come into his own, but at the time, Leopold was unusually thin and had spots. That wasn’t Cecil’s fault. The young woman was Lord Sidmouth’s youngest daughter, and he often wondered if Sidmouth disliked him because he had no interest in the girl. It wasn’t Cecil’s fault many young women his age had been enamored of him. He’d never sought the attention.

His charm had come in handy while searching for the roots of the Rogue’s Alliance. Although he hadn’t yet connected any ladies of the ton to the RA, he’d identified several female servants and a few doxies as alliance members.

“Do you still believe the clock Louisa has is the golden clock your brother spoke about?” Nathaniel asked.

Cecil decided that it was time to confide in someone. “I do. It is in the box I found in Wycliffe’s study the night he was murdered. The box that had disappeared from the townhouse when I returned from Yorkshire to close the house.”

“Someone in your household must have taken it.”

“That is why I didn’t employ any of those servants in my rooms on Curzon Street. I didn’t know who I could trust.” He added, “As Louisa said, the clock is one of a pair crafted by Gaston Jolly. The clocks were made for the Duke of Montagu, and its twin is presumed missing.”

“The duke’s title went extant when he passed in 1790. Most of his personal belongings were auctioned off soon after, as I recall.” Nathaniel peered at Cecil. “You still haven’t told me how the carriage clock is linked to the RA.”

“As Louisa mentioned, the clocks aren’t actually carriage clocks. That is proof of how a story can evolve over the telling. And the stories never mention their French provenance.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Cecil, what aren’t you telling me?”

“The clocks weren’t sold off. They were gifted to the other founding members of the RA.” He paused. “The old duke formed the Rogue’s Alliance.”

“You have proof?” Nathaniel sat up straighter in his chair.

He nodded. “And I have the other clock.”

“Never say so!” Nathaniel whistled. “Does anyone else know you have it?”

He shook his head. “Only a dead man.”

So he told Nathaniel how he came into possession of the clock last October.

He’d been in his rooms at four Curzon Street since soon after his brother’s murder. The family had traveled to Yorkshire to bury Wycliffe, and his mother had never returned to London. David took orders at the parish church near the estate, and with only himself in Town, Cecil shuttered the Mayfair townhouse.

“There is a Mr. Wilkes from Wilkes, Jones, and Smythe Solicitors to see you, my lord,” his butler informed him one afternoon.

“Show him in, Acker.”

Cecil rose from a stuffed armchair in his drawing room to greet a tall, thin elderly gentleman carrying a leather portfolio.

“Mr. Wilkes,” the butler announced, hovering in the doorway after the solicitor entered the room.

“Do you require refreshment, Mr. Wilkes?” Cecil asked his visitor.

“No, my lord.”

Cecil nodded to the butler. “That will be all, Acker.”

He was seated and waved for the older gentleman to do the same. “What is this visit all about, Mr. Wilkes? I am aware of no business my family has with your firm.” He raised a brow.

“That is true, my lord. I am here on behalf of my client, Lord Daventry.”

Cecil frowned. “Daventry? I heard he’d recently died, but I am little acquainted with the man.”

“Be that as it may, my client left you a bequest in his will.”

“What type of bequest?” he asked, sitting forward in his chair.

“A crate.” The man added, “I do not know what is in the crate. I have stored the item in a basement beneath my law premises for several years. The earl also left you a sealed letter.”

The man pulled a letter from the portfolio in his lap and handed it to Cecil.

“I have some papers for you to sign, and then the crate is yours.”

“Where is this bequest?” he asked.

“In your entry hall guarded by one of my colleagues.”

“Guarded?” He raised a brow.

“Whatever was in that crate was treasured by my now deceased client. I have taken great care to follow his wishes in this.”

The solicitor opened the portfolio and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He handed Cecil the documents. “I have left marks on the documents where your signature is required.”

Cecil quickly read over the papers, learning that the item in the crate was not labeled or described but merely referred to as ‘the crate.’ One of the documents stipulated that if Cecil were deceased, the crate would go to his remaining brother.

“How peculiar.” He moved to sit at his writing desk and signed his name on the papers before handing them back to Mr. Wilkes.

“Do you have any questions, my lord?”

“Several,” he replied dryly, getting to his feet. “None of which I’m sure you would be able to answer. I should like a look at my inheritance.”

Cecil led the way from the room into the entry hall, tiny as it was. A man roughly the same age as Mr. Wilkes stood next to a crate the size of a magazine table.

“Lord Wycliffe,” the other gentleman said with a bow. “I’m Mr. Smythe.”

“Good day, Mr. Smythe,” Cecil replied, studying the crate.

“Shall we carry your inheritance into the other room?” Mr. Wilkes asked.

Cecil shook his head. “I’ll manage. Thank you, gentlemen.”

Both men looked relieved to be rid of the crate and hastily departed.

“Let me help you, my lord.” The butler looked askance at the thought of his employer doing physical labor.

“I can manage, Acker.”

The crate weighed very little and was small enough to carry by himself. Once Cecil deposited the crate in the drawing room on the floor next to his favorite chair, he closed the door to the room and locked it.

He decided the fire poker was a suitable tool to pry off the nailed-on lid and used it to jimmy the lid off the crate. When the lid was off, Cecil pulled out straw packing until he spied an ebony wooden box.

The box was a twin to the empty box he’d found in his brother’s study on the day of Wycliffe’s murder.

“And the clock was in the box?” Nathaniel asked impatiently.

“Exactly. I wrote to Gaston Jolly for confirmation. As he is nearly blind, his daughter described the clock I asked about, and he confirmed it was one of the pair of Roman mythology clocks he made for the duke. The confirmation letter from Gaston Jolly’s daughter reached me while we were in Kent for your wedding.”

“That is why you abandoned the festivities after only two days to return to Town.” Nathaniel then asked, “What information did the letter the solicitor give you contain?”

“Lord Daventry wrote that the clock was one of a pair. Wycliffe had informed him he possessed the other clock and believed Daventry was involved with the RA. The men were to meet at The Cock and Crow the night my brother was killed. Daventry was delayed and arrived at the tavern after I found my brother murdered.”

“Did he know anything about who stole Wycliffe’s clock?”

Cecil shook his head. “In his letter, he stated he had no idea but suspected it was an operative of the RA. His clock had been insurance if anything happened to him. The clock would lead to proof that there was indeed an organization called the Rogue’s Alliance. He mentioned a ledger naming members of the RA existed somewhere in London.”

Nathaniel let out a long breath. “That is all very interesting, but if the clocks are connected to the RA, Louisa could be in danger as she has one in her bedchamber.”

“She has the clock that was stolen from Wycliffe. Somehow, it ended up in Lord Campbell’s possession. I’ve never found a connection between Campbell and the RA, and the man was known to buy rare items and not be concerned with how the seller might have acquired them.”

“Do you believe Lady Louisa is in danger?” Nathaniel asked, his tone grave.

Cecil shook his head. “Remember, she has four brothers and a father in that house with her.”

“I recall Lady Devon’s maid being murdered last season in a house full of servants.”

He replied in a low voice, “Bones is keeping an eye on Lady Louisa.”

“Louisa wouldn’t like to hear that.” Nathaniel paused. “What excuse did you give to Bones for watching the lady?”

“I told him I needed to know if she left the house with that clock as I was sure she would tire of it and wish to sell it.”

Nathaniel nodded. “A plausible story.”

“It’s safer for Lady Louisa if she doesn’t know how important the clock is although I saw no evidence that someone from the RA bid on that clock. With the other clock believed long missing, perhaps the RA isn’t worried that anyone will solve the riddle.”

Nathaniel took a healthy sip of brandy before stating, “Somehow, that single clock led your brother to Daventry.”

He nodded. “Wycliffe left no written clues for me. The earl wrote in his letter that when the riddle of both clocks is solved, it will bring to light the name of the third person who founded the RA.”

“So there were three,” Nathaniel replied.

“Daventry and another person founded the organization along with the old duke. The Duke of Montagu believed the endeavor was merely a lark; Daventry and the third man were his lieutenants. The organization wasn’t far along when the duke died. He commissioned the clocks for his own amusement, but they became insurance for Daventry. When the organization started to deal in murder, the earl wanted out.”

“He gave you no hints about the third man?”

Cecil shook his head. “The letter stated that the key to his identity lay in deciphering the symbolism of the clocks.”

“Why didn’t he just tell your brother who it was?” Nathaniel shook his head and sighed.

“Perhaps he would have if Wycliffe hadn’t been murdered. After that night, the earl sequestered himself at his estate in the countryside. His health steadily declined due, supposedly, to his advanced age. From the symptoms he described in his letter, I am more inclined to say he was being poisoned over time. Perhaps by arsenic.”

Nathaniel said, “If he’d only given you the clock when your brother died.”

“He knew I would have seen him punished for the RA’s nefarious deeds. Once he heard about my crusade to take down the RA, his solicitors were advised to give me the crate with the clock in it upon his death.”

Both men were silent for several moments.

He let out a breath. “I feel as if I’m near the end. The answer is within my grasp.”

“But Louisa has the clock. She won't give it to you, especially if she doesn’t know why you want it so badly.”

“Telling her would put her in danger.” He groaned. “By telling you, I may have put you at risk.”

Nathaniel replied, “I don’t wish to keep secrets from my wife. I’ll have to think about what I should tell her to keep her safely out of this.”

“I’ve put you in an untenable position,” he replied bleakly.

His friend shook his head. “I’m glad you told me. You needed to be able to confide in someone. What does Bones know?”

“Nobody in my household knows what was in that crate,” Cecil replied.

“You’re the only one who knows where your clock is?”

“Yes.” He added, “For your safety, I won’t tell you where I’ve hidden it.”

They both took sips of brandy, and the silence lengthened.

“Shall we join the ladies?” Nathaniel finally asked, rising to his feet. “Before my wife sends a footman to fetch us.”