Page 23

It was well past ten of the clock when Mr. Walters entered the library with a silver salver. Richard had been holding a book, but the page had not been turned for over an hour. His mind was elsewhere—his thoughts on a certain lady, who, like it or not, he missed with all his heart.

“Pardon, my lord. A messenger brought this from Lord Graham.”

Richard reached for the folded-over paper, letting his book slide to the floor. His heart raced with fear. Had something happened to Lady Emma? He did not think he could survive if he had sent her into danger. “Was the messenger presented a room?” he asked in distraction as he broke the seal.

“Yes, my lord, and a meal,” his butler assured.

“Wait until I have the gist of this,” he ordered, but Richard was already engrossed in Graham’s message.

On our journey, Lady Emma shared two memories with me. The first involved an outing to the Tower of London’s menagerie. Apparently, she paid for all those with their half day off to enjoy the entertainment.

Richard thought such spoke of the woman he had come to admire, but this tale could have waited to be shared until he arrived in Buckinghamshire. “What else?” he asked himself.

Her ladyship has not yet been able to name those with whom she shared the experience, but Lady Emma recalls walking arm-in-arm with a woman she cannot yet name, but she feels must have been her maid.

You might concoct a means to speak to the lady’s maid.

Lady Emma recalls the maid’s disapproval of one of their party’s actions.

This may have been nothing significant, for her ladyship does not yet know the identity of the person or when this occurred, but as it was the first memory of her life before the attack, I would imagine it more significant than her ladyship believes.

Richard said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Emma’s continued recovery, but he was sorry not to have been with her when the memory arrived, though he knew with confidence that Lord Aaran Graham was a person who could show empathy in such a situation.

We were crossing the open field leading to the road upward to the lodge.

As you might imagine, Beaufort had awakened before we reached the turn off to the lodge.

I heard him speaking to Lady Emma, but I said nothing.

You know me to be a listener, so I did not interrupt until Lady Emma became silent.

She was sitting on the coach’s seat with her eyes closed.

I quietly asked her if she had experienced another memory, one of the scent of flowers, for such can be quite powerful in triggering the recall of details.

Scent is a universal salve in that manner.

Her ladyship began to tell Beaufort and me of the bulbs of yellow lilies that her mother had presented her before Lady Emma left Europe.

She had planted them the day after arriving at Donoghue House and has tended them ever since.

Apparently, Lady Donoghue has never lived in her husband’s London home, and Lady Emma wished to cherish the lilies and the memory of her mother.

The day of her ladyship’s attack, the flowers had been purposely ripped from the ground.

She recalls being on her knees attempting to return them to the flower bed, but someone made to know an end to her efforts.

Likely such was part of the dirt you described as being upon her gown when you discovered her.

I would venture to say Lady Emma’s attack did not begin in Covent Garden. –AG

Richard reread the last paragraph again. “Mr. Walters, I will be going out again, after all. Could you see that Mr. Yardley is dressed as me and seen often at my bedroom window while I am gone? Meanwhile, send Mr. Kane to me. I will require something simpler to wear.”

“Immediately, my lord.”

Richard had waited until near midnight before he exited the house.

Yardley made a great show of standing at the window near the front of the house while Richard crossed the garden on silent feet and made his way through the alley in the direction of Donoghue House.

The Donoghue property was less than a mile removed from his own house, and so he walked the distance, using the service alleys, customarily claimed by tradesmen to deliver goods to the many great houses in the area.

Periodically, a dog barked its objection to his disturbing the animal’s sleep or a horse neighed its greeting from one of the coaching houses serving several of the homes on a street, but, generally, the alleys were quiet, while the streets of Mayfair still had a steady flow of society coming and going.

At length, he approached Lady Emma’s home.

Over the last year, his feet had often led him to walk before Lady Emma’s house.

Sometimes more than once a day. Richard was not proud of his actions, and he had assuredly never spoken of his obsession with the woman, to anyone, for that matter.

However, at this moment, he was glad he had acted so foolishly.

He knew something of the garden and the look of the house’s fixtures, enough so that he easily found the right house and the correct gate.

Unlatching the mechanism, he let himself in through the gate in the walled garden, pausing to study the house.

It was dark, as if nothing unusual had happened to its mistress.

The idea that those inside had not protected Lady Emma angered him.

He suspected many within had taken advantage of their young mistress.

It was one thing for a loyal servant to “guide” a young master or mistress in learning responsibilities in running the house and establishing guidelines for the servants.

It was quite another for them to ignore or refuse to protect those who paid their wages.

If he and the lady married, many within would be in for an awakening for how this matter was handled.

Carefully, Richard eased the gate closed behind him with an ominous clank of the latch.

Though he could see no unusual shadows in the moonlight nor any lights on in the house, he had the feeling someone watched him.

If there was someone, the person would never be able to identify him, and he was capable of incapacitating an attacker with the simplest of holds and strikes.

Like other houses in this part of Mayfair, Emma’s house had been built to show three stories above ground and servant quarters below.

He knew the front sported white columns and cast-iron trimmed windows and a four-foot fence in the front and a five-foot bricked wall in the rear.

Several large trees provided shade in the summer and raised the stepping stones with their gnarled roots.

There were spots of color in the flower beds that would bring anyone solace.

Henry’s Garnet sweetspires wrapped their branches about several large urns which held a variety of low-growing flowers.

He wondered when the plants had been placed in the ground.

Was there a gardener? Did Lady Emma assist in tending the plants?

When Richard was young he had enjoyed watching his mother, who was known to oversee the plantings at what was now his country estate.

The gardens were full and colorful at Orson Hall in town, but, even so, Richard had always found them too sterile.

No spontaneity. He would love to see his children choosing the flowers for the various flower beds surrounding his home, even if there was no rhyme or reason to the planning.

He ran his fingers along the brightly painted pots as he followed the narrow path of stepping stones. At last, he discovered the area devoted to a variety of lilies. Richard knelt before the area which appeared more ruggedly formed than the other plant beds.

Though it was dark in this part of the garden, Richard could tell the bricks had been rearranged, changing the shape of the bed.

The fact that the bricks had recently been moved was obvious, for those simple red bricks left marks in the dirt.

Lined up, end to end, over time, their outlines were formed in the earth.

Moreover, someone had rearranged the shape of the bed.

It sat further from the walking path than did the other flower beds.

“ Odd ,” he thought. “ There are no yellow lilies among those in the bed .” He looked all about him, but no other areas could be seen where any lilies showed.

“ As lilies grow from bulbs ,” Richard reasoned.

“ After five years, there should be dozens of the yellow ones in this bed. When I look at the size of what would have been the semicircle, the yellow lilies would have been plentiful, and they would have been at the front of this display. Let us say, Lady Donoghue gave Emma a dozen or more bulbs, in five years, one must assume there would be, at least, sixty of the plants. The yellow ones were not returned to the earth. At first, I thought, perhaps, only the original ones were removed, but there are none in this bed. Naturally, I must have a look at the other beds before drawing any further conclusions, but I would bet the flowers were destroyed in the confrontation between Lady Emma and her attacker. The curved part of the brick line is now nearly heart-shaped, where it once, obviously, was the arc of a semicircle. Where the heart slants on both sides to form a ‘V’ was where the yellow lilies were once located.” Richard held no doubt his assumptions would prove true .

“ Things continue to make little to no sense. Even though I know the result of what surely was a confrontation between Lady Emma and a still-unknown man, the natural order of how people operate in their daily lives has known an aberration in this matter. Let us say, Lady Emma and another person, a gardener, perhaps, or someone yet to be named, argued over the lilies. Then, why would someone go so far as to strike her ladyship over and over again and then transport her body to Covent Garden? Why risk it all for a few flowers? Lady Emma’s attack continues to make little sense.

“ Follow the trail ,” he murmured as he stood. “ Another clue. At least, I am now relatively confident that the attack did not occur in Covent Garden. Though I must still discover why no one in Lady Emma’s household attempted to stop someone beating her so thoroughly. ”

Richard began to work his way along the various pathways to prove his assumptions correct before retreating to his own residence to mull over all he had learned this evening.

Until he knew whether Lady Emma regularly worked in the garden, he could not confront someone.

First, he must learn whether her ladyship employed a gardener of her own.

Though Richard was not inclined to consider the person a paid servant, he must know with certainty.

Many in these fine houses shared the expense of a gardener with one or more neighbors, so the man could live elsewhere.

And if not a gardener, had Lady Emma entertained a gentleman caller in her garden?

Richard did not like the idea of the woman being pursued by another man.

Such would go a long way in explaining why no one from the house had come to her rescue.

If a wealthy and powerful lord pursued her, Lady Emma’s servants would not have interfered in an argument between the two.

“ Yet, when I consider how Lady Emma had stood toe-to-toe with Lord Norvent, I cannot help but wonder if someone with fewer scruples than Norvent might have taken advantage of her preference for gardening. Norvent had made her the object of scorn, but a commoner, especially one not living by a code of chivalry, could easily have become too angry at her disparagements or those of the women with whom she associated and struck out against her, when he should have walked away .”

“Then there is the possibility she had buried something other than lily bulbs in the bed. Something important enough nearly to cost Emma her life,” he mused aloud as he again closed the gate behind him and returned to the silence of the night.

Richard would not be satisfied until he held her in his embrace once more and knew she was safe.

“ I think it important I learn more about the people Lady Emma has employed in her household, especially since her governess departed ,” he concluded.

“ I should also learn why, when the governess left, did Lady Emma not at least employ a companion. As much as I do not want to enter the halls occupied by her blue-stocking acquaintances, I should learn what others have to say of the lady .”