Page 11 of The Ruin of Miss Amelia Burrowes (The Matchmaker’s Ball #4)

Nearly a week later, Nathan sat in the taproom at an inn near Luton, only a mile from the Carrington ancestral estate. He’d been knocking around the area for several days, gathering as much information about the estate and its inhabitants as possible and had finally had a piece of luck last evening. Answering his question about the estate servants, the barmaid had told him he should speak with Giles Saunders, who used to be the coachman for the young Lord Carrington who’d died. Nathan had managed to send a message, via the lass, and now sat drinking a pint, waiting for the man to appear.

Weary with the search, but determined to see it through, Nathan prayed Mr. Saunders had real information. He’d heard from Amelia that she and the ladies had found nothing in Mary’s lodgings in London. The nearby tenants had all changed from ten years before and even the landlord didn’t remember a Mary Adams after so long. Marcus had remained in London to continue his chaperonage of his sister but had made inquiries about Carrington to several of his friends at his club who remembered the man. This, unfortunately, had turned up nothing useful. Mr. Saunders looked more and more like their last hope.

An older man, tall and a little stooped, entered the taproom, peering about the dim interior as if looking for someone.

“That’s him, your lordship.” Molly, the barmaid, had come up behind him. “Mr. Saunders,” she called to the man, who smiled at her when she beckoned him over. “Lord Ainsley, this is Mr. Saunders who worked for the Carringtons. This here’s Lord Ainsley, Mr. Saunders.” She smiled encouragingly at the man, whose gaze shifted nervously from her to him.

“How do you do, Mr. Saunders. May I buy you a drink?” Nathan nodded to Molly, who hurried away.

“Why do you wish to speak to me, your lordship? I’ve not worked at the Carrington estate for more than ten years. Not since the young master died.”

“And before that, how long had you been with the family?”

“All my life, my lord. I started there as a stable lad.”

“But you left? Why?” Nathan had sized the man up as a decent chap but would’ve assumed he’d remain in a good post with the family he’d served so long.

“New master brought his own coachman and grooms. Turned the whole lot of us off.”

“Ah.” Nathan nodded. That did happen from time to time. “I am sorry to hear that. You found another position, I trust.”

The man shrugged. “I’ve made do the last few years.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Molly set a pint of ale on the table, and Nathan nodded to Mr. Saunders, who took a cautious sip.

“Mr. Saunders, I’ve come to ask you if you remember a housemaid who worked for Lord Carrington, a Mary Adams? Molly here seemed to think you might know something about her.”

“Why’re you asking, my lord? She’s not in trouble, is she?” A keen concern appeared on Saunders’s face.

“No, no trouble. I simply need to talk to her about a service she may have done for my betrothed some years ago. She was Miss Burrowes who was to marry Lord Carrington.”

“Ah, Miss Burrowes.” Saunders smiled and nodded, suddenly more at ease. “She was a sweet lady, my lord. My master was very fond of her indeed. Shame he died before they could wed.”

“Yes, it was unfortunate.” Nathan pressed on: “Do you remember Mary Adams, Mr. Saunders? It would be particularly helpful to Miss Burrowes and me if we could locate her.”

“Oh, aye, my lord. I remember Mary well. I was sweet on her until she left the family’s service.”

Praise God, perhaps their luck had changed. “And you wouldn’t happen to know where she went when she left?”

“Aye, my lord. Mary told me she was going to London. Said she’d have better opportunity for work there.” Saunders’s eyes shifted away from him. “Said she’d got a better prospect than marriage to a coachman.”

Closing his eyes, Nathan sighed. All roads led to London as far as Mary Adams was concerned, and there they all stopped. “We’ve inquired at her lodgings in London, Mr. Saunders. Unfortunately, she’s not been there for almost ten years. No one remembers her.”

Frowning, Saunders lifted his glass. “She didn’t stay in London then?”

“Apparently not.”

“You might look for her at Toot Hill, in Essex.” Mr. Saunders tipped the glass up, taking a long pull.

Nathan caught his breath. “Toot Hill?”

“That’s the village she came from. Her aunt was in service with the Carrington family. She got Mary her place here. If Mary’s scheme in London didn’t work out, she might’ve gone back home.”

Hope raised its head.

“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Saunders.” Rising, Nathan put half a crown on the table. “For your trouble, sir. I am off to tell Miss Burrowes we may find Mary yet.”

“Good luck, my lord.” Mr. Saunders raised his glass to Nathan before downing it.

With a real measure of confidence finally in his heart, Nathan hurried out of the taproom. He’d be packed up and on his way in half an hour. Although his first instinct was to go straight to Essex, he’d be in trouble if he didn’t return to London to inform Amelia and the others. Besides, Amelia would need to go with him to persuade Mary, if indeed they found her, to part with the letters. If she still had them. They were still in a hobble, but perhaps, with just a bit more luck, they could find a way out.

As he tossed clothing into his valise, Nathan’s spirits rose. He’d be home by this evening and in Amelia’s company again tomorrow. His body stirred, showing its ever-present desire. Not long to wait now, with the wedding just days away. And the possibility of Amelia’s vindication at last within their grasp. Yes, today had been a good day, and with God’s good grace, there would be a lifetime’s more.

* * * *

Two days later, Amelia stood with Nathan before a pretty little cottage on the edge of the village of Toot Hill. They’d arrived an hour ago and had just made an inquiry at the only public house there. The innkeeper himself had given them the direction to Mary Carr’s cottage.

“Do you think it’s the same woman?” Amelia straightened her shoulders, trying not to fidget. The fate of her reputation might lie with a woman who didn’t even remember her.

“I think the name is a bit too much of a coincidence for it not to be.” Taking her arm, Nathan gently urged her toward the door.

Out of nowhere, two shrieking little boys appeared, pelting down the dirt road toward the cottage.

Nathan pulled her back as the imps chased one another around the yard.

The door to the cottage opened, and a woman in her late twenties stepped out the door. “Johnny! Willie! Stop that caterwaulin’ or Willie goes back to his Da’s.”

The two lads slid to a halt right in front of them. The larger of the two boys, the one with dark hair, turned, and Amelia gasped.

“Yes, Mam,” he called to the woman. “C’mon, Willie. I’ll race ya to the big oak tree.”

“Ah, you’ll not beat me again.” The two took off back up the lane.

“What is it, Amelia? You’re trembling.” Nathan took her arm once more.

It couldn’t be, and yet, somehow, it was. She shook her head, still unwilling to believe what she’d seen then turned to gaze at the woman standing in the doorway. “That’s her. That’s Mary Adams.”

The woman, who’d put a hand up to shield her eyes from the late morning sun, apparently recognized Amelia as well, for she clapped her hands over her mouth, spun around, and disappeared into the cottage.

“Come on.” Amelia stalked to the door, raised her hand to knock, then dropped it to the latch and stepped inside, Nathan right behind her.

Mary Carr stood in front of the fireplace, her hand over her face, shoulders shaking.

“Hello, Mary.”

Straightening and wiping her eyes, Mary came toward her. “Hello, Miss Burrowes.”

“This is my betrothed, Lord Ainsley.”

The woman’s eyes rounded, and she curtsied quickly. “Beg pardon, miss. M’lord.”

“Do you know why we’ve come, Mary?”

Slowly, the woman shook her head. She looked near tears again.

“I need the correspondence you kept between me and Lord Carrington. The letters, Mary. Do you still have them?” Fighting the urge to shake the woman, Amelia held her breath.

“Some. I still have some of ‘em.” She glanced toward a small desk in the corner.

“Thank God.” In his enthusiasm, Nathan spoke a little loudly, causing Mary to jump.

Amelia sighed in relief. “May I see them, please?”

“What for?”

For the first time, Amelia became aware of the real fear in Mary’s voice. “I need them to clear my name, Mary. People have said very bad things about me and Lord Carrington. I want to prove they are not true. The letters will do that.” She looked beseechingly at the frightened woman. “Will you please help me, Mary?”

Wringing her hands, Mary looked away from her, her distress mounting. “If I give you those letters, she’ll know I told someone. She’ll stop the money she sends each year.”

“Money to pay for your son’s upkeep?”

Mary nodded. “She’s sent it like clockwork each year on Johnny’s birthday.”

“I saw him in the yard. Your son’s very like him, isn’t he?”

Nathan frowned. “Like who?”

“Jonathan…Lord Carrington.” Sighing, Amelia wound her arm through Nathan’s. “That was the child he was asking after before he died.”

“Good Lord.” Nathan stared at her then at Mary then turned to look at the cottage door, as if he could see the boys through it. “Which one?”

“The dark-haired boy.” Amelia sighed, not knowing quite how to feel. The child had existed. Only it hadn’t been hers. “I knew the moment I saw him.”

Frowning furiously, Nathan swung back around. “So who’s been paying you, Mary, to be quiet about your son all these years?”

The frightened woman hung her head.

“Lady Carrington, I suspect,” Amelia answered for her. “She was always a high stickler, and I suppose she believed that if she paid Mary to be quiet, no one would ever hear about her son’s indiscretion. Everyone assumed I’d had the child of whom he spoke, which put the blame squarely on me.” The bitter taste in her mouth made her ill. “Jonathan was never censured, even though he was believed to be the father.”

“The ton would think it bad form to revile the dead.” Nathan put his arm around her. “Mary, may we have the letters please?”

“But I’ll be in a bad way if she stops the money, my lord.” Tears were again trickling down the woman’s face. “I’ve no way to support us here.”

“Do not fret, Mary. I believe I can ensure that Lady Carrington does not miss a single payment for the rest of your life.” Her betrothed’s calm voice drew Amelia’s attention.

“What scheme do you have in mind, my dear?”

“A little friendly persuasion that may kill two birds with one stone. Mary, the letters, if you please.” At his sharp command, the woman hurried toward the desk.

“I only saved his letters, miss.” She drew out a sheaf of papers, dark yellow with faded writing. “They were something of his, you know? I couldn’t read ‘em, but I could hold ‘em and know that once he’d held ‘em too.” She handed the bundle of letters to Amelia. “I was carryin’ his child when I came to London. He said we could see each other more if I was in town.” She ducked her head. “He said even after he got married, we could be together if I was discreet. But then he died.” The heartbreak in her voice was pitiful. “I didn’t know what to do, so I had my aunt tell Lady Carrington. She came to visit me the once, after Johnny was born. She told me to come back here, to Toot Hill, to say nothing to anyone about the baby, and she would take care of us.”

“And I promise you, Mary, she will continue to do so. Let me have those, my dear.” Nathan plucked the letters out of her hands. “I also promise that when we have no further use for these, they will be returned to you, Mrs. Carr.”

“Thank you, m’lord.” Mary wiped her eyes again.

“Goodbye, Mary.” Her last illusions about Jonathan now crumbling about her, Amelia wanted nothing more than to flee the cottage and wash her hands of him forever.

“Good day, madam.” Nathan doffed his hat and led Amelia out of the cottage into the sun-filled afternoon.

Once they had gone a way down the lane, Nathan dropped the letters to the ground, swooped her up in his arms and twirled them around until Amelia’s head spun.

“Nathan, stop. What are you doing?”

“I am celebrating our victory, my love.” Laughing, he continued to spin around.

“Well, you had best put me down or I will cast up my accounts all down your backside.” With a final chuckle, he set her on the ground, where she wobbled until the earth stopped moving. “So you believe these letters will allow us to regain my reputation?”

“I do.” He grinned and recovered the letters.

She frowned. “But you haven’t even read them yet.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Nathan, what are you planning to do with them?”

“Meet with an old acquaintance of yours who, I guarantee you, will help us recover your reputation.”

“Lady Carrington?”

“Lady Carrington.” He put his arm around her. “Come, my love.” He kissed her with so much passion her legs went wobbly again. “Your life in Society is about to begin again.”