“Wait there.” She returned with a handful of coins and thrust them into Molloy’s hands. “Berkeley Square-number twenty-four-and use this for a hack. Mrs. Westerman’s in the same place.”
Harriet heard the knock at the door as she was finishing dressing, and expected her sister to come in when she issued the invitation, but was surprised to find it was Daniel Clode who had entered the room.
“Mr. Clode!” she said, and dropped the comb she had been fastening her hair with in surprise.
The young man hesitated a second, then stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Mrs. Westerman, forgive the intrusion, but I wished to have some private conversation with you. I have been speaking to your sister.”
Harriet turned back carefully to her mirror and made another attempt with the comb. “If it is regarding an engagement with Rachel, you know you have my hearty approval, but I had hoped you might wait, given the state of my husband’s health, before speaking about that.”
He took a step farther into the room. “No, it is not that. But I suppose it touches upon it.”
Harriet finished with her comb and turned toward him. The candlelight made the red of her hair glint as if it had its own fire. She never powdered it when they dined at home. “If you come to bring further weight to bear on me regarding my behavior, I wish you would not trouble yourself. The business, it seems, is successfully concluded. We have, we think, found who is responsible and will inform those who need to be informed this evening. There our involvement in the matter will end.”
“No, not that either. Really, Mrs. Westerman, if you wish to know what I have to say, it would be as well to let me speak!”
Harriet was silent.
“Thank you. It is simply this. Miss Trench has, I feel, placed far too much weight on what damage any totally unreasonable remarks may be made from the steps you have taken in this, and in previous matters.” He blushed and looked at his boots. “Madam, I have the honor, in relative youth, to be one of the men trusted with the affairs of one of the great estates of the country. I handle many legal and financial matters for the estate of Thornleigh.” He lifted his hands and said with a sigh like a man abandoning a prepared speech, “Really, Harriet, you could dress as a heathen and ride a donkey from St. James’s to the Pulborough Hotel and you will do me not one ounce of damage. As long as my association with Thornleigh continues, I shall have to spend my best efforts avoiding the kindnesses of every person of quality in the neighborhood, rather than searching them out. Rachel underestimates the force of the Thornleigh name, seeing it embodied in Jonathan and Susan rather than in the estates and investments held in their names, and I have just told her as much.”
The image of herself dressed as a heathen and the loving exasperation in Clode’s voice drew a laugh from Harriet. “Oh Daniel, I thank you. But I fear I may be an awkward sister to have. Graves would probably agree with Rachel. He was angry with me yesterday.”
“Nonsense. Well, perhaps. But know this: Owen would defend you and your actions to the bitter end. To you he will voice his concerns, but if anyone else spoke of you in terms of less than respectful admiration, he would horsewhip them. As would I.”
Harriet felt a warmth creeping through her body. “And what of the damage I do my daughter?”
Clode grinned at her, and Harriet almost wished herself young again. “I understand Lady Susan herself has given you her own assurance on that point.”
Harriet stood and placed her wrap around her shoulders, then crossed the room to take his arm. “You are perfectly correct. Clode, I am glad you are here.”
“I hear the captain improves.”
“It changes from day to day. This morning he was well, but last week he called me a whore and a spy and drove me from his room.”
“I am very sorry to hear that, madam.”
She sighed then patted his hand. “But in general, I believe he improves. Now take me down to dinner. In a few hours all this shall pass away from us and we may concentrate on more suitable occupations. Crowther suggested at one point that if I couldn’t sit still, perhaps I could devote my energies to writing religious tracts.”
“Dear God!” said Clode. “I presume he was trying to read his paper at the time?”
Harriet laughed again.
“I’ve never ridden in a carriage before, Mrs. Bligh.” Sam knew the urgency of their journey, but the novelty of watching the streets pass at such a pace was too bright a thing not to be loved and held tight.
“Do not. .” said Molloy from his corner, and briefly removing a toothpick from his mouth “. . get used to it.”
Jocasta allowed herself a half smile in the darkness. “Tell Molloy what you found today, Sam.”
“Yes, do. And give me my knife back.”
Sam passed it across with some reluctance. Molloy looked at the blade and tucked it into his waistband.
“Not stuck any malefactors with it then, I see?”
Sam lifted up his chin. “Maybe I just wiped it after, Mr. Molloy.”
“Ha! You improve upon acquaintance, young one. Now tell me who you found.”
Sam settled into the corner of the coach. “There’s a boy spends time round the kilns. Gets pennies off them for bits of work, and sleeps there most nights for the warmth. He’d seen it. Said it was the woman what did it. Raised the rock and brought it down hard.”
“And the rest.”
Sam rubbed his nose hard on his sleeve. “He said he started peering because he heard them arguing like. When he looked, he said the girl was pulling away and shaking her head, but Fred was holding onto her hand and being all pleading and that’s when Mrs. Mitchell picked a brick up and struck her.”
“Did he not think to tell anyone?” Jocasta asked.
Sam wrapped his thin arms around himself. “He was scared. Ran away for a few days, but it’s cold, so in the end he went back. He’s littler than me.”
Jocasta felt a pang of memory tickling her throat and thought of the rainy fell all those years ago, her trembling and confusion. She hunched her shoulders in the shadows.
“You got a name for him? A promise to bide where he is?” Molloy said.
“Yes, sir. He is called Evan. And I gave him the rest of the sugarcane the cobbler’s wife bought for me, and a promise of another if he waits till I come again. He’ll bide for that.”
8
Though they did not as yet know the particulars, the household realized that Harriet and Crowther’s investigation into the affairs of His Majesty’s Opera House had reached some sort of conclusion. That, and the arrival among them of Mr. Daniel Clode, made for something of a holiday atmosphere as they went in to dinner. It was one of those rare moments when it seemed everyone in the company was looking at each other with satisfaction and affection. The women, from little Lady Susan to Mrs. Service, looked beautiful, the men handsome and wise.
“We received cards from Mr. Harwood, Mrs. Westerman,” said Graves, pushing the game pie toward her over the tablecloth, and spilling gravy onto it in the process. “Manzerotti is to give a benefit tomorrow night, and all profits of the occasion are to go to the Foundling Hospital in Mademoiselle Marin’s name.” Harriet helped herself to the food, but made no immediate comment. “I suppose,” Graves continued, “that it is a civilized gesture. But it seems terribly quick.” He examined the air in front of him, full of candlelight. “Perhaps they were afraid the town’s supply of yellow roses and paper would have become completely exhausted, were they to delay any longer.”
“Perhaps,” Harriet said mildly, and allowed herself to watch Clode and Rachel for a moment. Clode was talking to Crowther, or rather listening with furrowed brow as he encouraged Crowther to talk, and Rachel was making some remark to Mrs. Service about the egg dishes, made with the latest consignment from Caveley, but their delicious consciousness of each other was touchingly clear. Harriet had a slight pang for Lady Susan. The little girl loved Rachel dearly, but was likely to become rather quiet when Clode was in the room.