Charles felt his eyebrows go up. “It was your impression that she agreed to be engaged to Lord Northcote?”
Alfred nodded. “And then she came here, and a few days later, Lord Northcote came, and it didn’t seem like-” He stopped. “I mean, it seems like Miss Deacon and His Grace-” He was flushing from jaw to temple. “Miss Deacon… well, she was very cool to Lord Northcote, and warm to His Grace, if your lordship will forgive me.”
“Yes,” Charles said. “Yes, indeed. I see.” This whole affair was beginning to seem extraordinarily complicated. He took a deep breath and turned to the butler. “You said that Kitty Drake went off without notice. When was that?”
The butler drew himself up. “The housemaids are not my responsibility, as I am sure your lordship is aware. But I believe that it was the beginning of this week. I-”
“It was Friday, sir,” Alfred interjected, “which would be nearly a week ago. And she left without saying a word to me, which she would not have done, I’m sure, sir, and without asking for her wages. And she left her trunk, too, Ruth says.”
“Ruth?” Charles asked.
“Another of the housemaids,” Stevens said.
“Her roommate,” Alfred put in. “And she met somebody at the Black Prince, a man with a red beard, m’lord, and I’m thinking that-”
“Alfred,” Stevens said firmly. “Lord Sheridan has a great deal to do just now. If he wishes to know further details of this housemaid’s precipitous departure, he will ask to be informed. Now, go back to your duties.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Charles said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Yes, helpful. The evidence against Northcote might be circumstantial, but it was very strong, Charles thought regretfully. Very strong indeed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.
Winston turned away from the window as Charles Sheridan came back into the Duke’s study.
“Marlborough was feeling indisposed,” he said apologetically. “He said to tell you that if you have additional questions, he’ll be glad to speak with you later.” Marlborough had not been quite so accomodating-he had, in fact, said that Sheridan could go to the devil and stay there, by damn-but Winston wanted to put his cousin in the best light. This was family business, after all. The honor of the Marlboroughs was at risk, and a mistake could come at a very high price.
Sheridan sat down in the leather chair the Duke had vacated. It appeared to fit him far more comfortably. “It’s just as well,” he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out his pipe and a pouch of tobacco. “I need to talk something over with you, Winston. Confidentially, if you don’t mind.” He looked down at the pipe. “May I smoke?”
“Of course,” Winston said, with a wave of his hand. He sat down in the other chair and took a cigar out of his pocket. Lighting it, he stretched out his legs, feeling that it was very lucky that Charles Sheridan was here, and able to help with this matter of Gladys Deacon. They had to do all they could do to keep her disappearance private, out of the hands of the police and away from the newspapers. He glanced up at a portrait of the first Duke, hanging over the mantel. He had to do all he could, and the responsibility this imposed on him was suddenly almost overwhelming.
“How may I help you, Charles? I’ll be glad to do anything I can. Anything,” he repeated with a special emphasis.
“I asked the butler to inquire among the footmen about the events of last night,” Sheridan replied. “One, a chap named Alfred, reports that Northcote had a conversation with Miss Deacon in the garden last night, about half-past ten. Northcote appeared to Alfred to be ‘inflamed.’ Miss Deacon seemed ‘cool.’” Sheridan applied a match to the tobacco and pulled on the pipe. “The same footman reported that he saw Northcote leaving Blenheim, bag in hand, about twelve-thirty this morning. It was a rather abrupt departure.”
“Ah-ha!” Winston exclaimed. He jumped up excitedly and began to pace. “Well, that throws a new light on the matter, doesn’t it?” He spoke around the cigar jutting out of his mouth. “Northcote is behind Gladys’s disappearance. He either persuaded her to go with him, or he carried her off. Damn the man! It took some nerve to do something like this at Blenheim, right under Marlborough’s nose.”
On the other hand, Winston reflected, he should not be too angry, for Botsy might have done them a great service, quite unintentionally, of course. Confronted with what had happened, Sunny would have to see the true Gladys Deacon: a duplicitous woman who was capable of engaging herself to one man while at the same time entangling the affections of another.
“Northcote must certainly be considered,” Sheridan conceded, “although I’m not sure we should jump to any conclusions just yet.” He drew on his pipe. “What can you tell me of the man?”
Winston took a turn in front of the fireplace and summarized what he knew. “His family have property in the Midlands-mines, I believe. First Battalion, Scots Guards, invalided out during the Boer War. Never married, reputation as a ladies’ man, known to be hot-tempered, especially when he’s had too much to drink.” He paused, dredging in his memory for anything else, and came up with it, something quite satisfying, too. “Said to have landed himself in a spot of trouble two or three years ago with Lady Luttersworth’s youngest daughter.” He grunted. “Exactly the sort to carry off Miss Deacon, with or without her consent.”
Sheridan looked up quickly. “What kind of trouble?”
“No idea, but I’m sure I can find out. Cornwallis-West knows the man quite well, I believe. They were in the same regiment. Would you like me to do a spot of checking?”
Winston topped the ash from his cigar into the fireplace. He had not yet come to terms with his mother’s marriage to George Cornwallis-West, who was only sixteen days older than himself. But when she announced her decision to marry, just five years after Lord Randolph’s death, the Churchills’ approval had ratified the business, so what was Winston to say? That he distrusted George? That he was jealous of his mother’s love for this ridiculously young husband? But Jennie Churchill (as she would always be to him) and George Cornwallis-West had been married for three years now, and Winston was learning to make the best of something he could do nothing about.
“I think it would be helpful to have more specific details about Northcote’s background,” Sheridan said. “If I might impose upon you, Winston, I’d be grateful if you would go to the railway station and inquire as to whether he may have left Woodstock by the early morning train. It goes at six, according to Stevens.” He puffed on his pipe. “You will, of course, want to find out whether he was alone or accompanied, and learn anything you can about his destination. And if you know his London club, perhaps you could check and see whether he has gone there.”
“Certainly,” Winston said. “Is there anything else?”
“Northcote is said to have left here at twelve-thirty, on foot. He was not likely to have gone far. Perhaps you might inquire at The Bear-it’s the nearest accomodation-or the Marlborough Arms. If he asked for a bed at that late hour, it’s bound to be remembered.”
“Alone and on foot,” Winston mused. “If Gladys didn’t go with the fellow, where the devil is she? What did he do with her?” He shook his head. Yes, on the one hand, Northcote might have done them all a favor. On the other, this was the sort of thing that led to newspaper stories and scandalous rumors and trouble for the family. “Damn and blast, this is a bad business.”
“Yes,” Sheridan replied gravely, “and it may even be worse than we think.” There was an expression on his face that Winston could not quite read, a mixture of apprehension, concern, and something else-interest, was it, or intrigue? At some level, the man looked as if he found all of this, well, stimulating. “There’s something else I must ask of you, in complete confidence,” he went on. “I think the Duke should not be bothered about it at the moment, so I am turning to you. I hope you can help.”