"I have succeeded in getting her attention, I will say that much for my efforts. The Angel is proving the very devil to woo, however. But Scruggs has supplied me with a great deal of useful information about her tastes and opinions. You would not believe the sort of books I have been reading lately in order to make conversation on the dance floor. Even had to plow through one of yours."
"I'm honored. Speaking of Scruggs and related matters, how is Sally?"
The amusement vanished from Peter's expression. "Physically, she is growing extremely frail. She really will not last much longer. But she has taken a keen interest in tracking down details of Lovejoy's background for you."
"I got your letter last week saying there was very little information available," Harry said.
"The man has an unexceptional past, to be sure. Last of his line, apparently. At least there are no close relatives that Sally or I could discover. Estates in Norfolk seem profitable, although Lovejoy does not appear to pay much attention to them. Some investments in mining, too. Excellent record as a soldier, good at cards, popular with the ladies, no close friends, and that is about it."
Harry swirled the claret in his glass and considered the matter. "Just another bored ex-soldier seeking to amuse himself with an innocent lady of the ton, is that it?"
"I fear so. Do you think he was attempting to provoke a challenge? Some men enjoy the sport of the dueling field." Peter grimaced in disgust.
Harry shook his head. "I don't know. 'Tis possible. But I had the feeling his goal was to put me off the notion of marrying Augusta altogether rather than provoke a challenge. It was as if he wanted to discredit her in my eyes."
Peter shrugged. "Probably wanted her for himself."
"Sally told me Lovejoy did not start paying any marked attention to Augusta until her engagement to me was announced."
"I told you once that some men enjoy the challenge of seducing another man's woman," Peter reminded him.
Harry mulled that over in his mind, unwilling to let the puzzle drop. But there were other, more pressing riddles. "Very well. My thanks, Sheldrake. Now I have a far more interesting task to set you. I believe I have found a clue that may point us in the direction of the Spider."
"The devil you have." The glass in Peter's hand made a sharp cracking sound as he set it down on the desk. His blue eyes were riveted on Harry. "What have you got on that bastard?"
"He may have been a member of the old Saber Club. Do you recall it?"
"Gone. Burned down a couple of years ago, did it not? It was not around long."
"Correct. What we need," Harry said as he opened the desk drawer and removed the bloodstained poem, "is a list of the members."
"Ah, Graystone," Peter murmured as he took the small sheet of paper from Harry's hand. "You never cease to amaze me. May I ask how you came by this?"
"No," said Harry. "You may not. Suffice it to say we would have had our hands on it two years ago if Crawley had not been the one sent to make inquiries after a certain suspicious incident."
Peter swore. "Crawley. That bumbling idiot?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Ah well, what is done is done. Tell me what this means."
Harry leaned forward and started to talk.
Betsy was fastening the clasp of the ruby necklace around Augusta's throat when the urgent knock came on the door of the bedchamber. She went to answer it and frowned when she saw the young maid hovering anxiously in the hall.
"Well, what is it, then, Melly?" Betsy demanded imperiously. "Her ladyship's busy gettin' ready to greet her guests downstairs."
"I'm sorry to bother her. It's Miss Fleming. I'm 'avin' a terrible time. Her ladyship told me I must help her get ready for the evenin', but Miss Fleming don't want 'elp. She's in a frightful takin', she is."
Augusta got up from the dressing table, the skirts of her deep golden gown swirling about her golden satin slippers. "What on earth is the matter, Melly?"
The young maid looked at her. "Miss Fleming won't wear the new gown you ordered, ma'am. Says it's the wrong color."
"I will speak to her. Betsy, come with me. Melly, run along and see if any of the other maids need help tonight."
"Yes, ma'am." Melly scurried off down the hall.
"Come along, Betsy." With her maid at her heels, Augusta swept along the corridor and flew up the staircase to the next floor, where Clarissa's bedchamber was located.
At the top of the stairs she nearly collided with an unfamiliar young man wearing Graystone's black and silver livery. "Who are you? I've never seen you around here before."
"Beg pardon, your ladyship." The young man looked flustered and embarrassed at having nearly run down his mistress. He was heavily muscled and the livery strained across his shoulders. "The name's Robbie. Got taken on two days ago as a footman to help out with the house party."
"Oh, I see. Well, run along, then. They'll be needing help in the kitchens," Augusta said.
"Yes, your ladyship." Robbie hastened off.
Augusta continued on down the hall and came to a stop in front of Clarissa's door. She pounded loudly on it. "Clarissa? What is going on in there? Open the door at once. We have very little time."
The door opened slowly to reveal a besieged-looking Clarissa who was still wearing her wrapper. Her graying hair was tucked into an old muslin cap. Her mouth was set in militant lines. "I shall not be coming down, madam. Do not concern yourself."
"Nonsense, Clarissa. You must come down. I am going to introduce you to my uncle tonight, remember?"
"I cannot possibly come down to join your guests."
"It is the gowns, isn't it? When they arrived late this afternoon, I was afraid you would be concerned about the colors."
At that an astonishing glimmer of tears appeared in Clarissa's handsome eyes. "They are all wrong," she wailed.
"Let me see them." Augusta marched to the wardrobe and opened the door. An array of gowns hung there, all in deep jewel tones. There was not a slate gray or dull brown one in the lot. Augusta nodded in satisfaction. "Just what I ordered."
"What you ordered?" Clarissa was astounded. "Madam, I allowed you to talk me into new clothes for your house party, although as you know I held strong opinions on the impropriety of a governess attending such an event. But I distinctly told that silly dressmaker that I wanted everything done in dark, subdued shades."
"These are dark shades, Clarissa." Augusta fingered a deep amethyst silk and smiled. "And they will look divine on you. You must trust me on this. Now hurry and get dressed. Betsy will help you."
"But I cannot possibly wear such brightly colored gowns," Clarissa said, looking frantic.
Augusta fixed her with a stern expression. "You must remember two things here, Miss Fleming. The first is that you are a member of his lordship's family and he will expect you to dress appropriately for this evening. You would not want to embarrass him."
"Oh, good heavens, no, but…" Clarissa broke off, her expression hunted.
"The second is that my uncle, even though a scholarly sort, has been living for some years now in London and has grown accustomed to a certain style among the women of his acquaintance, if you see what I mean." Augusta crossed her fingers on that last bit.
She had a hunch Sir Thomas would not notice whether a woman wore sackcloth or silk, but it would not hurt to have Clarissa make a good impression. And she knew how badly Clarissa wanted to impress Sir Thomas. At this point Clarissa no doubt had only intellectual passions in mind, but Augusta had hopes for a more fundamental relationship developing between the two. Getting Clarissa into a flattering gown was only prudent.
"I see." Clarissa drew herself up, her eyes going to the array of new gowns in her closet. "I had not realized your uncle held opinions on female style."