The rake mistake, p.6
The Rake Mistake, page 6
“Of course you deserve a respite,” Philippa said soothingly. “You’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be out from underfoot for the next fortnight.”
“What?” Mother screeched. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To visit Lady Quarrington,” Philippa replied calmly.
Her mother gaped at her like a fish out of water, then visibly calmed.
“That is a good idea,” Mother said with rare approval. “The marchioness is a fine influence. She may even be able to find you a suitor. Doesn’t she live next door to the Strathmore estate? Both sons are still unwed. They may be in residence.”
“Might they? What a coincidence,” Philippa murmured.
“Take a chaperone,” Mother commanded. “Not your usual attendant—Octavia dresses you well, but she is far too young and lets you get away with too much poppycock.”
“Er,” said Philippa. “I’ll take... Great-Aunt Wynchester.”
Mother and Great-Aunt Wynchester both made twin strangled noises in their throats.
“Very well,” said Philippa. “I’ll take Great-Aunt Wynchester and Octavia. Between the two of them, they’ll never let me out of their sight. In fact, I’ll be taking the entire reading circle with me.”
“Oh?” Mother gave a pointed look at the tea tray she hadn’t been invited to share, then back to Philippa. “In that case, I shall join you.”
“It isn’t necessary for you to take such a journey. In fact, perhaps this will be the moment Lady Quarrington and I put our quarrel behind us. My cousin and I—”
“—shan’t resolve a single thing without me there to guide you,” Mother said firmly.
“I thought you had plans with your friends? You find mine so vexing. Wouldn’t it be more relaxing to—”
“If I don’t go,” Mother said, “I suppose I shall spend my time organizing the parlor. So many dusty books clogging our perfectly nice shelves. I am certain I can put things to rights.”
Philippa’s teeth shut with a click. This was not an empty threat. The last time she had defied her parents, some of Philippa’s most treasured rare illuminated manuscripts were sold off, and the contact information of the buyer “accidentally” lost.
“Very well.” She forced a smile. “Shall we pack our trunks?”
Chapter 7
“A free-standing turret for no reason.” Elizabeth turned in a slow circle, spyglass in hand. “We must have Baron Vanderbean erect one at home posthaste.”
Philippa, the Wynchester women, and half of the reading circle gathered in Lady Quarrington’s elegant belvedere fifty feet behind her house.
The two-story tall, open structure offered stunning panoramas from all angles, but most pairs of eyes were trained on the half-acre Strathmore property next door. Great-Aunt Wynchester handed Philippa a spyglass.
Instead of a belvedere, the Strathmore garden boasted an open rotunda, large enough for musicians to perform whilst protected from inclement weather by the curved dome overhead. Wrought-iron garden chairs were to be set up surrounding the rotunda, so that all guests would have an equally fine view of the performance.
There were no such chairs visible at the moment. Just the gorgeous garden, with its famed row of bright hibiscus and lilac bushes that attracted hundreds of colorful butterflies in certain months, and a lovely pergola with sweet-smelling honeysuckle covering the latticed roof and tumbling artfully down.
Gracie was not here to enjoy the view. She was indoors with an unfeigned megrim. This morning’s scandal columns had once again mentioned the hairpin belonging to Lord Rotherham’s mystery lover. Gracie was being careful to keep out of sight lest Rotherham spot her and suspect mischief afoot.
“When you said a hedgerow divided the two properties,” said Elizabeth, “I expected something... much taller than myself. This hedge is short enough for a trained horse to jump.”
“Our horses are trained to pull carriages,” Philippa said. “They can’t even jump over holes in the road.”
“Graham could jump it,” Elizabeth said. “He could do it standing on a horse.”
“Subtlety,” Chloe reminded her. “This case calls for discretion, not theatrics.”
“A waste of a good hedgerow,” Elizabeth muttered.
Their two brothers had accompanied them, dressed in white wigs and the black-and-gold Wynchester livery. Amongst the ton, it was fashionable for footmen to be a “matched pair”—similar height and build. The brothers could not look less alike.
Graham was taller, his natural ringlets floppier, his athletic body leaner, and his skin a golden bronze compared to his brother’s rich brown. Jacob’s shoulders were wider, his muscles more defined, his black curls freshly cropped, and his livery covered in… cat fur? Mongoose? Leopard? One never knew with Jacob.
As the Wynchester sisters’ “footmen,” the brothers were free to come and go without question. They were working on befriending the servants next door, as well as interviewing other townsfolk. Little passed without a servant learning about it. Which was how Graham had discovered the information about Gracie’s lost pin had arrived to the hands of the scandal columnist courtesy of a footman employed at Rotherham’s Brook Street lodgings.
Not that they needed more circumstantial evidence against him. What they needed was to find the stolen jewelry.
Philippa turned to Great-Aunt Wynchester. “I’m sorry I claimed you instead of my lady’s maid yesterday, with no warning. You had no idea what we were talking about, so of course you were taken aback. I wasn’t going to make you dress me.”
Great-Aunt Wynchester stared at her, wide-eyed.
“I was just thinking it would be easier to plot stratagems without Octavia hanging on every word,” Philippa continued. “Luckily, I’ve assigned Octavia to Gracie in the meantime, so we can scheme freely.”
“I’m going to have a stroll,” Great-Aunt Wynchester barked, then tottered away before anyone could stop her. She crossed the Quarrington garden toward the main road, forty yards from the belvedere.
“Is she heading toward... the Strathmore residence?” Florentia gasped.
“What in heaven’s name does she intend to do there?” asked Lady Eunice.
“God only knows,” murmured Chloe. “My brother Graham’s expertise is London, but he’s begun a new album for Kent. He adores any opportunity to add new intelligence to his collection.” She pulled a leather-bound journal from her wicker basket. “I have his notes on the Lords Strathmore and family.”
Damaris frowned. “Isn’t there only one Lord Strathmore?”
“At a time, yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “Graham’s research spans several generations.”
“What good can it do us to know... whatever he knows about Rotherham’s great-great-grandfather?” Florentia enquired.
“That’s the thing,” said Chloe. “You never know what you need to know until you need to know it. That’s why it’s always best to know as much as one can in advance.”
“From a certain perspective, that’s how our reading circle began,” Philippa said. “We didn’t start reading novels until recently. We were piqued that men have clubs and societies for every sort of scholarly topic, yet ladies’ brains are deemed too fragile to allow in.”
“So we made our own,” Damaris said. “Like the Royal Society, but better, because we’re in it.”
“Ooh,” said Sybil. “Can we be the Unroyal Society of Ladies Whose Brains are Better than Men’s?”
“No,” said Philippa. “Absolutely not.”
“I like it,” Florentia said. “But it won’t fit on a medallion. We need something shorter.”
“No brooches,” said Philippa.
She could not abide the heartache if her parents dismantled the group only for a brooch to arrive in the post, proclaiming her membership in a sisterhood that no longer existed.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed beyond the hedgerow. “Theodosia’s hairpin is somewhere in that house.”
Chloe nodded. “We presume. Graham has investigated all known fences, jewelers, and pawnbrokers, and found nothing. His contacts will continue to monitor the situation for news.”
“Rotherham has plenty of coin. Whatever his reasons for taking the hairpin, it wasn’t because he was starving in the streets. He may never intend to part with the pin.”
“I know from experience it can take far longer than you think to search for something that’s well hidden.” Chloe gripped the belvedere’s balustrade and grimaced. “Tommy and I once searched a simple town house for more than a month. This is ten times that size.”
Elizabeth leaned on her cane. “How long until the ‘welcome home’ gala?”
“One week,” Philippa replied.
“One week,” Sybil repeated. “To do what couldn’t be accomplished in a month. It’s impossible.”
“Pah,” said Elizabeth. “Wynchesters achieve the impossible three times a day.”
“Ladies!” trilled a merry voice from Lady Quarrington’s rear door. “I’ve brought tea!”
“Does your mother ever stop bringing tea?” Chloe murmured.
Philippa shook her head. “Only under duress.”
“It’s not even her house,” Florentia said, impressed.
“All houses are Mother’s house,” Philippa said. “Mayhap we should send her in to find the hairpin.”
Elizabeth brightened. “Would she?”
“She would not.” Philippa’s stomach soured at the thought. “She would inform Gracie’s family of her ‘unfortunate indiscretion’ and make the situation a hundred times worse.”
Just as Mother and a small army of maids bearing tea trays reached the belvedere, a large dog burst through the hedgerow and came bounding up behind her.
Mother shrieked and threw her hands into the air, causing several of the maids to do the same before they even ascertained the source of danger.
Cakes and sandwiches went flying.
The maids bearing trays of teapots managed to keep hold of their trays and their senses, and made identical expressions of aww to discover the disruption was nothing more than a friendly, ancient Alpine Mastiff…. who was deeply enjoying a sudden bounty of cakes and sandwiches.
“Get that mongrel out of my sight at once!” Mother demanded.
“It’s my dog,” Chloe called out. “And it’s a Mastiff.”
“Is it our dog?” Elizabeth whispered.
“I recognize the snuffbox strapped to his collar,” Chloe whispered back.
“I politely request Your Grace to get your beast under control!” Mother shrilled.
The beast in question was lying on his back in the grass, tongue lolling from his mouth in abject joy as one of the maids gave his furry belly a quick rub. The fur about his muzzle had gone white with age.
And there was indeed a snuffbox attached to his collar.
In all of the paintings and illustrations Philippa could recall, Alpine Mastiffs bore a sturdy wooden barrel attached to their collars, containing restorative fluids for snowbound travelers in need. Not a snuffbox.
Then again, the Wynchesters had never been ordinary before. Why would they begin now?
“Does your dog take snuff?” Philippa asked politely.
“It’s not for him,” Chloe said. “It’s for me.”
“You take snuff?” gasped Florentia.
She and the other ladies hurried down from the belvedere to the grass to meet the new arrival.
“Don’t worry about tea, Mother,” Philippa said. “We’ll return inside when we’re peckish.”
Mother harrumphed and stalked back into the safety of Lady Quarrington’s home.
Philippa would definitely receive a proper earful about this later.
“Don’t you worry about the tea, either,” Philippa said to her cousin’s maids. “Lay whatever is salvageable, and return to your posts with our apologies and deepest gratitude.”
The maids curtsied and entered the belvedere to arrange what they could of the tea.
Chloe knelt next to the Mastiff and popped open his snuffbox. A folded note tumbled into her palm.
* * *
Walk with me.
Zeus
* * *
“Well, that’s simple enough.” Chloe rubbed behind the Mastiff’s ears. “How do you do this fine afternoon, Zeus? Shall we have a little walk to pass the time?”
“How can we walk him anywhere?” asked Philippa. “He’s carrying a snuffbox, not a leash.”
“I keep a length of rope in my basket,” Chloe replied.
“Of course you do,” Philippa murmured. In case one needed to descend a steep cliff or the Tower of London.
At this point, if Chloe pulled a rhinoceros from her basket, Philippa oughtn’t even to blink.
“Enjoy the tea,” Elizabeth told the reading circle. “Chloe and I shall take this old boy for a meander.”
“And I as well,” Philippa said quickly. “Before my mother returns to stop me.”
Chloe tied her rope to Zeus’s collar and straightened.
Zeus remained on his back in anticipation of more belly rubs.
“Come on, Zeus,” Elizabeth coaxed. “Shall we hunt for squirrels?”
After much cajoling, Zeus lumbered back to his feet and ambled gamely around the house and down the drive to the road.
Rather than turn toward the Strathmore property as Philippa expected, Zeus and Chloe turned in the opposite direction.
“We’re not going to casually stroll past Lord Rotherham’s residence?” Philippa enquired.
“Zeus is leading,” Elizabeth answered. “If we were meant to go another way, there would have been a signal.”
“Like what?” Philippa asked.
Chloe shrugged. “You know it when you see it.”
Philippa was not at all certain she would correctly interpret any signals coming from the Wynchesters.
As soon as they rounded a low brick wall, putting them out of sight from both stately homes, including the Quarrington belvedere, two figures in white wigs and black-and-gold livery emerged from a hedgerow.
“Attack,” said Chloe.
Zeus flopped to the ground belly-up, as if awaiting stomach rubs.
“Attaque, s'il te plait,” Chloe tried again.
Zeus sneezed and flopped onto his belly, giving his tail a single flick before closing his eyes.
Chloe arched her brow at her brothers. “Is Rotherham supposed to be frightened of this ancient dog?”
“Kent was too far to travel with a python or a Highland tiger,” Jacob explained.
“Or a python and a Highland tiger, which was Jacob’s first plan,” Graham added.
“It was a good plan,” Jacob muttered.
Philippa blinked. “With a what?”
Jacob knelt beside Zeus and fed him a scrap of dried meat from his pocket. “Have you heard from—? Oh, here she is.”
Philippa turned to see Great-Aunt Wynchester hobbling up the road.
“Maps.” Great-Aunt Wynchester handed a sheaf of papers to Chloe.
Graham did the same. “Schedules.”
“Excellent work,” Chloe said as she studied each page.
“Er,” said Philippa. “Maps of what?”
“Exterior maps of the house and grounds,” Chloe replied. “Height, width, and location of doors and windows, distance from other object and landmarks. The usual.”
“And the schedules?”
“Staff schedules,” Graham explained. “The times of day different servants take and leave their posts, where they’re expected to be and what they’re expected to do, and when. That sort of thing.”
“Oh,” Philippa said faintly. “Of course.”
“Any surprises?” Elizabeth asked.
“One.” Graham’s brown eyes sparkled. “Despite rejecting Lord Rotherham’s suit, Miss Ipsley is a dear friend of the family. Not only was she invited to the gala, Miss Ipsley has already accepted her invitation.”
Chloe whistled. “Awkward.”
“Rumor has it, if he begs her hand again, she’ll cut him no matter who is present.”
“He deserves as much,” said Philippa. “A man in love should not be scurrying about stealing kisses and hairpins and trysting with other women.”
Graham inclined his head. “By all accounts, Miss Ipsley shares those feelings precisely.”
“What now?” asked Elizabeth. “We spend the next week refining our reconnaissance?”
Great-Aunt Wynchester pulled her spectacles from her wiry hair. “We need to get inside. We have to map the interior of the house. The paths to, and the escape routes from, Lord Rotherham’s private chambers and anywhere else he’s likely to frequent. Visibility, squeaky floors...”
“There’s a small garden party in two days,” Graham said. “Tea, violins, that sort of thing. Philippa, can you obtain an invitation?”
“I can arrange one for myself,” she said. “Being Lady Quarrington’s cousin and guest ought to do the trick. But I won’t be able to beg invitations for twenty other people.”
“Mayhap just two more?” Elizabeth winked at Chloe. “The Duchess of Faircliffe and her dear aunt?”
Philippa nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Chapter 8
“But—But—” Mother flapped her hands in dismay at the sight of Philippa’s reading circle tying bonnets on their heads at the front door. “I thought we might all sit down with poor Miss Kimball for a cup of tea!”
Gracie would rather the reading circle make progress on her problem.
With less than twenty-four hours remaining before tomorrow’s garden party reconnaissance mission, this might be one of the ladies’ final opportunities to discuss stratagems with the Wynchester brothers.
Philippa touched her mother’s elbow. “I’ll have tea with you when we return from our walk, if you like.”
Mother jerked her arm away.
“I can have tea with you whenever I please,” she hissed. “Try to think of your poor mother once in a while. You’re always monopolizing Lady Eunice’s time.”
Ah. So it was not fellowship that she sought, but proximity to higher rank.
Mother’s eternal quest, and the reason for her continued disappointment in Philippa.
