Damsel in Distress Page 5

  “Where did you hear about it?” she asked.

  “At St. James’s. The odds are five to one you are innocent, if that makes you feel better.”

  “I see the gentlemen are more lenient than the ladies,” she said with a tsk of annoyance. Now she was a subject of gossip at the men’s clubs. Was there no end to her shame?

  “The cats have been cutting you, have they?”

  “Not the cut direct. Let us say they have been avoiding me.”

  “I hope you know you can always count on me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Talon. I appreciate it.”

  Newt soon returned. Caroline thanked Mr. Talon and saw him out of the box before quizzing Newton. “Did you discover who she is with?” she asked him.

  “I loitered outside their box, pretending I was waiting for someone. They left the door open. They all took their masks off except Lady Helen, once they were in their box. There was an older, respectable-looking lady with them. Not Lady Milchamp. I did not recognize the dame. Dark hair with a bit of gray on the sides. A sharp-faced lady, but not actually hatchet-faced. The chit called her Mam’selle Blanchard. The lad was a handsome rogue, a Frenchie. She called him Bernard. There was another couple as well. A good-looking lady they called Renée, and a gray-haired gent with her. Foreigners, the lot of them, except for Helen. They was all parlaying the bongjaw.”

  “French? I wonder who they could be.”

  “That is as much as I could discover.”

  “You have done well. How on earth did Lady Helen escape her chaperon? You may be sure Dolmain has no idea she is here. Let us follow them when they leave and make sure she gets home safely.”

  “She ain’t wearing any diamonds, if that is what concerns you.”

  Caroline blinked. “Are you hinting that this Bernard fellow is the thief? What an interesting idea!”

  “Except he wasn’t at Castlereagh’s last night. Never saw him before. Pity they was all rattling off the bongjaw. I could not make heads or tails of what they was saying.”

  “Helen’s mama was French,” Caroline said, wondering if this was of any importance. How could it be? The lady had been dead for over five years. And as she had left England in 1802, when Helen was only seven years old, the girl would have very little recollection of her mama. No, this was all irrelevant. The necklace had disappeared in Lady Castlereagh’s parlor last night.

  “Let us have your carriage called and wait outside to follow Lady Helen when she comes out,” Caro suggested.

  “Sure you have had your fill of low life? Mean to say, you have not had a jig yet.”

  “Another time. This is more important.”

  “Just as you wish,” Newt said. He took an uninterested look around and said, “A dandy place.” Then he finished off one glass of wine, looked unhappily at the nearly full bottle, and rose.

  He had his carriage called and ordered his groom to wait half a block down Oxford Street, ready to follow when he gave the signal. It was not long before a blue domino came out, accompanied by Bernard but no chaperon.

  “That’s them right enough,” Newt said, and gave the drawstring a jerk to signal his groom to follow the carriage.

  “Imagine the chaperon letting that child go unaccompanied in a carriage with a strange man,” Caro scolded. Despite her disgust with Dolmain, she could not let his innocent young daughter fall into the hands of some roué. After her experience with Dolmain, her sentiments were all on the side of innocent ladies.

  “We don’t know he’s strange,” Newt pointed out. “Mean to say, he might be a cousin for all we know.”

  “That is true, but we shall keep close behind them. If he tries to spirit her off—”

  Newt reached into the side pocket and drew out a pistol. “I always come prepared,” he said.

  “An excellent idea. Julian told me I should always keep a pistol in the carriage.”

  It was almost a letdown when the carriage proceeded at a stately pace directly toward Lord Dolmain’s mansion on Curzon Street. It stopped half a block away, however. Newt’s groom pulled to a stop at the corner. They waited for five minutes, the tension mounting higher by the moment. Caro was struck with awful images of the poor girl struggling with an amorous man.

  “I am going to see what is happening,” she declared, and opened the door.

  Just as she alit, the other carriage door opened and the man assisted Helen from the rig. Caro was overcome with curiosity. She wanted to learn what was passing between the two. She scanned the dark street, and thought she might approach Dolmain’s house without being seen in her dark domino. She would not walk on the street, but stay close to the two intervening houses. By running, she reached the house next door to Dolmain’s before Helen and her companion. A stand of tall yews grew in front of the house. She darted behind it, just at the outer edge of the house, and listened.

  The conversation between Lady Helen and her friend was by no means amorous. “You are sure she is all right?” Helen asked in a worried voice. She spoke French, but Caro caught the gist of it. “She can come to London, now that she has the money?”

  “She will be here soon.”

  “How soon? When can I expect her?”

  “Very soon. We shall be in touch. You must go now. Be brave, ma petite.” He squeezed her fingers and left. Caroline waited, wondering if the girl would go into the house alone. How would she explain herself to the butler? The girl took a key out of her purse, unlocked the door, and walked in. Nothing further could be learned, so Caroline hurried back to Newt’s carriage.

  “Where the deuce was you?” Newt asked. “I was half of a mind to go after you.”

  “I was eavesdropping. Let us follow Bernard.”

  Newt pulled the drawstring, but when they turned the corner in pursuit of Bernard, two similar carriages were on the road in front of them. One of them turned at the next corner. They followed it for a block; it stopped, and a party of four got out and went into a house.

  “We’ve lost him,” Newt said. “Pity. Shall we take a run back to the Pantheon and see if Blanchard and the others are still there?”

  “No, I think not. I am more interested in Bernard.” She told Newt what she had overheard as they drove to Berkeley Square. Newt went in for a drink and to discuss what they should do.

  “Lady Helen said, ‘Now that she has the money.’ I wonder what she meant by that,” Caroline said.

  “And who ‘she’ is,” Newt added, tugging at his ear.

  “It could be anyone.”

  “I daresay it is.”

  “It must be someone she is very eager to see in London, though.”

  “A friend or cousin,” Newt suggested. “Lady Helen must have sent blunt to someone. Kind of her.”

  “Yes, if that is what is going on.”

  “No mention of the necklace?”

  “Not a word. She seems remarkably unconcerned for a young lady who has just misplaced a necklace worth a fortune.”

  An idea was scratching at the back of Caroline’s mind. It was so devious, she hardly liked to express it, but she had to wonder if the money Helen spoke of had come from selling the necklace. That would mean Lady Helen had hidden the necklace and only claimed it had been lost or stolen to get the money without Dolmain becoming suspicious. But would the girl give so much money only to assure the company of a friend or cousin? No, she must be mistaken. Besides, the necklace could hardly have been sold so quickly. It had only gone missing the night before.

  The whole affair was very odd. Caroline was extremely loath to call on Dolmain. She would rather have a tooth drawn than speak to him, but she felt it her duty to inform him that his daughter had been at the disreputable Pantheon, and come home alone in a carriage with a man. She also disliked to tattle on the girl, but if Helen were her daughter, she would expect her friends to do no less. Bernard might be anyone, a gazetted flirt, a fortune hunter, a rakehell.

  She decided she would write to Dolmain rather than call on him. Helen was safe at hom
e, so she would write her note tonight and have it dispatched early in the morning, to ensure Dolmain’s receiving it before he went to the House.

  “A taking little thing, Lady Helen, ain’t she?” Newt said, with a moonish look on his face that revealed he was once more on the trail of a wife. “A mile above me, of course. I could not hope to win her with a ten-foot pole.”

  “She is a minx. I do not trust her above half.”

  “I like those green eyes,” Newt continued. “Not cat eyes. I don’t care for a cat’s eye in a lady’s face. More like a dog’s eye really. Friendly. I wonder if she would like to go for a drive tomorrow.”

  Caro did not think there was much danger of Lady Helen accepting the offer. She had seemed quite vexed with Newt for destroying the buckle of her slipper the evening before.

  “You can ask her,” she said with a shrug.

  “P’raps I will. Well, I am off. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Bernard. I wonder if that is his first or last name, I know a Bernard Tyson, and a George Bernard. Odd, that.”

  “Do let me know if you discover anything.”

  Newt finally left, and Caroline wrote her note to be delivered to Dolmain early in the morning. She left the note with Crumm, then went to bed, where she tossed and turned for an hour before falling into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Caroline looked so pale the next morning after her poor night’s sleep that she resorted to the rouge pot before going downstairs. She felt certain Dolmain would call in person, and did not want him to see how much he had hurt her. She chose a gold-and-green striped lutestring walking dress in the latest jet of fashion to give her confidence. She would behave with cool civility, and when he left, she would not spend her day hiding her head and repining as if she were guilty, but would go on the strut on New Bond Street.

  The rouge gave her a touch of color, but nothing could give her an appetite. She did not even lift the lids of the hot dishes on the sideboard, but accepted a cup of coffee and sat, sipping it, waiting for Dolmain to come. Her note to him had given no details; she merely said she must see him urgently on a most important matter. If he assumed it had to do with the diamonds, that was his business.

  He came at a quarter to nine, trying to suppress a smile of triumph. Caro assumed he had heard of her disgrace at Lady Brockley’s ball; he thought she was going to beg for his help. Who could have told him so soon? And why the deuce should he be smiling about it?

  He bowed and came in, “Good morning, ma’am. I had your note. I see you are ready to act sensibly now, after last night’s fiasco.”

  She greeted him with a cool “Good morning, Dolmain. Good of you to come,” and nodded him to a chair. He chose to sit not across from her, but beside her. “Who told you?” she asked, reining in her temper,

  “I stopped in at Brockley’s around midnight and heard you had been frozen out. Everyone spoke of it. Naturally I squashed the rumor, to the best of my ability. It will be laid to rest for good and all when we are seen out together this evening.”

  A dangerous spark glowed in her eyes. “You are too kind, but I did not invite you here to gloat, milord.”

  “If that is the impression I gave, then I am sorry, but I did tell you—”

  “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so,’ in that perfectly odious way,” she said angrily.

  His lips drew together and his nostrils pinched in disdain. “Then perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me why I have been summoned here when I am really extraordinarily busy at the House.”

  “I thought I ought to tell you your daughter was at the Pantheon last night and returned home in a carriage with a man, unaccompanied by a chaperon,” she said bluntly, purposely avoiding the kinder word, “gentleman.”

  Dolmain’s color heightened from tan to a flushed rose. “Nonsense,” he said firmly. “You are mistaken. I might have known you had not the sense to go home, when you were snubbed by society, but only exacerbated the matter by running off to the disreputable Pantheon, to mingle with rakes and rattles and lightskirts.”

  “And your daughter,” she added coldly.

  “My daughter was not there, nor should you have been. Julian was always a deal too lax with you.”

  She was on her feet, eyes shooting sparks. “I am surprised you think me out of place with lightskirts. And how dare you criticize my husband! He was not a toplofty bore like you, to be sure. He knew how to enjoy life. And for your information, I never attended the Pantheon when Julian was alive.”

  Dolmain did not stand up, but put his hand on her arm and lightly pushed her back onto her chair. “Then it is strange you should go now. It is no fit place for anyone who calls herself a lady.”

  “I agree it is not the thing, but if it was questionable for a lady of my years and experience to attend, accompanied by a trusted cousin, then you must own it was much worse for a debutante to be there with a man no one has ever heard of.”

  “Helen attended a musical soiree last night with Miss Blanchard, her French instructress, who makes her home with us. The concert was in aid of the French émigrés. Helen interests herself in their cause, because of her mama.”

  “So that is who Miss Blanchard is!” Caroline exclaimed. “But why on earth did she send Helen home alone?”

  Anger, and perhaps fear, momentarily robbed Dolmain of common sense. He said in a loud voice, “I don’t know what you hope to gain by spreading this malicious slander, but if you repeat it outside of this room, I shall—”

  “Accuse me of stealing your necklace?” she shot back. “You have already done that.”

  “I did not accuse you! I have told everyone who quizzed me that I was convinced you are innocent.”

  “They never would have suspected me in the first place if you had not gone bruiting it about town. And if I planned to spread the truth about your daughter’s being at the Pantheon, I would hardly have called you first to inform you. I acted out of the kindness of my heart, for I felt you would naturally want to put a stop to it. She was there, I tell you. I followed them to see the scoundrel did take her home, and not spirit her off to Gretna Green—or worse. This is the thanks I get.”

  “This is impossible,” he said, flinging his hands about in consternation. “Helen hasn’t a mischievous bone in her body. Anyone will tell you she is a studious girl, well behaved.”

  “And headstrong. What I say is true. Mr. Newton was with me. You can ask him. There was a Miss Blanchard there, but she did not return to Curzon Street with them. The man—Bernard was his name—took Lady Helen home. Not in your carriage, by the by. She let herself in with a key. The butler must have seen her.”

  “My butler was ill in bed last night. Miss Blanchard took the house key with her. Helen was aware of it, of course. I did not question what carriage Miss Blanchard planned to use. I assumed it would be my older town carriage, as I had taken my new one myself when I went out.”

  “There was no crest on the carriage. We tried to follow Bernard when he left your house, but lost him at the corner. Are you interested to hear what else I learned?”

  His darkling stare was enough to send chills down her spine, but she tossed her head boldly and stared him down.

  “What is it?” he demanded impatiently.

  She told him about the money Lady Helen had mentioned, and that she hoped to see someone, some woman or girl, in London. “Have you any idea who it could be?”

  He tossed up his hands in confusion. “There was a neighbor who was repining that she could not make her bows, but Helen is hardly in a position to send her that kind of money. And how would Mary explain it to her mama? No, it cannot be that. You must have misunderstood. How did you come to overhear this conversation?”

  She was reluctant to tell him, but no other means of having overheard it occurred to her, so she told the simple truth. He stared at her as if she were a Bedlamite. When she finished, he hardly knew whether to thank her or tell her she was mad. But he did believe she was telling the truth. What had
she to gain by such a bizarre story?

  “If Miss Blanchard has so far abandoned her duties as to do what you say, then naturally I shall dismiss her. It is hard to believe she would behave so irresponsibly. She came to us highly recommended and has given three years of more than satisfactory service.”

  “I am only telling you what I saw, and heard.”

  He rose stiffly. On this occasion, Caroline had not offered him coffee. “I thank you for your—intervention,” he said, biting back the word interference. “In future it will not be necessary for you to follow my daughter. I cannot like to think of you pelting through the streets, hiding behind hedges and eavesdropping on private conversations on my account. I shall undertake to see that Helen behaves properly.”

  “You are welcome,” she said, and mentally added, It will be a cold day in hell when I put myself out for you or your daughter again, sir.

  Before leaving, he stopped a moment, then said, “Was Helen wearing a mask last night?”

  “Yes. I don’t believe anyone else recognized her, but it was most assuredly Lady Helen.”

  His face, which had already shown signs of strain when he arrived, was positively haggard now. He drew a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over his jaw.

  “I am truly grateful that you kept an eye on Helen, and told me. I simply do not understand what she can have been doing there. It is entirely out of character.”

  Caroline felt a weakening urge to console him. “Perhaps there is some simple explanation,” she said.

  “There must be an explanation, but I doubt it can be simple. I really am extremely sorry I made such a pother about the necklace—that I mentioned your name, I mean. In the turmoil of losing it, I was demmed indiscreet in my questioning of Lady Castlereagh and her servants. It would ease matters for you if you would let me escort you somewhere tonight. I should enjoy it. Let us go out together,” he said eagerly.