Lord Scoundrel Dies (16 page)

‘Too right it is. An’ I know just who I’m
speakin’ to. You’re Mr. Lampfroth, you are.’

‘Lamp
forth
,’ Charlie corrected him,
refastening his breeches. He was, of course, deeply disturbed at
being accosted in such a manner but the large amount of alcohol he
had swallowed deadened his sensibilities, somewhat. He felt more
surprised than anything else. ‘And I fail to see what we could
possibly have to discuss.’

‘Yers well, that’s where you’re wrong, my
fine laddie. A little bird told me that you paid a visit to a
certain lord.’

Charlie was bewildered. ‘Why shouldn’t I
visit people?’

‘Well this ‘ere was a special visit on
account of ‘is lordship bein’ dead an’ all.’

Being dead…? Light dawned for Charlie and he
found himself going cold. ‘What are you talking about?’ he croaked,
although by now it was uncomfortably obvious what was being
discussed.

The gentleman with the knife thought so too.
‘You know what. You was seen, weren’t ya?’

‘I was?’

‘Indeedy you was. You been a very bad
boy.’

‘The hell I have.
I
didn’t kill him,’
Charlie protested. It clearly did not pay to discover a body for
all sorts of unpleasantness followed.

‘That’s what you say. I don’t care about
that.’

There was a small pause. Charlie didn’t
quite know what to say. What was the point of this meeting? Clearly
somebody had seen him entering Lord Sutton’s house. Or had he been
seen leaving? Had they also seen Miss Honeywood and Lord Talisker?
Prudence seemed to suggest that he leave them out of it.
Considering the amount he’d had to drink he only hoped that he
could show some.

‘Allowing for the fact that I was actually
there in the first place… what do you want?’

‘I
don’t want nuthin’. I’m only here to pass on a
message’.’

‘Oh?’ Charlie swallowed. He was all
attention.

‘Yers. I’m to tell ya that somethin’ was
taken from that ‘ouse and somebody wants it back again, being as
‘ow it belongs to them.’

‘Who wants it back? And
what is
it
?’

‘Never you mind who wants it back. An’ it’s
a necklace. Fancy thing, lots of blue stones.’

Charlie mentally went through the items that
Miss Honeywood had shown him. He seemed to recall several
necklaces. ‘It’s going to be returned. All of the things are going
to be restored to their owners.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ There was a snort. ‘An me old ma
is the queen o’ France.’

Charlie thought this was very unlikely, just
as he thought it unlikely that the fellow sticking that bloody
knife into him wouldn’t believe anybody who had been fortunate
enough to come across something valuable was planning on returning
it to its rightful owner. He could quite see his point of view, he
just didn’t want to stand at this damned trough all night. He was
astonished that they had been left alone for so long.

‘Look, whoever it is will get it back. It
would be helpful if you could tell me their name. Just to hurry
things along.’

‘I ain’t tellin’ you no names. You can bring
the pretty to the old priory gate in Richmond Square tomorrow.
Leave it behind the urn, third from the left.’

Charlie blinked. Urn?
Priory gate? ‘My good man, I am far too drunk to remember
all
that
. Frankly
I’d be hard pressed to do so when I’m sober,’ he protested. ‘Can’t
they just call around in the afternoon and collect it?’

‘No they can’t. Just listen! Priory gate,
Richmond Square, third urn from the left at two-thirty. You got
it?’

‘Not really.’

‘Just be there. Or I’ll pay you a little
visit an’ I’ll bring my friend along.’

‘You have friends?’ Charlie
said, quite without thinking. The knife, until then perfectly
quiescent, dug in a little and he gave a yelp of surprise. ‘Would
you
be careful
with that thing?’

There came a chuckle and the knife, along
with his persecutor, stepped back. ‘I think you know who my friend
is guv. Don’t disappoint me now, orlright? The necklace tomorrow…
no excuses.’

There came a thud and the sound of voices,
along with a waft of cold night air. Charlie swung around
ponderously but the doorway was blocked by several gentlemen coming
in with such haste that they momentarily jammed shoulders in the
narrow entrance. Both men were far from happy.

‘Why did you lock the door? I thought the
wretched thing was jammed,’ Lord Philpot said, hurrying forward,
unbuttoning his breeches as he did so. ‘A fellow could have had a
nasty accident, holding on like that.’

‘D-damn right,’ Bertie Foyle stammered, hot
on his heels. ‘It’s a b-b-bloody mess out t-there! Piss everywhere.
I’ve got muck all over my boots.’

Which undoubtedly explained why they weren’t
interrupted. His visitor had somehow blocked the door, denying
others access. Charlie ignored the complaints and left to go in
search of Mr. Truelove. He’d had more than enough entertainment for
one night. What he really wanted was paper and something to
scribble with before his wretched brain forgot what it had been
told. He had an uneasy feeling that already the words were leeching
away; another ten minutes and he wouldn’t remember a word.

And then there’ll be the
devil to pay. If I don’t stump up with that necklace, that bloody
footpad is likely to come find me and stick a knife into my ribs.
Typical that somebody saw me. Half of London must have decided to
turn up at Sutton’s that night
.

Counseling himself not to panic, he tried to
focus, which was jolly difficult when he’d had a skin full. He
needed to remember those instructions. Tomorrow morning, he would
knock up Miss Honeywood and get hold of the necklace with a lot of
stones and by two-thirty – or was it three? Dear God! He needed to
put it where it was expected to be found.

It was an unpleasant end to what had been a
very pleasant evening. Damn Sutton for making life so difficult.
Even in death the man was a bloody nuisance. There were probably
all manner of people out there who were determined to reclaim their
wretched pieces and if they suspected that he had been
present...

Why hadn’t the inherent
risk occurred to him before? He paused, taking a handkerchief out
of his pocket and mopping his brow. No need for histrionics, he
chided himself firmly. After all, Miss Honeywood had the necklace
in question. They…
he
… would simply put it where it was supposed to be and that
would be the end of the matter. Soothed by this assessment of the
issue, he decided to toddle off home and comfort his fractured
feelings with a dose of brandy in front of the fire.

And after a sleep, which he
sincerely hoped would clear his befuddled brain, he’d sort the rest
out. ‘Priory gate at Richmond Square,’ he muttered anxiously.
‘Never heard of either of ‘em. Oh bloody
hell
.’

Aubrey found himself undergoing a surprising
change of heart regarding Harriet Honeywood, which was strange as
she had done nothing particularly redeemable to promote such a
thing. She was still a handful, of that he had no doubt. But
perhaps she could be excused on the grounds of an education that
was lacking? A moment’s thought told him that, no, she had probably
received the same grounding in female deportment as any other young
lady. It was just that in Miss Honeywood’s case, it had not taken
as it should.

Not that it was any concern of his. When
they returned the items she had taken from Sutton’s house then that
would be the end of their relationship. Although, he reflected as
he watched her dance (she had said something that made her partner,
Mr. Fishbourne, throw back his head and laugh), he supposed it
wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on her after the event. Girls like
Harriet Honeywood were far too inclined to fall into scrapes.
Although, he amended wryly, he actually didn’t know any females
like Miss Honeywood. She was rather unique in his experience. God
only knew, the man that took her on in marriage would be taking on
a headache unless he somehow found the means to rein her in.

Despite his disapproval of her suggestion
that they ride together across the heath, Aubrey found that he was
actually looking forward to it. He loved to ride the heath where he
could reasonably expect to avoid all and sundry for an hour or so
and just get on with the pleasure of riding. What kind of rider
would Miss Honeywood be? Competent, he expected. She might be young
but the girl radiated a quiet confidence that was rather
refreshing.

‘You really do seem smitten
with her,’ Celeste said, almost wonderingly. ‘Good heavens, Aubrey.
She is exactly
not
the kind of girl I thought you would choose.’

‘And what kind of girl did you have in mind
for me?’ he enquired, knowing full well that there was no point in
denying any romantic interest in Miss Honeywood, not after tonight
and his insistence that she come. And then of course there was that
prolonged, public conversation. ‘Oh wait, I know the answer to that
one. Miss Beauchamp.’

‘Well it was not writ in stone that it must
be her, but yes, I did think your viscountess would be a certain
way. Not that there is anything wrong with Miss Honeywood,’ Celeste
added hastily. ‘She is quite charming. So unaffected.’

‘She is very unaffected,’ Aubrey agreed
gravely. ‘But you are leaping forward, my dear. I am merely
interested in getting to know the girl better.’

‘Men don’t demand to have girls invited at
the last minute if they are merely interested in that,’ his
sister-in-law said tartly. ‘If they did it would be virtually
impossible to arrange numbers.’

He hesitated, knowing full well that he had
erred in his insistence that Harriet come tonight. But he had been
impatient to stop her from doing anything even more foolish and
trying to return de Veer’s chits to him had seemed like a very
dangerous enterprise to undertake. Still, by inviting her here
tonight he had acted rashly and he suspected that Miss Honeywood
had every reason to be annoyed with him; they would surely become
the subject of a great deal of speculation. That was the problem
with dealing with the girl. She made him forget his usual
considered approach to things and act imprudently. In the past he
had never had to deal with such a situation. There were reasons why
Lord Talisker employed a large and competent staff, the main one
being that he did not have to trouble himself with inconvenient or
tedious situations.

The situation he found
himself in was not tedious but it certainly was inconvenient. Once
again he heard Mr. Fishbourne’s braying laugh and frowned.
What
was
the girl
saying to him that was so amusing?

‘Ask her to dance if you do not like her
partner,’ Celeste teased him softly.

Aubrey shot her a quelling glance. ‘And
generate even more talk?’

‘Too late for that now. The die is cast.
Like it or not, you and Miss Honeywood have become an item to be
hotly discussed over the breakfast table.’ She lightly tapped him
with her fan. ‘They will have you married off in a month. It seems,
my dear, that matrimony has finally caught you up. Should I offer
my congratulations?’

‘I think I would prefer it if you shut up,’
Aubrey replied crossly, his temper not improved by the knowledge
that he’d been a complete fool. He had made an error in judgment.
It would take weeks to recover but he suspected he would not bear
the brunt of it.

Just as she had made his life uncomfortable,
Aubrey suspected he had made Miss Honeywood’s very trying
indeed.

Chapter Seven

Harry woke the morning after Mrs. Finch’s
‘intimate’ soiree and spent some time reflecting on the evening
that now, thankfully, lay behind her. Echoes of that evening were
likely to resonate for some time to come but hopefully, the ripples
would die down after a week or so. She would make very sure that
she was not seen with Lord Talisker on their ride and wondered if
turning up heavily veiled would look too peculiar. At the very
least, she would try and ensure that her giveaway hair was
concealed from prying eyes although with any luck, nobody would be
close enough to notice.

The night before had convinced her that
discretion was most definitely the way to move forward in any
further dealings with Lord Talisker.

While Harry could say that
she had never actually lacked for partners at social occasions, her
popularity certainly seemed to have expanded the night before and
she had received a great many requests to dance. It seemed that
Lord Talisker had been right; her cache
had
received a boost. Being the
object of interest to such an eligible man seemed to make her the
object of interest to a great many others as well.

Which had been profoundly inconvenient when
all she wanted was to blend into the background.

She had been trying to find a moment when
she could slip Miss Messingham’s bracelet into her reticule, a
process that had proved remarkably effective with Lady Astor’s
debts. Unfortunately getting a moment in her company had proved
troublesome. Olivia Messingham was a popular young lady who was
rumored to have snared the interest of an earl. Coupled with
Harry’s own sudden rise in status, it had been well nigh impossible
to snare a private moment with the girl, hampered as she was at
every step by somebody trying to draw her into conversation. Either
she had been dancing or Miss Messingham had been dancing or one of
them was accosted by somebody. It had been extremely
frustrating.