Nicola Cornick (27 page)

Westwood, appearing oblivious to any tension in her manner, threw his gloves and cane in the general direction of Fordyce and sauntered past him into the room. The butler’s figure was stiff with rage. He had already intercepted Westwood in the hall and intimated that Alicia was not receiving, only to be told that she would see family.

‘How are you, Alicia?’ Westwood enquired affably. ‘Fordyce said you were not at home, but I knew you would see me!’

Fordyce’s mouth turned down even more in disapproval. Alicia looked at him with resignation.

‘Thank you, Fordyce,’ she said austerely. ‘And I am not at home to visitors.’

Westwood, in the process of divesting himself of his coat and hat, brightened to hear this. He had been very unsure of his welcome, for Alicia had been as cold as ice to him since he had made the scene in the Bingleys’ ballroom. However, if she wished to be private with him it must augur well. He sat down close to her in a way Alicia found tiresomely proprietorial and she deliberately got up, choosing a seat as far away from him as possible.

Westwood did not appear discomfited. He picked up the letter from the desk, looking at its designation without even concealing his interest. Alicia stood up again, crossed to the desk, then with great deliberation took the letter from him and put it in a drawer. She resumed her seat to turn on him her most bland and superficial smile.

‘Is aught amiss, Alicia?’ Westwood’s bright grey eyes dwelt on her with interest. ‘You seem a little troubled this afternoon.’

‘I am perfectly well, I thank you,’ Alicia snapped. ‘However, I have just heard that my cousin Josiah has died, which is why I am not receiving.’

Westwood raised his eyebrows. ‘So Josiah Broseley is dead, is he? I am sorry to hear it,’ he commented with so obvious a lack of concern that his words were robbed of any sympathy. ‘You were hardly close,
however,’ he added, even more insensitively. ‘Surely a formal period of mourning would be a little excessive?’

Alicia eyed him with dislike. ‘I would not claim that Josiah and I were very fond of each other, but the news of his death was still a shock! Really, Christopher, I would have expected you to have a little more consideration!’

‘I’m sorry, Alicia, but one might have foreseen that Josiah would end in such a way.’ Westwood gave a negligent shrug. ‘What did he die of?’ he added carelessly.

‘I believe he fell in the Thames,’ Alicia said shortly, and saw a smile she did not understand briefly touch Westwood’s lips. For some reason this irritated her even more.

‘Careless of him,’ Westwood murmured. ‘He was drunk, I suppose.’

‘I was not aware that you were familiar with Josiah’s habits,’ Alicia said frostily, and wondered what she had said when he gave her a very sharp look, totally unlike his usual languid pose.

‘Did you hear from him at all before he died?’ Westwood asked, allowing his gaze to wander along the library bookshelves, as though Alicia’s answer was of no real interest to him. The question put Alicia in mind of her father’s enquiry on the occasion of her visit to Greyrigg, which made her even more irritable. She had managed to forget Bertram Broseley for the few brief weeks she had spent in London. Must matters always be reminding her of him? She decided that it was time to get rid of Westwood’s unwanted presence.

‘No, I did not. Did you want something in particular, Christopher, or is this just a social call?’

Even Westwood was not so insensitive that he could view this as a particularly encouraging comment. He straightened in his chair.

‘I am here on an errand from your grandmother,’ he said, with a return to his normal equable manner. ‘She suggests that you dine at Stansfield House before the masquerade next Friday—nothing formal, just family. Will you come?’

Alicia hesitated. She felt tempted to cry off and anyway she suspected this to be a plot of her grandmother’s making. Lady Stansfield had made it plain that she wished to see better relations established between her granddaughter and great-nephew. She had apparently not given up hope that Alicia would accept Christopher’s marriage proposal since recent events appeared to dash any hope of Alicia marrying James Mullineaux. Still, there was nothing to be gained by sitting at home fretting over Josiah’s death. Despite the insensitivity of Westwood’s comments, he
had been right in suggesting it would be hypocritical of her to go into formal mourning for Josiah. Westwood was awaiting her reply, his gaze full of eager hope. Alicia stifled her irritation.

‘Please thank my grandmother for her invitation to dine, Christopher,’ she said carefully. ‘I shall be pleased to do so.’

‘Capital! Lady Stansfield will be delighted!’ Westwood had brightened considerably at her acceptance, not least because it meant he could now escort her to the masquerade and had a legitimate excuse for staying at her side all evening. Taking her hand, he pressed a fervent kiss on it. Alicia sighed. The day was proving to be very trying.

After Christopher Westwood went out, Alicia sat still for a moment wondering what it was about him that had been different during their conversation. It was Josiah’s name that had prompted the change, she thought. Christopher had barely bothered to utter the conventional platitudes of sympathy over his death, and for a man who prided himself on his proper behaviour under all circumstances that was rather remarkable. She frowned. He was certainly acting uncharacteristically.

Shaking off her puzzlement, Alicia moved back to sit behind the desk, and took out the letter from Josiah again. This time the knife cut through the seal and she unfolded it to read the message.

Here there were some other words—a name?—heavily crossed out and illegible.

Alicia pulled a face. Josiah’s habitual penchant for melodrama had resulted in a letter which told her very little indeed. She could imagine him sitting in his shabby room, his bottle of gin by his side, plumped up with a sense of importance as he penned the theatrical words to warn her and summon her to his aid. She considered the letter again. Yes, she knew her father had wanted to marry her off again, but what did the reference to someone closer to home mean? There was no one closer
than her father, unless one included the Countess of Stansfield, and it seemed ludicrous to imagine that she was plotting something sinister.

Alicia got up to put the letter in the fire, but as she was about to throw it into the flames she paused and looked at it again. Josiah stated quite plainly that he was in fear of his life. Fordyce had confirmed this when he had said that Josiah had resisted being thrown out of the house and had subsequently run off down the road in a frenzy. There could be any number of reasons for Josiah’s terror—the money-lenders could have been foreclosing on him, or he could have fallen foul of some card sharp—but there was a definite implication in the letter that the matter involved Alicia in some way. She flung the letter down on the table in exasperation. Why did Josiah have to be so obscure? Now she would never be able to ask him what he had meant.

She remembered what Frederick had told her about the mysterious cousin, and frowned. She knew that Josiah had no cousins other than herself and Annabella. Perhaps this mystery man was some connection of her father’s? Alicia was suddenly aware of a very strong desire to leave well alone. She did not want to become embroiled in Josiah’s murky affairs, to discover things that were better left unknown. But Josiah had been in fear of his life. And Josiah had died. Alicia frowned. She thought about her cousin; he had been reckless, foolish and spendthrift, but was she really going to leave him in his pauper’s grave and think no more about it? Surely she owed it to him to try to find out what had happened?

She rang the bell for Fordyce, and soon his stately tread could be heard approaching across the marble hallway. Alicia grimaced a little as she thought about the instructions she was about to give him for Frederick. Delving into Josiah’s domestic arrangements had been bad enough, but now she would be fortunate if he did not decide to leave her service!

Alicia refused all invitations the following week as a mark of respect to her cousin. She had discussed this with Lady Stansfield, who, as an arbiter of taste, felt that her granddaughter had a fine line to tread between appearing to have no concern over her cousin’s death and appearing hypocritical by going into excessive mourning for someone she’d hardly ever seen. Most of the
ton
barely knew of Josiah’s existence anyway, and took the news of his demise without much comment. As for Alicia, she found the time alone quite soothing for once, giving
her the opportunity to read and to write letters—and studiously avoid thinking about James Mullineaux.

One thing which Alicia did not discuss with her grandmother was her concerns over Josiah’s death and the warning he had issued to her. She had no wish to worry the old lady unnecessarily. But she found herself in desperate need of someone to talk to. Christopher Westwood she dismissed almost immediately. She did not believe she could rely on him. She thought of talking to Caroline Kilgaren, but decided against it. Finally and imperceptibly her mind turned to James Mullineaux. She wanted to confide in him. She wanted to be able to trust him. A few weeks ago she might have followed her instincts and sought him out, but now matters were different. Any closeness which there had appeared to be between them had proved illusory.

By the time the Stapleford masquerade came round, she had made no progress in her pursuit of further information of Josiah’s death. Frederick’s enquiries had drawn a blank, for Josiah’s landlady had been silently unhelpful and the girl at the Guineas had sworn she knew nothing. The beadle who had arranged the burial had been found, but he had had nothing helpful to add; it seemed they had reached a dead end. Alicia was tempted to forget the whole matter, but something nagged at her to persist.

Alicia was already regretting her decision to accept Christopher Westwood’s escort by the time that the party from Stansfield House reached the masquerade. Lady Stansfield had insisted on attending a tedious musical soirée before the ball and Alicia had sat wincing whilst an off-key tenor had warbled in Italian about the miseries of true love. Westwood had sat beside her, requesting translations of the songs, once more the possessive lover.

The masquerade was well advanced as they made their way into the ballroom. Ostensibly a celebration of Lord Stapleford’s birthday, it was also yet another attempt to matchmake for the Staplefords’ daughter Georgiana, who, at twenty-two, was now in every danger of being left on the shelf.

Because of the lateness of the hour, the ballroom was full and Alicia’s hand was immediately solicited for a set of country dances which were forming. Etiquette was less strict behind the disguise of domino and mask, and Alicia observed that some fairly uninhibited behaviour was already taking place. No doubt that was why masquerades were so popular in the first place!

From her place in the dance Alicia was able to guess at the identities
of some of her fellow guests—Caroline Kilgaren, in a white domino and matching mask studded with diamonds was in the next set, dancing with a gentleman in blue whom Alicia suspected to be Peter Weston. Marcus was over by the door to the refreshment room, chatting with another gentleman. In a group by the French windows stood Lady Corinna Dawe, voluptuous in a deep purple domino and playfully fending off the advances of a gentleman in grey in the sort of way that was intended to encourage rather than dissuade him. Alicia’s heart missed a beat, but it was not James Mullineaux with Lady Corinna, for the gentleman was too short and stocky. Her ladyship was no doubt skilled in juggling her admirers, Alicia thought dispassionately.

Alicia herself was the recipient of plenty of stares, for even the relative anonymity of a domino and mask could not dull the instant impact of her beauty. The domino of jade-green complemented her colouring and she wore with it a mask of plain black silk. Indeed, the mask was a positive benefit since it hid her expression from view on a night when she did not suppose she looked very cheerful at all.

The dances became more lively and the crowds more animated, and still Alicia could not distinguish the Marquis of Mullineaux amongst the throng. She felt tired and depressed amongst such vibrant company. She had a constant stream of partners, but felt as though she was an outsider watching an event in which she had no part. Christopher Westwood watched her progress through the dances with jealous eyes, for his plans of spending the evening with Alicia had been overset from the first by Lady Stapleford. As one of the few acceptable young men who had shown Georgiana any serious attention, he was identified as a possible son-in-law by Lord and Lady Stapleford and they constantly threw him in her way. Georgiana herself, in celestial blue, was ably aiding and abetting this, gravitating to his side whenever she was free, attempting to flirt shamelessly with him.

The evening wound on. Lady Stansfield was holding court as usual in one corner of the room, surrounded by her elderly admirers. Alicia exchanged a few words with Caroline, who was obviously in high spirits and made her friend feel even more depressed as a result. Alicia danced every dance, smiled until her face ached and parried the more outrageous sallies of her partners. She realised that it had been a mistake on her part to try to distract herself at such a ball. The pleasure everyone else was having only served to underline her own worries all the more. The mystery surrounding Josiah’s death dogged her heels and she could not shake it off.