Cynthia was being ridiculous, but I appreciated the sentiment.
“I would if I could, my love.” Lord Clifford squeezed Cynthia’s arm fondly. “Where have you been disappearing to, eh? Your aunt and uncle are dull as ditchwater, and your mother leaves me to them, pretending to need to rest all the blasted time. You ought to rescue me.”
“I’ve been staying with Lady Covington, remember?” Cynthia said. “Mummy did tell you.”
“I didn’t realize they would absorb you and leave you no time for your poor pater. Covington.” Lord Clifford’s brow furrowed. “That name calls something to mind, besides the poor woman who died. Hmm. Railways—that is it.”
“The late Lord Covington owned a railway,” Cynthia said. “The family still owns it, and the new Lord Covington sits with his stepmum on the board of directors. Dear old George has no idea what to do with this railway, according to Lady Covington.”
“No, that wasn’t it.” Lord Clifford tapped his lip in thought. “Ah, I have it. A jolly big crash some six or seven or so years back. Train was mangled, about seventy or so people killed. Tragic. Faulty wheel or some such thing. It was Covington’s railway, I’m certain.”
“Lady Covington’s first husband died in that railway accident,” I said, startled into joining the conversation.
“Did he now?” Cynthia asked. “Explains why none of the family wants to mention it. How safe are a man’s trains when one kills him?”
“Quite,” Lord Clifford agreed.
I had to wonder, in light of this discussion, whether Harriet or Jonathan blamed their mother for their father’s death. Perhaps they were taking their revenge on her. Why they’d suppose Lady Covington would have anything to do with the railway accident, I did not know, but emotions are not always logical. Or perhaps their mother and father had quarreled and he’d rushed off to be away from her, taking the fateful train.
“I shall be sure to find out more about that,” Cynthia said with a nod at me. “Now, Papa, let us leave Mrs. Holloway to it. She cannot concoct her wonderful meals with us in the way. Take Mummy to the theatre and enjoy it.”
“Ghastly.” Lord Clifford shuddered. “It is some horrible melodrama.”
“Use the time to ingratiate yourself to the London ton. That should entertain you.”
“True.” Lord Clifford pursed his lips. “It might help with—” He broke off, darting a guilty glance at his daughter.
Cynthia’s mouth tightened. “Do rein in your tendency to dupe others, Papa. Simply make friends with them.”
Lord Clifford sent her a lofty look. “I told you, Cynthia—those days are well behind me. I was a rogue in my youth, yes, but now I am a staid old man.”
“Hardly.” Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Good night, Mrs. H. I’ll take him away.”
So saying, she tugged her father from the kitchen. He went out with every sign of reluctance, his thin voice floating back to me as he continued his complaints about being dragged to the theatre.
I eyed the gold sovereign that lay forgotten in a puff of flour. I could call to Lord Clifford and insist he take it back, but how foolish would I be to chuck away so much money?
I lifted the coin, dusted it off, and dropped it into my pocket.
“Have they gone?”
I stifled a shriek. “James. Good heavens, lad.” I pressed my hand to my chest as James materialized out of the shadows of the scullery. “How long have you been there?”
“Since just before his lordship arrived.” James crushed his cap in his lanky hands and did not appear one bit ashamed. “Thought I’d better keep quiet while the quality were about.” He sent me a rueful look. “Wish gentlemen would toss me gold sovereigns. Most I get are farthings, and that’s to make me go away.”
“Don’t be so silly.” I took a breath, trying to calm myself. “How are you faring, James?”
“I’m well, thank you. Don’t you want to hear why me da sent me to you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.” I stifled my eagerness by gathering up the flour where the coin had lain and tossing it into the dustbin—coins, as dear as they are, can be dirty things.
“He wants to see you, Mrs. H. At Grosvenor Chapel, where you usually meet. Now, if you’re able.”
14
I’d already had a very long day, but I assured James I would meet Daniel in the designated place. James said he’d wait for me, and not long later, he and I walked arm in arm along Mount Street to South Audley Street, then south to the tasteful building that was Grosvenor Chapel.
The chapel’s columned front and octagonal steeple were faint in the darkness, the brick facade fading into the night. James and I turned left into the lane that ran alongside the chapel, our walk ending at a large iron gate between two white pillars.
The gate was unlocked. Beyond was the churchyard, a very pleasant place to stroll on a sunny summer morning but a bit unnerving at eleven o’clock on a dark night.
Daniel solidified from the shadows of a tall tree. He wore his deliveryman’s clothes—wool coat patched at the elbows, breeches and thick socks, heavy boots, a cloth tied around his neck in lieu of a cravat.
Daniel seized my hands and, in the cover of darkness, dared kiss my lips. The houses of Mount Street rose behind us, and I hoped that Mrs. Bywater—or more likely, our busybody neighbor—did not peer from an upper window.
Daniel’s breath fogged, the air chilly. “The chapel is open for us. Shall we adjourn somewhere more comfortable?”
“Your vicar friend is quite accommodating,” I said as the three of us moved to the side door of the chapel. We’d met in the sacristy before, on another dark night, when I’d first met Mr. Fielding.
I half expected to find Mr. Fielding waiting for us, but the sacristy was empty except for a candle flickering in a holder on a shelf. Robes peeked from a closet with a half-open door, and stacks of prayer books reposed on a table.
“I did the man a favor once,” Daniel said. “We became friends.”
Great friends, I reflected, for him to give Daniel the run of the chapel in the middle of the night. The favor must have been a large one.
James showed no sign of leaving. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, his frown not reassuring.
“What has happened?” I asked Daniel. I was not one who liked others to dance gently around a subject. I preferred to get it over with in one blow.
“Nothing.” Daniel took my hands again as we stood in the center of the underlit room. “Nothing disastrous anyway. I have come from Inspector McGregor.”