* * *
* * *
It was well after the dinner hour. James’s girls were tucked up in bed under the supervision of Nanny McCubbin, who’d arrived in London before them and had taken control of not only the nursery but also the whole house, apparently. The servants jumped to her command. The girls were reserving judgment, but as their former headmistress had said, they knew how to follow orders. James had every faith in Nanny McCubbin.
He was in the library sipping brandy by the fire, having a quiet night in, when young Thornton dropped by. Over a brandy, Thornton explained his aunt’s problem, after first swearing James to secrecy.
“And you say this villain is using these letters to blackmail Lady Charlton?” James said.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what’s in them?”
Thornton shook his head. “She wouldn’t say. Just that they were very personal and private, and she would be devastated if they were made public.”
Love letters, then, James thought. It surprised him. She didn’t seem the type to conduct an illicit affair. He couldn’t deny that he felt a little disappointed. It wasn’t the impression he’d had of her.
Still, she was in trouble, and he’d agreed to help.
“What have you done so far to track him down?”
Thornton outlined everything he’d done, ending with, “He’s a slippery damned weasel.”
“And are we sure that Miss Bamber isn’t involved? She’s not hiding her father’s whereabouts, for instance.”
Thornton pursed his lips. “Aunt Alice is convinced that Miss Bamber is as much a victim as she is, but I’m not so sure. What kind of man would blackmail a stranger to take in his daughter and then give her no way of contacting him? It’s not credible. What if something went wrong? Bamber has no way of knowing that Aunt Alice has a heart as soft as butter.”
James nodded. It did seem most unlikely.
“Did you question Lady Charlton’s butler?”
“About any letters posted? Yes, but Tweed said Miss Bamber hasn’t left any to be posted. I suppose she could have posted something herself, but she goes nowhere unaccompanied, so it would be quite difficult to slip away and contact her father.”
But needs must, James thought. His eleven-year-old daughter had managed to get a letter to him, even if she’d been caught doing it. Or maybe, as things stood at the moment, Miss Bamber felt no need to contact her father.
“You seem to have done everything possible to find the man,” James said. “What do you think I can do?”
Thornton looked a little self-conscious. “I was thinking that fellow you know in the Horse Guards—Radcliffe, isn’t it?—might be able to help.”
James considered it. Radcliffe didn’t usually involve himself in private matters like this, but he supposed there was no harm in asking his advice. He knew people, did Radcliffe.
“There’s no guarantee he’ll be able to help.”
Thornton nodded. “I know, but I’d feel better knowing we have explored every possible avenue. Alice is a good person. She doesn’t deserve to be under someone’s thumb like this. Not now, when she’s finally free.”
Finally free. An interesting turn of phrase to use about a relatively recent widow, James thought.
“What can you tell me about her marriage?” Thornton hesitated, and James added, “It would seem to have a bearing on the blackmail.”
Thornton acknowledged the truth of that with a long sigh. “Uncle Thaddeus was . . . I think he was a bit of bully.”
“Think?” James remembered him from school. He was a nasty piece of work back then.
Gerald wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “The thing is, he could be quite charming in public. The ladies seemed to love him. But the way he treated my father—Papa was a younger son, you know, and Uncle Thaddeus used to, I don’t know, rub Papa’s nose in it. Papa was dependent on him for everything—he’d been left nothing in Grandpapa’s will—but Grandpapa expected Uncle Thaddeus to make over one of the lesser estates to Papa’s management and use. That’s the way it’s always been done in our family. Only Uncle Thaddeus didn’t.”
James could see that the issue rankled. From what he gathered, Thornton’s father had done exactly the same to Thornton as his uncle had done to him. But that wasn’t the issue that concerned him at the moment. “And how did your uncle treat his wife?”
“He wasn’t . . . kind. When there was only family present, he treated her, oh, like a servant. Dismissively. As if she didn’t matter. Quite cruelly at times.”
James stiffened. “Physically?”
Thornton shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His lack of certainty set James’s teeth on edge. “It was a different kind of cruelty, like a cat toying with a mouse. Embarrassing her, making cutting comments, humiliating her in front of others.”
James’s hands closed into fists. To treat such a gentle lady so . . .
“For instance, he never lost an opportunity to belittle her, especially in front of my mother. Alice is barren, you know, and I don’t recall a single occasion when Uncle Thaddeus didn’t mention the fact, directly or indirectly. He had a very cutting tongue.”
“Why particularly in front of your mother?”
Thornton gave a shamefaced grimace. “Mama used to encourage him. She’s never liked Aunt Alice, I don’t know why. It’s not fair. Alice doesn’t deserve any of it; she’s the kindest person.”
There was a short silence. James thought that Thornton was probably wondering the same thing he was: If Charlton had been openly cruel to his wife in company, what must he have been like in private?
“But if she did have a lover,” Thornton burst out, as if he’d been having a silent argument with himself, “I, for one, don’t blame her. She deserved some happiness in her life. Didn’t she? Well, didn’t she?”
His words hung in the air. James didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what he thought about it at the moment. He was appalled by what Thornton had told him about her marriage. But infidelity? His emotions were all over the place.
“Any idea who this lover might have been?”
Thornton shook his head. “I don’t think I ever even saw her with a man, except at balls and parties. But that doesn’t prove anything, I suppose.”
“I don’t really care about the lover,” James said, surprising himself, “but if we knew who he was, we could follow him up. He must surely know something about Bamber, if he gave—or sold—him the letters.” And if he did hand over private love letters from Lady Charlton, the man deserved a damned good thrashing.