Fortunately, a footman arrived at that moment carrying a loaded tea tray.
“Would anyone like some tea?” she asked brightly.
* * *
Val had never seen Langham behave with such ill manners. Though he was known to be blunt, he was generally polite—especially with members of the fairer sex.
He could see that Caro was alarmed by their byplay. Since he had been the one to bring Langham unannounced, he did what he could to pour oil on these troubled waters, as it were.
“Perhaps you can tell us what you remembered about Miss Warrington, Langham,” he said to the other man. He was still glowering over his teacup at Miss Deaver, who appeared to be ignoring him. When Langham didn’t respond, Val kicked him none too gently in the shin.
The duke threw an indignant look at Val, but he did cease looking daggers at Miss Deaver.
“You remembered something about Effie?” Caro’s voice, in Val’s opinion, held more patience than the man deserved.
“Yes,” Langham said stiffly. “Or rather, the solicitor I sent her inquiry to.”
“Well?” Miss Deaver prompted.
“I am collecting my thoughts,” Langham said pettishly.
Caro sent Miss Deaver a chiding look. The young lady looked utterly unrepentant.
“Miss Warrington had wanted to know the legal ramifications of an heir appearing after they’d been presumed dead or lost.” The duke then took his time selecting and biting into a cucumber sandwich. Once he finished chewing, he continued, “Phipps recalled that though she made no mention of a family name, Miss Warrington did express concern that if an heir had achieved a fame of sorts, a connection to her might put their reputation in jeopardy.”
“I would hope that finding a long-lost relation who undertakes honest work would never come as an embarrassment,” Caro said with a wave of her hand, “but we all know that plenty in the middle and upper classes would be scandalized to discover even a distant relation to an actress.”
“But who would be in danger because of it?” Miss Deaver bit into a madeleine reflectively. “Surely an actress in the family couldn’t irrefutably tarnish that many reasons for prominence.”
“We’d be better off asking,” Caro said thoughtfully, “who among the nobility have need of employment, and what sort of professional reputations would suffer from the emergence of a relation with a career on the stage. I would think we’re most probably searching for younger sons.”
“As a second son…” Val paused as he remembered his brother. He might be the heir now, but he hadn’t always been. He doubted he’d ever forget that. “I can see your logic. And,” he continued, “there are only a few acceptable professions I can think of. The military, the church, and politics.”
“I can’t think a military man would care one way or another about a connection to an actress,” Langham said dismissively. “Too busy planning campaigns and pinning on medals. And they don’t rely on family reputation so much as the other two do.”
Val didn’t disagree. “I’d rule out military men, too. Their careers aren’t influenced by public opinion as much as those of clergymen and politicians. Though the latter would only matter for MPs, since the lords don’t need to stand for election.”
“Thank God,” Langham muttered under his breath.
“And since the most recent Reform Act,” Miss Deaver said, acid in her tone, “more younger sons of the aristocracy than ever are standing for Parliament, since so many funds are required for campaigning.”
“I should think you’d be pleased at the expansion of the vote to more working men, Miss Deaver.” The duke examined her with his quizzing glass once again.
“I’d be more pleased if the act had expanded the vote to women, too.” There was no mistaking the young woman’s resentment.
Thinking to forestall the argument between the two, Val spoke up. “So, we are agreed that the most likely candidates for Miss Warrington’s hypocritical relations will either be MPs or clergymen?”
“With clergymen being the worst hypocrites of all,” Langham agreed. “I should know—I’ve got enough of them in my family.”
“They must be so proud.” Miss Deaver smiled mockingly.
“Either of them would be plausible,” Caro said. “Though my inclination is that it must be a politician. Especially the sorts who crusade for public morals. I firmly believe some I’ve seen would rather cut off an entire branch of the family tree before admitting to kinship with an actress. For all too many of the so-called ‘righteous,’ acting, for a woman, is only one step removed from prostitution. These men might enjoy attending the theatre, but I doubt any of them would welcome an actress to their dinner table, much less into their family.”
“A valid point.” Val nodded. “Though clergymen do like to present a certain appearance of virtue, what real consequence would there be for one if a relation to an actress was revealed? Defrocking is only for sins they’ve committed. And with the archbishop’s support, I doubt they’d even lose a coveted posting. But a member of the House of Commons would have to contend with their voters. And a skillful opponent could weave scandal out of a newly discovered actress in the family, I have no doubt.”
“Good,” Langham said cheerfully. “Now we only have to ask every MP from a noble family if he’s recently learned of a long-lost relation who happens to tread the boards. That should be easy enough.”
“And I don’t think we can entirely discount members of the House of Lords,” Caro said, sounding almost apologetic. “That increases our pool of suspects, but we must remember that we are looking for someone who, firstly, inherited a large estate and, secondly, has a reputation to protect. That could be someone from either house of Parliament. Or even a cabinet member.”
Val groaned. “Why does it feel as if every time we make progress, some new twist happens to take us back to where we began?”
Miss Deaver smiled slowly. “I might be able to clarify things.”
From the leather case beside her chair, she retrieved a small notebook, flipped it open, then handed it to Caro.
“What’s this, Flora?” she asked. From Val’s vantage point, it looked like a list of some sort.
“I was able to examine what was left of the signet ring’s impression from the sealing wax in Effie’s hearth,” Miss Deaver said. “I agreed with your assessment that the animal was a fox, and the rectangular bit, an arrow. I consulted with the herald at the College of Arms and we were able to compile a list of possibilities from every noble family in England.”
“Flora,” Caro whooped, “this is brilliant.”
“Well done, Miss Deaver.” Val had known her keen mind had earned Kate and Caro’s respect, but he was beginning to think her skills might be put to better use deciphering codes for the Foreign Office.
“You should see this.” Caro handed the notebook to him.
Curious, Val scanned the list.
“I want to see.” Langham sounded like a small child trying to see around a crowd.
“I’m not sure you do,” Miss Deaver said, even as Val passed the list to him. “Though perhaps you can explain why your family name is there?”