brightest of days.
“Good afternoon, m’lady,” Richards said stiffly, taking her coat. He paused and added, in a tone of subtle rebuke, “I’m afraid his lordship failed to mention that you would be coming up to town.”
Kate took the bull by the horns. “I know it will be an enormous bother to Mrs. Hall to prepare dinner for the both of us,” she said. “Present my apologies, please.” Of course, dinner for two was no more bother than dinner for one, but the cook liked to pretend that it was, and Kate always played along with the game.
Richards sniffed. “Perhaps his lordship did not inform you. Canon Rawnsley is joining him for dinner here tonight.”
Kate ignored the sniff and the delicate jibe. “How delightful,” she said. She glanced in the mirror, patted her hair, and added, “I’ll have tea, please. In the library.”
“Of course, madam,” Richards said, with another sniff, and went off to give Mrs. Hall the unwelcome news that her ladyship had come, unannounced, and that there would be three to dinner.
Kate did not enjoy London, and she did not like the house in Grosvenor Square. It was a mausoleum, chilly and uninviting, with large, overdecorated rooms, echoing passageways, and scarcely a scrap of garden. Worse, its staff had been selected and trained by Charles’s deceased mother, the Dowager Baroness Somersworth, and it was impossible to change their habits or attitudes. And to compound Kate’s discomfort, it was here that she and Charles had been staying when she lost the baby, which had only added to her aversion to the place. She came as infrequently as she could.
But today’s trip to London had been unavoidable. When Kate learned that Charlotte had left Bishop’s Keep, she had first thought of sending telegrams to Charles and Nellie, to let them know that the young woman had probably returned to London. But she had discarded that plan and decided to come up to town herself, on the train.
Now, going into the library (one of the few agreeable rooms in the house), Kate poked up the fire in the grate, then sat down at the writing desk and jotted a quick note to Nellie. She put it into an envelope, addressed and sealed it, and when Richards came in with the tea tray-a silver pot, a pair of cups, and a plate of tea cakes-she gave it to him.
“Please ask Tommy to take this around to the Royal Strand and deliver it personally to Miss Lovelace,” she said. “If she is not there, he is to wait until she arrives. I have asked her to return an answer.”
“Yes, madam,” Richards replied. The sniff was titanic. Richards did not approve of theatrical people.
Kate glanced at the clock on the ornate mantlepiece. It was nearly five-thirty. “Did his lordship say what time he planned to return this evening?”
“No, madam,” Richards said, “only that he expected Canon Rawnsley at eight.” He bowed slightly and left the room with her note, holding it at arm’s length.
Kate had just poured herself a cup of tea and settled down in front of the fire with
“Kate!” he exclaimed, coming over to drop a kiss on her hair. “I had no idea you were coming up to town today. Why-”
“Because Miss Conway- Charlotte -has run away,” Kate said. She put down the newspaper. “Sometime during the night, according to Mrs. Bryan. She didn’t appear at breakfast this morning.”
“Blast,” Charles said softly. “She’s come back to town, I suppose.”
“To help her comrades, perhaps,” Kate said. “I was going to send Nellie a telegram and thought better of it.” She poured Charles’s tea and handed him the cup. “It’s important that we find Miss Conway, Charles. If the police get to her first…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“You’ve let Nellie know that the girl has disappeared?”
Kate nodded. “I’ve sent Tommy round with a note, and asked for a reply. I’m hoping that she knows Mrs. Conway’s address. I should like to go there and see her.” She regarded Charles thoughtfully. “Were you able to see Adam Gould and the others?”
“And Morley, as well.” Charles sat in the wing chair on the other side of the fireplace, putting his cup on the mahogany table beside the chair. “He agreed to handing the case to Savidge.” He gave her a wry smile. “And Savidge is delighted to take it, with the hope of becoming the first to win an acquittal through fingerprint evidence.” He picked up his cup, settling back. “I also called round to the Yard to have a look at those so-called bombs that Special Branch claims to have found in the men’s rooms.”
“Oh?” Kate asked with interest. From the tone of Charles’s voice, she judged that he had not been impressed by what he saw. “And what did you discover?”
“That the ‘bombs’ are stoneware bottles which contain traces of a substance purported to be nitric acid. He paused. “Savidge and I will go back tomorrow, for a closer examination. Meanwhile, I have sent a note to Edward Henry at the Yard, asking him to see to it personally that the evidence is protected from handling. At the moment, it’s sitting on the shelf.”
“You’d think that the police would do a better job of preserving evidence,” Kate said warmly, “especially when so much depends upon it.”
Charles’s laugh was ironic. “The proper handling of evidence is not something the ordinary policeman thinks much about, I’m afraid-not, at least, at the moment. If Harry Jackson’s left thumb convicts him of burglary next month, things will change. In the meantime-” He shrugged. “We’ll see what can be discovered tomorrow, when Savidge and I study the fingerprints on those bottles.”
“You’ve certainly covered a great deal of territory since this morning,” Kate said.
“I did something else, too,” Charles replied. “I took a cab to Telson Street, where Yuri Messenko lived. Number 17, upper floor rear.” He grimaced. “A sad little room, with only a bed and a chair. The boy kept his clothes in a paste-board box under the bed. The landlady had already let the room and was anxious for someone to take the box away, so I’ve brought it with me. I’ll go through his things later tonight.” He glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Did Richards tell you that Hardwicke Rawnsley is coming to dinner tonight?”
Kate nodded. “I take it, then, that you’ve decided to talk with him about Somersworth and the National Trust.”
“Mother would hate me,” Charles said wearily, “but the estate is much too large to be managed as it should be, especially in the current economic situation. It’s beautiful, though, with all those open meadows and wooded lanes, and it’s convenient to the people of Great Yarmouth, who like to picnic at the weekends. The Trust might find some parts of it of interest-as a gift, of course.”
“And the house itself?” Kate had liked the great house’s aspect, overlooking the Norfolk Broads, the shallow lakes and vast fens and marshes of the meandering River Yare. But the place was enormous, its upkeep a burden, and neither she nor Charles had any wish to spend a great deal of time there. And if they did, the keeper’s lodge would be far more suited to the two of them. There were the tenants, of course, but Charles had closed down most of the house and kept only a skeleton staff.
“I don’t know that the Trust will be any better able than I to deal with that medieval monstrosity,” Charles said with a rueful chuckle. “But we can ask Rawnsley what he thinks.” He glanced at her. “You will join us at dinner, won’t you, my dear?”
“Of course,” Kate said, “with pleasure.” She paused. “I wonder if Hardwicke has heard from Beatrix. She told me that he brought her Peter Rabbit book to the attention of Frederick Warne, and they are to publish it-quite soon, I think.” Canon Rawnsley was a friend of Beatrix Potter, with whom Kate usually kept in close touch. But Beatrix and her parents had gone to the Lake District for the summer, and Kate had not heard the latest news. She sighed. “I do hope the book does well, for Bea’s sake-and because it is so delightfully original. But it is difficult to predict these things. How many children will be interested in reading the adventures of a rabbit?”
Dinner featured Mrs. Hall’s usual splendid rack of lamb, preceded by a julienne soup, salmon with caper sauce, and chicken fillets with mushrooms, and followed by a greengage tart, iced pudding, and a plate of fruit and cheese. The elegant array might easily have fed a dozen guests, so three for dinner (rather than two) had clearly presented no difficulties to the able Mrs. Hall.
Canon Rawnsley was an affable, handsome man with regular features and a graying beard and moustache. He looked remarkably like King Edward, if substantially slimmer and more energetic, and was full of lively conversation. To Kate’s delight, he told her that Beatrix’s little book was to be published the first week of October in an edition of about eight thousand copies. And he was indeed interested in acquiring part of the Somersworth estate for the Trust, which he had helped to create in 1895 and which was already beginning to enjoy significant approval as a means of preserving some of England’s most scenic and unique areas, which might otherwise have been broken up and sold to the affluent as housing sites. Already, as the Canon eloquently pointed out, far too much of the shoreline of the lakes in the Lake District had been purchased by wealthy people and closed off from public access. And the fens and marshes and ancient peat diggings of the Norfolk Broads were home to a vast variety of birds and wildlife. A gift of unspoiled property would be most welcome.
They had just finished dessert-one of Mrs. Hall’s splendid trifles-when a maid came in and whispered to Richards. In turn, Richards came to the table and whispered to Kate, who put down her napkin and rose.
“I must leave you gentlemen now,” she said. “I’ve received a message to which I must respond-from our theatrical friend, Charles.” She smiled at their guest. “Canon Rawnsley, so lovely to see you again, as always. I hope you will visit us at Bishop’s Keep.”
The men stood. “Oh, I shall,” Canon Rawnsley replied, with a genial enthusiasm. “You may depend upon it, Lady Sheridan.”
In the hall, the maid dropped a curtsy and pressed a note into Kate’s hand. “Tommy brought it,” she said. “’E’s waitin’ in the kitchen, if yer ladyship wants t’ answer.”
Kate carried the envelope into the library, turned up the lamp, and sat down at the desk to open it. Nellie’s brief note was written in a sprawling hand and smelled strongly of lilac perfume. She wrote with distress that she could not imagine why Lottie would leave the safe haven of Bishop’s Keep. She had not yet heard from her and promised to let Kate know the minute she got any word; she did, however, know that Mrs. Conway and Lottie lived at Number 12, Brantwood Street. In a post-script, she added that she would be very glad to meet Kate for supper the next evening. Kate rang the bell and, when the maid appeared, told her to tell Tommy that there was no reply, and that he might go on to bed.
Kate went upstairs, put on her dressing gown, and settled into a chair by the bedroom fire with a typescript she had been given to read by an editor at Duckworth, who wanted her opinion of it. The short novel was called
An hour or two later, when Canon Rawnsley had left and Charles had come up to bed, Kate asked if anything had been decided about the fate of Somersworth.
“Only in part,” Charles replied, taking off his shoes. “The land is not a problem for them, of course. They are especially glad to have the marshes, and that can be arranged straightaway. But the house and gardens are another matter, unfortunately. Rawnsley says that the Trust is in the midst of raising funds to purchase a property in the Lake District. Once that is done, he hopes to put a bill through Parliament to give the Trust a stronger management authority. Rawnsley thinks we should postpone any discussion of the house until then.” He unfastened his collar stays and turned to Kate. “What’s that you’re reading?”
“A novel that Mr. Perry, at Duckworth, has asked me to look at. I’ve just finished it and am going to recommend it for publication.” She gave Charles a mischievous look. “It is entirely subversive, and explains a great deal about our friend Miss Conway and her Anarchist connections.”
“Speaking of Anarchist connections,” Charles said, sitting down to take off his shoes, “I went through Messenko’s box after Rawnsley left.”
Kate put down the typescript. “Did you find anything of interest?”
“I’m not sure,” Charles said. “I’ve found something I want to investigate, but it may not turn out to be of much consequence.” He dropped his shoe and put out his hand, his eyes glinting with desire. “I have something else in mind that
Kate put her hand in his and let him pull her into his familiar embrace, and for the next little while there were no sounds except for their own soft sighing and the easy fall of embers in the grate.
