“This morning, I accidentally knocked Papa’s document box off the table. When it hit the floor, I heard a clinking sound,” Elizabeth began. “Documents and letters do not clink, so I emptied the contents onto the carpet. It was just as before, a ledger, some papers. Nothing that could have made the noise I heard. I knew something else was in that box. I just couldn’t see it. So I shook it, and heard it again, that faint tinkling sound.”
“I don’t understand. Where did you find the bottles?” Anne asked.
Elizabeth’s gaze brightened. “There was something I wasn’t seeing, so I ran my fingers all around the inside. Then I felt it-a tiny metal depression.”
She tugged at the ribbon she wore around her neck and revealed the key to the document box. She twisted the oval finger grip and removed it, revealing a hexagonal-shaped driver. “Do you remember what Lotharian told us, that Papa told him that the key opened a trapdoor?”
Mary came to her feet. “In our home in Cornwall.”
“Yes, that is what we all assumed. But we were wrong.” Elizabeth held the small driver out before them all.
Mary and Anne craned their necks to view the hidden portion of the key more closely.
“When I inserted this into the hole and turned it, the base suddenly sprang open. That’s when I realized that the box had a false bottom-a trapdoor. When I opened it, I found the bottles, wrapped up in a filthy cloth.”
“To mute the noise.” Anne gripped the back of Mary’s chair and steadied herself. “You do not think those bottles contained the laudanum used to…”
Elizabeth nodded her head slowly. “Drug our mother-
Slowly Mary returned her gaze to the bottle in her hand. She lifted the stopper and sniffed. “Nooo, this is not possible.”
Chapter 9
The Harringtons’ home, though located just diagonally from Lady Upperton’s residence and the Old Rakes of Marylebone Club, was small in comparison to the other grand homes packed cheek by jowl on Cavendish Square.
Still, when Mary was ushered into the gallery room for the musicale with her sisters, her mouth fell open in awe.
Every wall was filled with paintings-landscapes, still-life compositions, and portraits with allegorical, religious, or mythological themes. Clearly, the stunning paintings were the work of a single artist of unmatched talent.
What so intrigued Mary, however, was the fact that beautiful, aristocratic-looking women-she recognized some from biting caricatures she’d seen on display at Hatchard’s-were prominently featured in almost every single one.
As she and her sisters moved past at least ten rows of chattering guests, Mary’s ears suddenly filled with a collection of random notes. She had just turned her gaze to the musicians, tuning their instruments at the front of the gallery, when she noticed Lord Lotharian in the distance.
Lotharian managed to rise from his chair situated in the first row of gallery seating. He beckoned forth the footman, who quickly guided the Royle sisters to several chairs near Lady Upperton and himself, Sir Lilywhite, and Lord Gallantine.
Lady Upperton hugged Anne and Elizabeth, then allowed them to take their seats toward the far end of the row beside the Old Rakes.
When she greeted Mary, however, she snatched up her hand and held it firm. “You may sit beside me, my dear,” she told Mary, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She gestured to a chair beside her near the center aisle.
“Why, thank you, Lady Upperton.” When Mary sat down, she realized that the chair beside her was still unoccupied.
Ordinarily, this would not have concerned her in the least, but when Lady Upperton, on two separate occasions just moments apart, shooed guests from sitting in the single empty chair, Mary knew that a plan was afoot. She studied the round old woman and the lanky lord beside her. They merely peered innocently back at her.
But Mary knew better. She only hoped the scheme did not include the wretched Duke of Blackstone.
Suddenly, from somewhere behind her, a wave of enthusiastic applause rolled forward toward the small dais where the musicians had assembled for their performance.
She twisted around in her seat just in time to see that the crowd was applauding Quinn, the famous war hero, who was just starting up the aisle. On his arm, to Mary’s dismay, was the lovely widow Lady Tidwell.
Mary felt a twinge in her middle.
As Quinn escorted Lady Tidwell closer, his eyes sought out Mary’s, and once found, he smiled brightly at her.
The click of his cane grew louder, and abruptly she realized that he was perhaps coming to speak with her. She bit her lower lip, then sucked the top one into her mouth for a moment, hoping to send a little color into them. She glanced down at her gown.
Yes, she was ready to face him now.
As gracefully as she could manage, Mary rose from her seat, beaming at Quinn. She lifted a welcoming hand to him. He reached out his hand as he moved toward her, when suddenly the musicians struck the first chord.
Quinn stilled his step, and both he and Lady Tidwell quickly began to scan the rows nearby for open chairs.
Just time to exchange a few words, to reassure him that she would wait as long as it took for them to be together.
When she turned back to look at Quinn, she saw that he was no longer moving toward her. Instead, he and Lady Tidwell were moving back down the aisle to two unoccupied seats in the middle of the gallery.
When they were about to seat themselves, Quinn paused and did something very odd. He smiled at Mary once more, then raised his eyebrows and angled his head and eyes toward the center aisle.
Mary followed the direction of his gaze.
He was wearing that cocky lopsided grin of his and, worse yet, was moving straight for the empty chair beside her.
Mrs. Polkshank had told her that the duke would not be in attendance this evening! It was the only reason she’d agreed to come.
Thinking quickly, Mary tossed her reticule and lace fan on the chair, hoping he might believe the seat was already taken.
But he didn’t.
He was not the least concerned that he was distracting the musicians when he nudged past the conductor and headed straight for the chair beside her.
“Thank you, my dear Miss Royle.” Quite casually, he lifted her reticule and fan and handed them to her. “How good of you to hold a chair for me.”
Mary thought to imply that the reticule and fan belonged to someone else and that he was taking some unknown lady’s seat, but that would be lying. She looked down at the articles now sitting in her lap. No, such a lie would not have been successful anyway. After all, the fan had been created from the exact same lace as her dress. Even a man was sure to notice that.
For more than two hours the musicians played and played.
Mary had decided right away that she wasn’t going to look at Rogan, though her eyes were straining to do just
