The wretched woman knew perfectly well where I was sleeping and was having a little fun at our expense, I was sure. I sent a desperate, silent, plea in Luc’s direction.
‘I do not want all our eggs in one basket,’ he said. ‘I think if James moves in here and Miss Lawrence takes the spare bedchamber in Albany – yes, I know, Mama, but really, better risk her being compromised than killed, don’t you think?’
For some reason Lady Radcliffe did not demand to know why James couldn’t have the spare room and I come to stay with her. She surely didn’t want her son marrying me – the only outcome of a gentleman compromising a young lady – so she must have decided that I was no lady and so it didn’t matter.
But if she thought that, why didn’t she object to her grandsons being introduced to me? Why, in fact was she allowing me at her tea table?
I can hardly ask, I thought as she stood up.
‘Thank you for your actions today, Miss Lawrence. You could have been killed or seriously injured shielding me. I hope to see you again soon under rather calmer conditions.’
‘What is Mama up to?’ James demanded as soon as she was safely inside.
‘I have not the slightest idea,’ Luc said. ‘I can only assume that she either thinks Miss Lawrence is such an accomplished fighter that she can defend herself against my lecherous advances or she does not believe in shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’
Garrick snorted and it occurred to me that Lady Radcliffe hadn’t turned a hair at having her son’s manservant at her tea table either. What was the story about Garrick? No doubt someone would tell me eventually, if it could be shared.
Chapter Nineteen
‘What are we doing this evening?’ I asked as the carriage rattled back towards Albany. Nothing, I hoped. I was tired, still shaky from the afternoon’s adventures, full of food and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and an early night with one of the novels that Luc had ordered for me.
‘I would like to dine with my mother,’ Luc said. ‘I think she needs reassurance.’ He sent James a questioning look. ‘It’s Friday, isn’t it?’ His brother nodded. ‘So, James will be moving some of his clothes into the Town house and then he has an… appointment. Will you be all right with Garrick, Cassie?’
I was clearly doing an excellent job of looking unruffled and confident. I could have done with some reassurance myself, preferably involving comprehensive cuddling, but I told myself firmly that I was half Lady Radcliffe’s age, a trained officer of the law (if part-time, unpaid and very new to it) and used to standing on my own feet. So I smiled and assured him I wanted nothing more than a good book and to put my feet up.
By eight o’clock my feet were up on the chaise, I was deep into the improbable adventures of Miss Primrose Wellbeloved and the hero, sensitive but firm-jawed Jack Trusty (who I strongly suspected was going to turn out to be an earl, at the very least). There was a fresh pot of hot chocolate by my side, Garrick was whistling somewhere in the back of the apartment and the mailed fist of Primrose’s villainous uncle’s henchman had just thudded like the sound of doom on the door of the cottage where the lovers had taken refuge.
When the knocker on the front door banged I almost fell off the chaise. I mopped chocolate out of my cleavage, smoothed the crumpled pages of Virtue’s Peril and got up with every intention of applying my ear to the door and being nosy. I was almost sent flying by Garrick opening it.
‘Who was it?’
‘A message for his lordship.’ Garrick frowned down at the sealed letter in his hand. ‘From the Home Office.’
‘We should open it.’ He transferred the frown to me. ‘I know it isn’t addressed to us, but what if it is from one of the Reeces? A threat or a confession? Or it might be from the Count. It can hardly be anything deeply personal, can it?’
Garrick didn’t argue, simply broke the seal and opened out the page so I could see. ‘It’s from the Count.’
I scanned down it. ‘He overheard Elliott Reece talking to a magistrate and constables about a raid on The Swan and Chequers? What’s that? A pub?’
‘It is a gaming house for all types of board games – chess, backgammon, drafts. No card games, no gambling.’ Garrick sounded grim.
‘Then what’s to raid? None of that’s illegal, surely?’ I followed him as he strode out into the hallway and through into his own quarters.
‘No, it isn’t. But it is also an accommodation house – a place for rendezvous. Men and women – and that’s not illegal either – but one half’s for men only.’ He clapped his hat on his head, turned for the door.
‘Yes, but – ’
‘And it is where Mr James goes every Friday evening, regular as clockwork.’ He went to the desk, took a wafer and resealed the envelope, then scrawled something on it.
‘Wait for me.’ Thankfully I hadn’t changed and it was the work of moments to find my shoes and a bonnet with a veil. I pulled on a pelisse as I followed Garrick out.
He stopped at the porters’ desk and thrust the letter at them ‘See this is delivered immediately. Matter of life and death.’
Then we were running through the main building with the sound of the porter’s whistle summoning the errand boy echoing behind us, across the yard and into Piccadilly. It was, thankfully, teeming with hackney carriages plying for the evening trade in the fine weather.
I tumbled into the seat, followed by Garrick as the carriage lurched forward. ‘Is it far?’
‘North of the Strand. Ten minutes in this traffic, perhaps.’