Lord Wraxall was holding forth to his companions who were nodding agreement like the Chinese figurines I’d once seen in Brighton Pavilion. I found a potted palm to lurk beside and pretended to view the dance floor while eavesdropping. Best to get some feel for the man before I attempted to make contact.
‘It is a great mistake to ignore modern inventions,’ he was saying. ‘The manufacturers and engineers and rude mechanicals involved are, naturally, quite beyond the pale.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Eyeglasses agreed. ‘All they create is noise and dirt and mud and they attract hordes of thoroughly undesirable types at their manufactories.’
Thoroughly undesirable types like working people, I presume?
‘Indeed, Twyford, but one does not have to look at all of that, or live near it. One simply has to profit from it.’
‘But with this agitation for Reform those manufacturing types in places like Birmingham will get the vote,’ Redhead objected. He made it sound as though the Midlands and the North were Sodom and Gomorrah. ‘And then where will we be?’
‘In the mire,’ Wraxall said loftily, ‘along with the swine. Naturally the Reform nonsense must be blocked or the greasy-handed burghers of Manchester and their ilk will think they have the upper hand. But investment, at arm’s length, now that’s the thing. They may be uneducated, uncultured and disruptive, but keep them in their place and they will lay – ’
‘–Golden eggs,’ I finished for him as I turned to face them. All three looked as though the potted palm had spoken. In French. ‘Cassandra Lawrence from America,’ I informed them. ‘Lord Wraxall, I have heard of you. And you are so right. Golden eggs indeed – but like the geese that lay them, these manufacturing types make such a mess of the lawn.’
Redhead and Eyeglasses backed away, muttering apologies. Obviously they needed to say safely away from dangerous women who had opinions and were brazen enough to voice them, but Wraxall bravely stood his ground. He had a nose that reminded me of the Duke of Wellington’s, a fine shock of brown hair, a reasonable, if lanky, figure – and the stance of someone who thought he was God’s gift to feeble-minded womanhood.
‘You have heard of me?’ He did not sound in the slightest bit surprised.
‘Naturally. As one of the most intelligent men in London.’ And one of the most objectionable. He smirked. I smirked back. ‘Steam, now that is where the money should be going,’ I said.
‘And canals.’ He seemed sufficiently taken aback by me to keep talking.
‘That is yesterday’s technology.’ I gave a dismissive wave of my hand that almost felled a pair of young ladies strolling past. ‘Valuable, of course, and transport, I agree with you, is key. But steam locomotion and steam power – ’
‘Trevithick?’ He curled a lip.
‘He had teething problems.’
‘But why are you interested, Miss… Lawrence, was it? That is no way for a young lady to catch a husband.’ He was regarding me with the fascinated air of a botanist who has just discovered a blue rose and is not at all certain he likes the look of it. I would have to be careful or I was going to lose him.
Chapter Twenty Three
‘I do not want to catch a husband,’ I retorted. ‘There are so few intelligent men around – present company excepted, naturally – and why would an intelligent woman wish to marry anyone anyway? I declare you are as bad as my cousin Radcliffe, wretched man. Not that I see much of him. I had to positively drag him out of the house this evening. All he seems to do is talk to that dull man Sir Clement Selbourne about the missing girl. Miss Troughton or whatever her name is.’
‘Trenton. Dreadful female.’
‘Really? How refreshing to hear an unbiased assessment of her, I am getting so weary of the hand-wringing over her possible fate. She is so perfect and so sweet and so – ’
‘Sweet? The girl has a tongue like an adder.’ He gave an artistic shudder.
‘A sharp wit?’ I asked. ‘Or merely spite masquerading as wit?’
‘You, Miss Lawrence, make intelligent deductions.’ Wraxall gave me an approving nod as though I was a star pupil. I returned a slight smile. I didn’t want him to think I was currying his favour, because I suspected that my refusal to flutter and giggle was what was intriguing him and keeping him talking. ‘She is a spiteful minx and my deduction is that her brother has removed her from polite society until she learns to behave in a more becoming manner.’
‘You think that adequate punishment for such behaviour?’ I was careful not to set up his hackles by letting on that I knew she had insulted him.
‘Good Heavens, yes.’ His laugh was a trifle shrill. ‘That is what chits like that live for. She can mope away on his dismal estate in Lancashire until he finds her a husband. I had thought her breeding and her looks would make her a suitable consort, but when I made her an offer she showed me the most appalling side to her nature – not at all what I had expected from her. Quite unsuitable, I cannot think what led me to make such an error of judgment.’
He shrugged, apparently dismissing Arabella as of no concern. ‘But to matters of more interest. I am reading a paper on the influence of Greek architecture on modern taste next week at Lady Quartermaine’s salon. My little talks are very popular, you should come along. I make certain they are comprehensible to the ladies.’
‘How very condescending of you.’ I gritted my teeth at him.
He didn’t seem to take it amiss. ‘I do try. One has a duty to spread knowledge and culture where one can. Your views on steam power are interesting, Miss… er… but it is not a subject with which a delicately reared female should occupy herself.’ Wraxall gave me a faint, supercilious smile and drifted away, his acolytes falling in behind now he had dismissed the irritating woman.
I saw Lucian near the door of the supper room and made my way over to him. ‘Just how easy is it to get away with murder?’ I demanded.
‘What? You think he has – ’