Lord Perfect (The Dressmakers 3)

BATHSHEBA REGARDED HER surroundings with a sinking heart.

Throgmorton was immense. Extensive gardens, formal and informal, surrounded the main house. These gave way to a vast park, then acres of plantations and farmland. Once the children got in—and that would be child’s play for Olivia—they might stay for days, perhaps weeks, unnoticed.

The park was amply wooded. Temples, follies, ruins, grottoes, and other hideaways dotted the landscape. A rustic cottage, used in summer for picnics, hid within a pine bower. A fishing house stood at the edge of the lake. The extensive grounds had been designed for entertaining not only the family but large parties of guests. While Lord Mandeville and his family spent little time in London, they were by no means unsociable. Moreover, the house was open to touring visitors on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was all too easy to enter and all to easy to wander.

The mausoleum was not part of the regular tour, and visible only from certain areas of the grounds. Though it stood on a rise in the southwestern part of the park, the surrounding trees sheltered it from view of the vulgar masses touring the house and gardens that sprawled over the eastern side of the property.

At present Bathsheba stood a short distance away on another, slightly higher rise, with Rathbourne and Lord Northwick. They were gathered in front of the New Lodge, a structure dating back, Northwick said, to Elizabethan times.

Thomas was at the mausoleum, studying the terrain. He was easy to see at present. As Northwick had promised, this was the best vantage point for observing his ancestors’ resting place. From here she had a fine view of the place, a Roman temple adorned with finials and elaborate carving. A short, wide flight of steps led to a portico supported by Corinthian columns. A wide lane led down to the bottom of the rise, then branched into narrower pathways. One of these led up to the New Lodge, circled it, and went down the rise another way. Another followed the contours of the lower part of the hill. From this, others led into the wooded slopes and down to the pathway that circled the lake.

“The mausoleum is relatively new,” Lord Northwick was saying. “Building began a few years after Edmund DeLucey changed professions. My grandfather—his brother William—often stayed here, to keep an eye on the builders, he said.”

“It would make a fine spot for a secret rendezvous, I notice,” said Rathbourne. “Did your grandfather meet a lover here or was it his black sheep brother?”

Northwick lifted his eyebrows.

“Rathbourne is a sort of detective,” Bathsheba said. “He is an expert on the criminal mind.”

“Do not tease Lord Northwick,” Rathbourne said. “You know perfectly well I did not refer to criminal behavior.”

“You seem to read my mind well enough,” she said.

“That is because you are transparent,” he said.

She turned away, her face too warm.

“I merely observed the location,” Rathbourne’s deep voice continued behind her. “It is well out of view of the main house and outbuildings. I considered that William was the eldest son. I, too, am the eldest, and have been trained since childhood to protect my younger siblings. Perhaps it is like Mrs. Wingate’s maternal instinct, which is not always connected to logic. I merely supposed that William acted under a similar sense of fraternal affection or obligation.”

“I had heard you were prodigious clever,” said Northwick. “You suppose right. My grandmother always believed that William did meet with Edmund here. She said it was to lend Edmund large sums of money, which he never repaid.”

“That seems far more likely than Edmund’s making deposits at Throgmorton, as my family likes to imagine,” Bathsheba said.

“It almost seems a pity to stop the brats,” Rathbourne said thoughtfully. “I should dearly love to see how they would go about excavating the place. It would certainly be good practice for Peregrine.” He’d already told Northwick of Peregrine’s Egyptian ambitions.

“I must confess that I grow curious, too,” said Northwick. “If it would not send my father into an apoplexy, I should indulge them. I should dearly love to know what they propose to dig with. But one must then have people on watch to make sure they did not bring any finials down on their heads or tumble down the steps. Yesterday I noticed some crumbling stone that needs to be attended to. That is not the only problem at Throgmorton.”

“There are always problems,” Rathbourne said. “No matter how diligent the estate manager, he is obliged to postpone work here in order to do it there. The supply of workers is not unlimited. One must accommodate the weather. Only so much can be done.”

“You have some experience of managing an estate, I see,” said Lord Northwick.

Rathbourne smiled faintly. “I was not allowed to be idle. My father taught me farming at an early age.”

“Then you understand my concerns,” said Lord Northwick. “Accidents will happen, no matter what precautions one takes. The trouble is, young people are not notably cautious. When they keep to the paths, in daytime, they ought to be quite safe. But I have visions of these two skulking about at night, a prospect that makes my blood run cold.”

“Did you never skulk about at night, in your youth, Lord Northwick?” said Rathbourne.

Bathsheba glanced back at him. He was not smiling, but she heard the smile in his voice.

“Yes, and that is why I am so uneasy,” said Northwick. “I have told the groundskeepers to keep the dogs leashed. I have warned everyone to exercise caution. Yet if one is suddenly awakened at night, it is all too easy to act first and think later.”

The warnings were part of the “press of duty” that had kept him from meeting with Bathsheba and Rathbourne until today. Lord Northwick had immediately begun alerting his staff, the local constables, and just about everyone else in the vicinity. He’d even sent messages to the tollgate keepers around Bristol.

“You have taken every possible precaution,” Rathbourne said. “Already I breathe easier.”

“Though I hope Lord Lisle has better sense than to attempt to enter a property at night, I shall put someone to watch the mausoleum after dark,” said Northwick. “That way you might get some rest. You should find everything in readiness within.” He nodded toward the lodge. “A servant will bring your dinner while the rest of us are occupied at table. Is your footman sufficient for your needs, or shall I send one of my staff to assist him?”

“Certainly you need not send dinner,” Rathbourne said. “We can dine at the King’s Arms when we return.”

“But you are not returning to the inn,” said Northwick. “I have made the New Lodge ready for you. It is absurd to waste time traveling to and fro. You will be far more comfortable here, I promise you. My lady and I have stayed here more times than I can count, when we find the house too confining.”

Throgmorton House contained one hundred fifty rooms.

What Lord Northwick sought, no doubt, was a refuge.

This was understandable. Even the members of the most close-knit families could wear on one another’s nerves.

What was surprising was his choosing to have his lady with him.

Lord Northwick had a romantic streak, Bathsheba realized. And his wife was part of the romance.

He loved his wife, and this was their lovers’ hideaway.

Yet he was

allowing his despised cousin to contaminate it with her presence.

She hadn’t time to wonder at it.

Peter DeLucey burst into view, galloping toward them. “They’re on the way!” he called. “Seen this morning. At the Walcot tollgate.”

THE FIRST RAINDROPS began to fall as Peter DeLucey was assuring them that both Peregrine and Olivia were reported to be in good health and spirits. They were traveling with a peddler, one familiar to the tollgate keeper. The peddler’s name was Gaffy Tipton.

“The word has gone out,” Peter said. “With any luck, one of our men will find Tipton and your young wanderers before nightfall.”

Soon after this promising news, Lord Northwick and his son took their leave.

The sky grew steadily darker, and the rain’s patter increased. Ignoring her protests, Benedict threw his coat over Bathsheba’s shoulders.

Soon the rain was pouring down in sheets, driving them indoors. Inside or out, they couldn’t see anything anyway. The mausoleum vanished behind a grey curtain of rain.

“So much for keeping watch,” Benedict said, coming away from a window. “I wonder where Thomas has got to.”

“Out of the wet, I hope,” said Bathsheba.

“No doubt he felt the change coming in the weather and took sensible action,” Benedict said. “He’s a countryman, recollect.”

She took off his damp coat and shivered.

“I’ll build a fire,” he said. “Let us pray the chimney doesn’t smoke.”

The chimney, like the rest of the old building, appeared to be well maintained, to Benedict’s relief. He could not remember when last he’d built a wood fire. He needed as many circumstances as possible in his favor.

She stayed at the window.

A tinderbox sat on the stone mantel. He opened the box and eyed it warily. The tinder had better not be damp.

“I’ll have you warm in no time,” he said.