‘Why not sell and get rid of such a white elephant?’
Again, mutual incomprehension. ‘Because it is the family seat,’ Lucian said, as though having to explain that water ran downhill.
‘We need to search it, don’t we? Will anyone be there?’
‘A gatekeeper, perhaps. I honestly do not know how much he has had to cut back on the staff, but it can only be a skeleton presence if it is merely a question of keeping the place secure and weathertight.’
‘Let’s go now, at once,’ I urged. ‘It is broad daylight, much easier to look for clues.’
‘Clem is not free this morning. He sent a note to say he has gone to the dentist – that was one reason he has been looking so glum, toothache on top of all the worry. He is not normally so negative.’
‘But there is you and me and Garrick and James, that is plenty of people.’
‘You?’
‘Yes, me,’ I said as Garrick came back into the room with the coffee pot. ‘Garrick, are there any breeches around that would fit me?’
Since our chummy cookery session Garrick seemed less prone to surprise at what I asked him. He narrowed his eyes in thought. ‘Might be, Miss Lawrence. Let me have a rummage.’
‘And a shirt and coat and neckcloth,’ I called as he went out. ‘Oh, and a hat.’
Lucian made a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper, but when I looked at him he grinned. ‘I wish I could see you in your time.’
I grinned back. ‘I wish you could too.’
Garrick worked his usual magic and we set out in the carriage for James’s lodgings with me in a pair of breeches and a coat borrowed from the head porter’s son, one of Lucian’s shirts and a spotted handkerchief round my neck. That, apparently, was called a Belcher after the famous bare-knuckle fighter Jem Belcher. Garrick contributed a somewhat battered low-crowned hat and a pair of woollen stockings and I added my black trainers on the grounds that if I had to run or climb they were the best option.
The first set-back was at James’s lodgings. He was out, the landlord informed Lucian. Perhaps Tattersall’s, perhaps his bootmaker. Or it might be both.
‘We will go to Brentford anyway,’ Lucian decided. ‘At least we can assess what we are up against.’
We went through a turnpike gate and along Knightsbridge – or Knight’s Bridge. It was unrecognisable to me, with even the southern edge of Hyde Park hidden behind a high brick wall. Already we were passing large houses set back on the southern side of the road, mixed in with market gardens and humbler cottages and inns. We drove through Kensington, a bustling village with an ugly church, and then we were back in the country again.
‘This is an incredibly busy road.’
‘Bristol and Bath and all points west,’ Lucian pointed out as a stagecoach went past towards London, the guard blowing for the turnpike. ‘What the – ’ He was staring at a plain carriage that had just passed us, heading in the same direction that we were. ‘That was Wraxall, I would recognise that nose anywhere.’
‘We must follow him,’ I said, even as Lucian lowered the window glass leaned out and shouted up to Garrick.
‘Co-incidence?’
‘Surely not.’ Lucian dropped back into his seat. ‘We are almost at Turnham Green. I cannot think of any reason why Wraxall should be coming this way, unless he has decided to set out for Bath.’ He frowned. ‘And that hardly seems the sort of place to attract him. It is inhabited by retired colonels and invalid ladies these days.’
The carriage was slowing, then it stopped. Lucian got out, spoke to Garrick and leaned into the door to report. ‘Wraxall’s coach turned into a villa just ahead. This is an area where men set up their mistresses, so that could be the explanation.’
‘Or it could be something more sinister and it isn’t a mistress he has hidden here.’
‘Exactly. I will have to check.’
I climbed out. ‘How? We can hardly march up to the front door and knock.’
‘I will scout around the back. Stay here with Garrick.’
‘Like hell I will,’ I informed his retreating back. Lucian vanished through what must be a gap in the hedge and I followed, ignoring Garrick’s protests. I pushed through the foliage, jammed my hat back on my head and found myself on a lawn that ran down the side of the house. The windows were shuttered and the only signs of life were Lucian’s coat-tails as he rounded the far corner. I set off in pursuit, staying close to the walls and peering in at each window to see if there were cracks in the blinds.
The back of the house was covered in ivy and, as I peered round the corner, I saw Lucian looking up assessingly at the window above. He put his hat on the ground, stripped off his coat and began to climb. I joined him on the other side where an equally old and gnarled ivy stem made a perfectly good ladder. He froze, glanced across, opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head at me. But he kept climbing.
We ended up like an unusual architectural ornament, one each side of the window, our heads just above the level of the cill. As though pulled by the same string we both leaned in – and I almost fell off.