A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1) Page 19

  “Mr. Maitlin.” The voice of his valet penetrated the fog in his brain. He lifted his head from his hands and stared across the desk at Wiggins.

  “Do you think it prudent to leave Lady Stafford unguarded?”

  Wiggins didn’t look the least offended at his employer’s strident tone. “Lady Stafford is staying in this evening. The stable boy is keeping an eye on the house, my lord.”

  He frowned. “The stable boy is guarding Lady Stafford. All I recall him being good for is sleeping.”

  “I told the lad the Home Office hired me to keep a close watch on the lady and I needed his assistance.” Wiggins shrugged. “I’ve added danger and intrigue to his life.”

  Devlyn pulled the note from Franco out of his pocket. He read it aloud to Wiggins before tearing the missive into tiny pieces.

  “Sir, you left Stafford House so quickly I didn’t get a moment to ask if you have any instructions for me regarding tomorrow.”

  Wiggins had a point, which only added to his bad mood. “Franco will follow Lady Stafford and we cannot be seen anywhere near her. Once she leaves in her carriage tomorrow afternoon I want you to return here.”

  The valet hesitated as if he had something more to say. Devlyn raised a warning brow and Wiggins merely nodded and exited the room.

  He groaned after enough time had passed for his valet to be out of earshot. A horrible thought had occurred to him. Good heavens. Did Wiggins realize he had been about to make a fool of himself at Stafford House?

  The copy of the London Times that rested on the corner of the desk caught his eye and he opened it for a diversion, to give himself a rest from chastising himself for his recent idiotic behavior. He turned the pages until a headline caught his eye.

  Has Lady Ice Melted?

  Dear reader, I for one believe the beautiful Lady Ice returned to polite society to disprove the nasty rumors her husband spread about her. At several entertainments I have noticed the lady to be quite determined to show society she is a warm, sociable woman who is ready to remarry.

  High on the list of gentlemen in the running for her hand are a man who fled England after causing his brother to be crippled and a renowned fortune hunter.

  Devlyn threw the paper aside, unable to read further. Now he knew why he hadn’t seen any newspapers about the house. His mother had read the gossip pages and wanted to prevent him from seeing them. No wonder she preferred to read the far more cheerful Morning Post.

  He’d wanted to declare his love for a woman better off without him. When he left England he’d been an immature, selfish boy. Now he’d returned as a man. Was he still being selfish?

  * * * * *

  Anna dismissed Mary for the evening. Seated at her dressing table, she felt completely and utterly alone. Her only friends were her brother-in-law and a lady’s maid. What a depressing reality. She had no one to confide her fears and dreams to.

  “Poor little me.” She stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror before her. A few minutes ago, she’d caught herself considering a trip down to the kitchens to look in the scullery for spirits Cook used in her recipes.

  Her dinner of salmon and omelet had been delicious. Despite her melancholy mood her appetite remained strong. Every day she resisted the urge to drink wine was a good day.

  Thoughts of her relatives came to mind. She’d had little discourse with her uncle and his family after her wedding. Her maiden aunts had raised her as best they could. They were getting on in years and she’d done very little to help them; presents on holidays, but really nothing of consequence.

  “I am selfish,” she said to the face in the mirror. “I can’t think of one thing I’ve done for someone else.”

  Her year spent in a near alcoholic stupor was a sorry excuse for self-centeredness.

  In a matter of minutes, she penned a letter to her uncle and one to her aunts. Invitations to visit Stafford House and enjoy the sights of London were included in the correspondence. She decided if her aunts would prefer not to visit London, she would visit them instead.

  The large clock downstairs struck. She counted the clangs to eleven. Now cocooned in her soft warm bed, she no longer felt such a keen desire for alcohol.

  Her thoughts circled back to Devlyn. Did he love her? Why did she want a child? Was it merely to fill the emptiness inside of her? The desire to bear children was surely a normal female instinct. She wondered if that were the answer. She’d grown up listening to her uncle’s discourses on her duty to marry well and have children.

  Other than the time she’d spent with Andrew she didn’t have a lot of experience with children. Women of the ton had retainers to help with their children: wet-nurses, nursemaids and governesses. Cecily chose to spend a lot of time with Andrew, but most parents in society largely left the care of their offspring in the hands of servants.

  It was hard to imagine a man like Devlyn not wanting to be a part of the life of his own child. She knew him to be a kind and patient man. He would be a loving father.

  Devlyn knew the worst about her and had accepted her flaws without censure. She knew she loved him. The feeling had crept up on her. Never would she have believed there was so much emotion in her for another human being. Was it enough to fill the void in her life? Would it be enough to compensate for not having children?

  The image in her mind of a family remained fixed: a husband, an heir and spare, and hopefully a little girl. She could envision no man other than Devlyn playing the part of her spouse.

  She remembered the words Devlyn said to her after the last time they made love: You have chosen a passionless marriage. Had he meant she had a choice? Did he want to marry her?

  * * * * *

  The next day Anna wore her best walking dress, a new printed muslin gown of cerulean blue. A pale blue parasol, bonnet, dyed kid slippers and washing leather gloves completed her ensemble.

  “That will be all,” she said to her maid.

  She could see Mary in the reflection of her dressing table mirror. The girl stood behind her mistress having just finished arranging Anna’s hair.

  “I’ve been with you this far, my lady,” the maid replied. “I know you are worried about going out today. Let me go with you.”

  “Mary…”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything about that Franco character, my lady. Please allow me to go with you.”

  “You know about Franco?” she asked, surprised.

  Mary nodded. “Servants do have ears.”

  “I have to protect Andrew. You might be in danger if you come with me.”

  Mary squared her shoulders and the look on her face was stubborn. “I have no love for Lady Pickerel, my lady, but I would not like any harm to come to you or the little boy.”

  In the end she agreed to the maid accompanying her. Truth be told, she felt better having the girl along. Mary had become a useful ally. The maid took a seat on the box of the carriage and Anna fleetingly wondered if Franco would be angry at her for bringing Mary along.

  Her coachman Silvers handed her into her late husband’s barouche and passed her a piece of paper.

  “A boy ran up to me and told me this note was for your eyes only.”

  She unfolded the paper and read:

  The Egyptian Hall.

  Dear heaven. She sighed. The man is too dramatic for words. She merely said to Silvers, “Bullock’s Museum, if you please.”

  Bullock’s Museum, or as it was widely known, Egyptian Hall, was not one of her favorite amusements in London. The problem wasn’t that she disliked Natural History per se; the idea of being surrounded by stuffed animals for an afternoon made her feel slightly ill.

  Her driver exited Upper Grosvenor Street and turned onto Park Lane. The roads were busy. Silvers deftly wove in and out of traffic and the coach reached the museum unscathed. Her coachman handed her down in front of the Egyptian style edifice at number 22 on Piccadilly.

  “I shouldn’t be inside for very long.”

  She paid two s
chillings for her and Mary to enter the museum. Followed closely by her maid, she leisurely made her way past arms and armor before reaching the abhorrent glass cases of stuffed animals. The disturbing diorama of African wildlife could be tolerated only a moment. She spent a few minutes pretending interest in various insects in a tabletop glass case. She wasn’t sure why she found insects with pins in them less alarming than stuffed animals.

  “Lady Stafford?” A young man with glasses low on his nose appeared beside her.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Henry Digson and I am a guide here at the museum. I am very sorry to disturb you. A gentleman requested I give you this note.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Digson,” she replied and accepted the folded paper. A short nod dismissed the young man.

  After the man had moved away, she unfolded the note.

  Hookham’s Library.

  “Hookham’s instead of Hatchard’s?”

  Her coachman looked the same question when she told him their next stop would be the circulating library on Old Bond Street rather than the closer shop in Piccadilly.

  She now determined her trip around London might be intended to enable Franco to see if she were followed. It was a lucky thing the day was fair as the man had insisted on an open carriage. Although the barouche did have a collapsible hood, she knew from experience the contraption was temperamental. Her light parasol would keep the sun off her face. It would not hold up to rain.

  The circulating library at 15 Old Bond Street included more than a collection of books. Almost any type of stationery ware could be purchased at the establishment and she enjoyed browsing through the variety of bookplates suitable for engraving. Before she could inquire as to the price of engraving the plates a shabbily dressed young woman approached her.

  “A nob told me to give you this,” the woman said. She held up a folded piece of paper but made no move to hand it over.

  Anna opened her reticule, held up a shilling and the woman handed over the note. She didn’t bother asking what the man looked like. Why surrender another shilling?

  Tower of London.

  If she’d been a man, she would have whispered damn. As she was a lady, she simply shook her head. The tower would be crowded at this time of day. Seated in the carriage yet again, she said to Silvers, “I would like to visit The Tower.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Joseph Planta suggested Devlyn wait at home for a report of Anna’s whereabouts throughout the day. Although the under-secretary’s proposal didn’t sit well with him, he wouldn’t endanger Anna further by his presence. By evening, Michael Bradley would be on a ship bound for the West Indies.

  Devlyn was more than eager for the whole affair to be over. He’d done a lot of thinking about himself and Anna while he waited for news on the day’s events. To prove he had indeed changed from the selfish, pleasure seeking boy he’d been three years ago he would let Anna go. He could not fault her for desiring a child to measure up to what society expected of her. Did he not himself feel uncomfortable with all of London knowing his own physical inadequacy?

  He read aloud as he scanned the missive a lower secretary delivered to The Grange. “Lady Stafford has visited the Egyptian Hall, Hookham’s, and is currently at The Tower.”

  Wiggins, ever present, waited for direction.

  “Bradley will most likely make contact with Lady Stafford somewhere in the grounds of The Tower,” he said to his valet. “It is a public place with lots of areas to hide in and will be busy this time of day. He can make his escape by boat, carriage or foot.”

  “Do you want me to go on ahead?” Wiggins asked.

  “We might as well go to The Tower together. By now Bradley is aware you are connected to me.”

  “And what happens when we catch Bradley?”

  “I know a ship’s captain who is more than willing to transport our blackmailer to the West Indies for a goodly sum of money, no questions asked.”

  “Very well,” Wiggins replied. He looked as eager as his employer to put an end to their inactivity.

  Devlyn didn’t know a lot about the man who was his valet. What he did know was there was nobody better to have by his side when it came time to seize Michael Bradley.

  * * * * *

  Did Devlyn Maitlin think he was an imbecile? Lady Stafford had been followed. The man following her had the look of someone coming up through the diplomatic corps. The man carried himself stiffly and Michael guessed him to be a former member of the regimentals.

  Michael observed Lady Stafford disappear through the visitor’s entrance to The Tower. Her maid followed deferentially behind. He should have known the maid would accompany Lady Stafford. The girl followed her mistress everywhere. The man from the Home Office who shadowed Lady Stafford stuck out like a sore thumb as he glanced this way and that, careful not to let his charge get too far ahead of him.

  Lady Stafford had no way of knowing he would relieve her of her jewels somewhere in The Tower. He had only to divert the attention of the man following her. Devlyn Maitlin would have been the one to involve the government. The indirect route Michael had instructed Lady Stafford take to arrive at The Tower had been a precaution. He was now certain neither Mr. Maitlin nor his manservant had followed the countess today.

  Watchful to stay a few paces behind his prey, he entered the tower walls and stepped into the large courtyard facing the White Tower. There were plenty of areas for Lady Stafford to visit in The Tower. Somewhere along the way he would find the perfect opportunity to approach his quarry.

  * * * * *

  Anna knew she and Mary hadn’t been alone at any of their destinations today. Whenever she let her eyes wander, she noticed a tall man with blonde hair nearby. She attributed his company as part of Devlyn’s plan. If she was aware of the man’s presence it was very likely Franco was aware of him as well.

  “I have no desire to see the Horse Armoury, chapel or record office,” she said to her maid.

  The last time she had visited the Chapel of St. John the Evangelist inside the White Tower, one of the Beefeater’s had shared a gruesome tale. During the Peasant’s Revolt of 1381 Archbishop Sudbury of Canterbury had been dragged from the chapel to Tower Hill to be beheaded. It had taken eight blows from an axe to sever the archbishop’s head, a detail the guard relayed with obvious relish.

  She said to Mary, “Let us proceed to the Bloody Tower and the Execution Site. The Lion’s Tower and The Menagerie should finish out our tour well enough.”

  Anna had no idea what plan Devlyn had to catch Michael Bradley. If she had to give up her jewels to protect Andrew it was a small price to pay. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe this would be the only time Michael Bradley would request funds from her.

  Somewhere in the historic cluster of towers she expected to be approached by an emissary from Franco with another note and off she would go to her next destination.

  Although she’d heard the litany of murderous deeds done in the Bloody Tower before, she listened attentively to the Beefeater as he related them. The man paused for effect after relating the story of the murder of the two young princes. Mary, who had surely heard the tale many times before, gasped and sighed mournfully along with the other visitors present.

  They exited the Bloody Tower. The warmth of the sun was welcome after the cloying cold of the tower walls. As she and her maid walked to the Execution Site, the calls of the tower ravens echoed around them.

  She walked to stand near an older couple beside the grassy plot of land that had been witness to at least seven executions.

  “I can’t imagine a man having one wife beheaded, let alone two,” the woman said to the man next to her.

  “One wife is enough for a lifetime,” the woman’s companion replied and was rewarded with a playful slap on his arm.

  “Humph.”

  “You’ll always be enough for me, Molly,” the balding man, as stout as the woman he stood next to, rejoined.

  The couple exchanged a sweet look.
She felt a pang in her chest not unlike the twinge she felt when she observed the children around her. It seemed everywhere she went she found a reminder of the choice she faced.

  She turned away from the mound of earth known for many a morbid event and made her way to the brick tower now known affectionately as the Lions Tower.

  Anna would rather view live animals rather than stuffed ones. The menagerie of animals, started by Henry I in Oxfordshire, had moved to The Tower by the time of the reign of King John. The collection of exotic animals cost an additional schilling to see. She thought it a small price to view the current animals on display: lionesses, tigers, leopards, raccoons, a panther, grizzly bear and hyena. The grizzly bear, Old Martin, was a favorite of most Londoners.

  “Not too close now,” a Beefeater said to a boy standing near the hyena’s cage. “Believe it or not, that animal is the worst of the lot.”

  She had supposed one of Michael’s messengers would have approached her by now. She and Mary would have to wander about the surrounding towers until he or one of his representatives contacted her.

  There was a commotion by the cage which held the panther. A woman screamed. Through the crowd of people around her she could see the blonde man now held one arm against his chest, blood dripping from a tear in the sleeve of his coat.

  “Get back now,” one of the guards said to the small crowd as he hurried to the blonde man. “Sir, there is a doctor in the guards’ quarters. We must get that taken care of.”

  She overheard two men talking about the accident. “I saw him fall against the cage and quick as that, the animal mauled him. Not a lucky place to trip.”

  No, it wasn’t. She doubted the man had tripped. She felt a prickling on her nape and turned to see Franco stood not ten feet behind her. He took a few steps toward her.

  “Do you have the jewelry?”

  “Yes.” She looked about. The only person she recognized nearby was Mary. The maid watched as the blonde man was escorted away.