“They seem very different to me.”
“Given the conditions in which you have met Frederick, I am not surprised.” With a sigh, Miss Sarah sat and arranged her dress around her. “I will grant that their interests are very different, but their headstrong nature and temper bear the same stamp.”
Slowly, Jane sat on the sofa beside her. “Vincent has never hit anyone, and would not.”
Miss Sarah raised a single brow. “You did not see him with Sir Ronald?”
Jane barely had memories of Vincent entering the room that night, but she had seen his hand and the deep bruises upon it. She had seen the lingering rage in his eyes. “But … under the circumstances—”
“Frederick always feels justified as well.” Miss Sarah glanced at the clock again. “And there is real anger between them, which dinner will not be enough to cool. But—we have other things to discuss.”
Jane could not help but compare Miss Sarah with Vincent’s mother, the Countess of Verbury. The only other time Jane had dined with Vincent’s father, she had progressed to the parlour with the countess and the other ladies. Both the countess and Miss Sarah were elegant and had retained their beauty in their later years. But the countess had been placidly elegant and directed the public conversation away from any topic that might have even a touch of contention. Miss Sarah, in spite of the controlled composure she had exhibited during dinner, showed real emotion. Jane would have expected that, as a slave, she would have been more assiduous about avoiding any topics which might endanger her, but Miss Sarah had been direct.
“What would you like to discuss?”
Miss Sarah bit her lips and lowered her voice. “I can mimic Frederick’s hand. When you go—and I know you will the moment the baby is born—will you take Louisa with you? I know it involves asking you to deliberately lie, but will you please?”
“Only Louisa? Why not your other grandchildren?”
“I do not worry about them in the same way. Louisa is too pretty. She done catch Mr. Pridmore eye. He has been kept from her only by constant vigilance.”
Jane had seen that interest firsthand and it turned her stomach. “Of course. But I want to also reassure you that Mr. Pridmore is on his way out.”
Miss Sarah shook her head. “No.… Vincent and Frank found evidence of embezzling?“
“Yes. So you see, Mr. Pridmore no longer has a hold over Lord Verbury.”
“He never has.” She leaned towards Jane and lowered her voice. “Frederick told him to do it.”
Jane stared at her and was aware that her mouth had dropped open. “But … but to what purpose? If he wished to pay Pridmore more, why not simply increase his salary?”
“Because Frederick is supposed to be dead. It was presented, of course, as a way of thanking him, with the understanding that Garland would raise his salary when he arrived. But, of course, it was also to create a lever to use against Mr. Pridmore.” She clasped her hands together and addressed one of the walls, as though she had gone mad. “I am sorry, Frank. Frederick did not tell me until he and I were dressing for dinner.”
Frank was clearly standing in one of the coldmonger’s boxes and had likely been there all evening. Jane’s instinct was to rise, throw open the door, and pull Vincent bodily from the room. Her mind churned, trying to put together the information that Miss Sarah had presented to her. “But why would he invite us to dinner if he had no intention of agreeing to fire Mr. Pridmore?”
“Because he wanted to see you.”
One of the candles on the sideboard fluttered out, caught in a sudden breeze. A thin trail of smoke bent away from the wall.
Miss Sarah glanced from the smoking candle to the door as if it were a signal. “They are coming out.” She leaned back on the sofa and composed her features into an easy smile. “The fashion plates from London show such a widening of silhouette that I have half expected hoops to make a return.”
The fact that Jane was sitting on the sofa with her back to the door now seemed like a calculation by Miss Sarah. It was appreciated, as Jane could not quite match her ease of manner, though she did manage to appear tolerably tranquil when the doors opened. “I had no complaints when my dressmaker in Vienna suggested corded petticoats, because the extra warmth was appreciated. Here, though, the fashion seems at odds with the climate. I find myself longing for the simple white muslin of my youth.”
The faint squeak of Lord Verbury’s chair rolled into the room. Miss Sarah smiled and made a show of mock displeasure. “Now we shall have to leave off. The gentlemen will have no interest in a discussion of the most feminine of arts.”