Seven
Beatrice opened the door of the pleasant little town house shortly before dawn. George, who worked for Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh as a coachman and general errand-runner, waited in the street with the small, aging carriage until she was safely inside the front hall. She paused on the threshold.
“Thank you, George,” she said. “Sorry to bring you out at this hour of the night.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss Lockwood.” George tipped his hat. “Not that long until sunup. By the time I get home the household will be stirring and there will be coffee and breakfast.”
He slapped the reins lightly against the horse’s rump. The vehicle rolled off down the street.
Beatrice closed the door and shot the bolt on the lock. The house was very quiet. Mrs. Rambley, the housekeeper, was still abed in her private quarters near the kitchen. Clarissa Slate would also be asleep.
The wall sconces had been turned down for the night but they gave enough light to illuminate the stairs. Beatrice made her way up to the bedroom floor and went along the hall.
The door of one of the bedrooms opened. Clarissa appeared, a candle in one hand. By day she affected a severe appearance. She wore her dark hair pinned into a prim knot and used spectacles to veil her serious amber eyes. Her gowns were always so dark and so strictly tailored that most people assumed she was in perpetual mourning. But tonight, clad in a white cotton nightgown, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, she looked very different—far more innocent and vulnerable.
Of course, appearances were always deceptive when it came to the lady investigators who worked for Flint & Marsh, Beatrice reminded herself. They all had their own secrets.
“I heard George’s carriage in the street,” Clarissa said. “Why are you coming home at such an hour? Did something go wrong in the Pennington case? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Beatrice assured her. “The case concluded quite suddenly at the Trent ball tonight. Richard Euston made his move. He attempted to abduct Miss Pennington with the intention of compromising her so that she would be forced to marry him.”
“He did not succeed, I trust?”
“No, but the situation became complicated and makes for a long story. I promise I will tell you everything in the morning.”
Clarissa smiled. “Not much longer, in that case. It is nearly dawn. Try to get some sleep.”
“I doubt if I will be able to do that. You know how it is after a case concludes. There is always that edgy sensation.”
“I understand,” Clarissa said gently. “Perhaps a hot bath and a dose of brandy would help.”
Beatrice smiled. “I stopped by the office before I came home. Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh have already plied me with brandy. Go back to your bed. I promise I will tell you every detail in the morning.”
“Very well.” Clarissa made to close the door. “It’s good to have you home safe and sound. I had an uneasy feeling all evening. I was starting to become worried and was about to send a message around to Flint and Marsh to see if all was well. But then the sensation faded.”
“Your intuition was not off,” Beatrice said. “For a time there was some danger involved for Miss Daphne, but in the end all was well. Unfortunately, there is another rather heavy boot yet to drop.”
Clarissa’s dark brows rose. “A boot?”
“His name is Joshua Gage.”