“Do you have your carriage?” It being a miserable day, the odds were fairly high that he had not come on horseback; she scarcely waited for his nod before continuing. “Might I get a ride with you to Spelding? I was hoping to get a letter for Mrs. Dunbar-Ross in the post today. A ride there and back would save me some time and trouble.” It would also prevent Cora from skipping the girls’ lessons to accompany her.
“No, I think not, Lydia. I am off to Spelding but plan to tarry at the rectory. Reverend Caudle is fashioning his sermon for Easter next week and has need of my opinion. I might be there for some time and would not have you wait. It would cause Mrs. Caudle grief to be so put upon. I am rather surprised that you would not better consider her feelings.”
Lydia tipped her head and stared at her gallant, who was not in the least gallant. “I did not invite myself to the Caudles, Barley. I merely … Never mind, I will give it to Shodster. He’ll arrange for the letter to go out on the morrow.”
One day more would not make the least difference. In fact, there had been no need to ask Barley for his assistance at all. She simply wondered if he would be willing to go out of his way for her. A test of sorts, for want of a better word.
“Yes, indeed. Problem solved.” Barley nodded his farewell and without further comment closed the door behind him.
Yes, an impulsive test. Which he had failed miserably.
*
It took the better part of three nights to run Lord Rennoll to ground. The problem was not in locating his residence—though a new arrival from London, the man was well known throughout Bath. The difficulty rose from the fact that the gentleman was seldom at his rented town house and rarely at the same gaming den two nights in a row. Bath had diversions aplenty for titled bachelors, even for those of such advanced years as four and thirty, and Lord Rennoll took advantage of them all.
In the end, Robert resorted to leaving a card and an appointment request with the man’s butler. There was no mention of the subject to be discussed, and as such, Robert was fairly certain he would return at the arranged time to find Lord Rennoll at home. Curiosity was a marvelous tool.
Unfortunately, obstinacy was not.
Neither Robert nor Cassidy made it past the front hall.
“Well, that went well,” Cassidy said with no little sarcasm as they returned to the street. He donned his top hat, which had literally been in his hand in preparation to eat humble pie.
Robert pivoted, staring first at the closed door framed by decorative beige pillars, and then lifted his gaze to the first floor. The full-length window, running the entire width of the town house, was partially concealed by a balcony, but there was no mistaking the face staring back down.
“Is that him?” Robert pointed with his chin.
Cassidy followed his friend’s gaze. “Indeed.” And then, in an ill-considered move, Cassidy swept his hat back off his head and bowed—far too slowly and far too deeply. The mockery was evident; the face in the window disappeared.
“Now why did you do that? I was going to work on him. We still have two days.”
“Lord Rennoll is not about to cancel our duel. He greatly enjoys the bragging rights of his success. If we learned nothing else in our traipsing about town, we learned that.”
Robert hated to admit it, but Cassidy was right. The man was spoiling for a fight. So it was back to his contingency plan; he would tie Cassidy up to prevent him from participating. Robert would have to send Longdon out for a length of rope.
Chapter 13
In which Mr. Newton is caught woolgathering … twice, and Miss Whitfield has an odd encounter in Spelding
The next morning found Robert mulling over the future of his friend—with fervent hopes and plans to extend that friendship into old age. He had just pushed away his breakfast plate, unable to face the kippers and toast that were now stone cold, when he heard the loud bang of the front-door knocker. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, Robert observed that a reasonably civil hour had only just been attained, and he frowned.
An unexpected visitor before midday did not bode well.
Rising, he reached the morning room door just as Longdon stepped into the hall. His butler lifted a questioning brow.
“Yes, I am in if there is need for me to be,” Robert answered the unexpressed query. “I leave it to your discretion.”
Longdon gave him a long-suffering look. “Of course, sir. That goes without saying.” Straightening, he adopted the stiff stance and superior look required before pulling the door open. The conversation was brief, and though Longdon did close the door without ushering anyone in, he approached Robert with a card on his tray.
Ignoring the disapproving click of Longdon’s tongue, Robert lifted the card to read.
BURT WARNER
Principal Officer of Bow Street
LONDON
“Excellent,” Robert said to no one in particular. He met Longdon’s stare with a nod and curled his lips in an attempted smile. However, the effort was wasted as Longdon’s expression grew even more dour. “Did you leave the poor man standing outside?”
“Sent him downstairs to the service entrance, sir. Where he should have gone in the first place.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Well, when he knocks again, could you see him to my study?”
“You know that this person is a Runner, sir. A person who dabbles in criminal elements.”
“More than dabbles, I would hope. Yes, Longdon. The study, please.”
“Very good, sir. Far be it for me to suggest that the back hall might be more appropriate for someone of his ilk.”
“I’m pleased to know that you are not going to suggest such a thing.”
Robert pivoted and climbed the stairs, almost glad to put his worries of the duel aside temporarily. It was a sign of his distress that talking about a kidnapping would be a relief.
Burt Warner was a tall, angular man in the fortyish range with a stern countenance and a sparse head of hair—although bald would have been an overstatement. He wore the typical blue overcoat with brass buttons and top hat of his office, and his manner was not in the least affable.
“Been given the runaround.” Mr. Warner tapped his top hat against his thigh in impatience. “Sent here, there, and everywhere.”
“Come by way of Pepney and Villers Manor, I assume.” Robert had stood when the Runner entered the study, and he remained on his feet. There was nothing about Mr. Warner that made one inclined to offer the gentleman a seat; it might imply a weakness.… One would never want to insult this man.
“Indeed, and though I was told that I might see you first, I had it in mind to visit your Mr. Lynch. Didn’t have much to say for himself.”
Robert stilled, wondering how he was going to explain the Runner’s purpose to Mr. Lynch. Inquiries didn’t fit with the scenario that Robert had devised.
“Told me to return at another time; he was that busy. Decided to go back this afternoon at one—”