But Tristan understood next to nothing of the man’s history or background, and what he did know was sparse. Ledger was around Tristan’s own age and unmarried—hence his lodging under the roof of Gilbert House. He was tall, brown-eyed, and brown-haired, with pallid skin from his time spent indoors.
That was rather the sum total of Tristan’s knowledge.
How odd, he thought. To know intimately the shape and weight of Ledger’s handwriting—the unique turn of his phrasing, the deep timbre of his voice—but almost nothing else.
“I cannot say I know much more than Fredericks, Your Grace,” Mrs. Wilson said when he asked her about Ledger. They were seated in his large study. Rain pattered against the window at Tristan’s back and cast the room in gloomy blue light. “Mr. Ledger generally kept to himself, as befitting one of his station. Like a governess or lady’s companion, Mr. Ledger is a gentleman and behaved like one at all times. I am sure that is why he became so agitated over Mr. Gilbert’s behavior.”
“Mr. Gilbert’s behavior?” Tristan’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean? My cousin’s dismissal of Ledger?”
“No . . .” Mrs. Wilson paused, chin lifting. “Did Fredericks not mention the incident?”
“Incident?” Tristan sat up straighter. “What incident?”
The housekeeper bit her lip.
“Out with it, if you please, Mrs. Wilson,” he beckoned.
The woman practically wrung her hands. “You must understand, Your Grace, that I do not have a habit of listening at keyholes.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Wilson.”
“But the presence of Mr. Gilbert and Lady Lavinia has been trying.”
“Naturally. My cousin and his wife would try the patience of the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, so that is understandable. Please tell me what occurred.”
Mrs. Wilson swallowed. “Very well. On the day Mr. Ledger was let go, I did chance to overhear an argument between Mr. Ledger and Mr. Gilbert. I gathered that Mr. Ledger had discovered Lady Lavinia and Mr. Gilbert rifling through papers in Your Grace’s private study.”
Tristan stilled. He had suspected as much, but now it was confirmed. “I had noticed items had been disturbed there.”
A sick queasiness rippled through his gut. The pair had surely returned to ransack his private domain more than once.What had they discovered? Heaven knew he had all sorts of damning papers in his private study, including his notes on Hadley’s interactions with Jarvis and Isolde’s indiscretion. A vision of the satirical cartoon danced before Tristan’s eyes. Had Aubrey and Lady Lavinia provided the information toThe Tattler, as well?
Tristan breathed slowly through a surge of white-hot anger.
“Yes, well, Mr. Ledger took Mr. Gilbert to task, repeating that Your Grace was indeed alive and would not look kindly on Mr. Gilbert or his wife disturbing Your Grace’s possessions. Mr. Gilbert replied that he didn’t believe Your Grace to be living. He insisted that Your Grace would have returned to London if you were indeed well and whole. Ledger called that balderdash.”
Astute man. Yet another reason to like Mr. Ledger.
“The altercation led to Mr. Ledger’s dismissal on the spot,” Mrs. Wilson finished.
“I see.” Poor Ledger. He had merely been doing his job. The man deserved a commendation and a raise in pay, not the abysmal treatment Aubrey had delivered. “And you have no inkling of where Ledger may have hied off to? A relative, perhaps?”
The housekeeper pursed her lips. “He does have a sister who lives here in London. Somewhere near St. Paul’s Cathedral, I think. Mr. Ledger would visit her every Sunday afternoon for dinner.”
The fact of a sister was more than Tristan knew.
“Do you know the address or any other helpful thing about the sister?”
“I can’t say that I do, Your Grace. However, Mr. Ledger was let go so quickly, he did not have time to arrange other accommodations first. Instead, he packed his trunk and asked if he could leave it with me until such a time as he could send for it.”
“Ledger left his trunk?” This was the first Tristan had heard of it. “And has Ledger sent for it?”
“Not as of yet, Your Grace.”
“Hasn’t it been over three weeks since his dismissal? I find that odd in the extreme.”
“As do I, Your Grace.”
Damn and blast! Where had the man gone? Worry set its claws into Tristan’s shoulders. It beggared belief that the capable, organized Ledger would have waited weeks to collect his trunk were he in Town. But perhaps he had returned home, wherever that might be?
