Gwinnie laughed. “And how can you doubt it? This is Grandmother! We may have developed some armor against her machinations, but I assure you the Tidemarks will have none.”
Her grandmother smiled at her. “Thank you, my dear.” She turned to Lakehurst. “Have you had an opportunity to speak to Ellinbourne yet?”
“We are meeting in an hour at Dysard’s Coffee House.”
“Good, good. Also ask him about this Farrow gentleman, Mrs. Tidemark’s brother. I sensed Lady Darkford did not care for him.”
“You think they are both suitors for the widow?” Gwinnie asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said, nodding. “Oh, and Mr. Martin will be here at five today.”
“Mr. Martin?” Gwinnie repeated.
“Yes. I sent a note round to him and he said he could be here at that time. I don’t know how much information he can get for me before the dinner party tomorrow night, but it is worth asking.”
CHAPTERSIX
Ellinbourne’s Tale
It was early in the afternoon for Dysard’s Coffee House regulars to gather. Lakehurst suggested the location to Ellinbourne for that reason.
Private clubs had supplanted the coffee houses as social gathering locations for men. Dysard’s was one of the few remaining, and one of the few that still catered to men from all social strata. That was why Lakehurst favored the establishment. But its unique existence wouldn’t last much longer. He’d heard the owner intended to turn Dysard’s Coffee House into Dysard’s Chop House. Lakehurst wished him luck, but doubted he would frequent the converted establishment.
When he walked into the shadowed coffee house, there was a scattering of men sitting around the scarred, heavy wood tables that filled the large room. The large room smelled of coffee and tobacco, and a haze from pipe smoke hung in the air.
Ellinbourne wasn’t present yet. Lakehurst chose a booth against a back wall, away from the windows. Window tables were prime locations for the coffee drinkers. From there they could see and be seen and have light for reading the papers Dysard provided. Seeing and being seen wasn’t Lakehurst’s intention. He desired a quiet conversation, one that wouldn’t be heard and bruited about the ton.
He’d ordered his coffee before he saw Ellinbourne enter. He stood up to wave him in his direction.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me to discuss the Marquess of Darkford’s death,” he said as Ellinbourne set his ever-present sketchbook on the table and then sat on the bench across the table from him.
“I could scarcely do otherwise when you sent me your novel and bade me read chapter seventeen!” Ellinbourne said. He removed the book from his pocket and put it on top of his sketchbook on the table between them.
“By your reaction, I assume the description in my book is close to what happened to the Marquess?”
“Damned close. Oh, not exact, from what I know of events; however, one would think you’d been there. In your note, you said you wrote this eighteen months ago when you were in Scotland, at the same time as Richard’s death.”
“Yes. The book greatly upset your sister when she read parts of it the other evening and yesterday, when I told her I wrote the book, she assumed I’d been there. She called me a murderer.”
Ellinbourne straightened. “I could see where she might,” he acknowledged. He pursed his lips.
“Could you tell me how he died?” Lakehurst asked. “I understand that the Tidemarks do not believe her explanation of the events.”
“I think it is moreconvenientfor them not to believe her than them actually not believing her,” Ellinbourne said archly.
“More convenient? Interesting.”
“Edmund Tidemark has long turned a blind eye to his nephew’s interests,” Ellinbourne said.
“What were Darkford’s interests?”
“The supernatural combined, I’d say, with the traditions of Dashwood’s Hellfire Club in the last century.”
“I am familiar with the stories of the Hellfire Club and their activities in the caves at West Wycombe Hills.”
“The Marquess had caves on his property in the Mendip Hills and decided to use those as Dashwood did. He even had Dashwood’s club motto carved in the stone at the entrance:Do What Thou Wilt.”
“That comes from Rabelais,” Lakehurst said.
