Drawn by the whole sorry reminder of last night’s fiasco, she moved to look. It was indeed a jumble. Whoever had stuffed her belongings inside — Mrs Sprake? — had made no attempt to fold anything, evidently shoving things in pell-mell without regard to order or logic.
Dismayed by this fresh evidence of her guardian’s flight, Felicity forgot to be careful of her tongue. “Great heavens, but they were in a hurry indeed!”
The maid blinked at her in obvious surprise, but was clearly too well-trained to express it. Instead, she lifted a bundle of clothes out of the valise and took it to the bed. “I’ll soon sort it out for you, miss, never fear.”
For a moment, Felicity watched in a resurgence of distress as Peg began sifting through her crumpled garments. Her old brown muslin showed creases, her worn shift was scrunched up and her heavy black shoes had been shoved in among the linen. Finding her cup in her hand, she drank the rest of the coffee and went to the table to put it down. Her headache, which had begun to recede, returned to plague her. Felicity set her hands on the back of her chair and gripped it, closing her eyes against the pain and the turmoil of her mind.
All very well for her to snipe at Lord Lynchmere, but if not for his aid where would she be? Moreover, he had been open with her all along, making no attempt to conceal her guardian’s clear intent. She had been unfair. Ought she to apologise? Well, if he came again, she would have to. Would he, though? He had discharged his errand in bringing her valise to her. But he had left her in Mrs Summerhayes’ care, and she intended a visit to her home. There was no necessity, as far as she could see, why his lordship should involve himself any further.
“It’s only the top bit as is all a-jumble, miss. The rest don’t look as bad.”
Felicity let go of the chair back and turned, recalling the state of the valise when she had last seen it. “I had not unpacked it all.”
“I’ll do it now, shall I, miss?”
“Wait!”
She crossed to look into the valise. The remainder, after the mess had been cleared, was not as neat as she had left it. Had it been disturbed? There were creases and gaps where the contents looked as if they’d been pulled apart by a hand searching within.
Apprehension filtered through her veins. Aware of Peg’s gaze, she dug deep into the recesses of the valise, feeling for the hard edges that would reveal her hidden coins. She could not find them. The flitter deepened into the beginnings of panic. Without hesitation, she began to pull items out of the valise.
“Take these!”
The maid obeyed, grabbing the articles shoved at her and tossing them onto the bed as Felicity dragged out her jean boots, her folded chemise and a spare nightgown. Papa’s journal, thank heavens, was still tucked in among her under-petticoats and she set it aside. She lifted the small box containing her precious mementoes and opened it. A splatter of relief took off a modicum of the panic. These at least were safe. But the coins?
She handed the box to Peg. “Be careful with this.” Then she paid no heed as the maid placed it on top of the dresser, too busy scrabbling at the oddments still left in her meagre piece of luggage as she hunted for the careful packages stowed among the articles at the base of her valise. Of her old glove there was no sign. The stockings did not materialise either.
Bereft, Felicity ceased her frantic search, staring into the empty valise in stunned disbelief. Had Lord Maskery stooped so low as to rob his own ward? Or was it Mrs Sprake who had seized Felicity’s last hope of independence?
Whichever of them had taken them, her coins were gone. Now she was destitute indeed.
CHAPTER SIX
The club’s upper room was desultory with the aftermath of a good dinner. Wisps of pipe smoke mingled with the haze of burning candles and the lingering aromas of beefsteak and cheese. Raoul sipped the fine port, enjoying the distraction from the previous night’s events. It was not total. Images of dancing freckles and red hair hovered in the back of his mind with irritating and obstinate persistence.
He was reluctant when Jerram reminded him of the engagement and had considered crying off. But as president of the Leisureman’s Club he could scarcely fail to make an appearance at this season’s dinner. Besides, he had personally initiated its beginnings in a spirit of irony towards the energetic Corinthians of the Four-Horse Club. It amused him when the notion attracted a coterie of like-minded members, mostly men of maturity and sense, good company for a conversable evening.
He was not best pleased to find Nalderwood, who had chaired the auction last night, to be his immediate neighbour at the table. But as Guineaford sat on his other side, he was able to engage the latter in a discussion of the hostilities with France. Though, like most of society, he cordially disliked the man’s wife, Guineaford was popular with his peers. Raoul found him astute and knowledgeable, and was inclined to enjoy his occasionally acidic wit.
The talk veered from the complicated arrangements to preserve Nelson’s body for the lying-in-state and then its burial in January to the potential for peace in Europe after Austerlitz. Guineaford gave it as his opinion that Britain had not seen the last of Napoleon, but as he expounded his theories, Raoul’s mind gave in to a tendency to rove over his more pressing personal concerns.
He had not neglected to check on his secretary’s progress.
“I had no more success than you, my lord, at the Black Swan. However, I repaired to Lord Maskery’s lodging —”
“Good man! How came I to forget that?”
“Perhaps because you knew him to be staying at the inn, my lord. In any event, I drew blank there. It seems he gave the place up more than a week since.”
“Had he been staying at the Black Swan all the time, then?”
“I will ascertain tomorrow, my lord. I also have the intention of checking at any livery stables within a reasonable distance, since his lordship must have had a vehicle to bring the lady back from Bath.”
“To take him on to the Continent as well, perhaps. Admirable, my dear fellow. Advise me the moment you find out anything of value.”
Jerram bowed. “Naturally I will do so, my lord. I am sanguine, for he cannot have disappeared without trace.”
True enough. Someone was bound to know something. Raoul began to entertain some hope of unravelling the mess.
