“Merci. Tea would be lovely.” Lifting her skirts, mademoiselle crossed the kitchen threshold. “Oliver sent me to inquire whether I might bring him a pot of coffee and perhaps some biscuits.”
“But of course. Sit and enjoy your tea, while I assemble a more substantial array of refreshment than mere biscuits,” replied the maid, as she prepared a teapot and carried it to the table.
“Indeed, you two must be famished,” said Charlotte. “Mac will ensure that you don’t starve.”
“You are too kind,” murmured mademoiselle, ducking her head to put a spoonful of sugar into her cup.
As McClellan bustled around the kitchen, Charlotte sought to put the Frenchwoman at ease by asking a question about Paris. Cordelia quickly chimed in with her own query, and the three of them conversed about the highlights of the city until the maid was ready to head to the earl’s workroom with the refreshments.
“Oliver, you must sample Mac’s famous ginger biscuits,” called Cordelia as she flung open the door.
No answer.
“Oliver?”
Nothing but a deafening silence.
Oh, surely Carrick hadn’t played them all for fools.Charlotte hurried to check the adjoining library.
But it, too, was empty.
“Merde!” Cordelia whirled around to confront mademoiselle. “Where did he go?”
The Frenchwoman quickly looked away and lifted her shoulders in a Gallic shrug. “I haven’t a clue.”
CHAPTER 27
As Wrexford approached his workroom, the sound of raised voices alerted him that something was amiss. He drew his pistol and broke into a run.
“Thank heaven you have returned, Wrex!” exclaimed Cordelia, her voice sparking with hurt and anger. “Oliver and Mademoiselle Benoit have betrayed our trust! I could not bring myself to think it was true, b-but clearly they are guilty as sin!”
The earl quickly tucked his weapon back into his coat pocket. Volatile emotions did not mix well with gunpowder.
She blinked back tears. “Y-You must summon Griffin without delay and have him lock mademoiselle away in Newgate Prison. As for Oliver . . .” A watery sniff. “Justice demands that he answer for his misdeeds.”
“Carrick slipped away when Cordelia left him and mademoiselle alone for a short interlude,” explained Charlotte in response to Wrexford’s raised brows.
“Oliver has committed no misdeeds,” insisted mademoiselle.
“You do not know that,” retorted Cordelia. “Why would he scarper if he’s innocent?”
“I . . .” The Frenchwoman squared her shoulders. “I cannot say.”
“Cannot?” asked Wrexford. “Or will not?”
For an instant, a swirl of conflicting emotions clouded her gaze before mademoiselle squeezed her eyes shut and assumed a resolute silence.
“As if there aren’t enough variables complicating the equation,” muttered the earl, drawing a pinched smile from Charlotte. But for the moment, he decided that Carrick was not their main priority. Something in Charlotte’s expression told him that she had other news, and it was best conveyed in private.
“Enough shilly-shallying,” he announced to the group. “Mac, kindly escort mademoiselle down to the kitchen and lock her in one of the larders for now.” He thought for a moment. “Where is Tyler?”
“Mr. Sheffield sent a note just after you left this morning asking for his help in making some inquiries regarding the Bristol Road Project and its bridge engineers,” replied McClellan.
“In that case, when you’ve finished lodging our guest in her new quarters, please head to Conduit Street and have our footmen bring Mrs. Guppy back here to join her friend,” said Wrexford. “Assuming, of course, that she hasn’t escaped and steamed off to some hideaway.”
Lifting her chin, Mademoiselle Benoit acquiesced without protest when McClellan took her arm and signaled for her to move into the corridor.
“What a conniving little minx. I hope you plan to keep her on bread and water,” grumbled Cordelia once the door fell shut. “But I’m even more furious at Oliver for manipulating my love and trust in him for his own ends.” She fisted her hands to keep them from shaking. “It seems that he, along with his co-conspirators Mademoiselle Benoit and Mrs. Guppy, saw a way to use us to get their hands on what they thought were Milton’s papers.”
