The staff regarded me with reverence as Anne and I continued down the stairs and to the library. I closed the door on the lot of them.
Nothing had been disturbed here. My books and things were not considered essentials for a journey, and I agreed. Earl Pembroke had a massive library, and I looked forward to seeing how Grenville had stocked his.
Barnstable had found another, older chessboard in the attic, which he’d set up for me in this chamber, likely so I wouldn’t wear out the fine ivory chessmen in Donata’s sitting room. These pieces were made of wood, abstract carvings, one set of dark walnut, the other of ash.
I settled myself and Anne in front of the board and opened one of my books.
Soon I had an interesting game started, the walnut army surrounding the ash. Anne assisted by stealing my imaginary opponent’s queen and trying to eat it.
ISTAYED HOMEthe rest of the afternoon, Anne and I keeping out of the way. She was a lively child and did not drop off to sleep until well after dark. Even then, the packing continued, Donata having her lady’s maid, Jacinthe, lay out her entire winter wardrobe.
“This will do until Christmas,” I heard Donata say as I passed her door. I’d carried a sleeping Anne aloft and helped Mrs. McGowan put her to bed. “With luck, we’ll be back soon after New Year’s. I will be hopelessly behind on my spring frocks.”
I found some aspects of life with a lady of fashion bizarre, but I’d learned to say little about it.
Brewster refused to stray a step while I was home, so I sent Bartholomew out to see if he could hunt down Eden. Bartholomew returned after I’d taken a hurried supper alone in the dining room to tell me he hadn’t found him.
“Landlady says he did stop home for a few moments then went right back out again. Landlady gave him your message, at least.”
I relaxed a fraction. “Well, he is alive, then. That is something.”
Bartholomew followed me upstairs to my chamber. This room too, was a wreck, as Bartholomew had spent all day sorting my suits, surely too many for me to wear during our country visits. I sank into a chair to remove my boots, more than ready for bed, and Bartholomew continued my packing.
“I suppose you’ll be happy to reach Gloucestershire,” I said as he worked and I sipped a brandy he’d brought me.
“Sir?” Bartholomew glanced up at me as he folded clean cravats into a box.
“To be reunited with your brother. It has been a while since you’ve seen Matthias.”
Bartholomew shrugged, continuing his task. “Suppose.”
The answer lacked enthusiasm. “Is anything wrong, Bartholomew?” I asked in concern. “Have you quarreled?”
I could not imagine it. Bartholomew and Matthias, both very tall, very blond, and very energetic, rubbed along better than most brothers I knew.
“Not exactly quarreled.” Bartholomew closed the cravat box and began sorting through my gloves. “But he’s a bit jealous, like. I’m a valet, aren’t I? In a viscount’s house. While he’s only a footman still.”
“Footman to Lucius Grenville,” I pointed out. “That must be equal to butler for anyone else.”
“Mayhap.” Bartholomew brightened. “Mr. Grenville’s butler is getting on. Creaks about the place, barely able to climb stairs anymore. Matthias can try for that post when the man finally retires.”
The result would be up to Grenville—or perhaps Marianne if he gave over the domestic staff to her. I had to wonder if he would. Grenville’s staff doted on him and were proud to be employed by the most famous man in England, but I wondered if they’d respect Marianne enough to listen to her. I hoped there would not be troubled waters ahead for her.
I could do nothing about that or any other problem I’d been embroiled in at the moment. I could only help Bartholomew pack, until he firmly told me to leave him to it and go to bed.
IHALF EXPECTEDa crisis to delay our departure—another murder, Mr. Creasey breaking his word to me and trying to assassinate Brewster, a successful assassination of Denis, or Pomeroy coming to tell me he’d arrested Eden once more.
Nothing of the sort happened. I received a note from Eden telling me he was sorry he’d missed me but to hie off to Oxfordshire and not to worry about him. He’d lie low and hope the Runners, patrollers, and River Police found the murderer for us.
Had I not been leaving a bed of unsolved problems behind, I would have thoroughly enjoyed the trip to Oxfordshire. We had tolerable weather, meaning only spitting rain and a cool breeze, a comfortable chaise and four, and a clear road. An aristocratic lady could breeze quickly through the turnpikes unlike the coaches and carts of the ordinary folk who crept slowly forward to pass the gate.
We took the journey in easy stages so that Anne would not be too tired, but I confessed to myself that it was I who appreciated the many stops and the overnight stay in Reading.
The Thames River valley became greener and lusher as we neared Oxfordshire, the beauty of this country never failing to uplift me.
We arrived at Pembroke Court at nearly midnight, but the mansion was lit from top to bottom, candlelight in nearly every room. When we rolled through the gates to the front door, the servants rushed out to welcome the daughter of the house, Earl Pembroke’s only child, back home.
Donata and Anne, who had recovered her temper during the long ride, were engulfed by them, and I limped along behind, unworried. I knew Donata and Anne would be protected in this place.
