“I didn’t see it if he did, but when he put his hand on my shoulder to thank me, he was shaking like one of Cook’s jellies. Went straight up to his room. Said he had a letter to write.”
“Think carefully, Jeremy. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Bart asked me to deliver the letter for him, as it was my afternoon off.”
“Where did you take it?”
Jeremy’s gaze darted away from hers. “Whitehall, Lady Helen. Fair put the wind up me, it did.”
“It’s good that you told me. But you have no reason to worry. That will be all, thank you, Jeremy.”
After the footman hurried away to return to his duties, Helen, worried about the reason Bart felt it necessary to write to the government, made her way to the kitchen. But it made Peyton’s explanation more believable. Surprised at the extent of her relief, she entered the kitchen. The kitchen maids bobbed a welcome, but as she was often here discussing recipes with Cook, they continued with their work. Jinx, the young kitchen boy, greeted her, pausing from his task of peeling potatoes at the big scrubbed wooden table. As Cook was in the larder taking an inventory, Helen slipped into a chair.
“Are you fully recovered, Jinx?”
His narrow face was still pale beneath his freckles. “Yes, thank you, Lady Helen.”
“Do you remember anything you and Bart might have shared? A drink or a sweetmeat, some food, which could have made you sick?”
“No, we just ate the meals Cook prepared for us as we always do.”
“No one else felt ill?”
“They didn’t say so, Lady Helen.”
“And there was nothing you and Bart shared? Think, Jinx.”
“Only a spoonful of Bart’s tonic, if that is what you mean. He said it would cure my cold. Tasted something awful and I spat most of it out.”
Her heart thudding, Helen rose from the table. “Please ask Mrs. Chance to advise me if you feel ill again.”
Deep in thought, she returned to the upper floor. The information she’d gained posed more questions than answers. Why would anyone want to poison Bart? Perhaps he had known he was in danger when he’d written to the government requesting his captain’s help. In what capacity did Lord Peyton work for the government? Could he be a spy? She drew in a breath at the fluttery feeling in her belly. How little they knew about him.
In the unoccupied library, she hurried over to her father’s desk. His secretary had a small office at the rear of the house but spent most of his days here in her father’s absence. Her father preferred to work in the library. He liked to roam about studying his antiquities. Helped a man to think, he said.
She searched the desk, but it proved a waste of time. So many papers and portfolios, some written in foreign languages, and she had no idea what she was looking for, except those two words, which were unlikely to leap out at her.
She turned as the door opened. “May I assist you, Lady Helen?” Mr. Thorburn blinked behind his glasses. He reminded her of a friendly animal in a storybook she read to Alexander. With a smile, he crossed to where she stood behind the desk.
Thorburn had been her father’s faithful and discreet secretary for several years. Helen thought to ask him if he knew anything aboutelectric fish.But remembering Peyton’s advice to be discreet, she turned back to the desk. “Just a new pen, thank you, Mr. Thorburn.” She picked one up and, smiling, left the room.
Out in the corridor, she paused to consider what she’d learned. It seemed unlikely that the tonic had been accidentally poisoned unless a mistake had been made by the herbalist. Why would anyone deliberately tamper with it with the intention of harming Bart? But there was that letter to the government he’d written, she reminded herself, which pointed to something more sinister. She was eager to pass on to Lord Peyton what she’d learned. But thinking of his perceptive green eyes, she expected he already knew it.
Chapter Eight
“I can’t believe you got hold of these so easily, Jas.” Charlie thumbed through the pile of IOUs during breakfast. “Amelia will be most grateful.” He grinned. “I wish I’d been there to see it. How did you do it, Jas?”
Jason shrugged. “Just a little reverse blackmail. What will Miss Groton decide to do? Return to Oxford?”
Charlie stabbed a kidney on his plate with his fork, releasing a tasty aroma. “Good heavens, no. She loves London. I’ve promised to take her driving in Hyde Park today. I thought the high perch phaeton with the grays. It’s an opportunity to show her how skilled I am with the reins.”
Jason was aware of Charlie’s desire to become known as a notable whip. But he had yet to learn discernment. “Take the curricle, Charlie.” He was unsure his nerves could withstand Charlie demonstrating his skills in the phaeton, an unstable carriage at best, and tempted to spring the horses while driving around the park.
Charlie looked crestfallen. “Rather a tame vehicle, Jas.”
“Is it? I believe all the young bucks prefer it because it’s light and fast.”
“Fast, eh? Right you are then.”
