Jack accepted, wondering how muchCaindale was prepared to tell him. “What did those men looklike?”
“The rogue who brought meto London was no gentleman,” Caindale said from the sideboard. “Butthere was nothing unusual about him. He barely spoke. Might haveemerged from a rookery in St. Giles for all I knew. I didn’t seethe man who questioned me because they kept me blindfolded in somesort of cellar reeking of stale wine and rats. A dangerous man. Hisvoice reminded me of hoarfrost.” The glass he offered Jack shook inhis hands.
“What did they askyou?”
Caindale sat, stretched hislegs out and sighed. He took a deep sip of whiskey. “Whether Ivisited Butterstone in Paris, which I had. It was no secret. Whatwe’d talked about. Butterstone had been sent to Paris to deal withsome matter for Castlereagh, because our foreign secretary is inGreece, working to maintainthe OttomanEmpire and extend British trade in the Levant. Vital that we securethe land and sea routes to India.”Heshrugged. “Our conversation centered on the usual parliamentaryconcerns. I sought Butterstone’s advice about a bill I wishedsupport on. We talked about our families. My daughter, Lady Slowe,has recently given birth to a boy.” His face slackened with grief.“Dear God! I can’t believe he has gone.”
Jack nodded sympathetically. WouldButterstone have told Caindale about the plot he’d uncovered toassassinate Napoleon? He’d want to discuss it with someone. Whobetter than a trusted relative? Perhaps Caindale did know and waskeeping it close to his chest. It might prove wise for him to doso.
Jack could see there was little morehe could learn from him. The man was clearly shaken. He reassuredCaindale that the ladies, although greatly upset, were as well ascould be expected. Without mentioning Lord Butterstone’s diary,Jack finished his whiskey, and took his leave.
The rain continued to hold off as hewent on foot along South Audley Street to Butterstone’s house inGrosvenor Square. The air rang with the sounds of workmen who hadtaken up their hammers again after the deluge. There were many newhouses in various stages of construction and those seeking workroamed the busy Mayfair streets. Painters, decorators, plasterers,some selling their wares, while delivery carts trundled along themacadam.
Jack considered how best to deal withLord Butterstone’s staff. The majordomo would be the man with whomto speak. The rest of the servants would likely clam up with astranger in their midst. Dash it, he should have asked Ashley for aletter of introduction.
~~~
By the time they’d finished luncheonthe squall had passed, and they were on the road again, Harryseemed more at ease. They laughed when they saw a farmer who hadbeen guiding his sow along the road with sharp prods of his stick,lose control and go chasing after the escaping animal. Erina saidshe was on the side of the pig. Then she and Harry got into aheated argument about whether the man’s livelihood was moreimportant than an animal that was bred for the table.
“You have a romantic viewof life,” Harry commented.
“I suppose so. Is that sovery bad?”
“It can lead you intotrouble.”
She had no reply to that. It was adistinct possibility.
Some hours later with dusk falling,they drew into the Blackbird coaching inn where they would spendthe night.
“Are you traveling far,sir?” the innkeeper asked after Harry ordered a private parlor andtwo chambers.
“Holyhead,” Erina answeredhim. “I am visiting my family in Ireland.”
“That is a longway.”
“My cousin has kindlyoffered to escort me.”
He flicked a glance at Harry. “You arefortunate, indeed, to have such a good relative.”
“I am.” Erina smiled warmlyat Harry.
“Do you think theproprietor believed our story?” Erina asked when she and Harry satwaiting for their dinner at the parlor table. She had washed andchanged into a green and white sprigged muslin with rows of greensatin ribbon at the hem and sleeves. She looked approvingly atHarry who wore a fresh shirt and crisp cravat, a handsomedark blue silk waistcoat with cornflowers in blacksatin beneath his Spanish blue tail coat.
He shrugged. “He will have heard manysuch stories from his guests.”
“It’s not such a stretch ofthe truth. It isn’t as though we are… we are….” She fellsilent.
“Eloping?” Harry offered,his tone unhelpful.
“He wouldn’t thinkthat!”
“Who cares what the fellowthinks? As long as we get a hearty meal and a comfortablebed.”
“Well,Icare.”
Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Do you? Ifyou did, you wouldn’t be here.”
Her spirits lowered. “Tomorrow you canbe rid of me.”
