“I couldn’t say. Diana came rarely to London. I believe she disliked the climate. She wasn’t a young gel but a widow of two years when they married. She was barely out of the schoolroom when she married Bannockburn, the wealthiest man in England at that time. A travesty, in my opinion, for he was in his fifties. She bore him a child. A daughter, Julia. The one time I saw Lady Diana and Farnborough together, she was ill, and he seemed to dote on her.”
“Was Lady Diana always an invalid?”
“I don’t believe so. But not much above thirty when she passed away.”
Thea moved forward in her chair. “How did she die?”
“Not in childbirth, as so many do. There were no children from the marriage, and I’m sure Farnborough will wish his next wife to bear him an heir.” She looked pensive. “I never discovered what ailed her. Maybe something infectious, for they laid her to rest with great haste, without the one remaining member of her family, her brother, able to be present. And her daughter, Julia, was sent away some weeks before her death.”
Thea found that of great interest. She wondered if Grainger knew about it. Should she write to tell him? No, better to store it up for when next they met. She hoped it would be at the rout.
She retired to her room when her grandmother went to rest. Sitting at the small desk in her chamber, she listed everything that had occurred. Chewing the end of the pencil, she went over it. The clue to this mystery rested with the man whom she hoped had not yet reached London. Could there be a connection between he, Farnborough, and Lady Diana’s death? Thea hoped to learn more from Grainger. He might now know the name of the potential victim and prevent his death from occurring. She had great faith in Grainger’s ability and prayed Farnborough’s devilish plan would fail.
Ash met upwith Peter Barker at a tavern, the morning light dreary with misty rain and low clouds. Peter had much to tell him.
“After ’is lordship left the ball ’e took a hackney to a house in Westminster. Wasn’t there long, gov. I took note of the address should you want it.”
Ash nodded and reached for his tankard of ale. “Did he then go home?”
“No. Traveled to an apartment ’ouse in Jermyn Street. A woman opened the door. They acted real friendly like before the door closed on ’em. ’is lordship was there a while, and just as the cursed rain soaked me through, the fellow came out and went ’ome.”
Ash drew out some gold coins from the pocket of his oilskin and handed them to him. “Well done, Peter. I’ll have those addresses.” His henchman obliged and went home to his breakfast.
Ash kept the bachelor rooms at Albany, despite his grandfather urging him to stay at his Mayfair house. He saw no sense in opening up the earl’s mansion just for him. In his comfortable rooms, he washed and climbed into bed, planning a few hour’s kip before checking out those addresses. Farnborough appeared to be a very busy fellow.
Ash rose again at eleven o’clock, and after a breakfast of ham, eggs, and coffee served by his valet, went to the stables to fetch his curricle.
The narrow-fronted house in Westminster was a ramshackle affair in an insalubrious part of town. He climbed the gritty steps and knocked at the door, which had not seen a lick of paint this century and possibly not the preceding one.
A bosomy maid opened it, wearing a grubby apron. She eyed him up and down with a calculating smile. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Tell the gentleman of the house I wish to see him, if you will.”
She laughed. “No gentleman lives here. Mr. Corbet is the owner. But he’s out.”
“What is Mr. Corbet’s business?”
“Smokey, I calls it. I don’t poke my nose in. Know what’s good for me.”
“I’m not sure he’s the gentleman I seek. Can you describe him?”
“He has orange hair and looks to be in the need of a good meal, although he eats enough food to feed two people.” She stepped closer. “You look like an honorable gentleman. You won’t mention I said this to him?”
“You have my word.”
“Comes in at all hours of the day and night, he does, and wants his meal waiting for him.”
He adopted a concerned expression. “I wonder why you stay here.”
She shrugged. “Three meals a day and a roof over me head. And most of the day to meself.”
“Who shall I say called?” she asked.
“I’ll call again.”
Ash declined, leaving his card and drove to the apartment house in Jermyn Street.
He discovered from the landlady, Mrs. Gordon, that the woman Farnborough visited was a Miss Brown. She had been away for some days, the garrulous landlady told him. Miss Brown had been Farnborough’s mistress for several years. “The gentleman comes and goes at all hours of the day and night. They have blazing rows, and he slapped her around a bit. Woke me up more than once. I hope he marries her and takes her off. He’s promised to, Miss Brown tells me. Promises, ha! I tell her she’s a fool. That sort never marries a girl like her. I swear she was an innocent when she came from the country before he got his hands on her, though.” She shook her head. “And he was married then, said his wife was sickly. He’s a widower now.” Her mouth looked pinched. “I don’t know where that young woman has got to. If she doesn’t come back by the end of the week, I shall have to remove her things and find a new tenant.”
