With a soft moan, Prue stared at the closed door. She was sure they had not seen the worst that Roland could do. He wanted complete control of the estate, all monies and investments. Yet he seemed uneasy. It was afait accomplithat he would inherit the title and estate. But what about the rest of her father’s investments? Did he fear what else might be in the will?
“Mr. Stanton will not bother us again, Prudence. At least, not for the foreseeable future.”
Prue nodded, relieved, although she wasn’t confident Roland would give up so easily.But does Gramma believe Roland is as serious a threat as I do?
*
While traveling alongBirdcage Walk to Great George Street in Westminster to join the Home Secretary and others for a meeting, Jack struggled to turn his mind away from thoughts of Lady Prudence. The glimpse through the trees of her creamy skin as she’d changed her clothes. The flash of fire in her lovely eyes when warned not to involve herself in her father’s murder. While she remained with her great-grandmother in Richmond, it would be difficult for her to undertake any search for her father’s killer. Yet Jack remained uneasy.
Tenderly raised young ladies did not embark on such a dangerous path for a very good reason. There were men with no conscience who would take advantage of her. And if by some chance she got too close to the killer, he shuddered to think what might happen. Until he knew the motive behind the earl’s murder, he couldn’t be sure that Lady Prudence was safe. But perhaps on reflection, she was better off in Richmond rather than at her home in Guildford. At least until they had gained some knowledge of the man behind the murder.
A letter from the magistrate awaited Jack at his townhouse, advising him that the identity of the murderer remained unknown,although it was now believed he had not come from the Guilford area. The net was now cast wide with little hope of finding the man or discovering the reason for what was clearly a well-planned assassination.
Was Sedgwick’s death meant as a warning? It could not be discounted, but why would they choose the earl, when his role in the investigation had been a minor one? But Sedgwick had been prepared to assist them in finding those who plotted sedition by assassinating the prime minister and overthrowing the government. The informant had alerted Bow Street after overhearing them discuss such things, but he could not name them nor knew where this group planned to meet again. Until then, it proved impossible to target anyone among the dissenters.
Since the French Revolution, liberal sentiments had spread throughout the country, the voices rising to demand parliamentary reform. Fueled by discontent and economic hardship, illegal associations had formed with the aim of overthrowing the government. There were riots, and the government’s planned repressive measures to restrict freedom of speech and the publication of pamphlets and the press were seen as panicked measures that had rebounded badly.
Was this group in deadly earnest? Or merely expressing a lot of hot air? It was impossible to be sure, but they could not be taken lightly. Jack and the others involved had put their ears to the ground to ferret anyone capable of contemplating such radical violence. So far, they were unable to lay the blame on any particular person for the known activists who voiced their sentiments in the parks and on street corners, and who left emotive pamphlets pinned to posts, had been rounded up and languished in Newgate.
In his office, the Home Secretary, Lord Sidmouth, sat at his desk, the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool, seated opposite, while the Foreign Minister, Lord Castlereagh, perched on the edge of the desk swinging one leg. They all turned to welcome Jack as he entered.
“What have you got for us, Hereford?” Sidmouth inquired.
“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Jack said dispiritedly. “It’s akin to finding a needle in a meadow. I prefer to focus my search on Lord Sedgwick’s shooting. We can’t afford to ignore it. It could have been meant as a warning and may be a way to discover who this group is.”
“It’s possible. We’ve men planted in the coffee shop in Pall Mall in case they meet there again,” said Sidmouth. “But if they don’t show up, our task becomes very difficult.”
Liverpool rose and strode to the door. “The government is counting on you, gentlemen. Good luck.”
“I knew Sedgwick well and liked him. Find his killer, Jack.” Castlereagh slid off the desk and reached for his hat. “Dangerous times, gentlemen. I leave you to the task of rounding up these men. I am eager to see them swing from the gallows.”
Jack wished he had as much confidence as Castlereagh appeared to have. First, they must round up all those known to the authorities to cause trouble who were keeping their heads down.
Night had fallen when he hailed a hackney and directed him to the club where Jack was to dine with a friend. As he approached White’s famous bow window in St. James’s Street, he spied Lord Alvanley, who now sat in the seat of privilege, as Brummel had left England burdened with debts. Jack greeted him as he entered, but it wasn’t his recent conference which lingered in his mind, it was a fiery redhead who seemed determined to find her father’s killer. He knew she wouldn’t give up searching for the truth. For her safety, it would be far better if he found the man first.
Chapter Eight
The following afternoon,Prue looked around the pretty bedchamber in Mayfair, assigned to her for their brief stay, while a housemaid unpacked her trunk. Outside the window, smoky, gray skies loomed low overhead, the pavements drenched from a recent downfall. People rushed about as more rain seemed imminent. London was so noisy with knife-sharpeners and hawkers selling anything from clocks to pies, the streets clogged with traffic: horse riders, drays, and carriages.
She felt hemmed in here, having been used to the outdoors and riding since childhood. But she hoped to meet Lord Hereford at one of the few engagements Gramma had accepted. Although that seemed unlikely because they would be unable to attend large functions or public balls during the six months of mourning and could do little other than promenade in the park until the modiste had finished their new gowns.
It made her jittery and restless, thinking Lord Hereford might have discovered who the murderer was. Would he come and tell her about it? Prue’s stomach tightened. It could be a mistake to rely on him. She must begin her own investigation. But where to start? She tapped her cheek with a finger. One of Papa’s friends might know something helpful. Sir Eric, who lived not far from here in Mayfair, had been her father’s closest friend, and he knew her well. If Papa had made anenemy, Sir Eric might know about it.
Having decided on a course of action, Prue penned a note to Sir Eric and went downstairs to give the letter to a footman to deliver, feeling as if she’d accomplished something. She and Gramma planned to go to Hyde Park after church.
Their mourning gowns were to be made by Gramma’s modiste, Mrs. Triaud, in Bolton Street, who had designed Princess Charlotte’s wedding gown of silver lamé and intricate embroidery. The woman was about to retire and leave London but came to Gramma’s aid, promising to have two gowns delivered before the week was out.
Gramma had chosen black bombazine and Prue, black crepe, a lighter fabric trimmed with cream. After breakfast, they ventured out in refurbished gowns; Prue’s gray wool walking gown now had bands of black satin ribbon added to the sleeves and hem. Gramma wore a lavender dress trimmed with black ribbon, beneath a dark wool cape.
After attending church in Grosvenor Chapel, they set out for the park, a brisk two blocks walk from South Audley Street. Prue’s pelisse was trimmed with fur, and she wore a dark straw bonnet of Gramma’s, which she’d trimmed with black ribbons, and black doeskin gloves.
Fitful clouds rolled across the gray sky, driven by a sharp breeze, but the rain earlier had stopped, and the air was fresh and cool. The gloomy weather and incessant rain matched Prue’s deep sadness, and her frustration at not knowing who had come to their home with murder in his heart. Why had he perpetrated such an act of brutality on a fine, upstanding gentleman as her father? She wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew the truth. And there was Roland, who was sure to try again to gain the upper hand. He would relish gaining control over her. Even when they’d been young, he’d delighted in ordering her about, and because she’d always fought him, it had made him angrier.
She shivered at the unwelcome memory of how, when he’d been home from his first year at university for the long summer vacation,he and his stepmother had come to stay at Sedgwick Hall. Prue had been only fourteen but stood up to him when he’d bullied her. At the lake, he’d angrily pushed her, and a curious light had come into his eyes. Suddenly afraid of him, Prue had backed away, trying to put distance between them, but he’d come after her. When he’d grabbed her by the shoulders, she’d heaved him with all her might, both hands on his chest. Surprised, Roland had lost his balance and toppled backward into the water. She’d laughed at him as he’d sat in the mud among the reeds, the ducks squawking around him, while he’d furiously cursed.
Prue rubbed her arms, remembering how he had told his stepmother, Mrs. Stanton, his version of events when she’d scolded him for his muddy clothes. She’d immediately complained to Papa. Prue had struggled to warm to her and suspected Papa hadn’t liked Mrs. Stanton much, either. But he’d sent Prue to her bedchamber without dinner. It had been so glorious a victory that she hadn’t minded missing supper. Especially when Jeannie, one of the kitchen maids, had stolen up the back stairs to Prue’s bedchamber with bread and cheese, as well as a muffin from the pantry.
Over the years, they’d seen Roland less often. On the rare occasions he’d come to visit them, she’d stayed out of his way. She’d never forgotten that look in his eyes, which had sent an icy shiver down her spine. He’d become good at hiding those emotions, but she knew they were there, smoldering beneath the surface. In the ensuing years, he’d spent time on the Continent, and she’d expected that they wouldn’t see him again, hopefully for years. But she’d never believed for a minute her father wouldn’t be there to protect her and to lead her down the aisle when she married.
