Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
‘Escapades?’ he asks. ‘Why, Eliza, what have you been up to?’
I fidget, no matter how hard I try to hide my guilt. I am a fool unto myself. I have never been able to hide anything from Frank. He has an uncanny – and annoying – ability to see straight through me. ‘Me? I am not the one sneaking into our house at such an hour.’ No, instead I used my initiative and scaled a drainpipe.
Now, Frank laughs. ‘I am not sneaking, Eliza.’ He climbs the stairs, passing me. ‘I’ve simply met some friends at Gladstone’s.’
‘Oh, the posh new gentleman’s club?’ I say, moving back to let him pass, my eyes following his smug form. ‘Quite a world apart from the old inn where you’d drink ale and shout raucously like a heathen.’ I catch a whiff of something. ‘Is that perfume?’
He stops. Silent.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ I get closer, having a good, thorough sniff of my brother. The subtle hint of lavender on his jacket is unmistakable. ‘Do your friends wear ladies’ perfume?’
‘I can only assume it’s come from one of Mother’s friends after they greeted me earlier this eve.’ He continues on his way. ‘Goodnight, sister.’
‘Goodnight, brother,’ I say quietly, my mind racing. I have a strong urge to go to the dining room to smell each and every one of the ladies around the dining room table.
I do believe my brother is up to no good.
But with whom?
Could he be desiring a lady as unsuitable for him as I desire a man so unsuitable for me? Good God, the notion is both pleasing and worrisome, because with Clara falling for the stable boy also, Papa will drop dead with horror.
Chapter 7
I am awoken by the sounds of a commotion. Accusing shouts, yells of protest, and I sit up in my bed, somewhat disorientated, just as Mama bursts into my bedroom in her nightgown.
‘It’s a robbery,’ she gasps, dashing to the window and pulling back the draperies a tiny bit. ‘Right on Belmore Square!’
The shouts and yells continue as I shuffle to the edge of my mattress and join Mama, pulling my chemise down. ‘Who has been robbed and by whom?’ I ask sleepily, looking down onto the street, where a young boy is being held by the scruff of his neck. ‘That’s the stable boy,’ I say, taking in the rest of the scene, which is all rather messy and chaotic. Lymington is waving a hand around in quite a deranged fashion, and the poor boy cowers each time the Duke’s hand comes close, like he is afraid he might be clipped around the ear at any moment.
‘He has stolen the Duke’s pocket watch.’
My thoughts take me back to last night when I was unfortunate enough to overhear – and by no means eavesdrop – a wholly untasteful conversation. ‘His pocket watch?’ I say quietly, watching, quite horrified, as a constable shakes the boy, as if by doing so, Lymington’s pocket watch will be dislodged from wherever he is hiding it and drop to the ground. Of course, it won’t.
I leave my bedroom and pace through the house, having frowns thrown at me from left and right by the staff. I am too outraged to consider the reason for their apparent shock. I burst into Papa’s study and am immediately hit with the stale stench of alcohol mixed with an ungodly vile smell of tobacco. I go to the chair where I saw the Duke slumped last night and start feeling down the sides of the cushions.
‘Eliza, what on earth are you doing?’ Mother says from behind me.
I look back, continuing with my search down the back of the chair, to see she has now got her night coat on over her nightdress and a nightcap atop her head.
Decent.
I find nothing. ‘Damn it all to hell!’ I mutter but then still. The thud. The thud I heard before Lymington left the dining room yesterday eve. I rush across the hall, dropping to my hands and knees and combing the floor under the table. Nothing. So I extend my search, not prepared to give up, certain––
Something glimmers at me from beneath the sideboard, and I crawl over, reaching under, my faced squished to the carpet.
‘Eliza!’ Mother shrieks.
‘I’ve got it!’ I yell, hoping the entire square will hear my calls for the boy’s release. ‘I have the pocket watch!’
I jump up and make a mad dash for the front door, swinging it open. ‘Release the boy,’ I demand, holding up the pocket watch. I find Papa and Frank on the steps, and they look back, both of their foreheads wrinkled, so I explain. ‘The boy did not steal the Duke’s pocket watch.’
‘He did!’ Lymington insists, claiming the boy from the constable and shaking him. ‘I demand justice!’
‘There will be justice,’ I murmur, taking the steps down to the cobbles and presenting the Duke, who looks damned indignant, with his pocket watch. ‘I believe you may have misplaced it in our dining room yesterday evening, Your Grace,’ I say as he lifts his quizzing glass and inspects the shiny silver piece. ‘This is yours, is it not?’