Rendezvous by Amanda Quick
She knew this feeling well. It was the wistful sense of longing that she had often experienced since her brother’s death. She supposed she should be accustomed to it by now.
At times during the short weeks of her marriage, Augusta had thought the feelings of not belonging to a real family had finally begun to fade once and for all. It had seemed that Meredith was beginning to accept her, and Harry’s passion had made Augusta feel desired, at least physically.
But Augusta knew she wanted much more than what she had. She wanted to be an important part of Harry’s life in the way that Sally and Peter were. She wanted to be her husband’s intimate friend, as well as his wife.
“The three of you were rather like a family in some ways, were you not?” Augusta asked quietly after a moment.
Sally opened her eyes in surprise. “I had not thought of it before, but perhaps we were. We were all quite different, Graystone, Peter, and I, but we were obliged to share some very dangerous adventures. We needed each other. And we were frequently dependent upon each other for our very lives. That sort of thing binds people together, does it not?”
“Yes, I would imagine so.”
• • •
Harry was seated at his desk in the library when he at last heard the commotion in the hall that heralded the return of his wife and daughter. It is about time, he thought grimly.
Augusta had only been back in Town two days and already she was dashing about the city with Meredith in tow. When he had arrived home an hour ago no one had seemed precisely certain just where the pair had gone. Craddock, the butler, was under the vague impression Augusta had taken Meredith to the British Museum.
But Harry knew better. There was no telling what sort of amusements Augusta would deem suitable for a child of nine. Harry did not believe for one minute that his wife and daughter had spent the day at the museum.
He got to his feet and went to the door. Meredith, still wearing her new pink bonnet, saw him at once. She rushed toward him across the hall, bonnet strings flying. Her eyes were alight with rare excitement.
“Papa, Papa, you will never guess where we have been.”
Harry glanced sharply at Augusta, who was removing a seductively brimmed hat trimmed with huge red and gold flowers. She smiled innocently. He looked down at Meredith again. “If I shall never guess, then you must tell me.”
“To a gentlemen’s club, Papa.”
“A what?”
“Augusta explained that it was just like yours, Papa. Except that it was for ladies. It was so interesting. Everyone was very nice and talked to me about a great many things. Some of the ladies there are writing books. One of them was writing a story about Amazons. Is that not fascinating?”
“Very.” Harry gave his wife a quelling glance which she ignored.
Meredith missed the byplay and continued with her summary of the afternoon’s events. “And there were pictures of famous classical ladies on the wall. Even Cleopatra. Augusta says they are excellent examples for me. And I met Lady Arbuthnott, who said I could eat as many cakes as I liked.”
“It sounds as though you have had quite an adventure, Meredith. You must be exhausted.”
“Oh, no, Papa. I am not in the least exhausted.”
“Nevertheless, Mrs. Biggsley will take you upstairs to your bedchamber now. I would like to talk to your mother.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Obedient as ever, but clearly still bubbling over with enthusiasm, Meredith was taken away by the patient housekeeper.
Harry frowned at Augusta. “Please come into the library, madam. I would have a word with you.”
“Yes, my lord. Is something wrong?”
“We will discuss this in private, madam.”
“Oh, dear. You are annoyed with me again, are you not?”
Augusta dutifully went past him and sat down on the other side of the desk. Harry seated himself. He folded his hands in front of him on the polished wooden surface of the desk and said nothing for a long moment. Deliberately he let Augusta feel the silent, heavy weight of his displeasure.
“Really, my lord, I do not like it when you glower at me like that. It makes me exceedingly uncomfortable. Why do you not just say what is on your mind?” Augusta started to strip off her gloves.
“What is on my mind, madam, is that you had no business taking a child to Pompeia’s.”
She rallied to the battle instantly. “Surely you can have no objection to us visiting Lady Arbuthnott.”
“That is not the issue and I believe you know it. I have no objection whatsoever to Meredith meeting Sally. But I object very strong, indeed, to exposing my daughter to the atmosphere of that damned club. We both know that women of a certain stamp tend to congregate there.”
“A certain stamp?” Augusta’s eyes sparkled with anger. “Whatever do you mean by that, my lord? You make us all sound like professional courtesans. Do you think I will tolerate such an insult?”
Harry felt his temper begin to slip its leash. “I did not imply the club members were courtesans. By a certain stamp, I merely meant that the sort of females who frequent the place tend to turn a blind eye toward many of the proprieties. They pride themselves on being Originals. From my own personal experience, I can truthfully say that the ladies of the club are inclined to be somewhat reckless and outrageous. Not the sort of females who would set good examples for my daughter.”
“I would remind you, sir, that you married one of the members of Pompeia’s.”
“Precisely. A fact which qualifies me to judge the character of the women who become members, does it not? Let us be clear on this point, Augusta. When I gave you permission to accompany me to London, I told you I would not be able to dance attendance on you or supervise your outings. You gave me your word you would exercise good sense when taking Meredith about the Town.”
“I am exercising good sense. She was in absolutely no danger of any kind.”
“I did not mean physical danger.”
Augusta glowered at him. “Are we talking about moral danger, perhaps, my lord? You see the club members as bad influences on the morals of your daughter? If that is the case, you certainly should not have gone out of your way to marry one of the founders of Pompeia’s. That ‘damned club,’ as you call it, was my idea from the start.”
“Damnation, Augusta, you are deliberately putting the wrong construction on my words.” Harry was furious with himself for having allowed what should have been a simple husbandly lecture on female decorum to turn into a full-blown quarrel. He made a heroic bid for his self-control and his temper. “It is not the morals of the ladies of the club which alarm me.”
“I am very glad to hear that.”
“’Tis, rather, a certain streak of recklessness I find in them.”
“How many of them do you know, my lord? Or are you, perhaps, generalizing on the basis of what you have learned about me?”
Harry narrowed his gaze. “Do not play me for the fool, madam. I am well acquainted with the names on the membership list of Pompeia’s.”
That set her back. “You are?”
“Of course. I examined it most carefully once I realized I would very likely be marrying you,” Harry admitted.
“This is an outrage.” Augusta leaped to her feet and began striding angrily back and forth across the room. “You conducted an investigation of Pompeia’s? Just wait until I inform Sally of this. She will be furious with you.”
“Who do you think gave me the membership list to examine?” Harry asked dryly. “Between what I knew of the backgrounds of the ladies on that list and what Sheldrake and Sally were able to tell me, I concluded that you were in no serious moral danger. That does not mean that I approve of the place or of you taking my daughter there.”
“I see.”
“I would order you to withdraw your membership were it not for the fact that Sally is so ill and has so little time left. I am well aware that she enjoys both the club and your visits. Therefore, I will not deny you perm
“How very kind of you, my lord.”
“But henceforth, you will not take Meredith with you. Is that clear?”
“Quite clear,” she said through set teeth.
“You will also, in future, leave me a detailed schedule of all the activities you have planned for each day. I did not like coming home this afternoon only to be informed you were simply out with no exact information as to where you had gone.”
“A schedule. Yes, my lord. You shall most certainly have a schedule. Will there be anything else, Graystone?” Augusta paced furiously. Her anger was palpable.
Harry sighed and sat back in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the desk and eyed Augusta broodingly. He very much wished he had never initiated this confrontation. On the other hand, a man had to take a firm stand when dealing with a woman like this. “No, I believe that will be all, madam.”
She came to an abrupt halt and swung around to confront him. “If you have quite finished, my lord, I have a favor to ask you.”
Having mentally braced himself for more outrage and another impassioned defense of Pompeia’s, Harry was speechless for a few seconds. When he finally found his voice, he reacted quickly, anxious to find a way to be generous now that he had played the heavy-handed husband yet again.
“Yes, my dear?” He put as much warm encouragement as he could into his tone. Hell, he told himself, feeling suddenly magnanimous, what is another new bonnet or a gown if I can restore her good temper?
Augusta came back across the carpet and planted both hands on the edge of the desk. Leaning forward, she fixed him with an intent gaze. “Harry, will you allow me to assist you in your investigations?”
Dumbfounded, he stared at her. “Good God, no.”
“Please, Harry. I know I do not know much about that sort of thing, but I believe I could learn quickly. I realize that I would not be of much use to you or Peter, but I could function as an assistant to Sally, could I not?”
“You are quite right, Augusta,” he said coldly. “You know nothing about this sort of thing.” And as God is my witness, you will never learn, he thought. I will protect you from that kind of knowledge if it is the last thing I do.
“But Harry—”
“Your offer is appreciated, my dear, but I assure you, you would be more hindrance than help.”
“But my lord, there are elements of your investigation that concern me as much as they do you and your friends. I want to be a part of your efforts. I have a right to be involved. I want to help.”
“No, Augusta, and that is absolutely the last word.” Harry picked up his quill and pulled a journal toward him across the desk. “Now, I must bid you good day. I have much to do this afternoon and I will be out for most of the evening. I shall be dining at my club with Sheldrake.”
Augusta straightened slowly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Yes, my lord.” She turned and went toward the door.
It was all Harry could do not to go after her, take her into his arms, and relent. He forced himself to remain where he was. He had to be firm. “By the way, Augusta.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Do not forget to give me the schedule of your plans for tomorrow.”
“If I can think of anything sufficiently boring and therefore unobjectionable to your lordship, I will definitely put it down on the schedule.”
Harry winced as she slammed the door on her way out of the room.
He sat quietly for a long while contemplating the gardens outside his window. There was no way he could tell her the real reason he could not give her even a token role in the investigation.
It was bad enough that she was angry about being excluded. But he could deal with her anger better than he could the pain he knew would come if she were to get involved in this situation and thereby learn too much.
Once he had deciphered Richard Ballinger’s encoded poem, Harry had known that the rumors that had circulated at the time of the young man’s death were founded in fact. The last male in the Northumberland Ballinger line had in all likelihood been a traitor.
Later that night Harry, accompanied by Peter, stepped down from the cab of a hired carriage and into the very heart of one of London’s grimiest stews. It had started raining an hour ago and the paving stones underfoot had become slick. Moonlight gleamed dully on the greasy surfaces.
“Do you know, Sheldrake, it concerns me somewhat that you know your way so well around this part of Town.” Harry saw a pair of beady red eyes glinting in the shadows and casually used his ebony walking stick to discourage the rat, which was the size of a large cat. The creature vanished into a vast pile of offal that marked the entrance to a narrow alley.
Peter chuckled softly. “In the old days your sensibilities were rarely offended by the notion of how and where I acquired my information.”
“You will have to learn to refrain from amusing yourself in places such as this now that you are about to become a married man. I cannot see Claudia Ballinger approving of this sort of outing.”
“True. But once I have married Miss Ballinger I expect to have far more interesting things to do in the evenings than dive into the stews.” Peter paused to get his bearings. “There’s the lane we want. The man we are seeking has arranged to meet us in the tavern at the end of this filthy little street.”
“You trust your information?”
Peter shrugged. “No, but ’tis a starting point. I was told this man Bleeker witnessed the fire the night the Saber Club burned down. We shall no doubt discover the truth of that claim soon enough.”
The lights of the dingy tavern shone with an evil yellow glow through the small windows. Harry and Peter pushed their way inside and found the interior smoky and overheated by a fierce fire on the hearth. There was a sullen atmosphere about the place. A handful of patrons was sprinkled about the long wooden tables. Several of them glanced up as the door opened.
Each pair of ratlike eyes took note of the shabby cut of the coats and the worn boots Harry and Peter had donned for the occasion. Harry could almost hear the collective sigh of regret as the would-be predators decided the new prey did not look promising.
“There’s our man,” Peter said, leading the way toward the back of the tavern. “Near the door at the rear. I was told he would be wearing a red scarf around his neck.”
Bleeker had the look of a man who had downed far too many bottles of gin in his time. He had small, restless eyes that darted about constantly, never staying focused for more than a few seconds on any one object.
In addition to a red scarf, Bleeker was also wearing a filthy cap pulled down low over his sweating brow. His heavily veined nose was his most prominent feature. When Bleeker opened his mouth to growl a short greeting, Harry saw huge gaps between the man’s yellowed, rotten teeth.
“You be the coves what’s wantin’ to know about the fire at the old Saber Club?”
“You have the right of it,” Harry said, sliding down onto the wooden bench across from Bleeker. He was aware that Peter remained on his feet, his gaze moving with deceptive casualness around the stifling room. “What can you tell us about that night?”
“It’ll cost ye,” Bleeker warned with a foul grin.
“I’m prepared to pay. Assuming the information is good.”
“Good enough.” Bleeker leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. “I saw the cove what set that fire, I did. I was in the alley across the street from the club waitin’ for a likely cully to come along. Just mindin’ me own business, ye know. Then I hears this sudden roarin’ noise. I looks up and there’s flames in all the windows of the club.”
“Go on,” Harry said calmly.
“How do I know ye’ll come across with the blunt?” Bleeker whined.
Harry put a few coins on the table. “You will get the rest if I find the information sufficiently interesting.”
“Bloody ’ell, you’re a mean ’un, ain’t ye?” Bleeker leaned closer, his poisonous breath wafting acro
“Convenient,” Harry murmured.
Bleeker ignored the remark. He was growing increasingly enthusiastic about his own tale. “I stays in the shadows and the next thing I know, this second cove comes rushin’ out. Searches the street until ’e finds the poor bleedin’ cully, ’e does. Then he goes up to ’im and stands there lookin’ down. I could see ’e’s got a knife in ’is ’and.”
“Fascinating. Pray continue.”
“Then the poor dyin’ cully says to ’im, You’ve killed me, Ballinger. You’ve killed me. Why’d ye do it? I’d never ’ave told a bloody soul who ye really was. I’d never ’ave said nothin’ about you bein’ no Spider.” Bleeker sat back, satisfied. “Then the poor sod dies and the other ’un takes off. I got outta there, I can tell ye that.”
Harry was silent for a moment as Bleeker came to the end of his story and sat waiting expectantly. Then he got slowly to his feet. “Let us be off, friend,” he murmured to Peter. “We have wasted our time this night.”
Bleeker scowled in alarm. “’Ere, now, what about me blunt? You promised to pay me for tellin’ you what ’appened that night.”
Harry shrugged and tossed a few more coins on the table. “That will have to suffice. It is all your lies are worth. Collect the rest of your pay from whoever told you to feed me that tale.”
“Lies? What lies?” Bleeker blustered furiously. “I was tellin’ ye the bloody damn truth.”
Harry ignored him, aware that there was a stir of interest occurring among the tavern patrons as they turned to eye the commotion at the back of the room.
“The back door, I think,” Harry said to Peter. “It suddenly looks like a very long way to the front door.”