The Last Word Page 5

  “I should like to stay,” Lucinda said, folding her arms across her chest in resolute defiance.

  “It might not be safe,” he said. “Baxter is a strong man, and he might try to do something rash.”

  “We should heed Mr. Randall’s advice, Lucinda,” Mrs. Patton said as she stood and moved toward the door. “And besides, a business is no place for a lady.”

  He saw Lucinda’s jaw tighten and her lips purse together at these words. Baxter was not the only one who wouldn’t back down without a fight. “Please go,” David said a little quieter, genuine concern coloring his voice. “You would not want anything unpleasant to happen to Mrs. Patton.”

  Lucinda sighed and unfolded her arms. “I suppose Mrs. Patton and I should go to the lace shop before it closes for the day.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Lucinda nodded as she pulled on her gloves. “Make sure you show the constable the disparity between Baxter’s numbers and the rest of the clerks’ ledgers. And I don’t think Quill and Baxter were working together. Baxter would not have risked his own payout for such a small sum as Quill skimmed. His ledger should be considered separately.”

  “I do believe that you are correct,” David said. “And both will have to answer to the law and to our investors for the missing funds.”

  David folded the paper on the desk and placed it in his coat pocket. Lucinda tied the bow of her bonnet crookedly and said, “Your next interviews will not be pleasant.”

  “I should think not,” David said.

  * * *

  Unpleasant did not begin to describe David’s afternoon. Mr. Baxter’s denials and begging for clemency for the sake of his family left David with a sick feeling in his stomach. Mr. Quill, who David learned was in fact the pimply fellow, happened to be the sole support for an indigent mother and three sisters. He had stolen the money to pay for his mother’s expensive medicines and unpaid doctor’s bills.

  In the end, David decided not to press legal charges against either gentleman. He politely dismissed the constable and came to an agreement with Mr. Baxter. Baxter promised to repay the entire sum to the company within a fortnight, and he would find new employment elsewhere. David could not allow such a man to hold a position of trust in the company again, and he couldn’t give him a reference. But he chose not to ruin him either.

  Mr. Quill was a young man like David, and the amount he stole was a pittance in comparison. And even though Quill’s actions were wrong, his motives were noble. So David gave him a twenty-pound note to pay off his family’s remaining doctor’s debts and a second chance to keep his position. Mr. Quill sobbed as he accepted both. He tearfully promised that he would never steal again, and David believed him.

  David looked at his pocket watch. He would barely have time enough to arrive at the hotel, freshen up, and change his clothes for dinner.

  When he arrived at his room, his dinner coat was laid out and a fresh pitcher of water and a basin stood ready on the bureau. He poured the water over his hands and scrubbed each finger with the provided bar of soap. It felt good to wash off the grime from the day. He ran his wet fingers through his hair, splashed his face with water from the basin, and then dried off with the towel.

  David did not dawdle as he changed his raiment, and yet when he entered the hotel’s supper room, he saw Mrs. Patton and Lucinda already waiting for him. Lucinda looked as if she had spent an entire day getting ready for dinner. Each of her dark curls was perfectly placed in a halo around her face. She wore an opal pendant on a ribbon, which drew his attention to her shapely neck. The scarlet of her gown brought out the auburn highlights in her nearly black hair.

  Lucinda walked toward him and tucked her arm in his. “Admiring me, David?” she whispered.

  He turned his head toward hers, only inches away. “I was debating which was more fetching, you or your dress.”

  She angled her head to the side. “And?”

  “Definitely the dress.”

  Lucinda laughed and gave him another dazzling smile. They sat at the table, and the waiter quickly brought the first course: brussels sprouts glazed in a white sauce.

  “Shall I give this dress to you as a gift?” Lucinda asked in an undertone so only David could hear.

  “I don’t think it will have quite the same allure without you in it.”

  Lucinda nodded. “Besides, I don’t think it would fit you at all. You’re rather too thick around the middle.”

  David laughed loudly in surprise, and Mrs. Patton asked primly what the pair had found to be so diverting.

  “The brussels sprouts,” Lucinda said. “Mr. Randall was hoping to get the recipe for his mother’s cook. Is that not so?”

  “Precisely.”

  Mrs. Patton looked from David to Lucinda and then said, “Quite a compliment to their cook, I daresay. I hope the next course is a little more sustaining.”

  The next five courses were perfectly adequate, and Mrs. Patton attempted to keep appropriate conversation at the table. The hot weather was discussed at great length, followed by the equally dull subject of trains and how frequently they stopped. David was relieved when the plates were cleared from the table. For the last two courses, all he could think of was his well-aired room and soft pillow. But he should have known that Lucinda would have more plans.

  “You cannot retire yet,” she protested. “You have to escort Mrs. Patton and myself to a concert at the Assembly Rooms.”

  David almost opened his mouth to refuse, but he saw the stubborn turn of her chin and realized that in the end he would most likely give in to her anyway. He always had when they were children. “Shall I call for a carriage?”

  “It’s only a short walk,” Lucinda assured him and Mrs. Patton.

  * * *

  David had a lady on each arm as they walked down the cobblestone street on the way to the Assembly Rooms. Lucinda insisted they first stop at the Pump Room for a glass of the famous waters. David took one sip of the tepid water before returning his glass to the attendant. He would have happily paid twice as much not to drink that distasteful water again. Mrs. Patton drained her glass easily, and Lucinda choked down nearly half of hers before declaring, “I can’t drink any more of it.”

  They moved from the Pump Room to the Assembly Rooms, where he purchased their tickets and assisted them to their seats near the rear of the music room. The concert began shortly after their arrival. The tenor had a massive belly and a round face and sang several songs in Italian. David glanced at Lucinda; she was primly watching the concert with her gloved hands folded in her lap. Beside her, Mrs. Patton had, as usual, fallen asleep while sitting up.

  Lucinda caught his eye and gave him a wink.

  “It appears your chaperone has fallen asleep again,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s a pity she couldn’t have at dinner.”

  “I should have told you, David,” Lucinda whispered back, “Mrs. Patton never falls asleep when there is food present.”

  David laughed and pretended to cough. “Are you enjoying the concert?”

  “Very much,” Lucinda said. “But I have no idea what is being sung. The music is very pretty, though. Do you speak Italian?”

  “A little bit,” David said modestly.

  Lucinda arched one eyebrow and gave him a doubting look.

  “I read Latin fluently and Italian is not all that different,” he said. “I understand more than I can speak.”

  “Pray tell me, what is this song about?”

  “A fickle woman,” he said.

  Lucinda scowled at him and whispered, “Stop teasing me this instant.”

  David feigned innocence. “‘La donna è mobile—the woman is flighty.’”

  “And?”

  “‘Like a feather in the wind, she changes in voice and in thought. Always miserable is he who trusts her. He who confides in her his unwary heart!’”

  Lucinda wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “I think I preferred the music before I knew what he was singing abou
t.”

  She did not speak for several more songs, but then added, “It is ridiculous to assume that women are more inconsistent than men.”

  “What of your story?” David countered. “Isn’t Eurydice Emerson fickle? Why can she not pick one of her suitors instead of keeping both men waiting on her whims?”

  “You’ve read it, then!” Lucinda said a little too loudly.

  Several people looked back at them. David could see her color heighten, but thought her blush made her even more becoming.

  Once all eyes were again on the singer, Lucinda leaned closer to David and whispered, “Eurydice is not a fickle character. She just hasn’t made up her mind yet. There are qualities in both suitors that she admires. She needed a little more time to know her heart, and alas, the author, Mrs. Smith, died before she could give Eurydice that time.”

  David considered this. “If she required time to select a suitor, she was not in love with either of them,” he whispered back.

  Lucinda smiled. “Why, David, I would never have guessed you to be a romantic.”

  David flushed at these words, seeming to heat up underneath the intensity of her gaze, the nearness of her body to his. This discussion had become too personal. “Besides, Mr. Thisbe is an annoying chap,” he added in a light tone. “He has no faults at all and is too inclined to give sermons. She should have married Lord Dunstan and been done with it already.”

  “But what of Lord Dunstan’s mysterious past?” Lucinda asked. “Mrs. Smith died before Lord Dunstan could confess to Eurydice what he did. He could have done something quite dreadful, you know.”

  “Nothing he did could be as dreadful as having to live with someone who gives sermons on a daily basis.”

  Lucinda choked in an attempt not to laugh. David found the sound entirely charming. He turned in his seat to see Lucinda’s face, instead of just her profile. He felt the large hoop of her skirt brush his leg as she turned toward him as well. She opened her mouth to speak when the music stopped and the room filled with the sound of applause.

  “Is the concert over already?” Mrs. Patton asked.

  Six

  LUCINDA FELT A BUBBLE OF anticipation in her stomach. She was possibly going to discover the identity of the author Mrs. Smith, and finally learn how the story was supposed to end. She dressed with care that morning, stepping into her crinoline cage—a steel-framed petticoat that made her skirts look perfectly rounded—and tying the strings at her waist. Then she put on a blue dress with a pattern of little yellow flowers. She pinched her cheeks and smiled at her reflection. Blue was a very good color on her.

  Mrs. Patton ate breakfast as if she had never eaten another meal in her life. Lucinda wondered again how such a small woman could eat so very much. David also had an appetite that was astonishing. He ate three sausages, four pieces of bacon, three eggs, and three slices of toast. When they were finished, a full-bosomed young maid giggled at David as she removed their dirty plates. He gave her a slight smile in return, and Lucinda felt an unaccountable urge to first pour her cup of tea down the front of the girl’s dress and then empty the rest of the teapot onto David’s head.

  After breakfast, Lucinda and Mrs. Patton returned to their rooms to finish packing their trunks. Once she had closed the latch on her trunk and locked it, Lucinda put on her straw bonnet and tied the blue ribbon to the side of her chin. She left the trunk—they would ask a servant to bring the luggage down—and descended the stairs to the main sitting room, where David was waiting with his portmanteau. As she approached, he took her hand and bowed over it.

  “You look very pretty this morning, Lucinda.”

  Mrs. Patton arrived just in time to spoil the moment. “Mr. Randall,” she said, “would you please have a servant fetch our trunks?”

  David released Lucinda’s hand and then briefly bent over Mrs. Patton’s before leaving the room.

  Mrs. Patton gave a long sigh and said wistfully, “How nice it will be to be back home. I never sleep as well away from my own bed.”

  David returned a quarter of an hour later and escorted both ladies to a hired carriage, where their trunks were already tied onto the rear. Lucinda sat with her back to the driver and Mrs. Patton sat beside her with a long sigh. David directed the driver to number fifteen Laura Place, and then sat on the seat facing forward.

  “Thank you, Miss Leavitt,” David said, acknowledging her thoughtfulness.

  “I am only protecting my favorite dress,” Lucinda explained. “I do not wish for you to be sick on it.”

  “Lucinda!” Mrs. Patton chided. “Ladies do not speak of such things ever.”

  Lucinda shrugged and looked out her window. She could see the River Avon flowing fast as they approached the most interesting bridge she had ever seen. There were shops built from limestone on both sides of the bridge, elegant buildings with arched entries and Doric pilasters. Laura Place was situated at the end of Pulteney Bridge.

  The carriage pulled up in front of number fifteen. David opened the door and stepped out, then turned back to hand out the ladies.

  “Are we not going to the train station?” Mrs. Patton asked as she descended.

  “Mr. Randall has a small piece of business to conduct here first,” Lucinda said.

  “A little matter of business between Emerson, Dunstan, and Thisbe,” David said, looking pleased when Lucinda laughed.

  He held her elbow as they climbed the stairs. David tapped on the door four times with his cane. A servant answered and asked what their business was.

  David handed the servant his card. “I should like to speak to your proprietor on an important matter.”

  The servant looked at the expensive gilt-edged card and then ushered them into a small, stuffy sitting room decorated in shades of rose pink. “I shall tell the mistress you are here.”

  The servant left the room, and Mrs. Patton immediately sat on the closest chair. Lucinda chose a seat next to David on the sofa. The servant returned quickly, followed by a plump woman with a turned-up nose and droopy cheeks that reminded Lucinda of a pug dog.

  “How may I ’elp you?” she asked civilly.

  “Are you the proprietor of this establishment?” David asked.

  “I am Mrs. Wilson and own this ’ouse,” she said with pride.

  “I understand that you let rooms,” Lucinda said. “I was wondering if, by chance, you have a registry of your guests with their forwarding addresses? I am—we are—trying to locate a Mrs. Smith. As I said in the letter I wrote to you last week inquiring after her.”

  “I may ’ave received a letter,” Mrs. Wilson said, stroking her jowls. “And what business is it of yours?”

  Lucinda’s mouth hung open in surprise. She was about to tell the woman exactly what she thought of her, when David touched her arm lightly. She closed her mouth and clenched her teeth.

  “We are attempting to locate Mrs. Smith’s final papers,” David answered smoothly. “We know it is a great inconvenience to you, and we are happy to compensate you for your precious time.”

  “What sort of compensation?”

  David handed the woman a couple of crowns. She showed her teeth and her droopy cheeks wiggled.

  “One moment, good sir,” Mrs. Wilson said and left the room. She returned with a registry book of all her visitors and handed it to David. He immediately passed the book on to Lucinda, who eagerly turned the pages. Her enthusiasm wore off as she waded through countless lines of Leatherbys, Joneses, Clarks, and Porters. Lucinda chewed on her thumbnail as she continued to turn the pages. And then at last she saw it—Mr. and Mrs. Smith, stayed from January to March.

  “Might I have a pen and paper?” Lucinda asked.

  Mrs. Wilson looked from Lucinda to David. He reached into his pocket and took out a silver coin between his fingers. Mrs. Wilson deftly snatched the coin, and when she smiled, it was a frightening thing; she was missing several teeth and the rest were yellow.

  “Happy to oblige the quality,” she said with another ingratiat
ing smile. “I’ll have my servant nip out and fetch you a pen and a paper.”

  Mrs. Wilson snapped her fingers. The servant bolted from the room and returned quite quickly with a small stack of paper, an ink bottle, and a pen, and held them out to David. Lucinda clucked her tongue in annoyance. David gave her a sympathetic look as he handed her the writing supplies. She took the lid off the ink bottle, dipped the pen inside and copied down:

  Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Shaftesbury

  Lucinda read the next few lines, which consisted of six different payments, but no further explanation of their direction. She copied everything down anyway, then set aside the pen and bit her thumbnail. It wasn’t much at all, but at least they had another clue.

  “I think that’s all,” she said. “There’s nothing else of importance here.”

  She closed the book and was about to hand it back to the servant when David said, “No.”

  “No?” Lucinda asked in surprise.

  David flipped the book back open. “We ought to write down the names and directions of every guest that stayed here during January through the first week of March, when Mrs. Smith died. We don’t know the name of the person who wrote to Mr. Gibbs. Perhaps we can track them down by sending out further inquiries.”

  Lucinda blinked at him. “That is a very sound idea, David,” she said. “Why don’t you read them out to me, and I will write them down.”

  David slowly and meticulously read out every single person who had stayed at number fifteen Laura Place during that time. Lucinda wrote down all of their names and addresses until her hand began to cramp.

  “How many more?” she asked, setting down the pen so she could shake out her hand.

  “Only one,” David said, pointing to a name in the book. “A Mrs. Burntwood and her personal companion. Burntwood Folly near Reading.”

  Lucinda diligently added Mrs. Burntwood to the bottom of the third page. She set down the pen again and blew on the paper until the ink dried. She placed the first two pages on top of it, and David returned the book to Mrs. Wilson with a bow. Her jowls turned a fiery red as she thanked him.