The Richmond Thief Read online

  “No indeed. I was immediately struck with how little time has etched her features. I would have known her in an instant,” he said warmly.

  “In her mind as well as her person?”

  “Yes. Although we had but little speech at Lady Levanwood’s ball, she appears to be what she always was—a lively wit.”

  “Perhaps that is why she and I have always maintained such warm relations.”

  The line formed, and Althea executed the first pass. When she came back around, Sir Neville seemed anxious to change the conversation. “And how do you find London, Lady Trent?”

  “Very well. I have become quite frivolous.”

  “It is not frivolity to enjoy the delights of refined society.” He executed a turn. For all of his ungainly roundness, he was quite an elegant dancer.

  “You must know best. I have been isolated at home for too long to be able to judge.”

  She moved down the line, and then they came back together. “I find it hard to believe that this is your first season, so to speak. If I may be permitted, your dancing does your dancing master credit.”

  Althea smiled. “As I’ve had none, I will take that as a credit to my own ingenuity or your skills as a partner.”

  “What? No dancing master? Surely Lady Levanwood, knowing how you were situated, must have made arrangements.”

  “Please do not blame Lady Levanwood. She offered, but so far I have not felt the need to accept.”

  “There is no need—” He moved away again and Althea waited patiently until he came back around. “Your ladyship has the grace of a butterfly flitting from flower to flower.”

  Althea hesitated, momentarily stunned. “You, sir?”

  “Have I said something amiss?”

  “No. Very prettily said. And so how shall we proceed?”

  “Well, this turn is followed by a pass through and then your ladyship takes my hand—”

  “Not the dance, the Richmond Thief. What shall we do?”

  “Why, lock up your jewels, to be sure!”

  “Besides that. Mr. Read said you would have some instructions for me.”

  Sir Neville moved away from her, a puzzled look on his face. Althea watched him, unsure of her next move.

  “Instructions? I am a sad rattle to be sure, but I’m afraid I haven’t followed your ladyship’s conversation. Of what were we speaking?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, conscious that she had made a very great mistake. “Of the dance, I believe.”

  The next dance was claimed by young Casterleigh and another by an officer Althea had met somewhere before, but couldn’t quite remember, and then finally Cousin Charles was able to cut in before a dashing Conde de Zaragoza carried Althea off for a country dance.

  “Would you prefer some refreshment to dancing?” he said.

  “Yes, thank you. I had not realized what healthful exercise dancing could be.” They walked through the crowd to the supper rooms, where the press of people had grown to shocking proportions. If this was the start of the season, Althea was not sure she wanted to see the season in full swing.

  Charles slowly moved his way through the mass of people, nodding here and there to acquaintances. When they had reached the refreshment tables, he said, “You seem to enjoy dancing.”

  “I find I do indeed enjoy it. Such a pity that Sir Arthur did not have the inclination. I think he would have liked it had he persevered in the attempt.”

  “You still mourn him often, I believe. Cake?”

  “Thank you, no. All the more so when it comes upon me unawares. Amazing how little things can hold such memories.”

  Charles handed her a cup of lemonade. “Your grief does you credit.”

  “No more than my husband deserved.” The lemonade was watered down, but refreshing nonetheless. Althea continued to examine the crowd, looking for her Bow Street agent.

  “Sir Arthur Trent was very fortunate. Would that I had such luck.”

  Was that a declaration? Already? She pretended not to hear. “Shall we go back, do you think? I am promised for the set after next.”

  He swallowed the last of his lemonade. “I do not wish to keep you from your appointed dance.”

  An hour later, Althea was no closer to knowing the identity of her agent than she had been before. She sat down next to Jane, determined not to be tempted out to the floor for at least the space of two dances so that she could catch her breath.

  “It looks like you didn’t need Norwich again, my dear,” Jane said.

  “Which just proves that every man is mad for money, or that eccentric, scientifically minded females are all the rage in London.”

  Jane laughed. “Or both. That conde you were dancing with two dances ago had quite an air about him.”

  “And quite an accent. I am afraid that I was soon forced into Spanish. His English was absolutely unintelligible.”

  “Oh dear. Was he impressed or horrified?”

  “Hard to tell with those black brows and that mustache. He told me my eyes were like la luz del amanecer.”

  “And what, pray tell, does that mean?”

  “Why, the light of the dawn, of course.”

  Jane made a sour face. “Rubbish!”

  Althea laughed. “The Spanish are quite extravagant in everything. I’m sure such a compliment is equivalent in English to how do you do.”

  “It makes Cousin John seem normal.”

  “I have come to understand that poetry is not just the province of the foreign exiles. More than one of my English partners has quoted verse to me,” Althea said.

  “We are living through a dissolute age.”

  “Ah, here comes Sir Neville. He certainly won’t offend your sensibilities with verse.”

  “Ladies,” Sir Neville began, “I have come to tell you what a charming picture you make—a delightful tête-à-tête. May I join you?” He indicated an open space of bench beside Jane.

  “Of course,” Jane replied.

  He sat down with a creak of whalebone and a jangle of fobs. Then he produced a large white scented handkerchief and mopped his brow with delicate precision. “Such crowds. Such heat. I had not thought the season so far advanced. How do you like Almack’s, Lady Trent?”

  “Quite well, thank you,” Althea replied.

  “And you, Miss Trent?”

  “It is much as I remember it, although not comparable to the Pantheon in our day.”

  Sir Neville’s eyes lit up. “Yes indeed. Do you remember that great domed hall? Like a grand church it was. Mr. Wyatt’s best work.”

  “I agree entirely.” Then Jane seemed to notice Althea’s inquiring look. “It burned down in my first season. The place they have now may share the name but is nothing to it.”

  “Nothing at all,” Sir Neville said. “How grand I felt, Lady Trent, a young buck out on the town with my silks and velvets, promenading through the Pantheon’s great rotunda.” He looked at Jane. “The finery of today is plain by comparison with what we wore then, is it not, Miss Trent?”

  Jane smiled. “True sir. I had some very fine stiff voile gowns, I remember.”

  “A rose velvet gown with silver lacing, and that garnet set done up in your loose, powdered hair,” Sir Neville said suddenly, as if catching after a long buried memory.

  “I did have such a gown,” Jane replied, surprised.

  “Powder?” Althea said.

  Jane chuckled. “Yes, dear. It was quite the thing, I assure you! I had mine scented with lavender and wore it just as Sir Neville has described, dusting my long, curled locks.”

  “A siren in pink,” Sir Neville added gallantly.

  “I will have to trust your collective memories, for I’m afraid I cannot form such a mental picture.”

  “I have some of the gowns tucked up in trunks at the park. I’ll show you when we return to Somerset,” Jane said.

  “Please, no talk of Somerset when you are so delightfully ensconced in the bosom of society,” Sir Neville said.

 
“Have you no love for the country, Sir Neville?” Althea said.

  “Oh, I like it well enough in August when London becomes like a furnace. Ranleigh House is situated in Devonshire.”

  “I have often heard Devonshire praised as one of the most beautiful locations in England,” Althea said.

  “It is. You both must visit Ranleigh when the season ends.”

  Althea looked at Jane for guidance, but Jane merely bowed her head and said, “You are too kind, sir.”

  “No, you must. For even Lady Pickney was so kind as to say that nothing compared to the gardens of Ranleigh.”

  “Lady Pickney is well known for her wit, I understand,” Althea said.

  “Have you made her acquaintance?” Sir Neville said.

  “Yes, Jane and I met her at the Levanwood ball, but only briefly. I have been told that I must make a good impression with her to get on in society, but I have no way of knowing what she might have thought of me.”

  “No impression is likely as good as anything,” Jane added.

  Sir Neville smiled and nodded. “Miss Trent has the right of it, as always.”

  “Lady Trent, may I have this dance?”

  Althea’s head whipped around. Norwich stood in front of them, a hard expression in his gray eyes.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I am promised to Lord Baldwin for the next set. I am free the one after.”

  “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me for some refreshment?” He said it as a command rather than a wish.

  “Yes, thank you.” She stood and extended her gloved hand. He took it lightly in his own. “But you’ll find the supper rooms quite crowded at the moment.”

  “Never mind,” he replied brusquely, and he walked quickly away, trailing Althea.

  But instead of leading her in to supper, he turned, opened a door, and ducked into a small chamber apparently utilized for storage. Althea followed, but she regretted it when he shut the door behind her. In the dim light that filtered from under the door, Althea could see shelves along two walls and crates of glasses and plates pushed up against a third.

  Althea backed as far away from him as she could. “Sir, why have you brought me here?” She had on occasion read novels that talked of ruthless villains who preyed upon innocent females, but she had never thought to meet with one herself. She had to admit that the idea had a certain thrilling aspect.

  Norwich’s grim expression did not change. “Butterfly,” he said slowly.

  Althea stared back at him. “You? But how—why?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Read must be soft in the head to think that you would—”

  “To think that I—what?”

  “Forgive me, madam, but to ask you to help Bow Street.”

  Norwich’s tone of voice was so condescending that Althea immediately felt the anger well up inside her. Her mind replayed the thousand petty slights and injustices she had suffered in her seven and twenty years. Men like Norwich always thought their understanding superior to hers. It was beyond provoking! “Why shouldn’t he ask me to help?”

  “And what could you possibly do that would be of any use? What could any woman do to help in such a case?”

  Althea pulled herself up as straight as possible. “So you object to my sex?”

  “I’ll admit that you seem intelligent enough, but delicately bred females are not meant to go chasing after thieves and assassins—it offends all sensibilities. Surely you must see that.”

  “I do not see that. And why should I?”

  Norwich threw up his hands. “Because no woman is clever or educated enough for such cunning work!”

  “Neither my father nor my husband found fault with my education, so why should I admit fault to you?”

  “What husband isn’t blinded by the sight of a pretty wife? And who was your father? I’ve never encountered so much nonsense before in my life.”

  Althea’s voice dripped with venom. “My father was Dr. William Claire, sir. A physician above all physicians in understanding, insight, and knowledge and one of the greatest minds of his generation. I’ll thank you not to malign his memory.”

  “Oh, for the love of all that is holy!” Norwich reached out as if to grab her by the shoulders, but she evaded his grasp.

  “I would not mention religion at such a moment, else you will force me to remind you that the meek shall inherit the earth. Now do step aside so that I may end this distasteful interview!”

  He paused, suddenly conscious of the seething wrath that reddened Althea’s cheeks and made her heart race. “Forgive me, I’ve let my tongue get away with me, but I merely—”

  She stamped her foot, cutting him off. “Move, sir, or I will be forced to scream at the top of my lungs.”

  He stared at her, and she gave him back stare for stare. Finally, he stepped to one side, and she opened the door with a flourish. “I hope Your Grace will not take offense, but I sincerely wish that we shall not meet again. Cessante causa, cessat effectus!” Then she pulled the door shut behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  Althea was unusually silent in the carriage on the return to the house. Cousin Charles tried by means of lighthearted teasing to bring her out, but he failed in the attempt. When the women retired to their chambers, Jane lost no time in coming into Althea’s room. Althea was seated at her dressing table, angrily running a brush through her long chestnut hair and staring at her reflection in the glass.

  “What happened to you tonight?” Jane crossed her arms. “And I will not leave until you give me the whole story.”

  Althea sighed. “You won’t be happy about it.”

  “I had deduced as much already.”

  Althea pulled the brush ruthlessly through another lock. “Well, at least I shan’t be bothered by Norwich again.” She met Jane’s worried gaze in the mirror. “Sit down, dear. This may take some time.”

  Half an hour later, Jane said, “All in all, it is not as bad as I feared, and so long as this doesn’t go farther than this room, it may all come out right. Norwich has done enough that it is of little matter if he never speaks to you again.”

  “I hope he doesn’t speak to me again! Odious creature. But what’s to be done about the investigation? How am I to help Magistrate Read if Norwich will not assist me?”

  “The investigation?” Jane said indignantly. “You seriously propose to assist Bow Street?”

  “Of course! You do not think that Norwich’s paltry arguments would put me off, do you? A criminal is at large, and Bow Street may never be able to gather all of the information it needs to catch him.”

  “I should have expected as much,” Jane said ruefully. “Arthur always said you were like a dog with a bone when you got some fool idea in your head.”

  “Is it foolish to think that a woman may be smarter than a man? Why, we have only to look at the animal kingdom to see that it is often the female of the species who rules the colony. Think of the bees, Jane, or the mantis, or the—”

  “You’ll be the death of me yet.”

  “You’re healthy as a horse, and you know it. But what is to be done?”

  Jane sat in silence for a minute, and then her broad mouth cracked a wicked smile. “Why, investigate the matter ourselves.”

  Althea stood up and embraced Jane. “Thank goodness! I knew you would not fail me.”

  The next morning, Althea got up early and, after a visit to the raven in the back garden and a light breakfast, made her way to the library. Lady Levanwood preferred to write letters in her room, so she had granted Althea the use of her small feminine desk under a window. Althea took full advantage of the morning sunlight to pen her letters and note her observations of the maggots, flies, and now the spiny larvae of her beloved beetles feasting on the raven’s corpse. Dermestes trentatus was particular in its choice of food, preferring desiccated flesh to other alternatives.

  Although Sir Arthur had outlined the beetle’s life cycle in his copious notes, Althea hoped that her recent obs
ervations might lead to a novel path of inquiry. Then she would have what she needed for a first-rate publication, assuming, of course, that she could find a way to convince the Royal Society to publish it. Althea smiled to herself as her nimble pen traveled across a fresh sheet of paper. Jane sought to remove Althea from scientific temptation here in London. How little Jane knew of Althea’s scientific interests.

  When Althea finished with her insect observations, she turned her attention to her letters. Yesterday afternoon, Althea had a received a letter from her son’s tutor that enclosed another short epistle from her son himself, and so she desired to reply as soon as possible. Although Althea had feared that motherhood would not agree with such a scientifically minded female, one look at her son’s little red face had reassured her that a mother’s love would not be alien to her practical soul. And as she gazed at the awkward writing, she felt overwhelmed with a longing to be with him once again.

  She drew a sheet of the Levanwood paper toward her and hesitated only a moment before her pen flew on in loving endearments and encouraging questions about the progress of his studies. In fact, she was so engrossed in an inquiry about Latin grammar that she did not hear the door open.

  “Ahem,” a soft voice said behind her. She looked back with a start. A liveried footman stood in the doorway with a silver tray. “This just came for your ladyship,” he said.

  Althea got up and inspected the tray. A flat white envelope lay precisely in the middle. On the envelope were the words “Lady Trent” and nothing more. The handwriting was unfamiliar to her.

  “Thank you.” She took the envelope.

  The servant bowed and then exited the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Althea turned the envelope over to inspect the red wax seal. Some sort of figures, perhaps the three graces, but nothing that identified the owner. She broke the seal and walked back to the desk to spread the sheet flat and examine it in the light of the window.

  In very precise handwriting was scrawled the following:

  I have come to regret my actions. Would that you could forgive the same. If so, please come to Hyde Park at half past five o’clock. If I do not see you, I shall know your answer.