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Georgiana blinked, seized by a disappointment so acute that she was tempted to call him back or throw herself against his wonderful, tall body, and beg for more, but he was backing away silently.
“Miss Bellewether!” The sound of a voice made Georgiana whirl guiltily, and she flinched at the sight of Mr. Hawkins, the displaced vicar, approaching. “I can see it is a good thing that I came outside, for you should not be here alone,” he said, his eyes traveling to her bosom, and Georgiana was grateful for the darkness. She was certain that every inch of her skin was flushed right down to her toes.
“Oh. I was, uh, just going in,” she managed to reply.
Mr. Hawkins looked disgruntled but offered to escort her, and she took his arm, though it was a poor replacement for Ashdowne’s. Trying to marshal her muddled thoughts, Georgiana blinked as they stepped into the reception room, automatically scanning the assemblage. Immediately she noted the presence of Lady Culpepper, who was deep in conversation with a black-haired gentleman.
“I see that she has recovered from her grief,” Mr. Hawkins said, with a frown in Lady Culpepper’s direction.
It was an odd comment for a vicar, and Georgiana felt her wits return with the realization. “Perhaps the gentleman is extending comfort to her,” she said.
Mr. Hawkins’s only response was an unchurchmanlike snort.
“Who is he?” Georgiana asked, eyeing the fellow with interest now. He was tall and handsome and dressed in an elegant but understated way.
“Only one of the richest and most arrogant men in the country,” Mr. Hawkins said in a derisive voice. “He’s related to half the peerage, but has more money than nearly all of them.”
“Oh, perhaps he’s a relative of Lady Culpepper, then?”
“So they say. Supposedly he’s brought someone from London just to try to recover her necklace, as if he could care! Pocket change for him, no doubt. Odd business, if you ask me.”
Georgiana’s head turned so swiftly toward her companion that a curl landed smack in her eye. Impatiently she blew it away while her heart took up a furious rhythm. “And just whom has he brought from London?” she asked.
“A Bow Street Runner,” Mr. Hawkins said. “Though I imagine the fellow will soon be sorry he came when he has to deal with the likes of those two,” he added in his most pompous tone.
But Georgiana was no longer paying attention. All she could think about was the Bow Street Runner and the expectation that, after years of following their exploits, she would finally meet one of the elite criminal investigators in the flesh! She glanced around for Ashdowne, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she spared a moment’s annoyance at the man’s frequent disappearances.
Perhaps he was off to Lord Whalsey’s, she thought, and not a moment too soon. She would like to have spoken with the Bow Street Runner tonight, but knowing Ashdowne was keeping watch on her prime suspect gave her ease. And first thing tomorrow, she would set off to find the investigator. If all went well, she could lay her case before him and hand over the culprits by noon. Hopefully, the jewels were still in Whalsey’s possession, and, if so, she might be able to personally return them to Lady Culpepper.
Then, the rather ungracious noblewoman would have to change her opinion of Miss Georgiana Bellewether. Indeed, everyone would have to take her seriously, Georgiana thought with giddy anticipation. And her long-awaited career as a renowned mystery solver could, at last, begin!
Chapter Four
Georgiana stood across the street from Lady Culpepper’s residence, trying to appear inconspicuous. It was a bit difficult, because she’d been at her post since sneaking out of her own house early this morning, and she was already receiving odd looks from those who staffed the luxurious homes around her, as well as the occasional peddler. However, she refused to budge other than to pace up and down a short way, for she was a woman with a mission.
Sooner or later the Bow Street Runner who had arrived last night would have to visit the scene of the crime, Georgiana reasoned, and she intended to have a word with him when he did. But Lady Culpepper’s late sleeping habits seemed to be making the inevitable interview later rather than sooner. So far the only traffic into the house had been servants and a rather rumpled middle-aged man who had gone by the tradesmen’s entrance.
When the same fellow left the building a good half hour later, Georgiana thought nothing of it—until he crossed the street and came directly toward her. She frowned, unwilling to waste her time chatting with a man who probably wanted to sell her something. She had to keep her eyes and her wits upon Lady Culpepper’s, or miss her chance entirely.
“Excuse me, miss,” the man said politely, and Georgiana nodded. He had stopped in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck in order to see the doors to the Culpepper house. “You seem to be interested in that building over there. Would you mind telling me why?”
Surprised by his blunt manner, Georgiana studied the stranger anew. Although his clothes were of a poor cut, they were decent, and most everyone rubbed elbows in Bath. Stifling a groan of impatience, she tried to be gracious. “Haven’t you heard? A Bow Street Runner has been summoned to look into the infamous theft of Lady Culpepper’s emeralds,” Georgiana explained.
The fellow appeared taken aback, his thick brown brows furrowing. He had a world-weary countenance, with more lines perhaps than could be accounted for by his age. Normally Georgiana would have been interested in meeting someone outside her usual realm of acquaintances, but not today; she was too busy. Nor did she have the time to relate the details of the robbery to him, should he be new to Bath and unfamiliar with the tale.
“Pardon me for asking, miss, but what does that have to do with you?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.
“I am waiting for him!” Georgiana said loftily, hoping that the man would take her tone as a dismissal.
He did not. To Georgiana’s annoyance, the stranger continued to obstruct her view with his rather stocky, compact form. He showed no signs of discouragement, but bent his head in the sketch of a bow. “Wilson Jeffries, at your service, miss.” Oh, would he not go away? There was some activity across the way, and Georgiana fidgeted to see over his shoulder.
“Miss? Just what did you want to see me about?”
“You?” Georgiana blinked in surprise.
The man nodded, his mouth curving into the ghost of a smile. “Yes, miss. I’m from Bow Street.”
Georgiana took in a deep breath as her attention was drawn from Lady Culpepper’s house to the fellow in front of her. Truth to tell, she had to admit to a slight disappointment, for Wilson Jeffries was hardly what she had conjured in her mind as one of London’s expert thief takers. Quite naturally, Georgiana had pictured a young virile specimen, bulging with the muscles necessary to subdue his prey and with a sort of seedy cast to him—from his association with all those criminals.
She found herself eyeing a man of medium height and build, with rounded shoulders that made him appear slumped and rather tired, a weariness that was echoed in his brown eyes. With his wrinkled clothes and unthreatening demeanor, he looked more like a simple shopkeeper than a trained investigator.
Wilson Jeffries seemed neither tough nor particularly clever, and Georgiana decided right then and there that it was a good thing she had stumbled upon him. Undoubtedly, this particular Bow Street Runner was in sad need of her aid. Pleased with the thought, Georgiana smiled at him and leaned close.
“Why, Mr. Jeffries, it is not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” she said.
When he eyed her quizzically, Georgiana explained herself with some measure of confidence. “You see, I am accounted a bit of an investigator myself, and I have studied this case most thoroughly. I was there when it happened, you know.”
“And you have some information about the theft?” He had a rather skeptical air about him, but Georgiana was not deterred. It was the nature of men to be dubious of her abilities, yet this one could not afford to maintain that attitude for long, and that knowledge lent fresh enthusiasm to Georgiana’s efforts.
She leaned close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Indeed, I at once narrowed the field of suspects down to three,” she said in a confidential tone.
The fellow eyed her assessingly. “Did you now?” he asked.
“Yes! And I will be happy to impart to you my deductions, including the identity of the robber himself!”
“Would you?” Jeffries said. He was certainly a man of few words, and Georgiana wondered if he used that to his advantage during the course of his questioning or if it might not be a hindrance to him. Perhaps she could not only assist him with this case, but give him a few suggestions on how to improve his technique in the future.
“I own I would dearly love to pursue a career such as yours, but, sadly, I am a victim of my gender,” Georgiana admitted. “However, that does not prevent me from solving whatever mysteries I can, small ones for the most part, but this business at Lady Culpepper’s is a true crime! And I am only too happy to lend my expertise to you for its speedy resolution.”
“I see,” Jeffries said, although he did not look at all as if he did. Perhaps he was slow but thorough, Georgiana thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Shall we walk?” Georgiana asked, for even though the Bow Street Runner seemed oblivious to his surroundings, she was keeping a wary eye out for curious passersby.
Jeffries appeared nonplussed, but when she tugged on his sleeve, he fell into step beside her. “Did you question the servants?” she asked.
“Miss, I…”
“No matter,” Georgiana said with an airy wave. “I am certain of the identity of the thief.”
“And just how did you decide, miss?” Jeffries asked.
“Well, as I said, I narrowed it down to three likely candidates,” Georgiana explained, pleased to have the opportunity to expound upon her theories. “At first, I considered Ashdowne—”
“Lord Ashdowne? The Marquis of Ashdowne?” Jeffries stopped to gape at her until Georgiana was forced to nudge him forward once more.
When they were walking again, she continued. “I admit that he seems less likely now, but I cannot shake the feeling that he is up to something, for he is hardly the sort to frequent Bath. I ask you, why would a healthy man such as he claim to be in need of the waters?” Georgiana said. Immediately, she regretted her words as a blush climbed her cheeks. All too well, she recalled just how healthy—and hard and muscular-was Ashdowne.
Jeffries, apparently mollified, smiled slightly. “It’s been my experience, miss, that it’s nigh impossible to figure out the ton and their doings.”
Georgiana nodded, although she thought his admission a sad commentary on his skills, for it was his job to discover motivations and such. Still, a man so aware of his own shortcomings might be more amenable to assistance than someone more arrogant, Georgiana mused, and she stepped alongside him with increasing assurance.
“Be that as it may, I have dismissed him as a suspect, for he became most interested in the investigation. He offered to assist me and is watching the culprit’s house even as we speak,” Georgiana said. Or so she hoped.
“Did he now?”
Georgiana thought she caught a sly grin on the taciturn man’s face, but she ignored it, not wishing to enter into any further discussion of the marquis. She had lain awake long enough last night thinking about Ashdowne and his kisses, and she had concluded that it was a good thing the Bow Street Runner had arrived to close the investigation.
Her association with her one and only assistant would soon be at an end, effectively eliminating the need for any further contact with the incredibly handsome nobleman. Although Georgiana had to admit to a certain amount of pleasure in his company, he was just too much of a threat to her senses. Why, she could hardly think when he was near, and that would not do at all for someone who delighted in mental exercise.
No. Ashdowne was too much of a distraction even now, Georgiana mused as she forced her errant thoughts back to the matter at hand. She held up three fingers and immediately ticked off one, then another. “I also had my suspicions about a certain Mr. Hawkins, late of Yorkshire,” she confided.
“Did you now?” Jeffries asked, and Georgiana was pleased to note the Bow Street Runner’s increased interest.
“Yes. He is in town looking for a new living, and—”
Jeffries cut her off with a startled sound. “You’re accusing a vicar?”
“Well, yes,” Georgiana admitted. “For the most part, I’m certain that those who choose a religious life are above reproach, but, alas, I am equally sure that some commit the same sins as lesser men. And Mr. Hawkins is no ordinary vicar,” Georgiana explained. “I have talked to him twice now, and his speech on both occasions struck me as most peculiar.”
Georgiana leaned closer to her companion to impart her information more confidentially. “He harbors a grudge against the rich that cannot be put down to mere envy. And since he is looking for a new post, I would imagine he is in need of funds.”
“You’re saying a man of the cloth sneaked into Lady Culpepper’s bedroom, stole the necklace and climbed out the window?” Jeffries asked, his expression dubious.
“Why not?” Georgiana returned, straightening to her full diminutive height. “I tell you, he has something against the wealthy in general, if not Lady Culpepper in particular.”
To her immense gratification, Jeffries turned thoughtful. “I see. But you have since changed your mind about him?”
“Not really. It is simply that I have found a far more likely culprit,” Georgiana declared. Nodding to a passing couple, she inched closer to Jeffries and spoke in a low tone as she pressed upon her third outstretched digit. “On the night of the theft, I overheard two men plotting most suspiciously. One of them I recognized immediately as Lord Whalsey, and the other I have identified as a Mr. Cheever.”
“Lord Whalsey?” Jeffries echoed with a groan. “Pardon me, miss, but must all your suspects be noblemen or churchmen? Don’t tell me! Let me guess. This fellow’s a bloody duke, isn’t he?”
Georgiana was disturbed, not by Jeffries’s language, which was undoubtedly the cant of the streets, but by his accusation. She lifted her chin. “I assure you that I did not choose these men for their titles,” she said. “And besides, Whalsey is only a viscount with pockets to let, driving him to engineer the commission of a crime.”
Jeffries shook his head, an unhappy look on his plain features. “First you accuse a marquis, then a vicar, and now a viscount. Miss, I do believe you have a most lively imagination.”
Georgiana blinked in dismay, for she sensed she was losing him. “Are you suggesting that such persons never venture onto the wrong side of the law?” she asked.
“No, miss,” he replied.
“Then you must hear me out! I tell you, I did not search for Whalsey and his cohort. Quite by accident I fell upon them hatching their scheme.” And as precisely as she could recall, Georgiana related her experience behind the large potted plant, leaving out the calamitous entanglement with Ashdowne, of course.
She was a bit disappointed that Jeffries did not take notes and resolved to suggest that course to him later, but in the meantime she was determined to convince him of the truth of her conclusions. And so she told him about her confrontation with the viscount in the Pump Room.
They had nearly reached that center of Bath by the time she had finished, and she had the distinct pleasure of watching him lift a hand to rub his chin in contemplation. “It sounds bad, miss, but I can hardly march up to his lordship without more evidence.”
“But surely you can question him at least!” Georgiana protested. The interrogative talents of the Bow Street men were legendary. “I am certain that he would confess in a thrice!”
“I don’t know, miss,” Jeffries said, shaking his head again, and Georgiana was seized by a fit of temper. All her life she had been faced with skeptics and scoffers, but she had never expected this professional to doubt her. He was one of the best! He was one of her heroes! How could he not take her seriously?
Georgiana turned on him, prepared to demand that he at least speak with Whalsey before it was too late. She swung her reticule back and forth, tempted to use it to knock some sense into his wooden head, but she was uncertain as to the penalty for striking an official of the law. Fortunately, she was saved from that desperate choice by the sound of her name.
“Ah, Miss Bellewether. I see that you are busy already this morning.”
Ashdowne! Never had Georgiana thought she would welcome the presence of the marquis, for she had accepted his assistance of necessity, but now…now she felt like throwing herself into his strong arms. Her happiness must have shown on her face, for he hesitated a moment as if startled by her enthusiasm, before smiling smoothly.
“Ashdowne! I am so glad you are here!”
“So I gathered,” he said, bending over her hand with a wry expression. “To what may I attribute this sudden delight in my company?”
Ignoring the way he set her pulse pounding, Georgiana tugged her fingers free and gestured toward Jeffries. “My lord, this is Wilson Jeffries, a Bow Street Runner who is investigating the theft of Lady Culpepper’s necklace.”
“Jeffries.” Ashdowne acknowledged the man with a nod. “But what is there to investigate? Surely you have given him the benefit of your expertise?” he asked Georgiana, lifting one dark brow.
Georgiana was uncertain for a moment whether he was teasing her, but he appeared expectant. “Well, yes, I have, and he doesn’t believe me! Can you imagine?”
Ashdowne looked properly affronted, and Georgiana was immediately mollified. “Really?” he said, turning to Jeffries, and Georgiana had the pleasure of watching the Bow Street Runner squirm under the nobleman’s gaze. Although he had refused to heed her, a marquis was quite a different story, and Georgiana found herself smiling smugly at Jeffries’s discomfort. She congratulated herself on her choice of assistants, for Ashdowne really was proving himself most helpful.
After a moment of fidgeting under the marquis’s unyielding stare, Jeffries cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that I could have a little chat with Lord Whalsey, if you think it would be advisable,” he said.
“Absolutely,” Ashdowne replied in his dry manner so different from her own rampant enthusiasm. Georgiana wondered what, if anything, excited the marquis, and then blushed at the conjectures that followed.
“In fact, I insist upon it,” Ashdowne said. “Let us all make a visit to the house he is letting, for I have a man watching the place, and he has not gone out as yet.” As he spoke, Ashdowne turned in that direction, motioning for Georgiana to join him, and in reluctant surrender, Jeffries fell into step alongside them.
Unable to contain her bliss, Georgiana glanced up at Ashdowne with an expression of gratitude. Perhaps it was too much for the contained marquis, for he looked decidedly uncomfortable before flashing her a smooth grin. Too smooth, Georgiana thought, but she was so thrilled she did not want to contend with her recurring suspicions about Ashdowne. Returning his smile, she eagerly anticipated the interview ahead, planning her strategy should poor Mr. Jeffries require her help in obtaining a confession from Whalsey.
As it happened, their suspect was having a late breakfast when they arrived, but Ashdowne’s name gained them entrée and they were shown to a small salon, where they waited for only a few minutes until Whalsey’s arrival. Apparently he was all too eager to greet a marquis, for he hurried forward to give Ashdowne a deferential bow. But when he bent toward Georgiana, he straightened abruptly, a look of ill-disguised loathing upon his pale features.
“You!” he muttered, taking a step back, and Georgiana, far from taking umbrage, was well pleased with his reaction. Already wary of her, the man ought to confess his guilt in no time at all!
“I assume you’ve met Miss Bellewether,” Ashdowne said, ignoring Whalsey’s slight. “And this gentleman is Wilson Jeffries, a Bow Street Runner.”
“Wh-what?” Whalsey blanched as he whirled toward Jeffries.
The Bow Street Runner nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Lord Whalsey. I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”
“You most certainly may not! Wh-what is the meaning of this?” Whalsey asked, puffing with indignation.
“Nothing to get yourself agitated about, my lord. I’m here in Bath doing some investigating, and I—” Jeffries began, only to be silenced by Whalsey’s loud huff.
“You’ve been listening to her, haven’t you?” Whalsey accused, pointing a finger at Georgiana. Warmed by the recognition, she smiled, which only seemed to enrage the viscount further. “Surely, you cannot mean to believe the absurd prattle of this…this hoyden?” he asked, his voice rising shrilly. “Why, the woman’s a lunatic! She needs a keeper!”
“Ah. That would be me,” Ashdowne said softly.
Surprised, and somehow warmed, by the marquis’s show of support, Georgiana glanced at him gratefully, but any words she might have formed were lost as the doors to the room were flung open by a manservant. “Mr. Cheever, my lord!” the servant announced, as the man in question hurried into the room.
To Georgiana’s delight, Whalsey made a strangled sound and turned toward the new arrival with a look of horror that made Cheever stop in his tracks. Georgiana suspected that the fellow would have turned tail and run if Jeffries had not chosen that moment to act. He rose to his feet. “Mr. Cheever, please join us, as I’d like to put a few questions to you.”
Cheever remained arrested, a wary expression on his lean features, while Whalsey moved between Jeffries and the new arrival, as if to prevent their conversation. “This man is a Bow Street Runner,” Whalsey explained to Cheever with a significance that no one could miss. Georgiana smiled triumphantly at Ashdowne.
