‘That might be sensible, dear. Would you like me to come and read to you while you drop off?’
‘Thank you, no. Perhaps you could explain to Lady Peter, give her my apologies?’
Sophie closed the door of her bedchamber behind her and leaned against it with a sigh of relief, then went through the linking rooms to Cal’s bedchamber. Flynn emerged from the dressing room. ‘Are you alone, Miss Wilmott?’
‘Yes. Tell me, how is he, honestly?’
‘Sick as a horse,’ the valet said frankly. ‘But Hunt says he wasn’t near so bad as he was the times before he left home.’
Sophie noted the informal way he spoke of the fencing master and wondered just how he addressed Cal when they were alone. She suspected the three had formed a close friendship during their travels. ‘He’s not a sickly youth now,’ she said. ‘He is strong and fit. That might make a difference.’
‘True, ma’am.’ Flynn moved to straighten the brushes on the dressing table. ‘Even so, they both think that this time he had a smaller dose of whatever it was. I’ve been testing everything in here – cologne, tooth powder, shaving soap, the water in the carafe beside
the bed, although I filled that myself last evening.’
‘How have you tested things?’
‘Tried them myself. Drank the water, shaved with the soap, used the tooth powder, splashed on the cologne. Feel as fit as a flea, but then, it might take all day.’
‘That is very loyal of you to do that. For goodness sake, tell us if you feel at all unwell.’
The valet shrugged. ‘He saved my life, him and Jared. And he didn’t mind who or what I was. Gave me a job, turned my life around. I owe Cal… I owe His Grace a lot.’
That answered the question of just how close the three men were. The duke, the fencing master and the valet were on familiar-name terms and apparently willing to risk their necks for each other. She felt some of the anxiety for Cal retreat, just a little. There was nothing she could do at the moment, best to see what Mr Tanner had to report.
The note was on very thin paper sealed with a glued wafer, not wax, so that it could not be felt within the folds of the thick paper the shopkeeper used for his bills. She spread it flat and read.
Madam, the Subject has attempted blackmail before, having seduced the daughter of the vicar of a parish some ten miles from his Cornish home. However, the attempt at extortion was unsuccessful as the girl told her father who is one of the school of parsons as at home on the hunting field as he is in the chancel. He took to the Subject with his riding crop and then went into the pulpit to denounce him for an unnatural act which I hesitate to describe in a letter to a lady, but which involved sheep.
When the Subject attempted to counter this with the truth no-one believed him, or rather, I should say, no-one would admit it, as the young lady is much-loved thereabouts. However, the local people are exceedingly proud of their vicar for his robust actions and my agent was able to put two and two together easily enough after a number of sessions in the local inns.
I am continuing to investigate as he may well have been involved in discreditable dealings elsewhere. My agent is attempting to discover where he has been between now and his last stay in the Capital.
I remain, Madam, your obedient servant to command,
Josiah Tanner.
Sheep? Sheep? How outrageous of the vicar, and how clever. He had accused Jonathan of a perversion so embarrassing, and by its nature so secret, that any amount of fury and bluster could be put down to guilt. Would make him seem more guilty, in fact.
But was it enough to silence him now? Perhaps he had recovered his equilibrium and poise and could laugh it off, say it was all a joke by some drunken friends. Cornwall was a long way off and if he kept his head he might carry it off. Best, perhaps, to wait and see if Mr Tanner’s agent turned over any more rocks to reveal nasty secrets beneath them. She itched to go and confront Jonathan, throw this outrageous rumour in his face, but if he called her bluff she would be without weapons, he would be on his guard and sheer spite might make him even more dangerous. He appeared to be enjoying himself at the house party, beyond any satisfaction to be gained by tormenting her, so she thought she was safe enough for the moment.
The letter fitted easily behind the mirror in her dressing case, the bill for the cane, she left lying on the desk. The deceit felt uncomfortable, like too-tight shoes. That was another score to lay at Jonathan’s feet, he had made a dissembler out of her. The reflection that stared back at her from the dressing table mirror was no comfort, she looked like a woman who had spent most to the night awake and terrified. An hour’s nap would be a good idea and at least made her excuse to Mama a truthful one, which was a depressingly deceitful thought in itself.
Sophie woke at eleven, according to the clock on the mantle shelf, and lay muzzily wondering why she felt so apprehensive. Cal. She was at his bed chamber door, hair still mussed, gown wrinkled, before she could pause to think. But the room was empty, the bed covers uncreased. He should have been resting, she fretted.
When she reached the hall, hair hastily tamed, skirts shaken out, there was no sign of life except for the ever-present footman by the front door.
‘Good morning.’ She wracked her memory. ‘James. Where is His Grace?’
He beamed, then got his face under control before the butler caught him. ‘In the gunroom, Miss Wilmott. Shall I show you the way?’
‘No, just explain. I must learn to get my bearings.’
‘Through that door then, Miss, and along the passage, left at the end, down the six steps, right…’
‘…six steps, right, third door into another passage – that must be it.’ She could hear voices and, worryingly, the clash of steel. Sophie ran.
He was sweating like a pig, his stomach muscles felt like the devil was winching them through a mangle and everything ached, but the exercise was getting the remains of the poison out of his system and whoever had put it there should now be most thoroughly convinced that they had failed.