though I thought her pleased rather than worried. One rarely consults with a Bow Street Runner unless one has a problem.”
“Being a Runner doesn’t exactly attract friends.” He drew the Occurrence Book once more from his pocket and jotted a question mark on the page headed Visit to Opera Box. “So her ladyship might or might not have called me up for a purpose. Why don’t we have a look-see at her rooms? That might provide a few answers.”
He stood and Miss Dearne led the way from the salon. Lord Ingram fell into step behind them. Interesting, that. It might prove instructive to let the gentleman accompany them—to the next floor, at least. In his experience the aristocracy shied away from anything hinting of scandal. Yet here was his lordship, trying to involve himself. Definitely interesting.
They proceeded up another flight of stairs to a corridor decorated with bamboo-patterned wallpaper and gilded white wainscoting. Chinese vases and figurines graced red lacquered tables carved with dragon-head pedestals and an Oriental carpet ran the length of the hall. A miniature Brighton Pavilion, her ladyship had called it when he’d been here last. Well there was no accounting for taste.
The first door toward the front of the house would be the young marchioness’s, as he remembered. The next served a dressing room and the third led to the marquis’ suite. On the other side of the hall stood the dowager’s chambers and two spare bedrooms. That would be all on this floor.
Miss Dearne reached for the handle then stopped. The door stood slightly ajar. Mr. Frake held a finger to his lips and gestured her back then listened intently for a moment. From within the sounds of drawers being dragged open and papers shuffled reached him. He nodded grimly, put his shoulder to the wooden panel and pushed it wide.
Chapter Four
Miss Constance Yarborough spun about and several papers dropped from her trembling fingers. The blood drained from her face, leaving her complexion unnaturally pale against the unruly fluff of mousy brown hair that escaped her chignon. Her pansy-like eyes opened wide.
“Constance?” Phyllida followed the Runner into the room. “What—”
Mr. Frake gestured her to silence and she bit back the question that had sprung to her lips.
Constance managed a shaky laugh. “Heavens but you startled me.” Her gaze wavered under Phyllida’s rampant curiosity and she turned instead to the two men.
Phyllida obliged. “You met Captain Lord Ingram last night, during the interlude,” she reminded her. “And this,” she added, watching for the girl’s reaction, “is Mr. Frake, from Bow Street.”
Constance clutched the last page she held. “Of course. You also came to the box. Bow Street, did you say?”
“Now, Miss…Yarborough, isn’t it?” Mr. Frake stepped forward and drew out his Occurrence Book. “Perhaps you’d care to tell me what you’re a-doing in her late ladyship’s chamber this morning?”
“I—” She threw a frightened look at Phyllida then turned back to the Runner. “I couldn’t lie abed with nothing to do. I kept thinking about poor Louisa—” She broke off and her slender shoulders trembled with her shudder. “I had to find something to keep myself busy.”
“In here?”
The girl’s color heightened. “Our charity project, you know. Now, at such a time, it is a relief to have something so worthwhile demanding my attention. Have you seen them, Phyllida?”
“Seen what?”
“The orders for the fans. I’ve already sketched the ones I have but I know Louisa had obtained more. Five, she said, at the Wokings’ dinner party. Do you not remember how pleased she was?”
“Yes.” Phyllida’s voice sounded colorless, even to herself. “Very pleased.”
Constance bit her lip. “They must be sketched then painted. I have looked everywhere though, and cannot find a trace of them.” She bent down and collected the sheets that lay on the Aubusson carpet.
“I
“Being a Runner doesn’t exactly attract friends.” He drew the Occurrence Book once more from his pocket and jotted a question mark on the page headed Visit to Opera Box. “So her ladyship might or might not have called me up for a purpose. Why don’t we have a look-see at her rooms? That might provide a few answers.”
He stood and Miss Dearne led the way from the salon. Lord Ingram fell into step behind them. Interesting, that. It might prove instructive to let the gentleman accompany them—to the next floor, at least. In his experience the aristocracy shied away from anything hinting of scandal. Yet here was his lordship, trying to involve himself. Definitely interesting.
They proceeded up another flight of stairs to a corridor decorated with bamboo-patterned wallpaper and gilded white wainscoting. Chinese vases and figurines graced red lacquered tables carved with dragon-head pedestals and an Oriental carpet ran the length of the hall. A miniature Brighton Pavilion, her ladyship had called it when he’d been here last. Well there was no accounting for taste.
The first door toward the front of the house would be the young marchioness’s, as he remembered. The next served a dressing room and the third led to the marquis’ suite. On the other side of the hall stood the dowager’s chambers and two spare bedrooms. That would be all on this floor.
Miss Dearne reached for the handle then stopped. The door stood slightly ajar. Mr. Frake held a finger to his lips and gestured her back then listened intently for a moment. From within the sounds of drawers being dragged open and papers shuffled reached him. He nodded grimly, put his shoulder to the wooden panel and pushed it wide.
Chapter Four
Miss Constance Yarborough spun about and several papers dropped from her trembling fingers. The blood drained from her face, leaving her complexion unnaturally pale against the unruly fluff of mousy brown hair that escaped her chignon. Her pansy-like eyes opened wide.
“Constance?” Phyllida followed the Runner into the room. “What—”
Mr. Frake gestured her to silence and she bit back the question that had sprung to her lips.
Constance managed a shaky laugh. “Heavens but you startled me.” Her gaze wavered under Phyllida’s rampant curiosity and she turned instead to the two men.
Phyllida obliged. “You met Captain Lord Ingram last night, during the interlude,” she reminded her. “And this,” she added, watching for the girl’s reaction, “is Mr. Frake, from Bow Street.”
Constance clutched the last page she held. “Of course. You also came to the box. Bow Street, did you say?”
“Now, Miss…Yarborough, isn’t it?” Mr. Frake stepped forward and drew out his Occurrence Book. “Perhaps you’d care to tell me what you’re a-doing in her late ladyship’s chamber this morning?”
“I—” She threw a frightened look at Phyllida then turned back to the Runner. “I couldn’t lie abed with nothing to do. I kept thinking about poor Louisa—” She broke off and her slender shoulders trembled with her shudder. “I had to find something to keep myself busy.”
“In here?”
The girl’s color heightened. “Our charity project, you know. Now, at such a time, it is a relief to have something so worthwhile demanding my attention. Have you seen them, Phyllida?”
“Seen what?”
“The orders for the fans. I’ve already sketched the ones I have but I know Louisa had obtained more. Five, she said, at the Wokings’ dinner party. Do you not remember how pleased she was?”
“Yes.” Phyllida’s voice sounded colorless, even to herself. “Very pleased.”
Constance bit her lip. “They must be sketched then painted. I have looked everywhere though, and cannot find a trace of them.” She bent down and collected the sheets that lay on the Aubusson carpet.
“I
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