The weather changed abruptly by the evening. From being clear and bright, the skies became overcast, and it began to rain heavily. A breath of noticeably cooler air crept in through the slightly open window of Linnet’s bedroom, carrying with it the dismal sound of the steady downpour. The evening had drawn in prematurely, and already a lighted candle had been placed on the dressing table, so that Mary could see clearly as she pinned and combed the dark-brown wig Linnet was to wear as a disguise.
The wig consisted of a mass of frothy curls, and when it had been fixed firmly over Linnet’s chestnut hair, Mary took the mask, easing it carefully into place, and then fluffing out the veil that concealed the lower half of Linnet’s face.
The candle flame swayed in the draft from the window, and it seemed to Mary that there was something ominous about such a complete change in the weather. She was anxious for her mistress. “Miss Linnet, I do wish you’d reconsider. This is all so very risky…”
“I’m going to Portman Street, Mary, and that’s the end of it.”
“Yes, miss.” Mary fell silent, continuing to comb the wig at the back of Linnet’s head. Then she put the comb down. “What necklace shall you wear, miss?”
“The diamonds, I think. I’ve hardly ever worn them in society, so no one will recognize them as belonging to me.”
The maid brought the little leather box, and attended to the necklace. When it was fastened, and arranged satisfactorily, Mary looked at Linnet in the mirror. “There, miss, it’s all finished.”
Linnet studied her reflection, and sighed uneasily, for the gown’s bodice was still very skimpy indeed, but at least it was impossible to see Linnet Carlisle in the dark-haired, masked woman gazing back at her. She rose to her feet, shaking out the gown’s filmy skirts. The diamond necklace sparkled in the candlelight, and the scent of lily-of-the-valley surrounded her from the essence she’d put on earlier.
Another draft of cool air made her shiver, and she went to look out of the window. The rain was tamping into the puddles in the courtyard, and in Charles Street the lamplighter and his boy were already at work. It was all a far cry from the beautiful August evenings of recent weeks.
She smiled a little. “Well, it may be gloomy out there, but at least it’s to my advantage.”
“Is it, miss?”
“Yes, because if Sommers should happen to be in the entrance hall, which he shouldn’t, since he’s been told he won’t be required this evening, he won’t think it odd if I go down in a hooded cloak.”
“Oh, I see, miss. Yes, I suppose that is a good thing.” But the maid’s voice was anything but enthusiastic.
Linnet glanced at her. “I suppose that hackney coachman of your cousin’s is reliable, isn’t he?”
“My cousin swears he is, miss. He says he’ll be waiting in the mews lane as agreed.”
“And what of my own coachman? Can he be depended upon to say nothing of driving around with an empty carriage?”
“Tom Carter has an eye for what he calls ‘bits of muslin,’ miss, and that eye happens to be on me at the moment. He’ll do as we wish, because he wants to be in favor with me.”
Wheels sounded in the courtyard, and Linnet looked out again to see her carriage. It pulled up by the door of the house, its blinds down in readiness.
Mary brought Linnet’s cloak, placing it carefully around her, and raising the hood over the wig. The hood was particularly roomy, and could be pulled well forward so that no one could see the mask and veil over her face. Sommers was indeed the only hazard she was likely to encounter, for her great-aunt had already departed for Lady Anne’s. Linnet was conscious of a pang of remorse where her great-aunt was concerned, for that lady had set off quite content that her niece wasn’t contemplating anything improper. Linnet didn’t like deceiving her elderly relative like this, but felt too goaded by Judith Jordan’s activities to refrain from carrying out her admittedly outrageous plan. Linnet kept telling herself that her activities wouldn’t be found out, that only Judith would ever know what had been done this night, and that Great-Aunt Minton would therefore never find out. Lady Lydney’s rout was bound to be such a crush that it was quite possible for her to be absent without anyone realizing. All this was still wrong, however, and Linnet knew it; but pride dictated that she carried on with her plan.
She turned to Mary. “Will you see if the coast is clear?”
“Yes, miss.” The maid hurried away, and returned a moment later to say that the entrance hall was deserted.
Taking up her reticule, and looping it over her arm beneath the cloak, Linnet left the room. She went down the staircase, pausing at the bottom while Mary went out to indicate to Tom Carter that he could now drive off with the empty carriage, then she returned to Linnet, and the two women slipped toward the ballroom. At the top of the steps leading down to the dance floor, the maid tried for a last time to dissuade her mistress.
“Please don’t go, miss, for that woman really isn’t worth all this. Lord Fane is right, all sorts of things will go on there later on, and if you should be caught up in it all…”
“I won’t be,” replied Linnet firmly, determined not even to contemplate such a dread possibility. “Now remember, if my great-aunt should happen to return early from Lady Anne’s, you are to wait for me in the conservatory with your cloak. We must appear to have returned together from the rout, and if we should be seen entering the house from the rear, I think I can explain it away somehow. Just be prepared.”
“Yes, miss.”
The maid watched unhappily as Linnet slipped down the steps and across the shadowy ballroom, where white dust cloths again covered the sofas. As the cloaked figure vanished into the conservatory, Mary turned and walked quietly back toward the staircase, slipping stealthily up it to return to Linnet’s room, where she would somehow have to while away the coming hours. Oh, no good was going to come of all this; it was going to be one of those times when the impetuous side of her mistress’s nature was going to cause her trouble.
* * * *
Linnet moved quietly through the darkened conservatory, where memories of Nicholas seemed to reach out tangibly to touch her, then she pushed open the French windows onto the terrace. The sound of the rain was loud as she hesitated just inside, and the chill of the damp air made her shiver.
The light was fading fast now, and there was no break in the low clouds. Gathering her skirts, she stepped out, hurrying across the terrace and down the stone steps into the garden. A light breeze stirred through the wet leaves, and the scent of flowers was fresh and clear. She could hear the rain beating noisily on the coach-house roof and gurgling down the drains.
She opened the wicket gate, stepping into the narrow lane, which was lined with coach houses, stables, and the dwelling of the many grooms and coachmen employed by the residences of Charles Street and adjacent Curzon Street. It was a cobbled lane, with deep gutters that ran with rainwater, and there was no longer the scent of flowers, but of horses.
The hackney coach was waiting by one of the stables, drawn up discreetly in the shadows, its single horse hanging its head in the downpour. The coachman was huddled on his seat, a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
He heard the wicket gate squeak on its hinges, and turned to see her cloaked figure hurrying toward his old coach.
“Miss C?” he asked tactfully, raising his voice a little to be heard above the rain.
“Yes,” she replied, reaching out thankfully to grasp the wet door handle. “You know where to take me?”
“A certain address in Portman Street? Yes, miss, I know.”
She climbed inside, and a moment later the horse was urged into action, drawing the somewhat rickety vehicle away along the lane. Linnet sat back on the uncomfortable seat, glancing around. Just as tonight’s weather was a far cry from recent sunshine, so this old coach was a far cry from the luxury and comfort of her private carriage. The seats were threadbare and unevenly stuffed with horsehair, and the floor was strewn with straw to absorb the wet carried in by passengers.
The coach emerged from the entrance of the mews lane, and she glanced out of the rain-washed window, staring along Charles Street toward the gates of Carlisle House. She could see the lights in the house, and knew that Mary would be watching from one of the windows. Then the coachman brought his horse up to a trot, driving north along John Street toward Fane House and Fane Crescent.
She averted her gaze as she passed the lodge and gates, and found herself breathing out with relief as they faded away behind her. Grosvenor Square and North Audley Street were almost deserted, and the house that Benedict had purchased was shuttered and dark. The coach had to halt at the crossroads into Oxford Street, for there was a great deal of traffic, in spite of the weather. At last the coachman’s whip cracked, and the horse moved forward again, crossing Oxford Street and entering Orchard Street, which led northward directly into Portman Square.
Linnet’s pulse had quickened now, for she was close to her destination. Her nerve was beginning to fail her. She shouldn’t be doing this, she should be heeding all the advice she’d been given…
The lamps of Portman Square shone dismally against the endless rain, and several carriages rattled and splashed in the opposite direction. Linnet clutched at the seat as the hackney coach lurched suddenly, turning sharply right into Portman Street, and then right again almost immediately into the mews lane running behind the terraces of large town houses.
The mews was, if anything, even more narrow than the one behind Carlisle House, and its surface was rutted by the countless vehicles that came and went from the stables and coach houses. The hackney coach maneuvered its way along the lane, weaving between the various stationary vehicles drawn up prudently in this secluded place, for not all Judith’s admirers wished to be overt about their association with her. There was no sign of a guard.
At last the coachman reined in, turning to tap a hand upon the roof of the vehicle. Linnet slowly opened the door, stepping carefully down into the rain. She turned to the coachman. “You must wait here for me.”
He touched his dripping hat, “I will, Miss C.” Then he pointed with his whip toward one of the nearby coach houses. “That’s the one belonging to the house in question. Have a care, miss, for it’s no place for a lady.”
Slowly she picked her way across the lane, glancing cautiously around for any sign of a guard, but the coachhouse door was open, and no one seemed to be there. Taking a long breath, she moved closer to it, listening for a moment. The only sound was that of the rain. At last she took her courage in both hands and stepped through the doorway and into the shadows.
The coach house was silent, except for the drumming of the rain on the roof. There was straw underfoot, and a solitary ghostly carriage loomed to the right; it was Judith’s white landau, and its presence told her once and for all that she was on the point of entering a world where no virtuous lady should ever set foot. She could hear her heartbeats as she hurried quickly across the coach house to the door opening into the garden beyond.
Her hand was on the latch when she thought there was a sound behind her. With a stifled gasp, she whirled about, her alarmed eyes searching the shadows, but all was still. She listened, her heartbeats quickening still more, and after a moment, she turned to the door again, carefully raising the latch and opening it.
The door swung slowly on its hinges, and the hiss of the rain was loud again. She could see along the garden toward the house, every window of which was brilliant with lights. Lanterns had been hung in the trees, but no one was out strolling in such weather. Some of the windows must have been open, for she could hear the sound of laughter, and several times she heard rather riotous squeals which told of ribaldry and horseplay.
Apprehension seized her. There was still time to turn around and forget all this. But then she remembered all the slights and insults she’d endured at Judith’s spiteful hands, and the humiliation of having her ribbon tied to the poodle’s tail. With sudden resolve, she removed her cloak, hiding it behind the landau, and then stepped from the coach house into the garden, hurrying toward the house.