Chapter 3

 

 

 

“I don’t understand why we are taking one of the family carriages when we could be in London in less than an hour by train,” Bryan groused, slumping lazily in his seat.

“Because we want to talk to you privately,” Oliver replied, losing patience already, and they were barely out of Kent. “And we want to use the carriage while in the city. The family does not have one in London at the moment, not until Father returns next month.”

“You should try and convince Father to buy one of those automobile contraptions. Easier than keeping a stable of horses within the city.”

Bryan made a valid point for once. “I will discuss it with Father next I see him.”

“Or why have a carriage at all? There are hansom cabs aplenty to hire,” Bryan continued.

“True. But what if we wish to travel farther afield? And those automobile contraptions, as you call them, are small. There is not enough room for more than one or two people. At least the current models.”

“How do you know anything about it?” Bryan asked.

“I recently entered into an investment scheme within my club. I own shares in The Daimler Motor Company,” Oliver replied.

“Automobiles. They might be useful in the short term, but over the long run? You will lose money in your investment,” Bryan stated with a wave of his arm.

“I don’t agree,” Oliver retorted. “I have made a study of—”

“Oh, who bloody well cares?” Bryan groaned, his bored expression back in place. “What I want to know is how long do we have to wear this?” he whined, pointing to the black armband on his left arm. 

Rett rolled his eyes. “Up to six months is the general society rule. But in our family, it is three months. And stop your bloody whinging. We are in mourning. Show the proper respect.” Rett met Oliver’s gaze. “I want to smack him one.”

Oliver understood and agreed with the sentiment. “Grandfather and Uncle deserve your esteem. I agree with Rett. Stop acting the mealy-mouthed brat.”

His brother sniffed. “Grandfather always preferred you, being the heir and all that nonsense.”

“Bryan, where are you staying? Surely the location is not classified?” Oliver asked, deciding to change the subject before his growing annoyance spilled over.

Bryan shrugged. “I suppose not. I am staying with Shinwell and Linton at Shinwell’s town house in Notting Hill.”

Viscount Shinwell and Lord Romeo Linton? Troy Beckingham, the viscount, and Rome Linton, the second son of the Duke of Coldbridge, were part of The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park, although they had not attended that many meetings since joining some months ago about the same time as Oliver. 

He never cared for Shinwell at the first meeting. Oliver found there was something—off—about the man. His arrogance and indifference? Shinwell made it more than plain that he had joined the group for debaucheries, not charity. And Rome? The man recently became Christian Bamford, the Duke of Allenby’s stepbrother, when Rome’s duke widower father married Allenby’s widowed duchess mother. But Rome had made no effort to get to know Christian better, even though Christian had made overtures. To Oliver’s mind, that showed a decided lack of character.

“Who are you, the mascot?” Rett snorted.

“How droll, Cousin,” Bryan retorted. “Yes, I am younger, but they have befriended me and shown me an interesting side of London.”

“Notting Hill is a little out of the way for a peer to have his town residence,” Oliver murmured. “I thought the area was more upper-middle class and a draw for artists and the like.”

“You really are a snob, aren’t you, Brother?” Bryan sneered. “It suits us, and there are nearby entertainments.”

Oliver frowned. Nearby was Notting Dale, a slum enclave within Notting Hill. About forty-odd years ago, the author, Charles Dickens, said of the area, “a plague spot scarcely equaled for its insalubrity by any other in London.” In plain English, it had been an open sewer, attracting the worst of London, even to this day. A feeling of unease bloomed within Oliver. Perhaps his grandmother was correct in her assessment of Bryan. Young, impressionable, reckless, and yes, stupid. Oliver added the adjective for it fit.

Oliver settled back in his seat. “You will be keeping contact with us, little brother. You are to check in at the Tensbridge residence every Friday. In person. At ten o’clock sharp—in the morning.”

Bryan sputtered. “Be damned If I will!”

“I am afraid Grams insisted on it. Do you wish your allowance to be cut off? One word from me to Father and Grams, and you will be forcibly returned to Wollstonecraft Hall secured to the carriage’s roof, trussed like a Christmas turkey. Tread carefully and stay out of mischief.”

Bryan crossed his arms, sulking. “You are a miserable bastard.”

Oliver turned to gaze out the window. As the oldest and now heir apparent, he had to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eleanora Galway called a gathering in The Galway Agency meeting room (the former study at Cleveland Street). Around the table was Eleanora, The Galway sisters’ cousin, Sybil Norton, Edwina Callen, and Claudia.

“First, let me relay the good news that Althea came through her operation with flying colors. After her release from the hospital, she will be convalescing at the Allenby town house; no doubt tended to by the Duke of Chellenham.”

After being hired, Claudia was informed that Eleanora’s sister, Althea Galway, had experienced a recent health crisis. Although the details had not been revealed to the agency employees, it concerned Althea’s leg, and she would no doubt need to use a cane for some time while recovering.

“But as soon as she feels more herself,” Eleanora continued, “she will return to work. I imagine it will be a few weeks, not months.”

“Oh, that is good to hear,” Edwina enthused. “And when is the wedding to take place?”

“Before Christmas, I believe,” Sybil interjected. “A small affair.”

In other words, no employees are invited. Not that Claudia minded one way or the other. She liked the ladies in this agency well enough but decided it was best to keep things courteous and professional. This new direction in her life had thrown her for a loop more than she thought it would.

“And on to business.” Eleanora organized her notes. “Viscount Tensbridge contacted me. He wishes to hire our agency to do surveillance work on a family member that he and the family are concerned about.”

“Viscount Tensbridge, coming here?” Sybil exclaimed. “Brilliant! More aristocratic customers are just what we need. Think of the fee we can charge!”

“Who is Viscount Tensbridge?” Claudia asked, looking around the table. 

“Oliver Wollstonecraft, heir to the Earl of Carnstone,” Eleanora replied.

Edwina bit on her lower lip. “Oh, dear.”

“What is it, Edwina?” Eleanora asked.

“I cannot be involved with the case, as I have a prior dealing with the viscount,” Edwina relayed quietly. “Well, before he became viscount. Several weeks ago, Mr. Wollstonecraft asked me out to tea. It did not go as well as I had hoped, for he dropped me here, and I haven’t heard from him since. Rather rude, I must say.”

“Allenby told me that Tensbridge has been attending two family funerals in Kent these past weeks. It is why he is now Viscount Tensbridge,” Eleanora replied.

Edwina flushed. “Of course, I should have realized. Regardless, it is best another take the case.”

“Perhaps you are correct,” Eleanora said. “Claudia, this will be your first solo investigation. How goes the Sir Tristan situation?”

“The past several nights, we have followed him to three brothels and two gaming hells. I have secured testimony from some of the workers at these places. Edwina need only take a few nights to wrap it up,” Claudia responded.

“Excellent work, the both of you,” Sybil smiled.

“It was mostly all Claudia,” Edwina said. “She was very convincing in her disguise.”

No one knew of her past except the Galway sisters, and they did not even comprehend all of it. But it would be polite to acknowledge the compliment.

“Thank you, especially to Edwina. She is an astute supervisor.” Claudia gave Edwina as warm a smile as she could muster. This was another thing the investigative sisters were unaware of, nor were her former street worker associates. Claudia was all but dead inside. Emotion hardly entered any facet of her daily life. 

It was a protective gesture, a means by which to avoid being hurt. Claudia was self-aware enough to understand that aspect. But feelings had been chipped away in her past—and because of her past. How could they not be? That is why encouraging any close friendships would not be prudent. The other ladies undoubtedly found her aloof at times, but Claudia had no choice. The behavior had become ingrained in her daily dealings with individuals.

“Viscount Tensbridge will be here in three days at two o’clock. Claudia, I wish you to sit in on the meeting.”

Claudia gave a short nod. The conference continued for another twenty minutes, discussing upcoming cases. The sisters could pick and choose as they had more inquiries for their services than they had time to pursue them all.

When it was adjourned, Edwina took her aside. “He is quite handsome,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Oliver Wollstonecraft, the new viscount. He will be pleasing to look at, at any rate. Tall, with dark wavy hair, and well-formed. Very well formed, from what I could tell. Those shoulders.”

“Will you step out with him again, if he should ask?” 

Edwina bit her lip once again. “No. Although an initial spark, there was nothing under the surface. I felt uncomfortable the entire time we were together. I had no idea he was an heir to an earl when I first agreed to an afternoon stroll. Had I known, I would have refused.” 

Claudia scoffed. “And yet the Galway sisters have snagged dukes; why should that stop you? Never say anyone is above you. It puts you at a disadvantage in life. Just a bit of advice. From a colleague.”

“But not from a friend?” Edwina asked shyly.

And here it is. 

Claudia should throw up that frosty, defensive wall she had used many times over the past several years. “I think it best we stay co-workers.”

“Oh, what utter nonsense,” Edwina exclaimed, ignoring Claudia’s detached tone. “We live here together; we will work on some cases as a team. Why not? When was the last time you had a close friend?”

Claudia pursed her lips. “My mother. And she died ten years ago.”

Edwina slipped her arm through Claudia’s, causing her to stiffen. “Then it is high time you had one. I will tell you now, I am persistent, but I will not badger you. You will warm to me; wait and see. We can start by sharing a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits tonight. Mrs. Bartle makes the most delicious, frosted shortbreads. Eight o’clock. Let me know if you are available.”

For the life of her, Claudia could not bring herself to shake off Edwina’s arm and say something horrible to her to drive her away. “Fine,” she mumbled. “I will let you know.”

Edwina chortled cheerfully. “That’s the spirit.”

Edwina then winked and headed toward Sybil to discuss the Sir Tristan case.

Perhaps taking this job was not such a sagacious decision after all.