When Alethea knocked on the door to the Marquess of Ravenhurst’s home the next day, she was surprised to find it opened by Clare herself, with the butler hovering behind her. “Miss Clare . . . ,” he said in a pained voice.
The girl pulled Alethea inside. “Thank goodness you’ve come.”
Alethea said to her maid, “Sally, feel free to have a cup of tea in the kitchen.”
“You may send your maid home after she has her tea, if you prefer,” Clare said. “When Bayard returns, he can accompany you home.”
Alethea nodded to Sally, who curtseyed and headed to the kitchen. The butler moved to accept Alethea’s cloak.
Clare led Alethea toward the drawing room. “Mr. Morrish arrived half an hour ago. Bayard is on some errand, Ravenhurst is attending to estate business, and Ian is paying a call on a friend of his mother who lives outside of Bath. Mother is complacent about allowing Mr. Morrish to sit beside me, and quiz me about my embroidery, and comment on my dress. Next he shall ask to see my teeth.” Clare stomped up the last few steps.
“I shall pay my respects to your mother, and then we can remove into the music room.” Alethea handed Clare the sheaf of music she had brought. “Here is the Andantino, for violin and piano, by Pergolesi.”
“That melancholy song from last night? Oh, thank you.” Clare riffled through the music as she walked.
Lady Morrish lounged on a chaise in the drawing room, her embroidery a tangled mess about her but her face revealing only a languid contentment. “How lovely to see you, Lady Alethea. Do sit and have a cup of tea.”
Mr. Morrish had risen to his feet, and the smile he gave to Alethea was wide and cold.
“Thank you, my lady.” Alethea positioned herself next to Mr. Morrish so that Clare sat next to her mother instead.
“How is your aunt, Lady Alethea?” Lady Morrish asked.
Clare handed Alethea a cup of tea. “Quite well,” Alethea said.
“I am so distressed by what happened at Lady Fairmont’s ball,” Lady Morrish said. “I have asked among my acquaintance, but I cannot find out why she would have behaved so.”
“She has removed to her country house for the winter, I believe.”
“Yes, more’s the pity. But I am likely to see her in town this spring when Clare has her come out, so if I have an opportunity, I shall speak to her for you.”
“Thank you, that is very kind of you.”
“Indeed, Aunt.” Mr. Morrish flashed a toothy smile at the lady. “I was not present when Lady Fairmont spoke to Lady Alethea, but I heard about the incident and it grieves me greatly.”
Alethea was sure it did, about as much as a tickle in his toe.
She had taken her second sip of tea when Clare jumped to her feet. “Mama, Alethea and I shall be in the music room. She has brought some new music for me.”
“Certainly.” Lady Morrish returned to picking at the tangle of her embroidery silks. “Mr. Morrish, will you assist me? I cannot seem to . . .”
Mr. Morrish’s pained expression was the last thing Alethea saw before she left the room.
“You have made it clear that you do not wish to entertain Mr. Morrish’s suit, have you not?” Alethea asked as they made their way down the hallway to the music room.
“Yes, but Sir Hermes simply laughs and says I am yet too young to know my mind firmly. Mother goes along with everything he says.”
“Has he no respect for your wishes?”
“Sir Hermes desires the match. Bayard would have refused Mr. Morrish entry into the house, but Mama prevailed upon him, saying it would cause too much talk to deny Mr. Morrish his uncle.” Clare huffed. “And so nothing prevents Mr. Morrish from inflicting his presence upon me.”
Alethea’s opinion of Clare’s stepfather sunk lower. The man may be a jovial personality, but he was also thoughtless of others and selfish. He reminded her of her father and brother, although with less cruelty. But unlike herself, Clare had a brother and his friends to protect her. Alethea had only had Calandra and Lucy and, most of all, herself to depend upon.
Clare threw open the double doors, and a bright shaft of light nearly blinded Alethea. The Ravenhurst music room was even grander than the drawing room. Tall windows drenching the room in light flanked bookcases of sheet music. She was immediately engulfed in the spicy aroma of hothouse flowers, which sat on tables set against the walls in front of large oval mirrors that reflected the sunlight, making the room even brighter. A large, impressive pianoforte sat in the far corner next to a large harp, and Lord Ravenhurst’s violoncello rested next to it on a stand.
Some movement caught her eye. She turned to look, but saw nothing except the two tables set up in the other corner of the room with instruments scattered across them, and next to those a heavy wooden desk piled high with paper, both blank and manuscript music. The blotter was heavily dotted with ink. Dust motes floated in the air, illuminated by the window behind the desk. All the windows had their curtains drawn back so that as much light as possible filled the room.
“Did you see that?” Alethea asked.
“See what?”
She stared out the window, then shook her head. “I must have seen a bird outside.”
Clare sat at the pianoforte. “Should you like to play the violin portion?”
Alethea scanned the violins on the tables. “Will Lord Ravenhurst object if I use one of his instruments?”
“Oh, those are Bayard’s. Choose any one.”
While Clare picked out the piece on the pianoforte, Alethea studied the violins and spotted the Stradivarius immediately. It was older than hers. She could tell by the feel of the wood. There was another violin even older, which she thought might be a Guarnerius. She played a few measures on each and chose the possibly-Guarnerius since it had the more beautiful tone. But she felt her own violin had more velvety depths to the lower notes and more jewel-like brightness to the higher ones.
They practiced together for nearly half an hour. Clare was quite accomplished at the pianoforte and picked up the music quickly, and Alethea had played the piece many times with Calandra.
There was a gentle tap at the music room door. Clare stopped playing. “Come.”
Lucy entered the room and shut the door behind her, then drew close to the two women. Her dark eyes were somber. “Miss Terralton, Mr. Morrish has just left the house, but I have been in your bedroom for the past three-quarters of an hour. I came upon Mr. Morrish’s servant in your bedchamber.”
“What?” Alethea exploded. The violin bow slipped through her fingers, and she grabbed at it quickly before it fell to the rug. She set the instrument upon the table.
Clare’s face was frighteningly pale in the light from the windows.
“I confronted him and he left,” Lucy said, “but I thought it prudent to remain in your bedchamber while Mr. Morrish was in the house.”
Clare was still silent and shocked. “Was anything taken?” Alethea asked.
“I don’t believe so.” Lucy laid a hand on Clare’s shoulder and said in a gentle voice, “Do you feel quite able to come upstairs with me to make sure?”
Clare inhaled a short breath, then firmed her chin. “Yes, let us go up.” She took Alethea’s hand to pull her along, and Alethea could feel the girl’s fingers trembling.
Clare’s room had been a guest room decorated in shades of pink and red, but the girl’s personal items were easy to spot because they were all in what appeared to be her favourite colour of blue. “Lucy, where was Mr. Morrish’s servant when you saw him?” Clare asked.
Lucy pointed to the dressing table. “He had opened the top middle drawer, miss.”
“That would be the first place I would look,” Alethea said. “Perhaps Lucy interrupted him before he had time to search.”
Clare said nothing, but she went through all her drawers at the dressing table, then through her clothespress, although Lucy said she had checked and nothing seemed to be missing.
Finally Clare sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. “Lucy, you may go. I know you have much to do before this evening.”
Lucy bobbed a curtsey, but as she passed her, Alethea reached out to squeeze her hand. Lucy gave her a smile and squeezed back, then left the room and closed the door behind her.
Alethea sat next to Clare on the sofa. “What will you do?”
Clare lifted her chin. “I will speak to my mother and Sir Hermes. But I fear he will simply tell his nephew to reprimand his servant.” Clare stared at the closed door. “You are so close to your sister.”
“We grew up together. She is my best friend.”
“But you are so far apart in station. What did your neighbors think?”
“Oh, they were disapproving, just as they disapproved of my friendship with Lady Arkright, who was Italian, never mind that her deceased husband had been English through and through. Even the rector would drop nasty hints about ‘low company.’ I simply replied with ‘love thy neighbor.’ ”
Clare stifled a laugh. “How could the rector say such a thing?”
“Oh, he wasn’t the worst one. The pious women in the village—the ones who were forever going on about their good works for the Lord and then mistreating their servants—would cross the street rather than meet with me when I was with Lucy.” Alethea attended church every Sunday, but she listened to the reverend with a very cynical ear. She had little respect for the religious. They were all hypocrites, and they served a God who had abandoned her in her hour of need.
“And you didn’t care.”
“Of course not. Lucy and Calandra loved me more than my family. I never heed public opinion if it goes against what I believe to be right and good.” Alethea added, “Think of your brother. He loves you deeply. Would he forsake you? I could no more forsake Lucy.”
At the tail end of her words, there came a loud crash from downstairs, the sound of a door slamming against the wall. Then another crash, something heavy and wooden dropping to the floor, accompanied by a tinkling descant of shattered pottery.
Alethea and Clare jumped to their feet and raced out of the room.
Bayard should have paid attention to the prickle of unease he felt as he read the letter he received that morning. It was from Jones Brothers, an instrument shop in Chippenham. They had heard of his inquiries about a violin and may have some information for him, if he would be so good as to visit the shop.
He had called for his gig and set off directly after breakfast, but just as he passed the outer edge of Bath, he realized he had forgotten the copy of the initials that Alethea had made for him. He turned around immediately.
He drove up before the house and dashed to the front door, opened by the butler. “Have someone hold my horse, Chapman. I shan’t be a moment.” He bounded up the stairs two at a time and passed the closed drawing room door, where he heard his mother’s faint voice on his way to the music room.
He thrust open the music room door and froze.
A slender man sat at the desk, rummaging through a bottom drawer. He shot to his feet at the sight of Bayard.
It was the grey man from the street.
Bayard rushed forward just as the man leapt over the desk and launched himself at him.
The man caught Bayard’s shoulder and collarbone when he crashed into him. Bayard staggered backward, landing hard against the closed door, and it whipped open to slam against the wall. Bayard toppled to the floor, the man on top of him.
The intruder was whipcord lean and strong, and Bayard grabbed his arms as the man lashed out at his head. He prevented two blows but a third landed above his left ear and made stars twinkle in front of his eyes for a moment. He grabbed at the man’s torso, but the grey, dingy coat was in the way. The pockets were stuffed with cloth or paper.
Bayard kicked out to shove the man off of him. The thief rolled along the carpet and bounded to his feet with agility. Bayard was slower, and the man kicked him solidly in the side while he was still on his hands and knees
The pain thrust the air from his lungs, but he managed to whip out with one leg and land a blow against the man’s knee. The man grunted and lurched into a table against the wall. The table tipped over, and the vase atop the smooth surface slid down in a graceful dive, shattering against the floor.
Air flooded into Bayard’s lungs in a rush, and he thrust himself to his feet. The man was limping rapidly down the hallway toward the stairs.
At that moment, Clare rushed out from the short side passage that led from the stairs from the bedchambers above. Bayard drew breath to yell, but it was too late.
The man found himself facing Clare, who inadvertently blocked the main stairs. He pushed at her, his legs unsteady and causing him to stumble.
Clare flew into a hallway table in a wild tangle of skirts, knocked against it, and slid to the floor.
“Clare!” he shouted. Lord, let her be uninjured.
“Clare!” It was Alethea’s voice. She ran out from the same short passage and dropped to her knees at his sister’s side.
The grey man staggered down the main stairs. Bayard reached the top of the staircase in time to see the man leap down the last few steps, landing awkwardly on his injured knee. He pushed past the startled butler, yanked open the front door, and was gone.
“Good gracious!” His mother stood in the drawing room doorway, her face bloodless as she saw Clare on the floor. She kneeled next to Clare as Alethea rose, running downstairs calling for Lucy. Bayard crouched beside his sister.
Clare had landed on her stomach, but she now rolled over and was trying to sit up. Bayard tried to stop her. “Do not rise.”
“I’m well,” she insisted. When she sat upright, she swayed slightly, but it soon passed and she looked at them with clear eyes.
“I shall send for a doctor,” Bayard said, but Clare shook her head.
At that moment, Alethea arrived with both Lucy and his mother’s maid, and the three women helped Clare and Lady Morrish to their feet and into the drawing room. “I also sent for tea,” Alethea told him. In a low voice she added, “What happened?”
Bayard explained briefly, and Alethea looked puzzled. “What was he looking for? Did he find it?”
“I don’t know.” Bayard headed back to the music room, Alethea following.
He saw immediately that all his notes on her violin were gone, including the drawing of the initials. “He stole all the information I had gathered on your violin, little as it was.”
Alethea stood by the table. “Your instruments have been moved. Clare and I were here but a few minutes ago. I had thought I saw movement by the window . . .” She shuddered. “He must have been here the entire time we were practicing.”
He looked over the violins, which brought him closer to her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, offer her comfort. He closed his eyes, hands clenched, jaw tight, as he breathed in her faint scent of rain and roses. Then he scanned the table and moved quickly away from her. “He did not take any violins.”
“It is fortuitous you interrupted him.”
“Yes.” Bayard drew out the letter from his coat pocket and frowned down at it. “I should not have been here.” He handed her the letter.
She shook her head as she read. “How could they have heard about your inquiries? Did you write to them?”
“No, I have only written to the instrument shops in London, since that was where Lady Arkright had the tuning peg replaced.”
“And those shops would not have idly chatted with an instrument shop in Chippenham.”
“I did not feel it prudent to ignore the letter, for they may have had a legitimate reason to speak to me.”
“Of course.” She gave the letter back to him. “But this note conveniently would have taken you from home for several hours. The man could have observed you leaving on a day trip and then entered the house.”
“It was the same man who had followed me.”
Alethea exhaled and rubbed her forehead. “I should not have asked for your help. I have put you and your family in harm’s way. I am sorry.”
“I am the one to apologize. I did not believe you when you insisted the intruder in your bedroom had been looking for your violin. I did not take precautions when making inquiries into the violin. I was so confident I could have the answer quickly.” Bayard turned his back, ashamed to face her. “I have been so arrogant.”
He heard the rustle of her dress, smelled a rose-scented waft of air, and felt the soft touch of her hand upon his cuff. She was not wearing gloves and her fingers brushed the bare skin of his hand.
“You could not know,” she said.
“I should have expected it. He invaded your home in broad daylight, with servants and your niece in the house.”
She fully clasped his hand. Her touch was warm, her fingers strong, and his skin tingled where she touched him.
“We suspected, but we had no proof. We do now,” she said.
Then she slipped her hand from his. He immediately felt the loss, like a cold draft.
The sound of her dress was a sigh in the air, an echo of her presence after she had left the music room.
“An unlocked window? But surely it would have been too small for anyone but a child to fit through,” Lady Morrish said to Bayard at breakfast the next morning.
“The man was very slender and agile.” Bayard sipped his coffee. “I have ordered all windows locked from now on.”
“It is very cold,” Clare said. “I can’t imagine why the window would have been unlocked in the first place.”
Bayard shot her a warning look, which she understood and promptly stopped speculating. He had thought of that yesterday when he discovered the storeroom window, wide but shallow, had been left open. He had asked Lucy privately if she knew if the window was usually left open, but she had not been working in the household long enough to know.
“How could he have made his way from the storeroom to the music room?” Lady Morrish fretted. “Surely someone would have seen him.”
“It isn’t as though the servants were on the watch for a stranger in the house,” Clare said.
“He did not find what he wanted,” Bayard said. “He took my notes on the violin, but that is little enough, and he did not take any of my instruments, although I am unsure that he would recognize Lady Alethea’s violin if it had been among mine.”
“This violin . . . Much as I like Lady Alethea, could you not simply stop investigating this affair?” Lady Morrish asked. “Would it not solve everything?”
“But how would the thief know that Bayard had stopped investigating?” Clare asked.
“Surely if we spread it about that he has withdrawn his help? After all, is that not how the thief came to know Bayard was involved with Lady Alethea’s violin?”
Bayard and Clare were both silent. He could see the wisdom behind her worry.
“But, Mama,” Clare said after a moment, “Lady Whittlesby has told Bay that if he discovers the truth behind Alethea’s violin, she will feature the Quartet—and me too—at her concert. It would be the cachet of the season.”
“But your safety is surely more important than a concert,” Bayard said.
“It is not the concert, but the mark the concert will have,” Clare said reasonably. “All the premier hostesses in London will invite us to their events.”
“Yes, I did not receive as many invitations this past spring,” Lady Morrish said slowly.
Clare bit her lip and glanced at Bayard. His jaw tightened, and he stared at the buttered eggs congealing on his plate. The rumours of the “Mad Baron” had caused several of his mother’s friends to withdraw from her. Only her wedding to Sir Hermes this past summer had revived her spirits.
“Without the concert,” Bayard said, “Clare could still have a good season and none of you would be in danger now.”
“This is all very distressing.” Lady Morrish crumbled her toast into her plate.
“I know, Mama.” Bayard placed his hand over hers. “I will keep you safe.”
“Dear boy, I know you shall.” His mother gave him a tenuous smile and grasped his hand with hers, smearing butter over his knuckles.
At that moment, the butler entered with the post. Bayard wiped his hands and sorted through his letters. He immediately opened one from an instrument shop in London to which he had written.
Dear Lord Dommick,
In response to your inquiry of the violin previously belonging to Lady Arkright and currently in the possession of Lady Alethea Sutherton, we do recall the instrument in question. Lady Arkright brought us the violin twice. Once many years ago upon her return to England from Italy, she entrusted the violin to my father to sand down scratches on the body and replace the strings. Secondly, six years ago to replace a tuning peg. The violin’s extraordinary tone has made it memorable to my father and to myself. On both occasions, we inquired of Lady Arkright about it, for while we suspected it was crafted by the incomparable Stradivari, we had never seen an instrument of its like. She described buying it from a peddler in Milan, Italy, on her wedding trip. It had been sold to the peddler, along with other inexpensive household items from a man who had recently departed of this life, by his family who had been eager to sell off the last of his possessions. Lady Arkright described the violin as the most valuable of all the peddler’s wares, for the deceased man had not been wealthy. We wish Lady Alethea all the pleasure of many years of performance and wish you to convey our readiness to attend to any of her needs for her instrument.
Your obedient servants,
Samuel and Jacob Swithers
Swithers Instrument Shop, London
Bayard read the letter through two more times. While it did not convey much more information than Alethea had given to him, there was something about the story that teased at him. Something that he could use in his research. He would need to meditate upon it further.
He turned to the next letter, and it caused a tightening in his chest.
There was no postmark, so it had been delivered by hand. The handwriting was uneven, perhaps written with the left hand or by someone not well versed in his letters. It read:
I require Lady Alethea Sutherton’s violin and the sum of five hundred pounds in exchange for the safety of your sister and mother. If amenable to this transaction, hang a red cord in the front drawing room window and await instructions.
At first, he felt as cold as if entering a room with an unlit fireplace. Then his body burst into flame. He almost expected the note to turn to ashes where he crinkled it in his hand.
He wanted to ram his fist into a man’s face. He wanted to smash the coffeepot. He would not stand for this.
“Is anything the matter, Bay?” Clare looked at him warily.
He smoothed the note on the table and schooled his features into a more neutral visage. “A problematic business concern.”
“I do hope it will not take you from Bath,” his mother said. “Ravenhurst mentioned that his mother has written. She intends to arrive within the fortnight, and you must be here to greet her and thank her for the use of her home.”
“I shall make every effort.”
At that moment, Raven and Ian came down to breakfast, and Bayard stood. “May I have a word with both of you in the library?”
Ian gave a sorrowful look toward the sideboard, laden with food, and Raven impatiently said, “Bring your breakfast with us, you greedy guts.”
In the library, the three men gathered around a small round table near the window. Bayard handed Raven the note, and Ian read over his shoulder while shoveling food from his piled plate into his mouth.
Raven fingered the paper. “Very fine quality. It is from someone of means.” He held it up to the light. “Pity there’s no watermark.”
“I had suspected the grey man had been hired,” Bayard said. “And Alethea mentioned that Mr. Golding, who approached her about selling the violin, had spoken of a wealthy client.”
“What shall you do about this, Bay?”
“I shall certainly not submit,” Bayard growled. “How dare he threaten my family? It is as good as a glove in the face.”
“Not quite so honourable, for he neglected to sign his name,” Ian drawled.
“While this man is alive and able to threaten me, I shall never feel secure and never be able to keep my family safe.”
“If you give him the violin, he might go away.” Ian flittered his fingers, although his cynical expression belied his words.
“Right now he wants the violin and five hundred pounds,” Raven said. “But men like this will always push an advantage if they have one. After you give in, next he will demand something else. He will continue to endanger your family.”
“He must be a very stupid person to think this would work.” Ian flipped the note between his fingers.
“I don’t know what to make of him,” Bayard admitted. “I’m sure there are other violins less protected.”
“The violin is not valuable to him,” Raven said. “The violin is precious to him.”
“That is why I need to know who the instrument belonged to. It must point to who would want it so desperately.” Bayard looked at his friends. “In the meantime, may I count on you both to guard Clare and Mother?”
Raven nodded gravely, but Ian ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Your sister will be even more annoyed by my presence than normal. And if she complains, I will tell her that you ordered it.”
Raven gave Ian a sour look, then said to Bayard, “You should do your best to find the answers quickly, else your sister might do bodily harm to your friend.”
Bayard remembered the letter from the instrument maker and passed that to them. “Alethea said that the peddler had wanted to be rid of the violin. The letter adds that he had bought it with other items from the household of a recently deceased man. All of low value. All unusual company for a violin that was a custom-ordered Stradivarius.”
“How did the dead man acquire the violin?” Raven said. “Was he the one who ordered it, or did he buy it from the man who did?”
“Why should a nobleman’s family have need to sell the man’s common household items?” Ian asked. “Would not the entire estate become the property of the heir?”
“I am becoming convinced that a merchant or middle-class family somehow obtained the violin,” Bayard said. “It would be something a nobleman could sell for a significant amount, if he had pressing gaming debts.”
“And then our merchant died and the violin passed to our estimable peddler,” Ian said.
“Have you heard yet from London about the initials?” Raven asked.
Bayard shook his head. “I wrote to the Count of Casafuori and also to Lord Mabrey to inquire of his wife, but have not heard from either as yet. Should I inquire of Italian merchants about the violin?”
“Would you really expect one Italian merchant to happen to know of another Italian merchant who died decades ago who used to play the violin? Your better course of action would be to trap this fellow.” Ian tapped the extortion note on the table.
Raven’s light blue eyes glittered like ice. “That sounds much more profitable.”
They discussed a plan for the better part of the morning, and then Bayard found a red tapestry cord and hung it from a corner of the front window. He had misgivings, but they were overruled by his frustration and confusion as to the man he was dealing with. Why did he need this particular instrument? What sort of man would resort to these measures for a violin? He could not understand, and even worse, he could not control the situation.
The only way to ensure the protection of his family would be to stop this villain. Permanently.