CHAPTER FIVE
Charles Congreve, that evening, was present at a very select dinner given by Benedict Fitzgilbert. So select, in fact, that they waited on themselves from the array of dishes on the table.
“No Rothwell tonight, Fitz?” asked Nicholas Dacre, lazily filling his glass before passing the bottle on.
“He is not in town until next week,” answered their host. “Caroline has horses running at Newmarket.”
Nick’s face darkened. “Which is where I should be if I hadn’t had to dance attendance on my grandfather.”
“My condolences. How is he?”
“Likely to live for the next twenty years despite what he and his doctors predict. I swear the old man plans these deathbed scenes for just when it is most inconvenient to his warring descendants. I might get off to Newmarket early tomorrow if only to get the family poison out of my system. I’ll still get some racing, even if it is too late for the certainty I had for today.”
“Your tips are always certainties,” said Charles. “You should wager on Caroline’s horses instead. I was at dinner with them a few days ago in Newmarket. Solange is apparently in foal and Caro claims Rufus is running better than ever on the strength of it. Alex, by the way, asked me to pass on that he is now established in the reform movement and anti-slavery camp in the House and is doing his best to press for changes.”
Dacre’s eyes widened. “That must have been an interesting dinner. No one suspected you and Rothwell to be more than casual acquaintances?”
“My dear Nick, the ladies present were all close friends. We could have referred to the Pool out loud and they would not have remarked it. They were talking so hard about Verity Bowman’s inheritance and how taking Furze House for her and her mother would provide incontrovertible proof of her spending the next six months in a rational manner due to the necessity of turning it into a habitable residence, that it was impossible to introduce another topic of conversation at all. In the course of a single dinner, they had gutted the place, knocked three or four rooms together, furnished and decorated it, modernised the kitchen, let out the back premises to make the place pay and planned their first party.”
His companions roared with laughter. “It sounds ideal,” said Dacre. “Why do you not let Miss Bowman have her head? Is the house bad? Where is it?”
“Towards the heath on the Suffolk side. The house is far too large, but it is sound,” said Charles shortly. “Which is more than I can say for Verity. If I did as you suggested, she would be gulled on all sides by tradesmen and have spent up her legacy - the size of which neither she nor I yet know - by Christmas. Probably on some good cause totally unrelated to the house.”
“Surely she cannot be that hen-witted.”
Charles looked at him with a bitter expression. “She is not in the least hen-witted. She merely views the world from a different perspective. For example, I’ll take long odds you never had to break your sister and her madcap friend back into school because they had decided you needed your spirits lifting before your viva and had not troubled themselves to get permission for an exeat.”
“No,” said Nicholas, a little stunned. “No, I can’t say I did.”
“Precisely. To return to what we were talking about, Fitz, I have an offer from Adam Prettyman. He is at our service if we are ever - as he put it - in need of a gentleman as big as a bear with a gift for mimicry and a hard-won knowledge of rough fighting. As you know, I had dealings with Adam during that shocking business with the Earl of Harwood over the summer. I have got to know him pretty well since then and have thought for some time he would be a useful addition to the Pool.”
Fitzgilbert nodded. “Noted. And as his attorney you have an unexceptional reason for meeting him. I believe a cautious yes is in order. You’ll let him know? Good. To business, gentlemen. I have had a communication from Sir Nathaniel Conant. The man found in the Thames last week has been identified as one of Nash’s builders. Nash reported to Sir Nathaniel a little while ago as having received threats that if he didn’t pay a certain sum of money, building work on his New Street would be disrupted. It isn’t the first warning of this sort he has been in receipt of. Our shadow-man appears to be expanding his areas of interest. Thoughts?”
Charles put Verity firmly to the back of his mind and concentrated instead on the far easier problem of how to unmask an unknown extortionist who had all of London to hide in.
Verity was ready in good time for her day with Charles. She was confident she had said enough about Furze House for the present for the idea to now be embedded in his mind, and she did not wish him to become so aggravated with her that he fulfilled one of her wishes without also making a push on finding her half-sister. During breakfast, her mother very nearly scuppered the plan by wondering aloud whether this might not be an ideal time to call on Mr Tweedie herself regarding her annuity, but Verity, with great presence of mind, reminded her of Mr Tweedie being much engaged at present and put forward the counter suggestion that it would be far more pleasant, surely, to extend him an invitation to call at Grosvenor Street at his own convenience. They would then be warm and comfortable, unconstrained for time and while they discussed financial matters they could have refreshments far superior to any provided at his chambers.
The idea found favour, her mother wrote a note for Mr Tweedie, and Verity waited, outwardly calm, for Charles to collect her and take her away from curious ears. It was not precisely that she didn’t want anyone else privy to her quest for Kitty, it was more that she didn’t want her mother to build up her hopes and then be disappointed if she failed. She also didn’t want anyone putting well-meaning obstacles in her way.
Charles arrived in a hackney carriage looking in every way smart and sober. “You look very well,” she said, subjecting him to a friendly scrutiny, “though I cannot help regretting the loss of that crimson robe.”
“I fear not all my clients are as discerning as you,” he said gravely. “One day, perhaps, I may lead a revolution in exciting attire for the legal profession. Until then I had best follow the flock if I am to eat and pay the rent on my rooms.”
Good. He was in a agreeable mood. Verity smiled sunnily at him and kept up a bright flow of conversation on the way to his chambers, remarking on the shop fronts in Bond Street, the entrance to his Albany buildings and the imposing appearance of Somerset House, which she hadn’t realised was so large and handsome.
“We will see more of it at a later date,” said Charles. “The Royal Academy, Royal Society and Society of Antiquities are all based there, as well as various exhibitions and art shows. For now, Mr Scrivener will be waiting for us.”
The hackney stopped at Temple Bar, where they alighted, Verity taking Charles’s arm as they walked though the archway to the buildings of the Middle Temple.
“Oh, but these are charming!” exclaimed Verity looking around with interest. “I have never been in this part of London before.”
Charles slowed, matching his pace to hers. “There was no reason for you to have done. This is a place of professionals. In my first days here I felt very much as if I was attending an over-large house party given by someone I was not familiar with. Everyone appeared to know each other and there was a mysterious code of conduct that I had to learn before I was accepted.”
“Poor Charles. And do you now know where to assemble for dinner and which boot boy to bribe to get the best shine on your footwear?”
He laughed. “Something of the sort. We go down this way now, and around the corner here. The buildings are interesting rather than handsome, I think. Not all chambers reflect their external architecture. Mr Tweedie’s set of rooms are a good size, in some of the others I am amazed the clerks can find anything at all. The legal profession uses a great deal of paper, and all of it has to be stored.”
“That reminds me,” said Verity. “Mama wishes to invite Mr Tweedie to call on her at any time convenient to him. I have a letter from her. She was sorry he could not come into Newmarket himself after Uncle James’s death, though I personally was very well pleased it was you. She told me she remembered Mr Tweedie as having been very unobtrusive and kind during the preparations for her wedding to Papa, and she still feels grateful for it, even after twenty years.”
Charles grinned. “Do not tell him I said so, but he can be kind indeed. He was very patient with me when I was still learning my way around the various articles and clauses. I am sure he will be happy to call on Mrs Bowman. She seemed to have made quite an impression on him in former times. He told me she was the prettiest, liveliest young lady in Suffolk twenty years ago.”
Verity stopped in genuine astonishment. “Goodness. Did he really say that? I love Mama dearly myself, naturally, but I would never have described her as lively. And yet, I do not know... I remember when she used to tell us stories of gods and myths and so forth, the tales would come alive.”
Pretty and lively. Who would have thought it?
“Well,” she said decisively, “if that is the effect marriage and children have, I am more than ever determined to remain single.”
A conscience-stricken expression crossed Charles’s face. “I should not have said anything. You will ruin my professional reputation, Verity. You lull me into talking indiscreetly as if...” He paused.
“As if?”
“As if we were friends, not attorney and client.”
She gave a peal of laughter and tucked her hand into his arm again. “How foolish you are, Charles. How should we not be friends? It is by far the most comfortable way of going on.”
Lord above, how did she do this? Charles pressed his lips together, silently berating himself for forgetting who he was and who he was with. In general, he had no difficulty becoming Mr Congreve, attorney-at-law, during the day and Charles, youngest son of Anthony Congreve Esquire, whenever he was required for a family party. The rare occasions with friends when he was simply Charles were as jealously guarded as the railed gardens of London’s squares, but Verity seemed able to pick the locks simply by laying her hand upon the gate.
“You are dangerous, Verity,” he said, steering her with no little effort towards his building when she would have strayed to observe the water jets in Fountains Court. “Perhaps I should approve Furze House and pack you off back to Newmarket immediately, before you compromise my working life any further.”
“Thank you, Charles. As soon as I have found Kitty, I will go with pleasure. I will send you regular reports on the progress of the work so if my grandmother and uncle ever dispute the bequest, you will have proof of how diligent I am being.”
Which meant, he realised with disbelief as he finally got her indoors and ascending to the clerks’ room, that he had agreed once again to one of her suggestions. How did she do this? How could a professional clause-wrangler like himself give in without argument so easily, and on so little evidence of a successful outcome?
Though it would be successful, he admitted, grudgingly fair, because everything Verity turned her attention to enjoyed some measure of success. The key question lay in determining the price for that success.
Mr Scrivener was waiting in the clerks’ room. He followed them into Charles’s office and sat, pencil in hand, waiting for instructions.
“Eastwick, Captain,” he murmured. “1810 or thereabouts. Catherine Margaret Bowman, known as Kitty. Brown hair, grey eyes, slight frame. I will call next week to report progress. The usual terms, Mr Congreve?”
“Certainly, Mr Scrivener. Make the accounts to my office, if you please.”
Charles saw the man out and returned to find Verity looking a little blank.
She met his eyes ruefully. “A week? I had hoped it would be sooner.”
“It may be. We cannot tell at this stage. Come, we will put your name down for the Royal Society lectures, and then I will escort you to Grosvenor Street.”
“Oh, but I am to stay with you the whole day, am I not? The others will have driven out by now.”
Charles felt a rush of exasperation, mixed with just a tinge of uncertainty as to what he had promised her yesterday. “Verity, I have work to do. I have to go to Bow Street to meet a client.”
“Is that the magistrate’s court? I have never been there. It sounds as if it would be a rational place to visit.”
“Rational possibly, but it is not a place for a lady. I will be at least an hour inside.”
“I may watch the proceedings, may I not?”
Charles’s patience snapped. Perhaps a shock, such as observing the sessions would give her, would convince her of the absurdity of going about with him during working hours. “You may. Very well, but on your own head be it.”
He gathered the papers he would need and swept her out. Striding up Middle Lane, he felt her hand creep under his arm and slowed his pace.
“I fear I am being a great trial to you, Charles,” she said in a small voice.
Her head was downbent, her bonnet shaded her face. He slowed his pace further and laid his hand over hers, already ashamed of his show of temper. “It is your uncle I am wishing to damnation, not you,” he said, not entirely accurately. “I beg pardon for my incivility. We will have a rational morning, Verity, and perhaps one or two more, but it cannot be every day.”
“No, I see that. You need not worry, Charles, I will go with Julia and Lilith to the exhibitions at other times. Lilith knows a great many sensible, improving places for me to visit.”
Charles stopped. “Lilith Fitzgilbert?” he asked.
Verity looked up at him enquiringly. “Yes. Do you know her?”
“I have been introduced. It is an unusual name. I remember she impressed me as being a very well-educated young lady.” He started walking again, one part of his mind wondering if Verity going about with Fitz’s sister would make things awkward for them, or whether they could turn it to account.