Chapter Sixteen
When she was through being badgered by her grandmother, Hope escaped to her room to find that the inquisition was not yet over. Her sister was waiting for her in her bedroom. Charity had seated herself upon the bed, propped herself up with every pillow in the room and spread her dusty books all over the coverlet.
‘You have a room of your own,’ Hope reminded her.
‘Neither of us has a room,’ Charity said, barely looking up. ‘Have you forgotten that the Earl has arrived?’
Hope closed her eyes for a moment to let a fresh wave of panic wash over her, before opening them to stare back at her sister. ‘If he is not here tonight, there is no reason for us to share this space.’
‘Grandmama says he claims to have no need of the town house.’ Charity frowned. ‘Perhaps he does not understand that Parliament is in session and he must take his seat in the House of Lords. It would be rather foolish of him to stay at a hotel until the Season is ended.’
‘Do not worry,’ Hope said, bitterly. ‘I am sure he will be along to evict us once he has a better grasp of the situation.’
‘You mean when he discovers that the diamonds are missing,’ Charity said.
Hope pushed her sister’s books out of the way and sat. ‘Who told you that?’
Charity had finally stopped reading long enough to look at her, with her usual expression of patient superiority. ‘No one had to tell me anything. I have been playing with the whole set from the moment I was out of the cradle,’ Charity replied.
‘You were doing what?’
Her little sister shrugged. ‘You and Faith would not share your dolls with me. You said I was too young. So I stole Grandmama’s jewel case to play at being grown up.’
‘You wicked little thing,’ Hope said, before remembering that it was never possible to change Charity’s character with scolding.
‘Grandmama caught me at it. It made her laugh to see me decked in tiara and bracelets. She made me promise to put them back in the box when I was done and set aside the things she did not want me to damage. But those were the pieces that Grandfather had given her and not the diamonds. She had not a thought for the pride of the Stricklands. Do you not find that strange?’
‘I am long past finding Grandmama’s behaviour strange,’ Hope said.
‘Well, I did. When I was old enough to understand, I went to the library...’
‘Quelle surprise.’
Charity ignored the jab. ‘I searched for a book that would explain how to tell real diamonds from false. And it was then I noticed the scratches on the stones. Real diamonds are hard and will only be scratched by other diamonds.’
‘You knew they were paste and you did not see the problem with it?’
‘If it did not bother Grandmama, then why would it bother me?’
‘Because our grandmother, the woman who should be protecting us, is constantly doing things that put us in jeopardy. She steals things that do not belong to her and sells them without a thought to the consequences. If it did not bother her that the diamonds were false, it is because she was the one who took them.’
‘Or perhaps it is because they were false when she received them, on her wedding day. And false for Great-Grandmother as well,’ Charity said, unperturbed. ‘Either she does not know that they are paste, or she has always known and has grown used to the idea. It does not matter, either way.’
‘It matters immensely,’ Hope snapped. ‘It matters because we will be lying if we give false stones to Miles Comstock and present them as real.’
‘We are not going to give him anything,’ Charity said. ‘They are already his. And it is quite possible that his auditor will know even less about diamonds than we do. He will open the case to see that all the spaces are filled, write it in his ledger, then lock them away again.’
‘But when they are worn, everyone will discover they are false,’ Hope said, horrified.
‘No one has noticed as yet,’ Charity reminded her.
‘Because our grandmother is such a persuasive liar,’ Hope said with disgust.
‘Or ignorant of the truth,’ Charity reminded her. ‘It is possible, you know.’
‘But unlikely,’ Hope said.
‘You, on the other hand, will definitely know. You are also a terrible liar,’ Charity declared. ‘This is why you are convinced that disaster is imminent. Because, as you have proven in the past twenty-four hours, you are physically incapable of keeping a secret.’
‘Even if I can persuade Mr Drake to make another offer, I will have to rusticate until the wedding,’ she said, closing her eyes in resignation. ‘I cannot face anyone in this condition.’
‘Fallen from grace?’ Charity threw her hand across her face and collapsed on the bed in a mock swoon. She sat up immediately, as composed as ever. ‘Stop being so dramatic and look in the mirror.’
‘I do not wish to,’ Hope replied.
‘You cannot avoid it indefinitely. Look at yourself.’
Hope allowed one more moment of hesitation, then turned suddenly, in case the expression was something elusive that might hide if she took the time to prepare her expression.
She stared into the mirror, then stepped closer for a better look. The family was right. Something had changed, but what? Her hair was styled in the same way it had been yesterday. Her gown was not new. She had never needed rouge or powder, nor did she need it today. And then she saw it.
As Charity had reminded her, when it came to words, she had never been good at dissembling. But that did not mean that she went about with a Friday face when things were difficult. Problems were no easier to bear if one kept a pleasant smile, but one was spared the inconvenience of nosy strangers wondering what the matter was.
But today, it seemed she could no longer control her expression. The frown of confusion staring back at her was too real, as was the look of surprise. She had expected to find a brand of infamy. Instead, it was as if her emotions had been laid bare for all to see.
‘I should probably marry Mr Drake,’ she said and watched the radiant smile that followed the announcement. Though strangers might not guess what she had been doing last night, there was no hiding the fact that she was in love.
‘At least you are no longer talking about becoming the next Countess of Comstock. You would be the last girl in the world I’d choose if I needed someone to walk about London in a paste tiara.’
‘That is probably true.’ It was also strangely cheering to free herself of the plan. ‘But I must still meet with Mr Strickland to explain about the diamonds.’
‘Or you could return to Berkshire and avoid him,’ her sister said. ‘You never need meet Miles Strickland at all, you know. There is no law that says we have to associate with family, if we do not wish to.’
‘That is true,’ Hope said, turning back to face her sister. It had never occurred to her that it would be possible to avoid a meeting. But if she withdrew from society, he might not bother to seek her out.
‘If he does not marry immediately, we might be long gone from both his houses before he even thinks to ask about the diamonds, much less look at them,’ Charity added.
‘It is not as if he will be wearing a necklace and earbobs to Parliament,’ Hope said, feeling not just better about the future, but almost happy.
‘Then it is settled,’ Charity said with a nod. ‘If you cannot keep mum about it, you will avoid Miles Strickland and give up on the idea of becoming his Countess. If you marry, it must be to a man who solves your problems instead of adding to them and who can protect you from your excessively virtuous nature. And I could not suggest a better husband for you than Gregory Drake.’
* * *
Gregory’s smile faded once he was out of sight of the Comstock town house. The Dowager had promised a week to set things right. While Lady Comstock might not plead his case for him, he did not think she would be working actively against him during that time.
But though she had allowed him a sennight, Hope Strickland had given him but a single day. There had to be something he could do to stretch that, so her temper might cool sufficiently to hear his apology. Before he had understood the magnitude of her problem, he had convinced her of his ability to work miracles. If ever one was needed, it was today. It might take a handful of diamonds to earn him more time and the three-carat stone to set things right between them.
He began his search at the jeweller that had provided the leather case for the Comstock parure. After speaking to the proprietor, he went to another more dubious shop. From there, he went to a place so obscure that it had no name on the window and no number on the door. He left, satisfied, a short time later.
Next, there was the matter of the new Comstock. He’d had no real opinion of Miles Strickland when he’d still been at sea. But now that he was on land, Gregory had developed a genial hatred for him that had only grown with the Dowager’s description of a prince among men. As long as Hope remained Miss Strickland, her cousin was a threat to their future happiness. Something would have to be done.
Gregory’s agent at the dock confirmed that Miles Strickland, travelling alone except for his little dog, had arrived five days ago in Bristol, then, after travelling to London with the Dowager, his luggage had been directed to the Clarendon. It was near to supper and the food there was excellent. In Gregory’s opinion, there could be no better time to investigate the competition for Hope’s attentions.
When he arrived in the hotel’s dining room, there were few empty chairs. He signalled for the assistance of the porter, scanning the diners already seated. In a far corner at a small, poorly lit table, he saw a man with shoulders so sloped that they did not just seem to bear the weight of the world, they looked as if someone had dropped that weight from a great height.
He gave a nod of his head in the direction of the fellow and held a coin where the porter could see it. ‘Is that man an American?’
The servant nodded. ‘Mr Strickland from Philadelphia.’
‘And did he request that unfortunate spot, or did you force it on him?’
‘He said he was not interested in company.’
‘Well, we do not always get what we want, do we? Take me to him.’
As they approached, Gregory called out, ‘Potts! Old fellow, I have not seen you since Cambridge. Lud, but this place is a crush tonight.’ He dropped into the seat opposite the new Earl. ‘You do not mind if we share a table, do you?’
From the front, Strickland looked as miserable as he had from the rear. Perhaps the Dowager had not exaggerated when she’d spoken of her visit to a sick cousin. His skin was sallow, probably the result of poor diet, hard travel and a passage spent cooped up below deck. From the poor fit of his suit, there appeared to have been a sudden loss of weight.
Fortunately for Gregory, Strickland had not yet acquired the aloof nature of a peer, nor did he realise that a man of his importance should never have been interrupted by rude strangers. A word to the staff and the scribbled title ‘Comstock’ on the hotel register would have been all the protection he needed. Instead, he was left blinking in surprise, as if unsure of what to do about the intrusion. Finally, he said in his strange, flattened accent, ‘I am sorry. You are mistaken. I am not the man you are looking for.’
Gregory blinked back at him, feigning surprise. ‘An American? Then you cannot be Potts, though you are the spitting image of him from the back, at least.’ He glanced around the room, shaking his head. ‘But this place is still packed to the rafters and you have one of the few empty seats. Would you mind terribly?’
‘Not at all,’ Strickland replied with a look that said he was not sure whether he minded, but did not see what he could do to stop it.
‘Gregory Drake,’ he said, offering a hand.
‘Miles Strickland,’ the Earl answered, taking it.
‘You are clearly new to England, Mr Strickland. How do you find it?’
Comstock took a deep drink from the glass in front of him. ‘Utterly mad, Mr Drake. I am not surprised that my country wanted no part of it, if it chooses its governors based on their last name rather than their abilities.’
‘I assume this means you will not be staying with us long.’
Now Miles Strickland looked even more miserable and poured the last of the wine from his bottle before draining his glass in a single gulp. ‘If I could find the money for it, I would be on the first boat back to Philadelphia.’
Gregory tried to contain his surprise. ‘How fortunate that we should meet, Mr Strickland. You sound like a man who might be in need of my services.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a card.
The Earl stared at it for a moment, puzzled. ‘You describe yourself as a solver of problems. Is this a common thing in England? I am sure I have never heard of such in Massachusetts.’
‘I am the only one that I know of,’ Gregory said, trying not to brag.
Strickland gave a gloomy shrug. ‘That is very interesting. But the problem that has befallen me is nothing a stranger can solve. Once you hear it, I doubt you will want to help me, even if you are able.’
‘That is what they all say,’ Gregory replied with a smile. Then he raised a hand to signal the porter. ‘Let me buy us another bottle of this excellent wine. After a nice chop and a few more glasses, you shall tell me all about it.’
The meal came, then the bottle. And then things got interesting.