Maggie Robinson - Mistress by Mistake

Eventually the angels had all gone to heaven. Charlotte and her new friend were glowing with perspiration where they weren’t coated in dust. The brick path looked like a battlefield, the odd elbow and foot blown off by the enemy and scattered. Charlotte sent Laurette back through the wall so she could sweep the bits of plaster under the foliage. Before she left, Laurette invited her for tea tomorrow, which would make a nice farewell party from Jane Street. She was not about to be rushed out before she was ready, Bay be damned. What difference did a day or two more make, when he was undoubtedly in the arms of some French floozy?

Charlotte was nearly ready to go next door when Mrs. Kelly knocked at her bedroom door. “Lady Christie is downstairs, Miss Fallon.”

“She is?” This was most unexpected. Such a flurry of friendship for her, when she had spent most of the past ten years in solitude with her undependable cats. She tied her battered bonnet over her usual cap. Perhaps it was time to give them up, but they had annoyed the annoying Bay so very, very much. It was too bad he would not see her one more time.

She followed Mrs. Kelly downstairs. Caroline was sitting in the parlor, frowning over a little notebook in her lap. She was crossing out something with a silver pencil.

“Caroline! I didn’t expect you, but I’m so happy to see you.”

“Are you going somewhere? My, forgive me for being blunt, but that is an atrocious hat.”

Charlotte flopped down on the settee beside her. “I know, but it’s all I have. I’ve been invited to the Mad Marquess’s house. His mistress Laurette and I engaged in a bout of vandalism yesterday.” Charlotte proceeded to tell Caroline the particulars, and to her discomfort, watched Caroline take notes as she did so. She was very much afraid that an obituary for the cherubs was being written, to be included in a future volume of Lady Christie’s shocking novels. Charlotte’s fit of pique would be made famous, or more accurately, infamous. Hopefully no one in Little Hyssop would ever connect the quiet Mrs. Fallon with the wild woman who smashed statues on Jane Street and slept with her sister’s lover.

“Fascinating. This Laurette sounds like a splendid girl. Do you think I might come with you?”

“I suppose. She seems quite lonely. She hasn’t a thing to do but wait for Lord Conover to come. And when he does arrive, she wishes him to the devil.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Another unhappy mistress? You two will give Jane Street a bad reputation.”

“You needn’t worry about that. There will be no gloom cloud over Number Eight. I received my congé in yesterday’s mail. I’ve sent for Bay’s Mr. Frazier and will meet with him tomorrow. The sooner I can make arrangements to leave, the better.”

Caroline’s pencil rolled onto the floor. “But no!”

“Oh, but yes.” Charlotte felt her lip tremble.

“And I was just getting to know you.” Caroline patted her hand. “You understand I’m fond of all the girls here-most of them, anyway. I’ve had to be careful of Lucy Dellamar, though. Things seem to disappear when she comes calling. The odd silver teaspoon, the brooch I left on my dressing table, that sort of thing. It’s said her protector keeps her on a very short economic leash, so the poor girl is probably only supplementing her income. One day her sticky fingers are bound to get her in trouble. If only she would come to me, perhaps I could help her. I try to help them all, you see.” Caroline twisted a rather spectacular topaz bracelet over her glove. “But the Janes are not quite the thing. You seem so nice and normal. Refined. It’s been a while since I had such a friend.”

Charlotte swallowed back her tears. “But I’m a fallen woman.”

“Well, all of us have made a mistake or three, I expect. Your family was gentry, was it not?”

“Yes, but at the end we were quite ruined. When my parents died, they were one step away from the workhouse.”

“Then we have something in common. My father always had more pride than pounds. Papa would have been thrilled to know Edward proposed. Our relatives found bailing him out over the years tedious in the extreme. Papa spent every bit of mama’s settlement money and then some. He’s dead, else he would be hovering about wondering why I have not found a rich lover by now to spot him a monkey.”

“Why haven’t you?” Charlotte asked.

Caroline looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps one day I will. It’s not as though I haven’t had offers.” She changed the subject abruptly. “Let’s not keep Laurette waiting. If you are leaving, I shall have to replace you.

Charlotte laughed. “Fair weather friend! I think Laurette is as ill-at-ease here as I am.”

“I got used to it,” Caroline said softly.

They did not go next door via the garden gate but instead stepped out onto the short street, turned right, and lifted the shiny brass star and moon knocker. The butler opening the door was a foreign fellow, very elegant and correct. He announced them both and Charlotte watched Laurette blanch. Charlotte should have sent round a note explaining that she was bringing another guest. Her manners as well as her morals had gone missing.

But Caroline took charge as usual. In the very short time Charlotte had known her, Caroline seemed a force to be reckoned with. Caroline was already holding Laurette’s hands in hers, beaming a smile at her. “Do forgive Charlotte. I invited myself. Your arrival on the street in the Mad Marquess’s house has caused quite the commotion, and when she said she was coming to tea, I couldn’t resist. I am Caroline Christie.”

“How do you do, Lady Christie?”

“Please call me Caroline. The less we hear of my husband’s name, the better.” She settled herself on the settee, smiled, and patted a pillow. Laurette had no choice but to sit beside her while Charlotte arranged her dull gray skirts on a chair. Laurette’s hands were twisting nervously in her lap. “I told you you’d scare her,” Charlotte said. “Would you like me to pour, Laurette? I’m quite used to Caroline now. She’s been a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry, I shan’t reveal a thing to any of our other neighbors. I can be discreet if I care to be.”

Laurette looked shocked. “You live here on Jane Street?”

“Indeed I do. My husband bought my house five years ago when we separated. He thought to make a point, you see, to let me know what he thought of me. But I find the street suits me very well.”

“Caroline lives next door to me. She heard me in my garden crying one morning and we’ve been friends ever since,” Charlotte said. “I seem to be a noisy neighbor.” She winked at Laurette and passed a cup to Caroline.

“All men are beasts. I am sorry I missed the demolition of those deviant little angels. I should have enjoyed getting my hands around their scrawny necks.”

“It was fun.” Laurette grinned.

The ice broken, they spent the next hour filling Laurette in on the personalities on the street. Charlotte was almost sorry she would be leaving. But leave she must. She left Caroline and Laurette deep in gossip. She was going home to pack-again. This time she would not be secreting paintings into her luggage. Tomorrow morning Mr. Frazier was coming to make the arrangements for her return home. She would be in her cottage before she knew it, her contact with “Courtesan Court” over. It was time to go back to boring.

Charlotte fidgeted with the strings of her cap. Mr. Frazier was frowning over the letter as though he were teaching himself to read. Perhaps he was not going to help her leave Jane Street after all. He had been most suspicious when she presented him with Bay’s orders, and had not believed her until she fished the letter out of the drawer in her room.

He was scratching his red head, reading the hideous thing for perhaps the sixth time.

“I dinna like it.” His Scots brogue had become more pronounced the longer he sat in the parlor.

“Well, I didn’t care for it much either,” Charlotte said with asperity. “Yet you cannot argue he wants me gone and he wants you to help me.”

“Hold on now, lass. When Mrs. Kelly sent word to me yesterday you wanted to see me, I was baffled. I thought the major was here with you all this time.”

“As you can see, he is not. Has not been for days. He’s gone to Frannce,” she spit, sounding the extra “n.” The man couldn’t even spell the name of the country he fought against so many years.

Frazier shook his head. “He has not. Not an article of his clothing is missing. Not a comb, not a stocking. His valise is in the attic.” He paused. “His desk is a mess, too. The major is quite orderly. He’d never go on a trip without tidying up. Or saying a word to me.”

“Well, obviously he has. He can always buy toothpowder and a change of smallclothes on the road. Perhaps he lucked out on a quick passage.” Really, would the irritating man not fork over some money for her so she could get out of here? Charlotte was not asking him to accompany her.

“Think now. What were his last words to you?”

Charlotte huffed. “He told me he’d hired an investigator to find my sister. And the bloody necklace.”

“Mr. Mulgrew. And the rubies, yes. Why then, Miss Fallon, does he refer to the necklace as emeralds?”

“I could not tell you. He ranted about them enough to me.” And wrote about them with eloquence.

“He mentions other letters. Is this one anything like the ones he wrote to Deborah?”

Charlotte felt the wash of color creep up her neck. “No.”

“He calls you by her name, too. There’s something fishy about all of it.”

“Be that as it may, he wants me to go home and has asked you to help me. As soon as possible,” she emphasized.