Page 46 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
“Surely...”
“Idon’t think so. But Eleanor is convinced that’s exactly what’s ailing him—that he caught it somewhere and gave it to her, too. I tried to tell her that Barnaby fears the French disease even more than she does, but she was beside herself. In the end I had to give her some laudanum to calm her down—and so I could leave.”
She shook her head. “I’ll need to call on them again—at least to make sure Eleanor is all right.”
A thought occurred to Treadles. “I’m sure Barnaby will be finein no time. But what if something were to go awry, what happens to Cousins Manufacturing?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt he’ll recover, sooner or later.” Alice frowned. “It’s been a long time since I read my father’s will. But if I remember correctly, if Barnaby were to die without any male issue, the firm would come to me.”
And Barnaby and Eleanor Cousins, like Robert and Alice Treadles, had no children.
None that had survived both the womb and the outside world, in any case.
Ten
SUNDAY
Ever since Charlotte had run away, Livia had been under an interminable interrogation, conducted by ladies Avery and Somersby, Society’s leading gossips. One of the ladies, or both, was always tapping Livia on the shoulder, to ask whether she’d had any news from her scandalous baby sister.
But the moment Livia wanted to findthem, they disappeared.
Or at least that was how it felt.
She even asked her mother whether the gossips had left town, only to be told that she was an idiot. “Why would they, when everyone is still in London? Besides, I saw them yesterday.”
Which was patently false as Lady Holmes had suffered from a headache the day before, took laudanum for it, and didn’t leave her bed all day.
But Livia didn’t argue. Arguing with her mother was like arguing with a brick wall. Worse, in fact—at least one could kick the brick wall when one tired of the argument.
“Oh, you stupid girl,” hissed Lady Holmes all of a sudden. “Why did you bring them up? You’ve conjured them.”
Livia couldn’t locate the gossip ladies immediately. It was only after her mother had absconded that she saw them on the opposite side of the Round Pond. They saw her at the same moment and immediately headed in her direction.
When they were about twenty feet away from where she sat, a miracle happened. The young man,heryoung man, sauntered into view and took a seat on the next bench.
She couldn’t be this lucky, could she? No, not her. Never. Some people won prizes. Some had loving parents. Some arrived home before the rain came down and didn’t need to go anywhere until the sun was shining in the sky again. Livia was always the one who did get rained on, the one whose skirt got mangled in the wringer, the one who stood in line behind the person who would receive the last ladle of punch.
But there he was in his Sunday suit, neatly turned out and presentable, but not so gleamingly dapper as to make her suspicious. And goodness, was that a reddish hint to his beard—and hair, too? She’d never given a single thought to redheads, but if they all looked like him she would happily praise their existence in the world.
Was it possible—was it somehow within the realm of possibility—that he had come to the park specifically to look for her? After all, they had been in the same general area last Sunday, when they had first crossed paths.
“Miss Holmes, just the person we wish to see!”
Oh, damn Lady Avery and Lady Somersby. Last Sunday he had departed at the faintest stirring from her mother. Surely this time, seeing her surrounded, he would again make himself scarce.
She parried the gossip ladies’ questions, a labored smile on her face. Two questions. Three questions. Five questions.
He was still there.
She relaxed a little. When she’d answered seven questions and he still remained in place, she began to grow giddy.
And then she remembered that she wasn’t there to meekly suffer through another interrogation: She had been tasked by Charlotte to obtain answers from ladies Avery and Somersby. But how to steer the topic to Lady Ingram without appearing as if she were transparently scheming to do so?
A lesser miracle took place, but still a miracle: Lady Ingram, her children in tow, passed into view, a vision in an apricot walking gown and matching parasol.
“Oh, it’s Lady Ingram,” she said.
“So it is,” murmured Lady Somersby.
