Page 9 of The Soldier's Scoundrel
“I have impeccable references, if you must know.” Her chin was in the air and her pert little nose was turned up.
He regarded her for a moment. “You were up to no good with the dowager’s son, so she got rid of you by offering you references that stated you had been her lady’s maid.”
She made a sound of pure frustration. “Ooh, Jack Turner, I don’t know how you do that!”
“It’s sorcery,” he said lightly. “I’ve been telling you that since you were a girl.” That had always kept the younger servants on their toes around him. “I hope the old lady gave you more than a reference.”
She scuffed the toe of her boot along the path. “Some money may have changed hands.”
“Good girl,” he said with a nod of approval.
“Now tell me what you want. It was murder to get away from the house without anyone seeing me, so make it fast.”
“Your mistress came to see me the other day. What do you know about this problem of hers?”
“Only that she’s torn the house apart looking for something, which is never a good sign. And she hasn’t slept right in weeks. Her skin is all over flaky and her hair is falling out in clumps. Makes my job right awful to do, it does. I can’t make her presentable when she’s such a mess.”
“Anything odd in the house?”
“No, everything is what you’d expect. Butler’s a git but they always are.”
“How’s the husband? Any of the usual trouble?” If Wraxhall were at all the type to attempt bedding his servants, pretty Molly would be the first to find out.
“God, no. He’s not that sort at all. He’s almost as safe as a man of your own habits.” She said this with a knowing air and a sidelong glance.
Jack shot her a quelling glare.
“Anyway,” she said, “I remembered how last year the dowager called you in to find those lost jewels, and I figured maybe you could do something to help this lady.”
Jack had found the jewels, all right. They had, it turned out, been brought to a pawn shop by the same wayward son with whom Molly had been making mischief.
“How about Mrs. Wraxhall? Any indiscretions or secret correspondence or anything else out of the ordinary?”
“No. She’s bored, but who wouldn’t be, sitting in that house with nothing to do all day? She hardly ever goes out, she almost never has any visitors. She might as well be on the moon for all the life she has.”
He looked carefully at her, taking in the glossiness of the hair that peeked out from beneath her bonnet, the curves beneath her discreetly tailored dress. Not only was she well dressed, but she looked well fed and clean. He had wondered whether Molly herself might be the blackmailer. She was in the best position to slip the key to the jewel box, and he knew she had no reservations about a little thievery. But would she stoop to blackmail, such an ugly and desperate act, when she had landed a job that obviously agreed with her and paid her well?
He sent Molly on her way and returned to his office. When he got back, Betsy was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.
“A gentleman came to see you. I put him inside your office,” she blurted out.
Bloody gentlemen. You’d have thought having an office above a dressmaker’s shop would be enough to deter them, but they were a dense lot.
The door at the top of the stairs was ajar, and through it Jack could see the tip of a mahogany walking stick before he reached the top step. He felt his body tense, and not only from irritation.
“Mr. Rivington,” he called up the steps. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
If Jack had hoped to put Rivington at a disadvantage by surprising him like that, it didn’t work. The man was sitting once again in Jack’s least comfortable chair, his face betraying nothing at all beyond a faint trace of boredom.
“I’ve come to reimburse you for any expenses you incurred on behalf of my sister’s family.” Rivington‘s voice was crisp and cool and devoid of any interest. “After speaking with her, I realize that two hundred pounds was hardly adequate.”
Oh for God’s sake. What a pile of shite. If Rivington wanted to fish for information, he would have to come up with a more plausible story. Jack stayed by the doorway, intending to make fast work of this situation before going back downstairs to be very stern with Betsy on the topic of uninvited visitors.
“Two hundred pounds more than covered Montbray’s passage on the ship.” Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“True, but whatever was left over wouldn’t have been enough of an inducement to keep my brother-in-law away for two years.”
What was left over, however, was more than enough to induce a man of Jack’s acquaintance to cosh Montbray on the head, haul his unconscious body onto the ship, and keep his lordship there until the ship had sailed sufficiently far from his wife and child. But Jack wasn’t going to mention any of that.
