Page 50 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Medlock looked dumbfounded by the existence of a man who kept no horses of his own.
“Very sensible,” Lady Standish said briskly. “But there’ll be no need for that. As soon as I see Lord Radnor, we’ll be on our way.”
Earlier, she had nearly said that she had come to check on him. She had also said thatshe—rather than her husband—was Lawrence’s correspondent. Georgie regarded her appraisingly, and rang the bell for tea.
“Lord Radnor doesn’t receive visitors,” Georgie said. “And while he has the greatest respect for your husband—”
“About that,” Lady Standish said, smoothing out the folds of her skirt.
“Truly, Eleanor, I would have sent you by yourself on the stagecoach”—Medlock’s tone suggested that traveling by stagecoach was a fate equal to being burnt at the stake—“if I had known you meant to embroil me in this havey-cavey business. If this ever got back to London, I would positively sink into the earth.”
“What my brother is alluding to is that my husband is away on diplomatic business. I’ve been handling his correspondence in his absence.”
Medlock let out a strangled laugh. “His correspondence!”
Georgie narrowed his eyes. “The letters are signed by your husband. The signature and handwriting have been the same for several years now.” Not for nothing had Georgie read through and sorted stacks upon stacks of letters. He had been looking for evidence of fraud, suggestions of a swindle, and instead, he had found—what, precisely? He narrowed his eyes and regarded the woman. A scientific mind, one with an understanding of business as well as explosive devices, lurked under that drably serviceable bonnet. He cleared his throat. “Lord Radnor has said that your husband had a head for business. That he handled his lordship’s patents and licenses.”
“That was me. Truly shocking behavior for a woman, I know.”
The only thing that shocked Georgie was that she might not be cheating Lawrence.
“Don’t be daft, Eleanor,” Medlock said. “The man isn’t shocked by your . . . unwomanliness, or whatever notion you’ve gotten into your head. You’ve just confessed to forgery, my girl.”
“Not at all,” Georgie said quickly. “I feel certain that Lord Radnor wouldn’t object to Lady Standish using her husband’s name.” He still hadn’t thrown Georgie out when he first realized his secretary wasn’t what he seemed.
The tea arrived, carried in by a very correct Janet. Georgie sent her a grateful look. Even though the house might seem in disarray to a man like Medlock, who was used to country houses humming with activity, with butlers and footmen permanently stationed in the hall and grooms and stable hands at the ready to tend to visitors’ horses at all hours, Penkellis was perfectly respectable, in a quiet sort of way. And now that two unexpected visitors—however duplicitous—had arrived, Georgie was even more relieved that Penkellis was fit for company.
“How did you—or Sir Edward, rather—enter into your arrangement with his lordship?” Georgie asked in between sips of tea.
“I was friends with poor Lady Radnor.”
Simon’s mother? Lawrence’s mother? The Mad Earl’s beleaguered wife?
Medlock plonked his cup into the saucer with a clatter. “The heavens positively overflow with poor Lady Radnors,” he said, echoing Georgie’s thoughts. “She means the most recent one. The current earl’s sister-in-law.”
“Poor lady,” Lady Standish murmured. “She told me of her husband’s brother, locked away in an attic. We were very young and thought it quite romantic.”
Medlock looked like he might be sick.
“Of course he wasn’t locked away at all. I gather he had locked himselfinto avoid his relations, and who can blame him. In any event, she told me that he invented a system of pipes that brought hot water up from the kitchens so she could more easily wash her hair.”
Georgie froze, remembering how Lawrence had hauled up bucket after bucket for his bath, and wondered what had happened to this hot-water contraption. In which of Penkellis’s dust-shrouded bedchambers would Georgie find evidence of Lawrence’s kindness for his brother’s mistreated wife?
“And there were other inventions too,” Lady Standish continued. “I was fascinated. I thought, here is a man who has been very kind to my friend, a man who has no fortune whatsoever of his own, a man who is a virtual prisoner in the house of his ill-tempered father and depraved brother. I thought that with a little effort I could help him turn his inventions to a small profit. I knew a little about business, because my father was in trade and he wasn’t above letting me help. Don’t look at me like that, Julian.”
“Our father being in trade is the least appalling part of that narrative, dear sister.”
Georgie raised an eyebrow. “You began this endeavor out of the kindness of your own heart, then.” He knew perfectly well that Sir Edward Standish—which was to say, Lady Standish—took a fee for her labors. Kindness had little or nothing to do with it. Georgie felt once again on quite solid and familiar ground.
“Oh, goodness no.” She actually laughed, a ladylike trill that had no place in this conversation. “I needed money too. Quite badly, in fact.”
“Do strive for some conduct, Eleanor,” Medlock said wearily. “Not all your private matters need to be aired this morning. Save some for supper.”
She ignored her brother and continued addressing Georgie. “Well, it seemed a partnership would help both of us, but I wasn’t such a fool as to think he’d do business with a woman. Besides—”
She broke off, her attention evidently arrested by a sight over Georgie’s shoulder. Medlock was frozen, his teacup halfway to his mouth.
Georgie turned to see Lawrence standing in the doorway, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.
