Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [111]
And so I told my brother of the murders, and the fate of the Countess and the present Earl—all that Eliza had heard on the way to Wilborough House—and something of Mr. Cranley besides. Of George Hearst and Rosie, or Fanny Delahoussaye's secret, I said nothing. Until such time as disclosure were necessary, I saw no kindness in publicity.
“But, Henry,” I concluded, “there is much that you might do to aid the Countess, did you have the inclination.”
“Unless you wish me to scale the walls of Newgate with my old militia companions, and spirit her out of the country, I fail to see in what manner I might be of service.”
“You are a banker, Henry.” I looked Eliza's way, and was treated to a rolling of the eyes at her husband's stupidity. “You must be acquainted with certain gentlemen of finance—those entrusted with the concerns of each in this household. I am confident that Sir William Reynolds intends to call Fitzroy Payne's banker to the Bar, in order to show that the new Earl is desperately in need of funds. But others intimate with Scargrave might be equally pressed.”
“Almost certainly,” my brother said thoughtfully. “Do you but give me their names, Jane, and I shall make discreet enquiries about the Club.” He rose, still in thought, and went in search of his greatcoat.
“And now, my dear,” Eliza said, when the drawing-room door had closed behind my brother, “Henry is off to business, and you and I are at leisure. What scheme have you devised for our amusement today?” Her long-sleeved velvet dress, of a rich red hue and trimmed in matching bugle beads, was equally suited to a visit to Wilborough House or a turn through Hyde Park in an open carriage, where she might nod to all her acquaintance. I surveyed her gown, and longed to seize the opportunity of my time in London to stroll with my sister Eliza among the shops; but I reminded myself that Isobel was all too deprived of similar delights, and that I must be about the business of her salvation.
“Eliza,” I replied, “I should be very much surprised if you were not acquainted with someone attached to the Royal Horse Guards.”
“The Blues? But of course.” She fluttered a hand endowed, this morning, with a shockingly great ruby. “Colonel Buchanan is terribly fond of me, you know—and thought he should have had me, did he not already possess a wife.”
“We must renew your acquaintance,” I told her; smiling.
Eliza returned my good humour, so much at my brother's expense. “It needs no renewing, I assure you,” she confided. “I spoke with the Colonel only last week, at Mrs. Fitzhugh's.”
“Then you must call upon him today,” I declared, “and carry me with you. He has a person in his regiment of whom I should dearly love to know more.”
“LIEUTENANT THOMAS HEARST?- COLONEL BUCHANAN said, turning with the sherry decanter in one hand and my glass in the other; “what possible interest, my dear Comtesse de Feuillide, could you have in such a scapegrace?”
We were established in the cosy sitting-room of the Horse Guards’ commander, in the shadow of Buckingham Palace, and surrounded on every side by leather-bound books, sabres in sheaths upon the wall, and some very good oils of horseflesh the Colonel had ridden in battle. He had swiftly set aside some matters pertaining to his men, in order to receive us without delay; and so my faith in Eliza was as ever rewarded.
The cavalryman offered me a glass with a short nod, and turned to fetch Eliza's. Colonel Buchanan was, as his name suggests, a Scot. With his bandy legs and greying red hair, he reminded me for all the world of the old cock at Steventon, who ran crowing about the farmyard with such importance that Cook soon lost patience and put him in the soup kettle. But I feared I should be overcome with mirth, did I pursue the comparison; and so drank my sherry with head