So much pointless speculation was sending her brain into a spin again.
The journey proved to be a wasted one. Branwell was not at home and his landlord did not know when to expect him.
“Though the ‘ole world ’as been arsking for ‘im last night and this morning,” he said, “And now two females. If that don’t beat all.”
“Mr. Law is my brother,” Judith explained. “I need him urgently on ... on family business.”
“Ah,” the man said, leering at them and revealing a wide array of half-rotten teeth, “I figured one of you was prob’ly ‘is sister.”
“Did you indeed, my man?” Lady Freyja said, looking at him along the length of her nose. “And did you also figure to amuse us with your impudent observation? Who else has been asking for Mr. Law?”
The man lost his leer and looked instantly more respectful. “Now that, begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said, “is confidential.”
“Of course it is,” Lady Freyja said briskly, opening her reticule. “And you are, of course, the soul of integrity. Who ?”
Judith’s eyes widened when she saw that her companion had drawn a bill worth five pounds from her reticule and was holding it folded between the middle and forefingers of one hand.
The landlord licked his lips and half reached out one hand. “There was someone come last night,” he said. “ ‘e was some nob’s servant, wearing blue and silver livery. Two gents come this morning and a tradesman right on their ’eels. I know ‘im—Mr. Cooke. I s’pose Mr. Branwell owes ’is bootmaker some money again. I din’t know them gents from Adam, and I din’t arsk, though they was both real nobs.
Then another gent come ‘ere just before you. I didn’t arsk ’o ‘e were neither. And I ain’t arsking ’o you are.“
Lady Freyja handed over the bribe though she had got precious little information for such a vast fortune.
Judith looked on aghast. Bran’s creditors were still after him, then. Who were the three gentlemen? Lord Rannulf and two others? Or Lord Rannulf and one of his brothers and one other?
Horace?
Where on earth was Bran? Was he just out for the morning? Selling or pawning some jewels perhaps?
Or had he left London again?
She felt sick to her stomach.
“Come along,” Lady Freyja said to her. “We will get no more information here, I believe.” She gave directions to the hackney cab driver. “Take us to Gunter’s.”
“I am so sorry,” Judith said. “I have no money with which to reimburse you. I—I left Leicestershire in such a hurry that I forgot to bring some. I will have to repay you some other time.” But when ?
“Oh, pooh,” Lady Freyja said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “That is nothing. But I wish we might have been more royally entertained. You do not really believe your brother is the thief, do you? I far prefer the idea of its being Mr. Effingham. I have set eyes on him once or twice. He gives me the shudders though he presents all the appearance of believing himself to be the consummate ladies’ man.”
“I do hope ,” Judith said fervently, “that he is the guilty one. But however am I to prove it?”
Gunter’s, she discovered, sold ices. What an indescribable luxury! And in the morning too. She and Lady Freyja sat at one of the tables, and Judith took small mouthfuls from her spoon and savored every one, letting the ice melt on her tongue before swallowing. It seemed strange to indulge her senses this way when disaster hovered about every corner.
Whatever was she going to do next? She could not keep on staying at Bedwyn House or keep on relying on Rannulf to fight her battles. Yet there was no hope that she could move into Branwell’s rooms and await his return.
What was she going to do?
The Duke of Bewcastle, having returned at dawn from a night spent with his mistress, had gone out for his usual early morning ride with his brothers and sisters. He had gone to White’s for breakfast afterward, but did not then proceed to the House of Lords, the spring session having finally ended two days before.
In fact, had his sisters not arrived unexpectedly from the country just two days before that, he would probably have been at home in Lindsey Park by this time to spend the rest of the summer.
He returned home from White’s and withdrew to his library for the rest of the morning to deal with some correspondence. He looked up with a frown not half an hour later when his butler tapped on the door and opened it.
“There is a Mr. Effingham waiting in the hall to see you, your grace,” he said. “Shall I tell him you are from home?”
“Effingham?” The duke frowned. The whole melodrama surrounding Rannulf’s return to London the day before was something he would prefer to ignore. But the matter needed to be cleared up. He must go to Grandmaison before it was too late to see his grandmother. “No, show him in, Fleming.”
Horace Effingham was unknown to the Duke of Bewcastle. But he came striding into the library, smiling and confident, as if the two of them were blood brothers. The duke did not rise. Effingham strode across to his desk and half leaned across it, his right arm outstretched.
“It is good of you to see me, Bewcastle,” he said.
His grace availed himself of his quizzing glass, through which he looked briefly at the offered hand before letting the glass fall on its ribbon against his chest.
“Effingham?” he said. “What may I do for you?”
The other man smiled even more broadly as he withdrew his hand. He looked about as if for a chair, did not see one close by, and so continued to stand.
“I understand that your brother is in residence here again,” he said.
“Do you?” his grace said. “I trust that my butler has seen fit to inform my cook. I do, of course, have three brothers.”
Effingham laughed. “I referred to Lord Rannulf Bedwyn,” he said.
“Ah, quite so,” the duke said.
There was a short silence during which Effingham appeared disconcerted for a moment.
“I must ask your grace,” he said, “if he brought a lady here with him. A Miss Judith Law?”
“You must ask?” The duke’s eyebrows rose.
Effingham set both hands flat on the desk and leaned slightly across it. “Perhaps you do not know,” he said, “that if she is here, you are harboring a criminal and a fugitive. It is a crime in itself, your grace, though I am certain you would not continue to harbor her once you knew the truth.”
“It is a relief,” his grace said, repossessing himself of his quizzing glass, “to know that I hold such a high place in your esteem.”
Effingham laughed heartily. “Is Miss Law here, Bewcastle?” he asked.
“It is my understanding,” the duke said, half raising the glass, “that rape is also a felony. When the charge is merely attempted rape, of course, a conviction might be less assured. But the word of two persons against one might carry some weight with a judge and jury, especially when one of those persons is the brother of a duke. Can you find your own way out, or shall I summon my butler?”
Effingham straightened up, all pretense of affability gone.
“I am on my way to hire a Bow Street Runner,” he said. “I plan to run them to earth, you know, Judith and Branwell Law. And I mean to recover my step grandmother's jewels. There will be a nice little scandal surrounding the trial and sentencing, I daresay. If I were you, your grace, I would distance myself from it and advise your brother to do the same.”
“I am infinitely grateful,” the Duke of Bewcastle said, raising his glass all the way to his eye, “that you esteem me sufficiently to come all the way to Bedwyn House to advise me. You will close the door quietly on your way out?”
Effingham was slightly white about the mouth. He nodded slowly before turning on his heel and striding out. He banged the door shut.