“What about India? Send her out there. Lots of officers. By the way, did you just say that Cathcart charged you a thousand pounds?”
“I know. I was shocked. Didn’t expect the fellow to behave like a tradesman, but he did the job all right. As far as India is concerned, we’ll think about that. But don’t say a word about the Cathcart business.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
♦
The next day, the brigadier was strolling along Piccadilly. He stopped to look in the window of Hatchard’s bookshop. A tall, stately figure emerged. “Lady Giensheil!” said the brigadier, doffing his silk hat. Lady Giensheil was the daughter of one of his oldest friends. “How d’ye do?”
“Very well, I thank you. And you?”
“Splendid. Splendid. Oh, I say!” For a large tear had escaped from one of Lady Glensheil’s eyes to cut a wet furrow through the thick powder on her cheeks.
“It’s nothing,” she said. Her maid stepped forward and handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed her face.
“It must be something,” insisted the brigadier. “Walk a little with me and tell me about it.”
He proffered his arm. She put the tips of her fingertips on it and they walked slowly along Piccadilly.
“I am ruined,” said Lady Giensheil.
“Money?”
“Good heavens, no!” Lady Giensheil was shocked at the very idea that a lady would even mention such a sordid subject.
“I am here to help you,” said the brigadier gallantly.
“I must talk to someone or I’ll go mad,” she said. “But not here.” With her eyes she indicated her maid and footman following behind.
“We’ll go into the Green Park,” said the brigadier. “Send your servants off when we get there.”
She nodded. The brigadier cast anxious little glances at her as they proceeded on their way. Lady Giensheil in his estimation was a fine figure of a woman. Others might think she had a hatchet-face but the brigadier considered it truly aristocratic. Her heavy silk gown was liberally decorated with fine lace. Her straw hat contained a whole garden of artificial flowers.
Once they reached the park, Lady Glensheil ordered her servants to walk a distance away and then sat down on a bench with the brigadier.
“Now,” he said, “what do you mean, you’re ruined?”
“It’s simply terrible. Glensheil’s up north. He detests the season. I’m here to bring Fiona out. My youngest.”
“And?”
“I commissioned Freddy Hecker to do a portrait of me.”
“Who is Freddy Hecker?”
“He is an up-and-coming artist. We became friendly – too friendly.”
“Ah!”
“He is now blackmailing me.”
“The scoundrel should be horse-whipped.”
“He says unless I pay him one hundred guineas a month, he will tell Glensheil.”
“Deny the whole thing!”
“I wrote him letters.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I don’t know what to do. I feel sick!”
The brigadier sat in silence. He had promised Hadshire not to mention Cathcart. But still, he could not bear to see her suffer.
“I think I know someone who can help you. He…fixes delicate situations.”
“Oh, please. Give me his name.”
“There’s only one trouble. He’ll probably charge steep, about a thousand pounds.”
“I have my own money. The reason I did not agree to pay Hecker was I knew he would bleed me dry.”
“So it was a money problem after all.”
“Certainly not. We never discuss money. Yon know that.”
The brigadier suppressed a smile. He took out his card-case and extracted a card, wrote Captain Cathcart’s name and address on the back. “That’s the fellow,” he said. “Go and see him but go alone.”
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“Thank me if it works out.”
“A lady to see you, sir,” said the captain’s manservant.
“Which lady?”
“The lady is heavily veiled and will not give me her card.”
For some reason, Harry had a picture of Rose, her face illuminated with happiness – a happiness all too soon to be snuffed out.
“Send her in,” he ordered.
He experienced a little pang of disappointment as the heavily veiled figure that was ushered in was obviously not that of Lady Rose. This lady had a mature figure and was dressed accordingly.
“Do sit down,” said Harry. “Something to drink?”
“Nothing, I thank you.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“I did not expect you to be a gentleman. I must beg you to be discreet.”
“I am always discreet.”
She put back her heavy veil. “I am Lady Glensheil.”
She studied the captain’s face but he expressed no surprise, only continued to look at her inquiringly. “Please sit down,” he said, “and tell me why you have come.”
She sat down opposite him and then looked nervously at the window. It was still daylight.
“Would you be so kind as to draw the curtains? Someone passing in the street might see me.”
“Certainly.” The captain rang a bell by his chair. “Becket,” he said, when his manservant appeared, “draw the curtains and light the place.”
They waited in silence while Becket drew the curtains closed and then lit the gasolier.
“That will be all,” said Harry. “Now, Lady Glensheil…”
She opened an enormous reticule and after much fumbling produced the brigadier’s card and handed it to Harry.
I may be discreet, thought Harry, but the brigadier most certainly is not.
“And what do you want me to do?”
“I am being blackmailed,” said Lady Glensheil. She began to cry. Harry rang the bell again and ordered brandy. He waited patiently while Lady Glensheil’s tears washed a copious amount of white lead make-up and rouge onto a delicate handkerchief. He took out a large one of his own and handed it to her.
She began to recover and even drank some brandy.
“It’s all too, too terrible,” she said and then regaled Harry with the story of the blackmailing artist.
“I see,” said Harry when she had finished. “I suppose the first thing to do is to get the letters back.”
Wild hope shone in her eyes. “You could do that?”
“I will most certainly try. I will do my best to make sure he never troubles you again.”
“Oh, thank you!” Again the reticule was snapped open. This time she produced a roll of banknotes and handed them to him.
“I thought it would be more discreet to pay you in cash.”
Harry hesitated. It was one thing to take cash from the earl, another to take cash from a lady in distress. But the money would set him up very comfortably He could even rent a carriage. A proportion could go to charity to ease his conscience. “Thank you,” he said. “Would you like a receipt?”
“No, please, nothing in writing. No one must hear of this.”
“No one will hear a word from me. I do not go around in society much.”
“I do not know why. You must come to one of my soirees.”
“Too kind. But a lot of my lack of a social life is of my own choosing. Please leave this matter with me and you shall hear from me shortly. Please write down this artist, Freddy Hecker’s, address.”
Again the reticule was snapped open and a small notebook with a silver pencil attached produced from its depths. Lady Glensheil wrote down an address, tore off the page and handed it to him.
She rose to go. “Do you have your carriage?” asked the captain.
“Of course not. I came in a hansom.”
“Then Becket will find you one to take you home. Ah, how do I contact you? You will not want me to call at your town house in case your husband is there.”