Page 13 of Silence of Deceit
“Miss Montgomery warned you on behalf of the blackmailer?” Hugh asked. “Or is it possible she was the blackmailer herself?”
The woman snorted her disbelief. “The letters I received asking for increasingly larger amounts were well written, the penmanship fine.She, however, sounded like a fishmonger’s wife.”
At Shadewell, Delia’s use of cockney had been uncouth at times, her manner unrefined. Once at Violet House, when Audrey offered to give her a few books from her library, Delia had laughed and asked what she’d do with them.
“You still have not explained why Miss Montgomery had your calling cards,” Hugh reminded her.
Mrs. Simpson sighed wearily. “It was part of the instructions. When that woman came to collect, I would give my calling card to her along with the sum. It was rather burdensome collecting the money, considering Mr. Simpson did not know, but I managed it.”
Audrey wondered how the card would benefit the blackmailer—unless Delia and the blackmailer were using the cards to gain entry to homes, as they had with Mrs. Simpson. A caller might leave their card with the footman or maid; other times, they took their card back. To have a supply of cards would not be unwise for Delia and the blackmailer. Audrey shook her head. Like Mary, she still could not believe that Delia would be part of such a scheme. She had seemed simpleminded, not conniving.
“Perhaps now that the woman is dead the letters will cease,” Mrs. Simpson stated coldly. Audrey clenched her teeth against a reprimand and saw Hugh grimace.
“If you receive another, I ask that you let me know,” he said. “I do not believe you are the only one Miss Montgomery or this anonymous person was blackmailing.”
Mrs. Simpson agreed, though it was half-hearted, and Audrey was almost certain that should another letter arrive, she would handle it as she had the others: pay the sum to protect her daughter, at least until after she was married to Mr. Burrows.
Feeling as though she had entered the receiving room and utterly upended the mother’s and daughter’s lives, Audrey stood to take her leave. Hugh joined her.
“You were supposed to find me and let me know what the card case showed you,” he said softly as he tugged on his hat and stepped onto the walk along Chancery Lane. The early November air was brisk and uncharacteristically sunny.
“I would have, had it shown me anything other than the color brown.” Audrey considered holding back, but then, in a moment of charity, added, “Thank you for delivering it.”
He gave a nonchalant shrug as if it was not important, but his lips suppressed a smug grin.
“How did you make it here before I did?” he asked as Carrigan opened the door to Audrey’s carriage. He and Hugh exchanged pleasant greetings, and Audrey recalled that the Bow Street officer had marked respect for her driver-cum-bodyguard.
“I must have risen earlier in the day,” she replied.
“Very funny.”
She smothered a grin then turned earnest. “Delia mentioned she’d seen Mary and where she lived. I figured you would visit Lambeth and I could visit Holborn.”
She’d briefly considered going to Lambeth but had known that to go there during the day would be too public and to go at night, too dangerous. Even here, near Russell Square, Audrey avoided making eye contact with those passing by and hoped she would not be noticed by any of the men or women currently slowing their gaits to observe her and Hugh as they spoke near her open carriage. It was more than unseemly to be in conversation on the curb like this.
“Can I give you a lift to Bow Street, Mr. Marsden?” she asked. Only after making her offer, did she consider that they would be alone in the carriage.
He scratched at his chin, which was freshly shaved, and glanced over his shoulder at the passersby. “Rumors might fly.”
“That tends to happen regardless of what we do or don’t do,” she said, then before she could change her mind, climbed into the carriage. She was hopeful he would accept, if only so that they could discuss the revelations Mary and Mrs. Simpson had delivered. That they would be alone was of no consequence, and she was determined not to act awkwardly.
Hugh joined her, and Carrigan shut the door. They started away from the Simpson’s doorstep but didn’t speak for a few moments as they joined traffic. Long enough to make Audrey wonder if this had been a mistake after all.
“Do you know the Viscountess Rumsford?” Hugh asked just as Audrey broke the silence with, “Delia stole my calling card case.”
They both went still and silent. Hugh smiled and gestured to her to speak first.
“Greer is far too efficient to have left my case in the pocket of a gown I planned to give away. Which leads me to think she must have somehow stolen it.” That Delia would sneak into her study, where the case and calling cards were kept in a desk drawer and steal them made Audrey’s stomach twist. Why would she befriend Audrey but blackmail Mary?
“It seems likely,” he replied. “It appears she was a collector of cards. Mrs. Simpson’s was not the only one I found.”
“Viscountess Rumsford, you said?” Audrey shook her head. A viscountess…Oh.“I think I might know of her. We aren’t acquainted, though my sister might be.”
Millie, the Viscountess Redding, moved in a different circle of peers than Audrey and Philip, and that was not something either sister lamented. They were as different from each other as Audrey was to her mother and uncle, though that could have been exacerbated by their difference in age. She was nearly ten years Audrey’s senior. Audrey had been much closer to James, her late elder brother. But then, she’d only been seven when he’d died. How close could they have really been, what with James away at Eton at the time?
Hugh took another card from his waistcoat and handed it to her. Lady Rumsford’s card was without a single flourish. A bold line engraved the space directly beneath her name.
“She seems a very straightforward woman, if her card represents her correctly,” she said, handing it back. Hugh tapped the corner against his thigh. Audrey dragged her eye away from the sand-colored buckskin. “I’ll call on her,” she said.
