Page 24 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
“We can’t let that wagon reach Regent Bridge.”
The bridge was constructed of 78-foot cast-iron arches with stone piers. He imagined the gunpowder wouldn’t completely destroy the nearly finished structure but could make quite a mess of it.
“Hold on!” At Cecil’s words, the passenger seated on the wagon bench faced forward. Cecil raised his pistol and fired a shot into the air.
The team of four horses pulling the wagon shot forward at breakneck speed, the driver shouted at the horses, frantically trying to gain control of his livestock. The wagon careened in front of the phaeton as the passenger threw his lantern aside and looked to be holding on to the bench he sat on for dear life. Cecil drove the phaeton alongside the wagon, forcing the driver to the left onto Kings Road and toward the open fields.
To his right, Ashford glimpsed the road leading to Five Fields chapel, probably the route the wagon was meant to take eastwards to the Thames and on to Regent Bridge.
The horses ahead took a sharp right turn into the fields, the barrels toppling over each other in the wagon. Cecil slowed his team to a canter, taking up a place some distance behind the wagon. As the wagon bounced ahead, several barrels tumbled out of the vehicle. Cecil immediately brought the carriage to an abrupt halt.
The impact of the barrels hitting the ground caused the gunpowder to ignite, resulting in small fires scattered haphazardly across the fallow fields. The passenger of the wagon jumped from the high seat, and the wagon and horses raced away, some ten barrels left in their wake.
Several yards in front of the phaeton lay the passenger from the wagon, his head at an odd angle. Cecil handed the reins to Ashford and jumped down from the carriage. He strode forward and bent low over the man on the ground.
Ashford asked his friend. “Is the man alive?”
In the light of a nearby fire, he could see Cecil searching the man’s cloak. “He’s dead. He broke his neck in the fall.”
“What are you looking for?”
Cecil left the man’s side and retraced his steps. Once back on the seat of the carriage he held up a black object. It was a miniature papier-mache snuffbox, cheaply made, with the letters RA painted on it in white.
“A snuff box?”
“This proves the dead man was part of the Rogues Alliance,” Cecil replied grimly. “We may not have caught the driver, but we have accomplished something this evening: the Home Office will now take the threats seriously and post guards at Regent Bridge.”
The night’s activity had accomplished one more thing: Although Ashford would admit to being restless in recent days, he decided Cecil’s brand of adventure wasn’t what he wanted or needed. Something was missing from his life. He just needed to figure out what it was.
Chapter Nine
That afternoon Charlotte drove to Edith’s home in her father’s town carriage, and then both girls continued on to Lady Sheffield’s modest townhouse on the edge of Hounslow Heath.
“Do you know Lady Sheffield well?” Edith asked.
“We’ve met a few times. The lady and my mother came out the same year.” Charlotte paused. “Mother agrees that the lady’s daughter, Julia, is not a pleasant person to be around.”
Charlotte had rarely spoken to Lady Julia at the season’s entertainments. It was hard to keep an open mind about the girl as she’d seen her unkindness toward others first-hand. She must remember they needed more patrons for the lending library. It would not do for her to alienate members of the ton.
When they arrived at the Sheffield townhouse, a footman in black and buff livery took their outerwear; another escorted the ladies to the drawing room.
Their hostess Lady Sheffield was a petite, plump woman, the remnants of youthful beauty still evident in her features. “Lady Charlotte! Do come sit down and tell me, is your mother in good health? I haven’t spoken to her in an age.”
Charlotte dutifully approached the woman and introduced her to Edith. Their hostess poured tea and sorted the teacups. When the new arrivals were seated with cups in hand, Lady Sheffield looked about her. “Where is my daughter? Oh, there she is. Trading on dits with that silly girl Alicia Tilford. Julia! Do come here and meet these young ladies.”
Lady Julia said something to the girl beside her. She then walked to stand beside where her mother was seated, a pained smile on her face.
Their hostess made the introductions. “Julia, may I present Lady Charlotte and Lady Edith. I’m surprised we have not bumped elbows at more entertainments this season as all three of you girls made your debut this year.”
Charlotte refrained from mentioning that the lady’s daughter had seen her at many events and shown no desire to get to know her. Although, to be frank, Charlotte hadn’t gone out of her way to make friends with the other girl.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Charlotte,” Julia said civilly, little pleasure noticeable in her words or facial expression. “I am already acquainted with Lady Edith. I hope you are well, Lady Edith.”
She and Edith responded courteously. It was a shame that Lady Julia was so rude. Julia was a diamond of the season but by all accounts had received few offers of marriage. With the airs she put on, you would think her father was a duke rather than a viscount.
Perhaps Charlotte’s desire not to fit in put other debutantes off. Despite her dislike of Lady Julia, Charlotte would behave as she should in polite society. After all, there were other young ladies present who might be persuaded to visit Thorne’s.
She spied a copy of Castle Rackrent by Maria Edgeworth on a mahogany side table. “Lady Sheffield, are you a great reader?”
