Page 22 of Letters to a Wallflower
“Lady Kershaw? Well, I wasn’t invited, but we are acquainted and I have been in her home before. If it is a rout, she won’t turn me away.” He thought a moment. “Meet me at midnight. That should give me plenty of time to go to Fleet Street and still make the event.”
“Where? If we are seen exchanging more than a nod, people will talk.”
“In the dining room. There will be no dinner, likely just sliced meats and rout cakes and wine in one of the drawing rooms. The crowd likely will not spill into there, and there is a space to retreat, if someone comes.”
She gave him a soft smile. “There’s that strategic mind. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in this adventure.” Her expression darkened. “And our culprit has no idea what a formidable enemy he has made.”
“A formidable pair of enemies,” he corrected.
She gave him a nod as the coach door opened. “Quite right, Mr. Hargrove. I look forward to seeing you this evening.” Taking the coachman’s hand, she stepped down and headed for the museum door with only one quick grin over her shoulder.
Chapter 7
Later that evening, Helen came downstairs, looking for her grandmother. She was wearing her rose colored dress, as it looked so well on her and Ben had never seen it. Carrying her wrap, she ventured into the parlor, where she found her grandmother, fully dressed for the evening, but with her eyes closed and her head resting against the back of the sofa.
Alarm rang in Helen’s breast. “Grandmama, are you well?”
Her grandmother’s eyes blinked open. “What’s that? Oh, Helen, dear. Yes. I am perfectly well. Just resting. The carriage is not quite ready yet.”
Concern overrode Helen’s desire to go out and even her wish to see Ben again. “Perhaps we should stay in tonight? We can have a quiet evening at home together.”
“No, no” Her grandmother straightened. “I’m already dressed. And I’ve had word from Minerva. She has news to share. I do not wish to be last to hear it.”
“Perhaps we can return early, then? I don’t wish you to overdo.”
“I will not overdo. I vow it, my dear. But I admit, I won’t mind making an early night of it.”
“There’s our plan, then,” Helen stated. Silently hoping they would stay past midnight, she sat down on a nearby chair. “Grandmama, I have a question for you. When everything was going on, with my letters in the paper, you tried to have the paper stop publishing them. Did you ever meet with the editor of the Prattler, in your efforts?”
Her grandmother’s eyes had been about to close again, but at the question, she blinked awake and sat up. “No. I did not. Why do you ask? Have you heard the gossip?”
Helen stared. “What gossip?”
Grandmama was fully awake now. “There’s been a buzz going about the ton. The London Town Prattler has been focusing fully on reporting the peccadillos of high society for some time now. Oh, they always had an eye for a good scandal, but it lately seems to be their raison d'être, if you will. And they seem to be acquainted with some very select knowledge. Your own reemergence has also served to stir people up. They remember your insistence that you never posted those letters. And they begin to wonder. Just how does that scandal rag acquire their stories? It certainly seems to be more than just servant’s gossip, lately.”
Helen leaned forward. “Grandmama, do you know the name of the editor of the paper?”
Her grandmother straightened. “No. That’s just it. My man of business never could corner him. It seemed the paper changed hands right when your letters and the accompanying articles were being published. He never managed to present the scoundrel with my demands, but the articles stopped and I let it drop.” She raised her brows. “Now we hear curious stories circulating. It appears that no one has successfully brought a complaint to the new editor. It is being said that he prefers to remain anonymous!”
“Anonymous?” Helen repeated, disappointed. “Can he do that?”
“It appears that he has successfully done so for at least two years. But my dowagers and I have a theory.”
“On who he might be?”
“Oh, we have not got that far yet, but we believe, my dear, that he must be one of us!”
“Us? You mean a member of the beau monde?”
“Surely it must be. Whoever he is, he knows the most select details. The gossip and mishaps from the parties of the highest sticklers in the ton. Everything from political arguments to ridiculous bets that take place in the most exclusive clubs. The paper somehow discovers the guest lists from private parties and it reports on affairs and flirtations that even we have yet to hear of.”
No wonder the old ladies were indignant.
“It’s more than just a good network of servants, porters and coachmen, that’s for sure. It must be one of our own.”
Helen frowned, thinking. “But who could it be?”
“Oh, do not worry, my dear. The dowagers are on the job now. We will find him. Now, I hear the carriage. Let us go see if we can squeeze into Lady Kershaw’s rout.”
