Page 20 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

Arietta raised a hand. “My husband, Sir Gareth Kendall, suspected Cartwright spied for France,” she said. “But my dear Kendall could never prove it. In his attempts, he died under a cloud of suspicion. I should like him to be remembered with honor. His reputation restored.”

“How dreadfully sad!” Letty felt torn. Her mind was racing. Although she had suspected Cartwright of spying, for him to be a traitor was so horrifying, she found it hard to believe. Had she made a promise to keep his secrets when it might ultimately harm Arietta? “But the war is over.”

“Intrigue continues in peace time, Letty, don’t think it doesn’t. And what can be gleaned from it remains of vital importance to the government. You would wish to help your country, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But Mr. Cartwright is smart. I’ll never fool him.”

“You’re clever, too. And what better cover than as a debutante. Most will think you’re an unsophisticated country girl.” She clasped Letty’s hands in hers. “I know you want to enjoy your Season, have fun and fall in love, and that will all come to pass. I shall make sure of it.” She gave Letty’s hands a shake with an imploring smile. “But first, do this for me, please?”

Letty tried to think of a reason to refuse, but her mind went blank with distress. “Very well, Arietta,” she said reluctantly. “But I’m not at all sure I can be of any help.”

Arietta smiled. “Good girl. I knew I could depend on you.”

Brandon rode back to his townhouse in Brook Street. So, Miss Bromley was now under Arietta’s patronage. An unwelcome development to say the least. Arietta and her husband Sir Gareth had quite a history, which had at one point become entwined with his. A murky business concerning an act of thievery from the Foreign Office. Kendall had accused him of it and attempted to plant the evidence on him, but he had failed on both counts, for not only did the Home Office disbelieve him, they began to look into Kendall’s activities. Brandon had little time to dwell on it. He was to rendezvous with Willard Fraser, who had interesting information to impart, since he’d been in contact with the Comtesse de Lavalette.

Once he’d changed from his riding clothes, Brandon made his way to a tavern he and Willard used on occasion.

Willard was waiting in the busy taproom, and he joined him at a table in a corner where they drank tankards of ale. “The French are vacillating on whether to send our French friend to his end, and his wife grows nervous,” he said. “She has reported a break-in at their chateau.”

“Was anything taken?”

“No. But she writes now of this Journal Noir. Lavalette had it secreted away. He entrusted it to her when he began to fear for his life.”

“Does she say what the book contains?”

“She does not. Whether she wishes to keep an ace up her sleeve, or she genuinely doesn’t understand the significance of what is in her possession, is moot.”

Brandon put down his tankard. “Does her request to us still stand?”

“Yes. She is to put her plan in motion if Lavalette’s appeal fails. I have sent Borrowdale to Paris with the passport. He will assist Lavalette over the border into Belgium if, and when he is freed.”

“And in the unlikely event that this comes off, will the comtesse pass the journal on to us?”

“Lavalette will come to London and personally deliver it.”

Brandon gave a doubtful shrug. “Is there a way we can get our hands on it should his escape bid fail?”

“None presents itself as yet. But I remain hopeful.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Continue to investigate Fraughton. Learn who his cronies are. It is urgent that we understand just what they are up to. Whatever is in that journal is of great importance to the government, otherwise these men would not be so fearful. If they discover that the comtesse plans an attempt to free Lavalette from the Conciergerie, they will stop her by violent means. And should she succeed, and her husband reaches England, these men will attempt to kill him before he sets foot in London.”

“It appears that Lady Fraughton wishes to rid herself of her husband. She has agreed to assist me.”

Willard nodded and put down his tankard. “We need to keep one step ahead of these men. It’s not just about this smoky business they’ve been involved in, it’s what they plan to do next.”

They left the tavern and stood on the pavement waiting to hail a hackney.

“If Comtesse de Lavalette doesn’t know what the journal contains, might you have any idea?” Brandon asked with no real expectation of Willard telling him.

“It would be pure conjecture on my part,” Willard replied, never one to speculate.

“Then I hope it falls into our hands. I, for one, am consumed with curiosity.”

Willard grinned. He raised his cane to hail a cab rattling down the road.

Uneasy, Brandon walked away down the street. How desperate were these men? He didn’t trust Susan Fraughton’s discretion. And he didn’t like Fraughton. He didn’t tell Willard, for the man would disapprove of letting a possible good source of information go, but he planned to put a stop to her involvement.

---