“Hereiswherewestop.” Richard kicked Wickham’s calf—none too gently—and waited for the footman to put down the step.
Wickham stirred from his sleep, lifting his chin from his chest and looking about blearily. “Darcy House? I thought I was to be delivered directly into the hands of the army.”
Fitzwilliam cast a sour look over his shoulder. “You have been missing since August. One more day will not damage your case further, and I may have need of you. Come, you are to sleep in the stable, so you ought to choose your stall before the horses are put up.”
Wickham became alert at once. “You cannot be serious!”
“Did you expect a fine guest room? Darcy will never again lend me his house if I put you across the hall from Miss Darcy’s chambers. The stables are not so bad; I have slept in far worse in the field.”
“I amnotafraid of a soldier’s lifestyle, sir. If Darcy has decreed that I am not to be welcomed in the house, then I shall accept the judgment with good grace, for I have ever wished to make myself amenable, regardless of his opinions of me.”
Richard merely snorted and walked away, and Wickham found himself obliged to walk between the footmen who had acted as his guards. Up the steps of the house they escorted him, and directly to a windowless chamber above the kitchens. It was not a formal guest room, nor yet was it the servant’s quarters. It more closely resembled a spacious closet that had been provided with the minimal requirements for a man to pass the night, and perhaps a day. Wickham entered the room and turned about in confusion.
“Mrs Adams is preparing a tray for you,” Fitzwilliam nearly growled. “The footmen will remain posted at your door on shifts, so do not attempt an escape.”
“And where do you go, Fitzwilliam? It is scarcely mid-day, and if you are to the earl’s house, oughtn’t I to accompany you? I may be able to offer some assistance.”
“Assistance!” Richard barked. “You are a liability rather than a help. I do not even go to my father’s house yet, for I would prefer to gather some reconnaissance.”
“You have a private investigator! Excellent.”
“Naturally, but first I go to another—a respectable man of good sense, if you can understand such a thing. Make yourself comfortable, Wickham.”
Cheapside, London
“Sir,aCaptainLopeshas arrived for you. May I show him in?”
Edward Gardiner set aside his tea cup and looked up to his manservant. “Lopes? I have never heard of him.”
“He says he hails from the vesselSonho do Mar, a merchant ship from Portugal. He claims to bear a message for you, sir, and comes with a guest.”
“How very interesting! I do not think I have ever employed that vessel. I cannot think what business the captain would have with me, but I will be glad to hear him. Show him in please, Samuel. I will be with him in a moment.” Gardiner hastened to finish his afternoon meal and rose from the table. “Excuse me, my dear,” he turned to take his wife’s hand. “I do not believe I shall be long.”
“I intended to read Lizzy’s newest letter after tea,” she smiled. “It is a nice thick one, so I expect I shall be some while in reading and responding to it.”
“Indeed! Be certain to give her my greetings.”
She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze before he withdrew. “Of course, my dear.”
Upon entering his study, Gardiner stopped short. Two individuals awaited him—the first was Lopes, a short, balding fellow in a merchant naval uniform. The second was a woman dressed in a black traveling dress with a dark veil over her face, which she had not yet deigned to lift. Gardiner glanced over her curiously, but turned back to the captain when he approached somewhat abashedly and made a short bow.
“Forgive me, sir, for calling at your home,” Lopes apologised. “My instructions were to come here, rather than to your shipping office.”
“Think nothing of it, sir. How may I be of assistance?”
“Sir, I bring greetings from Senhor António Moniz de Noronha, the mayor of Porto. He is known to you, yes?”
Gardiner stared blankly, and the captain shifted his cap nervously in his hand.
“Er… certainly,” he stammered after a moment. “I must have had dealings with him.” He cast his eyes to the ceiling as he desperately tried to recall how or where he might have heard of the man, but could think of nothing.
The captain, at least, seemed somewhat assured by his polite falsehood. “Senhor de Noronha is gratified for your kindly offer of hospitality for his daughter, Senhora Maria Amália Vasconcelos,” the captain bowed grandly and gestured toward the lady. Only then did she step forward and slowly lift the veil covering her face. She was far younger than Gardiner might have expected, but her eyes bore an ancient expression. She studied him gravely, with lips slightly parted to speak at a moment’s notice, but she held her peace.
He was staring curiously at her when the captain’s words registered to him. “Hospitality?” he repeated.
“Senhor de Noronha has provided generously for his daughter’s needs during her tour in London,” the captain went on. “He has consigned into my care a purse, which he directed me to give to you to supply whatever is found needful.”
Gardiner could think of no response, other than to accept the clutch of English bank notes the captain extended to him. He glanced once more at the young lady, but she had dropped her gaze and offered him no help.
