That young man was beginning to look terrified. “Lemonade, tea, dry cake, and buttered bread, everybody knows it.”
Damiano had not known it. It seemed the sort of thing Lady Tallifer might have mentioned. What sort of place was this? The English really were so uncivilized, one never knew what they’d take it intotheir heads to do next.
“My sisters all advise the tea and dry cake,” Lady Valor said, “as the lesser of the evils.”
Damiano nodded. “We will bow to Lady Valor’s prior knowledge of the matter,” he said.
The young man hurried off, likely glad to be away from them. But really, he could not be the first person to be annoyed by this alleged supper. Why call it a supper when it was only a few crusts that any self-respecting servant would turn in their notice over?
“Now Tramondeley,” Lady Letitia said, “you must tell me all about your life in Cornwall. I long to visit that county once more. I was positively struck when I was there.”
As the lord gave the lady some nondescript answer of the weather being as expected, Damiano said, “Lady Valor, do you also long to visit Cornwall? I have not been there myself.”
“I hadn’t thought, I have not been there either,” Lady Valor said. “Lord Tramondeley lives with Lord Ledderbey by the sea.”
She said it in a very pensive manner. He said, “You do not prefer to locate yourself by the sea?”
“Not right now, no. There are French frigates, I understand. At least, nearby Cornwall there are.”
“I see,” Damiano said. What was Napoleon doing? Was he thinking of a landing? It really would be ill-advised. He was not well-acquainted with the Frenchman’s plans as his primary contact was Monsieur Bernard and that fellow either knew nothing or pretended to know nothing.
“Lord Tramondeley goes out to sea in the night, which I really cannot like. He sails around in the dark to harass the French.”
The young waiter and another one arrived with a cart holding a large and heavy teapot and plates of dry cake. Damiano was glad for the distraction as he did not wish to give himself away. Tramondeley was in the habit of sailing out at night to harass the French. My God,could he be the Mosquito? It seemed preposterous.
But on the other hand, the sloop was missing from the pier and he’d received a report that it had not been positively seen out at night for some time. Tramondeley lived in Cornwall, by the sea. There was still the odd unconfirmed report of a sailor seeing a flash of light here and there, but that was probably just a sailor’s active imagination. Nobody had seen the boat itself. Could it possibly be true? Was Tramondeley the Mosquito?
If it were true, how was he to confirm it? If he confirmed it, what was he to do about it? It was one thing to dispose of a Cornwall fisherman, which he had presumed he was looking for. It was quite another to murder a lord. A duke’s heir, no less.
Could he murder the duke’s heir and marry his daughter? It seemed a bit much, even for him.
Lady Valor broke apart her dry cake with a fork. She really did seem unhappy about Tramondeley getting up to such activity. She would not be so unhappy if she were not interested in him. After all, why should she care who the duke’s heir was? If she were interested in somebody else, she would marry out of the family and it would not matter to her who was sitting in her father’s place in the Dales.
Her concern or disapproval was perhaps an angle he could work with. Now was not the time though, as that lord was within earshot.
Tramondeley had just leaned forward. “Lady Valor, I forgot to inquire, did you receive an invitation to the prince’s fête?”
Lady Valor nodded. “Yes, indeed we did.”
“Do we have to go?” Lord Tramondeley asked. “Is it the kind of thing that’s required?”
“I expect so,” Lady Valor said.
“Do you hear him?” Lady Letitia cried. “Does he have to go?”
Damiano wished to cut off the conversation before there was any mention of an idea of Tramondeley and Lady Valor going together. “Lady Valor, you did promise to allow me to escort you to the BritishMuseum. Would tomorrow be convenient?”
“Oh yes, I suppose so,” she said.
“Excellent. I will come at one o’clock. I will ride my horse but can send my carriage.”
“I imagine my father will prefer me in his own carriage,” Lady Valor said.
“Ah, quite right. Or perhaps your own horse? Do you ride?”
Lady Valor seemed unsure of whether she rode or did not.
“I do, a little. It’s just that I really prefer to walk my horse and sometimes Tulip seems fed up with it and wants to go faster than I’d like. She’s a Dales pony and very much has her own mind.”
