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“You should never have taken that letter, Jem,” Jane burst out. She reached out her thin hands in a gesture of angry despair. “I jes hope you ain’t going to rot in a cell for it.”
Hetty closed her eyes briefly, almost too fearful to ask the question. For if Araminta had made off with it, there was nothing Hetty could do. “Where is the letter, Jem?”
“I ain’t got it with me. Put it back, didn’t I, after Miss Partington saw it.” He raked his hand through his light-colored hair, wearing the expression of one who has just about reached the end of his tether.
Hope flickered in Hetty’s breast. “She didn’t take it?”
“Said she didn’t have the money but she knew someone who did and that she’d come back.”
Hetty’s heart pounded painfully as she leaned forward. “When did she leave? Do you know where she went? And when can I see the letter?”
He sent her a wry look. “Miss Araminta left less than a half hour ago and I’d only just hid the letter again and was back at me work when I heard you was after seein’ me after all.”
“Please, Jem, I have to see that letter.” Hetty knew she sounded desperate. “I’ll pay you well for it, I promise.”
“Ain’t worth me job to go back and fetch it now. Me master’ll be comin’ back from his ride and I got to get ‘im ready. As for your sister, I dunno where she went.” He nodded his indication the interview was at an end. “With respect, miss, let me tells yer this, I’ll be givin’ that letter to the first person what gives me a fiver fer it.”
“That’s downright greedy, Jem,” Jane sniffed. “You’re just lucky you are that Miss Hetty ain’t about to report you.”
Hetty rose quickly. There was no time for recriminations when her greatest priority was to find Araminta. Perhaps she’d written down the words or committed them to memory and was now on her way to find Sir Aubrey.
A final question struck Hetty as she turned to leave. “Who was with her? She couldn’t have come alone.”
Jem shrugged. “Reckoned it were Miss Partington’s sister ‘til I saw that Miss Lissa—that’s her name—were dressed shabby, like a governess or summat.”
“What!” Hetty swung around. “A young woman? It’s not possible. We have no relatives in London.” But already an odd thought had taken root. In the past few weeks she’d begun to piece together things she’d never thought to question before. “Come, Jane, we must hurry home and find Araminta.”
“We must get them gloves on the way, miss, else Lady Partington will start asking questions.”
“Just quickly, then,” Hetty acceded reluctantly, knowing how much her maid liked to browse at all the pretty things the shopkeepers showed them.
However, mixed fortune came their way when they stepped into Hetty’s favorite glove makers on Bond Street. A lady who had her back to them as she scrutinized a selection of finely stitched gloves turned at their arrival, and Hetty found herself face-to-face with a duplicitous creature she’d hoped never to set eyes on again.
“Why, Hetty, I barely recognized you!” exclaimed Lady Julia, brazen as ever, for no blush of shame swept her cheeks as she greeted Hetty with every apparent pleasure.
Hetty could hardly believe it. Lady Julia, the faithless swine who’d taken Cousin Edgar on his final boating jaunt before he drowned; the scheming minx in whose arms a furious and jealous Hetty had seen her beloved cousin writhe in passion less than six months ago. The jezebel was smiling as if they were bosom buddies.
“Indeed, you are greatly improved in looks. And how is your cousin?”
For one shocked moment Hetty thought Lady Julia referred to Edgar. She bit back the retort that of course he was being looked after by the angels, thanks to Lady Julia’s wickedness. “I presume you mean Cousin Stephen?”
“Of course I do.” Lady Julia’s tinkling laugh rang out as she patted her swollen belly. “You must tell him the child is due in November. He’ll want to know, I’m sure.”
To Hetty’s chagrin, Lady Julia looked blooming. Her flaxen hair was demurely arranged beneath a becoming floral-festooned bonnet that made Hetty feel hers was vastly overdone. Lady Julia, like Araminta, had always put her in the shade.
“I’ll pass on your greeting,” she muttered, tugging Jane’s sleeve as she turned to leave but Lady’s Julia’s laughing response gave her pause.
“You’re a great deal more gracious than your sister, Miss Henrietta, for when she stepped in here not ten minutes ago she gave me the cut direct.”
Hetty swung back from the doorway. “Araminta was here?”
“With her poor relation, by the look of it.”
Hetty hurried back to their townhouse, but though it was late in the afternoon, her sister was not at home. “Gone on the promenade,” said Betty, who attended their mother and had come down from The Grange. “Best ask your mama who with, miss.”
But when Hetty burst into her mother’s room and put the question to her, Lady Partington went blank. “Araminta told me about half an hour ago that she was going walking with you, Hetty.”
Hetty’s fears increased. She was not looking forward to approaching her father with a query that hinted at something she must not know—but she needed to understand Araminta’s involvement with a young lady Jem had said she so greatly resembled. She really did fear also that Araminta, who had no idea of what she was dealing with, may have approached the situation with regard to the letter in quite the wrong way.
