you think he might be?”
“Someone who knows his Shakespeare, and who writes in a superior hand,” she said. “I thought you’d like to see it.”
“You were right,” I said, disappointed that she could offer no further insight. “Did you notice any markings on the sealing wax?” Little of it remained to be examined.
“I honestly didn’t think to look until it was too late,” she said. “I assumed it was a letter of a more romantic nature. That’s the sort of thing to which I’m accustomed. I was thinking I’d reply to him.”
“You were?” I asked. “How?”
“Well, I’ll send back an appropriate quote. Maybe something from Romeo and Juliet. Or is that too frivolous?”
“How would you have it delivered to him?”
“I’ll leave it on my doorstep just as he did,” she said. “It’s common practice when dealing with a gentleman who wishes his identity to remain a secret. What do you think? I may be more enlightened than you when it comes to dealing with society, but I admit freely you win the day when it comes to experience with criminal minds.”
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” I said. “Shall I help you choose a passage?”
“I’d prefer to do it on my own. But I promise to share with you any response as soon as I get it.” She flashed a feline smile, her eyes lighting up. She’d spotted Colin entering the room.
“Oh, what a good surprise!” she said. “I never suspected I’d find you home at this time of the afternoon, Hargreaves. I am a fortunate one today.”
“Lady Glover,” he said, dropping her hand almost as soon as she’d raised it to him.”
“You’re such a beast, Hargreaves,” she said. “It’s been ages since you’ve been round to see me. What am I to think? Thank goodness your lovely wife deigned to befriend me or I’d feel completely cut. She’s such a gem.”
I half expected her to reach over and pat me on the head.
“That she is.” Colin pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. “I do hope I’m not interrupting delicate conversation.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Lady Glover has just been showing me—”
“Now, now, Lady Emily, that’s to be our little secret. Gentlemen don’t need to know everything. We ladies ought to have some mysteries just for ourselves.”
“Far be it for me to presume otherwise,” Colin said. “How is your husband?”
“Well enough,” Lady Glover said. “His gout’s troubling him again, the poor man.”
“And are you on tenterhooks wondering if you’ll wake up to find red paint splashed across your front door?” he asked.
“Me? Far from it,” she said. “I’m the only person in London with nothing to hide.”
Somehow, I did not believe her.
* * *
My doubts about Lady Glover aside, I did find myself enjoying her company. I knew her comments to Colin were meant to get my hackles up—but I had no cause to doubt my husband’s fidelity. That was a subject upon which I had absolute peace of mind. No one was more trustworthy than he, and I had utter faith in him. Most likely because I did not respond to her bait, Lady Glover held me in higher esteem after that meeting, and soon became a regular caller at our house in Park Lane.
Today, I was returning the compliment. I raised the heavy knocker on the Glovers’ door and, in short order, was shown into what the mistress of the house called the Egyptian drawing room. Every flat surface in the chamber was covered with objects—scarabs, ushabtis, colored beads, small glass bottles—she’d begun collecting some years back, when she first took a fancy to the ancient civilization. A grouping of stone stelae hung on one of the walls, hieroglyphs carved around images of a placid-looking pharaoh. Lady Glover was stretched out on a low settee that looked more Roman than Egyptian, but I meted no judgment on her combining of cultures. Her gown, fashioned from layers of thin linen and belted with a narrow strip of gold, would have
“Someone who knows his Shakespeare, and who writes in a superior hand,” she said. “I thought you’d like to see it.”
“You were right,” I said, disappointed that she could offer no further insight. “Did you notice any markings on the sealing wax?” Little of it remained to be examined.
“I honestly didn’t think to look until it was too late,” she said. “I assumed it was a letter of a more romantic nature. That’s the sort of thing to which I’m accustomed. I was thinking I’d reply to him.”
“You were?” I asked. “How?”
“Well, I’ll send back an appropriate quote. Maybe something from Romeo and Juliet. Or is that too frivolous?”
“How would you have it delivered to him?”
“I’ll leave it on my doorstep just as he did,” she said. “It’s common practice when dealing with a gentleman who wishes his identity to remain a secret. What do you think? I may be more enlightened than you when it comes to dealing with society, but I admit freely you win the day when it comes to experience with criminal minds.”
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” I said. “Shall I help you choose a passage?”
“I’d prefer to do it on my own. But I promise to share with you any response as soon as I get it.” She flashed a feline smile, her eyes lighting up. She’d spotted Colin entering the room.
“Oh, what a good surprise!” she said. “I never suspected I’d find you home at this time of the afternoon, Hargreaves. I am a fortunate one today.”
“Lady Glover,” he said, dropping her hand almost as soon as she’d raised it to him.”
“You’re such a beast, Hargreaves,” she said. “It’s been ages since you’ve been round to see me. What am I to think? Thank goodness your lovely wife deigned to befriend me or I’d feel completely cut. She’s such a gem.”
I half expected her to reach over and pat me on the head.
“That she is.” Colin pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. “I do hope I’m not interrupting delicate conversation.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Lady Glover has just been showing me—”
“Now, now, Lady Emily, that’s to be our little secret. Gentlemen don’t need to know everything. We ladies ought to have some mysteries just for ourselves.”
“Far be it for me to presume otherwise,” Colin said. “How is your husband?”
“Well enough,” Lady Glover said. “His gout’s troubling him again, the poor man.”
“And are you on tenterhooks wondering if you’ll wake up to find red paint splashed across your front door?” he asked.
“Me? Far from it,” she said. “I’m the only person in London with nothing to hide.”
Somehow, I did not believe her.
* * *
My doubts about Lady Glover aside, I did find myself enjoying her company. I knew her comments to Colin were meant to get my hackles up—but I had no cause to doubt my husband’s fidelity. That was a subject upon which I had absolute peace of mind. No one was more trustworthy than he, and I had utter faith in him. Most likely because I did not respond to her bait, Lady Glover held me in higher esteem after that meeting, and soon became a regular caller at our house in Park Lane.
Today, I was returning the compliment. I raised the heavy knocker on the Glovers’ door and, in short order, was shown into what the mistress of the house called the Egyptian drawing room. Every flat surface in the chamber was covered with objects—scarabs, ushabtis, colored beads, small glass bottles—she’d begun collecting some years back, when she first took a fancy to the ancient civilization. A grouping of stone stelae hung on one of the walls, hieroglyphs carved around images of a placid-looking pharaoh. Lady Glover was stretched out on a low settee that looked more Roman than Egyptian, but I meted no judgment on her combining of cultures. Her gown, fashioned from layers of thin linen and belted with a narrow strip of gold, would have
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