Francesca by Joan Smith Page A

moments’general repining, he got down to business. “I have been thinking about this wretched affair, and what you must do is hire yourself a lawyer, Fran, and a good one. You’ll be bitten to death by the fees, but you must defend yourself. You’ll need character witnesses; I shall be happy to speak on your behalf. And we shall have to find people to confirm that David was not Simon Pure.”
    Lady Camden’s lips curled in distaste. Drag all the dirty family linen through court? “If Lord Maundley is that eager to steal my five thousand pounds, let him. I shan’t appear in court. It is too degrading.”
    Mr. Caine urged her to stand up for herself, but Mrs. Denver was hesitant. “Maundley would drag in that Fran has been running around with a dozen young men,”she mentioned. “There is no denying that, Mr. Caine. All perfectly innocent, of course, but it won’t look that way. Much better to just let him take the money, and we shall retire into the country.”
    “There is something in what you say. A reputation cannot be bought at any price.”
    “No,”Francesca said calmly. “What we must do is find the necklace.”
    “We’ve already tried that,”Mr. Caine reminded her.
    “It wasn’t pawned at Stop Hole Abbey, so the woman must still have it. I must discover the identity of Rita, and recover the necklace. I shall take it to Lord Maundley and throw it in his face—in public. Perhaps in front of the House of Lords,”she said, smiling a malicious smile.
    “Yes, and he’ll say you had it all along,”Mr. Caine pointed out. “How do you plan to find the necklace?”
    “I have no idea. I must think about it, and come up with a plan.”On this brave speech she thanked Mr. Caine most kindly, and left.
    “Any plan to find the cursed thing will involve her with the muslin company. In her present mood, I dread to think what she has in mind,”Mr. Caine said, worried.
    “The sooner we get her out of London, the better,”Mrs. Denver said. “We’ll get her far enough away that she can’t be running back to make more mischief. Somewhere in Surrey, perhaps, but not too close to her home. Close enough to visit her family, I mean, but not to be overwhelmed by them. I expect we should go and visit an estate agent who deals in country properties.”
    “Weber’s, on Coventry Street,”Mr. Caine said. “Meanwhile, I wonder if she would like to visit my sister. Mary would like to have her, I’m sure. They haven’t seen each other since Fran and I stood godparents to Harry. It would get Fran’s mind off all this bother.”
    “That’s a good idea. I’ll suggest it. Shall I go to Weber’s, Mr. Caine, or ... ”
    “Why don’t we both go now, while she is busy? She won’t come up with a plan before lunch, I shouldn’t think.”
    “I’ll just get my pelisse. I’ll tell the servants we are going to the lending library, in case Fran comes down and asks.”
    * * *
    Lord Devane went on the strut on Bond Street that morning to replenish his supply of snuff and talk to his friends. He was particular about his snuff. He favored the light character of Martinique, which he strengthened with one tenth part of the powerful, large-grained Brazil. As he strolled through the shop, he read the labels on the glazed jars: Macouba, Spanish Bran, Violet Strasbourg—a lady’s snuff. Beside and around him, the low rumble of gossips at work could be overheard. The only on-dit on anyone’s lips was the Lady Camden affair. Frankie had really pitched herself into the suds this time.
    “Poor girl, I can almost pity her. Whatever will she do?”
    “She’ll have to leave town, won’t she? Mean to say, old Maundley’s kicking her out of the house. If I were her, I’d be gone by now. No one wants to be the butt of cartoons and public jokes.”
    A quiver of apprehension shot through Devane. He had been making his plans and had decided to let Lady Camden stew a few days in this broth of her own concocting, but it was possible