“And attempted theft,” Lord Brocklehurst said. “She tried to run off with the family jewels.”
“Ah,” Mr. Snedburg said, “a nasty piece of work she is, then, sir. I will begin my search without any delay at all and with all caution. She will be a desperate young lady. We will have her in a twinkling, you may be sure. What names might she assume, may I ask?”
Lord Brocklehurst frowned. “You think she will have changed her name?” he asked.
“If she has a modicum of sense, she will, sir,” Mr. Snedburg said. “But I find that people rarely fabricate a wholly new name. You give me her full name, sir, and her mother’s name, and the names of some of the servants at your home and those of some of the young lady’s friends and acquaintances.”
Lord Brocklehurst frowned in thought. “Her full name is Isabella Fleur Bradshaw,” he said. “Her mother’s name was Laura Maxwell, her personal maid’s, Annie Rowe, her closest friend’s, Miriam Booth.”
“Your housekeeper’s, sir?”
“Phyllis Matheson.”
“The girl’s grandmothers?”
Lord Brocklehurst thought. “Hamilton on the father’s side,” he said. “Lenora, I believe. I don’t know about the mother’s side.”
“Your butler?”
“Chapman.”
“I’ll try these, sir,” Mr. Snedburg said finally. “I’ll come up with something. I don’t doubt. Now, I need a description of the young lady.”
“Somewhat above average height,” Lord Brocklehurst said. “Slender. Brown eyes. Red-gold hair.”
“Her crowning glory, would you say, sir?” the Runner asked, eyeing his client closely.
“Yes.” Lord Brocklehurst gazed sightlessly across the room. “Her crowning glory. Like the sunshine and the sunset all tangled up together.”
Mr. Snedburg coughed. “Exactly, sir,” he said. “A beauty, then, you would say?”
“Oh, yes.” The other looked back to him. “A beauty, indeed. I want her found.”
“As a justice of the peace, I understand, sir,” the Runner said. “Because, despite the fact that she is your cousin, she must stand trial for the murder of your personal servant.”
“Yes, for that reason,” Lord Brocklehurst said, his hands opening and closing at his sides. “Find her.”
Mr. Snedburg executed an inelegant bow and strode from the room without further ado.
“MISS HAMILTON?”
Fleur turned in some surprise to the young man in smart blue livery who questioned her as she descended from the stage in Wollaston. “Yes,” she said.
“Ned Driscoll, ma’am,” he said, “come to fetch you to the Hall. Which are your trunks, ma’am?”
“Just that one,” Fleur said, pointing.
The young man was dressed very smartly indeed. And he hoisted her trunk to his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a feather and strode across the cobbled yard of the inn where the stage had stopped toward a closed carriage with a coat of arms painted on the side panel.
A cozy manor? A small family group?
“You are Mr. Kent’s servant?” she asked the groom, following him. “This is his carriage?”
He turned to grin at her in some amusement. “Mr. Kent?” he said. “He had better not hear you call him that, ma’am. He’s ‘his grace’ to the likes of you and me.”
“His grace?” Fleur felt rather as if her knees were turning to jelly beneath her.
“His grace, the Duke of Ridgeway,” the groom said, looking at her curiously. “Didn’t you know?” He strapped her trunk securely to the back of the carriage.
“The Duke of Ridgeway? There must be some mistake. I was hired as governess to the daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Kent,” Fleur said.
“Lady Pamela Kent, ma’am,” the groom said, extending a hand to help her into the carriage. “Mr. Houghton was it who hired you? His grace’s personal secretary. He must have been having a joke with you.”
A joke. Fleur sat in the carriage while the groom climbed to the box, and closed her eyes briefly. Her employer was the Duke of Ridgeway? She had heard of him. He was reputed to be one of the wealthiest peers of the land. Matthew had known his half-brother, Lord Thomas Kent. Kent! She had not even noticed that it was the same name.
She should have done. She should have been very much more on her guard. Matthew knew her employer’s brother! But she had never met the man herself. And he would not recognize her or know her name now that she had changed it. She must not start jumping at shadows.
Willoughby Hall. Mr. Houghton had given that name as the home of her employer. But the mind is a strange thing. She had conceived such a strong and early mental impression of the Kent family that she had instantly visualized a modest manor. But she knew of Willoughby. It was one of the largest estates in England and was reputed to have one of the most magnificent mansions and parks in the country, besides.