Read Online Barbara Metzger by Miss Lockharte's Letters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Miss Lockharte's Letters
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called?"
"No, my lord. The note from under Mrs. Dahlquist's door requested that she be permitted to rest today, that there was nothing terribly wrong."
"Most likely she was sick and tired of Susan's pleas to attend the masquerade. With that rake Hadfield out of town, maybe we'll get some peace."
"Yes, my lord."
Wynn stood in the hall, brushing his dark hair back with his fingers, trying to decide where he ought to go first, other than back to White's.
"And this was delivered while you were out, my lord.” On a silver tray that usually held invitations and calling cards reposed the remains of a miniature of himself that Maude had commissioned, at his expense, of course. The frame had been smashed, the painting sliced. Maude was nothing if not thorough.
"It does not appear to have been a very good likeness, my lord,” the butler commiserated.
" Au contraire, mon ami, it is a perfect representation of how I am feeling: battered and torn, ready for the dust heap."
"Perhaps Mrs. Dahlquist's ailment is contagious."
"Ah, but I can neither take to my bed nor hide under the covers, can I?” Then again, if he'd stayed at Maude's, in her bed, he wouldn't have had an expensive trinket in smithereens, or his peace entirely cut up.
The butler did not bother answering; he merely informed the viscount that Lady Stanford seemed quite perturbed, as did Miss Susan and Lord Hume.
"Right, I'll check in with Stubbing first then."
"Excellent, my lord. I'll bring the brandy directly."
"That bad, eh? I don't suppose any odd hats have been returned?"
The butler just shook his head in regret and sympathy. Stubbing hadn't found any clues to the missing soldiers either. None of the guests was on Whitehall's suspect list or Bow Street's thief-takers’ roster. A few of the nobs, like Lord Hadfield, were known to be below hatches.
"I am not disparaging the ruling class, my lord, my own father being one of them, but it's the truth that men living beyond their means cannot always be trusted.” The men were sitting at either side of Wynn's wide desk, the cut-crystal decanter between them.
Wynn swirled the brandy in his glass and agreed. “At least you're honest. If we consider everyone punting on tick to be a traitor, though, we might as well hang half of Parliament."
The officer nodded, then continued: “We are not hopeful, although our people are watching the usual scoundrels."
"No, my people are too small, too easily hidden or disguised as children's playthings."
"Precisely what made them so valuable to us in the past. I am afraid we shall have to discontinue the operation for now. General's orders."
"No more lead soldiers?” Wynn tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. Dash it, he'd been doing something worthwhile.
"The general says that you should keep painting, in case. He's hopeful the war will be ended shortly anyway, but then you can give them to your sons."
"I don't have any sons."
Stubbing looked down at the papers in his hands. “The general mentioned that, too. He seems to feel it is the responsibility of the nobility to provide for the future."
"Blast him for an interfering old busybody then."
Stubbing cleared his throat, sudden color coming to his fair cheeks. “The general is my godfather, my lord."
"My apologies, Lieutenant, but I get enough of such lectures from my mother."
"I understand, my lord, and there are times when I do appreciate being a second son. No one is concerned with the proliferation of more cadets."
"And you got to join up."
The lieutenant tapped his stiff leg. “Not always a blessing."
"Sorry, that was thoughtless of me. But tell me, Lieutenant, are you being recalled to Whitehall or can you stay on a few days? I have an idea or two about the missing soldiers. There have been some odd coincidences lately."
The young man smiled his pleasure at being invited to stay. Stanford House was decidedly an improvement on the army barracks. “Rare things, coincidences,” he said,
"No, my lord. The note from under Mrs. Dahlquist's door requested that she be permitted to rest today, that there was nothing terribly wrong."
"Most likely she was sick and tired of Susan's pleas to attend the masquerade. With that rake Hadfield out of town, maybe we'll get some peace."
"Yes, my lord."
Wynn stood in the hall, brushing his dark hair back with his fingers, trying to decide where he ought to go first, other than back to White's.
"And this was delivered while you were out, my lord.” On a silver tray that usually held invitations and calling cards reposed the remains of a miniature of himself that Maude had commissioned, at his expense, of course. The frame had been smashed, the painting sliced. Maude was nothing if not thorough.
"It does not appear to have been a very good likeness, my lord,” the butler commiserated.
" Au contraire, mon ami, it is a perfect representation of how I am feeling: battered and torn, ready for the dust heap."
"Perhaps Mrs. Dahlquist's ailment is contagious."
"Ah, but I can neither take to my bed nor hide under the covers, can I?” Then again, if he'd stayed at Maude's, in her bed, he wouldn't have had an expensive trinket in smithereens, or his peace entirely cut up.
The butler did not bother answering; he merely informed the viscount that Lady Stanford seemed quite perturbed, as did Miss Susan and Lord Hume.
"Right, I'll check in with Stubbing first then."
"Excellent, my lord. I'll bring the brandy directly."
"That bad, eh? I don't suppose any odd hats have been returned?"
The butler just shook his head in regret and sympathy. Stubbing hadn't found any clues to the missing soldiers either. None of the guests was on Whitehall's suspect list or Bow Street's thief-takers’ roster. A few of the nobs, like Lord Hadfield, were known to be below hatches.
"I am not disparaging the ruling class, my lord, my own father being one of them, but it's the truth that men living beyond their means cannot always be trusted.” The men were sitting at either side of Wynn's wide desk, the cut-crystal decanter between them.
Wynn swirled the brandy in his glass and agreed. “At least you're honest. If we consider everyone punting on tick to be a traitor, though, we might as well hang half of Parliament."
The officer nodded, then continued: “We are not hopeful, although our people are watching the usual scoundrels."
"No, my people are too small, too easily hidden or disguised as children's playthings."
"Precisely what made them so valuable to us in the past. I am afraid we shall have to discontinue the operation for now. General's orders."
"No more lead soldiers?” Wynn tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. Dash it, he'd been doing something worthwhile.
"The general says that you should keep painting, in case. He's hopeful the war will be ended shortly anyway, but then you can give them to your sons."
"I don't have any sons."
Stubbing looked down at the papers in his hands. “The general mentioned that, too. He seems to feel it is the responsibility of the nobility to provide for the future."
"Blast him for an interfering old busybody then."
Stubbing cleared his throat, sudden color coming to his fair cheeks. “The general is my godfather, my lord."
"My apologies, Lieutenant, but I get enough of such lectures from my mother."
"I understand, my lord, and there are times when I do appreciate being a second son. No one is concerned with the proliferation of more cadets."
"And you got to join up."
The lieutenant tapped his stiff leg. “Not always a blessing."
"Sorry, that was thoughtless of me. But tell me, Lieutenant, are you being recalled to Whitehall or can you stay on a few days? I have an idea or two about the missing soldiers. There have been some odd coincidences lately."
The young man smiled his pleasure at being invited to stay. Stanford House was decidedly an improvement on the army barracks. “Rare things, coincidences,” he said,
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