A Lady of Letters by Andrea Pickens Page A
Authors: Andrea Pickens
there were truly a gentleman of his stature who felt as we do, and was willing to stand up and speak out in good faith...."
The Earl finished reading, then laid aside the latest letter with a snort of frustration. "The Devil take it," he muttered under his breath. Had he really such a rackety reputation that everyone—from an ill-mannered chit to a venerable scholar like his friend here—thought him incapable of aught but frivolous thought? His hand came up to loosen the carefully knotted cravat at his throat. The damnable thing suddenly felt as constricting as his own former habits. He yanked it off with another oath, this one a trifle louder than before. The fact that a person holding a low opinion of him was not entirely unjustified was still rather hard to swallow, but what bothered him most was what one certain individual thought. His mouth pursed in irritation, for he wanted Firebrand to respect him in person as well as on paper.
To hell with what Edwin Hadley's sister thought.
Well, his own private concerns could wait for later. Right now, he was determined to be of whatever help he could to his friend. He reached for a sheaf of scribbled notes and leafed through them slowly. It had taken over a week, using every resource—reputable and otherwise— to gather such a wealth of interesting information on the six men mentioned in his friend's letter. Why, he never would have guessed that the staid Beckenham would have a stout mistress tucked away in a little cottage in Chiswick, along with a brood of three born on the wrong side of the blanket. Or that the hulking Kendall, who could flatten most any man who stepped into the ring at Gentleman Jackson's, raised delicate orchids.
Both of them had been eliminated in his mind as being capable of any sort of nefarious deed, along with Biddlesworth, who seemed only slightly less vacuous than the pack of slobbering hounds who had run of the once elegant family townhouse. The Earl had to shake his head at that name—it wouldn't be at all surprising to find the fellow gnawing bones if one called at supper time. Even now, he fairly barked when nervous or taken by surprise.
That left three possibilities. Sheffield ran his hand over his lean jaw as he contemplated them. It would help considerably if he knew exactly what wrongdoing they were suspected of. Firebrand had been deliberately vague, hinting only that one of the men was, in all likelihood, guilty of a most dastardly deed. He knew none of them well enough to make a judgement as to whether that was possible, but there were several odd things that had popped up in regard to the second name on the list. To his mind, that was the gentleman who appeared the most likely candidate. Removing a thin cheroot from his desk drawer, the Earl lit it and slowly blew out a series of swirling rings that floated up toward the carved acanthus leaf molding.
There were any number of ways to delve into the fellow's life—and that of the other two men—that he hadn't yet tried. However, for now he would simply send on to Firebrand what information he had gathered and wait for more specific word on what he was looking for.
The reply that arrived the next afternoon was not at all what he expected. Once again, Sheffield was moved to profane language on scanning the contents of the letter. "So I have done quite enough and am to back off and not get any more involved!" he muttered. The paper was balled up and tossed on the carpet, where his polished Hessian gave it a swift boot for good measure. "It might be dangerous, he says," continued the Earl through gritted teeth. "Well, what does the old fellow think he is going to do about it. Dangerous, indeed! I imagine I have a great deal more experience in this sort of thing than he has." Now that his sense of justice had been piqued, he'd be damned if he would abandon something that obviously meant so much to his friend.
Still fuming, he crossed to his desk and
The Earl finished reading, then laid aside the latest letter with a snort of frustration. "The Devil take it," he muttered under his breath. Had he really such a rackety reputation that everyone—from an ill-mannered chit to a venerable scholar like his friend here—thought him incapable of aught but frivolous thought? His hand came up to loosen the carefully knotted cravat at his throat. The damnable thing suddenly felt as constricting as his own former habits. He yanked it off with another oath, this one a trifle louder than before. The fact that a person holding a low opinion of him was not entirely unjustified was still rather hard to swallow, but what bothered him most was what one certain individual thought. His mouth pursed in irritation, for he wanted Firebrand to respect him in person as well as on paper.
To hell with what Edwin Hadley's sister thought.
Well, his own private concerns could wait for later. Right now, he was determined to be of whatever help he could to his friend. He reached for a sheaf of scribbled notes and leafed through them slowly. It had taken over a week, using every resource—reputable and otherwise— to gather such a wealth of interesting information on the six men mentioned in his friend's letter. Why, he never would have guessed that the staid Beckenham would have a stout mistress tucked away in a little cottage in Chiswick, along with a brood of three born on the wrong side of the blanket. Or that the hulking Kendall, who could flatten most any man who stepped into the ring at Gentleman Jackson's, raised delicate orchids.
Both of them had been eliminated in his mind as being capable of any sort of nefarious deed, along with Biddlesworth, who seemed only slightly less vacuous than the pack of slobbering hounds who had run of the once elegant family townhouse. The Earl had to shake his head at that name—it wouldn't be at all surprising to find the fellow gnawing bones if one called at supper time. Even now, he fairly barked when nervous or taken by surprise.
That left three possibilities. Sheffield ran his hand over his lean jaw as he contemplated them. It would help considerably if he knew exactly what wrongdoing they were suspected of. Firebrand had been deliberately vague, hinting only that one of the men was, in all likelihood, guilty of a most dastardly deed. He knew none of them well enough to make a judgement as to whether that was possible, but there were several odd things that had popped up in regard to the second name on the list. To his mind, that was the gentleman who appeared the most likely candidate. Removing a thin cheroot from his desk drawer, the Earl lit it and slowly blew out a series of swirling rings that floated up toward the carved acanthus leaf molding.
There were any number of ways to delve into the fellow's life—and that of the other two men—that he hadn't yet tried. However, for now he would simply send on to Firebrand what information he had gathered and wait for more specific word on what he was looking for.
The reply that arrived the next afternoon was not at all what he expected. Once again, Sheffield was moved to profane language on scanning the contents of the letter. "So I have done quite enough and am to back off and not get any more involved!" he muttered. The paper was balled up and tossed on the carpet, where his polished Hessian gave it a swift boot for good measure. "It might be dangerous, he says," continued the Earl through gritted teeth. "Well, what does the old fellow think he is going to do about it. Dangerous, indeed! I imagine I have a great deal more experience in this sort of thing than he has." Now that his sense of justice had been piqued, he'd be damned if he would abandon something that obviously meant so much to his friend.
Still fuming, he crossed to his desk and