Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library (The Rogue’s Alliance #1)

Chapter Fifteen

T hat morning, Ashford was surprised to see his mother at breakfast.

“I’ve had a letter from Diana,” the marchioness said after she selected a slice of honey cake and an apple from the sideboard and sat beside him at the round rosewood breakfast table.

“What does she have to say for herself?” Ashford spread a liberal amount of lemon and lime marmalade on his toast.

“She’s coming to London.”

He took a bite of toast, delaying his response. “That would be dashed inconvenient.”

His mother held up her hands. “She insists on returning.”

“I haven’t found out much about Lady Lamb’s book,” he replied with a frown. Diana wasn’t supposed to return to London until he sent for her.

“You have been awfully distracted of late.” His mother’s eyes widened. “Perhaps by a young lady?”

He shook his head and replied carefully, “No, Mother. Just parliamentary business.”

“Are you sure? I always knew when you were fibbing.”

Ashford looked at his mother, his features controlled, hoping his lie didn’t show on his face. The marchioness studied him a moment.

“Hmmm... You are conflicted about the young woman. Very well. I shall ask you no more about the lady.” She chewed and swallowed a bite of cake before saying, “I would like to have a quiet night at home this evening. Will you join me?”

He was relieved she’d changed the subject and remembered his promise to spend time with her. “Of course. I should be delighted.”

Ashford was in the entry hall when another note from Robbie arrived. Despite being on his way out, he opened the missive and glanced at the cheap paper.

Dead mice outside of Thorne’s.

He had to admire the tactic. Simple yet effective. If a lady saw the dead animal, she might never return to the shop.

The more he thought about it, Ashford realized he should speak with the watchmen assigned to Berkeley Square. He would find the closest watchman’s hut to the lending library and inquire who was tasked with keeping an eye on the area where Thorne’s was located.

Night watchmen were on patrol from anywhere between seven and nine o’clock in the evening, until dawn. Their job was to question anyone who appeared to be up to no good. Was it possible James Landry had infiltrated the watchmen, or bribed them to look the other way while he sabotaged the lending library?

* * * * *

C harlotte could think of no good reason to ask Mr. Thorne who his landlord was. In the end, she asked Louisa to find out who owned the property Thorne’s sat on. Although Louisa may not think her brothers were very useful, Charlotte was grateful for their knowledge of James Landry and his associates.

Once Louisa found out the information they needed, Edith agreed to accompany her friends to see Mr. Jacobsen in Bishopsgate. Charlotte directed her father’s driver Villiers to deposit the women at the perfume shop Floris on Jermyn Street and return home. Once the carriage was out of sight, the girls hailed a hackney for the rest of their journey.

“I’m only coming along to keep you two from harm,” Edith said irritably, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she sat across from her friends on the uncomfortable squabs of the hackney carriage. “Bishopsgate! What can you be thinking, Charlotte?”

“I want to appeal to the gentleman’s better nature. Perhaps Mr. Jacobsen doesn’t know what kind of man Mr. Landry is. Leaving dead rats outside Thorne’s is really beyond the pale.” She paused. “We won’t be recognized. We’re in a hackney, and nobody in this part of London will know who we are.”

“Ladies have been known to shop in the area, Edith. You may stay in the carriage if you wish.” Louisa looked as calm as Charlotte wished she felt.

“As I have no maid or chaperone,” Edith replied crossly, “I will accompany you into Mr. Jacobsen’s office.”

They made the rest of their journey to Bishopsgate in silence. Charlotte retrieved a handkerchief from her reticule and breathed in the scent of clean linen. The hackney interior smelled vaguely of sweat and something else she couldn’t identify.

The hackney driver halted the carriage in front of a block of tall, shabby buildings.

“We will be only a few moments,” she told their driver. “There will be a guinea for you if you wait for our return.”

The man agreed, and Charlotte led her friends into the tall gray building in front of her.

A young man in the lobby paused when he saw their party. “Ladies, may I help you? Are you lost or in some distress?”

She raised her chin. “We have business with Mr. Jacobsen.”

The young man blinked before pointing to a staircase along the wall. “He has offices on the first floor.”

“Thank you very much,” she replied, her voice unnaturally high. Her nerves were getting the best of her.

The three friends made their way up the stairs before them. On the landing above, there were three doors along a narrow corridor. Charlotte opened the door with Jacobsen’s name on it, her friends behind her, and spied a bespectacled clerk seated at an oak desk.

“We’re here to see Mr. Jacobsen.”

The clerk was silent a moment. Charlotte stood with Louisa and Edith, unmoving. Several moments passed in silence.

“Very well,” the young man replied with a sigh. “Please take a seat while I see if Mr. Jacobsen is available.”

The clerk knocked at a door on one side of the room and entered. She looked about her. Although the furniture in evidence was far nicer than she’d expected, Charlotte and her friends remained standing.

The door to the room the clerk had entered opened, and the clerk stepped out. The young man waved a hand at Charlotte. “Mr. Jacobsen will see you now.”

When she entered the room with her friends and the clerk, she saw a large man with black hair beginning to gray at the temples standing behind an equally large oak desk.

“Please have a seat, ladies,” Mr. Jacobsen said, nodding to his clerk who proceeded to back from the room and close the door behind him.

There were four hard-backed chairs in the room. The room smelled of cigar smoke, and eyes watering, Charlotte took a seat in front of the desk, Edith and Louisa behind her.

Once she and her friends were comfortable, Mr. Jacobsen was seated behind his desk.

“How may I be of service?” His voice was pleasant enough, his drawn brows betraying his confusion at the visit.

“I will not introduce myself, Mr. Landry. Suffice it to say, my companions and I are friends of Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, the proprietors of Thorne’s Lending Library.” Her voice wavered only the slightest. “We have come here to ask you to have Mr. Landry cease his efforts to put the library out of business.”

“And why would I do that, my lady?” the man asked gently, a faintly patronizing smile playing about his lips.

She supposed Mr. Jacobsen assumed she was a lady by her dress and manner of speaking. At least she’d had the good sense not to tell him who she was. Charlotte stared at the man a moment while he stared back, unblinking.

Louisa said into the silence, “If your friend Mr. Landry wishes to ingratiate himself to the upper classes, putting our beloved library out of business is not a good place to start.”

Charlotte winced. She had hoped to keep the conversation positive.

Jacobsen gave a mirthless laugh. “And how should he ingratiate himself, my lady? By bowing and scraping to you? By allowing you to dictate how he and I do business?”

There again was silence in the room. She was surprised that Louisa held her tongue.

“There have been dead animals left outside the library,” Charlotte replied evenly. “Men loiter inside and outside the shop to intimidate the Thornes and their patrons. A man of honor would not employ such despicable business tactics.”

The landlord replied sternly, “You have no experience in these matters, my lady. Return home and see to your needlework.”

“We won’t let you or Mr. Landry put Thorne’s out of business.” Once the words were out, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. She heard Edith groan softly. “We will find a way to stop you.”

Mr. Jacobsen got to his feet, walked around the edge of his desk, and opened the door to his office. He turned to face her and said in a steely voice, “You shouldn’t have come here. My business dealings are none of your concern.”

She and her friends trouped past him on the way out of the room, their heads held high. It wasn’t until they were on the pavement outside that she realized Mr. Jacobsen’s clerk had followed them if only to make sure they left his premises.

As they were entering the hackney coach, Edith asked wearily, “What were you thinking, Charlotte?”

* * * * *

A shford took it upon himself to speak to the night watchmen that evening.

A beadle oversaw the watchmen and was responsible for ensuring they were on duty at the appointed time and reporting any trouble in the district to the churchwardens. There was usually only one beadle on duty at a time.

The watchhouse was the headquarters from which the watchmen operated. It was where their equipment was stored, and the larger watchhouses would double as a gaol if someone were held for questioning. A watch book was also kept at each watchhouse, in which the watchmen kept a record of their shifts.

He eventually found the watchhouse by asking a tavern owner for directions. The beadle in charge that day was rather cautious about assisting Ashford. The man stood straight as a board, cane in one hand. He was obviously a military man.

Ashford made a stab in the dark. “You were in a regiment of foot.”

“Aye, my lord,” the beadle replied proudly. “The 3 rd Regiment.”

He whistled and replied, “The Old Buffs. Your regiment saw some of the bloodiest battles on the Continent.”

“That we did.” The beadle nodded his head, his expression relaxing into a friendlier countenance. “Thorne’s Lending Library, you said? That would be the territory of Potts and Hobbs.”

“Yes, Thorne’s. The library is in Berkeley Square.”

The man jerked his head. “The pair are over there, just leaving the watchhouse for their shift. Potts was also in the 3 rd . If possible, I try to give jobs to former servicemen.”

“That is very admirable,” Ashford replied with sincerity and took his leave of the man.

The watchmen wore long coats. The men he approached carried lanterns, although he’d heard some watchmen still used candles. He’d also heard the men carried a rattle to warn others of any threat to themselves or the populace.

“Mr. Hobbs, Mr. Potts!” He approached the men. “Might I have a word?”

The men halted their shuffle along the pavement. They turned as a duo, in sync. Two pairs of eyes assessed him.

“My name is Lord Ashford. I could use your assistance.”

“How may we be of service, my lord?” one man, the taller of the two, asked.

“I need some information about your territory, as it were.” He paused. “A friend of mine is concerned about the security of their shop.”

“I’m Mr. Hobbs,” the shorter man said as he doffed his hat. “What shop is it?”

“Thorne’s Lending Library,” he replied and observed both watchmen closely as he said the words.

Ashford could detect no undercurrents between the two men, no signs of worry that he’d asked about that particular business. Instinct told him the men had not taken a bribe from Landry.

Mr. Hobbs rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. “We know the shop well. It is run by Mr. Thorne and his missus. Although he is a nice enough chap, his wife is a moody woman. They have help, a young man by the name of Robbie. Hard worker, the lad is.”

“Have you seen anyone loitering around the premises at night?” Ashford asked, again watchful for any signs of caution by the two men.

“Naught that I can recall.” Hobbs looked at his partner again. “Potts?”

The other man shook his head. “Nothing strange or out of the ordinary. Of course, that is a pleasant part of the city, you understand. More quality goes about in that area than anything else.”

“Was there a problem, my lord?” Hobbs asked. “Any complaints? The beadle hasn’t told us of any.”

Ashford replied with a nod, “Thorne’s trade has declined, and I'm concerned there might be some sabotage at play. Dead animals have been found in front of the shop before it opens in the morning.”

For an instant, both men looked at a loss for words.

“Sabotage! Not on our watch, my lord.” Potts puffed himself up and stood a little taller. “We will make sure to keep an eye out for trouble at Thorne’s.”

Hobbs looked affronted at Ashford’s words. “Dead animals? That is a cursed trick to play. We don’t brook with none of that nonsense on our watch.”

He believed the watchmen. They behaved as if they were proud of their work. He handed Mr. Potts his card and each of the men a guinea for their trouble.

“If you see or hear of anything that may be cause for concern near Thorne’s, contact me as soon as possible.” He smiled briefly. “I am relieved that two such conscientious gentlemen are on the watch.”

The two watchmen looked embarrassed at the praise, and both made ungainly bows as Ashford took his leave of them.

* * * * *

T he next day Charlotte was relieved to see both Edith and Louisa at Thorne’s. Edith had spoken very little during the carriage ride home from Bishopsgate other than to say their outing had been a waste of time.

Charlotte wasn’t so sure. Perhaps Mr. Jacobsen would give pause and think about the type of man who wanted to buy property in Berkeley Square.

“At least Mr. Jacobsen doesn’t know who we are,” Louisa pointed out. “He may tell Mr. Landry of our interference. From all accounts, Mr. Landry is a dangerous man to cross.”

If Louisa had wanted to reassure Edith, she should not have mentioned how dangerous she believed Landry to be. Charlotte refrained from chastising Louisa about her unfortunate comments to both Edith and Mr. Jacobsen. It rarely did any good to point out Louisa’s lack of subtlety.

Although Edith was subdued in her greeting when Charlotte arrived at Thorne’s, Louisa happily reminded her of their task for the day.

Mrs. Thorne had approved setting up a table to exhibit female authors and allowed Charlotte and her friends to organize the display. Edith supplied a tablecloth with an embroidered edge for a small table situated near the center of the lending library. Charlotte arranged the books lovingly as Louisa observed with a critical eye.

“ Emma up front?” Edith asked, her face softening. “Lovely! It is a favorite of mine.”

“And mine,” Charlotte replied. She added in a whisper, “Emma Woodhouse’s surfeit of pride puts me in mind of our good friend.”

Louisa clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes in response to the teasing.

“Mrs. Thorne is making great strides with her campaign to be nicer,” Edith remarked brightly, her gloomy mood seemingly lifted.

Charlotte replied truthfully, “I agree.”

“I showed her a book with suggestions on how to increase trade.” The other girl laughed. “A book I found in her very own shop.”

“That was a good idea, Edith.” She stepped back from the table and asked Louisa, “What do you think of our arrangement?”

Louisa eyed the display a moment before nodding her approval. “It looks delightful.”

“I visited Hookham’s briefly this morning. I think our presentation is much nicer,” she replied with satisfaction.

On Hookham’s table, there had been a small hand-lettered sign announcing books by female authors. Charlotte adopted that idea but used calligraphy on expensive vellum paper displayed on a tiny easel. In addition to the linen tablecloth, she’d placed several lace doilies and a vase of moss roses on the table.

“Perhaps we can get a famous female author to visit Thorne’s,” Edith said excitedly. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“With all we’ve accomplished,” she replied with a grin, “I don’t think that is out of the realm of possibility.”

“Robbie has yet to hear from Lord Ashford,” Louisa said blandly, her gaze on Charlotte’s face. “On a positive note, there were no dead rats outside the shop this morning.”

Edith responded, “I’m sure he will help. The marquess is a very nice man.”

Charlotte moved a book on the table, ignoring the questioning looks from her friends.

“You’re very quiet on the subject of Lord Ashford,” Louisa said softly, displaying more tact than Charlotte would have expected. “Whatever is the matter, Charlotte?”

“I’ll tell you on the carriage ride home,” she replied, breathing in the distinctive coniferous scent of the moss roses. Since her dance with Lord Ashford at Almack’s, she’d felt out of sorts. She needed to confide in her friends.

Once in her father’s town carriage, she recounted what she’d said to Lord Ashford about his sister and the conversation she’d overheard that day at Morgan’s Library.

“The man is a hypocrite,” Louisa said with a scowl after Charlotte finished speaking. “To take you to task for one small indiscretion when his sister Diana is a well-known hellion. The nerve of the man!”

“You’re upset that you mentioned Diana to him, aren’t you?” Edith asked quietly from her place on the squabs next to Louisa.

She nodded. “I am. I try never to be unkind.”

“The man deserved to be taken down a peg,” Louisa replied with a sniff.

Edith shook her head. “That may well be, but if Charlotte feels bad about what she said, she should apologize.”

Louisa looked at Edith as if she’d grown horns on her head. Crossing her arms over her chest, she remained silent.

“Lord Ashford has helped Thorne’s Library, and I’m grateful. I will apologize when next I see the gentleman.” Charlotte put up a staying hand when Louisa looked to protest. “It is who I am, Louisa. I will not change that for anyone.”