Suzanne Robinson Read Online Free Page A

sharpened, and he leaned toward Balfour. “Old Kent was supposed to have died in a hunting accident. His shotgun misfired.”
    Balfour shrugged, and Cheyne cursed under his breath. “What did you find out?”
    “The general spent most of his life in the military. It seems his affection for his men went deeper thanwhat one would expect.” Balfour studied Cheyne’s pallor for a moment. “So you see that we need someone familiar with the aristocracy, someone who’ll be accepted. Whoever is blackmailing these people knows secrets that only someone moving in the highest circles could know.”
    Cheyne rested his arms on his thighs and lowered his head. “You think it’s someone in Society. It could be a servant, you know.”
    “That’s why we picked you. You know how to investigate, and you’ve got that appalling fellow Mutton who can handle the servants.”
    Looking up at his guest, Cheyne nodded. “Mutton will be glad to hear that he has such a sterling reputation at Scotland Yard. Leave what you have. I’ll look at the files and contact you.”
    “The commissioner wants you to begin at once.”
    Shaking his head, Cheyne smiled. “It will take me a few days to convince my family that I wish to be included in their guest lists again.”
    Balfour didn’t ask why. Cheyne hadn’t expected him to. His estrangement from his family was common gossip. Luckily his mother still sent pleading letters several times a year begging him to “do his duty,” give up practicing a trade and do nothing, as became the son of a duke. He would have welcomed her letters had they contained any hint that she missed him. He wasn’t foolish enough to expect such expressions of fondness, however. The cold stone tomb of his mother’s heart had barely enoughspace to contain a mild affection for her eldest son, much less anyone else.
    Beatrice Maud Allington, née Seymour, was one of England’s great Society hostesses along with the Duchess of Devonshire and the Duchess of Manchester. Her life was devoted to the pursuit of the traditional pastimes of such great ladies—grand balls in the Season, massive country house parties out of Season, and a little dabbling in charity and political affairs as long as these didn’t interfere with her social engagements.
    Balfour rose to leave. “I’m glad I was able to convince you. I couldn’t face another call in the middle of the night to look at the body of a dead girl.”
    “I can’t work miracles, old man. It will take time to reintroduce myself to Society and discover who’s doing this.”
    “I know. We’ll just have to hope the fellow is sated with money for a while.” Balfour shook Cheyne’s hand. “Thanks, old chap. You know I wouldn’t have presumed on our acquaintance for any but the gravest reasons.”
    “You allowed me to prove my ability when I first set myself up in this little occupation of mine, Balfour. I’d listen to anything you cared to say.”
    Once his guest was gone, Cheyne picked up the leather document case Balfour had brought, crossed the drawing room and opened a pair of doors to enter the White Library. This was one of his favorite rooms because, like the drawing room, it had a wallof soaring windows that faced the busy street. The sun had burned the morning mists away, and shafts of golden light marched across the carpeted floor. The room took its name from the white plaster walls and coffered ceiling as well as the long series of inset bookshelves with their pediment tops. Beige and white chairs and couches surrounded the fireplace. Cheyne found the button set unobtrusively in the wall beside the marble fireplace mantel. He subsided in a wing chair, lay the document case on the floor, and drummed his fingers on the chair arm.
    Mutton appeard immediately. “So, we’re going to have ourselves a Season, are we?”
    “Someday you’re going to get caught listening at keyholes by someone who won’t take kindly to your prying,” Cheyne said with a