Free Sovay by Celia Rees Page B

down over the square. A leather-topped writing table stood in front of one of the windows with a mahogany bureau next to it. One wall was covered by tall, glass-fronted bookcases.
    ‘This is the drawing room and library. I like having everything near.’
    ‘Mr Fitzwillam, sir. We wasn’t expecting you.’ A narrow-faced youth with a spattering of dark freckles and close-cropped rusty red hair appeared at the door.
    ‘Well,’ Fitzwilliam removed his gloves, ‘we are here now. I have a friend with me, Mr Gabriel Stanhope. Take our travelling clothes and bring us some wine, would you? And have our rooms made ready. Put Mr Stanhope in Henry’s room. I would like a bath and I’m sure Mr Stanhope would, too. Then something to eat. Send round to the chophouse for steaks and grilled bones. Don’t stand there gawping. Off you go!’ Rufus scurried off, repeating the orders to himself, just so he did not get them the wrong way round.
    ‘He’s young, but willing. He’ll come. I don’t have need of him in college and I fear he grows lazy here in town.’ Fitzwilliam yawned and put his hands to the small of his back to ease the ache there. ‘You were right to ride. Those coaches are devilish uncomfortable.’
    Rufus returned with two glasses and a decanter of wine on a butler’s tray. Fitzwilliam thanked him and, handing a glass to Gabriel, he raised his own in a toast.
    ‘Here’s to our enterprise. May we have success in the search. Do sit down. Make yourself at home.’
    He indicated a pair of walnut armchairs, upholstered in grey silk, which stood on either side of the hearth. Gabriel perched nervously, fearing to test the thinness of the legs with his weight. Fitzwilliam drank his wine.
    ‘We will make ourselves human again after that beastly journey, then we’ll go to Soho. Visit the house, see if there is any news and call on Miss Sovay. She must be there by now.’
    Gabriel inclined his head. He did not like to disagree with his host but somehow he doubted it.

    Gabriel was wrong. Miss Sovay was in residence. She had not arrived dressed as a man but the clothes she had been wearing, although female, had Mrs Crombie’s eyebrows shooting towards the ceiling. She had got past awkward questions about that by tales of having been waylaid and having to borrow clothes after an accident on the road. She ignored Mrs Crombie’s curiosity about what kind of person might have lent her such outlandish attire.
    Mrs Crombie had not seen the master for a week or more.
    ‘He didn’t stay over a day or two.’
    ‘Did he say anything about where he was going?’
    ‘Called away. “Urgent business” was all he said.’
    ‘No more than that?’
    ‘I’m not privy to his private plans, Miss Sovay,’ Mrs Crombie answered, masking her concern with a certain asperity. ‘He does not confide in me. I thought he had returned to Compton.’ She relented a little. ‘No sign of him, you say?’
    Sovay shook her head.
    ‘Then perhaps he’s gone visiting.’ Mrs Crombie brightened and folded her arms over her ample bosom. ‘Yes, that’ll be the way of it. The master is a great one for visiting. He has friends all over the place. He might have gone to see one of them.’
    ‘Yes,’ Sovay agreed. The sinking in her heart told her that it was unlikely, but there was no need to worry Mrs Crombie further. ‘He might.’
    ‘There we are, then! Now let’s get you out of those dreadful clothes!’
    Mrs Crombie was only ever seen in black, out of respect for her deceased husband, although he had passed on so long ago that Hugh doubted his very existence and declared that the housekeeper had come into the world a Mrs. That aside, she had a good eye for fashions and knew exactly what should be worn by whom and under what circumstances.
    ‘I’ve never seen the like, not outside a theatre, not that I’ve ever been into one of those establishments. I don’t know what kind of lady lent them, I’m sure,’ she remarked, still piqued by