A Wedding In Springtime(68)

I have included a small deposit. If you choose to help, please send me advice through Mrs. Roberts at 7 Chandos Street, London.

Sincerely,



Desperate



Pen read the letter again and again. Who was this “Desperate” character? And who was Mrs. Roberts and how had she heard about Madame X? No, Pen could guess the answer to the second question. She had overheard Lady Bremerton whisper to the Comtesse de Marseille that she had retained the help of an infamous matchmaker, Madame X. The news must have spread.

Penelope thought about the situation for a while, then composed a response. She rubbed the crisp hundred-pound note between her fingers. She had never felt one before. There must be a rationale that would allow her not to tell the dowager but still keep the money, but alas she could not think of one. Whoever “Desperate” was, she had gone to great lengths to prevent the dowager from reading her letter, and Penelope was determined to find out why.

With a longing glance, she folded the hundred-pound note back into the letter and sealed it, addressing it simply to “Desperate.” She then wrapped it in a second paper and sealed it also, addressing it to the mysterious Mrs. Roberts.

Penelope put the letter in a book to conceal it and walked downstairs to rejoin the dowager. Tomorrow, Pen planned an outing. This letter would not be franked; no, this letter she planned to deliver to Mrs. Roberts herself.





Twenty-two





“I am looking for Mrs. Roberts. Can you direct me?” Penelope Rose asked the young man at the apothecary. The day after she received the mysterious missive, she followed the direction in the letter to a storefront in a nicer part of Town. The sign on the door said “Dr. Roberts” and inside there was an apothecary with rows and rows of bottles on the wall behind a smart young man in an apron at the counter.

“No Mrs. Roberts here, ma’am. Just a Dr. Roberts.”

“Perhaps Dr. Roberts has a wife or a mother?” suggested Penelope.

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you sure? I received a letter from a Mrs. Roberts and I am looking for her.”

“No, ma’am. No missus and both of Dr. Roberts’s parents are deceased, ma’am. God rest their souls.”

“Yes, quite so,” answered Penelope absently. This was not the answer she expected. She wanted to find this Mrs. Roberts, but apparently she did not exist.

“Can you tell me something of Dr. Roberts? Has he been in practice long?”

“Dr. Roberts is a fine gentleman physician, ma’am. Best in London. He has been called to treat the queen and other notable persons. He is quite well known.”

“I have never heard of him.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it is not the healthy who need the doctors.”

The sound of laughing and murmuring of happy conversation floated down from above.

“The doctor is seeing a patient,” explained the lad at the counter.

More laughter could be heard. “I do not remember my visits with the doctor being so diverting,” said Penelope under her breath. “I would like an appointment. May I see him next?” asked Penelope.

“Oh no, he is far too busy. He only accepts certain cases.”

Penelope opened her mouth to argue, but the door upstairs opened at that moment and out walked Lady Louisa.

“Thank you very much, Dr. Roberts,” she said in more sober tones. “My mother will appreciate your advice.”

“Please let me know if I can be of any greater assistance,” said the doctor. He was a young man, handsome and tall. His features were pleasing and his eyes were dancing and bright. If he were to be the physician, Penelope would hardly mind being sick.

“Dr. Roberts,” called the man behind the counter. “This young lady was looking for a Mrs. Roberts. Do you know who she is talking about?”

Louisa froze, recognizing Penelope. Louisa appeared to grow visibly pale, but the impression lasted but a moment. With crisp determination, Louisa continued down the stairs.

“You are looking for Mrs. Roberts?” The doctor followed Louisa down the stairs, his brows knit together.

“I have a letter for her,” said Penelope.

“I can take that,” said the doctor briskly.

“Is she here? I would like to deliver it myself.”

“No, no, she is…” Dr. Roberts glanced at the lad behind the counter, then at Louisa. “A cousin. She is a cousin of mine. She will arrive soon. I will see that she receives it.”