The Baron’s Dangerous Contract

by Archer, Kate

  No matter. It did not seem as if the laudanum had been used on the horses. The trip to Newmarket was to be a disappointment, but as she’d told Doom, there would be other races. Bella had not grown worse and seemed a bit more alert than she had been. That was a very good sign. Illnesses rarely remained the same, they grew worse or better, and Bella was going in the better direction. As for Doom, Doctor Prentiss had proven himself skilled in treating Lord Cabot and so Penny had every confidence in her tiger coming through no worse for the wear, too. He would be out of sorts for some weeks, but he was young. He was strong enough to fight off an infection and his bones would knit quickly. The servants would spoil him silly while he recovered.

  She had told Doom she was ashamed of her thoughts in finding the horses out and him nowhere in sight. She was, and she also felt exceedingly stupid. The boy had never given her a reason to doubt him.

  She would not leave with a victory in her reticule as she had planned, but she hoped to leave with both her tiger and her horses alive. For that, she must be grateful.

  As she stroked Bella’s cheek she thought the filly was becoming more sanguine then she had been. She nuzzled Penny’s hand. “There you are, pretty girl,” Penny said. It was one of the things she loved about horses—if they were loyal, they would not hold a grudge long. Trust was the key. Let one who was not trusted do something inexplicable and a horse would never forget it. But if one was trusted, as she was by Bella, the rancor over a charcoal slurry was not likely to last.

  One of the younger grooms who had gone out to assist Johnny in getting Doom into the phaeton came hurrying toward her.

  “There is not a problem?” Penny asked. “Do not tell me my horses have wandered off with the phaeton.”

  “No, miss,” the boy said, “Johnny and Doom done got off quick enough. It’s only that Johnny, he’s our leader, you see. And now he’s gone.”

  “Yes, I know it. I did send him. Surely you understand your duties and do not need him peering over your shoulder?”

  “It ain’t duties what’s the difficulty,” the boy said, kicking at some hay. “It’s that when a thing is unexpected, you see, then we tell Johnny and he says what to do.”

  Penny took pity on the young boy. It must have been quite the morning for him. “You’re not to worry over it,” she said, “I have things well in hand.”

  Though she thought the boy would be comforted by her words, he did not seem so in the least.

  “But you see, miss, we lads has got a room.” He helpfully pointed at the rafters to indicate where the room was.

  Penny waited for him to go on.

  “It’s a room for our convenience,” the boy said. “There ain’t no cookin’ mind, as we don’t want the stables afire, but we do bring jugs of tea. And, we keep up there all the things a body needs for tea—sugar, fresh milk from the farm, rolls from the kitchens…”

  Penny could not imagine why the boy thought she ought to know any of it.

  “We lounge there when we aren’t workin’ and it’s ever so nice.”

  “I’m delighted for you,” Penny said, wishing the boy to come to the end of his descriptions.

  “We got some comfortable chairs and whatnot,” the boy went doggedly on, “and we don’t mind other fellas stoppin’ in. Doom knows all about it.”

  Penny was becoming exasperated as she began to understand the boy’s ramblings. “If you wish to point out that you have sometimes supplied Doom with tea,” she said, “and you hope some renumeration might be had, I will see to it before I leave town. Is that sufficient for you?”

  The boy looked completely confused. “No, miss, we don’t need to be paid for the courtesy, we is always happy to share what we got. It’s just now, though, Lord Cabot’s rider, his name is Rupert. Well, he’s in a bit of a pickle. Johnny would know what to do but the rest of us don’t.”

  “What do you mean, in a pickle?” Penny asked, nearly amazed that there might have actually been a point to this meandering conversation.

  “P’raps the better thing is to say that he is pickled,” the boy said, appearing just as relieved as Penny that he’d finally got to a point.

  “Good Lord,” Penny said, laughing. “Do you mean to say that Lord Cabot’s rider is drunk?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” the boy whispered. “Though, it’s an odd thing. He came in as he always is, kinda gruff if you don’t mind me sayin.’ Then he has his tea and he becomes all friendly-like. He’s jokin’ and laughin’ and I thought well that’s a nice change. Then he starts sayin’ things that don’t make sense, like there’s horses in Africa what are black and white stripes and nobody can ride the beasts. He’s gonna go there and show ’em all how it’s done. Then he falls asleep. We tried to wake him but he won’t get up.”

  The boy’s story was extraordinary, but then she supposed the whole morning had been so. Penny turned and looked at Bella. Pleased that the filly was seeming more and more herself, she thought she might step away for a moment to investigate the groom’s rather wild claims.

  “Stay here and keep an eye on Bella,” she said. “I will go and see for myself what is the matter with Lord Cabot’s groom.”

  The boy nodded, appearing relieved that this problem, whatever it was, had been taken off his shoulders.

  Penny knew the way perfectly well. It had not been a secret to her that the grooms had a room overhead. Grooms frequently did and she had heard their footsteps and laughing above her often enough over the past week. She strode to the front end of the stables and the winding staircase tucked behind a corner that led up to the floor above.

  Upon reaching the top, she found the rest of the boys standing in a semicircle in front of a faded and patched sofa. They parted as she approached.

  Lord Cabot’s grizzled groom sat with his head lolling back and a small dribble running down his chin.

  “For heaven’s sake,” she said, looking at him. “What is his name again?” she asked the grooms.

  One of them stepped boldly forward and said, “His name be Rupert. We suppose he’s a minute away from bein’ sacked.”

  Penny looked askance at the boy. “It will not be within your purview to do it though, will it?”

  The boy looked abashed, and though Penny had provided him a set down, she thought he was entirely right. This particular groom would not be employed long. Lord Cabot would likely be enraged, as he was unlikely to find another rider so soon to race time. Especially not for the filly race. It was to go off first and the rider need not only be skilled, but exceedingly lightweight. Any man fitting that description was already engaged.

  Another idea followed just as quickly. Lord Cabot had pinned all his hopes on the race. He’d gone to a moneylender over it. And now his feckless groom had caused him a world of trouble.

  She leaned over and shook his arm.

  Rupert lazily opened his eyes and smiled at her. “You’re pretty thing. Ain’t she a pretty thing, boys?”

  The boys tittered behind her, as boys were wont to do over any kind of vulgarity. Penny slapped Rupert’s cheek and said, “None of your insolence, if you know what’s good for you.”

  This seemed to strike Rupert as being worthy of consideration as he wrinkled his fuzzy brows in concentration. Then just as suddenly, he smiled again. “It ain’t no matter, anyhows,” he said. “I’m off to Africa to ride the zebras. Just see if I don’t.”

  Penny had been leaning close to the man, but had not smelled that familiar reek of alcohol that would be expected to emanate from an inebriated individual.

  He looked into her eyes and muttered, “Zebras. Just see if I don’t.”

  As he’d looked her in the eye, Penny had looked him in the eye. Though the room was dim as the windows were few and small, his pupils were pinpricks. She began to suspect that it had not been her horses that were to be dosed with laudanum. It had been Lord Cabot’s groom.

  But how? Why? What purpose would it serve to disable her horses and the lord’s groom?

>   Penny stood stock still. Bella had not been the real target. The grocer’s boy, who Penny was now certain did not work for a grocer at all, had come to poison Lord Cabot’s horse. The filly was a near copy of Bella, but for the few white hairs on her withers. What he’d found when he arrived was two identical horses out grazing. He’d probably counted on finding the horse in its stall and had found himself in a quandary. How had he decided to go for Bella? Perhaps he’d tried it with both horses and Bucephalus wouldn’t take it?

  She could not be sure what had happened, but she had passed Bucephalus back in her stall and she looked no worse for wear. That horse had not fallen for the ruse. It had only been dear Bella, and her impossible sweet tooth, that had not been able to resist the sugar that laced the poison.

  Now here was Lord Cabot’s rider, incapacitated. It must have been purposefully done.

  “Rupert,” she said, shaking him. “Did you take anything today? Did anybody hand you something?”

  The groom stared at her quizzically and said, “Have you seen the zebras? I saw a drawing of one once. I pray they be real. Lord, I do pray it.”

  She would not get a lick of sense from the man. Penny glanced at the teacup that sat on a roughhewn table by Rupert’s side. She picked it up and examined the inside of it, running her index finger along the sides and bottom. Along with a ridiculous amount of wet clumped sugar, she noted something sticky. Something brown. She tasted it and knew at once what had happened. Somehow, the scoundrel had got the laudanum into Rupert’s tea.

  The poor man. As one of the grooms had mentioned, he likely would be dismissed, though it seemed no fault of his own. And Lord Cabot, what of him?

  She should not care a whit what was to happen to Lord Cabot. In fact, if the lord had chosen to enter the dark realms and seedy alleyways of moneylending, he might face whatever consequences for it. If his family could not rescue him, then he could just go off to some distant shore until some solution were found. Or perhaps he’d be like Mr. Brummel, who she’d heard was slowly falling to ruin in Calais.

  It would serve him right.

  And yet, as much as she was loath to admit it, she might miss the crinkle of his eyes and the timbre of his voice.

  No, she would not, she was being a ninny. She would only miss what she thought he had been, not who he was.

  Though her logical mind was firm on that idea, her heart was a more wayward creature. Her heart would paint a world without the gentleman as rather grey and lifeless.

  “Oh, bother!” she cried.

  The grooms fell back at this outburst. Rupert smiled and said, “You’ve seen the zebras, I expect.”

  Penny ignored Rupert, entirely taken up by her own thoughts. If she were going to do something about this situation, if she were to make any attempt to assist Lord Cabot, she must act quickly and decisively.

  She took a deep breath and turned to the grooms. “He is not drunk,” she said, with every effort to infuse her words with authority. “I happen to know that our housekeeper was treating him with saffron for a stomach complaint. It is that substance that is in his tea and has produced this unfortunate result. It is not uncommon, I am afraid.”

  Penny hoped the lie would be believable. Saffron was exceedingly expensive and so it was unlikely that any of them would have any experience with it.

  “Fortunately,” she continued, “the effect will not last long. He will be recovered in good time for the filly race.”

  “But miss,” one of the bolder grooms said, “the fillies must be got on their way in the next half hour! I can hear a few of them getting ready below us as we speak!”

  “I see you doubt my understanding of saffron,” Penny said sternly. “Did you not all view how quickly the effects came on? Have you ever seen ale or gin or any other drink come on with such speed?”

  The boys all shook their heads.

  “And does it not follow that a thing that can come on that fast must also depart as quickly?”

  As it appeared, the grooms did see a certain logic in that idea. And, as they none of them had much knowledge of medicines of any sort and none whatsoever of saffron, the idea began to take hold.

  “That’s a rum thing, that saffron,” one said.

  “I wouldn’t like it for myself,” another said, “no matter how bad my stomach ached.”

  “That is quite enough debating about it,” Penny said. “Carry him down to Lord Cabot’s tack room, I will see to the rest. I presume you have other things to do?”

  The boys nodded, and in truth they might not have had other things to do that could not wait, but they were all eager to get out onto the turf and secure a spot to watch the race.

  “Get on with you, then,” Penny chided. “We have not got all morning.”

  *

  The boys had got Rupert down the stairs, though not without a few bumps on the groom’s head as they turned corners. They’d taken him into Lord Cabot’s tack room and placed him on a bench, leaning his head and shoulders against the wall. The groom snored peacefully.

  The boys had stood back and looked at the slumped groom dubiously, but Penny said, “You ought to go if you’re planning on getting close enough to watch the race. I will watch over Rupert until the effects of the saffron wear off. As they will, very suddenly.”

  Penny did not know if they had been wholly taken in by the tale, but no boy their age would risk missing the race. As if fish swimming in a lake, they turned as one and darted out the door.

  Penny closed it behind her and stared at Rupert. Was she mad to even contemplate what she was just now thinking of?

  Yes, she supposed she was. It did not make a lick of sense to put herself in so much peril. What if she were caught? She did not much care for any talk about herself, but how would it reflect on her father? Or her aunt? Not very well, she was sure. Especially not her aunt, who had raised her and would have been credited with the task of imbuing her with a feminine sense of decency.

  And what did she risk it for anyway? To save a man who had treated her so cruelly?

  Yes, she supposed that was exactly what she contemplated. She did not love him now. Not since she had seen what he could be. But she could no longer deny to herself that she had loved him once. She still loved that man she’d known. She loved what she’d thought him, and of what their future might be. She supposed she’d never stop loving that man, though it had only been an illusion.

  Penny glanced around the tack room. Neatly hung on the wall were the groom’s riding clothes, the lord’s colors a black and green stripe. When she had stared down at Rupert in the groom’s quarters and considered what ought to be done, she had not failed to notice that she and he were very close to the same size.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Freddy searched the crowd for Mr. Farthingale. He’d been supposed to meet him at the tavern, but he’d been delayed by the events of the morning and found his master already gone. Farthingale wouldn’t like to hear the tale of what had not gone perfectly right at the stables, but he best get it over with.

  He spotted the gentleman, easily found by his tall stature and the faded hat with frayed ribbon that he wore to appear not over-prosperous. Freddy ducked and weaved through the throngs of people making their way to the Rowley Mile.

  He tugged on Mr. Farthingale’s coat sleeve.

  Mr. Farthingale instinctively covered his hand over his inside coat pocket, a habit of living in London surrounded by pickpockets that would not go amiss in Newmarket.

  Seeing it was Freddy, he instantly took note of the state of his protégé’s clothes and the look on his face. He pulled Freddy from the crowd that coursed down the lane and hustled him into a wooded glen.

  “Too long to tell ya the whole of it,” Freddy said, before Farthingale could start asking questions that might lead to unfortunate answers. “The gist is I got some of the berries into the horse and all the laudanum into the rider’s teacup. Miss Darlington’s groom done interfered with me, though I reckon I broke the fella’s
arm for his trouble.”

  As he said all this, Freddy failed to mention that Cabot’s stall had been empty, that there had been two identical horses out in the fields, and that he’d had to roll the dice on which one to approach. He was not an idiot, and it had occurred to him that if Miss Darlington’s groom had gone after him, it had been Miss Darlington’s horse that he’d dosed, and not Lord Cabot’s. He would have to trust in the idea that he’d dosed the rider enough to make that unfortunate circumstance moot.

  Farthingale grasped Freddy by the shirt collar. “Some berries better be enough. Should it not be, you will find yourself on the streets again. Or worse.”

  Freddy wriggled from his grasp. “I done poured three quarters of the laudanum into that teacup, it ain’t possible the man gets on that horse if he even drank half of it.”

  Farthingale stared down at him, not looking appeased by this prediction.

  “And who they gonna get to ride the filly, even if she ain’t the worse for it?” Freddy said. “There ain’t time, and there ain’t riders hanging about with nothing to do.”

  “What if Lord Cabot decides to ride himself?” Farthingale asked.

  “Him!” Freddy said, forcing himself to laugh. “That great beast of a man can’t get on that filly’s back. She’d collapse at the half mile. That groom of his don’t weigh much more than me—that’s what the horse is used to.”

  Farthingale slowly nodded. “You had best be right. If I lose, we are ruined.”

  Freddy used all his self-control to avoid swallowing hard, though that was precisely what he would have liked to have done. Ruined? He’d no idea his master had got them in so deep. He did, however, have an idea that the outcome of the race was in no way certain.

  *

  Henry was feeling more cheerful than he had been in some time. He’d thrown off the uneasiness of the morning as being nonsense. Of course he would succeed. Before the day was through, he would win the thousand guinea stakes, have the cloud of debt lifted off his head, and if the fates would be kind, he’d win the hand of Miss Darlington too.