by Lucy Adams
The rest of the street remained eerily silent, and even though there were a few others standing on the pavement, none of them moved. In fact, Robert could see a small cluster of ladies, their hands pressed to their mouths and an expression of shock ripping across each of their faces.
“What happened?”
The driver groaned again, his hand still pressed against his side.
“Horse and rider,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Came hurtling towards us. Couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Thought he was gone but he came back. There was a gun,”
A cold chill ran down Robert’s spine. Surely this could not be a coincidence.
“Call a hackney!” he shouted, seeing a tall, thin man walking slowly towards them, an expression of concern on his face. “I must take Millerton’s driver to the house and have the doctor called.”
The gentleman who approached them was a little older than Robert had thought on first appearance. He wore fine clothes, gloves and hat and carried a thin cane that caught the sun. Robert glanced at him once, then twice, feeling a strange sense of recognition, although he did not have time to dwell on it.
“Of course, of course,” the man answered, his grey eyes fixed on the driver. “Is he badly injured?”
A little irritated by the delay, Robert frowned and stood up. “I am no doctor, so I cannot tell.” Casting a glance over his shoulder, he looked at Lord Millerton, who was still clutching the box and looking at the driver in horror. “Are you quite all right?”
“I am,” Lord Millerton replied, a little hoarsely. “The driver, is he...?”
“He is alive,” Robert murmured, looking back at the thin man bending down over the driver and wondering why he had not yet gone for help as Robert had asked. “I will not be long. I must go and find a hackney.”
Hurrying away and more than a little frustrated that the onlookers were doing nothing other than watching the scene, he made his way to another, busier street and managed to very quickly hail a hackney. Within a few minutes, he was rushing back towards Lord Millerton, only for a scream to rend the air.
His heart seemed to stop in his chest as he waited for the noise to end. His feet felt like blocks of ice, his legs as though they were made of wood, pulling him down. So much had happened in the last few minutes that if felt as though a fog was swirling all around him. Something in him did not want to return to the carriage, did not want to see what had occurred, but he forced himself forward, seeing the hackney he had had just called already rolling forward.
Everything was almost precisely as he had left it. The group of horror-struck ladies were still standing on the pavement, their eyes still wide and their expressions still frozen in shock.
But, as he neared the carriage, he saw precisely why one of the ladies had screamed. Lord Millerton lay, as though sleeping, against the seat of the carriage. The driver was still on the ground, his eyes closed, his hand still pressed tightly against his side, but no groaning came from his mouth now. There was no sign of the thin older man who had been there before.
Robert hurried forward, his heart thumping against his chest as a cold fear wrapped around him. What had he done? He should never have been so foolish as to leave the driver and Lord Millerton with a stranger, not when he knew what had happened before at Lord Watt’s home. Closing his eyes, he put one hand out towards Lord Millerton, already fearing the worst.
“Lord Millerton?” he asked, hoarsely, as the driver of the hackney climbed down from his seat, clearly willing to assist. “What happened?” He half expected there to be no response, fearing that Lord Millerton had already succumbed, only for a low, long moan to come from Lord Millerton’s lips.
Relief coursed through him.
“We will return to my townhouse,” he said, quickly, looking behind him to see the hackney driver trying to lift the carriage driver from the ground. “Do you have enough strength to step forward?” His heart was in his throat as he threw one of Lord Millerton’s arms over his own shoulders, his hand around his waist as he helped him down the steps. Lord Millerton’s head lolled forward but he managed still to stumble towards the hackney. There was no presence in how he was now, no play acting the part of someone unwell. He had clearly been injured but even as Robert helped Lord Millerton into the hackney, he could see that he was unable to speak even a word about what had occurred.
Shaking his head and turning back to help the hackney driver bring the carriage driver into the hackney so that he might sit opposite Lord Millerton, Robert fought down a sense of fear and anxiety, forcing himself to instruct the driver in as calm and in as quiet a manner as possible. The driver nodded, hurried up into his seat and soon Robert, Lord Millerton and the carriage driver were on their way back to Lord Millerton’s townhouse.
Robert only prayed that, once there, he might find some answers as to what had just occurred.
Chapter Six
It did not take long for Lord Millerton to recover but Robert asked him to wait with his explanations until the rest of the League—or as many as he could muster with such short notice—arrived. Lord Millerton was wheezing rather badly still and Robert had insisted that he take a large brandy followed by a hot concoction of some kind from Robert’s cook. The doctor had arrived a short time ago and, having looked over Lord Millerton thoroughly, had stated that there was nothing that Lord Millerton needed to do other than rest. The driver had been taken down to the servant’s quarters and Robert had been assured that the doctor was already taking care of the wound that the driver had sustained.
Lord Millerton was now resting on the chaise longue whilst Robert paced back and forth, before finally dropping into a chair by the fireplace. Lord Millerton was still breathing quite heavily but appeared to be breathing a little easier now, for which Robert was very glad indeed.
And yet, he felt his guilt pile up in his heart. It had been foolish to leave Lord Millerton with that box sitting in the carriage. It had been even more foolish to leave a complete stranger sitting over the driver, especially given that Robert had not any clear understanding of what had just occurred. He replaced the scene over and over in his mind, knowing just how badly he had failed and how much of this now rested solely on his shoulders.
“There is a caller, my lord.”
Robert looked up, the butler glancing towards Lord Millerton uncertainly.
“Yes, yes,” Robert said quickly, thinking that it would be one of the gentlemen from the League. “Send them in at once.”
The butler hesitated, then began to speak, only for Robert to continue to speak. “In fact,” he continued, “there is no need for you to announce anyone. Just send them into the room at once and have the cook prepare us something to eat. Whatever she has on hand will be quite suitable.” He waved a hand, turning his gaze back towards Lord Millerton, who was now attempting to sit up. “And be quick about it.”
He did not see his butler hesitate, did not see the way he bit his lip and turned away slowly. Nor did he see the door open again a few moments later, and Miss Hemmingway step inside, accompanied by her friend, Lady Callander, whom she had been with earlier that afternoon. He was much too busy attempting to help Lord Millerton to sit up, placing a cushion behind his head and frowning hard at the wheezing sound that was still present in Lord Millerton’s breathing.
“Lord Franks?”
The sound of a young lady’s voice had him starting in surprise. Standing up slowly, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, he turned around to see none other than Miss Hemmingway standing there, her friend beside her, and with similar expressions of shock on each of their faces.
“Lady Callander and I were to make our way to the dressmakers,” Miss Hemmingway began, lifting her gaze from Lord Millerton’s pale face and up towards Robert’s wide-eyed expression. “But we came across a great commotion only a short distance away from the house and Lord Millerton’s carriage standing at the side of the road with no driver nearby. It was only by chance that someone mentioned to u
s that you had taken a hackney here, else we would not have known. You are not hurt, I hope?”
Robert closed his eyes momentarily, realizing that he should have sent someone to fetch Lord Millerton’s carriage almost at once. Opening his eyes, he cleared his throat and tried to behave appropriately. “Lord Millerton and I had something of an accident as we returned,” he said, with a tight smile. “Of course, I wanted to ensure that Lord Millerton had recovered and so brought him here.”
“Of course,” Lady Callander murmured, her eyes resting on Lord Millerton for a long moment. “Might I ask what occurred?”
Robert swallowed hard, resisting the urge to clear his throat again and knowing that it was best to speak in very indistinct terms. He did not want Lady Callander nor Miss Hemmingway to know the truth, particularly when the box he had given to Lord Millerton appeared to be the reason behind Lord Millerton’s attack.
“The driver said a horse and rider came galloping down the street at such a pace that he was forced to swing the carriage from one side of the road to the other,” he said, hoping that this would be enough of an explanation. “Lord Millerton is recovering well, of course.”
Miss Hemmingway opened her mouth to, perhaps, express her sorrow at Lord Millerton’s condition, only for the door to swing open and Lord Watt to hurry inside, his eyes fixed on Robert. He walked with such purpose and determination that Robert was quite certain that he had not seen the ladies.
“Lord Millerton!” he exclaimed, hurrying across to the man. “What happened? Pray do not tell me that someone is attempting to rid this world of you!”
Robert turned quickly, trying to capture Lord Watt’s attention. “That is not at all the case, I am sure,” he said, hoping that the ladies would think that Lord Watt was just overcome with the shock of what had happened to his friend and, thus, was speaking rather foolishly. “It was an accident, I think.”
“An accident?” Lord Watt sounded incredulous but did not look around. “I hardly think so. First, someone shoots through my windows and now your carriage is practically thrown from the road, your driver sustains a similar injury to Lord Millerton, and then Lord Millerton himself is beaten too! Do not be under any illusion, Lord Franks, there are those within London who know of The King’s League and, if it is as I now fear, they are doing all they can to break us apart.”
Robert closed his eyes tightly, hearing the swift intake of breath from behind him. Evidently Lord Watt had heard it too for as Robert opened his eyes, he saw Lord Watt’s face paling, his eyes fixed on the two ladies. Robert had been quite unable to prevent Lord Watt from speaking and now they were both evidently shocked at what they had heard.
“What is this?”
The door flew open again and Lord Huddington rushed inside, again doing just as Lord Watt had done and ignoring the two ladies completely, rushing to Lord Millerton’s side. Lord Millerton coughed harshly, making Robert wince at the rough sound, even though his eyes remained fixed on the two ladies standing in front of him.
“Miss Hemmingway, Lady Callander,” he began, taking a step towards them and spreading his hands. “I beg you to forget what you have heard. There is nothing of importance in it.”
Miss Hemmingway let out a snort which quite astonished Robert, given that he had expected her to be overcome with the surprise of what had just been revealed to her.
“You cannot think us as simple as all that, Lord Franks,” she told him, her voice quite steady and her expression firm. “Do you mean to say that there is someone attempting to take the lives of the gentlemen present? Including your own?”
He glanced back at Lord Watt, who was now frowning hard, clearly rather displeased by Miss Hemmingway’s questions.
“There is too much to explain at present,” he said, wishing that Miss Hemmingway was less inclined to ask questions and instead, much more inclined towards silence, as her companion appeared to be. “There is a good deal of difficulty surrounding this matter and I can assure you that it is not something that you would wish to be involved with.” He attempted to fill his voice with authority but Miss Hemmingway did not respond to that in the way he had hoped.
“I can see that Lord Millerton needs you attention at present,” Miss Hemmingway said slowly, evidently considering the situation in its entirety. “But I will not be satisfied to remain as I am at present—confused and greatly astonished. Therefore, I think it would be best if you would call on me tomorrow afternoon, Lord Franks, so that we might discuss the matter further.”
Robert shook his head. “There is no requirement for you to know of this, Miss Hemmingway.”
For a moment, her eyes seemed to darken, her lips pulling into a long, tight line. Her brows furrowed and he found himself catching his breath. There was something quite wonderful about her in her anger and frustration, something that compelled him to do as she asked.
“I think there is, Lord Franks,” she answered, taking a few steps closer and looking directly into his eyes. “Especially since you are seeking something from my brother’s house.”
No immediate answer sprang to his lips. He could not find the words to deny her, could not find the words to tell her that she was quite mistaken. Somehow, she had realized that his attention had not truly been towards her but rather towards something that her brother had, and that knowledge filled him with dread.
“Lord Franks will call upon you tomorrow, as you have requested.”
Lord Watt stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Miss Hemmingway’s and a sternness about his expression. “But there are serious matters here at present that must be dealt with first.”
Miss Hemmingway allowed a glimmer of a smile to catch her lips, although her eyes remained swirling with hints of frustration and anger. “That would be more than suitable,” she told Lord Watt, turning her gaze back towards Robert. “I will expect you tomorrow then, Lord Franks.”
He could say nothing other than to nod and accept that he would do as she asked. Lord Watt had clearly seen the determination of spirit in Miss Hemmingway and thus had decided simply to remove her from the house by giving her precisely what she wanted. Watching Miss Hemmingway and Lady Callander walk to the door, Robert let out a long, slow breath of both frustration and embarrassment. “I am sorry,” he muttered, as the door closed behind them. “I did not mean for such a thing to occur.”
Lord Watt let his breath hiss out from between his teeth, his jaw tight and his eyes a little narrowed. “You will have to speak to her directly,” he said, turning to Robert. “I am aware that you have an interest in Lord Hamilton, her brother, but mayhap being honest with the lady will give you more success than you have had at present.”
Robert was not quite certain he agreed with Lord Watt on this matter, but there was no more time to argue. Another gentleman of the League rushed into the room just as Lord Watt turned back to Lord Millerton, who was now sitting up straight and appeared to have a little more color. Rubbing at his forehead for a moment, Robert went to the counter and poured himself a large brandy. He did not offer any other gentleman a drink, knowing that they would serve themselves, and feeling as though he needed something like this to help him recover from what had been a very trying day.
A day that was only going to get all the worse, he was sure, once Lord Millerton began to speak. They would soon know that he himself had been the one at fault, that he had acted foolishly and without careful thought, and what shame would be his when that occurred. Throwing back his brandy, he drank in four big gulps, letting the warmth spread through his body and sending a little more courage into his heart for what was now to come. There was nothing for him to do but to be honest, to accept his guilt for what it was and to shoulder the responsibility thereafter. He just had to hope that they would not prevent him from continuing with what he had discovered so far.
“Lord Franks went to hail a hackney,” Lord Millerton said, as Robert buried his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. “The gentleman who had come to help was sitting by the dr
iver, clearly eager to help him in some way—at least, that was what I thought.” Shaking his head, Lord Millerton coughed hard before he was able to continue. “The moment Lord Franks turned the corner, the gentleman struck the driver hard with his cane, across the head, so that he lapsed into full unconsciousness.” He winced, clearly recalling exactly what had happened. “And then he turned to me.”
“I should not have left you with that gentleman,” Robert muttered, passing a hand over his eyes before sitting up. “I was not thinking clearly.”
Lord Millerton waved his hand, clearly dismissing Robert’s apology. “What else could you have done?” he asked, quietly. “The carriage had been thrown from one side of the road to the other, the driver had been injured by a bullet—although I hear it is not a grave injury.”
Robert nodded. “He has the grazing of a bullet to his side but was also knocked rather heavily when he fell from his seat,” he told the group. “He will soon recover, according to the doctor.”
Lord Monteforte, who had been among the last to arrive, murmured something grave under his breath, and Robert lowered his head again, fearing that Lord Monteforte was pronouncing judgment on him already.
“This thin gentleman,” Lord Watt said, clearly trying to encourage Lord Millerton to speak of what had occurred. “What did he say to you?”
“He said nothing other than to demand the box that I held in my hands,” Lord Millerton answered, with a heavy shake of his head. “I could not understand it. The man, I thought, had come to offer his aid, but in the blink of an eye, turned around to demand the box from me.” Sighing heavily, Lord Millerton rubbed one hand over his forehead, looking a little ashamed. “I did not give it to him immediately, of course, but wrenched the box open.”
Robert’s head shot up and he looked into Lord Millerton’s face, seeing the regret there and already fearing that nothing had come of it.