In truth, his greed was to blame and he knew it. They had not needed to make this hunt, but he had learned of the chance and he’d seized upon it despite his injury. He’d foolishly allowed Beatrix to go and the worst had happened.
Aaron stumbled from the table and fell upon the bed, letting his misery overtake him. If there was a god above, he would die in his sleep tonight. He would see his Tilly again, and be waiting for Beatrix, should she be tried for his crimes.
“Aaron!” one of his men cried out from outside the cottage. “Are ya home?”
It took more will than he thought he possessed, but Aaron finally managed to push himself up from the bed and stumble to the window. He flung open the shutter and looked out at one of the many dullards of his bunch, a lad of nearly twenty who was none too keen but very willing to use his brute strength.
“Cooke? What are ya doin’ about, callin’ me from my bed?” Aaron yelled, but the young man only smiled stupidly. Suddenly, Aaron’s anger turned to consternation. “Where have ya been all this time? I didn’t see ya after the men returned.”
“M’apologies, Aaron. I didna come back with the other fellows that day,” Cooke explained, still smiling.
“You didn’t come back with ‘em? Where the devil didja go then?” Aaron shouted at him.
“I followed some horses.”
“What? You left the men and chased some horses?” Aaron looked frustrated, but softened his words when he remembered that Cooke had once been assigned the task of stealing from some far off stables.
“I just… ran after him.” Cooke was clearly confused by Aaron’s response. “I saw where he went, and then I had to run back here. I’m sorry it took me so long, but it’s a really long way. I had to stop and sleep sometimes.”
Aaron stared at Cooke, dumbfounded. Could he be hearing this right? Cooke had chased after some horses, saw them, and then come back? Surely no man, not even Cooke, was this addled in the head.
“So tell me again, plain. The man ordered all of you on the ground…” Aaron said slowly.
Cooke nodded, still grinning. “Tha’s right!”
“And then he left and the others decided what to do next, but you got to yer feet and… went looking for some horses?”
“Yes, Aaron!”
“And how did you ever manage to run after a horse, Cooke?” Aaron asked, desperately hoping Cooke wasn’t having fun at his expense. The man would have to be too stupid to breathe in and out to think up one of his foolish pranks at a time such as this.
“I didna always see the horse, you know. But I followed the road because fancy boys on horses most often like to stay on the road. They don’t like to get their boots or breeches dirty from splashing about in the mud by goin’ through the fields. So’s I followed the road, and I would see where the horses dropped their dung here and there,” Cooke explained in a rush, gesturing wildly as he spoke.
Aaron was silent, pondering this strange tale, and soon Cooke began to grow fearful that he’d done something wrong. His simple smile slowly faded and his eyes grew wild.
“I’ve done it all wrong again, haven’t I, Aaron? I’m sorry! I didna mean to do it wrong!” Cooke began to wring his hands and kick nervously at the dirt. Before Aaron could say something reassuring, he blurted out, “But I thought you’d be pleased since I saw where the Lady Beatrix could be.”
“What?! Why didn’t you speak plainly and say so?” Aaron roared, already reaching for his clothes.
“I’m sorry! I thought… I mean to say, I thought I was tellin’ ya?” Cooke still looked frightened.
“Wait, you don’t mean… you mean you followed the man who took Beatrix? That horse?” Aaron asked, his voice trembling.
“Aye!” Cooke said, relieved now that Aaron understood.
Aaron closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His mind raced with a swirl of thoughts while his emotions did battle for his sanity. His deep relief was obvious but there was also a sense of dread. Not only would they have to storm the nobleman’s house for safer return of his daughter—a small consideration in comparison—but Aaron felt certain there would be a lengthy struggle to get Cooke to explain her location.
“Cooke, you did very well. But now go find Pencot,” he said slowly, making sure Cooke heard the instructions and understood. “Then, when you’ve found him, bring Pencot here. To my house. Right now. D’ya understand?”
“Aye, Aaron! I’ll be back with him straight away!”
Chapter 11
Callum looked around the immense room and fought to keep his countenance light. Decorum dictated that he could have easily gotten out of attending the event, having so recently lost his mother and still being in mourning, but important business affairs were often discussed at these things. He stood by the doorway and waited, his fingers clutching his empty punch glass, hoping that the early pleasantries would end soon so that they might retire to the card tables. The most important decisions were always made while clinging to a hand of cards, and there are some who believed that wars were ended and begun during tiresome games of whist.
“I didn’t think you’d make it this evening,” his friend Peter Grain said, coming up beside him with a fresh cup of punch. Callum refused it with a wave of his hand, holding up his own cup.
“I’ve had all I intend to,” he remarked. “It’s stronger than I care for, and this is not the kind of place to let your guard down with a fuzzy head.”
“Quite right,” Peter agreed, smiling as he placed the spare cup on a nearby plant stand. “How are you getting on now that you’re home again?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” he answered, sighing lightly. Peter’s expression turned to one of concern, so Callum felt compelled to explain.
“Good God! You have the thief locked up at your home?” Peter exclaimed when Callum finished relaying the details.
For some reason that was lost even on him, Callum bristled at the word “thief,” at the way Peter seemed to sneer slightly as he said it. Surely this woman was no ordinary pickpocket, no hardened criminal.
“Yes. What else could I have done? At first, she was insurance against the thieves giving chase and causing us further harm. Now, she serves as my only leverage against ever seeing that bag and its contents again.” Callum’s shoulders slumped a bit as he explained. “It is my great fear that it was all for nothing, though. I fear I shall never see it again.”
“I, for one, have only one fear, and that is being trapped by a cunning young heiress or her doubly-cunning mother tonight,” Peter joked. “I must keep my wits about me in order to thwart their attack and remain on the offensive!”
“I know you only speak in good humor,” Callum replied, grateful for the change in topic, “but you’re more right than you know. Watch the room and observe.”
Everywhere they looked, small clusters of attendees at Lord Northam’s ball had formed. Mostly segregated by sex, the small groups of men seemed oblivious to the gatherings of females who navigated the room, drifting just close enough to be noticed but not obtrusive while still keeping their sights set on their targets.
For their part, the ladies moved about casually but only due to their practiced air of indifference. It appeared as though they had sought years of schooling in the proper technique, what with the methodical way they all sauntered around the room, speaking behind their fans.
“Good God, my aunt was right,” Peter said in an awed voice. “We’re being hunted.”
Callum laughed, but it was a joyless sound. “Not we, my friend. You, perhaps. But I am far too clever to fall for any flattery, eyelash batting, fan fluttering, or the sort. I maintain no illusions about improving my station or my fortune by marrying well, and I have no obligations to make an auspicious match.”
“No? How did you ever manage that? My father has already stated that he’ll be handling my prospects himself in order to maintain our control over our holdings.” Peter shook his head sadly.
“And that doesn’t trouble you? You don’t care
much for having a say in whom he chooses to be the lifelong Mrs. Peter Grain?” Callum asked, genuinely curious.
“Not much, no. Look at them,” Peter answered, jerking his head towards the assembled guests. “They all look nearly alike. Identical white gowns, identical gloves, identical styling to their hair… how would one choose this girl from that if not for who had the best prospects?”
Callum looked, and for the first time he felt as though he truly saw what Peter meant. The floor only a few steps below them was a sea of practically identical fashions and attire, for both sexes he realized. What distinguished one guest from another?
“The woman I met on the road is wholly unlike these delicate creatures,” Callum remembered. “No doubt she could best any of them in a sparring of wits… and physical strength as well!”
Instead of repulsing him, it made Beatrix all the more intriguing to him. What manner of woman was as beautiful as any of these present and as obviously well-educated, but who held absolutely no regard for the practiced behaviors that Peter had described?
“Only the most genuine, unassuming person,” Callum surmised, “one who cares nothing for appearances and puts loyalty, livelihood, and family above all else. A rare being then…”
“If you’ll excuse me, I think I shall avoid the dancing,” Callum explained, setting down his glass and straightening his jacket. “I don’t find that I’m much up for it now.”
“I understand, and will make your excuses if anyone inquires,” Peter replied, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately. “I’m afraid I was already requested before the evening ever began, and cannot avoid it.”
Callum walked out of the suddenly stifling room and out into the adjacent garden, immediately relieved by the cool night air. Other guests meandered about in twos or threes, having their own private conversations and paying him little mind. Once or twice someone raised a hand in greeting or spoke some brief salutation, but for the most part, he was left to his own thoughts.
“Hiding from someone?” a gently lilting voice asked behind Callum. He startled and turned to look, then smiled with relief.
“No, My Lady,” he said, addressing Lord Northam’s eldest daughter, Mary. “Only taking in the view and the quiet and allowing my thoughts to run amok for a time.”
“Ah, I remember now. How clumsy of me, I’m most sorry for your recent loss,” she explained, a look of genuine sorrow on her face.
“Not at all, though your sentiments are much appreciated,” Callum replied, putting her mind at ease. “It does take some getting used to though, doesn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mary asked.
“The loss. Though we lived some distance apart, I am ashamed to admit that I feel I took for granted that she would always be at home. But now she’s not. At times, I feel like I might go and pay her a call next month or send a letter informing her I might be passing through in two weeks’ time. Then suddenly, I remember that there’s no point.”
They remained wrapped in silence for a moment, Callum thinking of his family and their tragedy, Lady Mary most likely feeling the weight of awkwardness. Finally, she was the one to speak first, saying, “I should perhaps go in and see to the other guests.”
Callum nodded. “Yes, that’s probably for the best. I’m miserable company right now, I suppose.”
“Not without just cause, My Lord. Good night,” Lady Mary said kindly, then she ducked her head and took her leave.
Several minutes had passed before Callum realized what had just transpired. He chastised himself for his rudeness, though in truth, he also felt it to be a relief. His conversation with Peter came to mind, the fact that these events were often thinly veiled efforts at securing marriages. He had no cause to believe Lady Mary had any ulterior motive, and perhaps she had only been making sure that all of the guests were tended to, including him. But he couldn’t help also feeling that he might have been stalked, followed outside by a romantic predator whose claws were adorned in pearls and lace.
Callum sighed. “Surely this is some sort of madness brought on by recent taxing events, else I might not be deemed safe to be left alone with my thoughts,” he thought sadly. “But for the life of me, why must those thoughts constantly return to Beatrix?”
While much of his sentiment towards her was revulsion and disgust, she worked her way into his mind all throughout the day. Anger, frustration, and loathing for everything she was and represented would suddenly be replaced by intrigue. Who was she really?
“There are some strange machinations at work here,” he decided, still staring out at the darkened sky. “She is clearly an educated woman who has no qualms about speaking her mind to her betters. She is also steadfast in her refusal to spare her own life, all in defense of some outlaws who aren’t as worthy as the mud beneath his boots.”
But apart from her name—if Beatrix was truly her name—he knew nothing about her other than that which he could observe with his own eyes.
She was beautiful, that much was certain, but not in the way that the elegant ladies beyond the doors behind him were. Their beauty seemed to be carefully crafted, the work of hours of meticulous preparation. Beatrix, on the other hand, was a natural creature whose appearance—though sullied by days of poor care—seemed more of an afterthought to her, beauty like a curse she’d been saddled with instead of a prize to be achieved.
“But the mouth on that creature!” he thought, his anger building again. “I quite literally never know what she might say next, and with what amount of disdain she would carry for everything about me.” He had to admit that it was rather interesting to be in the presence of someone who failed to admire him and was quite honest about her loathing for him.
That’s when it struck him. Her honesty. Beatrix despised not only him but every one of his sort. He’d only ever known those who’d looked up to his class, who longed for their privilege, who willingly served in their households as it meant the chance to be a small part of their inner circles, even if it was only to change the linens or serve a tray of port. No, Beatrix would be all the happier if he and his sort were wiped clean off the countryside, and it was both insulting yet pleasantly unnerving.
“Are you still out here?” Peter asked, coming up behind him and sitting down on the stone bench. “They’ll be retiring for brandy soon. I thought you might wish to speak to some of the men. Lord Northam has brought the Earl of Hampshire tonight, and you know he’s quite well-versed in the sciences. With your vineyards, I thought you might wish to speak to him about agriculture and the market.”
“Uh, yes! Thank you, I did want to speak with him tonight,” Callum answered, shaking off his earlier musings and melancholy. “I’ll be along straight away.”
“All right then! I’ll save a chair for us, preferably far from that horrible gabster, the Earl of Malbury.” Peter stood to go and Callum smiled briefly.
“You’re a true friend, Peter,” Callum said sadly. “One who could be counted on in both the best and worst of circumstances, and that is invaluable.”
Peter looked to Callum for a moment and his easygoing smile slowly faded into a frown of deep concern. “My friend, I must say, you’ve spoken in the most alarming manner tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d fear you might be thinking the darkest of thoughts. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Callum replied after a lengthy silence. “Of course I mourn my mother very much, and feel great sorrow for my father’s loss as well. Theirs was the kind of quiet adoration and devotion that I can only pray for in my own marriage, though that day be far off. But I am so singularly enraged with this thieving that I cannot put it behind me! Even I do not understand it! I, who have so much and who even now possess more of my mother’s things—things which are so vastly more valuable than this one item—I cannot get over the theft of this one possession of hers!”
“Ah, Callum,” Peter said kindly, sitting back down and looking up at his childhood friend in earnest, “that is to be expected! There is such
a rich story behind it, and it was entrusted to you not only as part of your mother’s past, but as part of her future hope for you! Of course you’re vexed by this.”
“Thank you for being so understanding, though I still feel completely foolish for being so driven to have it back or punish those who took it from me,” he admitted.
“Grief does strange things to us all,” Peter explained. “You’ve told me all about the circumstances, but it seems to me there’s something you have not tried.”
“Tell me! I’ll do anything!” Callum shouted before remembering himself.
“Have you tried kindness?” Peter waited for a moment, smiling knowingly. At Callum’s perplexed expression, he said, “Perhaps not keeping her prisoner beneath your house might prove to have better results?”
“Oh, I’ve done that,” Callum said, throwing up his hands in defeat and pacing back and forth.
The Stolen Diadem of a Castaway Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 8