“That’s all right, Jenny, is it?” Lady Talmadge smiled at her. The maid nodded. Lady Talmadge smiled again. “Continue with your tasks elsewhere and don’t worry about this room.”
The maid fled. She had never seen ladies up so early in the morning and didn’t know what to make of it. It just wasn’t natural. And when she ran down to the kitchen to warn Cook that the ladies had already appeared for breakfast, she thought Cook would faint dead away.
By the time Ashleigh and Bancroft arrived, not too much later, both tea and coffee had appeared, along with toast and butter and jam. It was as well for Jenny’s nerves that she did not see those gentlemen. After all, housemaids have nerves just as ladies do, though they are not generally permitted to indulge in them.
Ragwell did see them arrive, and came close to indulging in a fit of nerves himself. He had never seen his duke so… so…. he could not even put it into words. The duke was unshaven, he wore neither coat nor cravat, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and Ragwell could have sworn that the duke’s knuckles were bloody. Mr. Bancroft looked slightly better in that he retained his coat, but that was not enough to console Ragwell. The duke, his duke, who had never appeared other than perfectly turned out since the age of twelve, not only looked like a ruffian but seemed not in the least distressed by his appearance and had not the slightest hesitation about presenting himself to the ladies in this condition. Had the sun risen in the west, Ragwell could not have been more disconcerted. Nonetheless, he stood by, his face as impassive as he could make it, as Ashleigh entered the breakfast room.
“Ah, coffee. Excellent,” said the duke. “Ragwell, ask Cook if she could manage a couple of beefsteaks for us. I find myself quite ravenous this morning.”
The butler departed silently.
“You have shocked poor Ragwell beyond description,” said Alice with a laugh. “He will never be able to view you with proper awe again.”
Kate, however, had spotted the bloody knuckles, and seized Ashleigh’s hand to examine them.
“Now, now, there’s nothing to worry about, my sweet.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “And Franny, you will be pleased to know that James was quite correct. There was no damage to your house except for a bit of scorching on the back door, and that is being put right as we speak.”
“I do not think any of us were worrying about my door, Peter,” she said dryly. “We are a trifle more concerned about the people who were endeavoring to set the fire.”
Settling himself into his chair at the head of the table, Ashleigh drained a cup of coffee and signaled for another before he spoke. “You will also be pleased to know that no one was trying to kill you.”
“Immensely consoling,” snapped Franny. “So if anyone had been killed or injured, it would have been purely accidental?”
“Precisely.” Ashleigh grinned. “The idea was that a fire started at the back of the house would have sent everyone out the front. There were two more men in hiding there, and their task was to scoop you up, Kate, and carry you off in the confusion before anyone could realize what was happening.”
“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “That might actually have worked. But who sent them? I cannot imagine my brother having the intelligence to work out such a plan, and it seems insufficiently brutal for Farnsworth.”
That last comment gave Ashleigh a moment’s pause. She had spoken quite calmly. He felt an icy tightening in his chest at the realization that his Kate had been so exposed to brutality that she could speak of it in such a matter-of-fact way, but he managed a smile. “It appears that the plan belonged to a gentleman named Hall. Do you know him?” Receiving only a blank look and a shake of the head from her, he continued, “He is the sort of gentleman one employs when one does not wish anyone else to be aware of the tasks for which he is being employed. In this case, it appears he was employed first to find you, Kate, and now to retrieve you.”
She pursed her lips. “Rather as if I were a misplaced parcel. I really do not care for being treated like a, like a piece of merchandise.” She took a deep breath and glanced again at Ashleigh’s knuckles. “Did he just volunteer this information or did he require persuasion?”
A deep chuckle came from Bancroft, who was seated next to Lady Talmadge and appeared to be holding her hand under the table. “There was no difficulty. I simply pointed out to him that arson is a hanging offense, and if he did not give us the information we wanted, we would have no choice but to hand him over to the magistrate.”
“And that was all?” Kate sounded skeptical.
Bancroft shrugged. “And then Ashleigh pointed out that the hangman wouldn’t care if bits of him had been broken off, bits like fingers. He took one look at Ashleigh and began to chatter away.”
*
Hall nursed a pint of ale in a corner of the Mitre Inn. The public room was crowded with people wanting to talk about the events at Hawthorne Cottage the night before. Some of the tales were quite wild. One had a crowd of Luddites attacking the cottage with axes and the duke himself driving them off. Another had a madman planning to put the entire town of Lewes to the torch.
Well, thought Hall, perhaps that last one wasn’t entirely wild. He had a strong feeling that Farnsworth might, indeed, be mad.
One thing was clear from the talk, however. Mrs. Darling and her niece were staying with the duke. He had spread the cloak of his protection over them. No one seemed in the least surprised at this.
He took a sip of ale and considered his options. He could go to the duke and tell him what Farnsworth had been attempting, but he doubted anything he had to say would be news to the duke. One of his men had been captured, and the fellow had no reason to keep silent if speaking might get him out of punishment. Hall could not blame him. He would do the same himself. Unfortunately, that meant he himself had nothing to sell to the duke.
Unless he went back to Farnsworth to find out what he planned to do next. That might be worth something.
He took another sip and considered. One problem was that Farnsworth was unlikely to actually have a plan beyond marching in and seizing the girl. If Hall was around, Farnsworth might insist on his cooperation. That could be nothing but disastrous. Farnsworth seemed to consider that his title made him immune to danger. Even if that were true, it would offer no protection to Hall.
No.
His only safety lay in keeping as much distance as possible between himself and Farnsworth.
He stood up, tossed a coin on the table to pay his reckoning, and left the tavern. No one noticed his departure.
It was a pity about the money Farnsworth owed him, but it would do him no good if he was swinging from a noose.
He collected his horse and set out for London. There were plenty of places where he could go to cover. He would not be found unless he wished to be found.
Chapter Nineteen
London
Crack! Farnsworth’s stick smashed down on the table uncomfortably close to Newell’s hand. He would have removed his hand, but he was not certain he would remain vertical without the table to lean on.
It didn’t seem right. Perhaps falling asleep in the library was not quite the thing to do, but it was his library, and if he chose to sleep it off there, he didn’t see why Farnsworth was making a fuss.
Come to think of it, he didn’t see why Farnsworth was there at all. Something about the paper. It was on the desk, and that was what Farnsworth had been smacking with his stick. Newell tried to focus on it.
“You traitorous scum!” Farnsworth was shouting. “How dare you try to do this to me?”
Newell tried shaking his head to clear it. A bad idea. He gave up trying to keep vertical and slid down to sit on the floor.
Apparently, that was a bad idea, too. Farnsworth grabbed his shirt and hauled him back up.
He winced. “Do about what?” he managed to croak out.
Farnsworth was shaking the paper in his face now. “Do you expect me to believe you did not know about this? Did you think I would allow you
to get away with it?”
The shaking paper was making Newell dizzy. The whole world was making him dizzy. He could feel himself sinking lower as his knees slowly gave way.
He came to with a gasp. He was lying on the floor, awash in cold water. Farnsworth was still there, standing next to the footman, who was holding a bucket, now empty. A newspaper was clutched in the earl’s fist, and he was leaning on his stick. Red blotches were spattered across his face, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “If you think betrothing your sister to a duke will solve your problems, you are sadly mistaken. She is my property, and you will retrieve her for me.” He flung the paper down. “You have until Thursday.”
Newell blinked his eyes, but the earl was gone. He could hear that blasted walking stick tapping down the hall. Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he picked up the paper and peered at it. It was folded to the announcements, and he tried to make sense of the births, deaths and marriages until he came to the betrothals.
The Duke of Ashleigh and his sister? That was impossible. But it said Miss Katherine Russell, of Grassington, daughter of the late Viscount Newell. How could that be? Where could she have ever met a duke, no less one as top-lofty as Ashleigh was reputed to be?
He kept staring at the paper long after he had absorbed the words, long after the footman had crept silently away. If his sister was going to marry the Duke of Ashleigh, if this was really true, all sorts of things were possible. A duke, this duke, at least, was rich. He could pay off his debts, get out of the hands of the moneylenders, get free of Farnsworth.
No. He felt a chill as he realized Farnsworth would not let that happen. Of that, he was certain. If he did not get hold of Katherine, if he did not turn her over to the earl, he did not know what Farnsworth would do.
He did know that whatever Farnsworth did, it would be unpleasant. Very unpleasant.
Newell hauled himself to his feet and wiped his sleeve across his face. His hands were shaking, and he knew it was not simply the effects of last night’s debauch.
He had to get cleaned up. With that announcement in hand, the moneylenders would almost certainly advance him some more, enough to be able to do something. Maybe after a drink, he would be able to think what that something might be. He had until Thursday, after all.
“Watkins!” he shouted. “Watkins! What the hell day is it today?”
*
Sussex
Ashleigh and Bancroft spent the morning at Schotten Hall, bringing Lord and Lady Merton up to date on Kate’s situation. They were suitably horrified, and Merton uttered the appropriate imprecations on the heads of Newell and Farnsworth. Lady Merton seemed not at all shocked at her husband’s language. In fact, she nodded approvingly, and offered a number of suggestions as to what might be done with the villains.
Ashleigh looked at her with a new sense of admiration. “You have an estimable view of what should be done with your enemies, Miranda.”
She gave him a level look. “I do not take kindly to threats against those I love.”
“No more do I. We are allies in this, then?”
“Indeed.”
He put out a hand. She took it, and they smiled approvingly at each other.
Paying no attention to them, Merton demanded, “When do we get to thrash them?”
Bancroft snorted.
Ashleigh grinned most unducally. “I have baited the hook with the announcement of our betrothal. I do not anticipate a prolonged wait.”
The wait was even shorter than Ashleigh had expected. By the time he and Bancroft returned to Kelswick, a letter had arrived for Kate, a letter that had been delivered by hand. She was waiting for them, and thrust it into Ashleigh’s hands as soon as he crossed the threshold.
“Can you believe it? My brother obviously thinks me a complete fool. He tells me to meet him in the garden tonight at midnight. Midnight! I ask you, can he display no originality of thought?”
Ashleigh had to laugh. It seemed that she was even more outraged by the insult to her intelligence than she had been by the threat to her person. Still smiling, he took the letter into the library, where Franny, Alice and Bancroft crowded around him to see what it said.
“Heavens!” exclaimed Franny. “He dares to accuse Kate of flouting his authority? The presumption of the scoundrel!”
Ashleigh laughed. “I am amazed. I never thought he would be so cooperative.” He handed the letter back to Kate. “If you will excuse me, I must send a message to Merton. He will never forgive me if I leave him out of this, though he may find it difficult to persuade Miranda to remain at home. Come along, Stephen. We must make our preparations for this evening.”
The ladies watched them stride off to the library. Small explosions of outrage continued to burst forth from Franny, but Alice took Kate’s arm and moved toward the stairs. “Do you know,” she said, “I do not think I have ever seen my brother this way. He is actually enjoying himself. I cannot remember him ever being so, so buoyant. I understand that this is all difficult for you, but I cannot help but be pleased to see my brother thus.”
“Difficult?” Head tilted to the side, Kate considered that. “No, this is not difficult. Not any longer. It was difficult when I kept thinking that Humphrey would suddenly appear to drag me back, and I would be unable to stop him. I feared that no one would help me, that no one could help me. But now? With all of you beside me, I find I am looking forward to confronting him, to telling him just what I think of him.”
“Ah, you must marry Peter. I do so want to have you for a sister, and then I will be able to claim Franny for an aunt as well.” She took the older woman’s arm with her free hand so they ascended the stairs three abreast. “You two will be such excellent examples for Clara.”
*
At the appointed hour, she stepped slowly along the garden path. The path of pale pebbles was wide, and the moon was bright enough to light the way, but tall shrubs loomed on either side, so she walked cautiously. The chill of the night made her grateful for her cloak. She wanted to think it was only the temperature that made her shiver.
The gate leading to the road was already in sight when she heard footsteps just behind her. She had been expecting it, waiting for it. That did not prevent the shock of fear or the sick feeling as she admitted to herself that, yes, a brother could be guilty of such a betrayal.
Before she could turn, or even decide in which direction to turn, rough hands grabbed her arms, and as she started to scream, someone stuffed a rag into her mouth. She tried instinctively to break free, but before she could manage more than an ineffectual kick, a sack had been dropped over her head and she was knocked to the ground while a rope was wrapped around her.
Struggling did no good as she found herself tossed over a shoulder and, shortly thereafter, tossed across a horse. That it was a horse was quite clear from the smell, though she was inclined to think that even through the sack, the horse smelled better than the man had. A rider joined her, and a hand kept her from falling off as the horse broke into a jarring trot.
It wasn’t a long trip, for which she was most grateful, though it was easily the most uncomfortable of her life. When she was hauled off the horse and tossed over a shoulder once more, she had a moment of panic. Had she been able to push the rag out of her mouth, she could have let out a scream that would be heard in Timbuctoo. As it was, the best she could produce was a muffled grunt accompanied by a frantic wriggle. Even that only won her a smack on the head, cushioned by the sack but hard enough to make her feel momentarily dizzy.
“Stupid bitch.”
She heard the mutter. It was the first time either of her captors—she was fairly certain there were two of them—had spoken. Neither the roughness of the voice nor the coarseness of the epithet offered reassurance.
She was not carried far before she heard a door open and she was unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Landing on her hip, she made a muffled sound of pain.
“’Ere she is. We’ll ’ave our pay now.” The same vo
ice, followed by the clink of coins.
“There. At least you could have put her in the coach for me.” An educated, though petulant, voice, this one. The accent of a gentleman, though she would not care to call the speaker such.
The door slammed open, and she could hear footsteps, voices, as a number of people came in.
“I am afraid this little transaction is at an end.”
Peter’s voice, and it was high time he arrived! She wriggled uncomfortably.
There was a confusion of sounds—bumps, thuds, grunts. The sound of fist against flesh. A crack that might have been bone breaking. She was picked up again, but not roughly this time. Instead, she felt cradled in an embrace, and then she was gently laid down.
She could hear muttered curses and the sound of a knife sawing through the rope until it loosened. The sack was pulled quickly off her, and she snatched the rag from her mouth herself. There was Stephen, bending over her, his eyes so worried, checking her all over, carefully. “Are you hurt? You must be bruised at least. They were treating you so roughly… oh, Alice!” His arms wrapped around her and he was holding her tightly and murmuring endearments.
She managed a strained laugh. “It was my idea, remember. Would you have denied me my adventure? Did you doubt I could do it?”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Never that. What I had not fully realized was how difficult it would be to watch you tossed about when I could not step in to protect you. Never again. To preserve my sanity, you must never put yourself in danger again.”
Her laugh came a bit more easily this time. “It is a bit lowering to be treated like a parcel, picked up here, delivered there.”
He lifted his head and looked at her carefully. Then he smiled a bit. “Would you like to kick them? The ones who carried you off are over there.” He indicated two ruffians who were piled in a corner, tied up and watched over by three of Ashleigh’s larger footmen.
A Debt of Dishonor Page 21