by Ella Edon
“Good day, Hanford.” She nodded politely. “Is anything amiss?”
“Not at all, My Lady,” he replied mildly. “You are about to go out – I should not disturb you.” He stood aside, as if he was moving out of her way.
“I’m not going far,” she commented, a little terse. “Is there something you would like to tell me?”
He raised a brow. “Nothing, My Lady. I assume you will be back for lunch?”
Raymonde nodded. “I am not going further than the hills. I should be back by midday.”
He inclined his head. “Very good, My Lady.”
Raymonde nodded politely in return, gathering her skirts about her as she walked past. She headed down the stairs, feeling disconcerted. She had no idea why, but Mr. Hanford always unsettled her. His cool politeness hid – to her mind, at least – a calculating mind she didn’t trust.
She forgot about him as she walked out into the brisk morning.
“Come on, Princess,” she whispered to her horse, feeling a rising excitement as she lifted herself into the saddle. “Let’s go!”
Feeling her heart lift, she leaned forward and rode up the path. When they reached the woodlands, she leaned forward a little more, letting her horse speed up into a canter. Her hair streamed out and the ties of her bonnet streamed back, caught in the breeze. She felt happy and she wanted to laugh.
“Come on, girl!” she called, as her horse shot through to the fields, bunching her legs to leap over a narrow ditch.
Raymonde whooped in excitement and felt her spirits soar. The day was brighter out here, and her mood lifted.
As she let out a cry of excitement, she saw another rider approach. She narrowed her eyes, reining Princess in to a slower pace. The rider was moving fast out of the cover of a stand of trees. She couldn’t say quite what had drawn her attention to him, save that he rode with a distinctive posture: back straight, head with its tall top-hat held upright.
She clapped a hand over her mouth in shock as she realized why it was familiar.
“Him! How…?” Her heart almost stopped. There was no mistaking that stern face, that upright pose. It was the man she’d seen hiding at Westmore; the same man who’d shot at the coach.
She looked to her left, desperate to get off the road before the approaching rider met her. She turned her horse swiftly, hearing poor Princess whinny in distress as she wrenched her too hard to the left. Then, suddenly, she was almost thrown from her horse as another rider grabbed the bridle.
“Not so fast, if you please.”
Raymonde screamed. She hadn’t meant to – it was so unseemly, so unlike herself. But the scream burst raggedly out of her throat before she could think to stop it.
“No!”
Her horse bucked as if she understood her dilemma, and Raymonde tried vainly, to pull her feet loose. It was better by far to fall off the horse and run, than to be led wherever this man intended to take her.
“Whoa,” he said softly, stroking her horse’s muzzle. Her horse stopped bucking and stood still, rooted to the spot and shivering slightly.
Raymonde looked into the man’s eyes. “Please,” she whispered. She was crying with sheer terror, tears running silently and messily down her cheeks. “Please, leave me alone.”
The man frowned. “I’m sorry, but you must come with me.”
“Why?” Raymonde whispered, looking around desperately. She could dismount and run. She could…
“If you think of running, I will shoot you,” the man said, as if he could read her intent. “I won’t kill you, but a shot in your leg might disable you forever. And would that really be a worthwhile cost?” The way he said it was chilling – utterly emotionless, without care.
“Please,” Raymonde whispered. “Why are you doing this?”
He raised a brow. His face was thin, with firm cheek-muscles and wide eyes. He looked strangely familiar. It was only as his lips made an apologetic smile that she realized why.
He looked like Cutler.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He laughed, the apologetic smile stretching wider. “It’s not your business who I am,” he said. “I am doing it for just that. Business. Pure and simple. Now,” he added, one of those thin brows that were so like Cutler Wingate’s rising smoothly. “If you would dismount, and follow me? We have far to go and I would prefer to do this easily, rather than a harder way.”
He added emphasis to his comment by touching his hand to the pistol he wore. Raymonde felt her breath catch in her throat. Her heart had almost stopped beating. She felt like she couldn’t breathe or move.
He looked at her with his head to one side, a small frown on his brow. She discovered, as his hand went once again to his pistol, that it was possible to move.
Swinging her legs down out of the side-saddle, she winced as her ankles burned from the leap. She stood on the grass beside her horse. The strange man looked down at her.
“Fine,” he said. “We will leave your horse here, and you will walk with me into the woods. My coach is waiting there.”
Raymonde felt her vision blur and darken as he took her wrist, leading her harshly away. “Where are you taking me?” she whispered.
“Where I want Cutler to go.”
With that cryptic comment, he jerked her forward harshly and she followed him, limping on legs too stiff to move, back along the path.
Cutler, she thought in the silence of her mind. Please, wherever you are, be safe.
Because now she knew this man was after him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Decision
Cutler arrived in Westmore a day earlier than he had expected. He had woken at four o’ clock that morning, unable to rest, fears and an odd uneasiness chasing themselves around his mind. Knowing that there was little point in trying to return to sleep, he’d taken breakfast and started the final part of the ride. Something was disturbing him – some deep restlessness and the sense that not everything was exactly right.
“Nonsense,” he told himself, drawing a long breath as he raced up the gravel path toward Westmore House.
It was his imagination. It had to be. Why would anything be untoward?
He felt his horse slowing and he reined in, throwing one leg over in a haste to leave.
He shouted into the stables for a stable-hand to come and tend his horse.
“Yes, sir,” a man said, appearing from the dark interior, blinking in the cloudy light. “I’ll take him, sir.”
“Thanks,” Cutler said stiffly. He was in no mood for interacting with anyone. He needed to see Luke and discuss this urgent business. He was nervous to see him again – the note had been so clipped and cold-toned – but he had to face him and offer his own explanations where he could.
“Mr. Hall?” he called, lifting the brass knocker and knocking with some urgency.
He waited until the older man unlocked the door. He felt strangely relieved as he saw his head appear around the doorway. It was good to see a familiar face. He’d been feeling restless and out of sorts since he left the north.
“Lieutenant. Greetings,” the old man said softly. He looked surprised, which surprised Cutler somewhat. Had he not expected him?
“Mr. Hall, is Lord Westmore in? I need to speak to him quite urgently.”
Hall nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. He’s in the parlor, if you’d like to wait, while I inform him of your visit?”
“Please,” Cutler said, his voice clipped. He had been feeling tense ever since he set out and it was hard to hide it now. He walked to the small study on the ground floor, his boots making a tight, clipped sound on the tiles, his whole body on edge with nerves now that he was finally here.
What is it that Luke needed to tell me?
“This way, sir,” the butler said, returning silently.
Taking a steadying breath, Cutler followed him upstairs. His heart thumped with anxiety. He was sure Luke was furious with him and that he would have a lot of explanations to make.
; He heard Luke’s voice carrying from the drawing-room and was surprised to feel his heart lift as he did so.
“I think it would be a fine plan to add to the water-garden,” Luke was saying. “If we let the stream flow from the big pond to the small one, we could stock it with fish…”
“Sir?” the butler interrupted. “Lieutenant Wingate, sir.”
“Cutler!” Luke’s slim, handsome face softened with a grin. “What a surprise. Come in! How are you? How is Lady Raymonde?”
Cutler felt his jaw loosen in surprise. He shut his mouth, blinking foolishly. What was this about? He had expected a reprimand, or a chilly meeting at best. And here was Luke, grinning at him as if they were friends? How was that possible?
“Lady Raymonde is…well, Luke,” he nodded, swallowing hard. “At least, she was when I saw her last. What…”
“Why, Cutler, whatever is the matter?” Luke frowned, the smile still hanging vaguely about his lips. “Sorry to interrupt, old chap, but you look like you’ve got a bad fright.”
Cutler chuckled, but he was more surprised than anything else. “I… Forgive me, Luke, but your letter was very urgent.” And very cold, he wanted to add, but he didn’t want to upset his unprecedented good mood just yet.
“Letter?” Luke’s brow lowered to a frown. “What letter was it?” His blue eyes were confused, mouth a straight line.
“The letter you sent, summoning me here. You said there was urgent business we needed to discuss,” Cutler reminded him, feeling completely confused. Luke had been so insistent in the note! What had happened, and why did he not remember having written it?
“I sent no letter, Cutler,” Luke said. His faced had arranged itself into a worried frown. “Are you sure you didn’t confuse it with somebody else?”
“No,” Cutler said insistently, though he was starting to feel a bit surreal about the whole thing himself. “You sent a letter – three days ago,” he added, frowning as he recalled it. He’d set out at once and ridden just over two days to get here.
“I have sent no letters, Cutler,” Luke said. He was looking at Cutler with intense concern, and Cutler felt slightly offended. He’d seen the letter! He was of sound mind, and not at all given to flights of fancy.
“Well, I have no way to understand it,” he said after a long pause. “But a letter in your name, from this address, arrived three days before. I was so disturbed by it that I have ridden hard to get here; so, are you certain you sent nothing to me? Nothing about any business of mine?”
Luke looked considering for a moment, then he shook his head. “No. Sorry, old boy. May I see it? It seems that, since I did not send it, somebody has written in my name. Which is,” he added, biting a thin lip, “worrying me.”
“I sympathize,” Cutler agreed.
He looked across Luke, who seemed worried, through the window to the grounds. He tried to recall where the letter might be. He had put it in his pocket… Where had he put it then?
“We heard your news,” Luke added, with a soft smile. “I offer my heartiest congratulations. I would never have thought you two would make a match, but then, I should not really have been surprised. I could always see how you make each other happy.” He looked pleased.
Cutler gaped. “How did you know?” It sounded rude and he immediately regretted saying it, but Luke didn’t look offended. Rather, he smiled, shaking his head.
“Your wife wrote to mine,” he said with a smile. “You didn’t think that she would wish to inform nobody? Your wife and mine are close friends,” he added with a grin.
“Raymonde wrote to Lady Westmore?” Cutler knew he was being slow on the uptake, but he couldn’t help it. He saw Luke nod.
“That’s right,” he said encouragingly.
Cutler looked away, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I am quite shaken by all this.”
“Of course,” Luke nodded amiably. “Sit down. I’ll ring for some tea. A fine host I am!” he added with a self-deprecating grin.
Cutler sat down, but he couldn’t relax. Every time he tried to, he found his mind wandering to the growing worry in his mind. Luke had not written to him, which meant that someone else had – and could whomever it was have written to bring him south?
What if the idea was to make me leave Raymonde behind?
Cutler looked out of the window, trying to compose his thoughts. That wasn’t possible. Why would anybody do that? And, more importantly, who?
“Tea, sir?”
Cutler jumped as Mr. Hall appeared, a tea-trolley laden with a tea-set and a tray of cake before him. He nodded, his stomach twisting painfully.
“Thank you, yes,” he said. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was.
Luke came and sat with him and together, as Cutler ate a slice of lemon cake, they discussed the problem at hand.
“This letter said there was urgent business of yours, to settle?” Luke asked, sipping his tea.
“Yes,” Cutler replied, setting aside the cake-fork. “The tone of it suggested that you needed me at once.”
“I see.” Luke nodded slowly. “That’s strange.”
“I ought to have written ahead to Mr. Parker in London,” Cutler observed. “But I was so worried, and the letter would take so long.”
“I understand.” Luke nodded again. “If you had this letter, then maybe we could identify who wrote it?” He bit his lip. “Or, at least, I could ask a friend of mine to examine it. He works at the Mint, and he’s rather expert at spotting forgeries. It might be worth asking him to cast an eye on it?”
Cutler frowned, swallowing a mouthful of tea. “I’m not sure if it’s necessary, Luke,” he said slowly, “though I thank you. If I thought I had no idea who it might have been, I’d agree. Except…”
“You recognized the hand?” Luke asked.
“Not exactly,” Cutler said. Even speaking of it was like a dull pain in his chest. “I think I might know who wrote it. What if they sent it to divert my attention? To bring me here…”
“What are you thinking?” Luke asked softly.
“Whoever tried to shoot us,” Cutler said slowly, “they clearly had no good intent. And now here I am, down here when I should be up there, protecting her…” He felt agitation grip him and he stood up, half-ready to ride straight back North again, if possible.
“Wait,” Luke said, gesturing him back. “Cutler, that might have nothing to do with it. It might be an innocent mix-up. Maybe the note wasn’t meant for you? Was it signed by me?” he asked, the frown deepening on his face.
“Yes,” Cutler said, feeling somewhat frustrated. Why was Luke not taking him seriously? He stood again. “I am going to fetch the note,” he declared, and walked swiftly out of the room.
Where was it?
He dug urgently through his suitcase. His portable writing-set proved to contain nothing, and he threw its contents onto the desk of the spare-room, feeling growing agitation. The note was the clue! If he didn’t have it, then…
“I just brushed your coat, sir,” a familiar voice said from behind him.
“Arthur!” Luke shot to his feet, feeling a grin spread across his face. He felt instantly relieved. “My coat! Can I have it, please?” He remembered where the note might be. It was in the pocket of his coat! His companion nodded.
“No,” he said and grinned. “Why should you have your own coat, sir?” He handed it over.
Cutler laughed. “Come on, Arthur,” he said, taking the coat from him. “Be reasonable. Do I not already have enough wrinkles and gray hair?”
“Not nearly,” Arthur laughed, going over to draw back the curtains and check the fire. “You’re far too youthful, sir. You’re almost my age.”
Cutler grinned, feeling his spirits lift. He slipped his fingers into the pocket of his coat and was relieved as he found the crisp shape of a piece of paper.
“Here it is!” he said aloud.
Arthur frowned at him. “You’re odd, sir.”
“Maybe,” Cutler said.
He felt almost lightheaded with relief as he lifted the note, reading the contents again. “But I’m happy about that right now.”
“I’m glad, sir.”
Cutler watched as Arthur stoked the fire again, then headed out of the room. He looked at the note again, barely believing that he’d found it. He read over it and was relieved to see that it was exactly as he’d thought: an urgent note, signed by Luke and written in a neat, crisp hand. He put it in his pocket and rushed back to Luke.