How could one not admire a spirit that acts and doesn’t dither? That plans and executes without procrastinating?
Because time always marches on regardless of whether we pay it mind or not.
Edward patted at his pocket coat. He’d left his watch with Celine. Why had he done it? He didn’t want her to hold it permanently. He wanted it back—it was a part of her that he could always have. Marching, unwavering, constant.
Bloody hell, why had she kept coming back to him?
He shivered again. Somewhere in the woods was a cache of clothes his childhood self had left for those moments when a fast escape from the castle was needed. But this time he didn’t need a fast escape. He needed a measured re-entry.
Robert always said when they were out hunting that one needed to evaluate the situation. Edward smiled. Celine probably would have said the same thing. Which way was the wind coming from? Where were the animals? Were the traps loaded? How could the animals miss them?
He crept to the edge of the oak and braved putting his face outside. Through the lines of firs he could just make out the gray stone of the castle in the distance, the large plain of white fields in front, the smoking cottages to the side. Behind the castle were yet more fields, boggy fields usually filled with water at this time of year, despite the maze of ditches and dykes that kept the fields dry.
The castle had no hidden entrances, no hidden tunnels, fireplaces or rooms. It was a practical house built with a sturdy courtyard, gate and walls to deter all but the most determined.
The crackle of leaves at his feet interrupted his chain of thought. A small mouse rooted in the lightly snow covered ground at his feet. Carefully he bent down and picked up the tiny animal, cupping it in his hands. It looked at him with bright eyes and quivered, its whiskers shaking. Thoughtfully he gently deposited the mouse back down on the forest floor and watched it run away with a flick of its tail.
Smythe, Lord Anglethorpe’s butler, had donned a mask and goggles in order to deal with the mouse that Agatha had been trying to train to carry messages. But if he had only known the true nature of the mouse, then he would have known that he had nothing to fear. His goggles and gloves had just made the mouse more scared, and hindered him in attempting to trap the mouse in its cage.
And yet most people were still scared of mice. And undomesticated animals. A glimmer of a plan began to work itself into his mind. Glancing up at the darkening sky he cursed. He needed to find his cache of clothes before dark, and before he started gathering what he needed to rescue Celine. And the others, of course.
The light was failing when at last he stumbled into a ring of fir trees that gave a brief respite from the claustrophobia of the forest. Edward glanced up at the sky. It was already long past six o’clock in the evening. The time when many would have been tucked up in their dining rooms. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the depression in the middle of the ring of firs remained undisturbed.
Scraping with his fingers through the blanket of snow, and then against the soft turf of the forest floor, he pulled back the topsoil to reveal a wooden panel beneath. Sweeping the final soil away with his fingers, he pulled up the wooden panel and stared at the open box beneath.
There weren’t only the clothes that he had put there, but an old forgotten knife, strips of twine, and even, in the far corner, some sacking for making a makeshift bed.
God, how his limbs ached. It would have been nirvana to have made a bed then and there. His teeth chattered in the relative openness of the clearing. Leaning into the box he pulled out the clothes; supple breeches, a thick shirt, a large tightly woven pull over. And lastly, thick, serviceable leather boots.
His arms shook as he stripped away all of his sodden snow soaked undergarments, and pulled on the breeches and boots. His arms flew as he pulled off his shirt and jacket, and pulled back on the thick shirt and tightly woven pullover.
Last but not least at the bottom of the box lay a great coat, its large collar and waxed outer sides primed for the wet and cold, the inside lined with soft white lamb’s wool. Putting it on was like a warm, familiar embrace.
He patted down the rest of his jacket on the floor to make sure he had everything. A bulky light item fell out of the jacket as he upended it. Silent Sally glinted on the floor in the moonlight, her small, deadly barrel pointing away from him. Nodding to himself, Edward pushed Silent Sally into his greatcoat pocket. Just like Celine. Small and deadly efficient. But once warmed, hot to the touch. He jumped as Silent Sally chinked against an old forgotten tinderbox as it settled into his pocket.
Turning back to the box in the ground, Edward pulled out the sacking, the twine and the knife. He threw his discarded clothes back in and kicked the lid closed with his newly booted feet. Grabbing at the piled earth with his hands, he covered the lid, such that it seemed as if the earth had never been disturbed.
Hands moving in strong fluid movements, he knotted the twine. Walking in a circle around the clearing of firs, he swept the floor with his eyes. He made a circle again, and with a grunt found the trees where the brush at the bottom was the thinnest. The soil on the floor was rutted and scarred with small thick pitted holes.
Drawing down one of the lower fir branches, he anchored it to the ground with his boot. When he took his boot off it, the fir sprang back only a small amount, obscuring the way between the trees. Looping his knotted twine into a lasso, he pulled it tight between the lowered branch and the adjacent tree.
Quietly he moved away from the trap and licked his finger, holding it up in the air. The wind was coming from the west, from beyond the castle. He needed to be out of the wind that would take his scent to an approaching animal. He walked carefully to the southern side of the clearing, away from the trap and holding the sacking in his hand, sat down motionless to wait.
He must have fallen asleep. The sounds of grunting and rustling of fir branches rattled throughout the still forest. Swift as fox, Edward ran across the now totally dark clearing and threw the sacking over the barely visible moving form. He jumped on the thrashing animal, attempting to grab at a hind leg, anything.
Instead a boot found his face.
“Aaagh!” He yelled as the boot scrabbled round again and a pair of hands attempted to grab him by the head. Arching his body, he flung himself away, onto the forest floor and crawled as fast as he could from the trap.
The thrashing continued. Edward reached into a pocket, sighing with relief as he quickly found the mechanized tinderbox. Ratcheting the fire steel rapidly caused the inlaid char cloth to light. Holding the tinderbox away from him, he steadily approached the now quiet figure.
The sacking had fallen away from the man’s face. Silver blond hair gleamed in the moonlight, crowning high cheekbones.
Edward blew out the flame of the burning char cloth and retreated a safe distance. He sat down heavily on a fallen log. “Bloody hell,” he said aloud. “When I thought I was going to trap a wild pig, I didn’t actually think it could apply to a human too.”
“Let me go.” The Nordic tones were unmistakable. “Let me go, and I won’t tell Celine who you really are.”
“As if you would get the chance after the way you treated her. Celine hates you, Gunvald.” Edward almost smiled. All the better for him.
“Gott, I had to!” The Swede’s tones were anguished. “Pithadora—”
Edward spat on the floor. “Pithadora can hang too.”
Gunvald remained quiet before speaking again. “Not before Celine has dealt with her.”
“Not before Pithadora has dealt with Celine don’t you mean? That bottle of acid that Pithadora put in the bag broke against me, not her.”
“Thank god. Celine is still well?”
“No thanks to you.”
“I left her a note. I didn’t pack that bag. Mr. Fiske, Edward—Rochester?”
Edward’s heart skipped a beat. I am not Lord Rochester would normally have been his first response, but now? Now
he wasn’t so sure. He got to his feet and stalked across the clearing. His feet crunched against a large stick. He picked it up and marched back again.
Gunvald’s breathing was heavy. “Bloody hell, what did you trap me with? Wire?”
Edward’s night vision had fully kicked in. In the shadows of the firs he could see Gunvald was attempting to untie the twine knots.
“It would be easier with a knife.”
Gunvald paused. “I don’t carry knives.”
“Celine does.”
“I know. But I’m not her. I’m a locksmith and coachman. I’m not some fancy lord.”
“Neither am I.”
“I can’t believe you are still denying it. Untie me would you? Celine doesn’t have much time.”
“You might just be a locksmith and coachman, but I’m sure you probably have a pistol in your pocket and a pair of knuckle irons in the other. Each man has a weapon of his choice.”
“Just as you are just a lord and improbably an accountant. We are all some things at one time or another. Ah!”
Gunvald stood as he freed his leg from the twine.
“Don’t come any closer.” Edward pulled Silent Sally from his pocket. “And don’t get that gun you mentioned from your pocket either.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.” Gunvald froze into place.
“Tell me why you left that note for Celine. Why did you want to see her again? What do you want from her?” Edward shut his mouth and ground his teeth together. Celine was his.
Gunvald sighed. “I had to see her. I had to warn her about Pithadora. Celine has been remarkably blind about Pithadora for years. She thinks of Pithadora as some kind of matriarchal figure…not a mother precisely but a Madonna to be revered.”
“Whereas you know she is nothing of the kind.”
“Pithadora knows that I would do anything for Celine.” Gunvald’s low voice was husky and dark.
Edward shivered. “I’m telling you now that Celine is mine.”
The laugh that followed was bitter and hollow. “You don’t think I haven’t known that since Celine met you? Haring across the country to save a man who had thrown her away in one emotionless encounter?”
Edward blinked. “You don’t love her.”
Gunvald gave a bark of laughter. “Love her? The woman that caught me lock-picking Lord Anglethorpe’s house and instead of turning me over to the authorities gave me a job instead? The lady that has retrieved me from the Cheshire Cheese, as drunk as a skunk, time innumerable and has never said a word about my inebriated state?” He sniffed. “Yes I love her. But as a leader that I would follow into the gates of hell. I know my limits. Celine would never love a man such as me.” The silence between the two men lengthened until Gunvald spoke again. “As she loves you.”
CHAPTER 27
Celine stared at man at her feet in the hall of Rochester Castle. He was a tall man, with auburn hair and bull-like thick set features. A man that looked like he always got his way with things. An instinctive shudder of revulsion shot through her.
Lydia, he’d shouted before crashing to the floor. I watched you die.
Lydia was the name of Granwich’s lost love. The mother of the lost Major Coxon-Williams.
Lord Granwich hadn’t named Major Coxon-Williams’ father.
Celine stared at Lord Colthaven. I watched you die. Was this then the man that Lydia had married? Hyder Coxon-Williams’ father who had hounded Lord Granwich after his supposed son had joined the army?
Pithadora’s smile haunted Celine. Your next mark is Lord Colthaven. What did she know? There were too many coincidences.
“I think I need a cup of tea.” Celine drew her skirts in and stepped around the prone figure on the floor.
Gabbers scuttled after her. “The Dowager Lady Rochester is in the drawing room with a guest, um, Miss—”
Alasdair sighed behind Gabbers’ back. “Better call her my lady, Gabbers.”
“Alasdair,” Celine said warningly.
Alasdair shrugged his shoulders. “It is what Mr. Fiske would want,” he said obstinately.
Gabbers nodded. “Ah. All right then. And…how is Mr. Fiske?”
“He’s outside somewhere.”
Gabbers’ shoulders sunk markedly. “Thank god.”
Celine frowned and walked into the drawing room as Gabbers held open the door. A lady in her mid-fifties sat on a low sofa, a distinguished gentleman to her side. He held her hand, but let it go as Celine entered.
“My lady,” Gabbers turned to Celine and then to Dowager Lady Rochester, “my lady, um.”
Alasdair peered into the room from behind Gabbers’ shoulders. “Franklin Sanders, what in the hell are you doing?” he roared.
Celine blinked. The normally taciturn man seemed angrier than a startled mongoose. The gentleman on the sofa jumped and stood.
“Alasdair?” Franklin said. “Thank goodness. I was just comforting Dowager Lady Rochester.”
“You were doing more than just comforting!” Alasdair roared. “Beg your pardon, my lady.” He bowed to Dowager Lady Rochester. “My lady.” He bowed to Celine too.
“Alasdair, please stop.” Celine laid a hand on Alasdair’s arm. Alasdair took a gulp of air and sighed. “Gabbers, please could you shut the door.”
Gabbers nodded.
“Excuse me.” Dowager Lady Rochester raised an eyebrow. “But who are you? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were Lydia Williams, but your face isn’t right, your voice isn’t right, and I know Lydia is dead.”
Celine nodded. “That’s what Lord Colthaven said.”
Dowager Lady Rochester shivered. “Odious man. Where is he now?”
“Passed out in the hall, my lady,” Gabbers said succinctly, shutting the door with a click, and nodding at Celine, “um, my lady.”
“Good grief. I would remind you this is my house—” Dowager Lady Rochester narrowed her eyes, “—young lady. Who do you think you are?”
Alasdair gently took Celine’s hand off his arm. “Her name is Celine. She came with Mr. Fiske, my lady. Mr. Fiske is probably in the woods by now.”
“In the woods?” The lady sighed. “But he did bring you with him. Good.” Dowager Lady Rochester’s sudden smile could have lit a room full of candles. “At last he has found someone.” She got to her feet and circled Celine. “Hmm. Good teeth. No idea what she looks like…” She stopped. “I’ve seen that scarf before,” she said flatly.
Slowly Celine unwrapped the scarf from her head. “Someone put the scarf in my bag.” She handed the scarf to Dowager Lady Rochester.
“I know where I’ve seen the scarf before.” She sat down suddenly. “We were traveling through the East End in London. I’d told Richard, my husband, Lord Rochester I wanted a closed carriage. I was afraid, you see. The East End can be…intimidating.” She sniffed. “But he was in an…unusual frame of mind and made us travel in a barouche.”
Franklin, Alasdair’s brother coughed.
Dowager Lady Rochester nodded. “It was just the beginning of the madness. I know that now. He would sometimes think that he was in another place from his youth—that was before he thought he was a dog. Oh well.” She sighed. “We were passing a church. A large church with a vicarage.”
Celine drew in a sharp breath. There were many churches in the East End, she reminded herself. The string of coincidences couldn’t last.
Dowager Lady Rochester grimaced. “A rather unsavory individual—not unusual for the East End—was crossing the road. But he had an Eastern look to him. He wasn’t from the British Isles at all. He didn’t look at us as he was too busy carrying a bundle across the road. He dropped the scarf on the ground but didn’t notice. My husband jumped off the moving coach and picked up the scarf. But by the time he reached the door to the church, the Eastern man had disappeared. He banged and banged on the church door, but no one would let him in.”
“An Eastern man?” Alasdair said slowly. “
Did he happen to have a large curved sword on him?”
“Why yes he did!” Dowager Lady Rochester smiled sadly. “Lydia would have said it was a talwah, a type of scimitar. I only recognized him for what he was because Lydia had talked about the swords and Eastern look in much detail. Her family had dealings with the East India Trade Company. And despite many clashes with the local people, led by the Tipu Sultan, some of them came back to England on the trading ships.” She paused. “Yes. I think she said that the people came from a place called Mysore in the area of the world we call India. Lydia loved everything to do with India. The fabrics, the stories of hot places—”
“Elephants,” Celine said quietly.
Dowager Lady Rochester nodded. “Especially elephants, like the ones on this scarf. I’ve never seen a live elephant. Just a dead one that was exhibited some time ago in London. It was still very impressive.” She stopped and covered her eyes. “I’m babbling. I just feel so ineffectual. Those awful men outside, and that odious man in the hallway.”
Celine frowned. “Those men outside in the courtyard. Would you say that they looked similar to the man you saw in the East End?”
Dowager Lady Rochester sat back in her seat. “Why yes. You could be right. I didn’t get a good look at them. They came barging into the house. Gabbers and Lord Colthaven managed to persuade them to leave. But they won’t let us out of the house. They seem to be waiting for something.
“Someone.” Celine’s heart thumped loudly in her ears. “They are waiting for Mr. Khaffar. He’s going after Edward, Mr. Fiske. They seemed to know that he would come here.”
“It is a good thing that he is out in the woods then.” Dowager Lady Rochester stood and yawned. “I feel so tired all of a sudden. And cold.”
“It’s the shock,” Alasdair said quietly. “Shock can do that to you.”
“I think I had better go to bed. Gabbers and Franklin, please make sure a bed is made up for Celine. Use my son’s room if you have to. Lord Colthaven is currently occupying the guest suite and the other rooms are unserviceable due to their proximity to the attic.”
Maddening Minx Page 20