Avenging the Earl’s Lady: Book Five, Sons of the Spy Lord

by Alina K. Field

  Shaldon himself had delayed the planned dawn departure for one last meeting with the MacEwens and Kincaid in the dining room. Their voices carried through the open door. Boyd MacEwen was to take the painting to Cransdall, his instructions straightforward and consistent with what she’d expected.

  She’d removed the canvas from the dining room the night before, with the excuse that she had to consult Fox about preparing it. With luck, Boyd had never seen it and wouldn’t open the package once sealed.

  They’d begun to discuss Sir Richard’s transport when Perry descended from the bedchamber. Jane held a finger to her lips and led the younger lady down to the kitchen. Fergus hadn’t yet arrived for this meeting, but the plan was for him to leave at the same time as his cousin, that much she’d heard. She’d like to linger and hear the rest, but Perry would wonder why.

  “Eavesdropping, were you, Jane?” she whispered, smiling. “Anything interesting?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, I cannot blame you. It’s the only way to know what Father is up to.” Perry greeted Jenny who was packing a hamper for the travelers. Dressed in an old travel gown, Perry could have been another maid visiting the kitchen to bid farewell to the kitchen staff. “It’s a wonder there’s any food left with all these men about,” she said.

  “’Struth,” Jenny said.

  Jane peeked in the basket. “Some bread, some berries, some cheese, and I’m adding some hardboiled eggs. You won’t starve.”

  “What about you two?”

  Jenny sent her a sidewise glance and squelched a smile. “We’ll be all right, my lady.”

  “We’ll go into town and buy food,” Jane said.

  “Did Father leave you money?”

  “He told us the merchants would honor his credit,” Jenny said.

  Perry reached into her reticule and pulled out a handful of coins and battered notes. “You must take these. I would not blame you if you left Kincaid to his own devices and slipped away. There’s enough here for travel and inns.” She frowned. “Though I suppose arriving at Shaldon House in defiance of Father’s wishes might be difficult. We shall have to find lodgings for you.”

  Jane’s heart beat a bit faster. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Into your pocket the money must go, before Father comes down and starts asking questions. You may pay me back later. Or not.”

  As Jane swept the money away and pocketed it, the door crashed open and two large men sauntered in from the stable yard, one wearing dark coats, the other in uniform.

  Lady Perry turned on them. “And where have you been, Fergus MacEwen?” she asked.

  Jane recognized the dark-haired Scotsman as one of Kincaid’s trusted men. Now she could put a name to the face.

  “Off twisting the innkeeper’s girl’s arm, he was,” said the other man, a dragoon Jane hadn’t seen before.

  Jane’s gaze shot to Perry’s haughty look and then Jenny’s red face. The dragoon hadn’t recognized Lord Shaldon’s daughter. He didn’t know he was in the presence of two ladies, but the lout shouldn’t talk that way in front of any woman, not even a kitchen maid.

  “Hold your tongue.” MacEwen sent the dragoon a tense look.

  Jenny had turned away, gripping a knife, her back stiff.

  “Are you hungry, Mr. MacEwen?” Jane asked.

  “Hungry?” the dragoon asked. “He’s been feeding on tinder morsels, haven’t you, man? I saw you and the wench—”

  Perry gasped. “Are you drunk, man?”

  “Drunk?” The dragoon blinked, his mouth firming and opening again.

  “Leave it.” MacEwen glared at the man, shot Jenny a quick look, and then turned his gaze on Lady Perry. “I apologize, my lady. Your father sent me to speak to Kincaid.”

  The dragoon’s head jerked up, his mouth dropped open, and he made a hasty retreat out through the kitchen door.

  Under Lady Perry’s disdainful stare, blood rose in MacEwen’s cheeks.

  “They’re in the dining room waiting for you,” Jane said.

  Perry patted Jenny’s shoulder.

  “The wretch,” Perry said. “What does Father want with him?”

  Jane took up a towel and began drying the freshly boiled eggs. “MacEwen will be escorting Sir Richard to London tomorrow.” She would have to consult a map to make sure they avoided him.

  “Let’s have a cup of tea,” Perry said. “Or perhaps, Jenny, you would like a spot of brandy.”

  Jenny’s head moved side to side. “You need to be off, my lady.”

  Perry sighed. “It may not be true what the other fool said.”

  “It is,” Jenny said. “I overheard him in the yard yapping about it.”

  Perry turned the girl around to face her and gripped her shoulders. “Remember what I said. I dragged you to Yorkshire. No matter what happens, no matter your troubles, I will always help you, and so will Fox.”

  Jenny pressed her lips together. “Naught happened, I promise you. At least, naught that would cause trouble in a few months’ time.”

  “You’ll stay away from him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And his cousin. He’s lurking about also.”

  “The cousin is leaving tomorrow for Cransdall,” Jane said. “He and two other men are taking the painting.”

  “Three men?” Jenny asked. “It’s that valuable?”

  Perry’s eyes lit. “Yes. And I learned something else. Father got the painting years ago from a privateer, none other than Captain Kingsley. And—Jenny, you are sworn to secrecy on this—there’s a treasure map on it. Well, at least the coordinates to lost treasure. A fortune in Spanish gold, stolen and hidden somewhere in the West Indies.”

  Jane’s breath quickened and she plopped onto a chair. The numbers written on the canvas—no wonder they’d removed it from the frame.

  If word got out about the possibility of treasure, it might fetch far more money than any other ragged masterpiece, enough to pay off a young man’s debt and give a spinster the freedom to live independently in some semblance of style. And it would make all the men missing it squirm to get it back.

  Fox came through the kitchen door to retrieve his promised bride. Shaldon soon followed, his distant and hurried farewell leaving a hollow place in her heart.

  If she was lucky, she would never see him again. If she succeeded, if he came after her, the heat in his eyes would not be lust but the same sort of fury he felt toward the Duque.

  She would risk it, dammit.

  Soon enough, the clatter of wheels and departing horses subsided, and she and the maid were alone.

  “Jenny,” she said. “I believe tomorrow is a good day to take the cart for supplies.”

  The girl looked up, pink-faced. “I’ll gather my things tonight and be ready, my lady. I’m going with you.”

  Chapter 6

  The rickety cart passed the last low cottage. Next to her on the cart’s narrow bench seat, Jenny let out a long breath.

  “We’ve made it through the village,” she said.

  It had been a near thing. The men carrying the painting had left at dawn, and the others a bit later. They’d waited a full hour after Sir Richard’s departure to leave. Then they’d waited some more until the young groom, Ewan, had taken some much-needed rest. It had been another hour before they could quietly hitch up the plodder to the cart.

  Back at Gorse Point Cottage, a pot of soup sat on the sideboard next to a note from Jane saying they’d gone off to buy bread, and that wasn’t a lie.

  In the village, they discovered Fergus MacEwen had dawdled at the inn—for the prisoner’s comfort, the ostler had said. He and his men and Sir Richard had left the town only minutes before Jane and Jenny arrived.

  Forced to delay so they wouldn’t catch up with MacEwen, they’d chatted over their purchases of bread and cold meat and headed south, giving the excuse that they were off to buy fresh eggs from the aunt of a local man, Davy, who’d helped them capture Sir Richard.

  That message wa
s a lie. Eggs would simply rattle and break. Jane would drive on past the small freehold outside of town.

  When they rounded a bend in the lane, her heart sank. Pip, the young son of Davy, and Davy’s cousin Edie, stood in the middle of the road.

  Jane pulled up the horse and crossed her fingers. Edie had also helped them rescue Lord Shaldon. The girl had once been employed as a maid for Sir Richard. She’d drawn a map of his manor and gone with them to help gain the trust of the squire’s remaining household staff. If they asked for her help now, she might not share the news.

  But one thing was certain—in the main, the locals knew how to keep secrets.

  “Good morning,” Jane said.

  Edie scowled up at them. She wasn’t the most congenial of young women. “If you’re trying to catch up with the others, you won’t have far to go. You’ll hear the squire bellowing all down the road.”

  “Serves him right,” Pip said.

  His cousin nodded.

  Who could reprimand the boy? Sir Richard had deserved all he’d got.

  “With any luck he’ll survive to stand trial,” Jane said. And with any luck, they could trail behind Sir Richard and his escort until the men reached the London road. She would have to find another route to a coaching inn. Once she and Jenny boarded a coach, MacEwen wouldn’t go after them, not with Sir Richard to keep track of. Kincaid might send Ewan, but they ought to be able to dodge one gangly young groom.

  And if not? She’d packed the bottle of laudanum and some powders into her case.

  Pip turned and waved excitedly. “Da, the lady is here.”

  Her heart sank lower. Pip’s father, Davy, appeared and greeted them. He was a small man, worn down by worry and drink, and she’d never even learned his surname.

  Today he appeared to be sober.

  “They’ve sent the lady off to London in this rickety old cart,” Pip said.

  Davy blinked. Edie’s eyes narrowed.

  “No…” Jane’s breath caught while she searched for words, conscious of the plainness of her dress, the battered cart, and their black valises packed into the back. Her only item of luxury was the Kashmiri shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  “You have chores to finish, Pip. Edie, take him along home.”

  The young woman latched onto the boy’s arm and steered him off the road, under a branch and onto a path that was almost hidden.

  “My lady,” Davy said, “it’s a stout horse you have there but he won’t take you all the way to London, nor that cart over these roads.”

  Heart battering in her chest, she managed a smile. “Of course not. We’re not going that far.” Not in this cart, nor with this horse.

  He rubbed at his chin. “The next coaching inn be some ways south. And I reckon your man might stop there with the squire for the night.”

  “We’ll be fine, I assure you—”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but the other lady wasn’t fine traveling that road to Scarborough.”

  Lady Perry had been captured on the road some nights ago.

  “He’s right,” Jenny whispered.

  “I know as Sir Richard has been caught, but who’s to say there aren’t more of his crew as might pop up and two ladies on the road—”

  “And you think we should turn back,” she said, “but we are only going—”

  “No, my lady. Not saying that. Only saying, there might be another way.”

  “Another way.”

  “What way?” Jenny asked. “Her ladyship doesn’t need any trouble.”

  Davy’s lips firmed. “My boy was saved by the other lady.”

  Lady Perry had saved Pip, but just barely.

  His gaze was steady and sober. “I can repay a good deed without causing trouble.”

  Jane let out a breath. “All right,” she said. “How?”

  Davy came around and clambered into the back of the cart. “Go up the lane a piece and I’ll tell you where to turn.”

  * * *

  Kincaid rubbed at the bandage wrapping his chest. The damn thing was beginning to itch in places, a good sign of healing.

  And he was fair starving again, another good sign.

  The one thing this cottage lacked was a way to call servants. A proper way. He’d bellow out his caretaker’s name if she was anything less than a proper lady.

  Riding hard and straight through, Shaldon might reach London on the morrow. Fergus MacEwen, who’d left in the early morn, would have a slower course ferrying an injured man. Fergus’s cousin, Boyd, however, should reach Cransdall sooner. The painting would go into the vault there for safekeeping while the Earl laid his trap for the Duque.

  Blast it. He had to get out of this bed. He pushed back the sheet and sat up, and pain seared him.

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

  He managed to swing his legs over the side and reach for a shirt. At least they’d put him to bed in his breeches.

  Downstairs, the kitchen was silent, the hearth embers buried.

  A pot sat on the sideboard, the lid tight. A note propped nearby said the women had gone into town to buy bread. And how long ago had that been?

  He looked around, trying to sense what was missing. He’d not spent much time in this room after his injury.

  The colorful rolling pins caught his eye. Empty spaces outlined by soot showed where two had been removed.

  Kincaid’s rump hit a chair as he plopped down. Shaldon ought to have listened to him.

  Lady Jane was gone, bolted, and the girl with her.

  How the hell had the groom, Ewan, let them go? He’d best have got himself up and gone after them. With luck, the boy would catch up with them before they’d had a chance to reach a coaching inn.

  And he’d best get his own self dressed and be on his way.

  * * *

  Kincaid met up with Ewan on the road to the village. The boy’s mount was lathered.

  He himself was afoot, he was, blast it. He hadn’t dared to try to saddle the one horse left behind in the stable.

  “Well?” he bellowed.

  Ewan’s face paled, making his freckles stand up and shiver. “They passed through the village not long after Fergus. I rode south as far as Fergus’s party. No one has seen them.”

  “Or they’re not talking. Take me up then.” He pointed at a rock that would do as a mounting block, then gritted his teeth as his stitches pulled, hauling himself up behind the boy.

  “Your mount will need a good rest, and we both need to eat. We’ll leave tomorrow. We know where they’re going.”

  “I can change mounts and—”

  “No.”

  “But, the lady alone…and her maid—”

  “No.”

  The boy was drawn to the maid, but if ever there was a lass who could protect herself and her lady, that one was it. Not to mention that Lady Jane had depths they’d all overlooked. “They’ll stumble across Fergus MacEwen soon enough, and he’ll wrap them up and cart them along with him to London.”

  * * *

  Late the next morning Jane and Jenny queued up for the balding and chubby agent who was taking money and issuing tickets.

  When it was their turn, he gave Jane a friendly nod. “And here we are: the lady in the red shawl.”

  A woman of a height and age similar to her own turned. “Oh my, it is lovely, and I dare say a perfect weight for the summer. I’ve been admiring it so. How I wish I had something like that for the coach trip to Nottingham. Visiting my daughter and new grandson there, I am.”

  Jane smiled as the woman moved away.

  Next to her, Jenny glanced around the bustling hall, her gaze more assessing than fearful. They’d spent a comfortable enough night, sharing a bed in a prosperous fisherman’s cottage, thanks to Davy who’d sailed them by skiff to Scarborough and lodged them with kind friends of his. This morning, they’d made their way afoot to this inn in East Sandgate.

  The place was busy, and yet, it wasn’t likely that Ewan or any other of Kincaid’s men would find t
hem here. Coaches left from this inn, but it was also a link to the London packet, and as luck would have it, the regular boat was leaving within hours.

  “So, madam,” the agent said, “tickets for you and your, er,…”

  “Daughter.” Jane pulled out the bank notes. This transportation was very dear indeed, but Shaldon’s men, if they looked for her, would expect her to be traveling by coach.

  Jenny eyed the money changing hands, biting her lip. They went to take a seat in the busy tap room. “If I were to take the stagecoach, would he give you back my fare for the packet, my lady?”

  Jane shushed her. “You must call me Mother. And I wouldn’t put a maid, much less my own daughter, on a coach to travel alone.”

  Jenny’s gaze went to the door and she slipped down in her chair. After a moment, her frown eased and she shook her head. “A tall, red-haired boy. He looked for a moment like Ewan, but it weren’t him.” She bit her lip and frowned. “It might be better to pack away your shawl.”

  Her shawl. Of course.

  She quickly removed it and folded it onto her lap.

  “It’s pretty,” Jenny said, “but it does stand out.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” A chill draft blew in through the open door and snaked around her, making her shiver.

  “Was it a gift?” Jenny asked.

  She nodded. “From my brother. He gave it to me not long before he died.”

  Her brother, Lord Amsden, had arrived at the family estate in Kent, gift in hand. The French had recently landed a small invasion in Wales that’d been quickly snuffed out. Alarmed, Father had felt the need to spend time at his coastal property, and he’d sent for his heir to join him.

  Amsden was wild, always on the outs with Father. He’d arrived and presented Jane with the shawl, laughing heartily that he’d won it in a card game from a nabob newly returned from India. She didn’t care that he hadn’t purchased it especially for her. She’d loved her brother.

  Amsden had also brought along a friend, Reginald Dempsey.

  A coach horn blew and she roused herself, fingering the fine wool. The inn room stirred with a bustle of people rising. She spotted the woman bound for Nottingham.