“You sound bitter, my Lord,” Ashton observed as he sat once again. The man appeared tired from the exertion.
His conscience twanged. “I do not mean to add sullenness to the situation, but, of late, speaking honestly has served me well.” Aidan looked upon three guilty countenances. He should feel regret for having placed these three in an discomforted moment, but perhaps it would be better to clear the fog hanging over the room.
Lady Yardley said quietly, “Not a day goes by, my Lord, where I do not know remorse for my actions in precipitating your injury. I never meant to hurt you, my Lord.”
“But you did hurt me, Lady Yardley. You treated my honest regard as a playing chip to discard at your whim.” Aidan found saying the words were not as satisfying as he had anticipated, but he still found the moment infinitely more rewarding than pretending nothing had happened, which was exactly what propriety would expect of him.
Wellston stepped between Aidan and Lady Yardley. “If anyone is to blame, it is I. If you have a grief to air, it should be with me, Lexford. I encouraged Cashémere.”
Aidan said earnestly, “I have no grief with anyone within these walls. I told you honestly to follow your heart, Wellston; but neither can I pretend we have always played fairly between us. It does not mean I hold you in less regard than I did previously. The situation simply requires us to begin anew; you, Lady Yardley, and I must acknowledge our past, all of our past. We must accept the fact that Fate pulls the strings, and we are but marionettes.”
Ashton said sagely, “Lord Lexford is correct. We cannot change what happened yesterday or a week ago or several months long gone. If it were possible to do so, I would turn over the incriminating information I possessed on Viscount Averette. If so, my sweet Satiné would be in Cheshire and preparing for her first Season.”
“My sister shall return soon,” Lady Yardley assured her uncle.
“I appreciate your kindness, Cashémere, but I must face the possibility that Satiné is even now lost to me forever.” He motioned Wellston and Aidan to chairs. “Please join us, Lord Lexford. Together we will find a means to a better situation. The future may not hold what we originally planned, but we welcome it nonetheless. Obviously, doing so is better than the alternative.” Aidan thought of Mary and Aaron. Neither had been part of his plan, but they each had enriched his life. He would cherish their time together.
*
“You may return to the manor, Millie.” Her maid openly shivered from the cold. “I mean to spend a bit more time outdoors.” For once the young girl did not argue with her. Mercy had twice walked the length of the groomed parkland, now dormant from the winter’s frost. Although her fingers and toes screamed for a warm fire, she turned her steps toward the outcropping where Lord Lexford had taken his fall. Although she trusted His Lordship’s version of the story, Mercy’s practical side said it impossible for either ghost or human to disappear into solid rock. She would inspect the area to discover answers to the questions, which nagged her waking hours.
A quarter hour brisk walk brought her to within the vicinity of the scene Mr. Hill had described. No longer did the water pour from the rock face as per His Lordship’s rendition of the events. Instead, a steady trickle of water slid down from above. Mercy followed the sound to look upon the area in daylight.
The outcropping was little more than the side of a hill swept away over the years by the cut of the stream flowing into the River Goyt. It stood some fifteen to twenty feet above her head. The sight sent a shiver of dread down Mercy’s spine. “His Lordship is fortunate he survived the drop,” she murmured. “How sad we all would have been with a different outcome.”
With a quick prayer for Lord Lexford’s continued health, Mercy explored the base of the hill. She easily found where the viscount had made his ascent. Deep heel prints announced where Lord Lexford had stood. It would be natural to assume whoever His Lordship chased had used the same path. It was the easiest means to the top. But no footprints, other than Lord Lexford’s, showed in the damp earth.
Mercy braced her hand against the sharp rocks. She surveyed the path several times. “If the woman His Lordship chased did not climb the path to the top before him,” Mercy reasoned, “how did the lady reach the top and when did she arrive? Obviously, Lord Lexford did not push himself into the water.”
Mercy walked the outline of the small hill, checking for another means to the top, but only the one path provided a foothold for a weary traveler or a devious culprit. “Where?” she said over and over. Mercy had reasoned that if the woman had not led the way to the ledge, Lord Lexford’s attacker had hidden away and waited for the opportunity to strike.
“Where?” Mercy continued to think aloud. Her fingers traced the rough sandstone. When she reached the steady plop, plop, plop of the water moving through the cracks in the rocks, Mercy ducked behind the thin stream. Then she saw it: a rough zigzag opening in the rock’s surface. An opening large enough for a person to enter or exit the area if bent over. Mercy considered her alternatives: She could seek out Mr. Hill’s assistance or she could explore the area privately. What if the opening held answers to questions His Lordship had not thought to ask? There was really only one choice: she must protect Lord Lexford.
Ducking through the small opening, Mercy was surprised to find a lantern and flint on the ground and protected from the splash back of the water by a large boulder. Balancing the lantern on a flat surface, she struck the flint three times before a spark caught the piece of a twig she had found inside the opening. Using the twig, Mercy quickly lit the candle’s wick. She thought it odd the candle was not a cheap rush candle or tallow, but rather one made from wax. That fact meant whoever had placed the candle within had been a member of the gentry. The poor could not afford such candles.
Lifting the lantern higher, Mercy examined what appeared to be a cave in the hillside. “Who would have thought?” she said in awe. “Surely, Lord Lexford is aware of this place, but if so, how is it the viscount has not thought of the possibility previously?”
Curious, Mercy explored the open space. It was not large, but not so small as to feel cramped. The lantern’s light drifted upward where a gentle slope appeared to go straight to the summit. “The ghost’s path?” she questioned. Mercy would explore the possibility before she exited the cave.
On the left there was a narrow opening through which a person turned sideways could fit. Permitting the lantern to lead the way, Mercy squeezed through the opening to emerge into a long tunnel. “A person familiar with this passage could easily hide from someone who searched for him,” she thought aloud. “Even if that someone recognized the smaller opening to the cave.”
Mercy hesitated before venturing farther. She held no idea whether the tunnel might lead deeper into the side of the hill or whether it dipped into the earth. “Do I venture forth?” she asked the blackness, which lay ahead.
“I would not if I were you.” A dark-faced man stepped from behind a large boulder to block her way. At first, her foolish mind thought him the ghost of a copper miner, covered in mine dust. She had seen sketches of such apparitions in one of the few books remaining in Geoffrey’s library. The man had trapped her. She was too far from the narrow opening to run for safety. The shadows hid the man’s features, but Mercy did not underestimate him. He was tall and lean, but muscular, like the Black Dog of legend fame. “Put the lantern down on the rock beside you,” he said with a gesture of the gun he held. The man’s accent rolled with a heat over the hard English vowels. Mercy had heard his accent before. This man was one of her brother’s associates. Geoffrey had found her. She swallowed the groan of defeat filling her lungs.
“What are…what are you doing here?” she asked. Mercy had to know what Geoffrey meant to do with her.
The man chuckled. “I thought to call on my old friend Lord Lexford,” the man said baldly. “I always use this secret way when I make my social calls.” Did the man mean to make light of the power he held over her? He remained hidden by
the semi-darkness as if he wished to keep his identity secret. Mercy wondered if he could see her better than she could him. Thinking thus, she edged away from the light. “Did the viscount send you to find me?” the man taunted.
Mercy nearly blurted out the fact His Lordship was elsewhere, but she kept her tongue in check. “Actually, it was Mr. Hill’s idea for me to explore the opening. He would not fit easily into the space.”
“I have never liked the man,” the stranger admitted with a touch of disdain. Mercy searched her memory for the man’s name. She had seen him but twice in her brother’s company. However, obviously, the man was memorable, especially when compared to the other riff-raff with whom her brother associated. His skin tone spoke of a man long from his home. Back in Lancashire, her first impression of her captor was “dangerous.” That feeling had not dissipated. “Is Mr. Hill waiting for you?” the stranger asked curiously.
“By the stream,” Mercy lied.
“I am sorry to hear it.” The man’s eyes traced lines up and down her body. It took all of Mercy’s willpower not to cover herself with her hands. “I thought we might learn something of each other,” he said seductively.
Mercy bit back her fear. “There is no time for niceties,” she said as bravely as she could. “I should be going.” She edged backward toward the narrow opening. If she could maneuver through before the man reacted, Mercy might be able to outrun the stranger.
“Your name, my pretty?” the man demanded.
Mercy slid her left foot closer to the opening. “Mary,” she said evenly. Mercy watched her captor closely, trying to anticipate his movements.
The man’s tone said he scowled. “Mary. Mary is something a man does. It is a perfectly plain English name, but it is not a proper name for such a beautiful woman. You require a name as distinctive as your countenance. You should be Anahita or Zam-Armtay. A name which distinguishes you among women.”
“Yet, Mary is my name,” she said a bit testily.
The man narrowed the distance between them, and Mercy’s fear rose quickly to close her throat. She swallowed hard. “We have a bit of a problem,” her captor’s tone changed from teasing to warning. “I do not wish to be the bearer of ill news, but I cannot permit you to return to Lord Lexford’s house to raise the alarm.”
Mercy’s heart slammed to a halt. Through trembling lips, she asked, “You mean to return me to my brother?”
The man’s countenance screwed up in confusion. He caught Mercy’s arm and dragged her toward the light. Mercy pulled hard in the opposite direction, but the stranger was too strong for her. Her leather boots slid easily over the damp smooth floor. “Who are you?” he demanded; his hand clamped her wrist tighter as he caught up the lantern in his other hand. He lifted it to look upon her countenance, and Mercy prepared herself for the worse.
When the light flooded her features, Mercy braced herself for the moment of recognition. She had erred: The man had not come for her. Instead, he was Lord Lexford’s enemy. Her mind searched for the memory of his name. “Talpur.” The stranger’s identity slipped across her tongue.
However, her recognition only deepened the man’s scowl. “Talpur died in the cellar of the Duke of Thornhill’s Cornish home. How do you know my countryman’s name?”
Mercy set her mouth in a tight line. She would say nothing more. She stubbornly stiffened and pulled in opposition, but it was in futility. The man was as strong as she had anticipated.
He jerked hard to pull her beside him. “Let me look upon your countenance.” He set the lantern on a flat shelf in the stone face. Then he grabbed Mercy’s chin to lift it where he might examine her features. “I have looked upon this countenance before, but from afar.” The man’s thumb rubbed roughly over Mercy’s lips. “Your brother believes you dead or employed in a brothel,” he declared baldly. Instantly, tears pricked at her lashes. It broke Mercy’s heart to know Geoffrey had made no effort to find her. She expected as much, but having the truth of her brother’s lack of responsibility to his family hurt more than she could ever speak. “I wonder what the knowledge of your hiding in Cheshire is worth?” Mercy wanted to beg the man not to betray her, but she remained silent. She would not give her captor the pleasure of hearing her pleas. “I imagine Sir Lesley would be most generous, but then perhaps not so much. I cannot think the baronet would desire Lord Lexford’s leavings.”
Mercy rose to the viscount’s defense. “His Lordship has treated me with nothing but respect.” Despite her earlier vow to keep her own counsel, Mercy turned her head to the left. “What do you plan to do with me?”
The man caught her roughly about the neck and returned Mercy’s chin to its former position. “I could make you my leavings instead,” he said sinisterly.
Mercy’s fear roared to life again. There would be no one to save her; if she were to survive this encounter, it would be of her own design. “I was on the road for six weeks. Perhaps I have no honor to steal.” She infused as much bitterness into her words as she could.
“Unlike your fine English gentlemen, men of my country care not for such trivialities,” her captor insisted.
“Fah!” Mercy declared. “There are few men on this earth who would treat a woman thusly. The male pride is too ingrained to allow a woman forgiveness.”
The man barked out a laugh. “You are wise beyond your years.” He frowned deeply. “Talpur once took such liberties with the woman I had hoped to make my wife. I am pleased the one known as James Kerrington took the bastard’s life.”
It was Mercy’s turn to frown. “Yet, you freely use your countryman’s name.”
Her capturer smiled deprecatingly. “As you cannot be Mary, I would never be able to call myself Benjamin or Martin. My countenance would betray my foreign beginnings.” He said wryly, “I suppose I could have chosen Shahryār. Thornhill’s duchess likened herself to Scheherazade.”
The man’s true name arrived on a note of clarity. “Then you are the one known as Jamot?” she accused.
“And you are Miss Nelson?” he countered.
From outside the enclosure another called her name. “Miss Purefoy!” Mercy stiffened. It was Mr. Hill.
The man said, “You spoke the truth. Mr. Hill awaited you.”
Mercy shifted her shoulders to a defiant slant. “You cannot take me with you for Mr. Hill will follow. Your only opportunity for escape is to permit me to return to His Lordship’s home.”
“Miss Purefoy!” The sound was closer.
The man glanced anxiously toward the opening. “I could lie in wait and kill Lord Lexford’s man.”
“How do you know Mr. Hill is alone? Two grooms accompanied him earlier,” Mercy challenged. A bond of dread had knotted her stomach.
The sound of someone moving overhead reverberated in the enclosure. As Mercy suspected, anyone in the cave would know the movement of someone above. The man tightened his hold about her neck. “If I release you,” he bargained hastily, “will you keep my secret? How will I know you will not betray me the moment you step outside this tunnel?”
“I do not wish to return to Lancashire,” Mercy admitted. “I shall keep your secret if you do not tell my brother or Sir Lesley of my whereabouts,” she bargained.
“Miss Purefoy!” Mr. Hill’s voice called more urgently.
Her captor’s expression took on a dark warning. “If you betray me, I will find you and kill you.” Mercy thought she would rather die than to return to her brother’s care.
“You must trust me,” Mercy encouraged. “We must each walk away and never look back.”
The man smiled as he loosened his hold. “As if we were once lovers.”
Mercy swallowed hard and resisted the urge to rub the burning sensation upon the side of her neck. “When I am through the opening, douse the lantern.” Boldly, she stepped away from him. Setting her feet in action, she walked briskly away. Without turning her head, Mercy squeezed through the opening to reenter the cave. She peered into the muted daylight. Mr. Hill was nowhere
in sight, and so she slipped through the space. Mercy would like to look back, to assure herself the man did not follow–did not have his gun pointed at her back. Instead, she clung to the wall so Mr. Hill would not see her until she was in the open. Finally moving past the falling water, Mercy stepped into the winter sunlight. “Mr. Hill. Down here!” She pulled her cloak closer to hide her struggle with the stranger, half afraid of what Mr. Hill would do if he discovered the Baloch on Lexford property.
Hill’s expression twisted as he peered over the edge of the rock shelf. “I have looked everywhere for you. You should never have sent your maid back.”
Mercy glanced anxiously toward the cave. She thought she could see the man watching her. With a lift of her chin, she called to Mr. Hill. “Come down, Sir. I could use a strong arm on which to lean. I have need of your strength, Mr. Hill. I am most anxious to return to the safety of Lexington Arms.”
Chapter 15
He had stayed at Chesterfield Manor for three days, but Aidan’s heart had remained tied to his home in the adjoining shire. He missed the tinkling laughter Miss Purefoy used to pepper her speech, and Aidan longed for a hug from his nephew. He would readily admit to indifference to the boy in the beginning, but now he was quite smitten with both the child and the lady. Wellston and Lady Yardley’s love had filled the baron’s household, and although Aidan held few hopes for the intimacies his friend had found with Miss Cashémere, he had finally possessed the resemblance of a family, and he was anxious to return to his estate.
He and Wellston had spent exhaustive hours bringing Baron Ashton up to snuff on the activities of those involved in the opium ring. They had also assisted the baron in identifying agents to include in his set of contacts. Aidan had lost some of the details of his earlier participation in the investigation, but the other Realm members had summarized what he had reported to Pennington. Like so much of the prior years, he could not lay claim to specifics; therefore, Aidan spent his time with Ashton by bringing the baron up to strength on changes in Realm procedures since the time Ashton had served his country.
Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy Page 25