Then, out of nowhere, two men raced toward her with a large wool blanket and rope. Despite her attempts to kick free, they got the blanket over her head and then she was trussed up and carried. The wool of the blanket suffocated her. Her panicked breathing increased. She tried to free her hands, but they were bound behind her back with stiff rope and her ankles likewise. The man heaved with exertion and she fell against the wall of something and hit her head. Then came the telltale bumps of a carriage over the London cobblestones.
* * *
William sat in front of the fire at his lodgings and sipped a Madeira, replaying over and over in his head the events of the afternoon. Lady Carlyle was so indescribably magnificent. He hoped that by following Stirling’s good advice he had made some small steps toward her heart. Although her words had been serious, he had discovered a certain look in her eye when she regarded him that boded well for the future. There had been some warmth in the look, and that warmth might possibly be coaxed into a blaze given enough time and patience.
Then there was the matter of Carlyle’s murder. If he could solve it for her, gratitude might be added to other feelings. The housebreaker and the thief had to be one and the same; otherwise, there were too many coincidences. But if nothing had been taken, what could Reginald have possibly been looking for? Then again, if Reginald hadn’t found what he wanted, he would surely try again. Lady Carlyle might be in some danger, and Lord Brandon was just the man to protect her, if she would let him.
Could Carlyle’s death have to do with depredations on the estate? The estate papers appeared to be in order. Or perhaps a long-lost secret. For what infraction had Reginald been sent down from Oxford? William wracked his brain to remember. But Reginald would have had no reason to kill Carlyle so many years later if Reginald had secrets from his Oxford days.
Oxford days. And then it hit him. Lady Carlyle had given him the notebook from their Oxford days. Could that be what Reginald had been after but couldn’t find? William leaped from his chair and crossed the room to his desk. He extracted the notebook and brought it back to the light of the fire.
He read the notebook backwards and forwards twice, looking for some hint as to why Reginald would want to steal it and how the theft would be in any way connected with Carlyle’s death. There had to be some information hidden away in Carlyle’s youthful scribbles that would have jeopardized Reginald’s inheritance. For the theory that Officer Stephens had first proposed, and that Lord Brandon had firmly in mind after discovering the fob, was that Reginald had tired of waiting for his inheritance. Reginald worried that Lady Carlyle might get with child at any point, thus cutting him out, and had killed Carlyle for the title once he arranged for Carlyle’s murder to look like mischance. Thus, Reginald sought the notebook when he discovered that Lady Carlyle had found it and taken it with her to London.
It seemed like a very sound and rational theory, until he read through the notebook for the third time. This time, instead of focusing on Reginald, he simply read it and a new picture emerged.
“Oh God,” he exclaimed. “What a fool I have been!”
Chapter Nine
“Could you, at the very least, remove this blanket? I will suffocate otherwise,” Helena said.
“Yes, my dear. Give me a moment,” replied Mr. Northcutt.
She felt tugs on the blanket and then the sudden brush of fresh, cold air on her cheek. She blinked. Faint light filtered through the curtained windows of the carriage, indicating that they hadn’t left the city entirely. She stared at Northcutt contemptuously. “So?”
Northcutt tucked the blanket around her shoulders and then sat back against the squabs. “You are without your cloak and may catch cold on the journey,” he said, as if that explained all.
“We are definitely bound for Gretna Green, then, to be married over the anvil?” she said with all the disdain she could muster.
“I am afraid that I couldn’t risk the banns.”
“But why not ask me to marry you in the proper fashion? Why kidnap me in this low manner? I thought you were a gentleman.”
“Oh, I am, but even gentlemen can be pushed too far. If you had given me the yes I deserve, then this all could have been very different.”
“I cannot believe that you ever cared for me. It was just money you were after.”
Northcutt leaned forward, placed his hand on her knee and caressed it slowly. “My dear Helena, you know that my heart has always been yours to command. I have merely accelerated the time frame of our joyful union.”
Helena felt a surge of panic at the press of his hand. She had to figure a way to escape the carriage. Scotland was a long distance away. They would have to change horses multiple times. She would find some opportunity to distract him and then run for assistance. Before nightfall, he would have to untie her because she certainly couldn’t enter an inn bound as she was. Therefore, it wouldn’t do to openly fight him now. He must be made to think that she was slowly reconciling herself to her fate.
“I see,” she replied. “But why now? What has happened to set you upon this course? I still do not understand.”
Mr. Northcutt smiled at her. “Unfortunately, my run of luck has ended. But do not worry, dear Helena, your fortune will be more than sufficient for us both.”
* * *
Lord Brandon paced the floor. He pulled out his watch and consulted it for the tenth time. She had mentioned the theater, so he had to wait for her to return to her aunt’s house in order to be sure of speaking with her alone. That stiff Abbott would likely not let him enter the house to await their arrival. Old-fashioned servants held strict views on propriety. Not that the lateness of the hour made such a visit entirely appropriate, either.
He had a sudden vision of Lady Carlyle, standing alone by the library fire, the dappled light reflected on her pale cheek, her eyes mysterious and her lips warm and yielding.
No, better not to think of that.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He gave Perkins instructions to call him a hack carriage, straightened his cravat, threw on his greatcoat and headed out into the night, clutching a notebook.
Abbott received him with chilly pomp, which suggested, that gentlemen did not visit ladies at such an advanced hour of the evening. However, he ushered him into the drawing room and shut the door behind him saying as he did so, “I will see if the ladies are disposed to attend to you.”
William stood beside a large candelabra that provided the only light in the chilly room, waiting nervously for the sight of Lady Carlyle.
Instead, Lady Wickersham bustled in, followed by several dogs. She shut the door loudly behind her. “Oh, Lord Brandon, I am so glad you have come! I don’t know what to do. Why would she have run off like this?”
“Where is Lady Carlyle?”
“Gone, Lord Brandon. Gone before the second act started. There were so many people in the box, I didn’t notice when they left, but when the second act started, she wasn’t there and then he wasn’t there. And it is so very odd because he doesn’t even have very good legs.”
“What? Where has she gone?”
“Off. I guess it must be explained by this note they handed me. But still, I do not fully understand.” She handed William a crumpled paper. “Here, maybe you can make sense of it all.”
He unfolded the crumpled paper and hurried over to the light. In a looping script he read:
Dear Lady Wickersham,
I know that this may come as a shock, but our only excuse must be that the great love we feel for one another cannot be delayed by the societal conventions. We have waited through mourning and now seek to confirm by marriage the love we have held secret ere long. Please do not be concerned for the welfare of your niece. She is safe and travels in comfort with me to Scotland. Despite the abruptness of this news, I hope that you will receive us back in London when we return as man and wife. Best wishes for your health and happiness until that time.
Yours,
Harcourt Northcutt
William crushed the paper in his palm. “When did they leave?”
“Oh, I don’t know. More than an hour ago, I suspect. It was after the first act. But what does it all mean? Did Helena really wish to marry Mr. Northcutt?”
“If she did, she might regret it, because he is the man who murdered her husband.”
“It wasn’t that awful Reginald?”
“No, for once Reginald might actually have been correct. But, I am afraid we don’t have much time if they have got a whole hour ahead of us.”
“Are you going to go after them?”
“Yes.” He started to pace. “But I am unlikely to be able to trace them through London. And I will need my gun.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Lady Wickersham wrung her hands. “Please be careful, Lord Brandon.”
He stopped pacing and regarded her solemnly. “Lady Wickersham, I promise I will do all within my power to bring your niece home. You can trust me.”
Lady Wickersham extended her hand, and when he took it, she gave his hand a squeeze. “I know you will, Lord Brandon. The legs always tell.”
He was unsure of the proper reaction to that remark, but decided not to question her further.
Chapter Ten
Instead of going home, William hailed a hackney carriage and made his way to a very modest neighborhood, some distance from his own rooms. He found the house he was looking for and knocked loudly. Fortunately, Officer Stephens, an intelligent young man, quickly awakened from slumber and more quickly mobilized to chase the eloping couple. Then it was simply a matter of returning to William’s rooms to call up his racing curricle from the stables and retrieve a very fine pair of dueling pistols, a lantern, and a relatively current map. William handed one of the guns to Stephens. “Northcutt will probably have that silver pistol with him. Let us hope that we are not too late.”
* * *
Helena watched anxiously as Northcutt slumped down into the seat, his head lolling to one side, apparently deep in slumber. How he could possibly sleep at a moment like this was beyond her comprehension. Nevertheless, it gave her an opportunity to think and plan. She tried to work her hands free once more, but only succeeded in causing the skin of her wrists to ache.
She leaned over and moved the curtain aside with her nose. The full moon gave enough light to see by. They had made their way out of London, and now traveled the Great North Road en route to Edinburgh. She wondered just how long it would be until morning, when surely the horses would need to be changed if they were to proceed any farther. If there were but a way to get word to her aunt. Aunt Wickersham could contact the magistrate of Bow Street, who might be able to send someone after them. Assuming her aunt would disbelieve the elopement story, of course. Then again, perhaps she would think Helena capable of an elopement.
Helena had a sudden vision of herself hauled into a Scottish church beside Mr. Northcutt and recoiled. How had she ever tolerated his company? And then the truth of the matter struck home. She would never willingly marry Northcutt because she was in love with another. Somehow, without knowing quite how it happened, Lord Brandon had quietly stolen her heart. She smiled despite her dire circumstances. She was in love with the kind and dependable Lord Brandon. The Lord Brandon whose handsome face and fine figure she had somehow overlooked for years. Who could have predicted such an outcome?
Unfortunately, circumstances prevented her from dwelling for more than a moment on the perfections of Lord Brandon’s warm brown eyes and lopsided smile. How could she ever explain this situation to him, if, that is, she managed to escape? He would think she had gone willingly, and then there would be no hope of rekindling his love. Her heart sank.
Helena pulled herself together. She would have to face that problem when it presented itself. First, she had to make her plans and escape.
She turned back to the sleeping Northcutt. In the dim light of the carriage, she could see the precision of his cravat and the fastidious way he had smoothed down the many capes of his driving coat. She noticed that he still gripped a scented handkerchief in one hand. She had seen him hold it to his nose whenever the air of a ballroom felt particularly close and fetid. Suddenly, she had a brilliant idea.
* * *
Lord Brandon and Officer Stephens reached the outskirts of London in good time. They were likely only three hours behind Northcutt and, with a racing curricle, could hope to make up some time on a ponderous closed carriage. As they traveled, Lord Brandon and Officer Stephens discussed the likelihood of Northcutt stopping at towns beyond the great metropolis. Stephens suggested that they begin their inquiries at Barnet and Lord Brandon agreed. Northcutt would have to change horses if he desired to make the journey without rest.
They had no luck at Barnet or at Hatfield, and William began to feel less confident about their ability to overtake the carriage. At Baldock, a hostler informed them that a large carriage had passed some two hours before; the hostler being surprised to see a carriage on the road that late at night. Stephens also had the presence of mind to inform the hostler that the magistrate of Bow Street would be most obliged if the hostler could pass the word on up the road that the carriage they sought contained a dangerous man who should be detained at all costs. The hostler regarded Officer Stephens with wide eyes and promised most faithfully to send a boy with the message on to Biggleswade.
The principal inn at Biggleswade did not produce the couple, however, and, despite Stephens’ renewed warnings that Bow Street was involved, Lord Brandon could detect no real desire on the part of the innkeeper to involve himself in a rescue. William returned to the curricle in a downcast mood, filled with more grim determination than hope.
* * *
As the lights of Biggleswade receded behind them, Lady Carlyle began to sneeze loudly, startling Northcutt awake. He recoiled against his seatback. She then began to cough, leaning forward as if doubled over with pain, so that she coughed directly in his face. “Oh, I am so sorry, but I am feeling quite ill.” Helena slumped down dramatically. “I feel as if I am going to be sick. Please, sir, if you value my health, I beg you to please find an inn where we might alight.”
Northcutt wiped his face with the handkerchief and then held it over his nose. He moved as far away from her as he could in the small carriage.
She coughed again and then sneezed in his direction once more for good measure. “My stomach hurts so much.”
He mumbled through the handkerchief, “I suppose we must. We will need to change horses, at any rate.”
* * *
Lord Brandon, thoroughly exhausted, pulled his horses into the stable yard of the Ox and Four at Alconbury, prepared for yet another disappointment. The faint light of dawn tinged the treetops a pale pink. Then he spied a black carriage off to the left of the inn. The Ox and Four appeared to be a prosperous establishment, and so, as he dismounted and handed the reins to the hostler, he inquired as to the number of private parlors the establishment boasted.
“We have two, and the coffee room, of course, although one of the private rooms is taken by a gentleman and his sister.”
“How interesting,” William said, but his heart leapt into his throat. Could they have finally caught up with them? He extended his hand toward Officer Stephens. “This gentleman is from Bow Street. We believe that the gentleman you have in your coffee room may be the man we have been searching for. He is wanted for murder, and we have come to apprehend him and return the lady to her home.”
The hostler stared at William incredulously until Stephens produced a document from his coat pocket. “What Lord Brandon says is true, so I ask that you let us enter the inn without arousing suspicion. I have no desire to use pistols, so the element of surprise is important. Besides, there is the lady to think of.”
The hostler nodded. “I certainly wouldn’t want to frighten the lady, in any case, as sick as she is.”
“Sick?” William said.
“A terrible cold, she seems to have. She stumbled in all covered with a blanket and the gentleman to
ld us it was a sudden cold that had taken hold of her as they traveled. Why, I had no notion he was a hardened criminal and all, he seemed so fine. Come, I will show you the back door so that you can enter without being seen.”
The back door opened on a small passageway and William paused just inside it. “How should we approach Northcutt?”
“We had best get the door open so fast that he cannot draw his gun before we cover him with ours,” Stephens replied.
William nodded.
The men crept along the passage until they reached the door that opened upon the parlor where Northcutt and Lady Carlyle had taken refuge.
William signaled to Stephens, then with one quick movement, he pushed open the door and leveled the pistol at the room’s occupants.
* * *
Helena had done her best to act as incapacitated and weak as possible. She made Northcutt untie her, and once untied, stumbled about so much that he was forced to hold her up. As he walked closely beside her, a hard object in the pocket of his greatcoat banged against her knee. She had a sudden moment of insight. It must be a pistol, perhaps even the silver pistol Officer Stephens mentioned in his report. The pistol that killed her husband! Helena felt a cold shiver of fear run down her spine.
Once Northcutt maneuvered her into a private parlor, she recovered herself and coughed in his face repeatedly until he fled to the other side of the room, far away from her supposed contagion. Then, slumped in a chair by the wall, she plotted her escape. She had just resolved to leap up and run screaming into the taproom when the door burst open and she found herself staring at the barrel of a pistol. It took her mind only a fraction of a second to realize that the man holding the gun was Lord Brandon. He had come for her!
Then a shot rang out. She dove for the floor and prayed that Mr. Northcutt hadn’t decided to murder her as a last act of desperation.
“Mr. Northcutt, as a duly appointed officer of the magistrate of Bow Street, I hereby arrest you in the name of the Crown for the murder of Lord Carlyle,” an unfamiliar voice shouted.
A Lord's Kiss Page 123