Sinking into a nearby chair, Cornelia felt tears sting her eyes. “I care for him just as much. That is why I must leave, to save him. Can you not understand?”
“No.” Mrs. Cates crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “You are a fighter, not a runner. How will you feel if you ran away rather than stand your ground and perhaps fight for a life greater than what you had? Are you that afraid of two thugs who haven’t a brain between them? Or will you believe in His Lordship and his ability to protect you?”
Unwillingly, Cornelia grinned. “You have a way of putting things in perspective. I will stay.”
“Good. And it’s not just for his sake that I demand this, it’s yours as well. I’ve grown fond of you, dear, and do not want any harm to come to you. That’s why I brought you this.”
From a pocket in her gown, Mrs. Cates withdrew a small pistol, and held it across her raised palms. Intrigued, Cornelia advanced across the room to stare at it. “I do not know how to fire this.”
“Do not worry, dear. I do. My husband, God rest his soul, demanded I learn how, to protect myself if ever I had need. We once lived in the slums of London, you know. After his death many years ago, I came here and was hired by the old Earl as his head housekeeper, and now you need this more than I do.”
“But how can I learn to shoot it?”
Mrs. Cates smiled, and winked. “There is a grove of trees just over the hill to the west. Just before dawn tomorrow, you and I will go there for your lesson. No one can hear the shots, thus no one will know.”
“How can we skirt the patrols His Lordship will have outside?”
“You leave that to me, dear. Now take this, and keep it hidden. I will bring the ammunition and powder with me when we meet.”
Not normally one for touching or being touched, Cornelia hugged the older woman. “Thank you so much.”
Mrs. Cates grinned. “Don’t tell Mr. North or His Lordship. This is a secret between us.”
“I do not care to keep secrets from someone who has gone to great lengths to help me,” Cornelia replied, stiffening.
“I do not like it either, dear,” Mrs. Cates said, her tone even. “Yet, sometimes secrets are necessary, and I believe this instance is one of them. It will do no harm, and may do some good.”
Reluctant, Cornelia nodded. “Very well. I will not inform Lord Rochester.”
“Now I must go, Miss Hill,” Mrs. Cates told her, turning. “We have His Lordship’s friend, the Earl of Whitstone, arriving and as you are taking up residence in the guest suite, I must make ready another one.”
Frowning, Cornelia stopped her. “Please. I can make do with a smaller room. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do with so much space.”
“His Lordship’s orders.” Mrs. Cates opened the door. “If you so desire, I eat my supper in the kitchen while His Lordship dines in the great hall. I would like it very much if you would join me.”
“I made a friend this morning.” Cornelia gestured helplessly. “Her name is Nancy, and I promised her I would dine with her this evening.”
“I’ll ask Nancy to also join us, dear. She is a good girl, and too often is teased by the staff. Seven o’clock sharp, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Cates closed the door behind her, leaving Cornelia to stare helplessly at the pistol in her hand. “What am I to do with this?”
Finding no answer to that question, she put it in her gown’s pocket, and hoped it was not loaded. For surely she would shoot herself in the foot if it was. Trying once more to study the effects of poisons in the blood and the science of bloodletting, Cornelia sighed guiltily and closed the book. Archie was paying her to study medicine and she could not concentrate long enough to read a page in the book. Wandering back to the window, she gazed longingly at the rolling hills, and wished she could stride across them in daylight like other folks did.
The cook, a stick thin woman with her grey hair tied behind her head, barked orders at her staff, and kept them far too busy to gape at Cornelia as she, Nancy, and Mrs. Cates sat at a tall table on stools and ate their supper. As likeminded about Cornelia’s pale complexion as Mrs. Cates, Mrs. Bannister shook Cornelia’s hand, welcomed her, then sped off to her ovens.
“A brilliant cook,” Mrs. Cates confided as the three of them ate a sumptuous meal of spicy fried chicken, hot black bread, roasted potatoes, and lentils swimming in butter. “The old Earl hired her away from a rival about ten years ago. Pays her handsomely, too. Runs her kitchen with an efficiency the military might envy.”
“We received quite plain fare at the circus,” Cornelia said, biting into the delicious chicken. “Mostly bread and beans, very little meat, some vegetables.”
Mrs. Cates stared in horror. “How can anyone remain healthy on that?”
“Barrett is incredibly miserly,” Cornelia answered, wondering how she ever survived life without fried chicken in it. “Fed his people what he himself would never stoop low enough to eat.”
“But you traveled, Cornelia,” Nancy piped up, her mouth full of bread. “That is the wonderful part. Mrs. Cates, she has been to London. Can you imagine?”
Cornelia shared an amused glance with Mrs. Cates. “Yes, Nancy, I can imagine it. Many wonderful sights in London town. The Thames. The Tower. Westminster Abbey. Those are just a few things to see there.”
Nancy sighed. “One day, maybe I will see London.”
“Maybe you will, child.”
A kitchen wench came to their table to remove their empty plates, all the while staring at Cornelia. Cornelia smiled at her, expecting the young girl to run away, as so many had before her. Yet, she was pleasantly surprised when the youth smiled tentatively back. “May I touch you?” she whispered, shy and blushing.
Cornelia held out her hand. “My name is Cornelia? What’s yours?”
“Mary Jane.”
Cornelia gently shook the tiny fingers held out to her. “Pleased to meet you, Mary Jane.”
“You are so pretty.”
The girl suddenly bolted away, tossing a happy, gap-toothed grin over her shoulder. Mrs. Cates shook her head, yet smiled. “Only a matter of time before you’re the most popular person in this entire house.”
“Now, Mrs. Cates,” Cornelia said, rising with a small grin. “No lies in front of Nancy.”
“Mrs. Cates would never tell a lie, Cornelia,” Nancy stated firmly. “I like you, and so will others. They just need to get to know you better.”
“I hope that is true, Nancy.”
“Nancy, dear, I need you to make the bed in the guest suite on the second floor for the Earl of Whitstone. Make sure it is well stocked with brandy, sherry, and whiskey. Lay wood for a fire in case the weather turns.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cates.”
Nancy curtsied to her, then dashed from the kitchen, dodging scullery and kitchen maids, and ducking under Mrs. Bannister’s wiry frame. “She’s a good girl,” Mrs. Cates said fondly, watching her go. “An orphan, like you. Her parents were tenants on the estate, but tragically took ill and perished. The old Earl brought her into the household, where she was raised by practically everybody.”
“Then why is she still treated like a pariah?” Cornelia asked.
“It’s the younger staff who tease her unmercifully,” Mrs. Cates replied, rising from the table. “It is people like me, Mrs. Bannister, old Mr. Sanders, even Mr. Saxon and other older staff members who had a hand in her upbringing that accept her unconditionally. She has defenders, don’t you worry.”
Cornelia paused to thank Mrs. Bannister for the wonderful meal, then followed Mrs. Cates from the kitchen. No sooner had they stepped out of the corridor when a groom in his livery dashed past. Archie followed on his heels, dancing aside at the last moment to avoid running Cornelia over. He didn’t pause to apologize, but ran down the hallway to the front doors.
“I am going with him.”
Without waiting for an answer, Cornelia hiked her skirts and ran after Archie, hearing Mrs. Cates’s call f
rom behind her, “Cornelia, no.”
Chapter 10
His pistol in his hand, Archie raced through the house, all but knocking Cornelia over, and bolted for the door. Outside in the darkness, torches flared and lanterns bobbed as grooms ran toward the northwest, shouting and cursing. Hoping Norris was among them, he charged across the lawn behind them, grim that his assumptions were correct – the two thugs belonging to Barrett Hill had come in search of Cornelia.
At length, the mob of torches and lanterns stopped running, obviously finding that the object of their pursuit had outrun them or had vanished entirely. As the groom who came to fetch him had no answers as to the intruders, Archie kept running until he caught up with them.
“Was there two of them?” he demanded of his disappointed grooms. “Two mean looking thugs? Where’s Mr. Saxon?”
One by one they bowed as he strode among them. “No, My Lord,” said William, the deep bruising and gash still stark on his brow even in the torchlight. “A single man. He had a horse hidden in the trees yonder. He took off at a gallop, My Lord.”
“A single man? What exactly happened?”
“Those of us whose turn it was for supper,” William answered, walking at Archie’s side as they returned toward the stables, “came back. The lads on patrol passed us, and I went to Bucephalus as usual. That’s when I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“A gentleman, like. Coat, waistcoat, cravat. Young fellow, about your age, My Lord. Saw ole Tim and me, then bolted like a hare. We yelled damn murder and roused the place, but he ran fast. I’m sorry we didn’t catch him, My Lord.”
“So am I.” Archie clapped him on the shoulder. “Not in a bad way, William. Thank you for what you did. Did you happen to see what he looked like?”
“A gentleman like I said. Yellow hair, pale skin. Didn’t see his eyes, he ran too fast. Maybe a noble, or some such.”
“Would you recognize him again?”
“Oh, yeah, I would. Dead easy.”
“Excellent. Please check on Bucephalus and the other stallions, I’ll be along shortly.”
William knuckled his brow, then trotted in the direction of the stallion stable. Most of the other grooms returned to their various charges as Norris walked toward him with long hurried strides, a torch held above his head, “M’lord,” he began, then stopped dead, staring at something behind Archie.
Archie turned.
Cornelia hurried toward him from the direction of the house. “What the –”
“I wanted to help, My Lord.”
For a moment, he choked on his anger that she would not just defy his order to remain in the house, but that she would risk herself so when he went to such lengths to protect her. The barrage of angry words that rose to his lips fell back unbidden. Blowing out his anger on a sharp gust of breath, he dragged his hand not holding the pistol through his hair. “I expect I don’t have to ask what you’re doing here,” he snapped.
“Was it Felix and Maurice?” she asked, unfazed by his evident fury.
“No.” Archie sighed, tucked the pistol away in the waistband of his trousers and exchanged a wry glance with Norris. “A gentleman. Escaped on horseback before my grooms could catch him.”
“A gentleman?” Cornelia frowned. “Barrett, despite his claim to the nobility, does not consort with them. Nor do either Felix or Maurice ride.”
“So who could it be then?” Norris asked.
“The buyer?” Archie suggested. “Or his agent? Perhaps it was the fellow Miss Hill said was to pick her up and take her to him.”
“That may very well be,” Cornelia answered with a quick nod. “I have no idea what story Barrett concocted to explain my absence.”
“Thus the buyer or his agent knows you have vanished and also suspects you may have taken refuge here.”
“It’s good we have so many eyes watching, m’lord,” Norris said, eyeing the grooms who had returned to their duties or beds, and doused torches and lanterns as they went. The patrol resumed their pacing around the stable blocks, carrying no lights to reveal themselves to any invaders. “I expect that idiot will not return anytime soon.”
“But Hill’s blokes will.” Archie led the way toward the stallions’ structure. “I think they are far more dangerous and sneaky than this fellow.”
“To walk into a stable in the open like that?” Norris shook his head. “Makes little sense to me.”
“Sounds like someone who is inexperienced with skullduggery,” Archie replied with a small laugh. “If he’s been sufficiently frightened off, he won’t return.”
“Unless the buyer, if that is who he works for, drives him into it,” Cornelia added. “We must not discount him yet.”
Walking toward Bucephalus, Archie forced himself to agree. “You are right, Miss Hill. We will maintain our vigilance for quite some time.”
The young black stallion eagerly extended his head over the stall door toward Cornelia as she strode up to him while William, blushing, knuckled his brow at her. Being Cornelia, she smiled at him before stroking Bucephalus’s long bony face. “Hello again,” she crooned. “Are you a delightful boy?”
Bucephalus lipped and licked her hands, his liquid eyes bright. Archie strode up to stand next to her and stroke the stallion’s sleek neck. “He likes you,” he commented as Bucephalus paid him no mind at all, all his attention was on Cornelia’s hands.
“Of course, he has splendid taste,” Cornelia gushed, kissing the horse on his nose. “Do you not, Bucephalus?”
As though in answer, the stallion bobbed his head up and down, then curled his upper lip in what might be construed as an equine smile. Cornelia laughed, reaching up to rub his ears, her hands rubbing softly down over his eyes and his broad cheeks. “Do you ride him often?” she asked Archie.
“He’s in the hands of my resident horse trainer,” Archie replied. “His name is Big John, and he is an artist when it comes to breaking horses to the saddle or harness.”
“Breaking.” Cornelia made a face. “That sounds so harsh.”
Archie leaned against the stall door, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s just a term. My horses are never treated harshly unless for some reason they need a slightly heavier hand. But never with cruelty such as whips, and never are they beaten.”
“But coaches have whips,” she said, gazing at him as she stroked her hands down Bucephalus’s face.
“True. I will admit some coachmen or drivers do whip their animals,” he admitted. “In truth, it is merely a tool, a cue the driver uses to inform the horse or team that’s it’s time to move forward. Anyone on my estates who mistreats any horse or hound, or cow or sheep for that matter, is dismissed immediately.”
“That is good.” Cornelia smiled. “For the animals in Barrett’s circus are treated with cruelty. The lion is – ”
She turned back to Bucephalus, hiding her face, and Archie suspected she was close to tears. He wanted to hold her in his arms against his chest, and let her weep into his shoulder. But he could not do that. It was improper for him to even rest his hand on her shoulder in a weak gesture of comfort. Drawing a deep breath, he said, “If it is within my power to shut Barrett Hill down, I will.”
Cornelia nodded without glancing up at him. “He should be shut down,” she murmured, her voice almost inaudible. “He is an evil, evil man. He called me his ‘daughter’, claimed he loved me as his own blood. Yet he sold me. I know deep in my heart that the buyer, if he should take me, will kill me.”
“Then he will never get his hands on you, Cornelia,” Archie whispered, his voice thick. “I swear an oath to you. He will not.”
At last she glanced up at him, a tremulous smile on her lips, tears glittering in her eyes. “Thank you, Archie. You are a good man.”
“And you are the kindest, gentlest woman I have ever had the honor of knowing.” A lightning glance around showed him that Norris was deep in conversation with William and another groom. Archie snatched her hand up, and planted a quick
kiss to her knuckles. “You are without your chaperone,” he whispered, releasing it quickly. “I would not have your reputation soured. I must escort you back.”
Cornelia lifted the hand he kissed, smiling. “No. If my honor is at stake, then I will hurry back to the house and return inside unseen and unescorted. Perhaps your grooms are more forgiving than society.”
Turning, Cornelia strode past Norris and the grooms, then slipped out the door like a phantom. So quickly did she depart, and as noiselessly as said ghost, that Norris glanced at Archie, discovered Cornelia was missing and glanced around for her, confused. “M’lord?”
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