Virginia And The Wolf

by Lynne Connolly

  Not wanting to disturb her flow, he nodded again.

  “Then you must listen to me.” Shuffling through the papers, she plucked one out and handed it to him. “Here.”

  Alarmed at her urgent words, Francis glanced down a neat line of figures and saw nothing amiss. “What is this?”

  “Not the numbers, look on the left!”

  And there he saw it. The name “Wilhelmina Winston,” and this address. The name of Virginia’s personal maid. He gave the numbers another perusal. “These payments are much too high for a salary.”

  “But not too high for a bribe,” Miss Childers said, her lips firmed in a straight line.

  Now he saw the sharp brains behind the beauty. This woman was formidable. He’d always known that but never seen it so clearly before.

  She went on. “Those payments arrive on a regular basis from a bank in Exeter. The address seems innocuous. One of my clerks marked it for my attention because of the London address, which he recognized. This kind of money for a lady’s maid?” She shook her head. “Added to which…”

  Heedless of the ink rubbing off on her white gloves, Miss Childers flourished more paper at him.

  It was a London morning newspaper, the kind Francis usually read at his club. “This is an account of the latest scandal to hit London this morning. The whole of the Square Mile is talking about it. Four footmen from Chambers’ Livery Stables were found in an alley this morning, their throats cut clean through. Their employer said they had been hired to accompany a lady of fashion on her forthcoming visit to the West Country. The carriage they were to use was missing, and the horses too.” She gave a sound of exasperation. “The reporter seems more obsessed with the theft of the horses than the deaths of the poor unfortunates.”

  Francis snatched the paper from her and scanned it, before handing it to Butler. “Virginia uses Chambers’.” His voice shook.

  “She used them to hire the carriage and staff to take her into the country,” Butler said hollowly. “She planned to travel covertly. I sent Hurst to make the arrangements yesterday.”

  His narrow face had gone white, his face reflecting Francis’s appalled realization.

  Someone wanted more than for him to stay away. They knew the carriage Virginia planned to take, not difficult since many members of society used that livery stable. But they were desperate, or ruthless enough to murder four men to get to her.

  Francis’s mind clicked back from numb horror to action.

  Virginia was in danger, from whom he did not know, but he had his suspicions. Who but Jamie Dulverton would want to do harm to Virginia? She’d rejected his suit, so she was no more use to him alive. But if she died, he would inherit the lands he had lost. But would Jamie be desperate enough to murder?

  A doubt remained. He had not considered Dulverton a murderer. But perhaps the people working for him had taken his orders too far. However, if Dulverton had started this, he was responsible for everything that happened.

  Why had he not thought of that possibility before? From proposing marriage to murder, with nothing in between.

  He rattled out a series of orders. There was no time to waste, certainly no time to think. He had to get to her.

  Or he might never see her alive again.

  Chapter 11

  Virginia enjoyed the journey to their second stop at Staines. They had stopped to change the horses and have an hour’s rest before continuing.

  The route was picturesque, and her map book contained colorful descriptions of the places they passed. A few grand houses and a number of elegant villas, not all of them occupied by perfectly respectable people, met her fascinated eyes. She traveled this route at least twice a year, to and from London, and each time Virginia found something new to enjoy.

  Winston slept. At one point she tilted alarmingly close to Virginia’s shoulder, but she eased the maid away without waking her. The Great South Road was busy; at this time of year the fashionable were leaving town, and they traveled past a few carriages with coats-of-arms blazoned on their sides. Virginia shrank back in her seat and pulled her hat low every time.

  Carters were traveling to London, carrying the food and produce that stopped the residents starving. London was surrounded by market gardens and small farms, all of which serviced the vast open maw of the city. Virginia watched, noted, and enjoyed.

  Staines was just over twenty miles from town, so when they stopped to change horses, Virginia decided to take dinner in the pleasant inn. The Three Cranes was busy, but Virginia sent Hurst to bespeak a table, and he returned with the glad tidings that one was available.

  “And do you recognize anyone here?” she asked anxiously.

  “No, my—ma’am, nobody.”

  By her side, Winston groaned and blinked awake. “Are we changing horses?”

  “Dinner,” she said firmly.

  The interior of the inn was pleasant, with oak paneling around the walls and enough space between the tables to offer a degree of privacy. A few people glanced at them as they passed, but no recognition lit anyone’s eyes. They were safe to eat here.

  The landlord settled them at a comfortable table overlooking the yard. Unfortunately, the tables with a better view of the river were all taken. Virginia decided not to make a fuss and ordered their meat pie and ale, with a similar order being sent to their servants. Winston joined her at the table.

  The food arrived, fragrant and hot. Since they were traveling privately, they did not have to rush, unlike the passengers on the stagecoach, who had about ten minutes to burn their mouths on the food and dash back to the coach. The stagecoach waited for no one.

  By the time they had done, the room was considerably emptier. The stagecoach had left twenty minutes ago, and no more private passengers had arrived. There were perhaps six other people sitting at the tables now.

  Virginia stood up, shaking her skirts out, preparing to leave. Hurst should have settled with the landlord. Winston got to her feet as the sound of wheels on cobbles heralded another arrival.

  A shout alerted her, then another, the noise increasing so quickly she hardly had time to think. More shouts echoed back to her. The yard was in complete chaos, men fighting, yelling. A riot had erupted seemingly from nowhere. What was going on? Was Hurst involved?

  She whipped her head around when someone yelled closer to her. Silver flashed as a man sitting at a nearby table brought his hand down on the wrist of a footman holding a dagger—one of her hired footmen. The man’s mouth opened in a soundless cry, heard only faintly above the mess of people in the yard, and the mullioned windows between them. But he dropped the knife.

  As she moved to grab the weapon, someone seized her wrist and forced her arm behind her back, wrenching her shoulder. Pain shot up her arm, piercing and momentarily stunning. It was her turn to cry out, but she would not allow her attacker to have it all his way. The man at the table pulled the white linen cloth, sending the dagger and everything else on the surface clattering to the floor.

  Gritting her teeth, Virginia turned in the direction of the tug and, before the man could secure her other hand, grabbed something from the avalanche of tableware, and swung it at him.

  The teapot shattered against his head, its scalding contents pouring over him. Her would-be captor’s scream was totally unnecessary, but the distraction gave Virginia a chance to jerk aside, loosening his hold.

  Springing back, she cast about her for another weapon. The man fixed her with a fulminating glare and snatched up a carving knife from the long table running down the center of the room. The woman who had been cleaning it before the riot exploded moved away hastily, the clatter and crash of crockery and cutlery adding to the din.

  Everyone was shouting, including Virginia. Winston was nowhere in sight. She had vanished as if she’d never been there.

  Backing away from the man wielding a knife, Virginia grabbed pl
ates and whatever came to hand to hurl at him. They shattered against the walls with satisfying crashes as the man ducked and weaved to avoid them. People shouted into the chaos.

  She was backing off to the end of the room, and she did not even know if there was a door there. She could be trapped. If she was, she’d make a good account of herself. This man was not planning to capture her. He had murder in his eyes.

  A door behind her burst open, hitting the wall behind her, and a voice she knew shouted, “Here! Virginia, to me!”

  Butler? What the devil was he up to?

  Virginia didn’t hesitate. If Butler was in league with the people trying to kill her, she was done for. But if she stayed here, she was finished anyway. People cowered against the walls, watching the man advancing on her. Nobody stepped up to help her. And she was running out of plates.

  Virginia flung herself through the door and spun around, hoicking her skirts above her knees in one hand for fear she would trip.

  “This way!” Butler called, and caught her free hand, dragging her across the yard at the back of the inn to the river.

  She had not noticed the path by the Thames before, little more than a towpath, but it provided an escape route. Butler pulled her along until she caught the pace and ran with him. They hurried in silence for the stretch of several houses, until they paused and looked back. The noise was fading, so the riot had not spread to the rest of the village.

  They were both breathing heavily. Butler bent over, his hands on his knees, sucking in air. “I’m too old for this,” he said, and straightened, meeting her gaze. “You all right, my lady?”

  “Oh, it’s ‘my lady’ now, is it?”

  Butler gave a wry grin. “I had to attract your attention somehow, ma’am, and not some other lady.”

  “What on earth happened? And what the devil are you doing in Staines instead of London?”

  Butler turned and led the way along the path at a more sedate pace. The path was not wide enough for them to walk abreast, so Virginia followed, keeping a keen eye on the path behind them while he spoke.

  “The footmen you hired were murdered, and Winston has been receiving significant sums of money from an unknown source in Exeter. You were surrounded by traitors, my lady. We had to get to you.”

  “Good Lord. Murdered?”

  “Miss Childers brought us the news the day you left. Chambers is to be trusted, but the footmen were waylaid. Miss Childers is endeavoring to discover who paid for the murders. The chaise, by the way, was stolen, along with the horses.”

  She gaped at him. “All to get at me?”

  “Indeed, my lady.”

  “How did you get here so quickly? We were many hours ahead of you.”

  His mouth flattened. “We rode here. We did not stop.”

  “At all?” Fascinated, she watched this unforeseen aspect of the normally cool, collected butler.

  “At all.”

  Her dazed mind caught up with events. Four footmen dead. Her maid a traitor. No, that did not make sense. “You said ‘we.’”

  “His lordship and I. We came ventre à terre, as they say.”

  Her butler had hidden depths. But she still didn’t understand. “If Winston wished me ill, why would she not have killed me before? She had plenty of opportunities.” She shuddered when she recalled how many chances the maid had to murder her. And yet she had not.

  “We believe, that is, his lordship believes, that she was only told to watch you until recently, when the attempts were made on his lordship’s life. The connection between you was noted.”

  That did not make her feel much better. Her mind still whirling, Virginia tried to take stock. But she could make no sense of what had just happened. Someone wanted her badly enough to have four men murdered?

  A name lurked in the back of her mind, but she did not want to believe it. Could Jamie really do this?

  Even when he’d tried to seduce her at the ball, she never imagined that he would attack her. He only wanted to compromise her into marriage. Not kill her.

  Another man occupied her thoughts. “What of Francis? Where is he?”

  Butler shook his head. Somehow he’d retained his wig, and the tail whipped his shoulders. “We got separated in the riot. There is another inn about half a mile from here. He suggested we meet there.”

  Francis! Had she nursed him through the murderous attack only to lose him now?

  “Why a riot?”

  “The four men accompanying you were assuredly not from Chambers’. As soon as they recognized his lordship, they set up a hue and cry. Yelled ‘Stop, thief!’ and set the whole yard against us. What could we do but create as much chaos as we could?” He gave a helpless shrug and grin.

  “I see.” Belatedly she recalled her still precarious situation. “What do we do now? I have no carriage, no way of traveling. And I have no money, nothing more than the purse I carry and the clothes I stand up in. I left all my possessions back at the inn.”

  Without immediate funds, it would take time for them to get out of Staines, away from the danger dogging at their heels. Money could have bought her a swift exit, a horse or a chaise. She didn’t know this area, nor anyone who lived here, so she couldn’t throw herself on the mercy of a friend. They were stuck.

  She still had the gold pendant brooch her husband had given her, a few coins, and her silver SSL pin. She could use the brooch as surety, until they regained their senses and assessed the situation. She had nothing but those.

  The tears finally flowed. They poured down her face until Butler roughly shoved a handkerchief into her hand.

  “I’ve lost my hat. I have no gloves. How are we to persuade anyone we are respectable?” she wailed. “And now I have nothing!”

  “Don’t worry about that.” The deep voice, the one she’d wanted to hear above all others, startled her into flinging herself at him.

  Francis caught her, chuckling. Blood was caked on his neck, but his arms were strong and his body was a refuge. Virginia laid her forehead against his waistcoat. “I thought—I feared…” She sniffed.

  “It takes more than a riot at a country inn to finish me.” His voice, alive and vital, vibrated through her.

  Hurst spoke from behind him. “Aye, and if it wasn’t for his lordship fighting them off, I wouldn’t be here either. He’s a demon with a sword.”

  Somehow that information didn’t surprise her. Virginia lifted her head. “Are they still coming after us?”

  “No,” Francis told her, taking the handkerchief and dabbing at her cheeks. “The inn is in utter chaos. Nobody noticed when we left.”

  After finishing his task, he handed the handkerchief back and smiled down at her before releasing her. He took her hand. “Come, let’s walk to the next inn. Not the one we agreed to meet at, but one further in town, where we can pass unnoticed. It can’t be more than a mile. Can you manage that?”

  She nodded. A mile would give her a chance to collect her senses. The further away she was from the mess, the better she liked it.

  They walked together, the four of them, venturing back up to the street through a narrow alley. A few people stared in the direction of the inn, but nobody went there.

  As they entered the High Street a cluster of men on horses galloped past, bristling with pistols and swords. “They’re probably from the parish, sent to clear up the riot,” Francis said. “We won’t be going back there.”

  They passed a shop, the wares encroaching on the pavement. Old furniture, dented silverware, and a rack of second-hand clothes on hooks above the windows served to enhance the three gold balls of the pawnbroker.

  Francis halted them and went inside, emerging five minutes later with a straw hat for Virginia and three cocked hats for himself and the other men.

  “We should appear at least respectable,” he commented as he paused at a horse trough.
Finding a handkerchief, he dipped it in the water and scrubbed roughly at the blood on his neck. “Some of the blood is mine. The wound reopened,” he said with a grimace. “I fear my wig is stuck to it, but if I move it, it will bleed anew.”

  “Oh no!” Virginia shuddered, but Francis caught her outstretched hand as she reached for him. “No, wait until we’ve found shelter.”

  “Is there any chance of going back to the inn to retrieve our belongings?” Virginia asked.

  Francis shook his head. “No. We are not going back there, nor giving our pursuers a chance to discover where we are. Once that chaos has sorted itself out, we should be long gone.”

  They walked past a few market stalls. The air was rife with honking from the geese tethered there. Once they could hear themselves speak again, Francis added, “Once we are back on the road, we’ll decide how to proceed. We have a few hours of daylight left. Enough to leave the dust of Staines behind us.”

  They reached an inn set on the main road. The small, timber-framed establishment looked like heaven to Virginia. She was shaking, a fine trembling set up in all her limbs. Francis kept a firm hold on her hand. He strode inside the inn as if he owned the place. “Ho, there!”

  A small man as wide as he was tall bustled up to them. “Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”

  “You may indeed. My sister and I would like refreshments.”

  Oh, good idea. Traveling as siblings gave them a kind of respectability. As long as nobody recognized them.

  The innkeeper seemed to have no argument with that. “Immediately, my lord, sir. Did you hear about the fight going on up the road?”

  “At the Three Cranes?” Francis said casually. “We passed it by.”

  The innkeeper rubbed his hands together. “Always been a ramshackle place, the Three Cranes. Only built a few years ago, and they never stop trying to take custom from us.”

  From the clean but dilapidated appearance of the old inn’s interior, the Three Cranes had largely succeeded in its self-imposed task. But they were only too grateful to have a seat in a private parlor. Francis saw them ensconced there, then took Hurst off.