The landlady brought them a hunk of bread and a lump of cheese, together with a couple of bottles of wine and some beer; humble fare, but exceedingly welcome. Virginia was not hungry, but she welcomed the wine, curving her hands around the glass to steady herself. At Virginia’s request, the landlady also brought a basin of water and some cloths. She bobbed a curtsy and left.
Virginia took a healthy gulp of the rough red wine. Her trembling had largely stopped, but shock still reverberated in her mind. Such violence, some of it aimed at her, had shaken her to the core.
“I had my doubts about that Winston,” Butler confessed. “If I may speak freely?”
Since she’d been reduced to ma’am, Virginia saw no reason to stand on ceremony. “Please do.”
“I’m new to your household, ma’am, and while the London servants were like any other London servants, the ones you brought from home wouldn’t mix with us. It was like they were their own private club.” He shrugged. “It happens sometimes, but not as bad as that.”
“I see. What about Winston?” The lady’s maid had been engaged for her by her husband. She’d been waiting in Virginia’s bedroom the first night in her new home. Virginia had never been encouraged to confide in the domestics, so she had not concerned herself with anything other than Winston’s skill in her post. But the woman was local, from a family in the village that supplied many of the servants for the main Dulverton estate.
“She talked to us, but she was more comfortable with the staff from your home.”
So her overprotective staff? They cared about her, or so she had thought. Were they watching her as well? Virginia’s suspicions were hardening. Whatever was causing these attacks, it had its origins in Devonshire, not in London.
Francis returned, Hurst behind him. Francis appeared much too hale and hearty for a man who had been at death’s door two days ago, but she was glad to see it. He poured a tankard of beer and handed it to the footman before pouring another brimming mug for himself. “I’ve hired a chaise. It’s a little cramped and not of the best quality, but I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Oh. Where did you get the money?”
Francis shrugged. “They didn’t get my purse.” He dug his hand in his pocket and drew out a fat leather pouch. “And I found this one back at the Three Cranes.” He dipped back in his pocket and produced another.
Virginia gasped. “Where did you get that?”
“It was just lying there underneath one of your footmen. I had just put him to sleep,” the infuriating man said. “Compensation, I thought. We left a traveling carriage, luggage, and two excellent horses back there.”
They did, but Virginia didn’t see it like that. “Count the contents. We’ll call it a loan and repay it in full, if we have the opportunity.”
Hurst grumbled but drew a number of guineas from the purse and counted them back in. “Twenty,” he said.
Virginia couldn’t deny the money would come in useful. “Sit down,” she told Francis. “Let me bathe your wound and rebind it.”
Francis shook his head. “No. The wig was clean when I put it on, and it’s acting as a seal. You might have to cut it off, and we don’t have time for that. Just rinse off the visible blood, if you would be so kind.”
She had to agree that such an operation wasn’t possible if they were to leave this town quickly, but she would make him do it later. At least he let her clean the smears from his neck and as far as she could reach, but he was right. His wig was stuck to that gash. Lord knew what would happen once she loosened it.
When he’d drunk his beer, he stood up, scraping back his wooden chair against the slate floor. “Let’s get out of this benighted town, and keep our fingers crossed that our luck holds and nobody recognizes us. Because whoever is after us will not give in so easily.”
He led Virginia outside to where a battered traveling carriage awaited them, a small man holding the reins leading to four job horses. “Hurst and Butler will act as our footmen. We are Mr. and Miss Strathearn, brother and sister, visiting friends in Cornwall,” he said. “We’ll hire a different vehicle every day, and make pursuit as difficult as we can.”
She had no clothes other than what she was wearing, didn’t even have a hairbrush, but Virginia had never felt more free.
* * * *
The carriage was built for only two, and it was a snug fit at that. Francis wouldn’t rest until they had put at least twenty miles between them and Staines. Much though he hated to admit it, he would appreciate a few hours’ sleep.
If he died, he’d do it on his feet, fighting for the woman who meant so much to him. The strength of his rapidly growing need for her shocked him. No woman had ever affected him that way. Oh, he’d had lovers. What man hadn’t? But when he’d realized that she was sharing her carriage with an assassin, he’d vomited as his stomach clenched in terror for her.
Although he’d passed off his reaction as the result of his injury, it was nothing of the kind. His head hurt, but he did not feel sick anymore. Just terrified that he’d be too late to save her.
“At least we don’t have the poisonous lady’s maid with us.”
“Murderous, more like,” Virginia muttered as she took her seat.
The landlady had kindly furnished them with a basket of provisions, so after Hurst loaded that in with them, he swung up behind, and they were off.
“Winston disappeared into thin air,” she added.
“Probably with the rest of them,” he commented. The maid’s disappearance worried him. She could still be after them, and she would know what Virginia had planned. They had to change their plans completely. “Virginia, until we discover more about this, I want to keep you safe. You cannot go back to Hatherton Cross until we have cleared it of servants and replaced them all.”
After her husband’s death, Virginia had made Hatherton Cross her home. The main house had gone to Jamie.
“I know that,” she said, her lovely mouth turned down at the corners.
Even dressed plainly, in stained and torn clothes, her hair pulled back plainly, wearing the kind of linen cap more often seen on maids and a plain, old straw hat, she was still the loveliest woman he had ever seen. Possessed of a natural grace, she bore herself like a queen.
He longed to pull her into his arms, but he might frighten her. God knew she’d been through more than enough for one day.
He had no right to claim her. Not yet.
They had four slugs pulling the chaise, and a hired coachman. They were lucky to have them.
“The landlord was in alt,” Francis remarked, stretching his legs as much as he could. “He said the Three Cranes’ business will return to him.”
“Not if this is all he has to offer,” Virginia grumped. She shifted, and then moved again. “This seat has been stuffed with cricket balls.”
“Never mind, we’ll hire a better vehicle tomorrow.” Francis pulled his watch out of his coat pocket. He’d bought himself a cheap pinchbeck version of the gold half-hunter he usually carried. This one did not chime, and it did not have diamonds on its hands, but it told the time well enough. “We should reach Blackwater by nightfall.”
“I usually try to reach Basingstoke,” she said.
“We should avoid the major stops. We don’t want to be recognized. After Staines we must take even more care.” They would travel as quietly as possible. Fortunately at this time of year the roads were relatively busy.
She nodded. “I had already planned to stop at different towns, in inns that do not know me.”
“Indeed.” He turned to face her. She deserved the truth, but he hated to be the person to tell her. “You do understand that these people are desperate enough to kill us?” When he reached for her hand, she let him take it. “We’re together in this adventure.”
She bit her lip. “Yes, it seems so. But why would a perfectly respe
ctable lady’s maid do what Winston did? Why would she take money from someone else to watch me? I paid her well, and her perquisites were generous.” Her voice rose in tone slightly. He couldn’t bear to hear her distress.
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll find out, I promise you. You said she was from Devonshire?”
“The village near Dulverton Court furnishes most of the staff for the house,” she admitted. “There are several Winstons there. When I moved to Hatherton Cross, after I was widowed, a number of staff came with me from Dulverton.” She put her finger to her lips, nibbled on the nail then pulled it away. She shared a wry smile with Francis. “Does that mean my house is not safe?”
He sighed. “I’m afraid it does. I will take you home with me to visit my mother.”
“Not until I’ve been to Combe Manor.”
“You cannot go to that house,” he said bluntly, which considering Virginia’s character was not his best ploy. But he was too tired and in too much pain to be tactful. Who knew what awaited her at Combe Manor? How could she stay there safely?
“I am going to the manor,” she repeated firmly. “You should be thankful I am not immediately heading to Hatherton Cross.”
Ice crawled down his spine. “Walk into the lion’s den? If Winston is disloyal to you, who knows who else is?” Would common sense change her mind? “Let me take you to Wolverley Court. You’ll be safe there, and I can investigate…”
She interrupted him. “No.” Her blue eyes flashed fire. “I can trust Hurst and Butler; they’ve already proved their loyalty to me. I’ll take them. The place is uninhabited, only a couple of caretakers living there. I mean only to stay a few days to look the place over. I had always meant to go.”
He groaned. “Hence the unmarked carriage.”
“Indeed.” She folded her arms, despite her bedraggled appearance the epitome of haughtiness. The tiny lift of her chin did things to him that he’d better not think about now. “I will of course take care.”
“I forbid it.”
She had the effrontery to laugh. “Who are you to forbid me anything? I don’t answer to you.”
Francis regretted that mistake. She was right, but if he admitted it, he’d lose ground, and this was too important to him. He wouldn’t willingly put her in any danger. “I could tie you up and keep you prisoner.”
What he saw in her eyes then heated him to fever pitch. Enough to tell him he wasn’t dealing with an innocent. Although, regrettably, that was not one of his fantasies, if he ever won her he’d be more than willing to experiment.
He couldn’t think of any more arguments. Or anything else, come to that, but he would. Abruptly, he changed the subject. “You’re not wearing your brooch.” The distinctive gold coin pin pendant that she wore more than any other piece was missing.
“I put it on this morning, but it wasn’t there after the altercation.”
“Altercation,” he mused. “That makes what happened sound positively civilized.”
The carriage went over a rut, jolting him painfully. The suspension in this thing was nonexistent. This carriage must be ten years old or more, and hard-used. Francis resigned himself to a painful journey. At the next stage they would not be in quite so much of a hurry, and they could find a better vehicle.
“I still have my jewelry. The SSL pin and the pendant brooch.” She drew them out of her pocket. “We might be able to sell them if we need to.”
He took the pendant from her, turning it over in his hand. “It’s an unusual piece.”
She nodded. “The coin is an ancient and rare one. Ralph had two. He had one on his fob, and he had the other made into the brooch pendant for me. The coin is pure gold.”
“I’ve never seen one like it before. What happened to the one on his fob?”
She pursed her lips, drawing his unwilling attention to them. “I don’t know.”
If that coin was real gold, she’d seen the last of it at the inn. She seemed to find solace in it, so he was sorry she’d lost it. But privately, he thought she looked better in pearls. He could certainly do something about that, if she’d let him.
He leaned against the lumpy squabs, trying to find a dent that fit the one in his head so he could rest more comfortably. Although wild horses couldn’t get him to tell her, the wound hurt like the devil. And it throbbed, making him concerned that infection was setting in. They’d get to an inn long before that became critical, but getting the damned wig off his head would be hellishly difficult. If at all possible.
Ah! Finally he found a friendly dip in the worn leather, and he could wedge his head across it so that no pressure was put on the gash. That felt much better. Just a short rest, and he’d be as good as new….
Chapter 12
Virginia counted the breaths, watched Francis’s chest rise and fall. He was still alive and in little distress from his wound. He remained asleep, hardly stirring, until they got to Blackwater.
As requested, the coachman drove past the main inn and stopped at a smaller place further along the road, on the edge of the village. At last they were out of Middlesex and into the part of the country where several counties met.
The Blackwater River marked the boundary between Berkshire and Hampshire. Blackwater was a pretty village and one she was delighted to see, since dusk had fallen and night would not be far behind it. They had traveled longer than usual, their adventure in Staines delaying them from attaining even the modest distance she’d planned for. The slower speed of the rickety little carriage would not allow them to go further. The horses were crawlers, too.
Virginia found such comfort in having Francis with her, far more than she should have. Even her concerns about his wound did not prevent her recalling the surge of relief and happiness when he’d joined her.
The journey gave her time to recover from the ordeal at the inn and the shock of the events in London. Virginia had never been faced with anything like the attack before, and the events of the past few days had shaken her badly.
Her concerns kept moving toward two factors. One, the most obvious, was Jamie. The attacks had begun after she refused his suit and Francis had come upon them. That had finished any chance he had of getting his property back by marrying her. If she died, Jamie would inherit her estate.
The key was Jamie. Who else would do this to her? And why?
As she watched the cottages, hovels, and inns by the side of the road disappear until everything was green fields and rivers, Virginia still pondered her dilemma. But by the time they reached the inn, she was no nearer to working out a solution to her problem. At least she was calmer.
Francis blinked awake. Watching him come to life was intimate, the kind of thing relatives did. Of course, they were supposed to be brother and sister, but she didn’t feel like that, although she would try.
As he moved to the side, he winced.
“We need to get you inside,” she murmured. “Get that wound seen to.”
He grimaced. “I’m afraid the wig is done for. We’ll have to pick one up somewhere or I won’t be in the least respectable in the morning.” That would suit her mood, then, because she wasn’t feeling respectable at all.
Because of the potential danger of someone following them, Hurst had not ridden ahead to bespeak a room. Fortunately, they found one at the small inn they stopped at. But only one. “Sorry, but this isn’t as big as the Swan up the road,” the landlord told them, scratching the back of his neck. “If you want to go there…”
“No,” she said quickly. She had stayed at the Swan before. She might be recognized there. “We’ll take the room.”
Hurst came out from the taproom, where he had gone to check the place. He sent them a terse nod. It was as safe as they could make it. But only one room? She couldn’t let Francis sleep down in the taproom or the stables, not with his injury. But if she did so, she would cause a potential danger.
The landlord’s broad face brightened. “Glad to hear it. It’s a good room, Missus, and the mattress is new.”
Missus. He thought they were married, not brother and sister at all. Probably for the best, because she wouldn’t consider letting Francis sleep in the taproom, as a brother would. She could sleep in a chair.
Brushing a strand of hair back, she tried to regain her poise. “Mrs. Durham,” she said when she could, choosing a name from the map book she’d left behind in Staines. She seemed to be fond of the letter D as far as aliases went. She should have ventured further from Dulverton, but it was too late now. She was surprised she wasn’t struck down by lightning where she stood. Lies did not come naturally to her, made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. But she received an approving smile from Butler. Even in his current guise as footman, Butler had a certain gravitas. She’d lost hers over twenty miles back.
“May I have a large basin of water, and a can of hot water sent up, please?”
The landlord nodded, keeping his face clear of expression. Clearly he thought they were being too particular.
“And a pair of scissors,” she added.
The bedchamber was a low-ceilinged, wide room at the back of the house looking out over a small garden and rooftops. She’d have preferred a view of the yard, so she could keep an eye on the comings and goings, but this was the only room available and the inn did not appear overly blessed with bedchambers.
This one contained an old-fashioned four-poster, a little cramped to her jaundiced eye, a sturdy wooden washstand with cracked tiles on the top, and a small chest of drawers with a spotted mirror hung on the wall behind it. Apart from that it contained one battered, leather-upholstered chair. No screens to protect her modesty, no way of snatching any privacy.
Ah well, she could sleep in her ruined riding habit. When this journey was done, Virginia would have the thing burned. She never wanted to see it again.
“This will do very well.” Francis looked around, smiling. “Eh, my dear?”
Virginia And The Wolf Page 13