“C-Could you?”
“I will have me a go at it,” Bear assured him. “Do ye know where ye live, lad? What yer direction might be?” Geordan sipped his tea and then looked up at the man. “I 1-live in a e-nor-normous house, b-bigger than anything. It is made of b-bricks and stones and has r-red draperies in the windows—in s-some of the windows. It is c-called R-Rutlidge House.”
Molly, who had been slicing the earl another piece of bread, gasped and turned to stare at him. Bear chuckled and Coffee laughed. “You should not say that to people Geordie,” Molly told him softly. “There really is a Rutlidge House in London, and someone may believe that you live there.”
“Is it b-bad to live there?”
“No, darling, but there is already a gentleman lives there. He is a great recluse the Conovers say and hides away like a hermit. You will not want to be thought such a gentleman. One who hides from the world and will not come out and say hello?”
“N-No,” Geordan said after thinking it over, “I w-would not want t-to be th-thought that.”
“Then you must not pretend to live there,” Molly explained. “You must give your house a different name. What is your last name, Geordie?”
“T-Talbot.”
“Well, then,” Coffee offered, “ye mi' call it Talbot House.”
AT that precise moment the hermitlike gentleman who lived at Rutlidge House was speaking animatedly with the Mapletons' head groom outside their stable door. Amelia, gazing up from her breakfast and out the morning-room window, gasped at the sight of him. “Whatever can he be doing here at nine o'clock in the morning? Gracious, has the man no sense of propriety whatsoever?”
“What? Who?” Kit asked, turning in his chair to peer out the window behind him. “It's Talbot,” he announced unnecessarily. “What business do you suppose he has with Gowan at this hour?”
“Talbot?” David asked. “Best go see what's up.” He folded his napkin, laid it upon the cherry-wood table, and stood.
“Do not bother, David,” Amelia sighed, “he is coming this way. I have not the least doubt that he shall step through the French doors directly without even pausing to knock.”
Her words proved correct. Talbot's long, hurried strides carried him directly toward the French doors to the morning room and, seeing the three gathered around the table inside, he entered without knocking and came directly to them. “Your audacity, Mr. Talbot, confounds me,” Amelia exclaimed as he stared down at her. “Although you may not care, this house is not yours and you have not been invited to breakfast.”
“Morning, Talbot,” David and Kit grinned, standing.
“Have some coffee and a bite of breakfast?” Kit offered.
“A bit early for a morning caller, ain't you?” David asked.
Amelia glared up at Tony in what she hoped was a most intimidating fashion. He studied her intently a moment and then with an almost physical jerk, shunted her aside and levelled his gaze at David. “I need help,” he said, the words quite obviously hard for him to speak. “Northampton suggested I speak with you and Kit and Gowan. He thought your father might have an idea or two as well if he is about at this hour.”
“M'father's still abed,” David replied. “Pull up a chair, Talbot, and tell us the problem.”
Miss Mapleton could tell he was reluctant to do so, but he pulled out one of the chairs and seated himself so that Kit and David might do likewise and finish their breakfasts. His head bowed, he stripped off his riding gloves in silence. His agitation was evident even in so small an action. At last he looked up and, clearing his throat, announced in a rather husky voice: “Geordan is missing. I think that he has run away.”
“What?” Amelia gasped.
“Northampton,” he continued, “has set out for Westerley to see if he is anywhere along that road. He may have gone home. He may be at Westerley by this is time. I pray that he is. Bristol is on his way to Fitzroy Square to see if Trevithick has seen him. I thought, perhaps, that he had mixed up his days and had come to ride with your sister, but Gowan has had no sight of him. I cannot think,” he sighed, his voice breaking somewhat, “where else he might have gone. And, and we think he left Rutlidge House sometime last night. His bed has not been slept in.”
Kit groaned. “He don't belong out there all by himself.”
“Did he give you no hint?” David asked. “Was there not some place he especially wished to go that you would not take him?”
“No,” Talbot replied, staring down at the gloves in his lap. “There is nowhere he should wish to go that I would not take him. He knows that.”
“What did you do to him, Mr. Talbot, that made him wish to run away?” Miss Mapleton asked coldly.
Once more the brooding eyes met her own and seemed to study her in silence. Finally, seeming to shake himself awake, he murmured: “I failed him, I fear.”
“Failed him, Mr. Talbot?”
“Failed to distract him, Miss Mapleton, though I was positive I had.”
“Distract him from what, sir?”
“I cannot see, Miss Mapleton, how it can be any of your business.”
“Actually, it might help to know,” Kit asserted in an attempt to defuse the tension between the two. “If we know why he left, we might be able to think where he would go.”
“Kit's right,” David agreed with a nod.
“The most likely place for him to go,” growled Talbot, “is the Thames, where he would quite willingly drown himself.”
“Oh!” gasped Amelia. “How could you? What did you do to that poor boy? What did you say to throw him into despair?”
“I merely attempted, Miss Mapleton,” Talbot replied icily, “to assure Geord that you were not like another lady of his acquaintance, and would not cease to ride with him or wish to have him locked away because you had been a witness to one of his seizures. May I consider myself correct in that assumption?”
Amelia, speechless, merely stared at him in horror.
“Yes, well,” murmured Talbot, “I am afraid I lost my temper when I discovered that he knew what that other young woman had demanded. I must have gone into some dreadful tirade, though I didn't think so at the time. It is hard to predict Geordie's reactions to things. I thought I had convinced him that I was not angry with him, but with the person who told him of it. And I thought that I had also convinced him that you, Miss Mapleton, did not find his illness distasteful or appalling and would stand his friend. Obviously, I failed. I wish,” he added in a quavering voice, “I wish that he had left me to die under that coach.”
“Yes, and then we should have lost the both of you, for Geordie would have grieved himself to death within a year,” Lord Mapleton proclaimed from the doorway. “What is this nonsense, Talbot?” Stopping to pour himself a cup of coffee and fill a plate, Mapleton took a seat at the table and eyed the younger men and his daughter questioningly. “Well'?” he asked, swallowing a bit of kidney. “Someone inform me, please, what goes on here.”
“Lord Rutlidge is missing,” Amelia whispered. “Mr. Talbot thinks he has run away.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Mapleton declared roundly. “You are very much on the wrong track there, Talbot. Geordan would never think to run away. And even if he did—which he wouldn't, mind you—he would find someone and convince them to write a note for him. Admit it,” he said, grinning at Talbot from behind a steaming cup of coffee. “you and your Uncle James and your mother have read him enough novels that he knows one must leave a note behind, and Geordan is not one to disregard such protocol.”
“Papa, it is not funny,” Amelia protested.
“Y-Yes, it is. a bit.” Talbot said in a strained voice, a gleam of mirth in his eyes as he stared at Mapleton. “Now that you mention it, Max, I do see that you are correct. He cannot have run away, because he did not leave a note. And he would definitely have left a note, even if it were only scribbles.”
“So, there. I have not yet lost my wits,” Mapleton grinned with a look at his children. “Now, tell me
the whole of it.”
Talbot, with Kit's, David's, and Amelia's unsolicited assistance, again explained the earl's disappearance.
“And there is nothing else happened?” Lord Mapleton asked when they had finished.
“Papa, was that not enough?” Amelia exclaimed. “Well, ’twould be enough to make him run away, my dear, if he were just an ordinary gentleman. But he is most extraordinary, and we know he did not run away, so he must have gone off for another reason. When we know that reason, we will find Geordan. Talbot, there is something you overlook. Think some more. Amelia, you think as well. Perhaps there is something in particular he has said to one of you. Something he was particularly curious about? Something that worried him? Something he would not want you, Tony, to know and hoped to accomplish on his own? For the odds are that he has set off upon some adventure, fully intending to return, and has gotten himself lost instead. I do not mean to negate the seriousness of it,” he added with a pondering line between his brows, “for being lost can be a very frightening thing for someone like Geordan and…”
“And what, Papa?” Amelia asked, seeing a very knowing glance pass among her brothers, her father, and Mr. Talbot.
“And there is always the chance, Amelia,” he said softly, “that he may meet with the wrong sort of people and be recognized as the Earl of Rutlidge and...”
“... be kidnapped,” Talbot finished for him uneasily.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHILE the interested parties gathered around the breakfast table at Lord Mapleton's discussed how best to deploy themselves in an effort to discover the earl's whereabouts, another extremely interested party stepped tensely through the dirty alleyways and filth-laden streets of Puddin' Lane.
Mouse, who had hidden himself well amongst the tree line when Coffee and Bear had gone to seek him, had followed his master's trail at a great distance. He had shied away quickly and often from the strange sounds of the city and its people, and hidden himself more than once from calloused hands intent at grasping the reins that dangled before him. Footpads and beggars alike had roused at his approach and, recognizing in the stallion an expensive prize, had more than once attempted to capture him. Skittish now beyond the usual, the big black pawed the ground before each step and tossed his head constantly. His ears laid back, his teeth bared, he had ceased to flee those who sought to approach and had begun to move aggressively against them instead. His every sense told him that his master was close at hand and he would no longer allow any of these paltry beings to separate him from the earl.
“By Jove, Danvers, cast yer daylights on that!” exclaimed a short, swarthy little man in a ragged beaver hat, a catskin vest, and soiled yellow breeches. “’Tis a gift from heaven!”
“Huh? What?” asked the gentleman called Danvers, stirring awkwardly into a semi-sober state on the step of a doorway at the end of the alley down which Mouse was making his carefully threatening way. “Whas a gifrom hea'n? Huh, Copeland?”
“There, comin' straight at us. Why, that bit a horse-flesh be worth a small fortune, Danvers. A small fortune. Lookit th' size of 'im. An' them muscles. An' e be fair game, Danny. There ben't no cove achasin' afer. We'll grab 'em, Dannyboy, an' we'll take im off an' up to Tattersall's. Them swells er wild 'bout horses. They'll pay good fer a flash bit li' that.”
Mouse, hearing the whispers, stopped dead still in the middle of the narrow alleyway and whinnied angrily, declaring his intention to proceed in his search without interference. Unfortunately, neither Copeland nor Danvers understood. Very quietly, Copeland snuck from the alleyway and ran as fast as he could around the block of buildings to the far end of the narrow passage. When he whistled his presence to Danvers, that man, still a bit un-steady on his legs, rushed from the doorway toward Mouse, their plan being for Danvers to grab the dangling reins if he might or for Copeland to do so if the horse turned and bolted in the opposite direction. Mouse, however, did not turn and bolt, but reared at Danver's approach, slicing at that bedraggled personage with his front hooves. Danvers staggered back, yelling, as one hoof caught him in the right shoulder and he felt his collarbone crack. Copeland came running from behind and made a grasp at the reins, but Mouse was a split-second faster and caught that ruffian's coat between his teeth, entirely ripping off the sleeve. He reared again, sending his hooves crashing toward Copeland, but the man dodged the blow, nearly tripping over his confederate. “Leave 'im, Cope. Leave 'im,” Danvers urged, turning to run from Mouse's bad-tempered onslaught.
“Derned if I will,” Copeland swore, taking another swipe at the reins. “This 'ere horse be worth a fortune.”
Mouse whinnied again and, shaking his head, took another bite at the man in the catskin coat. But Copeland had once been a stable hand in the service of the Duke of Avon, and though he understood very little about horses, he knew the power of the bit that rode loosely in the black's mouth, and instead of backing from the bared teeth, he lurched straight into the threat of them and seized the cheek strap of the bridle, twisting it tightly to bring the stallion's head down. Mouse attempted to twist away. His back legs kicked out in frustration. He tried to rear. Copeland's other hand seized the other cheek strap. “Git th' reins, Danny,” he yelled, holding on for all he was worth. “Git the reins, dern ye!”
Danvers, his face pale with fright and pain, came rushing back, swooped in under Copeland, and grasped the dangling leather strings. “Now don't le' go, Danny. Pull tight on them things an' don' le' go till I got ’em meself “ With that the short swarthy man released one of and cheek straps, grabbed the reins from his companion, jerking them downward savagely, released the other strap. Mouse struggled, attempting to rear and bite for a few moments longer, then stood quietly.
“Now, thas better, me sassy lad,” cooed Copeland reaching one hand toward Mouse's nose. The stallion waited until the hand was close enough and then made a grab for it with his teeth. But Copeland had been bitten before, and pulled swiftly back without harm. “Well, an' if ye ain't a sore loser.”
“Cope,” moaned Danvers, “I'm hurt bad. Derned animal broke somethin' inside o’ me.”
“Well, an' we'll bandage ye up, then, Danny. Not ta worry. But first we'll take us this fine fella off ta Cap'n Sutter's stables and tuck ’im in. Won't take but a couple minutes. You see that there saddle he's asportin', Danny? That saddle alone’s worth fifty pound, more prob'ly. Whoever ’twas lost this bit o' blood gonna be real angered at hisself, I kin tell ye that.”
BEAR and Coffee, having escorted Molly off on her way to the Conover sisters' house with promises that they would keep trying to discover where Geordan's brother could be found, sat on Bear's doorstep passing a clay pipe back and forth between them and watching somewhat bemusedly as Jesse, Davey, Abby, and every other child loose in the neighbourhood made a circle around the earl in the middle of the street. “What ye gonna do with ’im if ye cain't fine ’is brother, Bear? Ye gonna turn ’im over ta th'Watch?”
“Course I ain't. I'm gonna take ’im to the nex' gath-erin' an' odds are his brother'll be there. Ye said he's been ta most every meetin', Coffee.”
“Ye don't expect maybe th'lad does live at Rutlidge House, do ye, Bear? What I mean ta say is, mebbe th'lad works there. Mebbe he works in th'stables er somethin'.”
“Naw, Coffee, he jist made up about Rutlidge House. I don't reckon even the earl's stable boys got ta wear britches as worn an patched as that, no, nor a shirt what's two inches too short fer their arms and been sewn together a thousan' times. An' I know fer sure they ain't none of ’em ever goes hungry. He was pretendin' is all, playin' like he be now wi' the childrun.” Bear laughed as the earl suddenly was buried beneath a pile of raggedy, squealing urchins and in a moment came up grinning with one tucked under each arm and another riding on his shoulders, and the rest dropping like little mice, only giggling, into the street. “I reckon his brother's at wits' end wonderin' what happened to ’im. Geordie,” he called, “come ’ere a minute, lad.”
Coffee watched, g
rinning, as the earl divested himself of clinging children and scuffed up to them. “Did ye win er lose, Geordie?” he asked. “I couldn't tell.”
“N-No, neither c-could I,” Geordan grinned back. “It is a f-fun g-game, but J-Jesse made up the r-rules and I think they change every t-time. Davey says there are ch-chores to d-do. M-May I help to d-do them?” he asked, his eyes searching Bear's.
“Well, now, I don’ know, lad. Come sit here nex’ ta me.”
Geordan took the spot appointed, and waited expectantly.
“Be there anywhere in Lunnon, lad,” Bear asked quietly, “from where you could fine your way home?”
Geordan nodded.
“Good. That’s good, Geordie. Ye tell me one o’ ’em.”
“Well, I c-could from Mr. T-Trevithick’s railway.”
“Mr. T-Trevithick’s what?”
“Railway. It is a l-little engine that runs on s-steam, an’ it p-pulls a c-carriage behind it that one may r-ride in.”
“It does?” asked Coffee sceptically.
“Yer pretending’ agin, lad,” Bear smiled. “There ain’t no sich thin’ in all o’ Lunnon.”
“There is,” the earl insisted. “T-Tony took me to s-see it.”
“Well, p'rhaps,” Bear offered, “but we cain't take ye there, 'cause I ain't never heard o' it. Have ye ever been to Soho?”
“Y-Yes. T-Tony took me to s-see a foundry there.”
“Ah, now we be gettin' somewhere. If we was to fine tha' foundry, might ye could figger a way home from there?”
“I d-do not think so,” the earl sighed with a shake of his auburn curls. “There were so m-many things to s-see on the way that I d-did not watch our p-path very well. D-Do you not know where R-Rutlidge House is, Bear?”
“Could ye fine yer way home from Rutlidge House, lad?”
“I l-live at R-Rutlidge House,” the earl said, “even though M-Molly d-does not think I should s-say so.”
“What is it ye do there, Geordie,” Coffee asked with a sideways glance at Bear.
Amelia's Intrigue (Regency Idyll Book 1) Page 14