by Candace Camp
“What does that mean? Why would I buy two tickets?”
“It means you were creating a false trail. Someone is chasing you.”
Chapter Eight
SABRINA’S HEART HAMMERED in her chest. She had fled from someone. She had known that was what the tickets meant even as she asked the question. Her hope had been that she was wrong. “But why? Who?”
“I’ve no idea. But why else would you have bought this other ticket? It might be possible that you bought it intending to return to Newbury and take this train from there, but if so, why isn’t there a return passage to Newbury from London? And why wouldn’t you just have bought the ticket from London to Bath instead of returning to Newbury first? It fits with everything else. You have only one bag, something you can carry without needing help. It was packed in haste—there is only the bare minimum of things here. You wouldn’t have packed this way for a pleasure trip. You dressed up in disguise. You bought a ticket to two different places so that someone following you wouldn’t know which way you’d gone.”
“I knew he—they, whoever—would follow me.” Sabrina made herself think coolly and clearly. This was no time to panic. “If he went to the ticket master and asked if a young lady of my descript—” She stopped, eyes widening. “I have it! What if I packed and escaped whoever it was in this town of Baddesly Commons? Took the train to Newbury and bought a ticket to Bath. Then I could have gone into the lavatory and changed into men’s clothing—say I bought some there or was clever enough to bring them in the bag with me. I roll up my dress and stick it in the bag; I cut off my hair and I go back out to buy a ticket to London, but this time as a man.”
“And when they came looking, asking for a young lady who might have bought a ticket, the ticket agent would remember you and tell them you went to Bath, not think of the boy who later bought a ticket to London.” Alex grinned. “How devious—I like that.”
“Unfortunately, I know as little about who’s chasing me as I do about myself.” Sabrina began to sweep up all the articles she had pulled out and return them to the suitcase. She realized that in her eagerness to discover what was in the bag that she had simply tossed the first pile of clothing in Alex’s lap. All her underthings. Personal, intimate pieces of clothing. She flushed with embarrassment. What must he think of her? And she could scarcely reach over there and pick them up.
Sabrina glanced up at his face and was suddenly certain that Alex knew exactly what she was thinking. Her cheeks heated even more. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then hastily back, and she thought, her chest knotting with anticipation, that he was about to kiss her again.
But then he looked away, breaking the moment. He took the bag from her and began putting the clothes back into the case, carefully not looking at her. Sabrina looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. She must stop all these crazy, wayward thoughts. Alex Moreland, son of a duke, was not for her—even if she knew who she was or what she was running from. Even if she was not already married, which she was beginning to be more and more frightened that she was.
“Why do you think I ran away?” she asked, wanting to pierce the awkward silence. “It wasn’t a carriage accident or someone abducting me—not with this much evidence of planning.”
“Probably not. Though I suppose an abductor could have grabbed the bag of clothes, as well.” Sabrina fixed him with a skeptical gaze, and he said, “Yes, well, I’ll agree it’s not very likely.”
“Do you think I am married to him?” she asked in a soft voice, keeping her eyes steadily on her hands. She didn’t want him to see the tears she feared might come. “It seems logical. I have a wedding ring. My face is bruised. How likely is it that my husband hit me and I ran away from him?”
“We don’t know that,” Alex told her firmly. “Sabrina, look at me.” He reached out and took her chin, tilting up her face so that their eyes met. “There are several other possibilities, as well. That ring might be just a ring, or it could be some family heirloom, your grandmother’s wedding ring, say. We know that you have bruises, but they could have been caused some other way. And if someone did hit you, we have no way of knowing whether he attacked you, so you ran away, or he hit you because he discovered you were running away. It could have been a stranger, a thief or even some other relative—a father, for instance.”
“You think my father beat me?”
“I don’t know. I certainly hope not. I hate to think that anyone would have done such a thing to you. But my point is that we have no way of knowing until we find out who you are and what happened to you.”
“Why would anyone but a father or husband be chasing me? Why would it be important to make me return?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps you have something of his.”
Sabrina gaped at him. “You’re saying I stole something? That I’m a thief?”
“No. Sometimes people have disputes over things—heirlooms, for instance. So one might take something that was in another’s possession and not consider it stealing. Or maybe he stole something from you, and you got it back—that ring, say.”
“You think the ring is that valuable?” Sabrina asked doubtfully.
He shrugged. “It could be an heirloom. Or maybe it was the other way around—he wants something from you, and you’re afraid he’ll force you to give it to him. Not necessarily something you have on you at the moment. Something at home or...or in a safe, perhaps.”
Sabrina sighed. “Whatever it is, what are we to do now? How can we find out what’s going on?”
“There are still some other avenues to explore. Tom Quick is investigating; Megan might hear from one of her sources.”
“But it seems unlikely that anyone in London would know anything about me. I came from this Baddesly place. It might be the key to all this.”
“True. And that is why I suggest we talk to Uncle Bellard.”
“Uncle Bellard? But why?”
“If there’s anything to know about Baddesly Commons, he’ll know it. He’s wild about history, and he never forgets anything. Well, except things like coming down to supper or taking off his nightcap. But when it comes to names and events, he’s spot-on.”
“But how will that help us?”
“It may not,” Alex admitted. “But he might know the names of people who’ve lived there—perhaps some family whose surname begins with the letter B. Or something about the place that might jog your memory. A house. A famous ancestor. Some obscure battle.”
When the carriage rolled up in front of Broughton House, they went immediately up the stairs. After dropping off the bag in Sabrina’s room, they turned the corner into the hall where Alex’s chamber lay.
“Phipps calls this the bachelor suite,” Alex told her and flashed a grin. “My room and Con’s are on this side, with our sitting room in between, and Uncle Bellard’s rooms are across the corridor at the end of the hall.”
As they started down the corridor, one of the doors flew open and a maid bolted out, cap hanging over one ear and her hair in disarray. She turned and shouted into the room behind her, “I will not stay in this madhouse another minute!” She slammed the door and took off at a run for the back stairs.
“Bloody hell,” Alex muttered and strode down the hall.
Sabrina hurried after him. As Alex opened the door, a maniacal cackle sounded in the room and a woman exclaimed, “Give that back, you thieving devil!”
Alex strode into the room. “Wellie!”
Sabrina, right on his heels, took in the room at a glance. It appeared to be a sitting room, with overstuffed chairs and a standing lamp beside the fire and a gaming table, flanked by a liquor cabinet. A tall bookcase, packed full of volumes, was against the wall closest to her. A few more books were stacked beside one chair, and the small table between the chairs held an empty whiskey glass. An old cricket bat was propped in one corner.
It was, all in all, a ve
ry comfortable, masculine sort of place. The only oddity was a very large mesh cage standing before a broad set of windows. Inside the cage were three branches at different heights. The door to the cage stood open.
A maid stood in front of the bookcase, glaring up at the top, her hands on her hips. When Alex entered, she turned to him and said in an aggrieved voice, “He stole me duster again, Master Alex.”
“I do apologize, Nancy. I forgot to put him in his cage before I went down to breakfast. I hope the new girl wasn’t too frightened.”
“Her,” Nancy sniffed. “She’s like to jump out of her skin over the skull in Master Con’s room. She’s another one gone.”
Skull?
“I daresay.” Alex turned to address the top of the bookcase. “Wellington. Give that back. You know you’re not supposed to frighten the household.”
Sabrina followed his gaze to the top of a tall cabinet and her mouth dropped open. A large bird stood on the edge of the bookcase, black talons curled over it. It was bright red all over its head and upper body, with a rich purplish-blue belly. Its beak was black and curved down sharply, and from it dangled a small feather duster. The parrot tilted his head to look at Alex with one bright eye for a moment, then dropped the cleaning tool. The maid rushed forward to pick it up and disappeared into the adjoining room, fussing with the feathers and muttering as she went.
“I tell myself Wellie thinks the feather duster is another bird invading his territory,” Alex told Sabrina. “But I’m afraid it’s just that he loves to send people into hysterics.”
From the bookcase, the parrot squawked, “Nevermore.”
Alex sighed. “I do wish Kyria’s brood hadn’t taught you that so thoroughly. You are not a raven, Wellie.”
The bird shifted back and forth and in a singsong voice said, “Wellie, good Wellie.”
“Yes, well, I wish you would be. You know how the duchess hates it when you frighten off servants.”
“Did she say skull?” Sabrina asked.
“What? Oh, yes, Con has a skull on a chest in his bedchamber. Something from one of his cases. Not real, of course,” he quickly added.
Wellie let out a squawk that sounded like the cackle Sabrina had heard earlier, and he swooped off across the room, ducking through an open doorway on the opposite side from the one the maid had exited through. Sabrina could hear the parrot calling out something in his rough voice. It sounded like “Con.”
“It’s looking for my brother,” Alex explained, then he called to the bird, “Con’s not here. Come here, Wellie. If you’re good, I’ll take you to Uncle Bellard’s.” He turned to Sabrina and explained, “He’s very fond of my uncle’s rooms. There’s a particular bust he likes to perch on.”
An instant later the parrot was back, settling down on Alex’s shoulder. “Wellie, good Wellie.”
“Yes, yes.” Alex reached inside the cage and picked a nut from the cup attached to the side, holding it up to the bird. Wellington cracked and ate it, all the while regarding Sabrina with his beady black eyes. “Wellie, this is Sabrina. Can you say Sabrina?”
He twisted his head a different way and squawked.
“Sorry.” Alex grinned at her. “I shouldn’t try to teach him your name. He’ll be a dead nuisance if he learns it.”
“He’s beautiful. He’s so big...and red.”
“Red Wellie,” the bird offered, and Sabrina laughed. “He’s gorgeous.” She stretched out a tentative hand. “May I touch him?”
“Yes. He won’t bite. He’ll just take off if he doesn’t want to be petted.”
But the bird stayed put as Sabrina stroked a gentle finger over his head. Spreading his wings a little, Wellie preened, then folded them back down.
“Shall we go?” Alex opened the door, stepping back with a grand sweep of his arm to usher Sabrina out. He made an odd picture, so handsome, so elegant...and sporting a vivid red-and-blue parrot on his shoulder.
Sabrina smiled to herself and started down the hall, wondering what oddity awaited her next in the Moreland household.
Chapter Nine
SHE SOON FOUND OUT. The door to Uncle Bellard’s sitting room stood open. Sabrina stopped in the doorway, gazing around her in wonder. The chamber was less a sitting room than a display area. Scattered all about the room, among a few chairs and an occasional stool, was a hodgepodge of tables of various sizes and heights. Whether they were scarred and pitted, or shiny and new, or gilt-edged Louis XVs, round, square or rectangular, all of them were filled with toy soldiers.
“Uncle Bellard reconstructs famous battles,” Alex explained, his hand on her elbow urging her into the room. “That’s Agincourt. Waterloo. Something or other at Sedgemoor.” He waved his hand around. “The rest of the collection’s at the estate house.”
“It’s very impressive.”
“It usually leaves one speechless.” Alex cast her a grin, turned and said, “Uncle Bellard?”
Distracted as she had been by the displays, Sabrina had not seen the small man standing in front of a large bookcase, perusing its shelves. His uncle had apparently not noticed their entrance, either, for he turned now at Alex’s words, looking pleased, his head tilted inquiringly. With his beaked nose, bright eyes and hair sticking out in odd clumps, he reminded her forcibly of Wellie.
“Ah, Alex.” He beamed at his nephew. “I didn’t expect you. And Miss, um...”
“Sabrina.”
“Yes, of course.” He felt for the spectacles that were sitting on his head and pulled them into place. “You’re the young lady with the amnesia. Most fascinating.” His gaze moved to Alex’s shoulder. “Hello, General. Haven’t seen you since you stole Henry.”
“Henry the Fifth,” Alex said, apparently interpreting as he pointed toward one of the tables. “Agincourt.” The parrot left Alex’s shoulder to perch on a bust atop a cabinet, where he could survey the room and the street outside. “Don’t pick up anything, Wellie, or it’s back to your cage.”
“Good Wellie,” the bird squawked.
Sabrina looked around the room with interest. Every wall was lined with bookcases, and several more tomes sat stacked on chairs, tables and the floor in a seemingly haphazard manner. It was not only a display room, but also a library.
She moved closer to one of the tables, where an elaborate replica was laid out, including a painted papier-mâché landscape with figures of trees and shrubbery and even a small house, as well as two lines of armies, one wearing Scottish tartans.
“Culloden,” Bellard told her helpfully. “There’s Trafalgar.” He pointed to another layout, where tiny boats sailed on a mirror sea.
“Did you build these?” Sabrina leaned closer, fascinated.
“What? Oh, yes, I laid out the armies. Alex and Con made the hills and valleys when they were younger—well, mostly Alex. He was always interested in building things. Con liked to map out the terrain.” He beamed at her, then at Alex. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“What makes you think I came here for help?” Alex protested. “Perhaps we only wanted to chat.”
“I may be old, boy, but I’m not senile yet.” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t think you’re squiring a young lady around to show her some musty old books and battles.”
Alex grinned. “What do you know about Baddesly Commons?”
“Baddesly Commons.” He considered the matter. “It’s a village, isn’t it? What happened there?”
“Nothing that I know of. I just thought if something had, you would be familiar with it. And if you did, you might know what families were in the area.”
Bellard frowned. “Hmm. Well, let’s take a look at the map.” He led them over to a wall that faced onto the street, where four long, narrow windows were interspersed with maps. The centerpiece was a very large map of England set on corkboard. Pins of various colors were stuck in it haphazardly. “Yo
u have any idea what part of the country?”
“We think it’s not terribly far from Newbury, though I don’t know in what direction. I would guess north or south of it. Sabrina took a train from there to Newbury to catch the line to London. She wouldn’t have had to if it lay east or west of the town. Actually... Of course! It has to be south. The railway runs down to Winchester, not north from Newbury.”
Bellard slid his finger slowly down in a line. “Aha!” He tapped the map, twice. “Here we are. Baddesly Commons. Hmm.” He furrowed his brow. “I can’t think of anything significant about this area. Actually, Wellington built a country house not far from here.” He paused as the parrot let out a screech and repeated his name. “Yes, Wellie, quite right. But I believe it’s east of there a bit.”
“Stratfield Saye,” Alex agreed. “Highclere is in that area, too, I believe.”
“Highclere? What’s that?” Sabrina asked.
“Lord Carnarvon’s house. Family name is, um...”
“I believe they’re a minor line of the Herberts,” his uncle offered.
Well, that certainly didn’t start with a B, Sabrina thought—not that she was likely to be related to a lord.
Alex looked to Sabrina, and she shook her head. “None of this sounds familiar to me.”
“Well, no, it wouldn’t to most people,” Bellard agreed.
“I hoped that if we learned a little about the places, the people, something might spark a memory for Sabrina,” Alex explained to his uncle.
“I can look into the local histories and find names of the local families,” Uncle Bellard suggested.
“That’s too much work,” Sabrina protested.