The Mistress Memoirs

by Jillian Hunter

  “Colin?”

  He glanced down at her once. His arm encircled her in a hold so tight that her ribs ached; the fury in his eyes would have frightened her at any other time; for now it gave her solace. Whoever had shot at them had missed.

  “Colin, the children—”

  “Put your head down, for God’s sake, and be ready to run like hell for cover the instant your feet touch the ground. Hang on.”

  The animal went into a gallop that made Kate feel like a performer at an amphitheatre. Shaken to her skeleton, she had no choice but to do as Colin demanded. No sooner had they reached the gate than she slid limply to her feet. He wheeled the horse around, leaving her with a curt but unnecessary word of advice.

  “Run.”

  * * *

  Colin’s last instinct was to turn and retreat in the face of hostile fire. The warrior in him rose up, ready to charge, take control. But he had neither a sword to swing nor a brigade at his back.

  He had fought and won battles on horseback. The thirst for action still lingered in his blood. But he could hardly gallop down his attackers with Kate slung over his thigh and three children watching what he hoped they would misinterpret as part of Kate’s abduction.

  This wasn’t a military campaign.

  His mount had not been trained for war, and it took effort to keep her focused on his commands. He nudged the mare with his knee and then outside leg, hoping she would take the cue to turn. She did, and he abandoned Kate with faith in her common sense, which she displayed by bolting for the stables without a backward glance. No sooner had she disappeared inside, presumably to join the children, than Lovitt came flying around the paddock on the young gelding he had been training. “I’ve two guns, sir!” he shouted.

  Colin searched the tall grass that rose into the hillock of brushwood and farther up to the copse. The two attackers had escaped; he assumed they knew the poachers’ paths and hiding places that Colin had not explored.

  “Split up,” he said as Lovitt jogged alongside him, passing him one of the pistols he had instructed him to leave in the stables when the children took their lessons.

  “There’s only one route of escape from here, sir. It’s over the knoll and down the lane. Unless they have their own mounts waiting, we can catch them easily.”

  “Are the children and the stable boys safe?”

  “Tom took everyone who was outside into the stables.” Lovitt bent to catch his breath. “Griswold had been getting water from the pump a few minutes earlier. I don’t think they were shooting at anyone in particular.”

  “I don’t give a damn if they were shooting at dandelions.” He nudged the horse up the path strewn with old chestnuts and moldy leaves. “I want them found.”

  It was so easy a task that Colin had to swallow in disgust when he discovered the two culprits cowering behind the thick vines of honeysuckle that grew atop the low stone wall.

  Boys, he thought. Seventeen at most. They might be farm laborers to judge by their leather breeches and long smocks. One wore a battered round hat.

  “A child would have caught you,” he said, yanking one about by his waistband and leaving Lovitt to flush out the other. “Where are your weapons?”

  The older of the two shrank at Colin’s savage growl. “We threw ’em in the grass when you came after us. No human rides a horse like that.”

  “You could have killed the other rider on my mount,” Colin said, forcing the miserable excuse for manhood to the wall. “You fired a gun in the presence of children. I could happily strangle you right now.”

  The man shook his head in violent denial. He might have been full of bravado while hiding in the grass with a firearm. But flattened to the wall with his arms and legs spread and his deep-sunken eyes wide with terror, he looked more like a ginger man facing a fox than he did an assassin. “We only wanted to give you a scare. We fired into the air.”

  “Why?” Colin demanded, forcing him by the shoulder to his knees. The man whimpered.

  “We were supposed to aim at you, but I couldn’t shoot when you had that governess on your lap and little children watching. He didn’t pay us enough.”

  “Shut up,” his friend said, dirt and perspiration gathered on his upper lip. “We don’t know nothing about—”

  He didn’t utter another word. He couldn’t very well converse with Colin’s hand around his throat and Lovitt’s pistol poised to fire.

  “Who paid you?” Colin said, searching the young man’s worn jacket with his free hand and finding a knife concealed in his pocket. He handed it to Lovitt and picked up the gun they had dropped. “Lovitt, search the other one.”

  “I’ve got nothing to lose now,” the older youth said. “It was Ramsey Hay, Mr. Earling’s lawyer. He wanted the whore out of the house, and he wanted her old footman dead. He was convinced you were an imposter.”

  Colin frowned. The old footman? That had to be Griswold. Why kill a footman? Unless Hay knew that Griswold had witnessed the crime. “How many more attacks are planned?”

  The youngest offender started to lift his head, only to see the look on Colin’s face and drop to his knees. “Three, sir,” he said, cringing with his shoulders hunched.

  “And the next?”

  “Tonight.”

  “So if I take you to Mr. Hay’s office and confront him with what you have told me, what do you suppose he’ll say?”

  The older boy snorted. “He won’t say a word. He’s gone. He left in the middle of the night. I visited his office this morning, but it was closed. His house is all shuttered up, too.”

  Colin expelled a harsh breath. Hay had been the key all along. He had managed Nathan Earling’s affairs while he lived in Ireland, and he managed—or mismanaged—Mason’s now. How could Earling not realize his solicitor was bleeding him dry? He had signed the invoices, took out insurance for his shipments. Or had his signature been forged?

  “Where did he go?”

  “I overheard his clerk say that he would be in London for some time,” the eldest muttered.

  Colin looked back at the house. Why should Mason return? He hadn’t paid his lease, his paramour’s pocket money, the upkeep of the servants and animals. Hay must have warned him to stay away. Had they made plans to meet in London? Would Mason leave the country on one of his own ships if he knew Colin had returned?

  “I beg you, mister,” said the youth in the round hat. “We didn’t mean no harm—”

  “Firing a gun into a paddock? Stay down on the ground.”

  He glanced back again at the manor, distracted by the flutter of white from the kitchen yard. What in the name of hell-foolery was that? It couldn’t be. The laundress was hanging up the wash. Hadn’t she been warned? Was the rest of the house vulnerable to attack? Were the gardeners pruning roses unaware?

  “How many of you are there?” he demanded.

  “How many—how many . . . how many what?” the boy in the round hat asked in confusion.

  “How many of us attacked the house today, you jinglebrains,” his partner said.

  “It was just us two. Today.”

  A maid joined the laundress in the garden. It took all of Colin’s willpower not to allow the little bastards to scuttle off to be squashed another time. “Lovitt,” he said quietly, “do you think they deserve any mercy at all? Should we haul them before the magistrate?”

  “The magistrate.” The eldest youth spat in the grass. “I’m not trying to stir up more trouble here, but you’re wasting your time. I’ve lived in this village all my life. What makes you think that the justice will take the word of a shit mucker to a doxy over one of East Crowleigh’s own citizens?”

  Colin lifted his brow. “When you argue your case with that eloquence, I’m almost tempted to agree.”

  The man elbowed his companion. “Take a lesson from—”

  “But I don’t,” Colin said, turning his head to call his horse.

  The man’s smug grin vanished. “You don’t what?”

  Col
in waved his pistol over their petrified faces. “I don’t agree.”

  Chapter 32

  A half hour crawled by before Kate decided it was safer to chance hiding the children in the house than to wait another minute crouched together in an empty stall. The silence from outside strained her nerves. She listened intently, but there was nothing—not a shot, a hoofbeat, a sparrow’s chirp.

  “I’m hungry,” Charlie said, slumped across her lap with his face buried in the straw.

  Etta had fallen asleep, and Brian was keeping watch through the loft window above with one of the two stable boys. “Charlie,” he whispered down, “if you’re really hungry, I’ll give you some horse feed.”

  Charlie sat up, stretching his short arms in Kate’s face. “Does it taste good?”

  “It’s delicious.” Brian hung his head and arms down from the rafters like a bat.

  “Don’t tease him like that,” Kate snapped in a voice that startled Etta from her nap. “It isn’t fit to eat and you know it.”

  “Oats and apples, miss,” Brian said, tossing a handful of hay into the air. “Why couldn’t I have gone with Castle? Why did he pick you to ride instead of me? I weigh less. I don’t bounce in the saddle like a sack of grain.”

  “But Mr. Castle doesn’t want to marry you, Brian,” Etta said. “He’s asked Kate to be his wife, and she’s going to leave us for the underhanded scoundrel.”

  “Etta!” Kate exclaimed. “Who on earth told you such a thing?”

  Etta pulled a silk rosette from her skirt. “My mother did at breakfast. She said that you’re leaving us without a care after all she’s done for you.”

  “That isn’t true.” Kate felt suddenly desperate for a breath of air. “We can’t stay in here for—”

  “Hush!” Tom, the stable boy in the loft with Brian, cut off the conversation with an excited whisper. “I think I hear voices from outside. There’s someone in the back garden. Oh, God. It’s the girls hanging out the laundry. Are they daft?”

  “The laundry?” Alarmed, Kate set Charlie aside, unlatched the stall door, and started to climb the ladder to see for herself. “What is it? What are you looking at, Tom?”

  Brian fell back against the blankets laid over a thick matting of hay. “He’s gawking at the disgusting garments that girls have to wear underneath their dresses.”

  “They can’t have any idea what happened,” Kate said as she peered over Tom’s shoulder. “They wouldn’t be in the garden doing chores if they knew.” She returned to the ladder and slid down to the lowest rung. “Tom, put your eyeballs back in your skull and come down here. Henry, you stay at the window and keep watch.”

  “Yes, miss,” Tom said, dropping down beside her into the main stable block.

  Kate moistened her bottom lip. “We’re going to make a run for the house.”

  “What if we get shot?” Etta asked, staring at the unraveled flounce on her skirt.

  Charlie rubbed his eyes. “Then we’ll die.”

  “Those men are gone,” Kate said firmly. “No one is going to die. But I am thirsty.”

  Brian looked down from the loft. “I’ll stay here with the horses. There’s a bottle of wine up here, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Brian. I do not need Dutch courage, but I insist you come inside.”

  “But I want to help,” Brian said.

  “You protect the children and Miss Kate. As soon as you’re inside the kitchen, signal me from the hall window.” Tom grinned down at Etta and Charlie. “You little runts are going to run like hell.”

  Etta’s mouth dropped open. “Ooh. Miss—”

  Tom shook his head. “Who’s man enough to watch your mother and old Nan? Not Bledridge. Not Griswold, God love him. You need to rally the other footmen together.”

  Brian, disgruntled and disappointed, slid down the ladder and turned his back to Kate the moment she reached for his shoulder. “One day,” he said, “I might really run away, and no one will find me.”

  “What’ll you do for food?” Charlie asked in concern.

  Kate herded them to the door. She’d worry later about Brian’s threats. For now all she wanted was to see Colin and Lovitt riding back across the meadow, bringing word that the siege was over and that they could feel secure again in the house.

  Kate took a deep breath. “Let’s do this before I lose my nerve. I can’t stand waiting another minute.”

  “I’m unlocking the doors,” Tom called up over his shoulder to Henry. “Now, all of you start to run, and don’t stop for anything until you’re inside the house.”

  * * *

  They made a dash through the wash drying on the clothesline, bringing down a few wet sheets in their rush.

  “Hey!” Cora said indignantly, one hand on her hip. “Do you have to play chase through the clean laundry? Joan and I just finished hanging up Madam’s French drawers and stockings. They don’t wash themselves! I have raw knuckles from all that cold water and soap.”

  “French drawers, indeed!” Kate exclaimed, snatching a stocking from the ground. “This isn’t a game. Two men shot at us from the meadow.”

  “Where is Castle?” Cora asked, eyes growing wide.

  “Somewhere safe, I pray. Please, grab Joan and get inside. Hurry!”

  Kate grasped Etta and Charlie by the hand, glancing back to make sure Brian had followed. Although she couldn’t risk the time to make sure, she thought she spotted Colin in the horse chestnut trees.

  Moments later the six of them burst as one through the kitchen door, Kate pushing the children to the fore. Charlie and Etta grabbed two chairs and dragged them to the window. Brian charged up the stairs and into the hall for sentry duty. Bledridge emerged from the pantry, took one look at the muddy footprints on the floor, and threw up his hands in disgust.

  “Miss,” he said through his nostrils, as Kate plucked first Etta and then Charlie off their chairs. “I understand that your engagement is foremost on your mind, but—”

  “Make sure all the doors are locked and that everyone is brought to the library.”

  He paled. “Whatever for?”

  “We’ve been attacked again, Bledridge,” she answered distractedly. “I apologize for the mud. And to Cora and Joan for bringing down the washing. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “Attacked, miss?” he said in horror. “How did it happen?”

  “We were shot at in the paddock,” Charlie blurted out.

  Bledridge looked over the boy’s head to Kate. “Is this true, miss?”

  Etta nodded vigorously. “Ten times.”

  “We were shot at once,” Kate said hastily. “That was enough. Castle made us hide in the stables while he and Lovitt gave chase. They are still outside.”

  “Dear God,” Bledridge said, staring at the dogs snoozing around the hearth. “Not a bark to warn us.” He swung around to withdraw into the pantry for his blunderbuss. “Bolt all the doors,” he said when he reappeared. “Close the curtains. I fought against the colonies under Farmer George, and I will not surrender again.”

  Cook bustled down the stairs from the hall, stopping in breathless agitation when she saw the blunderbuss in the butler’s hand. “I do not think that will help Madam in her current state.”

  “What’s wrong with Mrs. Lawson?” Kate asked, dreading the answer. A governess could only do what she could do.

  “Griswold brought her the morning post and she lost her head over a letter that he helped her read. She’s been flinging things about all morning. She was furious that you couldn’t be found.”

  Kate propelled the children toward the stairs. “I wonder whether this letter has anything to do with the men who shot at us.”

  “Bless me,” Cook gasped, standing aside to let Bledridge up the steps. “Not again. What are we to do?”

  Bledridge straightened his tall frame. “Everyone to the library. There’s supposed to be a secret passage inside the wall. I don’t know if it’s big enough to fit anyone, but we might squeeze in the children and Ma
dam, if she can manage to stop her shrieking long enough to hide.”

  “What’s wrong with my mother?” Charlie asked. “Was she shot? Do you think Mr. Castle has been killed?”

  “I—”

  Brian shouted from the hall above the kitchen. “He’s riding home now! Lovitt’s with him.”

  “How do you know?” Kate asked, her heart thumping in her throat.

  “I saw them from the window when I signaled to Tom and Henry that we were safe. They’re coming home!”

  Kate could have collapsed with relief. “And they looked unharmed? At least from what you could tell?”

  “Of course they do,” Brian replied rather proudly. “But I don’t know about the two men they rode down. I think Castle might have killed them. They’re lying in the grass.”

  * * *

  Colin and Lovitt entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later to a round of applause. Cook wept and said that Colin was more heroic than Wellington at Waterloo. The maids gathered around him in awe, and Bledridge brought out his best port and glasses.

  Kate hung back, letting Colin take in this tribute, which he only laughed off. “Put away that bottle, Bledridge. I would prefer a beer. Lovitt?”

  “Yes, please, sir.”

  “And let’s take some grub and drink out to the stable boys.”

  “Are we safe, sir?” Cook asked, drying her eyes.

  “I believe so. But we won’t let down our guard again.” His gaze lifted to Kate. “I’m sorry about the gallop. Were you hurt?”

  She was more afraid of horses than ever before; her knees still felt shaky, but she wouldn’t admit it. “All I need is a good soak in hot water.”

  And him.

  She needed him more than anything.

  Chapter 33

  Colin couldn’t sleep that night. No one in the house could. He lay fully clothed on Kate’s bed, his arms encircling her, his thumb idly caressing the curves of her breasts through her shift. It was the first time she hadn’t complained about his boots or the fact that the children had been allowed to stay up with Cook to bake scones for breakfast.