by Mary Nichols
‘The chicken will do very nicely, if you please. And perhaps a dish of hot chocolate?’
‘I’ll tell Cook and bring it up to your room. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where that is.’ She led the way up a second flight of stairs, chattering all the while. ‘Goodness knows why her ladyship should put you in the green room, it being right at the back of the house, so far from her own, and such a sickly colour. But there, you won’t be disturbed by the traffic in the street, nor Mrs Benbright coming home in the early hours, so like as not you’ll sleep well there.’
‘Her ladyship?’ Molly queried.
‘Mrs Benbright.’ She giggled. ‘That’s what we call her behind her back, but like as not we’ll be saying it to her face before long if the Marquis comes up to the mark…’
‘I am not sure you should be calling her anything behind her back,’ Molly said. ‘It is disrespectful.’
‘Oh, well, if you are going to be stiff about it, I’ll say no more,’ Betty said. ‘But there’s only the three of us and if you’re to work here we must all get along and be friends.’
‘I did not come here to work,’ Molly said. ‘Mrs Benbright is my mama.’
‘Your mama?’ Betty repeated incredulously. ‘We never knew she had a daughter. She never said so.’
‘There is no reason why she should,’ Molly said. ‘I do not imagine it is the done thing to discuss one’s private business with servants.’
‘Beg pardon, miss, I’m sure,’ Betty said stiffly. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
‘No, thank you.’
Molly was so bewildered and exhausted and the candle the maid had left with her was so feeble, she saw very little of the room, except the bed. But her trunk had been brought up and stood against the wall, and she found her nightgown, undressed and slipped between the sheets. By the time Betty came up with the food and hot chocolate, she was already asleep.
Chapter Nine
Duncan, having watched the Marquis’s ornate town coach drive away, turned to give Frank instructions to see that the carriage and horses were safely stabled and then find lodgings for himself and Martha. ‘Meet me tomorrow morning at eleven at Stephen’s Hotel in Bond Street,’ he told him.
‘Where are you going, Captain?’
‘Home, Frank, home.’ He untied Caesar and hauled himself one-handed into the saddle and picked up the reins. ‘We will decide our next move tomorrow.’
‘Are you fit to ride, sir?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry. It’s not far. Goodnight to you both and my grateful thanks for all your help.’
He rode slowly towards Bond Street, glad to be alone. He was unaware of his surroundings, and the late-night traffic on the road; his mind was full of Molly. She had been delightful company, enjoying her adventure, teasing him with her seriousness one minute and her merriment the next, unconscious of the peril she was in. She had been cheerful and stoical, putting up with his temper and never complaining when he left her to play cards, nor when he insisted on travelling through the night. She had accepted whatever food he provided and was inordinately pleased with the few fripperies he had bought for her and seemed to thrive on risk. All for the sake of a Season.
But would her mother grant her wish? And if she did not, what madcap scrape would Molly get herself into? The capital was full of unsavoury characters and not all of them among the lower orders. She would never be able to distinguish honesty from treachery, gentleman from rogue, unless there was someone with her to point out the pitfalls. He found himself envying the young bloods who would be sure to flock about her once she had been seen about town. It wouldn’t hurt him to stay for a few days to see how she fared.
His grandmother was right; it was time to put the past behind him and make a new life for himself. Now his mission had been accomplished, he could not go back to being a ne’er-do-well. He was not a criminal. But he ought to tell Hugh of his plans. They might meet socially and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass his brother and sister-in-law. He did not know how he felt about seeing Beth again, but he could not hide himself away for the rest of his life. He had done no wrong. He grinned ruefully; if you didn’t count highway robbery, of course.
He turned Caesar towards Berkeley Square and five minutes later was sitting outside Connaught House, looking up at its façade. He was almost relieved to discover the knocker off the door. The family, so he was informed by an astonished Mr Birtwhistle who admitted him, were still in the country and not expected until later in the Season and there was only himself and the housekeeper in residence.
‘No matter,’ Duncan told him airily. ‘Not stopping. Came for my mail. It has been kept for me?’
‘Yes, sir…my lord.’ The butler was clearly agitated.
‘Captain,’ Duncan corrected him. ‘Captain Stacey will do very well.’
‘My lor…Captain,’ he amended. ‘I didn’t rightly know what to do about the mail; some of it came from the War Department. I left it in the library for the Earl to…Oh, dear…We thought you were dead.’
‘Yes, I know. But as you see…’ he spread his good arm ‘…apart from a slight injury, which is healing well, I am in the best of health.’
The man made an effort to recover. ‘Would you like some refreshment, my lord?’
‘Captain,’ Duncan corrected him again. ‘Yes, I should like something to eat and a glass or two of wine, while I go through my correspondence.’
He made a good meal and drank half a bottle of claret which he owned was very good; his father had always kept a good cellar and it seemed Hugh was following in his footsteps. He was feeling decidedly mellow by the time the butler came to clear the table and put a bottle of the best French brandy and a fresh glass in front of him.
‘Tell me, Birtwhistle, how is everyone? In plump currant?’
‘Yes, sir, very well. The young viscount is a delightful child.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Duncan mused. ‘I had forgotten him for the moment. Viscount Stacey, the son and heir.’
‘Sir, may I ask a question?’
‘Fire away.’
‘What do you intend to do? I mean, should I inform the…um…Earl that you are back and have been here?’
Duncan smiled. ‘My brother knows I am back, Birtwhistle, and as for what I mean to do I am not exactly sure, but I’m not about to upset the apple cart if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘Thank you, sir. Will you be staying, sir?’
He could not resist the prospect of spending at least one night in a comfortable bed in his old home, and as his brother was not in residence he could see no harm in it.
Later, lying on a feather mattress in the big four-poster in the second best bedroom, he took stock of his situation and the euphoria left him.
This large, fashionable house should have been his London home and, if he liked to kick up a dust, it still could be. He could bring Molly here as his countess. It was ironic that if it had not been for that trick of fate which had deprived him of his inheritance he would never have been sent to Norfolk, never become the Dark Knight, never met Molly, never known the sweetness of a single kiss, the music of her inconsequential chatter, never succumbed to her scolding. That bullet had expunged all his old bitterness, leaving him cleansed of acrimony, a new man. Beth was not the woman for him, but Molly was.
She had come to London with the express purpose of finding the romantic husband of her dreams, though he was sure she had little idea of what that really meant. The thought of anyone else enlightening her filled him with helpless fury. He did not want her to marry anyone unless it was himself. But could he ask her to marry him when he was not the hero of her fantasies and had neither title nor wealth to offer her? He could not force his way back into Society now, could not take back what he had freely given. Would she settle for less? Had he the right to ask it of her?
The next morning, in his best uniform, he entered the imposing portals of the War Department and spoke to the man on guard. ‘Captain Stacey to see Colonel Gadsby.’
The man disappeared along a corridor and returned to conduct him to the Colonel’s room, where he flung open the door and announced him in a strident voice.
‘Tony!’ The Colonel, a huge man with long dark curls and a pointed beard, left the desk behind which he had been sitting and hurried forward, hand outstretched. ‘I did not know you were back in town.’
Duncan grasped the hand. ‘Arrived late last night, sir.’
‘Sit down, Captain. How did it go? I see you sustained an injury.’
Duncan sat in a chair near the desk and the Colonel resumed his seat behind it. ‘Oh, that came later, sir. It is nothing but a scratch.’
‘But you did obtain the proof we need?’
‘Yes, sir, though the man was no flat; he was suspicious of everyone. His house was like a fortress and his servants close-lipped. I could not have done it without Sergeant Upjohn. He obtained a position as a groom and managed to get into the house—something I could not have done because Sir John was bound to recognise me. Frank learned there were documents kept in a chest, but he could find no opportunity to search for them.’
Duncan had met Sir John Partridge when working as an agent in France. The man had come over from England in the middle of a war, as bold as you please, to negotiate the sale of guns and ammunition to the French army. At the time, Duncan had been pretending to be a sympathetic American and was serving as an interpreter in the French intelligence service. He could do or say nothing without blowing his own cover, but as soon as he’d returned home he’d reported what he knew.
As a result, he had been asked to find documentary proof, a task he was more than happy to undertake, even without the added inducement of a reward. It was fortuitous he had run into Frank when he’d tracked the man to Norwich. Frank’s help had been invaluable and if, at the same time, it had saved his sergeant from a life of crime, then it was a double blessing.
‘Just when we began to think we were at a stand,’ he went on, ‘my sergeant learned he was making a journey to Cromer and taking his strong box with him.’ He paused and then chuckled. ‘We became high tobies.’
He reached in the pocket of his frockcoat and withdrew a bundle of documents which he handed to the Colonel. ‘I think this is what you are looking for: letters, bills of lading, receipts. There is enough evidence there to convict him a hundred times over and the beauty of it is that he does not know he was robbed for those. He thinks it was the gold the scamps were after and has been making strenuous efforts to have the doers of the deed caught and brought to book before they realise the significance of what they have.’
The Colonel spent a few moments scanning the contents of the documents, before looking up and smiling at Duncan. ‘You have done well, Captain. It will give me a great deal of personal satisfaction to see the traitor hang.’
‘Indeed, sir. Publicly, I hope, so that everyone knows his treachery.’
‘There will be a trial. We must allow him that. But what happened to the gold? I gave no orders for anything else to be confiscated.’
‘No, sir, but if we had left him with his blunt he would have twigged what we were about. It was put to good use. We distributed it among needy ex-soldiers. It seemed a kind of rough justice.’ He said nothing of Mr Grunston, the slave trader; that episode had been well outside his remit and just showed how far he had gone along the road of the ne’er-do-well.
‘Did it indeed? I think perhaps I will conveniently forget you told me that. If there is a fastener out on you, I do not want to know about it.’
‘Oh, I do not think anyone will make the connection,’ he said, smiling. ‘There are so many scamps about these days calling themselves the Dark Knight.’
‘Quite so. What are you going to do now? Ain’t it time you found yourself a filly and settled down?’
‘I doubt anyone would have me,’ he said with a wry smile. He was no nearer finding a way of making a living that did not involve gambling and though, for the most part, he was very successful at it, it was no way for a man wishing to marry to go on.
‘I wish you luck, whatever you do,’ the Colonel said. ‘There is, as I told you at the outset, a considerable reward. I will make sure a draught is taken to your bank by the end of the week.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I wish half of it to be sent to Sergeant Upjohn. If possible I would wish him to be absolved of complicity in any illegal acts while acting under my instructions in this matter.’
‘I think that can be arranged.’
Duncan thanked him, bowed and took his leave. He met Frank and Martha as arranged, paid them what little money he had and sent them home in Lord Brancaster’s coach. ‘Take it back to him,’ he said. ‘Thank him for its use and tell him I will compensate him for any inconvenience. And you will hear from Colonel Gadsby yourself.’ He smiled. ‘It will be enough to start you off in a little business of your own.’
He brushed aside their gratitude and watched them go. It was too early to call on Holles Street and as Caesar needed exercise he set off for Hyde Park. Avoiding the carriageway and the ride, he made for the wide area of grass beyond the lake and allowed the stallion to have its head. An hour later, he slowed to a walk and turned back to skirt the southern shore of the lake, making for the Curzon Gate.
The idea he had mentioned to his grandmother, that he might breed horses, had been growing slowly in his mind. After all, horses were always wanted for every kind of use—for riding, for carriage work, for the army; there was always a ready market for top quality animals. He knew a little about the subject and if he employed experienced help he felt sure he could make a success of it. Would Molly consent to be a farmer’s wife?
It was daylight when Molly woke and the sun was shining through the curtains. She rose and drew them back to look out on a small back garden which had been untended for some time, judging by the length of the grass and the weeds in the borders among which a few flowers struggled to survive.
She had no idea of the time, but she was wide awake and anxious to explore her surroundings. There was water in the jug on the wash-stand and she washed quickly and dressed in the turquoise muslin gown Duncan had bought for her, brushed her hair and tied it back with a matching ribbon before leaving the room to find her way downstairs.
The house was very quiet and she supposed her mother would be as good as her word and would not rise before noon. Not wanting to disturb her, she crept along the upper corridor towards the stairs. Once in the hall, she opened all the doors one by one and peeped into the rooms. There were not many for it was not a big house.
There was the drawing room she had been in the night before, where a tray containing an empty bottle and two used glasses told her that her mother had invited her escort into the house on their return. On the other side of the hall was a bookroom which was so tidy and smelled so musty, Molly was sure it was never used. Towards the back of the house was a breakfast parlour and another small sitting room.
She was standing, undecided what to do, when she heard voices on the other side of the door which evidently led to the kitchen. She opened it shyly and saw three servants sitting round a table—Betty, Perrins and a red-faced woman in a large apron whom she took to be the cook. They sprang to their feet when they saw her.
‘We didn’t know you were awake, miss,’ Betty said. ‘Mrs Benbright don’t rise afore noon.’
‘No, I know. But it is such a lovely day, I wanted to be up and about.’
‘You will be wanting your breakfast.’
‘A little tea and toast, if you please, and I will take it in the breakfast parlour. I see the table is laid up.’
She had just begun her meal when her mother wandered into the room in a puce silk peignoir which did nothing to enhance a pasty complexion brought about by too many late nights. Her hair was loose about her shoulders and her eyes were heavy.
‘Good morning, Mama,’ Molly said brightly, and noticed her mother wince. ‘I did not think you would be awake yet.’
‘Well, I
am not sure that I am,’ her mother said, sitting down opposite her. ‘I am not at all sure this is not some horrible nightmare.’
‘What is?’
‘You arriving like that without a by-your-leave. And with Tony Stacey too. There will be the most prodigious scandal, especially when the ton learns that his lordship is not dead at all…’
Before Molly could comment on this, Betty came in with a tray containing a pot of chocolate, a plate of buttered toast, a dish of hard-boiled eggs and a jar of conserve. She set it all on the table. ‘I didn’t you know were up, ma’am,’ she said, addressing Mrs Benbright. ‘Do you want me to fetch you anything else?’
‘No, this will suffice, thank you.’
Betty disappeared reluctantly. ‘Now I suppose they will have a fine time of it, discussing our affairs in the kitchen,’ Harriet complained. ‘As if I do not have enough to contend with.’
‘What do you mean, “his lordship”?’ Molly demanded. ‘Whom were you speaking of? Not Captain Stacey surely?’
‘Captain Stacey, as you call him, is an earl, or he would be if his brother had not usurped the title, thinking him dead. He has always been called Tony to distinguish him from his father for whom he was named and who died two years since. He is Duncan Anthony Stacey, Earl of Connaught.’
‘Duncan is an earl?’ Molly queried in astonishment. ‘But he never gave me even the smallest hint. Nor did Aunt Margaret. She introduced him to me as Captain Stacey and she called him Duncan, not Tony…’
‘She always did.’
‘Oh, dear, I wish I had known. I have not always been civil to him and I never addressed him as anything but Captain.’
‘You referred to him as Duncan just now.’
‘Did I?’ Molly felt her face flush. ‘Oh, that is because he told me to use his given name.’
‘Did he, now? And what else happened on this highly improper journey to London? I collect you mentioned adventures.’
‘Well, there were,’ Molly said. ‘But nothing unseemly occurred.’