by Adele Clee
A knock on the door dragged Vane from his reverie. Pierre entered. The petite Frenchman came towards him in the effeminate way he did when in a state of panic.
Pierre’s hands flapped as he clutched a letter. “My lord, I must give you this at once. Wickett, he says it cannot wait.”
Vane reached for the towel on the floor and dried his hands.
Pierre stepped closer and presented the letter with trembling fingers. “It is urgent, my lord, urgent indeed.”
“Yes, Pierre, you have told me twice.” The absence of a wax seal told Vane it was from Mr Joseph. The scrawled words were a little difficult to decipher. Upon the second read, the gravity of the situation gripped him by the throat and forced him to charge up out of the water. “God damn. Fetch my clothes. I must leave at once.”
“Mon Dieu!” Pierre grabbed the towel and dabbed the floor as water cascaded over the sides of the tub.
“Leave it,” Vane commanded. “There is no time to lose.” He climbed out, crumpled the letter in his fist and hurled it into the hearth. He snatched another towel from the chair and dried his body. “Hurry.”
Pierre ran to the dressing room, stopped and turned back. “But you have not said what you wish to wear, my lord.”
“Does it matter?” Vane paused. Knowing Pierre’s taste for foppish fashion perhaps that was not a good idea. “I’ll wear black.” They were the clothes he wore when out on the hunt. And by God, murder was the only thing on his mind.
Wickett had readied the carriage and was waiting atop his box when Vane raced from the house, followed by a footman.
“I thought you’d want to leave right away, my lord.”
“When did you receive the note from Mr Joseph?”
“Minutes before I sent it up with Pierre. Hungerford is on the move. Seems the gentleman asked for the post-chaise to be ready to depart at three o’clock instead of six. Mr Joseph said he dropped his luggage there earlier.”
Vane dragged his watch from his pocket. “It’s almost two. Get me to Whitecombe Street as quickly as possible.”
“Aye, my lord. The Devil himself won’t stop me when I’m in a mind to hurry.”
Vane climbed into his conveyance. As soon as the footman closed the door, the vehicle jerked forward. Wickett’s cries to the team of four rent the air. The tension mounted.
What was Hungerford about?
Was it a case of him growing frustrated by the competition and so he’d decided to leave? Or would Vane arrive at Whitecombe Street to find Estelle clutching her valise?
He pressed his fingers to his closed lids to relieve the pressure.
Would there ever be a day when life was simple?
Would he ever wake in the morning with a clear mind?
The carriage raced at breakneck speed, jolting, swerving around corners. Vane sat forward and clung to the leather strap overhead to steady his balance as he watched for the familiar buildings of Whitecombe Street. Wickett’s curses reached Vane’s ears as the coachman weaved around handcarts and dodged crossing sweepers.
The vehicle creaked to a halt opposite the apothecary shop. Vane composed himself. After all, the stories he had concocted in his head were just that — figments of his wild imagination. Until he spoke to Estelle, he knew nothing of her true intentions.
He strode up to Mr Erstwhile’s door and pasted a smile. Good God, his heart was beating so hard against his ribs he feared the organ might burst from his chest.
The bell tinkled as he entered. Mr Erstwhile stood behind the counter grinding a sweet-smelling herb with a mortar and pestle. With a steady hand, Mrs Erstwhile decanted liquid into a blue bottle. They both looked up to greet their customer.
“Good afternoon, my lord.” Mr Erstwhile smiled. “I hoped we might see you today.”
Why? Did he plan on putting Vane out of his misery once and for all?
“I did say I would return to see Miss Brown.” Noting the lady’s absence in the shop, he added, “I trust she is well.”
“Indeed, she is.”
“It was just a little chill,” Mrs Erstwhile said. “Nothing that a day in bed couldn’t cure.”
They stared at him for a moment as if waiting for him to speak.
Mr Erstwhile wiped his hands on the brown apron tied around his waist. “Would you care to come through to the parlour and take tea, my lord?”
Vane’s racing heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Will Miss Brown be joining us?” Or was this the part where he discovered she had already left.
“As you know I am a man of truth, my lord. It pains me to call the lady Miss Brown when we both know that is not her name.”
So, he knew everything.
“Miss Darcy told you about our history?”
“The lady has been through so much. We all need someone in whom we can confide, someone impartial.” Mr Erstwhile gestured to the hall. “Come. Let us sit for a while and wait for Miss Darcy to return.”
Vane’s heart sank to his stomach. “You mean to tell me the lady is not here?”
Panic gripped him by the throat. She promised she would inform him should she be inclined to run again.
Mr Erstwhile must have sensed his despair for he gave a reassuring smile. “She has not left on the mail coach if that is what you fear. No, she has gone out with Mr Hungerford for an hour, merely to decline his offer of marriage. After all, a lady cannot marry a man when she is in love with someone else.”
Vane heard the words, but his mind struggled to process the information. So Estelle had left with Mr Hungerford.
“Did she tell you where they were going?”
Mr Erstwhile frowned. “For a stroll, I think. Why? What has you in such a fluster?”
Anger flared. If Estelle had taken him for a fool again, the entire world would feel the Devil’s wrath. The lady was more than capable of deceit. So why did his pained heart scream for him to trust her? Perhaps because he was a lovesick fool.
“Mr Hungerford has hired a post-chaise,” Vane said bluntly. “He is to take receipt of the vehicle at three o’clock today. I’m told he’s going to Bath, that the coach was hired to ferry two passengers.”
Mr Erstwhile glanced at the wall clock. “Then I must assume he will return with Miss Darcy promptly if he wishes to be at the yard in time to satisfy the contract.”
“Indeed,” Mrs Erstwhile began. “Miss Darcy promised to be no more than an hour.”
Were they naive, too trusting, or was he suffering from an overactive imagination?
“You’re both missing the point. What if Miss Darcy decided to leave with him?”
“Leave with Mr Hungerford?” Mrs Erstwhile shook her head and looked at him as if he’d said the sky was falling. “No, my lord. She told me this morning that she cares nothing for the man. I imagine the other passenger is his valet.”
No valet worth his weight in gold would dress a man so tastelessly. Well, Pierre might, which was why Vane kept him on a tight leash.
Vane removed his hat and thrust his hand through his hair. “Then I shall head to Compton Street to discern the truth for myself.”
“Then you must come back and let us know all is well.” Mrs Erstwhile hastened around the counter to open the door. “There is every chance Miss Darcy will be here when you return.”
Mr Erstwhile met his gaze. “A man must reserve judgement until he has determined the facts.”
Vane nodded, but it was far easier to spout wise words than to live by them.
Deciding that navigating conveyances and carts would only hinder his progress, Vane opted to walk. He instructed Wickett to meet him outside Mr Drummond’s yard on Compton Street. After a few long strides, a sudden sense of urgency took hold. It niggled away in his chest forcing him to break into a run.
People stopped and stared as he barged past, confusion marring their brows. They scanned the length and breadth of the street. Was there a fire or robbery? Was a drunken lord running amok to avoid a constable?
When he reached Princes Stree
t, the compulsion to hurry developed into a mild panic and then into an intense fear that consumed him mind and body. He had lost Estelle once. Twice if he counted the shipwreck. A deep sorrow had lived in his heart ever since, and he wasn’t sure what he would do if he lost her again.
As predicted, Vane reached Mr Drummond’s yard before Wickett.
The large wooden gates were wide open. Stable hands were out in the courtyard, taking receipt of hired horses. Boys as young as ten led fresh horses from the stables to those gentlemen waiting for an exchange. Other boys had the sorry task of sweeping up after the muscled beasts.
A row of yellow bounders lined the back wall. One man was securing the harness on a post-chaise. Two coachmen, both dressed in boxcoats and gripping whips in their hand, stood conversing next to the vehicles.
There was no sign of Mr Hungerford or Estelle.
Another man, with a thick neck and flat nose, appeared from a small wooden building to Vane’s left. He scanned Vane’s attire as he approached. “Can I help you, sir? I’m Drummond, the proprietor. Do you need a horse or a bounder?”
“Neither. I’m looking for someone,” Vane said, his tone conveying his impatience. “A gentleman by the name of Hungerford, and I believe he hired a coach to take him and his … his passenger to Bath.” It would not do to assume anything at this point. “Are they here, or have they left the yard?”
Perhaps sensing a dangerous undertone in Vane’s voice, Mr Drummond jerked his head to a coachman. The burly fellow sauntered over to stand behind his employer.
“I’m afraid it’s bad business to discuss a client’s plans with a stranger. Now either you want to hire a coach or you don’t.”
No doubt he preferred to sell the information. The man had already taken two sovereigns from Mr Joseph and could quit with his holier than though attitude.
Vane gritted his teeth, flexed his fingers and stared down his nose. “You will tell me what I want to know. And you will tell me now.”
The coachman made a point of firming his grip on the whip.
“Gentleman or not,” Drummond said assessing the quality of Vane’s clothes once more. “My livelihood depends on discretion.”
“Has Hungerford left the premises?” Vane reiterated. Wrestling with these men might relieve some of his frustration. “I would like to speak to him that is all.”
“You say that, but you look like you want to tear the man’s head from his shoulders. You’re not the first to ask after him. It’s one thing giving out information in exchange for coin. But I’ll not have men brawling in the yard. All it takes is one kick from a skittish horse and I’ll have my licence revoked.”
So, Hungerford was on the premises. Why else would Drummond be concerned with men brawling?
Vane glanced at the line of parked carriages. The stable hands were busy checking the buckles on the bridles. Only one vehicle looked ready to depart and the time was quickly approaching three o’clock.
“Perhaps I do want to hire a coach,” Vane said more calmly. “How long will it take to ready the horses?”
Drummond eyed him suspiciously. “That depends on how much you’re willing to pay.”
Vane retrieved a calling card from his coat pocket and thrust it at Drummond. “I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
Mr Drummond took one look at the embossed crest and his eyes grew wide. He gave a toothless grin and gestured to the door of the wooden building. “Follow me into the office, my lord, and we can discuss the terms.”
Presuming the threat had diminished, the coachman ambled back to his associate. Vane waited for Drummond to lead the way and followed him for a few steps before turning abruptly and taking flight.
Vane darted towards the carriages, dodged men and horses, went skidding on straw-covered manure.
“My lord,” Drummond called out.
A coachman tried to block his path but Vane was agile enough to duck and swerve past him. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of the carriage door, Vane yanked it open.
Two people lounged back in the seat.
A knot formed in Vane’s stomach.
Anger burst to life in his chest.
Hungerford had his arm draped around Estelle’s neck. Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on his shoulder. The intimacy of the moment caused bile to burn in Vane’s throat. He felt nauseous, sick to his stomach, and so bloody enraged he was liable to end up in Newgate before the day was out.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the fop said. “Can you not see that this coach is occupied?” It took a few seconds for recognition to dawn. Hungerford’s mouth fell open and an odd whimper escaped. “Lord Trevane.” Gulping, he added, “Wh-what do you want?”
“What do I want?” Vane repeated incredulously. He wanted to knock the man’s teeth down his throat. He wanted to shake Estelle and demand to know how the hell she could kiss him while carrying on with this craven dandy.
“You lost,” Hungerford said, managing to find courage from somewhere. “Miss Brown is coming away with me. She decided she would rather be a wife than a mistress.”
Vane was about to reply when Drummond caught up with him.
“My lord, what’s this about? Step away and let’s talk about it inside, away from prying eyes.”
Vane glanced back over his shoulder to find at least ten men rooted to the spot, watching and waiting. “Go away, Drummond. I have business with Mr Hungerford.”
“You have no business with me, my lord.” Hungerford flapped his hand as a king did when he’d had enough of being pestered by peasants. “Mr Drummond, please remove his lordship so we may be on our way.”
Vane grabbed hold of the door. “I’m not leaving until I have spoken to Miss Brown.”
“As you can see, she is resting.”
Drummond sidled up to Vane. “If you’ve got a gripe with the man, you’ll have to take it up with him elsewhere, or I’ll be forced to call for a constable.”
“Call the damn constable. Rouse the cavalry for all I care.” No one could hurt him now. “I’m not leaving without an explanation.” He could not foresee living another eight years wondering what the hell had gone wrong. Didn’t the Erstwhiles deserve an explanation, too?
“It’s almost three o’clock, Mr Drummond,” Hungerford shouted in a smug tone. “We must be away to Bath. You promised a reliable service.”
Vane glanced at Estelle. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again. “Miss Brown, may I speak to you for a moment?”
“I don’t know who you’ve come to see, my lord,” Drummond said. “But the lady’s name is Mrs Hungerford, not Miss Brown.”
Vane could feel the blood draining from his face. He shot Hungerford a hard stare. “You’re married?”
“Indeed.” Hungerford gave a satisfied grin. “This afternoon by special licence. Now, as you can see, my wife is unwell. We must be on our way.”
A cloud of confusion filled Vane’s mind. None of this made any sense. Was Estelle so adept at deception she’d feigned the depth of her affection? Did she despise his father for her father’s losses in the mining venture? Was she so aggrieved she would take her vengeance out on him?
Vane released his grip on the door and stumbled back. “Have no fear, Drummond. I’ll leave as soon as I’ve heard the lady say she is happy. I want her to tell me this is the life she has chosen.”
“Ross?” Estelle’s croaky voice reached his ears.
Vane stepped forward and studied her. Estelle tried to open her eyes, but it was as though her lids were too heavy. “Estelle? Can you hear me?”
“Will someone close the damn door!” Hungerford cried. “His lordship is determined to put my wife in an early grave.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to step back, my lord.” Drummond shuffled around to stand at Vane’s right shoulder. “It’s not right to trouble a lady when she’s ill.”
The burly coachman came to stand on the left. Without warning, both men grabbed Vane’s arms and attempted to pull him back.<
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“Get your blasted hands off me, else there’ll be hell to pay.”
“H-help … help me, Ross.” Estelle’s weak plea sounded genuine.
Drummond and his lackey dragged Vane back as Mr Hungerford leant forward and slammed the door.
“Good God, did you not hear what she said?” Vane writhed and struggled against their hold. He kicked the lackey in the shin. The man groaned but was far more robust than the rogues Vane had fought in the alley.
“Someone fetch a constable,” Drummond shouted.
No constable with an ounce of sense would dare arrest a marquess without consulting a magistrate.
“Go get your constable and be quick about it.” Vane twisted and squirmed in a bid to break their hold. “I swear I shall raze the place to the ground if that carriage leaves this yard. Estelle!”
“Happen you care for the lady, but it’s not up to me to meddle in personal business.” Drummond jerked his head at a man in the crowd. “Climb atop your box, Albert, and you can be on your way.”
Vane focused his mind. He dropped his weight suddenly, forcing the lackey to release his grip. With his free hand he swung for Drummond, catching him on the jaw though the punch lacked the strength to put the man on his arse.
Amid the mayhem, the coachman flicked the reins.
A click of a hammer brought a gasp from those gathered around. “Happen you didn’t hear his lordship clearly the first time,” Wickett said, breaking through the crowd while wielding a pistol in each hand. He aimed one at the coachman, the other at Drummond. “If his lordship has cause to speak to the lady, you’d best let him.”
A tense silence ensued.
Drummond stepped forward and opened the carriage door. “Beg your pardon, sir, but I can’t let you leave just yet.”
“Damnation!” Hungerford cried. “This is lunacy. Is there not a law about disruption on the highway?” He poked his head out of the carriage and called out, “Make ready to depart.” But the coachman refused to budge with a pistol aimed at his chest.
While Vane appreciated Wickett’s timely intervention, the last thing he wanted was to see his coachman swing from the scaffold. “Lower the weapons, Wickett. Drummond can see something is amiss.”