by Joan Smith
Chapter Thirteen
Sykes drew the carriage to a stop at the edge of town and climbed down to speak to melord and Miss Oakleigh.
“You have the directions to The Laurels?” Salverton said, ready with the directions himself in the unlikely case that Sykes was capable of forgetting anything.
“Just this side of Rusthall Common, half a mile north.”
“Let us proceed there at once.”
“I was thinking,” Sykes said, adopting a pensive attitude that displayed his handsome profile to Miss Oakleigh. “A dasher like Wanda wouldn’t be sitting indoors on her thumbs on a fine day like this. She’d have her young man take her on the strut.”
“Of course! Wanda is a regular road hog. Where do you think they would be, Mr. Sykes?” Samantha asked eagerly, taking the man’s word for gospel.
“Only one place to go in Tunbridge Wells. The Pantiles.”
“Where is that?”
He erupted into a burst of Jovian laughter. “Bless me, you don’t know nuthin’. It’s what they call the Parade, a promenade in the heart of town. Folks go on the strut to see and be seen, visit the shops to pick up knickknacks, have a bite to eat or a drink. All the crack. I’ll show you.”
Salverton directed a cold, commanding stare at his driver. The wretch was right, as usual, but that didn’t mean he must stick to them like a burr.
“Stable the rig close by. Miss Oakleigh and I will make a quick tour of the Parade. Wait for us outside the Pump Room. We’ll meet you there, with or without Mr. Oakleigh.”
“You don’t figure you might want an extra pair of fists, in case the lad cuts up stiff?”
“I can handle Mr. Oakleigh, Sykes.” Salverton’s tone suggested he could also handle Sykes, and would enjoy doing so.
“Just as you say, melord. I’ll see you at the Pump Room when you get there. Good luck!” He touched his hat, smiled in Samantha’s direction, and returned to the carriage, stopping at the near end of the Pantiles to let his passengers dismount.
There was an awkward moment while Samantha wondered whether she should take Edward’s arm, and he wondered whether he should offer it. Neither felt comfortable making the first move, so they began walking along side by side without touching. They walked down the colonnaded side, peering at the pedestrians and into shops for a sight of Wanda and Darren. As Salverton had never seen Wanda and hadn’t seen Darren for five years, he hardly knew whom they were looking for.
Whenever he spotted a dark-haired lightskirt, he would point her out and ask, “Would that be her?”
“No, she’s taller and better-looking.”
“How about this one?” he asked a moment later, when a flashing-eyed bit of muslin leered at him.
“Gracious, Edward! She’s not so vulgar! We would have known enough to stay away from a creature like that. Wanda looks ladylike—in comparison to that vulgar jade, I mean.”
“I wonder if Darren would be fool enough to be prancing about in public when Bow Street is looking for him.”
“He doesn’t know they’re looking for him. I’m sure he thinks the money belonged to Wanda, and she has the nerve for anything. Very likely Mr. Sykes is right, and we’ll find them in a shop, spending Sir Geoffrey’s blunt.”
At one end of the Pantiles stood the seventeenth-century church of King Charles the Martyr. As they passed in front of it to the other side of the promenade, a youngster rolling a hoop nearly capsized Samantha. Edward instinctively reached to steady her. When they continued their walk down the other side, he continued holding her arm. Samantha gave him an uncertain glance, wondering if she should detach herself from him.
“Let me hold your arm,” he said. “It might discourage the hussy in the red curls who’s been following us.”
Samantha looked behind, and saw there was indeed a saucy redhead with her eye on Edward. Samantha felt a jolt of annoyance out of all proportion to the incident. It should have been amusing, but she was not amused. She gave the woman a cutting stare and took a closer hold of Salverton’s arm. They continued their walk, always keeping a sharp eye out for their quarry. The lime trees provided shade on their side of the promenade, but were an impediment to keeping an eye on the other side of the road.
They went into various trinket shops. Samantha was lured into buying a pin box of wood mosaic Tunbridgeware for Miss Donaldson. Salverton looked about for some less common little gift he might buy for Samantha, but found nothing to please him. At that end of the Parade stood the Pump Room, with Jonathon Sykes standing guard.
“They’re not here,” Sykes announced. “I’ve had a look in the Pump Room as well.”
“We’ll go on to The Laurels,” Salverton said.
“That’s a bit of a problem, melord.”
Salverton lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Trouble with the carriage? The horses?”
“Neither one. The trouble is, Fletch has turned up. I ducked inside when I saw him, but he’d have spotted the pair of you and will be keeping an eye on you from some dark corner.”
“How could he be here so soon?”
“He came on horseback. Something must have happened to his rig. I thought of putting it out of commission, but knew he’d only hire a nag, and there’d be no outrunning him on the road.”
Salverton looked at Samantha and noticed her lips were moving unsteadily. He didn’t mention having cut the reins.
Sykes continued. “He’s ridden on to Tunbridge Wells and got here not five minutes behind us. Pity. We’ll have to take evasive action. We don’t want to lead him to Darren and Wanda.”
“I don’t know what he can want with Darren,” Samantha said, furrowing her brow. “It must be Wanda he’s after.”
“P’raps she was in on the robbery he was put in jail for, and he’s after her to recover the loot,” Sykes suggested. “Wouldn’t surprise me much.”
“I don’t care if he does find her,” Samantha said. “Let us go on to The Laurels, Mr. Sykes.”
“Fletch is a rough customer. If Wanda was his bit of skirt, he’d not let your brother off unharmed. He’s killed before, though they couldn’t prove it.”
“Oh, dear! In that case, I daresay we must take evasive action. What do you suggest, Mr. Sykes?”
“Food,” he said firmly. “You’re beginning to look peaky, Samantha. The rosebuds are fading from your dainty cheeks. You must feed yourself. It will soon be coming on dark. Easier to lose Fletch under cover of darkness.”
Samantha was ravenous. An ice was no luncheon for a busy girl. It had been hours since they had eaten, and might be hours before another opportunity arose. She gave Sykes a grateful smile.
“Tea would be nice,” she said to Salverton.
“And don’t you worry about Fletcher, my dear,” Sykes said. “I’ll lure him off for you. You just take this young lady to a tearoom and feed her, melord. The Tunbridge Tearoom does a dandy tea. Lord Egremont always took his lady there when they was on the strut here in town. You won’t be rubbing elbows with the muslin company there. Shocking how bold the lasses are becoming. One of them all but shanghaied me into a doorway. I had to put up quite a fight.”
“They’ve been giving Salverton the eye as well!” Samantha said indignantly.
“They’ll throw their bonnets at anyone,” Sykes scowled. Salverton bridled up like an angry mare. “Not that I mean to deeneegrate your phiz, melord. My meaning was that even you being stiff as starch and with a charmer like Miss Oakleigh hanging on your lucky arm isn’t enough to stop them. They’d proposition an archbishop—and be taken up on the offer, too, to judge by what I know of the clergy.”
Salverton felt obliged to defend the clergy. “Your ecclesiastical acquaintances must be quite different from mine,” he said.
“I avoid the lot of them as much as I can. Freeloaders! What more do they know of the almighty than you and me?”
“How will you lose Fletcher?” Samantha asked, to avert a religious argument, for she saw that Salverton was ready to take issue with Sykes
’s views.
Sykes patted the side of his nose with one finger and assumed a wise expression. “H’expediency,” he said. “There’s the ticket. I’ll lose him, never fear, and go to the Tunbridge Tearoom to meet you after the sun’s set. You eat up now, miss. Don’t rush yourself. Tell Meggie that Sykes sent you. She’ll do you up a proper tea.”
He darted off before Salverton could exert his authority by naming a different tearoom.
"I don’t know which of them is more capable, Fletch or Mr. Sykes,” Samantha said, adding to Salverton’s ill humor. “It begins to seem that Mr. Sykes has met his match. Fancy Fletcher getting here so soon after you disabled his carriage.”
“You’re the one who suggested it! How was I supposed to know he’d hire a horse?” Of course he should have known. Sykes would have known.
“You need your tea, Edward. You’re becoming quite testy. I wasn’t accusing you of foolishness.”
They looked around and found the tearoom Sykes had ordered them to. It was more than respectable. The tables wore linen nappery and a vase of flowers. The service was good, and the tea and sandwiches both plentiful and tasty.
Salverton’s mood softened in this civilized atmosphere, away from Sykes.
“These delays make it unlikely you’ll be able to join Lady Louise at the opera,” Samantha said in an apologetic tone.
“That’s one advantage, at any rate,” Salverton replied. It struck him that he had never liked the opera. One had to go, from time to time, to please the ladies, but really it was a dead bore. The current vogue for Italian tenors especially displeased him.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, surprised,
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why do you go?”
“It is expected of one,” he said stiffly.
Samantha just shook her head. “You spend your days doing what is expected of you, Edward. Surely you could have your evenings to yourself. Even a peasant has that much freedom.”
He sipped his tea, trying to remember the last time he had had an evening to do what he wanted to do. Not since taking up with Lady Louise. If he wasn’t working nights at the House, he was accompanying Louise to some musical soiree, or the opera, or a ball or rout, usually of her choosing. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life doing such things? Surely there was more to life than that.
“One does what one must,” he said vaguely.
“One! You’re not ‘one.’ You’re you! My goodness, when are you ever going to enjoy yourself if you don’t do it now? I noticed this afternoon that you have a few gray hairs, and some little wrinkles on your forehead. You’re no longer a boy.”
“Don’t talk like that!” he said gruffly. “I’m only in my thirties. You make me sound like Methuselah.”
“Oh, no. He had nearly a millennium to live. You have only forty odd years left—if you’re lucky. Papa died at fifty-nine. He was a worrier and worker like you. Perhaps that’s why I feel comfortable with you, despite your—strict ways.”
“I’m glad you feel comfortable with me,” he said, and decided to venture into forbidden territory. “I was afraid, after this afternoon, you might feel otherwise.”
“I did, for a few hours, but it’s over now. It’s foolish to let a little thing like that embarrass us. I have been thinking about it.”
He gazed directly into her eyes. “So have I.”
She met his gaze, and suddenly all the discomfort was back. “It’s like damming up water,” she said, trying for an air of objectivity. “All your—er—masculine energy has been building up, and a little was bound to trickle out when—when—the opportunity arose,” she said, blushing.
“A trickle?” he asked, chewing a grin.
“Well, perhaps a little more than that. Will you have some of this plum cake? It looks nice and fresh.”
He passed his plate, smiling broadly now. Samantha could not suppress a little laugh as she put a piece of cake on the plate.
He admired her dainty wrist and hand as she poured his tea. A sensation of ease engulfed Salverton. It was pleasant, sitting chatting with Samantha, taking tea, and forgetting the world for a while, enjoying a little discreet flirtation with a beautiful lady. He hadn’t given a thought to politics all day. It would be nice to come home to this relaxing mood at the end of a hard day. It would add years to his life. Gray hairs? He hadn’t noticed them.
“How many gray hairs?” he asked.
Samantha laughed. “Vanity, Edward, from you? You’re the last man I would suspect of it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Only that you don’t seem to care for such trifles as fashion. Your jackets are well cut, but those small buttons are not in the latest fashion, and your cravats—well!”
“I had this jacket of Weston! He makes all my jackets.” From a pattern, the same pattern he had been using for six or seven years.
“I believe it’s those few gray hairs that have brought on this concern,” she said, “Color them with tea if they bother you. There were only three or four, just at the temples. How old are you anyway? Thirty-eight, thirty-nine?”
“In my thirty-third year.”
She blinked in surprise. “A third of a century.”
“Don’t put it like that! I’m thirty-two.”
“Is that all? I had thought you were that age when I saw you at Celine’s wedding five years ago.” He scowled. “But you had hardly changed when I met you in London yesterday,” she added swiftly. “Imagine, it was only yesterday that I called on you. I wager you’re sorry I did.”
“On the contrary. I’m glad of it.”
“I know you will help keep the family name out of court. Lady Louise wouldn’t like that.”
He ignored the reference to Louise. “I wasn’t thinking of the family reputation, actually. I needed to be shaken out of my lethargy.” A rueful smile curved his lips. It made him look five years younger. “You’re a very good shaker-upper, Sam.”
It was the first time he had used her nickname. “If that’s a compliment, I thank you. If, as I suspect, it’s a setdown, then I am sorry I disturbed your solemnity.”
“I didn’t say solemnity. I said lethargy.”
“You’re not in the least lethargic. You’re a regular busybody when it comes to other people. You’re solemn.”
“I stand corrected. Between you and Sykes, I no longer have the bother of thinking for myself. No doubt he will pop up like a genie and tell us what our next step is to be, and we, like good puppets, will do precisely as he says.”
Even as he spoke, Jonathon’s head appeared through the door of the tearoom. He beckoned to them rather imperatively.
“The chase is on,” Salverton said, and throwing a gold coin on the table, he rose and offered Samantha his hand.
Chapter Fourteen
The shadows of evening were lengthening when they went outside. The jostle of daytime pedestrians on the promenade had diminished to a few stragglers. Some shops were closing. In another hour or two, the evening throng would be out, but for the present, everyone there could be clearly seen, and Mr. Fletcher’s hulking shoulders were not among the loiterers.
“How did you get rid of Fletcher, Mr. Sykes?” Samantha asked.
“That’s not a tale for such tender h’ears as your pearly shells, Miss Oakleigh. Suffice it to say, he’ll not bother us for a while.”
“I hope you didn’t kill him!”
“A man don’t die of a drawn cork and a pair of darkened daylights. I did it out of the way of prying eyes, behind the stable at the Mount Pleasant Hotel. He'll live to pester mankind a few years more till Jack Ketch claims him.”
“Let us go on to Rusthall Common before he finds us again,” Salverton said.
“I took the precaution of taking our carriage to a friendly farmstead I know on the northern edge of town. You don’t mind a little stroll on such a fine evening as this, eh?”
“How far is it?” Salverton asked. “We can’t ask Miss Oakleigh to
walk—”
“Lord love us,” Sykes said, laughing, “what harm can befall her with two such stalwarts as me and you to guard her, melord? She’s young and frisky. She’ll enjoy it.”
“I don’t mind, Edward,” she said.
They set off, keeping a constant look behind them to ensure they weren’t followed. At a small chicken farm on the edge of town, Sykes darted behind the hedgerow and came out driving the carriage. The only other vehicle on the road was a donkey cart. They waited to determine the driver wasn’t Fletcher, before leaving.
The Laurels was only half a mile farther north. They met a few carriages returning from Rusthall Common, where visitors had gone to view the fantastic Toad Rock. Ere long, they came to a pair of square stone gateposts. The posts lacked an actual gate, but did hold a painted sign proclaiming THE LAURELS, with a sprig of laurel painted below.
Sykes didn’t have to be told to draw the carriage to the side of the road. He wasn’t such a flat as to be driving up to the door and giving the occupants an opportunity to dart out the back way. He alit and came to speak to Salverton.
“I’ll do a reconnaissance for you, melord,” he offered.
“You might guard the back door when we go in, in case they make a run for it,” Salverton replied.
“H’excellent thinking. I’ll make a proper rogue of you yet.” He darted up the driveway ahead of them and was back just as Salverton was helping Samantha from the carriage.
“Nobody home, it looks like,” he announced. “No lights burning.”
“All this for nothing!” Samantha exclaimed.
“We’ll have a look while we’re here,” Salverton said. “At least we shan’t be disturbing anyone’s sleep at this hour, as we did in Brighton.”
“They might have dowsed the lights if they’re—er—doing what Wanda does best,” Sykes suggested, and received a glare from Salverton. “Don’t worry about Miss Oakleigh,” Sykes said with a lecherous grin at the young lady. “She didn’t come down in the last rain. Farmers’ daughters know what critters get up to, eh, Miss Oakleigh?”
Salverton bunched his hands into fists. “Never mind, Edward,” she said in a low aside. “He means no harm.”