Roses in Moonlight

by Lynn Kurland

  “And what were you doing on that side of the Thames?” he demanded harshly.

  “Gambling,” Francis squeaked.

  “And drinking?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “I never drink. And I say that such is a blessing, for I never would have believed what I saw otherwise.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “A world like my own, only everyone was dressed poorly, as if they were servants.” He lifted his chin. “I saw it with my own eyes. It wasn’t a vision.”

  “How many times did you see this vision?” Derrick asked sternly. “And pray you answer the question properly.”

  “Just once!” Francis exclaimed. He paused, then apparently decided honesty was the best policy. “I waited there many times before I saw the woman come through the selfsame portal, followed by Lord Derrick. I tried to follow them back to their world, but couldn’t.”

  “You put the gems in the woman’s bag the next time you saw her, didn’t you?” Derrick said sharply. “You waited for her and shoved your stolen treasure—”

  “They weren’t stolen!” Francis interrupted. “They should have been mine long before now—” He froze. “How did you know?”

  Derrick reached up and pulled his mask off his head.

  Francis gasped. “You!” He leapt up and backward so quickly, he stumbled over his chair and landed heavily against the wall. He stood there, his chest heaving. “How did you get in here, Lord Derrick? And why are you dressed as a demon?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Derrick said. “What does matter is why you put the gems in my lady’s bag.”

  “So I could find her again in that other world and collect them,” Francis said. “And that I not be discovered with the gems on my person.” His eyes shifted. “Too many here are watching me.”

  Derrick ignored that and nodded toward Richard. “And him?”

  “Someone must be blamed.”

  “Awfully unsporting to blame an innocent man.”

  “He’s an insufferable prig.” Francis pointed at Derrick. “Take me to your wife and let me get my inheritance back.”

  Derrick lifted an eyebrow. “No.”

  Francis pulled a pistol out, froze, then fell over rather ungracefully and quite heavily onto his face. Derrick looked at Oliver who only shrugged and put away his dart gun.

  “Clock’s ticking, mate. And I’m hearing rumblings outside. We’d best be on our way.”

  “Damn it,” Derrick muttered. He looked at Oliver. “I’ll tie him up and collect the dart. Leave a note on that table explaining what happened, would you?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  It was done in less than half a minute, then Derrick pulled Richard to his feet and heaved him over his shoulder. It about knocked him to his knees, which made him think that perhaps the first thing he should do when Drummond awoke was tell him to lay off the desserts. Oliver tucked the page into Francis’s shirt.

  “What’s it say?” Derrick gasped.

  “I was naughty and tried to steal my father’s jewels.”

  Derrick smiled briefly, then carried Richard Drummond out of the cell. Oliver locked it up behind them, then they made their way quickly back down the passageway.

  Getting Drummond into the boat was a bit of a trick, but they all seemed to have plenty of adrenaline for the task. Peter shoved the boat away from the steps, then leapt inside it. Derrick rowed, because there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to simply sit there without losing his sanity.

  He didn’t relax until they had tied up where they’d begun their adventure. Oliver took his turn hauling Richard Drummond out of the boat and heaving him over his shoulder. Derrick flipped a young lad, who had obviously been sent to keep watch, a gold sovereign, watched the kid’s eyes roll back in his head, then hoped the poor boy would have it when he woke.

  Peter looked at Derrick. “Almost done.” He sounded almost awed by the prospect.

  “Aye,” Derrick said, “perhaps after you’ve dried off and aren’t in danger of catching whatever you’ve been swimming in.” He looked at Peter, then Oliver. “Thank you both.”

  Oliver was smiling pleasantly. “Anytime.”

  “Careful what you wish for.” Derrick looked at Peter. “And you, my lad?”

  “I’m still digesting.”

  Derrick smiled. He imagined that was the case. He was glad to have the worst of it over with, though he wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t more to come. He certainly hadn’t intended to find Richard Drummond unconscious, but he was definitely out cold. He was alive, though, which was perhaps all they could hope for.

  Getting to Sir Thomas’s was much less taxing than it had been the first time. They managed to get Sir Richard inside the gate, then he carried him over to the stables. They had approximately thirty seconds to change out of their gear, stuff it in rucksacks and be back in Elizabethan clothing before Derrick heard voices. Peter was not exactly dressed for company under his cloak, but perhaps no one would notice.

  “Hope you have a good story,” Oliver said grimly.

  “Thinking of one right now,” Derrick promised him, then he took a deep breath before he staggered out of the stall and into the courtyard. He leaned over with his hands on his thighs and pretended to suck in hearty breaths. Honestly, at the moment, that wasn’t much of a stretch. Mary and Thomas came to a skidding halt in front of him.

  Mary should have been in the theater, that was all he could say about it. She had apparently dragged Sir Thomas out of bed because she’d been sure she’d heard a great commotion in the courtyard.

  “Oh,” she said, putting her hand over her heart, “what have we here? Lord Derrick, and looking very out of breath indeed! What fresh hell has befallen us, good sir?”

  Derrick heaved himself upright and looked at Sir Thomas. “A miracle.”

  Thomas was apparently not much of a morning person. Then again, considering the lateness of the party the night before, the poor man was running on probably three hours’ sleep.

  “A miracle?” he echoed, rubbing his eyes.

  “Come and see,” Derrick said, gesturing toward the stables.

  He let Mary lead the way and tagged along behind to keep Sir Thomas from escaping. Mary stopped at the open stall and looked inside, then gasped.

  “’Tis Sir Richard Drummond!”

  Thomas goggled. Derrick had never seen anyone do it with quite such commitment before. The man grasped for the door of the stall and continued to gape at the man lying there in the hay.

  “But . . . how is this possible?”

  “How is less important than why,” Mary said. “You must obviously see to this man’s needs.”

  “But he’s a thief,” Thomas protested. “He was just in the Tower yesterday—”

  “Shall you ruin the life of the greatest actor of all time?” Mary asked sternly.

  “That’d be Burbage,” Sir Thomas said, looking slightly green.

  “And this man has you to thank for everything he has,” Mary said firmly. “You must render aid.”

  Derrick found himself the recipient of Sir Thomas’s interest. The man was looking at him as if he were directly responsible for his distress. Which he supposed he was.

  “He was in the Tower,” Sir Thomas said in a low voice. “How did he come to be in your care?”

  Derrick tried to look appropriately stunned. “My lads and I were off for a pleasant stroll,” he said, “when we suddenly found ourselves near the Tower.”

  “You were lost, of course,” Mauntell said.

  “But of course,” Derrick said smoothly. “And then, a miracle! This man fell into our arms, as if from heaven. Obviously, there are strange and mysterious forces at work here. Supernatural forces, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” Sir Thomas said weakly.

  “We carried him here, of course, because what else would a gentleman do?”

  “What indeed?”

  “Imagine our surprise when we realized whom we had in our care.�
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  “I’m imagining,” Mauntell said. He took a deep breath, then nodded. “He’ll need proper care. Can your men carry him inside? The servants won’t be awake yet. We’ll nurse him back to health.”

  “Ah, but look at him, Thomas,” Mary said gravely. “He looks as if they haven’t fed him in a fortnight.”

  Derrick had a different opinion on Sir Richard’s meal schedule, but he supposed the current moment wasn’t the one in which to voice it. He volunteered to carry Sir Richard inside not because he particularly wanted to but because he particularly wanted Oliver and Peter to make sure no one had dropped anything in their haste to change clothes. Well, that and he thought Peter might want to get dressed. He heaved Richard over his shoulder, exchanged a look with his lads, then turned and carried the man out of the stables and across the courtyard.

  Getting him upstairs to a bedroom was a bit of a trick, but he managed it. He flopped him onto the bed, then stood back, his chest heaving. No more gym time that week, that was for certain. He turned and found his arms full of, well, wife.

  Odd how lovely that sounded.

  She hugged him quickly, then stepped back. He was the recipient of a look from Sir Thomas he couldn’t quite identify, but he imagined it had to do with how fortunate he was to have such a woman.

  He stood to the side with Samantha as Sir Thomas and Mary had a look at the patient.

  “He’s had quite a blow to the head,” Mary said with a frown.

  “Shall I call for a surgeon?”

  “Only if you intend to cut off his head, but then where would that leave you?” Mary said with a smile. “What he needs is rest. Probably several days here in one of your most lovely chambers, being waited on constantly by your prettiest maidservant.”

  Thomas blew out his breath. “He’s insufferable.”

  “But continually nipping at Burbage’s heels,” Mary pointed out. “And insufferable as he might be, he acknowledges your patronage every chance he has.”

  “That’s because I keep paying off his bloody gambling debts,” Thomas said, then he clamped his lips shut. “My apologies, Lady Mary.”

  She waved aside his words. “Not to worry, my friend. You are too kind to him, but that is known generally as well. There is the problem of this coming afternoon, though.”

  Thomas looked at her in alarm. “What is to be done?”

  “Something,” Mary said firmly. “His career will be over if he doesn’t appear on stage.”

  “But he’s been in the Tower—”

  “On false charges,” Mary finished for him. “Come, Thomas, and be reasonable. You know he hasn’t the wit or the stomach to steal Cooke’s treasure. He has ample for his needs, especially since his greatest need is the adulation of his audience.”

  “There is that,” Thomas agreed slowly.

  “Do you truly believe he would trade that for a paltry handful of gems?” She laughed softly. “No, my friend, you know him too well for that. He was delivered into your hands by a power we likely couldn’t begin to understand and surely shouldn’t question. Take the gift, nurse him to health, and be prepared to be showered with purchases of your goods by grateful lovers of his work.”

  “That still doesn’t solve the problem of this afternoon.”

  Derrick cleared his throat. “What’s this afternoon?”

  They turned and looked at him as one. Mary tilted her head to the side and considered. Thomas stroked his chin, then looked at her.

  “There’s a resemblance,” he noted.

  “They could be brothers,” Mary agreed.

  “Indistinguishable, truly.”

  Derrick felt his mouth fall open. “What,” he managed, “are you suggesting?”

  “Hamlet,” Mary said crisply. “Sir Richard is starring, but he obviously won’t be there today. You must, Lord Derrick, take his place and save his reputation.”

  “But . . . but . . .”

  The other two simply watched him in silence.

  Something rushed through him. He wasn’t quite sure if it was terror or adrenaline.

  To play Hamlet at the Globe?

  Mary waved him away. “Go clear your head, good sir,” she said, shooting him a look that brooked no disagreement. “I’ll arrange the rest. Sir Thomas, if I might ask a favor of you. There is someone I think needs to be sent for as quickly as possible.”

  Derrick felt himself being pulled from the room and realized it was Samantha doing the pulling. She continued to pull until she’d gotten him outside in the courtyard. To his surprise, the sky was lightening, though he certainly couldn’t remember that much time having passed. He looked at her in surprise.

  “Am I in shock?”

  “Probably.” She took his hand she’d been holding and kept it in both her own. “How are you?”

  He dragged his free hand through his hair. “I’m not sure.”

  “Really?”

  He looked at her helplessly. “Common sense dictates that we pack up and leave immediately, whilst there’s still time and the cover of darkness. Or what’s left of the darkness.”

  “But?”

  “But if we go and your ancestor doesn’t perform, who knows what repercussions there might be?”

  She blinked, then she laughed softly. “Someone wants to tread some boards, methinks.”

  He pursed his lips. “You are a cynic.”

  She put her arms around him, then smiled up at him. “I don’t think you have any choice,” she said. “Like Granny said, his career will be ruined if he’s not on stage this afternoon. By the way, how did it go in the Tower?”

  “Too easy,” he admitted. “But we found Francis Cooke waiting for us in Sir Richard’s cell. He knows about the time gate and was the one to slip the gems in your bag.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Tied up with a note pinned to his shirt.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Really? What if he blabs?”

  Derrick took a deep breath. “He knows my name, but hopefully there’s not another Derrick Cameron lingering in London at present. As for anything else?” He shrugged. “No one will believe him. They’ll probably lock him up in Bedlam.”

  “Do they have it now?”

  “I imagine Francis will find out. He might find out other things when it’s discovered that he was stealing from his father.”

  She nodded, then rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s very pretty out here this time of the morning.”

  “Are you trying to distract me?”

  She sighed and tightened her arms around him. “You going to be okay?”

  “Do you really want the answer?”

  She lifted her head to look at him, then froze. “Company at twelve o’clock.”

  He looked over toward the house, then pulled Samantha behind him. He supposed that was overkill, but it had been that sort of day so far already.

  Sir Thomas stopped a handful of paces away, Lord Walter Cooke in tow. Thomas cleared his throat.

  “Lady Mary asked me to send for him,” Thomas said.

  “And I came quickly,” Lord Walter said, looking as if he didn’t dare hope for anything. “Do you have tidings?”

  Derrick found a linen envelope pressed into his hand. He stepped forward, inclined his head, then held out the packet without comment.

  Lord Walter felt it, apparently realized what he was holding, then looked quickly at Derrick in surprise. “How?”

  Derrick fumbled behind him for Samantha’s hand, then pulled her forward to stand next to him. “I’m sorry to tell you this, my lord, but your son stole the gems.”

  The man closed his eyes briefly. “He has threatened to many times. How do you know?”

  “Through a set of strange and mysterious circumstances I dare not tell, though you can thank my wife for their safe return.”

  Lord Walter considered. “Where is my son now?”

  “I can’t say,” Derrick said, hoping that sounded more like he couldn’t say than he wouldn’t sa
y.

  The man closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. He stepped forward, took Samantha’s hand, and bent low over it. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said quietly. “Your bravery—”

  “Lord Derrick is too kind,” Samantha said. “It was his bravery that brought us all to this place at the right time. He is the one who deserves your thanks.”

  Thanks were extended all around. That and a dozen gems that were extracted from the linen, carefully tied up in what even he could see was an exquisite handkerchief, and handed to Samantha.

  “A small token.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t—we couldn’t—I mean—”

  “I believe it is because of you that a miracle was wrought. My family will be forever grateful.” He nodded briskly. “I will see that Richard Drummond’s name is cleared, now that I have the proof.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Samantha said gravely.

  Derrick watched him and Sir Thomas return back to his house before he heaved a sigh of relief. “Tell Granny good-bye, Sam, and let’s get out of here.”

  “Not so fast, my lad.”

  Derrick looked at Samantha’s great-aunt, who was wearing a look of calculation he didn’t care for in the least. “I’ve had a change of heart,” he said firmly.

  “What you have, my dear Derrick, is a sticky wicket. How much do you know about Richard?”

  “More than I want to—”

  “But perhaps not as much as you should. Let me enlighten you further. He’s a Scot, which you may or may not know. His uncle is the laird John, who is also Samantha’s great-uncle the appropriate number of times removed. Richard disagreed with his uncle about the course his life should take, then ran away to London to seek his fortune. He worked first to lose his accent, then to learn his trade. He is, I can safely say, one of the great actors of his generation.” She paused and looked at him seriously. “But you could fill his shoes, I think. It’s uncanny how much you resemble him. Good Scottish genes, I suppose.”

  Derrick considered, then looked at Samantha. “We saw him in Newcastle, didn’t we?”

  “As a ghost?” she asked in surprise. She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “I think so.” She laced her fingers with his. “It makes you wonder why he was there, doesn’t it? For all we know it was to get us on the path that led us back here.”