by Lara Temple
In fact, if she had an ounce of sense, she would leave on the first stagecoach to London. At the very least she should just make up her mind to stay away from Adam for the next two days. Every time they met he made her lose either her footing or her temper and she didn’t like the shaky feeling these encounters left her with. Nothing was ever normal around him. And most ridiculous of all was the fact that at the moment all she wanted to do was to go after him and apologise. She told herself he was hardly a child to be soothed, but the urge was powerful. There had been such bitterness in his voice behind the anger; she felt he had almost been talking to someone else, or to the world as a whole.
She pressed back on the thought. She was doing precisely what Adam had mocked her for doing, worrying about people she should not be. The brutal truth was that he was about to shake the dust of Mowbray from his boots and be off on his next escapade. She had no power to make an impact on someone like him. She had been broken once by his departure. She would not go down that path again.
She reached the gate to Drake Cottage and stopped, her hand on the gate, and looked up at the house she had lived in all her life. After years of gentle care it was as pretty as any cottage in the vale. It was peculiar that it was now almost empty with just herself and her father and Betsy. She raised her hand, just blocking off the view of the asymmetrical second storey, where her father was hard at work. That way the cottage looked better, less weighed down. She dropped her hand and opened the gate. It was hard to breathe and she didn’t know if it was due to fear or anticipation. Something was changing and she was afraid she could not stop it.
CHAPTER NINE
Alyssa leaned on the counter at Milsom’s Circulating Library and glanced absently towards the window. It was unlike Mr Milsom to leave the store unattended like this. She waited patiently for five minutes and then ventured to knock on the door to the back room. When that, too, remained unanswered she peeked inside, but other than his desk and stacks of books it was empty.
She glanced back at the interior of the store she had visited so many times she could not even begin to count them. But of all those times, the most vivid memory was of the last time she had been here and of Adam’s tall, muscular figure leaning back against the counter, watching her with the mocking but not unsympathetic grey eyes that had always made her feel she was really seen.
With him she felt neither like the unusual, unpredictable Drake girl everyone had once thought her nor the proper Miss Drake she had become and whom everyone had come to esteem to such an extent she doubted if many remembered her wild childhood. When talking with him she felt just like herself, like the person who was with her even when there was no one else. Was this why she had never been tempted to open herself to any relationship? Like a fool, like that silly sleeping princess, waiting for someone to come along and make her feel present. Not even valued, or loved, but present. As real to them as she was to herself.
She closed her eyes against this image and against this seductive but false conviction. Whatever freedom she felt in Adam’s presence, he did not really see her as she was, she told herself again, as she had told herself countless times ever since their encounter the previous day. To him she was just a temporarily amusing plaything and her main attraction appeared to be the tension he saw, and played upon, between those two extremes of her character. To delude herself into believing he saw what lay in the valley between those two defining peaks was folly. She was nothing more than a curiosity.
And if for a moment he were to suspect she felt anything more for him than amusement or annoyance or even attraction, he would be gone faster than her father disappeared when faced with a demand for his attention. Or perhaps not quite as fast and not quite so unkindly, but it would be just as bad. No, worse. Because her father no longer had the power to hurt her, and she was afraid that if she let him, Adam could have that power. Perhaps he was the only one who really could.
She pushed away from the counter. There was no point in waiting here. She should go and see if she could help Betsy with her errands and then return to Milsom’s later. As she stepped out on to the High Street she almost collided with two men, who mumbled apologies and hurried past. She stepped back, realising with some surprise that there seemed to be a great deal of people heading hastily towards the town square. Before she could react, she saw Betsy herself running towards her, skirts grasped in one hand and her basket swinging precariously from the other.
‘Miss! Miss! It’s Lord Moresby! He’s been stabbed dead! And it’s Lord Delacort what done it!’
Betsy almost stumbled and Alyssa steadied her and gave her a little shake.
‘What? Betsy! What nonsense is this?’
‘It ain’t nonsense, miss! I just come by the White Hart and Sir James has had Mr Will clear out the public room and there’s Farmer Jeffries what saw Lord Moresby and that Lord Delacort come to cuffs yesterday and now Lord Moresby is at death’s door and Sir James’s here to take Lord Delacort to gaol for murder! It’s all true, miss!’
Alyssa left Betsy where she stood and almost ran the rest of the way to the White Hart. The yard was filled with townsfolk trying to hear what was going on inside, but she pushed through them ruthlessly and entered the public room of Mowbray’s main posting inn. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Percy standing near the large bay windows, his handsome face intent. Beyond them, in the back, she glimpsed Lady Nesbit’s butler alongside Percy’s valet, Libbet, and members of all levels of Mowbray society. But though she registered all of this, her attention was focused on the other side of the room where Sir James and Adam stood in a clearing in the crowd, facing each other like pugilists assessing their opponent. Just at the edge of the crowd was Farmer Jeffries, his cloth hat crushed between his hands, his face pale and serious.
‘I never meant… Mrs Jeffries and I didn’t tell anyone we saw the argument between Lord Moresby and Lord Delacort yesterday on the lane. I surely don’t know who left you that note saying I saw what I saw, Sir James, but it weren’t me,’ the farmer said with an apologetic nod to Adam, clearly uncomfortable.
‘That’s all right, Mr Jeffries,’ Adam reassured him, turning to Sir James. ‘We did argue…or rather Lord Moresby argued with me, but that does not mean I attacked him.’
Sir James stood stiffly, exuding both discomfort and resolution. ‘I am sorry, but that will not do. There was a long-standing and well-known history of enmity between you, a report of a heated altercation on the day of the crime and the fact that you were not at the Hall but cannot account for your movements at the time Lord Moresby was stabbed in the back. I believe these are very incriminating circumstances, My Lord, and I advise you to take them seriously. I am afraid I cannot be seen to be swayed by your station. I have no choice but to ask you to accompany me to await His Majesty’s pleasure until such time as his officers can take custody of you and a thorough investigation is conducted.’
‘Frankly it seems to me you are being swayed by hearsay and not one bit of hard evidence, Sir James,’ Adam replied scornfully.
‘We got enough to hang yer!’ a rough voice called out from the crowd and there was an answering round of sniggering.
Alyssa took in the expressions on the faces around her which were suffused by an avid hunger to the point where they looked almost animal. Though no one moved, they seemed to be closing in on Adam, circling him like wolves closing on a wounded stag, careful, biding their time as the stag bled out and weakened. And when they felt the moment was right they would surge forward, sink their teeth into its throat and choke out what was left of its life.
These people, who had lived for so many years on the tales of Adam’s exploits, were already weaving the grand finale and could not care one whit for evidence. He might have cheated the hangman in their fictional accounts of his adventures, but he would not cheat the King’s hangman if they had any say. He would go out in grand style and they would escort h
im festively to the gallows.
The fact that this was all occurring in the very place where ten years ago the fateful elopement had been brought to a dramatic halt was lost on no one in the room. Alyssa could hear the whispers around her, revelling in the poetic justice that had presented them with such a satisfying sequel to the decade-old scandal.
She felt such fury at the anticipation that rolled out in tangible waves from the whispering, excited crowd around her she wished she could physically expel all of them from the room, these people she had known all her life and at the moment hated more than she could remember hating anyone.
She didn’t question her own conviction that Adam was innocent of the accusation. She just knew it was not true. Whatever he was capable of, she knew he could no more stab a man in the back than she could. But whether she was right or wrong, the most important consideration was that she was possibly the only person in Mowbray who had the will, and the ability, to save him. The fact that he was clearly being wrongly accused just strengthened her determination not to allow such a miscarriage of justice, even if it meant she must act against her own principles and interests.
Adam must have felt her gaze on him for he turned, his eyes dark and angry. She could tell he was well aware of the danger he was in, but he would not show weakness to this humming crowd. She had never forgotten the look of bitter hurt she had seen on his face a decade ago as everyone had turned on him. That look was not there now, just anger and determination. She knew he would not run this time, but then, he would not be given the chance. As far as those present were concerned, his fate was sealed. They did not truly know him nor did they want to. They smelled blood and would not be deflected from their prey.
But she would not let them succeed.
She held Adam’s gaze and stepped forward, separating herself from the crowd.
‘I think, Sir James, that you are being precipitate,’ she said coolly, moving towards Adam. ‘Lord Delacort, I appreciate your gallantry, but I think under the circumstances we can dispense with such gestures. Sir James, I hope you appreciate that Lord Delacort was merely trying to save me embarrassment by not disclosing his whereabouts yesterday evening. He was, in fact, with me.’
The effect of her statement was instant. A hiss of gasps shivered through the room, followed by a rush of murmurs, and the crowd seemed to shift towards them. Adam shook his head abruptly, his eyes darkening further.
‘Alyssa, no.’ His voice was low, but the crowd, focused avidly on the scene, caught his words and the significance of his use of her given name and tossed it around the room in a rush of nervous tittering. She ignored it, holding Adam’s gaze resolutely.
‘Miss Drake,’ Sir James said, emphasising her name with a cautionary glance at Adam, ‘are you quite certain of what you are saying? That you were with Lord Delacort yesterday at, or around, five minutes past nine in the evening, the time Lord Moresby was attacked and stabbed outside the stables of Moresby Manor? This is a most serious issue, both for your reputation and for this man’s fate. So I ask you again, are you certain of what you are saying?’
Alyssa turned to him. She could not quite face Adam while taking her next step, so she kept her eyes on the Justice of the Peace.
‘Quite certain, Sir James. I imagine I am not the only one who would remember quite accurately the time and place of one’s betrothal.’
This master stroke had all the effect she could have wished for. Until now, the crowd had been somewhat subdued in its responses, but now the rumble became a roar. It was as if she had pulled the cork on a bottle of champagne, signalling the start of festivities. There was a roar of laughter and whistles. Someone even called out ‘good for the gal!’ appreciatively.
Alyssa let it all wash over her and despite the enormity of what she had done, the worst of her anxiety relaxed. She knew she had turned the pack from the scent of blood. She had provided them with an even richer feast and they would dine on this for many months to come. The fact that, for all the eccentricity of the Drakes, she was Mowbray born and bred would go far with these people.
Sir James desperately tried to regain control over the jubilant crowd and under the cover of the noise Adam grasped her arm and turned her to him, blocking out the rest of the room.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ he said urgently but quietly. ‘Do you understand what you are saying?’
‘I thought I was crystal clear,’ she replied, keeping her voice low as well, amazed it was not as shaky as she felt. ‘You needn’t worry I will hold you to the engagement. Once you leave Mowbray, you may go back to your life and I to mine. But right now it is imperative that you are not held to blame for what happened to Lord Moresby. Because if it is true and he is dying, they will hang you. And cheer the hangman.’
Adam didn’t answer, but his eyes were almost black with fury and frustration.
‘Miss Drake! Lord Delacort!’ Sir James had managed to reassert his authority over those present and now turned to address them. ‘This is a most serious investigation into deeds most foul. Dr Hedgeway is even now battling to save Lord Moresby’s life. I am afraid I must ask you to explain your actions insofar as they pertain to the matter at hand. We must all treat these proceedings with the seriousness they deserve!’
This speech quieted the last of the whispers and Adam turned back to face Sir James. Alyssa waited, so tense she could hear the rhythmic spasms of her heart. When Adam’s hand closed gently on hers a wave of heat surged through her and she could feel herself begin to shake with relief. She breathed in deeply and forced herself to be calm.
‘I am well aware of the seriousness of the situation,’ Adam said with cool deliberation. ‘Miss Drake and I did meet yesterday. And we are engaged. But this is not quite the way we wished to announce our engagement.’
In other circumstances Alyssa would have smiled in appreciation. He had managed to corroborate her statement and go along with her plan without actually lying.
The crowd now had itself well in hand, and aside from one hissing gasp, the silence held. Sir James breathed deeply, his generous side whiskers bristling alarmingly. Then he let his breath out in a rush.
‘Well, if that is the case, you are, for the moment, cleared of suspicion, Lord Delacort. I have the greatest respect for Miss Drake’s integrity and can only add that I congratulate you both on your impending nuptials. I share in your consternation at having to make the announcement in such circumstances, but quite frankly, had you chosen to enter into this engagement in a less clandestine fashion, we might all have been spared embarrassment and confusion. Well…that is neither here nor there. I suggest we all go about our business and mine is to uncover the perpetrator of this heinous crime. I appeal to all those present—if you have any information that might be of use, you are duty-bound to come forward.’
Adam did not wait for the room to clear, but, still holding Alyssa’s hand, drew her out into the yard towards where Jem stood at the head of the two greys harnessed to his curricle. The groom, whose brow was clouded with anxiety, looked questioningly at Adam, but helped Alyssa up into the curricle before handing the reins to his master and hoisting himself up on to the perch at the back of the curricle. None of them spoke during the drive to Drake Cottage.
* * *
When they pulled up outside the gate Adam handed the reins to Jem and helped Alyssa descend.
She headed up the lane, unsure whether Adam meant to follow and unsure whether or not she wanted him to. Her body still shivered occasionally with a spurt of fear and she needed time to calm herself before she had to face him, though she knew she was not likely to be granted this reprieve. She could hear him speaking softly to Jem and then the gravel crunched under his boots as he strode after her along with the rumble of the curricle’s wheels as Jem headed back alone towards Delacort Hall.
Alyssa was grateful that no one appeared when they entered the co
ttage. Her father was no doubt upstairs in his study as usual and Betsy still in town, enjoying the excitement. She headed into the back parlour she had converted into a study for her own use, fully aware of Adam following closely behind. Once inside she turned to face him, bracing herself. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, his gaze hooded and inscrutable.
‘I am still trying to understand what you did back there,’ he said finally. His voice was calm and there was no discernible emotion on his face, but the tension about his mouth told a different story. He seemed very far away, as he had the time she’d gone to see him in his study. She raised her chin and went to lean her hand on her desk, reassured by its cool surface.
‘Are you? I would have thought it was obvious. Or will it take another attempt on your life to wake you to what is happening?’
He didn’t move away from the door.
‘Are you saying they mistook Moresby for me outside his home?’ he asked with just a hint of scorn. ‘Since he is quite a bit more portly than I am, I hardly find that very complimentary.’
‘Don’t be facetious. Whoever stabbed Lord Moresby obviously knew what they were doing. They knew what had happened yesterday afternoon, they knew that Jeffries witnessed that scene between you and Moresby—Jeffries said someone left Sir James a note to that effect, didn’t he? They also knew where you were yesterday evening, or rather that you would not be able to account for your whereabouts—perhaps they watched and waited until you had left on your evening walk before heading over to the Manor… And they knew what the likely outcome would be.