The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales)

by Sarah Mallory

  Wolf took another sip of his coffee. ‘What can you tell me about the night Florence died?’

  ‘Why, nothing,’ said Urmston. ‘I was out on the terrace and came in only when I heard your mother shrieking. I rushed into the hall and there you were, crouched over Florence’s body.’

  ‘And you thought I had killed her.’

  ‘Never!’

  Wolf looked at him steadily. ‘You said I had allowed my temper to get the better of me.’

  ‘Did I? I was upset. Upon reflection I realised you were innocent.’

  ‘And the reward for my capture?’

  ‘That was Sawston’s doing. If I had gone to see him immediately I might have prevented that, but I had business in Newmarket. By the time I returned to Arrandale a week later, my uncle had offered a reward for your capture.’ Urmston leaned forward, saying in an urgent under-voice, ‘Trust me, Arrandale, I only want to help you. If there is anything I can do, you only have to ask it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Wolf rose, but his companion put a hand on his arm.

  ‘At least tell me where you are staying!’

  Wolf looked down at him.

  ‘If you need to contact me, a message for Mr Peregrine at the Running Man in Bench Lane will reach me.’

  With that he turned on his heel and walked out.

  * * *

  Wolf went quickly back to his lodgings, packed up his bags and paid his shot. He was taking no chances, he did not believe that Urmston had just happened to bump into him. He hailed a cab, then another to take him across town, making sure he was not followed before he set about finding himself fresh rooms. By the time he had secured new lodgings in Half Moon Street the day was well advanced. He remembered Mrs Graham’s invitation to call and take pot luck at any time and he decided to do that. After all, he needed to see Grace, to find out if she had been able to discover anything about Annie Meesden. Not just need, he admitted. He wanted to see her.

  * * *

  His welcome at Hans Place was as warm as ever. Mrs Graham ordered another place to be laid at the dinner table and invited him to sit down and take a glass of wine.

  ‘Grace is still in her room, but I expect her any moment.’

  Wolf nodded and studied his wine rather than face the twinkle in his hostess’s eye. He felt a spurt of irritation. The lady knew what he was; she could not possibly condone any connection between him and her niece. Even if everything went his way and it was proven that he was neither a thief nor a murderer, he was no match for Grace Duncombe. She was too good, too sweet.

  She came into the room at that moment and the sight of her in a simple cream dress with her golden hair glowing like a halo about her head confirmed his thoughts. She was virtue incarnate. He rose and braced himself to greet her. Confound it, why could she not remain by the door and give him a cool and distant nod? But it seemed any reservations she had about him had been swept away. She was positively glowing with excitement and came forward, holding out her hand to him as if they were the best of friends.

  ‘Good evening, sir.’ Her soft musical voice had an added note, as if it incorporated her smile. ‘Has my aunt told you about my visit to Mrs Payne?’

  He kissed her fingers with punctilious politeness, but for the life of him he could not let her go. Instead he held on to her hand as he raised his head and looked at her. There was a faint blush on her cheek, but it could not be because of him. Rather, it was because she was happy. It radiated from her. With an effort he released her and moved away.

  ‘She has told me nothing, so you had best sit down and do so.’

  He had not intended to be so curt, but the sunshine in her smile was destroying the armour he had put around his heart. Desperately he tried to shore it up. He could not afford distractions and Grace Duncombe was most definitely a distraction. She sank down on to a sofa and folded her hands in her lap, apparently not offended by his abrupt manners.

  ‘It was not very successful,’ she admitted. ‘When I called upon the lady yesterday she told me very much the same as she had written to you, that I should talk to her son and not bother her with matters of staff. However, I managed to speak to one of the housemaids.’

  ‘Grace took Nelson to Green Park where a maid walks Mrs Payne’s lapdog every morning,’ put in Mrs Graham. ‘Once the dogs were acquainted the maid could hardly avoid speaking to her. Was that not ingenious?’

  ‘It was, if it persuaded the maid to talk to you.’

  ‘It did.’ Grace sat forward, her eyes shining. ‘She told me the dresser was turned off two years ago, but Mrs Payne still sends sewing work out to her.’

  ‘And you have her direction?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘Not yet, but I feel sure we will have it very soon.’

  ‘How so?’ Wolf frowned, trying not to think how alluring Grace looked with that gentle smile and her eyes twinkling with mischief.

  Mrs Graham gave a little tut. ‘Pray do not keep poor Mr Wolfgang in suspense, my love.’ She turned to him. ‘There is a ball tomorrow night to raise funds for the Foundling Hospital and since Mrs Payne is a patron, I feel sure she will attend. I had been disinclined to go. These affairs are always the same, no matter how many donations one has made in the past one feels obliged to pledge more. However, it will be a perfect opportunity to talk to Mrs Payne, so I have purchased tickets for us to attend.’

  ‘How fortunate that you insisted I buy a new ball gown, Aunt!’

  Grace’s light-hearted laugh caught Wolf off guard. It hit him like a wave, battering against him, breaking down the last of his defences. Something in her was calling to him, like a kindred spirit. A companion in adversity.

  ‘You are enjoying this,’ he said.

  It was more of an accusation than a statement, but she merely lifted her shoulders and let them fall again.

  ‘I confess it is a little more exciting than the life I have been used to.’

  He frowned. ‘I would not have you put yourself in danger.’

  Again that merry laugh, clear and bright as a bell.

  ‘What danger can there be in attending a ball? Unless I trip and sprain my ankle.’

  Dinner was announced and they said no more on the subject, but the change in Grace fascinated Wolf. A few weeks in her aunt’s house had transformed her. It was not merely that she had left off the soft greys she had worn at the vicarage and was dressed more fashionably, she looked more alive, her eyes sparkled, her generous mouth had an upward tilt, as if a laugh was never far away, and her light gold hair was piled loosely about her head with the odd little curl escaping to rest like a kiss upon her neck. He imagined that if he pulled just one pin from those heavy tresses they would cascade over her shoulders like a waterfall.

  It was a beguiling image and it stayed with Wolf throughout dinner. Grace at her dressing table, dragging a brush through those golden locks. Grace undressed.

  Grace undone.

  His fork clattered on to the plate and he muttered an apology. He signalled to the hovering waiter that he might remove the dishes. Thank heaven there was only the dessert course to endure, then the ladies would retire and leave him in peace for a while. He was uneasy in polite society. He had forgotten how to behave.

  * * *

  Sitting in solitary state and enjoying brandy from Mrs Graham’s excellent cellar, Wolf calculated how long he would have to remain before he could leave without giving offence. Ten minutes, would do it, he thought. Long enough to thank his hostess for her hospitality. But when he returned to the drawing room he found himself wrapped in a cocoon of domestic comfort. The fire was blazing cheerfully, candles cast a golden glow over the room and the two ladies were at their ease, Mrs Graham flicking through a copy of the Ladies’ Magazine and Grace with an embroidery frame in her hand.

  Mrs Graham put aside
her magazine to make him welcome. She ushered him to a chair by the fire, sat down opposite and proceeded to talk to him about Arrandale as she remembered it. Wolf answered her politely, but only half his mind was on the subject. From his seat he had a good view of Grace, who continued to set neat stitches in her embroidery, joining in very little with conversation. Even when her aunt left the room she did not look up from her work. He watched her in silence for a while.

  ‘The last time we met I said you had changed,’ he remarked. ‘Now you are different again.’

  The needle hovered about the cloth.

  ‘My aunt is giving me what she calls a little town bronze.’

  ‘That is not it. You are more at ease in my company. Why is that?’ She began to ply her needle again, but Wolf could not let it go. ‘Do you, can I hope you no longer think me guilty?’

  She bent her head even lower over her embroidery.

  ‘My father and aunt are convinced you are not guilty, so I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.’

  She answered very quietly, but her words lifted a weight from Wolf’s shoulders. A weight he had not been conscious of until now. When had her opinion become so important to him? She picked up a pair of silver scissors to cut her thread, then began to pack away her sewing.

  ‘That is the only reason I am helping you to find Mrs Meesden.’

  ‘Admit it, you are enjoying yourself.’

  ‘There is a certain satisfaction in it.’ He saw the faint but unmistakable upward curve of her mouth. Her eyes lifted to his, but only for a moment. ‘It is part of my holiday, before I go home. To my fiancé.’

  ‘And will you tell Sir Loftus what you have been doing in London?’

  She raised her head at that.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I shall tell him everything.’

  * * *

  Grace had replied with a touch of hauteur but later, when Wolfgang had gone and she had retired to her bed, she admitted to herself that it was not true. She could not tell Loftus quite everything. Not the way her pulse jumped whenever she saw Wolfgang, nor how the days seemed to drag when he was not with her. She certainly could not tell Loftus about the inordinate rush of happiness she had felt when she learned Wolf was to take dinner with them that evening. And certainly not the trembling excitement she felt whenever he looked at her.

  No, she thought sleepily. Those were memories to be locked away, along with childish dreams of adventure and knights in armour.

  * * *

  ‘Mrs Graham, welcome. How good of you to support our little ball.’

  Grace stood by silently as her aunt returned their hostess’s greeting. Lady Hathersedge was a cheerful lady with a determined gleam in her eye that said she would be asking for large donations of funds from her guests before the end of the evening. When Grace was presented she felt obliged to explain that her father was a mere country parson.

  ‘Indeed?’ Grace could almost see Lady Hathersedge writing her off. ‘It is a pleasure to have you with us, Miss Duncombe.’

  ‘Goodness,’ murmured Grace, as she accompanied her aunt into the drawing room. ‘I feared for a moment I might be turned out of doors when she realised I am as poor as the proverbial church mouse.’

  ‘Not at the price we paid for the tickets,’ muttered Aunt Eliza behind her fluttering fan.

  ‘You paid, Aunt. I feel quite guilty about asking you to spend so much.’

  ‘Nonsense, what else were we going to do this evening? No, I am delighted to be helping you and Mr—our friend,’ she corrected quickly. ‘Now, if you will point out Mrs Payne to me, I will do the rest. Heavens, but it is a crush in here. Thank goodness you are so tall, my love, you should be able to spot our quarry if she is here.’

  Grace laughed, in no way offended by this frank reference to her height. She was accustomed to being the tallest person in the room.

  That is why you are so attracted to Wolfgang Arrandale.

  Grace gave her head a little shake. It was unworthy of Papa’s daughter to like a person for their physical attributes such as their height, or the width of their shoulders. One should like a person because of their character, because of their kindness and goodness, not because they made one feel dainty and petite. And alive.

  ‘Mrs Payne is over there.’ She touched her aunt’s arm, forcing her thoughts back to the present. ‘The lady in the black bombazine.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I see her. And I am slightly acquainted with the lady beside her, so that will give me an introduction. You had best let me deal with this alone, my love. Off you go and enjoy yourself.’

  With that she sailed away to confront Mrs Payne, leaving Grace slightly bemused. How was one to enjoy oneself in a room full of strangers? The orchestra were striking up for the first of the country dances, but one could not dance without a partner.

  However, Grace had not been her father’s hostess for years without learning a degree of self-sufficiency. She watched the first dance and when the music began again she made her way slowly around the room, smiling vaguely whenever anyone looked her way. The reception rooms were very grand and had a number of smaller apartments leading off, the largest of which was set out in readiness for supper. Grace had made a full circuit when a flurry of activity near the main entrance doors attracted her attention. She was close enough to hear a stentorian voice announce, ‘Mr John Peregrine!’

  Her heart leapt to her mouth when she recognised the tall figure in the doorway, but it was with fear rather than any warmer emotion. He was so tall, so distinctive, his dark hair curling over the collar of his black coat and providing a stark contrast to the snow-white shirt and neckcloth. She glanced around, wondering why no one was staring at him, surely they would recognise Arrandale of Arrandale, even after ten years? But to her relief the music was starting again and everyone was bustling and pushing towards the dance floor. A nervous laugh shook her. What effrontery, to stand there for all the world to look at him while he lifted his quizzing glass and cast an arrogant and slightly weary eye over the assembly.

  He should not be here, courting danger so brazenly. The quizzing glass stopped at Grace and as he moved towards her she lost all desire to laugh. Her nerves were on edge and she was afraid she might do or say something to betray him.

  ‘Mr Peregrine.’ She held out her hand.

  ‘Miss Duncombe. I thought I might find you here.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ She hid her words behind a smile as he bowed over her fingers. ‘What if you are recognised?’

  ‘In this company? There is little chance of it. My family is not renowned for supporting good causes. Although in the past we might well have added a few foundlings to the hospital.’

  His eyes glinted with wicked humour and she felt the tingle of excitement running through her. It was quite reprehensible.

  ‘Pray do not try to shock me,’ she retorted in a low, angry under-voice. ‘I cannot believe you would put yourself in such danger.’

  ‘I am flattered by your concern. Where is your aunt?’

  ‘Over there, by the window. Talking to Mrs Payne.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I see.’ When she tried to pull away his grip tightened on her fingers. ‘Are you as friendless here as I am? Perhaps you would like to dance.’

  ‘And attract even more attention? No, I thank you!’

  ‘Then we shall take a stroll about the room.’ He placed her hand on his arm. ‘I shall keep you company until your aunt is free.’

  ‘I wish you would not,’ she said, unable to hide the note of desperation in her tone.

  ‘Very well, if you prefer, I shall take you in to supper.’

  She gave a little sigh of exasperation. ‘I cannot think it is safe for you to be here at all.’

  ‘Miss Duncombe, after so many years, do you think anyone will—’

 
‘Hush,’ she hissed at him. ‘Our host is bearing down upon us.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Peregrine! Forgive my not being at the door to greet you.’ Lord Hathersedge bowed and introduced himself. Almost without pausing he said, beaming at them both, ‘So you have met Miss Duncombe? Capital! Perhaps you are acquainted with her aunt, too? Mrs Graham is one of our most generous supporters.’

  ‘I do indeed know her, my lord.’ Wolf inclined his head, wondering if the twenty guineas in his pocket would be enough to make the fellow go away. He wanted to talk to Grace. She was the reason he had come here this evening. He wanted to see her in her finery. And by heaven she did look fine, her blonde hair sprinkled with tiny pearls and an apricot silk gown that somehow gave her clear skin a golden sheen, as if she had been kissed by the sun. She took his breath away.

  ‘My lady tells me you are new in town, sir.’ Their host had planted himself before them, barring their way. Wolf could see he was determined to say his piece before he allowed them to escape. ‘Perhaps you are not familiar with the sterling work of the Foundling Hospital.’

  ‘Oh, I am aware of it, my lord. My family have been great contributors over the years.’

  Wolf heard Grace’s sudden intake of breath, felt her fingers pinch his arm. He wanted to be alone with her, to dance or drink wine. Perhaps he might even feed her peaches and cream and make her blush by telling her they could not bear comparison to her lovely complexion.

  He said, ‘Believe me, my lord, first thing in the morning I shall instruct my bankers to send a hundred guineas to you.’

  ‘A hundred guineas!’

  Wolf waved a languid hand. ‘Is that not enough? Let it be two hundred then. I feel sure you can put it to good use.’

  * * *

  I must be dreaming, thought Grace.

  This was not how people in her world behaved. She wanted to laugh out loud at Wolf’s cool assurance. Lord Hathersedge was staring at him, goggle-eyed, and Wolf put out his hand to gently move him to one side, murmuring apologetically that he wanted to take his partner in to supper. They had moved only a step when Grace noticed that their way was blocked again, this time by a gentleman in a blue coat and his fair-haired lady coming out of the supper room. What held Grace’s attention was their height. The gentleman was easily as tall as she was, the lady a little less, but they made a strikingly handsome pair and there was something familiar about the gentleman, the way he walked, the world-weary look about his eyes. The man stopped, a look of shock upon his face. At the same time she heard Wolf bite off a muttered exclamation.