Hugh chuckled, then cocked his head in the direction Miss Farrow had just gone.
"One little resident in particular, I gather."
"I don't dare consider hoping in that quarter until all this is over," he replied, but of course they both knew it was a bluff. He did hope already. He hoped a good deal.
Straightening his coat, he hopped out of the carriage and reassured himself no one was around. He gave a last string of advice to Hugh, then vaulted the cemetery wall and darted between stones, keeping to shadows and corners as he made his way behind the church and toward the gardens at the rear of the parsonage. Perhaps today would be a perfect time to make use of the trellis Mrs. Cooper kept secure at the back corner, going up to the roof just below Max's bedroom window.
Since his arrival here he'd often thought that might provide a handy means of clandestine escape, but now it seemed he might wish to try the route in reverse. He caught a glimpse of Nigel's gaudy Phaeton waiting in front of the house. It seemed a very good idea to avoid running into the man in the drawing room just now. True, there had been years and years since their last meeting, but he had no doubt Nigel would recognize him. Just as Max had known the face of that murderous bastard the moment he'd seen him.
Chapter 16
The little group at the foot of the stairs waited in silence. Papa called again.
"Mr. Shirley, are you there, sir?"
Meg was about to insist that the man's absence meant nothing at all. She even toyed with the wild notion of announcing that she had planned an assignation with him and he was off preparing for that. Oh, but she had to do something to save him!
Nigel was already half gloating as seconds ticked by with no sound from above. She wanted to slap the smug grun right off his face. How dare he attack her as he had on their picnic and now come into her house, accusing her of all manner of wickedness. If she thought anyone would believe her, she'd tell them just what sort of man their new earl had proven himself to be.
Her inward struggle was interrupted, though, by a voice from upstairs.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Farrow. Were you calling for me?"
By heavens, it was Mr. Shirley! She could scarcely believe it, but this was his voice. She had no idea how it could be, yet it was. He was here, in this house, calling to them from his very own room.
A quick glance at Nigel gave her the satisfaction of seeing that not only was he every bit as shocked as she was, he was also heartily disappointed.
"Are you available, Mr. Shirley? Some gentlemen would very much like a word with you down here," Papa called.
But now Mr. Shirley's reply wasn't so encouraging. He was decidedly hesitant.
"Er, I'm afraid I'm rather in the midst of something just now..."
Nigel fairly crowed in triumph. "Ha! What on earth could the man be in the midst of that he cannot come down to us? I tell you, he's hiding something!"
"Perhaps he's having some trouble with the bird just now," Papa suggested. "He is a very disagreeable bird at times, as we all know."
"I don't even hear the bird. How do we know he hasn't abducted it, or done away with it?"
Even the magistrate's face showed that Nigel's words sounded a bit crazy. But he was a man bent on his duty, so he sighed and turned once again to Papa.
"Perhaps if you'd allow me, I could go up to the man's room and ascertain once and for all if his lordship's concerns are well grounded?"
Papa shrugged. "I've no objection, though I have no idea what you think you will find."
"Search for his mask, and his weapons!" Nigel ordered. "You'll find them, no doubt. And the bird—"
Nigel was still ranting as the magistrate put his foot on the bottom tread to begin his upward climb when a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. A loud squawk from Bartholomew drew their attention up to him. Yes, it was Mr. Shirley, alive and well! Bartholomew clung to his shoulder.
And what a fine shoulder it was. Meg could see it quite plainly. The man was in his shirtsleeves only, and his crisp linen shirt was thoroughly wet. She could see the shape and the musculature of his shoulder almost as if he had no shirt at all, and she very much liked the looks of it. It looked perfect, as a matter of fact. Everything about him looked perfect as he stood there, tall and bold, looming over them from the height of the staircase.
The only thing odd was the fact that his head was covered. The man wore a towel wrapped round his head, obscuring most of his face. That did somewhat detract from the masterful image he portrayed. That, and the fact that Bartholomew began reciting the most vile line from the most vile rhyme in his vocabulary.
"Forgive me," Mr. Shirley said when he had calmed the bird by presenting him with a finger to gnaw on. "I'm afraid Bartholomew bestowed an unexpected gift onto my head and I was compelled to wash my hair. My coat suffered, as well, and I was working on saving it."
"There, you see?" Papa said, beaming with pride. "My parrot trainer."
Meg could fell that she was beaming, too.
"This? This vagabond is what you claim to be your parrot trainer?" Nigel said, not even attempting to hide his disgust. "You cannot possibly tell me he's done one bit of good for that bird."
"Oh yes, he's actually made great strides," Papa said in defense. "Bartholomew used to be completely unbearable. Now he's just barely insufferable."
"But... this man can't be..."
"He is," Papa said. "An excellent parrot trainer. Not a highwayman."
Nigel sputtered and Mr. Barrelson took to patting him on the shoulder.
"So all is well, my lord," the magistrate said. "Your fears were in vain. Don't you find that a comfort?"
"Hell no I'm not comforted," Nigel insisted. "Just look at him! That bird is not safe in this house."
"I think, sir, from the looks of things your concern would be better placed on the man. It appears that bird can take care of himself."
"Shameful," Nigel glared up at Mr. Shirley, fairly seething with rage. "It's no wonder the whole village whispers about my grandfather's bizarre love for the creature. I'll not have such a thing even associated with my name. Give me the bird now. I'll take him with me."
"But you mean to destroy him!" Meg said.
"Then there'll be no need for your trainer, will there?"
A new wave of panic washed over Meg. She turned to the magistrate and prayed he might be able to help.
"Please sir, isn't there something we can do? The old earl loved this bird. He knew we would care for him; that's why on his deathbed he gave him to Papa. I could never forgive myself if I felt we failed our dear friend."
She implored with big, doleful eyes. She might have even allowed her lower lip to quiver, just a bit. The tears blurring her vision weren't false, though. Despite Bartholomew's many, many shortcomings, she truly did not want the poor thing destroyed. He was only a bird, after all. He had no idea his words were offensive, or that he should not do his business atop Mr. Shirley's head.
Mr. Barrelson glanced from her to the earl and then back again. At last he sighed and gave a final decree.
"My lord, I think in light of today's traumatic events, you would not wish to cause Miss Farrow any further discomfort. She has come to care for this bird—God alone can know why—and it would pain her to lose him this way. Perhaps it is better for all if you simply return home and continue this discussion again tomorrow, when nerves are less frayed and heads are all cooler."
"But she is in on it, I tell you! She's in league with the highwaymen."
"You cannot mean such a thing," Papa said. "My Meg is a paragon of virtue."
"But she must have told them how to find me."
"I daresay that fancy rig of yours did more to alert them to your whereabouts, sir," Mr. Barrelson said, laying an arm over Nigel's shoulders. "Now come along. My assistant will see you home, safe and sound."
"I don't need a ruddy nurse maid," Nigel grumbled.
"But you've had a rough day and you're not quite yourself," the magistrate said, inching him to
ward the front door. "It's understandable. None of us thinks less of you."
"Of course you should not think less of me! I'm the Earl of Glenwick, by God."
"And that's why you can trust Mr. Farrow not to breathe a word of this to anyone in the village," Mr. Barrelson went on. "Not about your unfounded accusations or about nearly letting his daughter be abducted by highwaymen."
"I tell you, she was a part of it!" Nigel's eyes had gone wild. He waved his arms and pointed up the stairs at Mr. Shirley who worked the towel over his head, drying his hair while Bartholomew screeched and pecked at his arm.
"You'll feel better in a bit, after a good meal and a rest," Papa assured him in his most clerical tone of voice.
Meg saw her opportunity. Mr. Shirley's plan would play out as intended, after all. The man had told her he'd been looking for a way to get into Glenwick Downs when Nigel was gone, and here was her chance to allow him to do that.
"A meal is an excellent idea, Papa. We should invite his lordship back here for dinner, so he knows we are all still friends and there are no hard feelings."
"Capital idea, Meg!" Papa declared.
"There, you see now, sir?" the magistrate said. "All will be well. Let's get you home for a clean-up and maybe a stiff drink, then you can come back around for dinner and things will be normal again."
"Things are not normal!" Nigel went on protesting. "I tell you, that man is not who he claims and a scheme is afoot here. The parrot is the very key to it!"
It was in vain, though. He could have been ranting about unicorns and little folk for all the sense he was making. Papa and Mr. Barrelson helped him out the door, the assistant went to ready the Phaeton, and Mrs. Cooper followed them out, tossing off instructions about what time to expect dinner tonight and to ask Nigel for a list of his favorite foods.
Meg barely caught his peevish reply and was quite certain the substance he mentioned would not be considered food.
She peered around the doorframe to watch the action outside. A creak from the stairway behind her drew her attention inside and she turned. Mr. Shirley was descending the steps, moving toward her. She could see his blue eyes now and they sparkled. Her knees went predictably weak so she hung onto the doorframe.
Bartholomew flew off onto the stair rail and proceeded to natter on about twisting one's pole and viewing things from behind again. Meg hardly heard him. Mr. Shirley had her full focus.
"I'm sorry I was very nearly late to this party," he said.
"I was afraid you were about to be found out," she confessed.
He moved closer still. "I would never wish to make you afraid."
The only thing she was afraid of right now was that she'd not be able to keep her hands off the man and that Papa would find her making a cake of herself in his arms. She held onto that doorframe and refused to budge from it. There was much to be sorted out yet before she could do anything foolish like profess her love for this man she knew nothing about.
But his gaze was every bit as powerful as an embrace. For a long, silent moment he held her there, his eyes locked onto hers and all manner of unspoken things passing between them. She was well out of breath by the time Papa came marching back up the front steps.
"I say, our poor Glenwick has been quite badly affected," he said as he breezed past Meg into the entrance way.
"That was the earl?" Mr. Shirley asked.
"Yes, and I'm sorry to say you did not see him at his best. I'm afraid he and Meg were accosted by highwaymen today and he is not taking it well."
Mr. Shirley's eyes went huge and his astonishment seemed real. "Highwaymen? Good God, Miss Farrow, are you quite well? I've heard dreadful things about those sorts of scoundrels."
Her cheeks heated instantly and she couldn't meet his eyes.
"I'm fine, Mr. Shirley. Thank you."
For a moment more she felt his gaze linger on her, then he cleared his throat.
"If there's nothing more you need from me, sir," he said to Papa. "Perhaps I should go back upstairs and dress myself properly."
"By all means, Mr. Shirley. I'm sorry to have bothered you and hope you were not too distressed by his lordship's behavior."
Mr. Shirley shrugged and put his arm out for Bartholomew. The bird hopped onto it readily and accepted the crumb of biscuit the man pulled out of his pocket. For the first time, Meg could see that Mr. Shirley had indeed made some positive headway in the bird's behavior. For this brief, pleasant moment Bartholomew was not cursing or squawking or attempting to dismember any of them.
"I suppose the nobility must be allowed some measure of eccentricity," Mr. Shirley acknowledged with an indulgent shrug. "I've heard they often do unpredictable things."
Papa agreed. "Indeed. Who can make sense of it? Perhaps we should be glad for our lower stations in life."
"Or perhaps we simply need different nobility."
"Well, it'll take more than a talent for parrot training to accomplish that," Papa said with a chuckle. "Have you had your fill of the earl, or will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Mr. Shirley?"
He looked surprised at having been invited, but masked that quickly. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I have plans. A friend is on the way into Richington from London. He's bringing something and I'm expecting to meet him tonight."
Papa seemed very interested in this. "A friend? Bringing a gift for you, perhaps?"
"No, sir, for you. He'll have those references you asked for."
Now Meg had to mask her own surprise. She'd all but given up hope for any references on Mr. Shirley. Could it be? There actually were such things? Perhaps the man was something respectable, after all. She could have danced for joy at that thought of it. How much easier life would be if she found herself in love with a decent, honorable man instead of a sham and a cheat.
Mr. Shirley started up the stairs, the view of his broad shoulders from behind was almost as awe inspiring as the view she had seen from the front. She shouldn't have been staring, but she was. Two steps up, he turned and gave her a smile.
"With luck, all of your questions will have answers tonight."
She smiled back at him. With luck. Yes, she supposed they were going to need a lot of it. After all, she had a lot of questions.
Max waited, hidden behind decorative plantings and shadows from the setting sun. He let a full five minutes pass after watching Nigel's bright Phaeton leave Glenwick grounds before he whispered to his companion.
"We go in through the back."
The same entrance Max used on his last secret venture into the house would be the one they'd use this time, so he expected no difficulty. At least, he hoped for no difficulty.
"What about the steward?" Hugh asked quietly.
"His master is out. I expect that particular leech will be taking advantage of his evening off to get drunk."
"I hope so. I'd never recommend your plan otherwise. We need at least two other men to make this work, you know."
"Ordinarily I'd happily bow to your vast experience and superior education on this subject, Hugh, but tonight we have no other choice."
"I hope you're right. It just seems to me you ought not have to be breaking into your own home this way."
"If Nigel had any idea I was alive and in England to be doing such a thing, he'd never allow it. He'd finish what he started in Boston."
"He'd have to get through me first," Hugh assured him.
"Perhaps he would and then we'd both be dead."
And that scenario did not hold much appeal. He would much prefer to keep living. So much easier to win Miss Farrow's affections that way.
Would his untimely demise mean anything to her? She seemed to have grown beyond her instant dislike for him, and perhaps his kisses had done something to remove a bit of her distrust, but he had little reason to tryly hold out much hope her sentiments ran any deeper for him. She knew him as nothing more than a secretive, scheming parrot trainer. The truth, when it came out, might do more to turn her against him than to create any en
dearment.
Women, he'd learned, were rather particular about being lied to, and he certainly had lied to her. She could hardly be expected to overlook that. A dashed shame it was, too. Any woman who could read that bawdy poetry without swooning was someone he'd very much like to know better. Any woman who could read that poetry looking as fresh and lovely as she did—AND who could melt so perfectly into his arms—was someone he fully intended to know much better.
Provided she didn't end up hating him. And provided he didn't end up dead.
"I just wish we'd had word from London by now," Hugh grumbled as they moved in the cover of shrubbery toward the looming manor house.
"My agent there assured me he'd have what we needed. He'll be there."
"We should have waited until that was certain before coming here. After dark would have been best."
"We couldn't wait until then—this is our chance. Miss Farrow didn't invite that bastard into her home for the fun of it. She knew I needed him to be gone from here so she arranged dinner. We'll just have to hope we can find what we need and get out before he returns."
"So what are we hunting, then? Treasure?"
"No. It's here, but I still have no idea where to start. Tonight we seek letters."
"Letters. We're risking our necks for some letters?"
"You don't have to go along with me, you know."
"I didn't follow you all the way over here from Boston to abandon your cause now," Hugh said. "If you say there are letters we need to locate, then that's what we'll do."
"Thank you. Now follow me closely. Miss Farrow's reputation depends on us accomplishing our goal undetected."
Hugh stopped dead in his tracks. "Those letters? That's what we're here for?"
"And anything else we can find that might implicate Nigel in my grandfather's death."
Now Hugh was glaring at him. "But you don't really expect to find anything here, do you? You don't believe your cousin is stupid enough to leave such evidence lying around."
"Let's just say I sincerely hope that he is."
"But your primary goal is to strip the place of anything that might damage Miss Farrow."
Miss Farrow's Feathers Page 17