by Joan Smith
“Yes, I see that it was a mistake,” he admitted. “I came to Thornbury to get away from the sort of company I have fallen into recently. Here in the peace and quiet of the countryside, I hope to convert myself to a more proper course.”
I looked at him suspiciously, but there was no smile, no mischief luring in those dark eyes now. He seemed perfectly sincere. My feelings for Aiglon pulled me two ways. Since my closest friend was so very anxious to be rid of him, I half wanted him gone, too, but I was Christian enough to wish to help a man who seeks the road to reformation. I glanced at the wineglass on the table. He’d had two or three refills since he’d arrived. I must warn Rachel to put the decanters away.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said in a low voice. “But one or two social drinks will do me no harm. I can manage that with perfect ease so long as I am in the proper company. I think you will be very proper company, Miss Pethel.”
The only handsome man who had ever looked at me in such a way was Mickey Dougherty, and he looked at every other woman in the countryside the same way. In fact, his expression wasn’t much different when conversing with his horse. Aiglon’s was a soft, admiring, hopeful look, which sent my imagination soaring.
What wonderful miracle had occurred here? How had providence been so kind as to drop an enormously eligible gentleman into the wilds of Thornbury, where there wasn’t a maiden for miles except me? The discrepancy between our material states was mitigated by his liquor problem. He was a lord, and I was a lady of small means, but at least I was a lady. More highly born families might have been reluctant to involve their daughters with a man who drank too much, but not my family. Besides, I could cure him of that. He had the desire to be cured, and that was half the battle. His having killed a man was a great hurdle, of course. But then it wasn’t certain Aiglon had killed him, and, even if he had, it wasn’t a planned cold-blooded murder. In any case, Aiglon would be an interesting addition to our household. I now had the desire to keep him at Thornbury, and the large problem of talking Rachel around to my view.
Just when I was beginning to feel at ease with Aiglon, the study door opened and Rachel and Mickey came out, wreathed in smiles. Whatever little antagonism had existed between them had been cleared up. “She must have struck a good bargain on the silk,” Aiglon said to me in a low tone, and smiled as though we were conspirators. It was a warm, intimate smile.
Mickey took up a seat and settled in comfortably with a fresh glass of wine. Aiglon turned to him and said, “Perhaps you could help me find a good safe berth for my yacht, Mr. Dougherty. I was looking along the waterfront here, and I notice there are no docking facilities.”
“The harbor at Folkestone is the place you want, Lord Aiglon. I’ll have my lads keep an eye on it for you. Or will you be bringing crew of your own?”
Rachel looked alarmed, but Aiglon’s reply calmed her down. “I have a three-man crew who will sleep aboard. You must come out with me one day and tell me what you think of the Mermaid.”
“Is that what you call her? I’ll look forward to it. Why, between your Mermaid and my old vessel, we won’t have a thing to fear from Boney,” Mickey said. “You can put away your French grammar and rest easy.”
“I don’t actually have a French grammar with me.” Aiglon smiled. “I’m part French myself, you know. The strain goes back to Norman times but has been frequently refurbished by French brides since that age. I’m not one of those Englishmen who has an innate hatred or mistrust of the French. I expect that an Irishman like you feels some affinity with them as well.”
“Ah, no, I’m not one of the Papist Irish. There’s plenty in the old country who laugh up their sleeves at England’s troubles at this time, but I’m on the right side, as you might say,” Mickey explained. “I’m in the militia and all. You’ll have to come out and see us practice one of these evenings, milord.”
“The waltz of the turnip hoes and spades?” Aiglon smiled. “Isn’t it possible to get guns for the militia? I should think the army would supply them at such a crucial time as this, Mr. Dougherty.”
“Call me Mickey. Everyone does. There’re plenty of us who have guns. The army was supposed to distribute Brown Besses two weeks ago, but nothing came of it. You might know something about that, Lord Aiglon, since you’re hot from London.” He looked expectantly for an answer.
“I’m afraid that’s not my area of interest. I’m involved in the Peninsular campaign,” Aiglon replied.
“Still, you have the ear of the lads in London. Anything you could do in the way of getting us some arms would be appreciated. It’d do morale a deal of good. When the men are not decently armed, spirits do flag.”
I was disappointed at Aiglon’s lack of interest. “I should think your best bet would be to apply to Colonel Denby,” he said in a rather bored way. He displayed such little interest in the subject that I was surprised he even knew that Denby was in charge of the local supply.
“We’ve applied to Denby more than once,” Mickey replied, but he saw Aiglon’s lack of interest and dropped the subject.
Willard came clomping in and informed Lord Aiglon that his bath was ready, and the two men made indefinite plans to meet again soon. When Aiglon left, Mickey, with his spirits unimpaired, also took his leave. Rachel and I were left alone.
“Rachel,” I said at once, “did you know Aiglon was dead drunk when he shot that man? He drinks a good deal. I think we should get the decanter out of his room.”
“All the Howells are good drinkers. He’s been bamming you, Constance. How could he hit his man if he were drunk?”
I was taken aback by Rachel’s logic. She continued speaking while I pondered the point. “The Howells are also notorious womanizers. I shouldn’t have thought you were Aiglon’s type, but then you’re prettier than either Meg or I, and that doesn’t leave him a great deal of choice. A word to the wise, Constance. Don’t trust him.”
I blushed for my foolish vanity. “You’re right, of course. As usual.” But after considering the situation a moment longer, I added, “It could have been a lucky shot—I mean, it could be an accident that Aiglon hit his man.”
“Yes, and the moon could be made of blue cheese, for all we know, but one is wiser to assume that the probable is what did, in fact, occur.”
We sat a moment in silence. “Aiglon says he came here to get away from the companions he usually drinks with. It would be wrong to hasten him away if he really wants to reform.”
“I can’t believe my ears!” Rachel exclaimed, casting a look of scorn at me. “Constance, if that rake has bothered to bring you under his thumb, he can only mean to make some improper use of you. I leave it to your imagination to figure out what use that might be. I am more determined than ever to get rid of him. Now I must go and speak to Willard. We’ll have to arrange some diversion for Aiglon tomorrow morning so that he forgets a tour of the house. You will proceed to Folkestone, as planned, and return with word that the place is swarming with Runners looking for Aiglon. For a start, I must remind Willard not to wake the rooster early. The longer that troublesome wretch stays in bed, the better.”
With those angry words she arose and went after Willard. Remembering the state my room was in, I decided to put it in order and went upstairs. Aiglon’s room was across the hall and down from mine. His door was open and as I passed I saw him in conversation with his valet, a dapper little man with curly brown hair and a sharp nose. There was a large copper tub full of water on the floor, but Aiglon ignored it. He was fully dressed, by which I mean not only that he wasn’t preparing for his bath, but that he had actually donned a greatcoat and curled beaver. He was going out, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was headed for the closest tavern.
So much for his wish for reformation!
* * *
Chapter 4
The day had been harrowing enough that I slept despite knowing Aiglon was out drinking. What had it to do with me if a young gentleman with every advantage should decide to ruin
himself with drink? Running away from his London companions may have been well intentioned, but he’d have no trouble finding new drinking companions in Folkestone. He’d already made the acquaintance of one of the best topers in the area: Mickey Dougherty. In fact, it came to my mind that Aiglon’s cool attitude toward Mickey had warmed when he learned that Mickey was a smuggler. He didn’t want to meet reputable people, but he hadn’t been slow to offer a brandy smuggler a sail on his yacht.
I was in a disgruntled frame of mind when I went downstairs to breakfast. Rachel was already there, frowning into her gammon and eggs.
“I hope Willard didn’t kill the rooster, in an excess of zeal,” she said. “I haven’t heard a peep out of him this morning. At least it’s kept Aiglon in bed till a decent hour.”
“What has kept your cousin abed is not the silence from chanticleer, Rachel. He was out till all hours last night.”
She looked positively stricken. “No! You don’t mean he was out snooping around already!”
“Snooping around for what? He wasn’t looking for remains of the dovecote by the light of the moon. He was out drinking,” I told her.
This called for an explanation of what I had seen on my way to bed. “That sounds like him, right enough,” she answered mildly. She appeared quite satisfied with his behavior, perhaps because it showed me what he was really like. “We shall proceed with our plan. You’ll be leaving for Folkestone right after breakfast?”
“It’s only eight o’clock!”
“There’s no rush then. You’ll have time to speak to Cook and see what she needs for dinner. Aiglon has asked that we go to no pains on his behalf, and I mean to take him at his word. I shall serve fish stew and bread pudding,” she announced grimly.
Cook makes the worst fish stew in the world. It has nothing in common with the French dish. It consists of cod or plaice boiled with onions in milk and thickened with flour.
“Excellent. He mentioned wanting to try the local seafood,” I said.
No sooner had these words left my mouth than we heard Aiglon’s footsteps approaching. He bowed into the room, inquiring most civilly how we had slept.
“I slept like a babe,” he told us, and his bright eyes did not belie it. “I foresee that a prolonged visit here at Thornbury will do me any amount of good. Have you any plans for the day, Cousin?”
“My day is always entirely filled taking care of Thornbury,” she replied stiffly.
“Indeed? I shouldn’t have thought running a little cottage would even begin to tap your resources, Rachel. And you, Miss Pethel? Is your time all occupied in the same manner?”
“Miss Pethel is going into town for me this morning,” Rachel told him.
“Excellent. I shall accompany her,” he said, and helped himself to the gammon while I looked at Rachel for instructions.
She nodded her head ever so slightly, but enough to inform an old accomplice like me that she consented. It would stave off Aiglon’s tour of Thornbury, of course, and give her an extra morning to rearrange the tatters of draperies and canopies. What it would not do, however, is permit me to let on that I had seen a swarm of Runners.
After we had all breakfasted and I went for my pelisse, Rachel came to my room. “I’ll have to receive word of the Runners’ arrival after lunch,” she said. “Keep him away as long as you can.” She gave me the shopping list, casually mentioning that if Aiglon wished to pay cash instead of putting the purchases on her account, I should not demur. In that unlikely case, I was to purchase many more items than were on the list.
It was about nine o’clock when I finally went downstairs ready for the trip. I was very interested to be handed up into Aiglon’s sporting curricle, which was drawn by a team of prize grays, and very ill at ease when I saw how low were the edges of the seat that were to hold us in place. Aiglon snapped the whip above the horses’ heads, and they took off at a speed that whipped my neck back quite painfully and knocked my bonnet askew.
We rattled along at a pace that precluded conversation till we came to the tents where the regiment was stationed. We stopped a few minutes to watch the men drilling. “Will you drive in and speak to Colonel Denby?” I asked.
“Perhaps another time. I have a rather urgent errand in town,” he answered, and drove on.
I was at a loss to know what his errand might be, for when we reached town he turned to the Leas, where he wasn’t likely to meet anyone but tourists or citizens out taking the air. I gave some hint of my thinking, and he reined in.
“Why, to tell the truth, my errand is here with Mother Nature,” he said playfully, and inhaled a deep breath of sea air.
“That, I believe, is the same truth you were purveying last night when you said you were going to take a bath?” I asked, and subjected him to a sharp stare.
“But I did bathe!”
“Did you? Is it the fashion in London to don a coat and hat for the purpose? How practical. It takes care of the laundry at the same time!”
“I hadn’t realized I was an object of such interest that my every move was monitored,” he said, turning his head and smiling in what he no doubt considered an irresistible manner. It was the same warmly intimate smile he had offered the previous evening in the saloon. “Tell me, Miss Pethel, did Foote leave the door ajar, or did you peek in the keyhole?”
I did not honor this question with a reply. “I was merely surprised to see you dressed for outdoors when I went to my room. Did you find a congenial drinking partner, Lord Aiglon?”
“Is this the face of a man who was drinking last night?” he asked, leaning toward me till his youthful visage nearly touched mine. And certainly it bore no signs of ravage.
“What were you doing then?” I asked, pulling back.
“Wine is not the only dissipation that mortal flesh is heir to. Use your imagination, ma’am.”
“But you just got here yesterday! You couldn’t have found a woman already!” I exclaimed.
His bright eyes opened wider. He set his head back and laughed so loudly that several people turned in our direction. “True enough,” he answered, “that will take another day. But I did find an unexceptionable inn, where a few gentlemen were kind enough to invite me to join a game of cards. And before you scold me about drinking while playing, let me inform you I had only two small beers the whole evening.”
I felt rather foolish and, in lieu of apologizing, attacked on a new front. “I suppose you lost a great deal of money?”
“On the contrary, I made six shillings. Etiquette decrees that I give the gentlemen the opportunity to recoup their losses within a day or two. So if you happen to see an empty bed next time your eye finds itself at my keyhole, you’ll know where I am.”
“I didn’t peek in the keyhole.”
He cocked his head to one side and examined me for a moment. “It must have been Rachel. I didn’t think you were the keyhole sort, but one never knows. You are at least an accessory to her other crimes.”
“I’m just a guest at Thornbury. How she keeps house for you is no affair of mine,” I said airily.
He wagged a shapely finger under my nose. “Faint-hearted, Miss Pethel. I expected more fire from you. I have it on the best authority, namely the kitchen help, that you, with your own lily-whites, wielded the hammer that installed that spotted rag on the front stairs. I stick by the word ‘accessory.’ How came you to make your home here? Are you an orphan?” he asked, settling into a less playful mood.
“Not at all. I have a full set of parents along with several brothers and sisters.”
“Enough of these brothers and sisters that your going was not a tragedy?” he asked.
“If you are politely trying to gauge my social background, Lord Aiglon, you have hit the nail on the head. Papa was sorry but not reluctant to see one of us bounced off, to make room for the rest. I am the eldest and hence I seemed the logical one to leave when the invitation came from Lady Savage.”
“But surely, even if the dowry is small or, indeed, no
nexistent, are not attractive young ladies more usually bounced off to the tune of wedding bells?”
“At the time it was thought that I might meet someone here,” I admitted. If there is a woman in the world strong enough to make such an utterance without blushing, I have yet to meet her. “I didn’t have any particular beau in Kent.”
“What a slow bunch of tops! And have you met someone here?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“What a slow top you are, too! I shall find you a parti before I leave. I hereby make a solemn promise, Miss Constance Pethel, that you won’t be required to return home hanging your head in shame.”
“What a strange thing to say!”
His brows lifted and a rather diabolical smile settled upon his face. “You must have noticed by now that I’m rather a strange, impetuous man,” he answered, then whipped the horses into motion and drove down into the village.
Rachel’s plan of getting him to pay for the shopping was nipped in the bud. He left me the minute we arrived and went his own way, arranging to meet me at the hotel in an hour. I saw him twice during the intervening hour. In one instance he was going into the real estate office—for what reason I couldn’t imagine, unless Mr. Roundtree, the agent, was one of his gambling buddies. The other time he was talking to Mickey outside of the “everything” store. We met at ten-thirty, as planned.
“Are you in a hurry to get home?” he asked.
“Not particularly, but I don’t wish to delay my package too long. Fish,” I explained, handing it to him to stow in the curricle.
“This won’t take long. I was chatting to Mickey, and he invited me over to the headquarters of the militia to meet the officer and discuss their preparations.”
The drills were executed at the east end of the Leas. The headquarters consisted of a little room at the back of the Church of St. Mary and St. Eanswith, which is situated there. The church was heavily involved in the whole defense, and the minister kept watch for bonfires that would send him to ring the bells. The officer was Captain Cokewell, a retired army man. We were considered fortunate to have a real military man in charge of the militia.