Sophie wasn’t certain what he meant by that. Was he truly just making idle chatter or did he know? She took a deep breath and tried to decide how to answer. Just what had Lord Lindley told his friend about her and her previous living arrangements?
Rastmoor didn’t wait for her to respond. He went on as if this were the most ordinary conversation. “Were you at Madame Eudora’s brothel for the entire past four years, or did you find work elsewhere, too?”
Oh, but the way he said it made it sound so foul, so dirty! Indeed, she supposed it was, but then she’d rather gotten used to her life there. She had friends and Madame cared for her. True, Madame had made it no secret she’d love to see Sophie take a more active role in the business, but she knew that was not meant as insult. Madame thought Sophie could do quite well for herself, and there was something heartwarming in that.
But what must this Rastmoor think of her if Lindley had been so quick to tell him of her past? Worse, what might he expect of her? And Lindley, too; did he have expectations? After all, he could have told Fitzgelder they’d been hiding and overheard his scheme. What if he intended to exact some form of payment for his benevolent silence?
And of course anyone could guess what payment would be expected from a woman who’d spent several years living in a brothel.
“A brothel?” Miss St. Clement sputtered.
The gleam in Lord Rastmoor’s eye was positively malicious. Sophie glanced from him to Lindley. Had she been hoping to find something of comfort in Lindley’s face? Well, she did not find it. He seemed little more than amused—entertained, perhaps—by his friend’s most inappropriate conversation. Almost imperceptibly, he raised one eyebrow and smiled at her. Good heavens, these men were very nearly propositioning her right here, under the very nose of the person they believed to be her husband!
Furious, she jumped to her feet. By God, she was not about to become their little plaything.
“That’s none of your business!” she announced. “I’m not there anymore, and I won’t go with you…either of you!”
Miss St. Clement seemed every bit as offended by all of this as Sophie felt. She leapt to her feet and stormed at them. “Leave her alone! Hasn’t she been through enough with the likes of you? Take your filthy minds and your petty accusations out of here this instant!”
Lord Rastmoor seemed to have been about to speak, but Miss St. Clement did not allow him. She lunged and swung her fist at him. Sophie was every bit as surprised by this sudden violence as their companions. Lord Rastmoor staggered back, plowing into Lord Lindley and throwing him off balance, too. Both gentlemen toppled over, crashing into chairs, and boots thudded loudly on the wooden floor. Sophie cringed back into the corner, just hoping to stay out of the mess.
What on earth would possess Miss St. Clement to do such a thing? Heavens, did she forget she was hopelessly out-matched by these two strapping men? Yet, it seemed that her action had accomplished what she intended. The men were temporarily distracted and the way to the door was now free.
“Come, Sophie,” the actress said, grabbing up Sophie’s hand. “The mail coach is still in the yard. Let’s get out of here.”
But before anyone could make any further move, a loud crack split the air and glass from the window shattered around them. Sophie let out a shriek, and she was fairly certain Miss St. Clement did, too. The chair between Rastmoor and Lindley sent a shower of oak splinters flying everywhere.
Good Lord, had that been gunfire? Someone was shooting at them!
“Get down!” Lindley yelled, shoving the table over on its side to provide some measure of protection should more bullets come hailing through the only window in the small room.
Sophie was more than happy to make use of his quickly constructed barricade and dropped down to cower behind it, instinctively pulling a chair over her, as well. Miss St. Clement was beside her, but she could not catch her friend’s eye. The actress seemed to be far more concerned for Lord Rastmoor’s well-being than her own.
The gentlemen did not waste time. When no immediate repeat of the gunfire hailed through the shattered window, they were swiftly on their feet. Ordering the women to stay down, Lindley directed Rastmoor to rush to the back of the inn while he himself would go check the front. Sophie grimaced at the thought. What if the shooter expected such? What if someone waited out there, biding his time for their target to poke his head out? Heavens, surely anyone who would be willing to murder Lord Rastmoor would never hesitate to provide the same fate for Lord Lindley!
Or a couple of incognito females, for that matter.
The men raced out of the room. Sophie held her breath, wondering if more gunshots would be the next sound she heard.
Oddly enough, it was not. It was Miss St. Clement clambering to her feet.
“Wait here,” she called to Sophie as she dashed out after the men, her footsteps indicating she was trailing Rastmoor.
Well, if that wasn’t the most idiotic thing! What on earth did Miss St. Clement think she might do to rescue her Rastmoor in the face of an unknown assailant with a gun? No, indeed, Sophie could not imagine how the actress could possibly be a help in this situation. By God, Sophie was going to stay right here, safely behind this table. She grabbed the leg of yet another chair and pulled it over to hide under it, as well.
How could Miss St. Clement be so foolish to rush out there as she had? Was her concern for Lord Rastmoor so great that she’d rather die with him than stay back here and live? The woman was mentally unstable.
Still, Sophie knew women often did foolish things when they let their hearts become captive by some man. Madame had warned her of such things. She’d seen it for herself during her years at the brothel. Indeed, her friend Annie was a perfect example.
Poor Annie, such a sweet girl from such a tragic background. Annie had done what she could to help her impoverished family feed ten hungry children, but it was never enough. Somehow she’d ended up working for Madame Eudora. She was pretty and had learned her manners well enough that she’d caught the eye of gentlemen and was doing quite well, earning a fair amount and able to pay her keep with Madame and still have some to send home to her family. She and Sophie had become fast friends.
But then Annie fell in love. She lost her heart to one of her usual callers and began to beg and plead for Madame not to ask her to see any others. Well, Madame could hardly agree to that, could she? Everyone in her household simply had to earn their keep. Unfortunately, Annie had no special skill with a needle as Sophie had. If Annie’s favored gentleman had not been willing to pay an exorbitant amount to keep Annie all for himself, Madame would have forced her to continue her usual labors.
But Annie’s lover managed to scrape up enough to keep her. Madame moved her to share a room with Sophie to make room for another girl and to keep things as economical as possible while allowing the man to be Annie’s only visitor. He was always very discreet, Sophie never so much as laying eyes on him.
But before long, Annie announced she was with child.
Madame raged that this was the penultimate foolishness. Annie could have had a promising career, could have found a protector with deep pockets and one day have gotten a house of her own and fine clothes. With her pretty face and innate elegance, she could have been a great courtesan. To give all that up for love was more than unimaginable, as far as Madame was concerned.
Sophie was tempted to agree. What sort of life could Annie give her child, relying solely on the good grace of some randy, never-present gentleman? It was no life Sophie envied, that was for certain. In fact, it was then Sophie realized she must do more to take charge of her own life. So she left.
And look where that had gotten her—mauled by Fitzgelder, running for her life, and now hiding under a chair. Two chairs and a table, actually. What a coward.
Cautiously, she pulled herself out from under the chairs and rose up onto her knees. The posting house had gone silent. Everyone seemed to have rushed outside after the commotion, either to escape
or to find out what was going on, she supposed. She glanced around and saw nothing.
She did hear something, though. Rising and creeping slowly to the door, she peeked out into the hallway. It was very dim, the nearby stairway blocking the lamplight from the common room. What had she heard? A floorboard creak? Someone on the steps? She moved forward to get a better view.
A man’s hand was suddenly covering her mouth, and she was pulled roughly into his embrace. She was too shocked to scream—couldn’t have, anyway, from the tight hold he had on her—but managed to wriggle and kick against him. Why oh why didn’t she stay under that chair?
Her first thought was perhaps Lindley had come back, yet it was not him. Every one of her senses screamed that loudly. Lindley was not here—he was nowhere around to either save her or be a part of whatever plan this new stranger had for her. No one was here. She was on her own again.
Yet, as she struggled against him, the man whispered in her ear.
“Chut, ma Fifi. Calme-toi. Calme-toi. C’est moi.”
She froze. She knew the voice. She knew the words. She knew the private name he called her. She knew this man.
Yet it could not be him. He was dead.
“Papa?” she mumbled the word beneath his grimy hand.
Slowly his grip released. “Oui, Fifi. C’est moi.”
She didn’t move, so he turned her to face him. It took a moment before she could make herself look up into his face. Papa. It truly is him.
“But it cannot…You can’t…You were…”
He shushed her again. “There will be time enough for explanation. We must hurry now; leave this place.”
“But Lord Lindley…”
Now Papa grabbed her shoulders again. “What did he do to you, ma fille?”
“Nothing! Nothing, Papa, but someone shot at us and Miss—”
“Yes, thank heavens they missed,” he interrupted before she’d been able to mention her traveling companion. “That damn Clemmons fellow you are traveling with is no good for you, Fifi. You must trust me on this! He has brought you here where Lindley could find you.”
“But Papa, he’s not—”
“Listen to me,” he said, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were the same silvery gray she always remembered, but they looked older, more tired now. “Lindley is a dangerous man. You can never trust him, Fifi.”
“But Papa—”
“And I know you are not truly wedded to Clemmons, either. Now you must come with me right away or become trapped in their web.”
“Trapped in their—”
“Shh, they are coming back. We must hurry!”
He took her elbow and began leading her up the stairway. It appeared he had just come down that way. What on earth was Papa doing upstairs at this posting house? Her emotions were a jumble and she feared she could not think straight.
Heavens, but Papa was alive! Over four years now she’d thought he was dead, leaving her and Mamma alone to fend for themselves. Where had he been? What could have kept him away for so long, even after Mamma died? She was overjoyed and furious at the same time.
He took her up to a room and quietly ushered her in. She hoped he might pause now to give her some idea what was going on, calm her rattled nerves with some explanation. He didn’t, though. Instead he merely went straight to the window that hung open.
“Come, quickly,” he said, stepping outside.
She cried out but then realized the window opened onto the roof of a lower part of the building. Papa was leading her out there. Should she follow? What of Miss St. Clement and the others? But then again, this was her father, who she’d mourned for so many long, lonely years! How could she not follow him?
She did, her dress catching but slightly on the sill. She managed to loosen it, and in no time she was trailing after him, up to the crest of the roof, carefully around the chimney, and then over to the other side. Thankfully, the pitch was not too steep and she had no trouble following him. They must have been over the kitchens, and directly next to the roof was a high stone wall that surrounded the tiny garden where vegetables and herbs were growing.
Papa climbed off the roof and walked carefully along the wall, glancing back with a look to tell her she was expected to do the same. Well, he seemed to know what he was doing, so she followed. The stone wall was sturdier than it appeared, she was glad to find. She tiptoed along it like a circus performer until they came to a smaller building.
Papa turned and took her hand, helping her up onto the roof of the building, where she was surprised to find a gable with an opening. Without so much as a pause, they were able to step right into the loft of what turned out to be a laundry house. The smell of lye was strong, but not overwhelming. With evening heavy on them, the little building was empty of people. She and Papa had the whole place to themselves.
Except for the horse happily munching on a shirt down below them on the ground floor.
Papa smiled at her unspoken question. “Yes, ma chérie, that is my horse. I hid it here. Now come, as soon as things are clear, we must be off. I have my gig hidden nearby, and you will be safe.”
“Papa, truly, you must imagine how confused I am, and…”
He put his fingers to her lips and shushed her again, but so gently she could not complain.
“Sans bruit, ma belle,” he whispered. “Keep silent until we are gone.”
“But Papa, I…”
“You must trust me, Fifi. I know I have little right to ask it after all these years, but for your own sake, please trust me just now.”
He was so earnest, so desperate looking, so wonderfully alive that she could do nothing but comply. None of it made sense, but she did trust him. She hoped to God it was the right thing to do.
Chapter Six
The shooter was gone. Lindley had found a pair of grooms who’d been working in front of the house, preparing the coach for departure. They’d heard the gunfire, sure enough, then noticed a lone man ride off, heading south. Clearly he’d made no attempt not to be seen. Lindley felt he could assume, then, that he was supposed to follow. It was a trap, most likely. Well, no other way to get to the bottom of this.
He took a groom with him, then went around the back of the posting house. He found Rastmoor and told him what the men had seen.
“No one they recognized, I suppose?” Rastmoor asked.
“Sorry, milord,” the groom said. “I didn’t get a good enough look. And anyway, lots of folk were here just then, drinking and such. They mostly all took off when they heard the shooting. The gent I saw might have just been one of those. You might do better to ask the folks inside what they saw.”
Lindley knew they’d not get any information that way, but he thanked the groom for his trouble and handed him a few coins just the same. The mail coach was eager to get back on the road, and it would accomplish nothing to delay it by further questions. The groom trotted off back to his work, and Lindley contemplated what to do next.
“You don’t by any chance know who was supposed to get shot tonight, do you?” Rastmoor asked, rather unexpectedly.
“To tell the truth, no,” Lindley replied, deciding that was a deuced perceptive question from the man. “But I do know it’s not safe around here for you, Rastmoor, with Fitzgelder stirring up trouble, and all.”
“That’s why I’m on my way back to London now to deal with it.”
“Might be better to wait, all things considered,” Lindley cautioned.
“All things? And what would those things be?”
Hellfire, where did the man get his sudden suspicions? Obviously Rastmoor needed something to distract him from worry. “Look, you shouldn’t stay here tonight; it’s too dangerous. Why not head back out to Dashford’s and take our long-lost Sophie with you?”
“And you?”
“I’ll head after that man the groom saw.”
“He said he wasn’t sure that was our shooter.”
“Who else would it be? You just get yourself to Dashford’s
.”
Rastmoor nodded. “And take Mr. and Mrs. Clemmons with me.”
“Right. And if there’s any chance of losing the mister along the way, that’s what I’d propose.”
That actress was not to be trusted. Lindley would love to stay here and unravel this masquerade, for Miss Darshaw’s sake, but he could only handle one deadly near miss at a time. Right now finding that shooter was his first priority. He’d just have to trust that Rastmoor would look after the girl. But not too well.
His friend contemplated Lindley’s suggestion, then agreed. “Fine. That’s what I’ll do.”
“Good. You go collect the Clemmonses and I’ll see if I can get myself a fast horse.”
“You’ll go off on your own, Lindley? Isn’t it a bit dangerous?”
“Don’t worry. I can handle it.”
Rastmoor seemed to think that a bit doubtful, but he gave a shrug and didn’t question Lindley any further. Just as well, since Lindley had no intention of giving him any answers. The man did not need to know the axle had been tampered with or that the shooter could have just as easily been after Lindley as after Rastmoor. Fitzgelder might be focusing his malicious intent on Rastmoor just now, but were he to learn a few things about Lindley there was no doubt the man would just as soon see his friend murdered as his cousin. Perhaps more so, since Lindley was close to possessing information that could utterly destroy Fitzgelder.
With luck, though, Fitzgelder would remain clueless, and Lindley would finally have the names they needed to see the man hang. Justice would be served. True, a swifter vengeance might be more satisfying, but he’d promised to work within the law. For now, at least.
His boots crunched on the ground as he left Rastmoor and headed to the stable behind the posting house. The buildings were old, thick with plantings, but served their purpose. The dampness of evening was setting in, and night birds gave up their lonely calls. Things were settling down after the excitement.
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