by Tessa Candle
Delville held his breath as he passed the back alley ditch that smelled evilly of ancient chamber pot, and made his way back to the main road.
To his joy, the hackney stood waiting for him, and he handed the man another two coins as he gave him a new direction. The building where Lucy Delight lived was not far away, the only problem would be if she had a visitor.
He sighed. If that were the case, he would just have to break things up. He had to get her out of her place before Red Martha’s murderers came for her. He could put her onto a boat in the morning, and this time he would have a very compelling case to present. If she would not listen, he would simply abduct her. Women must be protected, even the stubborn ones.
His heart pained him as he remembered another stubborn woman—one that he would prefer to be watching over. He had made a hash of things with her, but he so wanted them to get better acquainted, when this was all done.
He laughed bitterly. When would it ever end? The Home Office always had some new intrigue, and even the Foreign Office looked him up occasionally. The spy trade still did a brisk business. The end of the war had not changed that in the least.
But there was this whole Duke of Pallensley business. He would have to become settled eventually. If only his fearsome fiancée would marry herself off to someone else, he could finish this last job, then retire to the easy life of a duke. And maybe, in time, Miss Dawling would forgive him for acting like a great boorish cretin…
He pressed his lips together. He did not like how quickly she kept returning to his thoughts. He was getting distracted.
He turned his mind toward rescuing Persephone. It was a personal mission, so he could not call on Home Office resources. And he would need to find a place to hide her.
The most obvious option was Fenimore. Rosamond’s own history would give her a natural soft spot for a little orphan girl who was in danger. But how to get Persephone there safely without accompanying her himself?
Delville smiled suddenly. Andrews could take her to Fenimore. Of course! Rosamond’s old partner in crime would be the perfect man for the job. Surely a fraudster like him would still be kicking about London charming marks. And Andrews could also be very useful in extracting Persephone from the boarding school. Who needed a duchy? It was good to have low connections.
Chapter 21
Eleanor trudged her way upon heavy feet, supressing a sneeze as she manoeuvred behind the dusty tapestry that curtained the hidden passage. She had been doing this too long, and the early morning trips to the cell became more burdensome each day.
At least Auchdun had not bothered her again, which made slipping out for morning walks less perilous. Still, she really wished Delville would hurry up and return so she could wash her hands of this whole business.
But whenever she had uncharitable thoughts about Delville, she reminded herself that, no matter what sort of cad he was, he was trying to rescue a friendless child. Eleanor should not be so selfish as to think of her own comfort when such a cause was at stake.
She set down her candle and laid out the provisions to hasten the transfer, then opened the door to retrieve the tray.
“Good morning.” The man sounded subdued. “I hope you are well.”
She said nothing, but braced herself for the nasty bone-chilling things the man would inevitably say to her. She loaded the tray and slid it into the prisoner’s cell, making to close the door rapidly and scamper away before the vile man could say more.
“Wait!” came the pathetic voice from within.
Eleanor stopped.
“Please do not leave. I cannot stand this silence. Have mercy, I beg of you! Being alone with myself is intolerable. This must be what hell is. Perhaps also what heaven is, for good people must not mind their own company—though they bore everyone else to tears. Stay and speak with me. Just describe the weather or talk about what you had for dinner last night, or anything!”
Delville had warned her not to speak with the man, lest he later be able to recognize her voice. There was no point in staying. She made to leave.
“Do not go.” His voice was a whispered sob.
Eleanor felt awful. She knew he was not a good man, but he sounded so desperate.
“You need not talk, then, as you never do. Only stay and listen to me, and harrumph or sigh or clear your throat once in a while, or even sneeze. That will be enough. If you stay I will tell you what you want to know—what he wants to know.”
Eleanor’s heart leapt. If he knew something that would help Delville find the child, she had to get it out of him. “Hmm?” she enquired wordlessly, as she extracted the diary and pencil that she carried with her, just in case the prisoner said anything useful.
“Oh yes. I know what he seeks! I will tell all, if only you will stay and hear me.”
“Hmm.” She nodded under her cowl.
“I know the location. I did not give it to him before, for if Red Martha knew I had given anything away she would kill me.”
Red Martha was dangerous enough for anything. Eleanor sighed loudly in agreement.
“There is a place. I have heard she uses it as a safe house herself, sometimes. She hid me there once, for a fee. I am deeply indebted to her, in fact. She bailed me out of gaol and helped me to locate a certain—well an enemy of mine that I had to dispatch if I was to get the inheritance that was owed me.”
Eleanor shivered. Had he meant to murder a competing heir? Just like Rosamond’s evil guardian. She had not thought such things happened so often in civilized England. But of course they did. Greed was an ancient blight on the human condition.
“But I was denied the opportunity of claiming what was due. The world must think me dead by now, no doubt the estate passed to some other person who has done nothing at all to deserve it.” He spat and cursed, and Eleanor wondered if he would relapse into his usual foul talk, but he regained his composure and continued. “But suffice it to say that, if Red Martha saw me alive, she would think I had dodged out on our agreement. My life would not be worth two straws, anyway, so telling what I know cannot make things worse.”
“Humph.” Eleanor found his logic sound. Perhaps he would now tell her the location of the child.
“In any case, this dwelling she has is inconspicuous and tucked away in an unremarkable part of town, and I know she keeps either valuables or documents there, because I saw the strongbox. I marked where the house was and committed it to memory, as I thought it might prove a useful hiding place later.”
You thought you might come back and steal the box later. But Eleanor remained silent at this convenient explanation, waiting for him to speak of the child.
“I think Red Martha keeps the papers he is looking for in that box. Though she may have moved them by now, it is somewhere he should look.”
Papers? Eleanor thought the man must be confused. Delville was looking for a child.
Seeming to sense that she was not as impressed by this revelation as he had expected, the prisoner added significantly. “And who knows but that there might be some bank notes tucked away in the box as well.”
A nasty suspicion crept over Eleanor. Was this really about money, after all? She waited for the man to continue, to say something about a child.
“If you give me a pen and paper I will write out the direction for you—only I hope you will not leave right away. Stay with me while I eat my meal, and I shall write it down, I promise.”
She retrieved the tray and added a sheet of paper from her diary and the pencil, before sliding it back in. She would stay while he ate, but only after he gave her the direction.
Eleanor’s head swam as she quitted the cave. By the morning light she re-examined the note that the prisoner had written. Had she misread it—could it be believed? He had appended a postscript on the bottom of the paper.
I am Lord Screwe. Please help me, and I will reward you. I do not have much to my name at the moment, it is true, but I will find some way of rewarding you for your assistance. Please get m
e out of this prison. I have a wife waiting for me. I beg of you, have mercy.
Lord Screwe. Eleanor’s stomach dropped. It made all sense now. Lady Screwe described a man very much like Delville nosing about for information on her husband’s papers. Delville must have been looking for alternative sources of information about his recalcitrant prisoner.
And Screwe’s description of the heir that he had meant to dispatch in order to get an inheritance must have been Rosamond. The pieces of the puzzle fit together to form a disturbing picture.
It did not endear Eleanor to Screwe’s cause to know that he was a murderous fiend who had tried to kill her friend. She would not release him—certainly not! But how could she now keep this information from Rosamond?
And yet, if she told all, it would confront Frobisher and Rosamond with a great dilemma, either to expose Delville’s deeds, or to embroil themselves in an egregious crime—no less than an offense against a lord, however unworthy of his title. She owed Frobisher and Rosamond much, but did Eleanor really owe Delville any allegiance?
Screwe had made no mention of a child. Had Delville merely concocted a story to draw Eleanor in and make her keep his secret?
She stuffed the paper back into her pocket and began a brisk pace back to the manor, her thoughts churning her mind into a frenzy.
The possibility that she was remaining a dupe of Delville’s schemes grated on Eleanor’s pride, but a part of her could not believe that Delville was going to such efforts just for a bit of money. It did not ring true to what she had seen of him. A man who was only after wealth did not pose as a casual labourer and live rough when he was close friends with a duke and a marquess, and could be living in luxury as their guest. There must be a child he was trying to find—perhaps he thought the strong box held a clue.
The recollection of his brilliant smile at their last meeting rose up before her in her mind’s eye. You are a much more intriguing lady than I gave you credit for. That is what he had said. And she had believed in him, thought him a good man.
Was her head merely turned by a handsome gentleman’s flattery? From the first moment of their acquaintance, he had not been what he seemed. Why did she feel that she knew him, that she saw beyond his facade into a core that held the seeds of decency?
Perhaps it was merely her vanity. She always prided herself in having insight into the characters and motivations of others—at least enough to make her adept at tailoring her dry observations and sarcastic comments. Maybe her powers of perception were not as adroit as she flattered herself they were. And yet… she did not think she was wrong about Delville. Eleanor could not believe he was truly bad.
She would not to tell anyone about Screwe, though it tore at her heart to keep such a secret from her friends. She would write to Delville in London to share the new information as soon as she got back to the manor. If Red Martha was bad enough to put the fear of God in a horrid man like Screwe, the child was surely in serious peril.
The moment Eleanor rounded the bend, she was once again confronted by the sight of Auchdun. It was at the precise corner where they had almost collided on the first day she had met Delville, and she unconsciously turned her head to see if a set of grinning white teeth might appear behind her. But no such luck.
Eleanor frowned at the approaching intruder. She did not have time for more of Auchdun’s nonsense, and this was a monstrous bit of bad timing.
“Lady Eleanor! I am glad to have found you here.” Auchdun assumed the sober air of someone with a serious topic on his heart.
“I cannot say that I share your felicity.” She pushed past him. “I hope you will excuse me for refusing to notice you on this second occasion of trespass, which is an event normally meriting some pomp and fanfare, I suppose. However, I must hasten back to the manor.”
“Stay!” He called behind her. “I will be heard, and after I have spoken my peace, I shall not trouble you again!”
Eleanor paused a moment, then pushed on.
“You need not be uneasy. I am not here to propose marriage to you. Quite the opposite.”
These words stopped her, and she turned, unable to resist her curiosity. His gaze was lofty, as though he were stoically bearing up under the wrongs of others and holding his head high.
She braced herself for what promised to be a fantastic feat of idiocy.
“As you may be aware, I have been a guest at Blackwood, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Bartholmer.” Auchdun paused.
He was no doubt permitting her the chance to express how impressed she was. “I am familiar with Blackwood, thank you for the explanation.”
He inclined his head just as though she had complimented him on his superior acquaintance, then pressed on. “Having met there on multiple occasions with the charming company of Miss Fitzpatrick, I have begged audience with her guardian to ask for permission to court her.”
So Tilly’s scheme had worked after all—and with an unparalleled rapidity, for there had not even been time for Eleanor to hear of Auchdun’s arrival in the neighbourhood. He must have been introduced to Miss Fitzpatrick and immediately begged a word with Lord Laurentian before they were finished bowing at one another. She almost burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
But had he sought Eleanor out merely to present this pathetic triumph before her, so she might stew in a cauldron of regret at what she had let slip from her grasp? It was only too likely. Auchdun’s gall was truly without precedent, and completely un-assailed by the contempt in which Eleanor obviously held him. What a marvel he was.
His nostrils flared as he paused to steady himself against the course of his own powerful emotions before continuing, “I now feel honour-bound, before I beg the hand of that perfectly exquisite creature, to request that you release me from any prior offer I might have made in an ill-conceived moment.”
There were several ill-conceived moments, but she would not dicker over trifles when she might finally be rid of him. Still, her sense of humour would not let him go so easily, and seized upon the opportunity for diversion. “Do I understand your course of action clearly? You declared to Lord Laurentian an intention to court his ward, then you asked to be released from any expectation I might have, and, having received that release, you subsequently intend to propose to Miss Fitzpatrick?”
“Indeed.” He gave her a look of compassion that would have been insulting, if he were any less of a buffoon. “I know this must come as a shock to you. In time, however, I hope you will see the wisdom of relinquishing your own aspirations—”
A snort escaped Eleanor. “Do not trouble yourself. I assure you that, far from having any claim at all, I can and do wholeheartedly wish you married to another. And I relieve you from any residual duty, however imaginary, you may labour under for having delivered your proposals to me despite my best efforts to avoid them. There is no bond between us, and it is utterly unnecessary for you to beg release. Please consider yourself entirely at your liberty to propose to another woman—or even several, should you have plans to continue your campaign of hedging marital bets.”
Auchdun did not appear entirely satisfied with this reply. No doubt the man’s power of self-delusion had conjured up scenes in his mind of Eleanor gnashing her teeth at the loss of his love and begging for a second chance. But after a moment of stunned silence, he re-assumed the sober face of one who had discharged his duty and now proceeded with a clean conscience.
Yet he could not conceal his self-satisfaction as he concluded, with obvious doubt as to the likelihood of his words coming true, “Only know that I wish you every happiness in your own future marital prospects.” Then he bowed and walked past her.
Giddy relief washed over her as he left, bringing on a cascade of laughter, and leaving a ridiculous grin she could not wipe off her face. It was merely the hysteria that naturally proceeded from such a stressful morning. It had nothing to do with a tiny hope that Miss Fitzpatrick would accept Auchdun and thus break her claim on Delville. Not in the least. Eleanor
was only happy to be rid of her own unwanted suitor. That was all. Yet she heartily wished Auchdun Godspeed in his proposal.
If only he were capable of some actual speed, for Eleanor was compelled to wait for him to amble some distance onward before she continued on her own trot back to the manor. She needed to get that message off to Delville, and could barely keep herself from sprinting past Auchdun in her urgency.
Chapter 22
Delville remarked upon the pretty brass hardware gracing the oak door of Andrews’ apartments. Everything was neat and polished, not at all what one might expect from such a shady character. But then, a man who excelled at relieving rich people of their money could no doubt afford good servants.
He was admitted into a small parlour—equally as neat and polished—with objets d’art and a large golden urn over the mantel, all merrily lit by a stout blaze burning in the grate.
But the man who sat within was a brutish looking sort—not a labourer, but not entirely clean, and incongruously reading the London Chronical. Delville unconsciously tapped his pocket to confirm the existence of his watch.
The man looked up from his paper. “You are late.” It was Andrews’ voice, but he was almost unrecognizable in his current disguise. “And you look too clean.”
Delville bristled slightly at this. He was, after all, a professional spy. He did not need lessons in disguise from the likes of Andrews. However, he was late.
There was no rousting Lucy Delight from the safe house he had put her in with any haste. But he had nonetheless got her reasonably disguised and loaded onto the boat for the crossing. Her future was now in her own hands. Still, he hoped she would take his advice and live quietly in France until Red Martha was safely hanged for treason.