At Last the Rogue Returns

by Adele Clee

  Lydia heard muffled voices. From the sharp tone and clipped words it sounded unpleasant. She clutched the sheets to her chest and waited with bated breath. Had Cecil and Arabella come looking for her, demanding the right to search the manor? Would the witch charge into the bedchamber and attempt to drag her home?

  Greystone entered the room. One glance at his dark, pensive expression and she knew to expect the worst. Teeth gritted, he stepped closer. She could feel the violent rage bubbling beneath the surface, kept at bay by sheer force of will.

  “What is it?” With a firm grip on the sheets, she came up on her knees. “Has something happened? Is something wrong? Tell me.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin.” He strode to the bed and handed her a letter. “Your brother’s coachman brought this.”

  The seal was broken, and so she peeled back the paper folds and scanned the first few lines.

  Each new word brought Panic’s nimble fingers one step closer to her throat until the bony digits clamped around tightly ready to choke out every last breath.

  “No!” she gasped. “It must be a mistake.”

  Lydia noted the crest pressed into a blob of red wax at the bottom of the missive, noted the signature she knew was her brother’s. Still, she could not believe he meant to follow through with his threat.

  “Unless you return to Dunnam Park today, I’m to meet your brother on Blackmoor Common at dawn.”

  “No.” Lydia shook her head. “Cecil is an appalling shot. The man lacks the precision required to flick a pea off his plate. No. You cannot meet him, Greystone. I shall do as they ask.”

  “Like hell you will.” The lord caught himself, appeared shocked at his sudden outburst.

  “But I must.”

  “You cannot surrender to their demands,” he said in a calmer tone. “You must remain here where it is safe.”

  “And what if by some twist of fate Cecil shoots you? What then?” An empty void opened in her chest when she imagined living without him. A sob caught in her throat. “I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you. I can’t … I can’t lose you now.”

  Greystone sat on the bed and drew her into an embrace. He kissed her forehead and temple, stroked her hair.

  “There isn’t a man in the country who can shoot better than I. Except perhaps Valentine, and I am lucky enough to count him as a friend.”

  “But Cecil … he’s not the sort who knows how to fight.” The man lacked the strength to tie his cravat. Walking in a straight line proved too difficult at times.

  “I won’t hurt your brother. I shall delope and pray he has a poor aim.” He cupped her cheeks and forced her to look at him. “We must find you something to wear. There have been other new developments while we have been exploring our soul-deep connection.”

  Lydia straightened. “Nothing serious I hope.”

  Greystone’s expression turned grim. “Mr Guthrie slept in the coach house last night. With the place in such a shambles, he wanted to start work early this morning. Just before dawn, he woke to the sound of voices and the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobblestone courtyard.”

  Lydia put her hand to her chest. “Someone stole into the stables?”

  “Four horses are missing, including Drake’s black stallion.”

  “Did Mr Guthrie see who has taken them?”

  Greystone sighed. “Dariell found Guthrie unconscious in the courtyard. By all accounts, he’s been out for hours but has since come around. Dariell is sitting with him, and Guthrie managed a few mutterings about the events, hence the reason we know he slept here last night. Drake has just left to search for the horses.”

  “Do you think this is connected to the fire in the barn?”

  A darkness passed over his features. “These antics are those of a schoolboy. Silly. Childish. A pathetic attempt to force me to scamper aboard ship and set sail for India.”

  “Then you must suspect Mr Gilligan, for he is the only one who might benefit from your departure.” She imagined the steward rather favoured his neck and had no desire to dangle from the scaffold.

  “Not the only person. My brothers would like nothing more than to be rid of me for good.”

  Lydia frowned. “Did you say brothers?”

  “Indeed.”

  “But no one here talks about your family.”

  “Probably because my mother was a respected member of the community, well liked, and I suspect even pitied. No doubt they believe her devil of a son takes after his father.”

  Greystone told her about his father’s affair with a two-bit actress, and that his brothers were illegitimate. He told her about Greystone Shipping and of his future plans.

  “Oh, it makes more sense now. I can think of only one reason why your brothers would come here for a card game. In bleeding Mr Gilligan dry, they in turn cast you in the role of heartless landlord and evil villain.”

  “Lord knows what would have happened had I not returned when I did.”

  Lydia’s heart went out to him. She wanted to make him smile, make his world a happy place, not one filled with liars and cheats and vindictive people causing problems. She wanted to love him with every breath, every fibre of her being. Never had she admired a man more.

  “Your mother sounds like a strong and rather courageous lady,” she said, wishing she could have met the woman who defied the gossips and held her head high.

  “To the world she was,” he said with an air of melancholy. “When alone in her room at night I fear it was a different story. But I was just a helpless boy then. Incapable of bringing her peace.”

  Lydia shuffled forward and placed her hand on his cheek. “Then you must strive to live a happy life in her memory.”

  A weak smile touched his full lips, and he covered her hand with his own. “Are you in any way related to Dariell, because that is exactly what he would say?”

  “No.” She chuckled, and then an idea entered her head. “But I believe we are to become better acquainted. Indeed, my relationship with your friend is about to reach new heights.”

  Greystone raised a brow. “Oh, how so?”

  “Because we must visit Mr Guthrie and take his statement. Because I have no clothes and Dariell’s tunic and trousers are the only garments sure to fit me.”

  There was something about Dariell’s clothes that gave one an air of authority, that made a lady feel as though she could tackle a world crisis. The soft material did not squash and squeeze her body into a ridiculous shape. She felt light and positively free. And she was wrong about the slippers. They were far sturdier than she imagined and cushioned the soles of her feet.

  Greystone gripped her hand and led her into the coach house. The smell of polished leather, hay and horses permeated the air. Mr Guthrie lay propped up on a trundle bed next to the fire while Dariell held a cup to the man’s mouth and forced him to drink the tisane or some such aromatic tea.

  Dariell cast them a sidelong glance, his lips curling in amusement when he noted Lydia wearing his clothes. “You had no trouble rummaging through my trunk?”

  “No, though I had no cause to rummage. I have never seen clothes folded with such expert precision.”

  Dariell inclined his head, seemingly pleased by the compliment. “Untidiness leads to a slovenly mind.”

  Greystone released her hand and stepped forward. “I hear you took a nasty bump to the head, Mr Guthrie.”

  “Aye, that I did. As I’ve been telling Mr Dariell here, the blighter struck me from behind but not afore I saw his accomplice.” Mr Guthrie winced as he pressed the side of his head. “Oh, it feels as though someone’s stamping on my noggin with their boot.”

  “The tea will help,” Dariell said.

  “Did you say you saw one of the men responsible?” Greystone asked eagerly.

  “Only from behind. He walked with his head cocked to the side, ran like the ground was too hot for his feet.”

  “You describe Mr Gilligan,” Lydia said, excited to be of some help. She would know the man�
��s quirky traits anywhere.

  “Aye, it could be Gilligan.”

  Greystone released an exasperated sigh. “Why would Gilligan steal the horses knowing he’ll hang for the crime? And why is he in Cuckfield? If the man had any sense, he’d have fled long before now.”

  “I’m not sure he was after stealing the horses, milord.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It looked like they were shooing the horses away. I came out to find the man holding his lantern aloft as if ready to hurl the thing. Happen they were to set fire to the whole stable block.”

  A fire in the barn, and now one in the stables.

  Clearly Mr Gilligan was out to cause trouble. But why attack the stables and not the manor? Had he thrown the lantern through the front window, the whole house would be ablaze, and they would have all most likely perished. Perhaps murder was a step too far.

  Lydia turned to Greystone. “I would wager Mr Gilligan is making mischief in the hope you will leave.”

  “Leave? It would take a damn sight more than that to beat me.”

  “You’re right. It makes no sense.” Lydia shook her head. “Even if you did decide to leave, the man has lost his position as steward and consequently all rights to be on your land.”

  Greystone snorted. “Perhaps he hoped to convince the villagers that the devil has returned to Cuckfield, that I’m so unstable I would burn down my own property. But even if he marks me as a rogue to help mitigate his crimes, as a peer, I doubt a magistrate would question my honour or my motives.”

  Dariell cleared his throat. “You are both wrong I fear. Sometimes the victim of a crime is not the intended target. Find your steward, and you will find the answer.”

  Greystone sighed. “If it were that easy I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  Dariell rose slowly. He helped Mr Guthrie cradle the cup. “Sip the tea until you have drained the contents.” He jerked his head to the door, indicating that Lydia and Greystone should follow him.

  Once outside in the courtyard he clasped his hands behind his back and simply stared at them.

  “What is it?” Greystone asked. “You’re looking at me as if I’m a boy of ten and have ripped a hole in my best breeches.”

  “I have watched you weave the most intricate plots to avenge your mother.” Dariell’s expression remained impassive. “I have seen you fight with the courage and strength born from a clear and focused mind. Yet here, you cannot see what is so obvious.” A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Love is a blessing and a curse, no?”

  Lydia glanced at Greystone.

  Whenever their eyes met, she felt such an intense euphoria it almost knocked her off her feet. These powerful emotions played havoc with one’s mind. Greystone occupied her every waking thought. She had given herself to him—a decision born out of love, not logic.

  Dariell’s words flitted through her mind.

  It occurred to her that she might be the intended target.

  “Perhaps Cecil had a hand in staging these incidents.” The words left her lips, but she struggled to believe them. But then her brother always looked for the coward’s way out. Yes, had he not said Gilligan was coerced into confessing? “Cecil is far too craven to meet you on the common. Perhaps Arabella forced him to make the challenge, and he’s turned to other methods to serve his end. Had there been a fire here, I would have had no choice but to go home.”

  Dariell inclined his head. “Miss Lovell’s logic is at least heading in the right direction,” he said cryptically. “But Fate intends to lead you on a merry dance.”

  Greystone clenched his jaw. “Then Gilligan must be closer than we think.” He rubbed his chin while lost in thought. “Close enough to receive communication from someone. Whether it be your brother or either of mine.”

  “Close enough to cause mischief here and disappear into the night,” Dariell added with a hint of intrigue. “There must be somewhere you have not yet looked. Somewhere that would not be an obvious choice.”

  Greystone shook his head but then his eyes widened. “There’s the old gamekeeper’s hide north of the stones, though few know of its location. It’s a ramshackle of a place. No sane man would spend the night there.”

  “I think any man capable of theft and arson is not of sound mind,” Lydia said.

  “Then I shall head there immediately.”

  “And I shall accompany you, monseigneur.”

  Lydia’s pulse raced. “I shall come, too.”

  “No.” Greystone clasped her elbow. “It’s not safe. Wait here with Mr Guthrie. I would like someone to sit with him until we’re assured he’s out of danger.”

  “But—”

  “Lydia, please,” Greystone begged. “I cannot leave here unless I know you’re safe.”

  “But my brother would never hurt me.”

  “Not intentionally. There’s every chance the shack is empty. In which case, I shall meet your brother on Blackmoor Common as planned and learn of his intentions then.”

  “No.” Panic flared. She had to prevent the meeting. “We have hours until dawn. See what comes of finding Mr Gilligan first.”

  “Then check on Mr Guthrie and I shall return posthaste.” Despite Dariell’s keen gaze, Greystone kissed her cheek. “In case you should be in any doubt, I love you,” he whispered in her ear, and then turned on his heels and strode away.

  Lydia watched him go, her heart leaping about like an excited child.

  Lord above, there were so many thoughts flitting through her mind she didn’t have time to think about what the declaration truly meant. All it took was for one of Cecil’s pathetic pranks to go wrong, and someone could well lose their life.

  But was Cecil really behind these foolish antics or had Arabella badgered him until he had no choice but to bend to her will? It would serve Arabella’s purpose if Cecil met Greystone on the common. As a widow, she could do as she pleased.

  And what of poor Ada? The maid must be beside herself with worry.

  After taking a moment to bring order to the internal chaos, Lydia went to check on Mr Guthrie. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head’s still a little sore, Miss Lovell, but I’ll be right as rain.”

  “I’m going to find your wife and have her sit with you until Lord Greystone returns. When he does, can you tell him I’ve gone to Dunnam Park?”

  Cecil had a turnip for brains. Someone needed to shake sense into the man.

  “So I will, Miss Lovell. And I wouldn’t be worrying about Mr Gilligan. His lordship knows what he’s about and is a man what can deal with most things.”

  He was indeed. Greystone’s powerful presence roused confidence in his ability to do anything he put his mind to.

  “Yes, Lord Greystone is an extremely capable gentleman. In more ways than one.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nestled between trees and overgrown shrubbery, one would struggle to find the rickety wooden shed by accident. The place was empty, but not deserted. Inside, the makeshift bed of blankets thrown over a straw mattress confirmed someone had slept there. In an old battered chest, Miles found a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, a flagon filled with wine, candles and a tinderbox.

  Dariell inhaled deeply. “One must ask themselves why a man would remain here, living in these appalling conditions, knowing that the magistrate might seize him for his crimes.”

  Miles agreed. “Had Gilligan not used my name to cover his debts, I’d think he was hiding from his creditors.”

  “Perhaps he has creditors of his own, and I am not talking about a measly tailor’s bill but of something far more substantial.”

  “Gilligan stole from me for years to fund a gambling habit, but that still doesn’t explain what he was doing in my stables at such an ungodly hour. Theft might be the motive. He certainly knows plenty of unsavoury characters to arrange an impromptu horse sale.”

  Dariell gave a doubtful shrug. “It is all supposition, no? We cannot know anything for sure. We must find the
steward.”

  Miles sighed. He opened his mouth to reply, but a noise outside the wooden hide forced him to remain silent. Hearing the pad of footsteps, Miles pressed his finger to his lips and then pointed to the open door.

  Damn, they should have closed it behind them.

  “Listen. All is quiet,” Dariell whispered. “We must act now.”

  Miles nodded. They crept to the door and peered around the jamb, just in time to notice a figure darting behind a tree.

  “Gilligan!” Miles cried, racing out of the rickety shed in pursuit. “I know it’s you. Did you think you could hide from me forever?”

  Gilligan darted out of his hiding place and took flight.

  While the man walked with a certain finesse that belied his station, he ran like a molly. With arms held tightly to his chest and hands floppy and limp, he hopped over branches and darted behind trees. Had Dariell given chase they would have caught him in an instant, but his friend clearly thought Miles could handle the fool.

  Miles closed the gap between them.

  He grabbed Gilligan by the scruff of his coat and yanked him backwards. The man stumbled and landed on the ground with a bump. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Miles rounded on the fellow, wedged the sole of his boot between Gilligan’s chin and chest and applied pressure to his throat.

  “Ah, we meet again, Mr Gilligan. It’s such a pleasant morning for a stroll in the woods.”

  The steward coughed and grabbed Miles’ boot as he gasped for breath. His face turned beetroot red. His eyes bulged as he thrashed his legs.

  Dariell strolled up to join them. “Ah, you have caught a snake in the grass, no?”

  “A snake, a toad, a worthless piece of …”

  “Will you kill him here? Should I find a shovel?” Dariell crouched down, patted the ground and inspected the tips of his fingers. “The soil is soft. I say we dig here.”

  “No!” With a strangled cry, Gilligan hit out again. “Wait!”

  Miles removed his foot. “You have ten seconds to catch your breath, and then you’ll tell me what the hell you’re about. You attacked Mr Guthrie, planned to steal my horses.”