Lucinda also a woman addicted to excitement?
The incident on the church tower loomed large in his thoughts and reignited his earlier suspicions. He could no longer dismiss the idea that she might have been his assailant on that moonlit night—from what he’d seen of her, he guessed that she would be quite capable of riding out as a highwayman. But if she had dared such an exploit, and he still doubted it, what could be her reason? There appeared to be no motive—unless she was indeed one of those rare women who took risks simply because they were there, risks that could spiral into disaster.
He wanted very much for that not to be the case and a strong compulsion to prove Lucinda’s innocence bubbled into life. While he walked, his mind considered the possibilities. If he looked for the matching pistol in the house and did not find it, might that suggest the gun he had in his possession had never belonged at Verney Towers? Of course, she could have hidden its companion, but that seemed unlikely. Why would she unless she felt herself to be under suspicion, and he had been most careful not to betray his distrust. If the matching gun were in the house, he was as certain as he could be that it would be in Rupert Lacey’s room. He could only pray that it was not. Searching might prove difficult for servants were up and down the grand staircase twenty times a day. But this afternoon he could be sure that at least his hosts would not disturb him: Sir Francis was immured in his library and Lucinda would not return from the village for at least an hour. It was unlikely that he would get a better chance. He took a deep breath—he would do it!
* * *
He was about to walk through the cavernous entrance of the Towers when he heard hasty footsteps crunching the gravel. It was Fielding, wearing an apologetic expression, his hat being nervously passed backwards and forwards through his hands.
‘I found a saddler, my lord,’ he began uncertainly.
‘And...’
‘It took some time,’ the man said defensively, ‘but I ran him to ground in Climping.’
‘And...’
The coachman decided to spill his bad news in one burst. ‘And he’s too busy today to see to the traces, or tomorrow or the next day for that matter. The earliest he can do them is Saturday.’
‘Did you not mention my name?’ He sounded arrogant, he knew, but the thought of another five days in this freezing mausoleum was not a happy one.
‘Yes, your lordship, but he weren’t to be budged. He said others were before us and he’d take them in turn, earl or no earl.’
The servant looked scared and the hat was achieving a new momentum.
‘The man is a scoundrel, no doubt. Don’t look so terrified, Fielding, it is hardly your fault. You best send a messenger to Lynton to join us tonight. I cannot do without his services indefinitely. And a message to Lord Merrington telling him I won’t be joining his party until next week.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘How is your accommodation?’
‘It’s comfortable enough.’ The servant’s tone was diffident.
‘I am sure they would be happy to house you here if you would prefer, though I doubt you’ll find this creaking place any more comfortable.’
‘It’s not the accommodation, my lord, it’s the clientele.’
His master looked enquiringly.
‘The kind of people they entertain at the Four Feathers,’ Fielding explained.
‘And what kind of people would they be? I noticed nothing untoward.’
‘With respect, my lord, you were there but several minutes.’
‘I took the Feathers to be a quiet country pub, rundown it’s true, but hardly a hive of mischief. What is going on there, Fielding?’
‘Nothing seemingly, leastways not that I can tell for sure. There are some locals, farmers and labourers, who drink there and they seem respectable enough. But there are others I’d swear who don’t bear too close an inspection.’
‘You interest me. Go on.’
‘People visit at all hours, for one thing. Some of ’em knock at the back door rather than using the front entrance. And Mr Partridge, mine host, entertains them in a private room where no one else is allowed. I wandered in that direction by mistake the first night and was told to clear off in no uncertain terms.’
The whole neighbourhood appeared to be infested with villains, Jack thought grimly. Aloud he said as reassuringly as he could, ‘What the innkeeper gets up to is not your business. Keep your head down and look to the horses. And make sure you get to that saddler! I cannot be on the road any later than Monday next.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ the coachman grinned. ‘Lord Merrington’s will be a piece of cake after this.’
* * *
Jack watched Fielding disappear from sight before he walked through the iron-studded door towards the enormous staircase which bisected the house. He leapt up its steps two at a time for he had lost precious minutes and must be swift. The first floor could be discounted. He had been given a guest suite there overlooking the rose garden, a vast and glacial room, and his host’s chamber was at the opposite end of the same landing. But he was not interested in Francis Devereux’s room either; his goal lay above.
He began the climb to the next floor where he knew Lucinda had her bedroom; it was a good bet that her brother’s was not too far away. His search began with more than a few false starts, opening door after door to enough spare rooms to house a battalion of men. At the end of the corridor he found himself standing at last on the threshold of an occupied room. It was hers and surprisingly bare—the furnishings as with the rest of the house had seen better days, but it was the absence of pictures, trinkets, mementoes that struck him. It was a room to sleep in and nothing more. She could never have felt sufficiently at home in this house to make a haven for herself. He closed the door quietly behind him. Where next? Working on the same principle as the floor below, he guessed that the room at the far end of the landing would be Rupert’s.
He was right. Here and there were suggestions of a male occupant—a silver snuff box, a pair of driving gloves, several discarded cravats—but the room had a forsaken air and it was clear that no one had slept there for many months. He considered where best to begin. It should not take long if the cupboards and drawers were as bare as the rest of the room. He must search rapidly, he told himself, for at any time he might be interrupted. He walked towards the large mahogany cupboard which had been rammed hard against the exterior wall of the building and tugged at its door. It resisted. Locked! Why lock a cupboard unless there was something you wished to hide? He considered what best to do. He could look for a key, but it was unlikely he would find one. Or he could break down the heavy wooden door—he had the strength—but he was reluctant to do so. The noise might bring people running; the carnage would certainly advertise that someone had been here. But his desire to know, to absolve Lucinda of any wrongdoing, had become insistent. He moved away from the cupboard and bunched his shoulders ready to ram the door. Then he saw it—an unmistakable shadow on the opposite wall. Two shadows, in fact, shadows which clearly traced the outline of crossed pistols. There had been guns hanging from that wall and what guns would decorate a young man’s bedroom but a treasured pair of duelling pistols—pistols which were no longer there? He was sure that if he fetched the weapon he held in his room, it would fit the shadow precisely. His heart sank. He had not been wrong about the horse or the gun. They both belonged here at Verney Towers.
‘What exactly do you think you are you doing?’ Lucinda was in the doorway and her voice was ice, freezing him where he stood. He needed to think quickly.
‘I hoped that you would not mind my small intrusion. This room affords a spectacular view of the Downs.’
Her face was a study of disbelief. ‘Have you not had your fill of landscape?’
‘I am a lover of nature! You were kind enough to show me the splendid vista to the coast and I
thought to glimpse something of the countryside which lies north.’
‘Whatever your reason, you are trespassing.’ The curt tone cut his eulogising short.
‘That is certainly not my intention, I assure you. The room was empty and appeared not to have been inhabited for some time.’
‘You are mistaken, Lord Frensham. The room belongs to my brother and is private.’
‘Jack’ had disappeared, he noted. She was very angry.
‘I had not realised. I assumed your brother no longer lived at the Towers. I hope you can forgive my small mistake.’
‘A small mistake?’ There was no doubting the fury in her voice. ‘I do not know what manners pertain in town society, my lord, but here you are trespassing.’
‘Then please accept my sincere apologies and believe me when I say I had no wish to upset you.’
‘You haven’t.’ She nodded at him coldly and stood back for him to leave.
But he knew that he had. He had not missed her
furtive glance towards the incriminating wall, or the flinch when she saw the outline of those missing guns. He had found what he had searched for and he wished that he hadn’t.
Chapter Four
Molly was in the bedroom, brushing the velvet riding habit into smartness, and looked up smilingly as she saw her mistress enter.
‘I thought you might still be walking with the earl, Miss Lucy.’ The maid’s romantic dream was not about to die easily.
But Lucinda was oblivious, consumed by her anger at Jack Beaufort for daring to pry and anger at herself for being taken in by him. He was a spoilt and arrogant man, she decided, but a dangerous one, too. He was used to getting his own way and she had encouraged him. She had relaxed her guard and allowed him to come too close. She had allowed him to put his arms around her and keep them there; she had even, dear God, wanted to feel his lips on hers. What had she been thinking? That was the trouble. She hadn’t been thinking; she had allowed her feelings to run riot and with what result? He had felt sufficiently at ease to meddle and snoop in the worst possible way. He had found her out! Or at the very least, he was in the process of putting two and two together.
She castigated herself for being so careless; she had been in too much of a hurry when she’d snatched the guns from the wall to notice the telltale shadow they left behind. But how could she have imagined that a stranger to the house would find his way to Rupert’s room? What had led Jack Beaufort there? He might have pocketed the pistol she’d dropped, but how could he have suspected a connection with Verney Towers? For minutes on end she sat motionless on the window seat, staring blindly into the distance and trying to make sense of this new disaster; then in a sudden movement she leapt to her feet. Molly’s gentle gossip came to an abrupt halt and she looked at her mistress in astonishment.
It was the horse, Lucinda thought, it was Red! She had ambushed the earl on the brightest of nights. A full moon had illuminated the clearing as though it were a stage set. He must have seen the distinctive blaze on the mare’s nose. Why hadn’t she thought of that? All he had to do was to wander to the stables and the evidence was there before him. How could she have been so stupid? Red had saved her that night, but now looked likely to unmask her.
What would the earl do? What could he do? If he accused her outright, her uncle might not believe him, might even think he had run mad. And if he tried to prove her guilty, what good would it do him? She had stolen nothing and both he and his coachman were unhurt. She was the one who had suffered; her wrist still bore the marks of his grasp. All he could point to was the inconvenience of broken traces and they would soon be mended. In a day or two, perhaps even tomorrow, he would leave the Towers without another thought for its inhabitants. Until then she must make sure that they were never alone together, that he had no opportunity to confront her.
In a few days, she would be safe. So why were her spirits drooping in this alarming fashion, why did she feel like a balloon that had been pricked and not seen the pin coming? The entire afternoon had been wonderfully exhilarating, that was the truth, and now she had come down to earth with a sickening crash. He had aroused her senses in a way that she had never known before. She’d found herself melting in the warmth of his arms, felt a wild tingle flaring over the whole of her body, little shoots of pleasure swirling in crazy unison with the thud of her heartbeat. It had been the strangest feeling, but she had not wanted it to stop. In her mind’s eye she saw again his laughing eyes and the grin which crinkled his mouth so attractively. It was fortunate he would soon be on his way, for he was dangerous to her. She must remember that, dangerous in all kinds of ways.
She forced her mind to repeat the small phrase several times. She had come perilously close to forgetting her mission and she needed to focus. When Jack Beaufort left the Towers, she must be ready to act.
‘Molly,’ she said quietly, ‘do you know how your mother was aware that Lord Frensham was travelling nearby?’
‘What do you mean, miss?’
‘Mrs Tindall told you that a stranger, a wealthy man, would be travelling in this part of Sussex. Not just this part—she knew his precise route. How did she acquire that information?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me.’ Molly looked uncomfortable. ‘Mother’s not involved, miss, but there’s more goes on at that inn than meets the eyes, you can be sure. She overhears things—Humphrey Partridge ain’t just a landlord, if you know what I mean.’
‘I don’t.’
‘The Four Feathers don’t make much money, yet Mrs Partridge never wears the same outfit twice,’ the maid said bluntly.
‘You mean Partridge is involved in crime.’
Molly took a while before she answered. ‘I couldn’t definitely say so, but not everything he dabbles in is above board, I’ll be bound.’
‘What kind of dabbling?’
‘The men he entertains, for instance. Mother says they’re on the shady side.’
‘Shady? Thieves?’
‘Mebbe. Leastwise people who know thieves, people who need to get rid of stolen goods.’
‘Are you saying that Partridge is a fence? Isn’t that what such men are called?’
‘I believe so, miss. And he runs games for money.’
The mention of gaming sent a cold prickling down Lucinda’s spine. Rupert would be here with her now if it were not for gaming. She must remember that if she were in danger of being dazzled by Jack’s charm. He’d had nothing to do with her brother’s ruin, but he belonged to the same glittering circle that had not lifted a finger to save a young man from his stupidity.
‘Gambling is not legal for a public house, is it?’
‘I don’t think Mr Partridge is too worried about the law. No one bothers him overmuch. Mother says...’ and Molly lowered her voice to a whisper ‘...that before the turnpikes were set up and made things difficult for ’em, the Feathers was a safe haven for gentlemen of the road.’
‘Then the tricorne Mrs Tindall found was a relic of those days?’
‘Happen so, miss.’
‘So Mr Partridge was aware of the earl’s journey, but how?’
‘He has spies all over the county, I warrant. When you think about it, he’d need them if he’s up to no good. Their news is vital if he don’t want to risk being caught.’
‘He won’t like the advent of a Bow Street Runner then,’ Lucinda said drily.
‘A Runner, miss?’
‘Lord Frensham has promised my uncle that he will send to Bow Street for help in apprehending the highwayman and I believe the Runner, when he comes, is to stay at the inn.’
‘That will put Mr Partridge’s cat among his pigeons.’ Molly gave a shout of laughter. ‘But if we are to have a policeman from London among us, thank the Lord you won’t be running any more dreadful risks.’
Lucinda didn’t reply,
her face deliberately blank. Her maid was instantly alarmed. ‘You won’t, Miss Lucy. You can’t!’
‘I must, Molly. My uncle is adamant that he will not help to release my brother and I know that I will never persuade him otherwise. I have to get the money for Rupert.’
‘But, miss, you cannot risk another ride. Lord Frensham is in the house—the man you tried to rob! And now a Runner is soon to be at large.’
‘The earl is already suspicious of me, so I would seem to have little to lose in that quarter. In any case he will be leaving very soon.’
‘But you can’t have considered...’
‘I have, endlessly. I cannot see any other way. Partridge has talked loosely in the past, he may do so again. Go to your mother tomorrow and tell her that we need information—just this once more. Then we will make our plans and this time I will get it right.’
The maid wore a despairing expression and Lucinda took her by the arm and gently sat her down on the bed.
‘I know this is a dangerous enterprise, but I have to do it and do it now. My uncle has refused Rupert all help and he is daily growing weaker, the earl is beginning to suspect and a policeman will soon be here. There is very little time. The next ambush has to work and I cannot do it without you, Molly. Are you with me?’
‘Yes, Miss Lucy,’ she mumbled unhappily, ‘you know that I would never let you down.’
Lucinda gave her a quick hug. ‘You are the best of all servants!’ She sprang to her feet. ‘But we must be prepared. The clothes may need mending—I believe I may have torn a ruffle from the shirt. And Rupert’s pistol must be cleaned and primed.’
Molly remained sitting on the bed, her hands working nervously in her lap. ‘But you dropped the gun, Miss Lucy, and perhaps Lord Frensham picked it up.’
Unmasking Miss Lacey Page 6