by Jen Turano
“We need to get you away from here posthaste.”
Lucetta tilted her head. “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like what you’re about to say?”
Mr. Skukman moved to her side, helped her to her feet, and hustled her to the door. “Silas Ruff is causing a scene in the lobby, claiming he’s not leaving until he collects his winnings, which, as we both know, he believes to be you.”
“So Nigel told him I wasn’t being cooperative?”
“Indeed, right before he bolted out the theater door, which speaks volumes regarding the true nature of your stepfather.” Mr. Skukman stuck his head out into the hallway, looked both ways, and proceeded to pull her from the room. “Miss Edna Hickley offered to distract Silas while I get you on your way.”
“That was kind of her,” Lucetta said as she teetered unsteadily down the hallway, the teetering a direct result of Mr. Skukman pulling her along at a rather fast clip.
“I don’t know how kind it was since she is your understudy and has surely concluded that you might need to leave town for a while, what with the ruckus Silas is currently making.”
Lucetta came to an abrupt halt, forcing Mr. Skukman to do the same. “Leave . . . town? Really, Mr. Skukman, that might be taking matters a bit far. Why, the social season has just begun, and ticket sales have been quite brisk. Besides that, everyone knows that Mr. Grimstone, that oh-so-mysterious playwright of The Lady in the Tower, specifically requested that I play the part of the lead heroine. He’s certainly not going to be pleased if I abandon the role before the season gets into full swing. Why, he, as well as the theater, could suffer extensive losses.”
“Losses or not, Mr. Grimstone will have no say in this, Miss Plum. Quite honestly, given his obvious esteem for you and your acting abilities, I have to imagine he’d prefer to find out you’ve gone missing over finding out you’ve stopped breathing.”
“Silas doesn’t want to kill me, Mr. Skukman. He wants to acquire me.”
“You and I both know you’d never allow him to acquire you, and from what I just saw down in the lobby, the man seems to be on the verge of losing his sanity. There’s a look in his eyes I don’t care for at all, which is why we’re going to get you into a hansom cab and on your way to Mrs. Hart’s brownstone. Once you’re there, I need you to pack as quickly as possible. I’ll be around to fetch you just as soon as I’m able.”
“You want me to hire a cab instead of traveling to Abigail’s in my own carriage?”
“Indeed. It’s not a complete secret that you now live with Mrs. Hart, which means it won’t be too difficult for Silas to discover your direction after he learns you no longer reside in the Lower East Side. I’m going to try and feed him a false trail that will hopefully allow us precious time to get away.”
Before Lucetta had an opportunity to voice another protest, she found herself sitting in a musty smelling hansom cab, barreling down Broadway at a high rate of speed, the speed brought about from the extra money she’d seen Mr. Skukman hand the driver.
Feeling a little queasy because the cab seemed to be hitting every rut in the road, she tried to distract herself by looking out the window into the dark night, but with the buildings flying by so quickly, she settled for staring at her lap and breathed a sigh of relief a short time later when the hansom slowed.
Not waiting for the driver to assist her out of the cab once it came to a complete stop, she stepped to the ground, shaking her head when she realized Mr. Skukman had given the driver directions to let her off a good block from Mrs. Hart’s brownstone, a clear mark of how determined he was to keep her safe, even from a driver she’d most likely never see again.
Stepping back from the cab after assuring the driver she did not need him to walk her to her door, she watched as the man flicked the reins over the horse and drove away, turning his head every other minute to look back at her.
Waiting until the cab disappeared from sight, Lucetta began walking through Washington Square, turning and striding down a narrow path once she reached Abigail’s brownstone. Slipping around to the back of the house, she went in through a door normally reserved for the staff that led to the kitchen and practically jumped out of her heels when a shadowy figure materialized right in front of her—a shadowy figure that seemed to be holding a bat.
Reflexes born from living in the shady part of the city for far too many years had her hands balling into fists. But, before she could take a single swing, a familiar voice had her freezing on the spot.
“Miss Lucetta, what in the world are you doing skulking into the house like a common burglar? I was just about to knock you over the head with this bat.”
Her hands immediately relaxed as a gas lamp flared to life, bathing the kitchen in soft yellow light. “Good heavens, Mr. Kenton, you scared me half to death.”
Mr. Kenton, Abigail Hart’s loyal butler, stepped closer to her. “A situation that could have been avoided if you’d used the expected route of entering the house—that being the front door.” He cocked a white brow her way. “May I assume there’s a reasonable explanation behind your peculiar behavior?”
“I’m not exactly certain how reasonable my explanation is, but . . . I’ve somehow—through no fault of my own, I must add—managed to land myself in a bit of a dastardly situation.”
“Oh dear.” Setting aside the bat, Mr. Kenton moved to her side and took hold of her hand, giving it a good pat. “And here I was just telling Mrs. Hart this evening that things seemed to be a bit too quiet of late, what with Miss Harriet and Miss Millie out of the house now.”
“As circumstances would have it, I’m going to have to leave as well, at least until my dastardly situation gets resolved. I’ve only come back to say good-bye to Abigail and pack a bag.”
Mr. Kenton squeezed Lucetta’s hand and then tucked it into the crook of his arm as he steered her out of the kitchen. “I’m sure Mrs. Hart will have a few things to say about you disappearing into the night—none of them approving, I fear.”
“I’m hoping she’ll be groggy when I wake her up, so her disapproval will be kept at a minimum.”
“Oh, she hasn’t yet retired for the night.”
Lucetta came to a stop directly beside one of the ancestral portraits that lined the hallway, a portrait that seemed to be watching Lucetta with a rather stern look in its painted eye.
“Why would Abigail still be up? It must be after eleven.”
“Mr. Archibald Addleshaw returned from England only a few hours ago, and he and Mrs. Hart have apparently lost track of the time as they’ve been catching up and . . . er . . .”
Alarm was immediate when Mr. Kenton abruptly stopped speaking.
“And . . . what?” she prodded.
“And . . . I just recalled that tea is very good for soothing the nerves. And because of your dastardly situation, your nerves must need soothing, so . . .” With that, Mr. Kenton released his hold on her and headed toward the kitchen again, his gait remarkably spry for a gentleman of his advanced age.
“I wasn’t aware Archibald was expected home from England just yet,” Lucetta called after him.
Slowing to a stop, Mr. Kenton heaved a fairly dramatic sigh before he turned. “Mr. Addleshaw wasn’t planning on returning from England quite so soon, dear. But you can’t be too surprised by this turn of events, especially since the blame for his early return can be laid squarely at your feet.”
“Laid at my feet?” Lucetta repeated slowly.
“Certainly.”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
Mr. Kenton heaved another sigh. “You’ve not been cooperating with any of Mrs. Hart’s ideas in regard to your future, so . . . she’s summoned the troops.”
“I haven’t cooperated with any of her ideas because they’ve all revolved around getting me well settled with one eligible gentleman after another. I was hoping that if I ignored her outlandish suggestions, she’d lose interest in me and move on to another cause—one that actually needs h
er assistance.”
“If you would have consulted me about that tactic, I would have told you that by ignoring Mrs. Hart’s suggestions, you’ve simply managed to become a challenge to her.” Mr. Kenton smiled as he shook his head. “She does so enjoy a challenge.”
Having absolutely nothing of worth to reply to that, Lucetta watched as Mr. Kenton got on his way again before she turned and headed for the drawing room, Abigail’s room of choice when she was in the midst of plotting. Reaching that room a moment later, she stepped over the threshold and considered the two people sitting on a small green settee with their heads bent closely together, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth in front of them.
Clearing her throat when her presence remained undetected for quite some time, Lucetta smiled when the two heads shot straight up, right before two pairs of eyes blinked innocently back at her.
“Ah, Lucetta. I didn’t hear you come in,” Abigail Hart said, rising to her feet and hurrying to Lucetta’s side. She kissed Lucetta’s cheek and stepped back as Archibald Addleshaw, a distinguished-looking older gentleman with a full head of white hair, took her place.
“You’re looking lovelier than ever, my dear,” Archibald said, taking Lucetta’s hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Did you have a good evening at the theater?”
Lucetta smiled. “The performance went off without a single hiccup, but . . .” Her smile faded. “I’m afraid that after the show something concerning happened.”
“Overenthusiastic admirers annoying you again?” Abigail asked.
“Silas Ruff is back in town.”
Before Lucetta could so much as blink, she found herself sitting on the very settee Archibald and Abigail had recently abandoned, with Abigail sitting next to her, holding her hand, while Archibald sat in a chair he’d pulled up directly beside her.
She opened her mouth to assure them she was not overly distressed by the situation, but before she could get a single assurance out, Mr. Kenton returned with the tea. A moment later she found herself holding a cup of steaming liquid while Abigail, Archibald, and Mr. Kenton considered her with very worried expressions on their faces.
“Perhaps you were mistaken and Silas Ruff isn’t truly back in town,” Abigail finally said. “Why, after the embarrassment he suffered when he tried to ruin Oliver—in the midst of my ball, I might add—I would have thought he’d never show his face in New York again.”
Lucetta nodded. “I would have thought the same, but he’s definitely in New York—showed up at the theater tonight, and . . . I’m afraid that the unwanted infatuation Silas used to hold for me has evidently turned into more of an obsession.”
Archibald sat forward. “Why would you believe that?”
“Because Silas has gone to extreme measures to get close to me. He somehow managed to locate my stepfather—which could not have been an easy task—and then invited him to join him in a game of cards.”
Abigail sat forward as well. “You never once mentioned to me that you have a stepfather.”
“Considering Nigel, my stepfather, just tried to serve me up as a means of honoring his gambling debt to Silas, I’m sure you’ll forgive my lack of acknowledgment.”
“Your stepfather wagered you away in a game of cards?” Abigail asked.
“He tried.” Lucetta summoned up a smile when a look of pure dismay flickered across Abigail’s face. “Nigel has never been an overly intelligent sort, though, which is why I’m sure he didn’t think matters through properly. He has no authority over me, so he can’t offer me up as a means to honor his gambling debt. But by allowing himself to be drawn into a game with Silas, he’s given that reprehensible man an excuse to pursue me again. That is why I’m being forced out of town until Mr. Skukman and I can figure out a way to deal with Silas once and for all.”
Abigail shook her head. “You’ll do no such thing, my dear. I’ll hire guards to protect the house, and you know your Mr. Skukman will be more than diligent about watching over you at the theater.”
“I’m not willing to put you in danger, Abigail,” Lucetta began. “Silas Ruff is not a man to trifle with. He has the means to get his way in the end, and I wouldn’t put it past him to threaten those I hold dear in order to get what he apparently desires at the moment—that being . . . me.”
“But . . . where will you go?” Abigail asked.
“I considered making a trip to Boston to stay with Millie and Everett, but since I did mention Everett to Nigel, I decided that’s not really a viable option. I have no doubt that Nigel will turn over any and all information he knows about me to Silas in order to save that less than honorable neck of his.” Lucetta forced a smile. “I believe the only available solution is for me to board a random train and head for parts unknown, a solution that should make it next to impossible for Silas to follow me.”
Abigail lifted her chin. “Absolutely not. It would hardly be acceptable for you, a young lady, to travel the country on your own. And don’t tell me you’ll disguise yourself. Heaven only knows what trouble that could cause in the end.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We need to think of somewhere else to hide you, somewhere Silas would never discover, and . . .” She stopped talking, her eyes began to gleam, and then she beamed a bright smile Archibald’s way. “We’ll take her to Ravenwood.”
Archibald immediately began smiling as well. “That’s an excellent idea.”
Looking from one smiling face to the other, Lucetta frowned. “Where, pray tell, is Ravenwood, or more importantly . . . what is Ravenwood, and who owns it?”
If anything, Abigail’s smile turned brighter. “Ravenwood is a castle, located in Tarrytown, along the Hudson River, which means it’s not far from the city. The castle is well guarded, comes with its very own moat, and . . . the owner of this castle can be counted on to be discreet, especially since he just happens to be my . . . grandson.”
3
Lucetta was coming to the conclusion that she was more flustered by Silas Ruff slithering his way back into her life than she’d let on because . . . why else would she have agreed to travel in the middle of the night to a castle, of all places, and one owned by Abigail’s grandson, no less.
That Abigail was hoping Lucetta would find more than a safe haven at Ravenwood, there could be little doubt. But even knowing that, Lucetta couldn’t deny she was feeling less anxious the farther they traveled from the city.
She was, much to her annoyance, terrified of Silas Ruff.
Silas Ruff, even though he’d recently been accepted in all the finest homes in New York, was one of the most reprehensible gentlemen Lucetta had ever had the misfortune of knowing. He was egotistical, wealthy, and belligerent, and he did not understand the meaning of the word no. He was also turning out to be a formidable adversary, apparently determined to possess her no matter the means required to do just that, simply because she’d tried to dissuade him from pursuing her.
He’d started stalking her at the theater months before, sending her roses numerous times per week, as well as invitations to dine with him. She’d refused every invitation, and had Mr. Skukman refuse delivery of his roses. Instead of discontinuing his campaign to win her over, though, Silas had increased his presence in the audience, leaving her unsettled and actually fearing for her safety.
When Silas had been released from his position working for Oliver Addleshaw, Archibald’s grandson and husband to her very good friend, Harriet Peabody, Lucetta had finally been able to breathe a sigh of relief. His subsequent attempt to ruin Oliver had not worked in his favor, and feeling the displeasure of New York society, Silas had left the city for places unknown.
Now, however, he was back, and this time Lucetta had the unpleasant feeling he was not going to go away until he got exactly what he’d returned to New York for—her.
That notion was what terrified her the most. Admitting that terror was vastly uncomfortable and, quite honestly, set her teeth on edge.
She was a lady who prided herself on being utterly i
ndependent, but learning that Silas was determined to acquire her had left her feeling somewhat fragile, an emotion she didn’t care for in the least.
The very term fragile brought up an image of a sweet and delicate young miss, something Lucetta hadn’t been for a very long time, not since her father had died unexpectedly when she’d been barely thirteen years old, his death leaving her in charge of . . . well, everything. That circumstance had forced her to set aside her delicate ways, as well as the future she’d always been told was hers for the taking, and—
“I do hope you’re not too put out with me for arguing with you about the best route to take to Tarrytown,” Abigail suddenly said. “Especially since my route had us taking a tour of Sleepy Hollow.”
Taking a firm grip on reins that had gone slack while she’d been lost in thought, Lucetta smiled at Abigail, who was sitting beside her on the small seat of their brougham carriage. “There’s no need for you to continue apologizing, Abigail. I’ve always longed to travel to Sleepy Hollow ever since I read Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and now I can say I have. Besides, our detour only took us a few miles out of our way, and . . . how many people can say they’ve visited the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in the wee hours of the morning?”
Abigail shuddered. “Probably none who possess an ounce of common sense.” She shuddered again. “I really should have insisted Mr. Kenton accompany us on this madcap adventure. He would have sided with me on the whole stopping the carriage in the midst of the gravestones.”
Smiling, Lucetta shook her head. “I’m not so certain about that. Mr. Kenton possesses a keen sense of adventure, and I’m sure he would have been pulled by the lure of reading a few grave markers in the moonlight, just as I was pulled. But you know he couldn’t have accompanied us this evening, not with his being needed as an essential decoy in order to pull off Mr. Skukman’s distraction plan.”