Gentleman's Master

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  On the other side of Neville, Edgar grumbled something.

  “Speak up, man,” Neville ordered. “If you have an opinion, say it loudly enough so we all can hear.”

  Edgar glowered at each of them, including Agatha. “Just said that ’twould be fine to ’ave such problems.”

  “Nothin’ ye’ll ever need to fret ’bout,” fired back Agatha. “Ye don’t ’ave a farthin’ to rub ’tween yer fingers.”

  “And wot are ye? Just a sukey-tawdry. All dressed up in fancy clothes, but a mollesher just the same.”

  Agatha clenched her fists and raised them. Neville jumped forward to halt her, but was knocked aside by a fist to the chin as she struck Edgar in the stomach with the other. As the thief doubled over, he cursed her between groans.

  “Enough!” Priscilla said, steadying Neville on his feet as he put his hand to his jaw. “Remember we are on the same side. More fisticuffs may play you right into the hands of the murderer. While you fight, he may be planning to slay another of your comrades.”

  Edgar and Agatha glared at each other. She ignored them as she asked Neville if he was all right.

  “All my teeth seem to be in place.” He chuckled after working his jaw again. Taking the lantern, he added, “Next time, Edgar old fellow, defend yourself.”

  “Better yet,” Priscilla said coldly, “let there be no next time. Agatha, no lady’s companion strikes someone with a bunch of fives. Her weapons are good manners and grace.”

  “Which Agatha ain’t got!” crowed Edgar.

  “Take that back!” Agatha snarled. “I be much finer than ye’ll ever be.”

  “Enough!” Neville had not raised his voice, but its intensity froze both thieves. “If you two want to bicker, do so elsewhere. Lady Priscilla and I have an appointment to keep with your boss, and neither of us wishes to be late.”

  The mention of Cross silenced the two thieves as nothing else had. Priscilla wondered what hold Cross had on them. She would ask Neville the next time they were out of earshot of the thieves . . . whenever that might be. He might know how Cross kept his minions in line.

  The path wound through the garden, lacing its way amongst statuary and urns where plants once must have grown. It had the air of a churchyard, abandoned by everything but weeds. In the dim light, a Cupid figure took on the aura of a demon. More than once, Priscilla gave an involuntary gasp when a stone figure appeared out of the dark.

  “Be careful here,” Neville said again and again as he pushed aside bushes that had intruded onto the path. Each time he held it back for her and Agatha to pass, then waited until Edgar could put his hand out to hold it for himself.

  “It would be easier t’go through the woods,” Agatha whispered.

  “That is because you know the woods well.” Priscilla edged past Neville, watching the ground that was visible in the narrow circle of light from the lantern.

  Neville put out his arm to keep Agatha back. “Far enough. You two will stay here while we meet with Cross.”

  Priscilla waited for the inevitable argument, and she was astonished when Agatha replied, “Right ’ere, but out of sight from the ’ouse ’n’ from the path, m’lady . . . I mean my lady. If ye need us, give a shout.”

  “We will.” She put her hand on Neville’s arm and began to walk along the path. When she heard footfalls behind them, she turned to see Edgar. “Sir Neville asked you to wait here.”

  He was not as willing to comply as Agatha. “Our orders . . .”

  “Are to keep us in sight,” Neville said coolly, “which you will be able to do quite well from here.”

  Edgar’s brow lowered in a glower. “If ye think to plot a way to break yer pledge to Cross . . .”

  “You shall be the first to know.” She kept her chin high, and her gaze focused where his eyes were hidden by the darkness.

  No one spoke, shocked by her sharp tone, so she turned and continued down the path. She had not gone more than a few steps when she heard Edgar and Agatha begin to argue. What amazed her was that Agatha urged her comrade to heed Priscilla.

  “That surprised them,” Neville said, as he matched her steps on the curving path. “They never imagined, I am sure, that a lady would speak to them with such a sense of command.”

  “It is a habit I acquired shortly after Daphne was born. When Leah and then Isaac came along to challenge us at every turn, the habit became only more innate.”

  “Don’t expect to shock Edgar into compliance again.”

  “I have no such hopes. Agatha, however, may be smarter than I gave her credit for being.”

  “And her counterpart may not be as intelligent as she is, but he has managed to keep himself alive thus far.” He shifted the lantern to his other hand and cocooned her fingers against his warm palm. “We can only pray that sense of self-preservation will continue, and he will heed common sense, even if you or I speak it.”

  “Tell me,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the others were not sneaking after them, “why does Cross frighten them?”

  “He is the leader of the Order.”

  “I know that, but just speaking his name scares them. Why?”

  “Just what I said. He is the leader of the Order, and every member of the Order has pledged to do what he tells them, even if it leads to death.”

  She shook her head. “That is crazy.”

  “You and I think so, but we are not members of the Order.”

  “You once were.”

  “And such silly rules were among the reasons I left.” He slowed and lowered the torch so she could see the steps ahead of them. As they went down, taking care not to let their feet slide on moss or broken stones, he added, “But it is a system that has worked for over a century. A share of what each highwayman garners is brought to the leader so he can use it to protect the group.”

  “A share? Do you mean stolen weapons?”

  “In some cases. Or it may be items that can be sold and the money used to help the Order.” His smile appeared macabre in the flickering lantern light. “Kenyon may not be willing to accept a bribe, but other constables are not so reluctant. A few coins placed in an eager hand can buy a blind eye to the Order’s members. Cross, as the Order’s leader, makes certain those ‘gifts’ are delivered to the proper people.” He held the lantern higher. “What do we have here?”

  She peered through the night. “What do you see?”

  He drew her toward what she had thought was a gathering of shadows at the garden’s edge. Behind it, trees rustled in the light breeze that toyed with the lantern’s flame. Were they whispering warnings? She shivered. This was no time for fanciful thoughts.

  “It is a hermit’s cave,” he answered.

  “Really? I have never seen a real hermit’s cave before.”

  He smiled as he set the lantern on a small shelf cut into the rock. The light spread out to reveal a small chamber barely deep enough for a man to stretch out. It was about twice as wide, and the roof was almost seven feet from the floor at the entrance, but closer to two feet high at the back.

  “And you have not seen a real hermit’s cave now. This is the ultimate in aristocratic snobbery,” he said, running his hand along the stones that were too smooth to have been created naturally. “Hire a wretched fool to play a medieval hermit and leave him here to grow filthy and bearded until his service is completed. Only then would he receive his pay, usually a hundred pounds per year. A not paltry amount.”

  “In exchange for what has to be a horrible existence of pretending to belong to a different age.” She flung out her hand. “There is no place for a fire to keep the hermit warm during the winter.”

  “If I had the choice between traveling the road as a highwayman or playing a character in a garden, I would select the latter with all alacrity.”

  “
That is easy for you to say when you have been both a highwayman and an actor.”

  “Among other things,” he said with a chuckle.

  She laughed, too, amazed that she could. This was the Neville she loved most. Self-deprecating and roguish, and eager to bring her a smile.

  “Is this where we are to meet Mr. Cross?”

  “You have a peculiar habit of addressing thieves as if they were gentlemen.”

  “I have found that treating people with respect earns me respect in return.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that with Cross. He is a law unto himself.”

  “Much like you.”

  “Do you think so?” He slid his arm around her and drew her up against him.

  “Most definitely.”

  When he nuzzled her neck, she quivered. Her arms curved up his back as her swift breath stroked her breasts across his chest. She thought she heard him murmur her name, but the throb of her heartbeat drowned out other sound. Guiding his mouth to hers, she leaned in to sample another of his thrilling kisses.

  Instead, he put his finger against her lips. “Shh! There is someone.”

  Priscilla was momentarily vexed because she had wanted him to be as consumed by passion as she was. She reminded herself Neville was like a cat. He could be purring and happy, but he was always alert for a change in the world around him.

  “There.” He pointed toward the left. “Sounds like more than one.”

  This time, she heard the soft sound, too, as more bushes rattled. When he eased out of the hermit’s cave, not wanting to be backed into a corner, she crouched next to him.

  “Did they see us?” she asked in a breathless whisper, because he had swept her breath away.

  “I cannot be certain.”

  “Is it Cross or whoever he sent?” She wished they had time to douse the lantern.

  “Unlikely.” Neville’s voice was even quieter than the breeze. “If it was Cross, why would he be making so much noise? And Edgar or Agatha should be able to see from where we left them. I doubt Edgar will obey my orders, but Agatha will be on the lookout. She would have given us a shifting.”

  “English, please,” she hissed.

  “A warning, and that was English. Just not yours.”

  She laughed under her breath. Trust Neville to find a way to tease her under the most stressing conditions! She guessed if he ever chanced to meet the devil, he would soon have Old Scratch slapping his knee and chortling at a jest.

  The bushes stirred again, and she held her breath. Thinking about the devil was silly when his personification in Mr. Cross could be coming right now.

  “There!” Neville’s voice was low but urgent. “Here comes Cross.”

  She looked where he pointed, and she saw a dark form emerge from the shadows to their right. Someone . . . or more than one someone . . . was coming through the bushes to the left.

  Light burst out of the night, and Priscilla winced. She blinked, trying to make her eyes work. To her right, she heard the unmistakable sound of a man’s curse. Beside her, Neville muttered an oath, then Cross’s name. The highwayman must be in the bushes. But who was coming toward them with the light?

  Four forms stepped out of the glare, and Priscilla came to her feet.

  “Lady Rossington!” She did not halt to identify the three girls with her. They were her daughters—middle ones, if Priscilla had to wager a guess. “What are you doing here at this hour?” She did not look to the right. If she did, mayhap the baroness or one of her daughters might as well and see Cross half-hidden behind a bush.

  “We often take a walk around the pond before retiring. It offers a chance to enjoy the fresh air while I instruct my daughters on the canons of society.” The lady stared at them, clearly puzzled. “And you?”

  Neville stood and took Priscilla’s hand. “I could not find your earring, my sweet. The moonlight is glorious, but it hides so much. Mayhap when I return in the sunlight, it will be easier to see.”

  “Don’t worry. It is nothing.” She put her hand up to her left ear. Was she wearing earrings? Yes! She drew that one off and shifted it to her other hand.

  “I promise you that I will find it.” He raised her fingers to his lips and slipped the earring into his own hand. When he looked at Lady Rossington, he bowed over her hand, too, with no sign of where he had secreted the earring in his sleeve. “You are right, my lady. It is a pleasant evening for a stroll. When I saw the lovely terrain of your water garden, I thought it would make for a romantic promenade for Lady Priscilla and me.”

  It was the perfect answer because the three Rossington daughters were clearly enthralled. Priscilla understood why when they peppered him with questions about where a lady and a gentleman—“and their chaperones,” one hastily added with a guilty look in her mother’s direction—might walk on a London evening.

  “Walking in London after dark is not a wise thing to do.” He assumed a grim tone. “There are many who lie in wait for the unwary. Cut-purses lurk, hoping that someone with a few coins will pass them by. Some hide in the gardens of lovely homes or beneath trees in the heart of a square. That is why even gentlemen will hesitate to leave a house on their own after dark. They have their coachee with them and mayhap even a servant or two.” His voice dropped to a more stygian level. “Most houses have their draperies pulled against the darkness, so you may believe you are seeing a haven when your eye is caught by a light. Nay, it is a glim, the dark lantern of a thief, luring you into his trap like a spider’s web.”

  The young women stared at him, transfixed by his story. At the same time, Priscilla looked surreptitiously toward where Cross had been. She was not surprised that he had taken advantage of Neville’s distracting tale and had vanished. She was sure he would seek them out later.

  When Neville added a few more dreary details, one gave a soft squeal. It might have been of fear or of excitement. Priscilla could not be certain, but she guessed none of these Rossington daughters would ever be found beyond the civilized lights of a soirée. For a moment, she considered asking Neville to repeat this performance for her daughters. It would be a waste of time, because both Daphne and her younger sister Leah knew Neville too well and would realize he was playacting.

  “He is gone,” Priscilla said under her breath as the Rossington girls giggled with exaggerated alarm.

  Neville nodded, so she knew he had heard her, but he continued talking with Lady Rossington and her daughters. His shoulders stiffened slightly, then relaxed at the moment when Agatha and Edgar came toward them. His keen ears must have heard them before they were visible.

  When Neville offered Lady Rossington his arm, the baroness accepted with a smile. Priscilla plucked the lantern off the shelf in the false cave. As she turned to join them, she paused. Something was crumpled on the ground. Was it a piece of clothing or something else?

  “Coming, Pris?” Neville called.

  “Look at that. What do you think it is?”

  Lady Rossington shrugged with indifference. “Rags left behind by Lord Rossington’s last hermit, I suspect. That was several years ago.”

  She shook her head. “Neville, please come and look at this.”

  “Of course, my sweet.” He arched one brow as if daring her to chide him for his condescending tone. “If you ladies wish to continue to the pond, we will meet you there as soon as I have assured my wife that everything is fine.”

  As Lady Rossington herded her daughters ahead of her, Neville quietly ordered Agatha to go with them and keep an eye out for Cross. Letting the Rossington women and the leader of the highwaymen meet was a guarantee of trouble.

  “And me?” asked Edgar.

  “Stay close and alert.” Neville motioned for the thief to follow him.

  “Aye.” He seemed, at last, willing to cooperate.

  Priscilla wo
ndered at his change of heart, but said nothing as she took Neville by the arm and drew him toward what she had seen.

  He squatted and examined what she now could see was fabric of a strange pattern of dark and light. He swore and pointed to an ebony spot. “Shine the lantern there, Pris.”

  She did and gasped.

  “What is it?” asked Edgar before she could find her voice.

  “Blood!” Neville said. “Fresh blood!”

  She looked around them, wondering who lurked in the darkness beyond their lantern. Someone had been attacked here. Would they be next?

  Chapter Ten

  PRISCILLA WAS shoved out of the way. Edgar knelt beside Neville, and before anyone could say another word, he lifted the cloth. He smoothed it open on the ground.

  Neville held out his hand, and she gave him the lantern. As he set it next to the fabric, he said, “Edgar, go after Agatha and find a way to convince Lady Rossington and her daughters to return to the house without delay.”

  “Use a pleasant way to persuade them,” Priscilla added.

  “Yes, a pleasant way.” He did not look up as he motioned to Edgar. “Hurry. They need to be kept safe. All of you do.”

  “Shall I take the lady with me?”

  “I just said . . . Oh!” He raised his head. “You mean Lady Priscilla? No, trying to budge her from here would be a waste of your time and ours.” He gave the thief a nod. “Come back as soon as you have the Rossingtons safely ensconced in their house.”

  “Aye.” Edgar rushed off, and the darkness consumed him.

  “Can we trust him?” Priscilla asked.

  “We have to.” Neville gestured toward the material. “This is not completely dry. Someone bled—hard and recently—on it.”

  “Can you tell what sort of garment it came from?”

  “I would guess a shirt because it is unbleached, although the fabric seems thinner than that. More like the gauze material of a lady’s gown.”

  “A lady?” She glanced in the direction the Rossington women had gone. “Do you think a lady was attacked nearby? We should send for Constable Kenyon.”