Gentleman's Master

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Edgar’s face hardened as Neville chuckled. Going to the dressing room door, the thief yanked it open and shouted Agatha’s name.

  Priscilla walked to the door and pulled it out of his hand. “Make that much noise again, and you will be sleeping in the hermit’s cave.”

  “Ye would not dare!”

  “I would not be the one banishing you. The lord or lady would. Their daughter has been injured and needs to recover. You being so loud will not help her.” She folded her arms in front of herself. “Or anyone else.”

  Agatha stumbled out of the dressing room, yawning. “Listen to Lady Priscilla, ye stupid man! Some of us worked ’ard today. Some of us should be sleepin’ instead of larkin’ ’bout in some public house.”

  “We weren’t larkin’ ’bout. We was askin’ questions.”

  “Did ye get answers?” She shook away the dredges of sleep, her eyes suddenly clear.

  “None, but . . .” Edgar took her arm and drew her into the main room. Putting his hand up to shield his lips, he whispered in her ear.

  Agatha’s mouth grew round, then she giggled.

  Priscilla glanced at Neville, not liking the sound of Agatha’s laugh. It was the one that meant trouble for them. He moved closer to her, and she rested against him as he put his arm around her shoulders.

  Edgar walked into the bedchamber as if he were the Prince Regent himself. Agatha followed, her hands on her hips when she stopped beside him.

  “Cross ’as more orders for ye,” Edgar said, as he locked eyes with Neville.

  “I assumed that,” Neville replied, “when I saw you with your heads together like two hens vying for the same worm.”

  “Cross was not ’appy that ye ’ave been findin’ ways to go off by yerselves without us.”

  “Pardon me?” asked Priscilla, shocked. “When was that?”

  “Why, when ye sent us to do yer biddin’ out in the garden, and—”

  “Be reasonable! A young woman was injured!”

  “Pris . . .” Neville tightened his hold on her slightly. “Logic and good sense are wasted on the Order when their leader commands them. Their minds go blank of everything but obeying him.”

  “Which is why ye were banished,” Edgar fired back.

  “Banished?” Neville gave a cold chuckle. “Are they still telling that story?”

  “Are ye callin’ ’im a liar?” demanded Agatha.

  Priscilla laughed. She could not halt herself. The absurdity of the conversation mixed with long hours of fear and no sleep had caught up with her. The thieves regarded her with astonishment, but she could not help herself. The laughs kept bursting out of her.

  She waved away Neville’s offer of a cup of tea while she gathered herself. Sitting on a bench at the foot of the bed, she said, “Edgar, tell us what new orders you are supposed to deliver. And you might, as well, explain why Mr. Cross did not tell Neville himself while they talked.”

  “Cross wants to be certain that ye follow ’is orders. ’e told me so ye couldn’t try to trick me as ye ’ave before.” He jutted his chin in a pose he believed gave him a sense of authority. He was enjoying what he perceived as his position of power. For the first time, she wondered if Neville had had any dealings with Edgar in the past. She would have to ask Neville . . . if they ever had a moment when Edgar or Agatha were not eavesdropping.

  “If Cross did not trust you to handle the situation, then he should have sent someone else,” Neville said as calmly as if they discussed a walk by the pond.

  “’e trusts me. ’e don’t trust ye.” His eyes narrowed. “Or yer lady. She ’as too many wits for a lady.”

  “Thank you.” Priscilla’s quiet response brought a grin from Neville, a scowl from Edgar, and a hastily hidden smile from Agatha who ducked her head when Edgar re-aimed his frown at her.

  “So what is it that Cross wants?” asked Neville.

  “’elp,” spat Edgar.

  “If you expect Lady Priscilla or I—”

  “Nothing from ye, Sir Neville. We want the lads here.”

  Neville tossed aside his casual pose. “Who in the blazes are the lads?”

  “My brother’s young sons who’d enjoy a chance to look ’round this fine ’ouse.”

  “We have no need for Tyburn blossoms here.” Neville laughed. “You heard Mrs. Betts. Everything must remain when we leave.”

  Agatha snorted. “Not much worth the risk of takin’ ’ere.” She hooked a thumb toward Edgar. “Listenin’ to ’im is useless. We need the lads ’ere so they can watch o’er ye when we cannot. Mrs. Betts was right when she insisted I come and ’elp ’er with Lady Rossington. If we follow ye everywhere and don’t act like the other servants, even a complete block like Rossington and his silly wife and daughters will notice. We need the lads, and we need ye to bring’m ’ere without causin’ more questions.”

  “Us?” asked Priscilla. “What can we do?”

  “Say nothing when the lads arrive with your fancy aunt and your children.”

  Priscilla was shocked into silence. All her fears coalesced into this moment. As Neville had suspected, Cross had known about Lady Rossington’s addle-pated decision to divert Aunt Cordelia from her original plans. Now the highwayman was going to use Priscilla’s children to slip more of his cronies into the house. Her flare of fury tempered as she wondered how was she going to explain “the lads.” She needed to figure out something that the Rossingtons would accept as the truth, something that would keep her family safe without betraying Cross and his cronies.

  “Pris,” Neville said quietly, “this may be the very guarantee that the children will get here safely. Cross will not let anything happen to them while they have value to him.”

  Before she could reply, Agatha said, “And ye’ll keep yer mouths closed when the lads get ’ere. Ye need to find a way to get the Rossingtons to accept them.”

  “Why do you think we will help you further?” Neville asked.

  “Because ye know yer lady would not look so pretty with a schliver in ’er.”

  At the threat, Priscilla stood and shifted toward Neville. She was not exactly sure what a schliver was, but the menace mixed with anticipation in Agatha’s eyes warned her it was deadly.

  “She has been honest with you,” he said, as he put his arm around her again, “and she is doing all she can to help. There is no need to talk about knives and more murder.”

  “Just as long as ye understand me.” Agatha glanced at Edgar. “All of ye.”

  Priscilla struggled to hide her shock. She had thought Edgar was the more dangerous of the duo, but she had been mistaken. Agatha had cooperated with her and Mrs. Betts only because doing so allowed her to follow Cross’s orders. Everything was spiraling out of control, and they were no closer to an answer than they had been yesterday.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “CONSTABLE KENYON is as useless as monkey grease,” Lord Rossington had repeated endlessly in the hour while they waited for the constable and the justice of the peace to arrive. Each time, Lady Rossington nodded, as if her husband had said something extraordinary.

  Priscilla considered rising with an excuse that she needed to rest after two nights with little sleep, but she remained in the sitting room. In addition to speaking with the constable, she wanted to meet Mr. Goodman again. At the Harriers Inn, she had acted silly in an effort to put an end to the conversation. The justice of the peace had been busy elsewhere since.

  They needed someone who might look at the clues with fresh eyes. Earlier, when Edgar and Agatha had been deep in conversation about arrangements for “the lads,” Neville had slipped out to the stable. He had found nothing out of the ordinary about the horse. He planned to go back again later to check the tack room and talk to the stablemen, but he had not wanted to leave her alone with the two thieves any longer.r />
  As soon as Mr. Goodman arrived and expressed his dismay to Lady Rossington and given his vow to make sure justice was meted out quickly—once the shooter was caught—he sat beside the baron.

  Priscilla took care not to glance toward Neville and Edgar, who lurked behind him, as Mr. Goodman said, “Attacks are now more brazen.”

  “Such a shame,” murmured Lady Rossington.

  “For those robbed.” The justice of the peace grinned widely. “The others at the inn sent the thieves fleeing by drawing their own weapons.” He laughed. “In fact, they said they heard shots soon after that and hoped that the low creatures had killed each other in their haste to escape.”

  “So I heard last night,” Neville said, “but the man I spoke with could not pinpoint even the direction the thieves rode away.”

  The justice of the peace nodded, but spent the rest of his call repeating what the baron had said. The two men agreed that getting rid of outlaws by any means would be considered a good day’s work.

  Constable Kenyon stood by the door, his arms crossed in front of him. Anxiety for Miss Verlyn and fatigue had seared lines in his face, aging him years in a day’s time. His eyes flashed with stronger passions than Priscilla had ever seen in them.

  When she set herself on her feet and moved away from the conversation, she went to the constable and asked if she could speak with him privately. He nodded. He was, she believed, as disgusted with the course of the conversation as she was.

  Constable Kenyon confirmed that when, as soon as they stepped out into the garden, he said, “They do nothing but talk. If I were given permission to gather men to hunt down the highwaymen, this problem would have been taken care of long ago. Instead they insist that the law be followed. What justice do thieves deserve? They give up any rights when they shoot someone who will not surrender a few coins. If Lord Rossington and Mr. Goodman had heeded my requests months ago, my dear Verlyn would not be suffering now.”

  “She will be on her feet by day’s end, if I am any judge,” Priscilla said with compassion. She had tried not to imagine how she would feel if Neville was shot.

  “That is the best news I have heard all day!”

  “It is most likely the only good news you have heard.”

  His lips tipped in a wry smile. “That is true, my lady, but even if I had been named the Prince Regent’s best tie-mate, I could not be happier.”

  “But this talk about so many highwaymen alarms me.”

  “They are like weeds! One is plucked from the earth, and two more appear in his place. I wish them all put to bed with a shovel.”

  Priscilla recoiled from his vehemence. “Take care that you do not allow yourself to be goaded into being as reckless as Miss Verlyn was when she rode in the dark.”

  “But don’t you understand, Lady Priscilla?” he fired back. “She should be able to ride on her father’s lands without fear for her life. These accursed thieves need to be eradicated.”

  “It seems as if they are.”

  “A few.” He pounded one fist against his other palm and stared across the garden. “Do not mistake my words. All decent people are grateful to whoever is slaying the highwaymen, but still so many take to robbery. I try, but what is one man against so many?”

  “But you are one, and that is why I asked to speak to you. It is of another matter.” She rubbed her hands together, then stopped when she realized what she was doing. She must not give any sign that she was not speaking the complete truth. When she and Neville had accepted that this was the best route to keep her family safe, she had hoped she could spin a web of deceit without betraying her distaste for lies. “I am concerned about the safety of my children. They are traveling in this direction, and I do not want to have them in the midst of a deadly battle between highwaymen and whoever is killing them. I would like your help to keep them safe.”

  “Certainly, my lady. I take great pride in my duty to keep the shire safe for honest citizens.”

  “I am sure she is pleased to hear that,” Neville said as he walked toward them. “I know that I am. Lord Rossington will be grateful to hear that as well because he expressed his certainty that you would make sure that Lady Priscilla’s children and her aunt arrive safely at Rossington Hall.”

  “I am honored to help.” The constable’s chest swelled when he heard the baron was pleased with him.

  She took the piece of paper Neville handed her. “This is the route my family will be traveling. You will recognize the carriage by the red spokes on its wheels. Along with my aunt are my two daughters and my three sons.” She saw Neville’s brows rise slightly when she padded the number of children by two boys. She had mulled over how to explain “the lads” Cross was sending with her family, and pretending they were also her sons had been the only solution she had devised. Neville had not been pleased with the idea, because it brought the Flanders children into closer contact with the young thieves, but he had not been able to suggest anything else that would do as Agatha had demanded.

  The constable took the page from her. “I understand your concern, my lady, and I will make sure everything goes as you wish.”

  “And I will return the favor during my conversations with Lord Rossington.”

  “What do you—” The constable clamped his lips closed as his eyes widened in understanding. If he was shocked that she intended to speak to the baron on his and Miss Verlyn’s behalf, he wisely said nothing. “Now that I have the route your aunt and the children will travel, I can arrange to meet them at an inn and escort them here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Constable Kenyon bowed his head, then walked into the house.

  Priscilla led Neville through another door and upstairs to the privacy of their chambers. Private, save for Agatha and Edgar, but Neville sent them to ascertain when the constable and the justice of the peace had taken their leave and in which direction they rode.

  “Why do you need to know that?” asked Priscilla, as soon as the door closed behind their watchdogs.

  “I don’t, but I wanted a moment to talk with you without anyone overhearing.” He hesitated, then slid the bolt.

  “They will be furious that you locked them out.”

  “Let them. We need to talk. You did well with Kenyon.”

  “He is willing to do whatever he must to persuade the baron to give him Miss Verlyn’s hand.”

  “I suspect he wants more than her hand.”

  She slapped his arm playfully. “Hush, Neville! If you make me laugh out loud, our chaperones will be back posthaste to see what is happening.”

  Sitting, he drew her down next to him on the settee. “Are you sure your aunt will actually change her plans and come here?”

  “I hope so. I will be glad when my children and my aunt safe behind these.”

  “Your children, most definitely.”

  “Neville . . .”

  He chuckled. “You know I have affection for your bothersome aunt, even though she would not own the same for me.”

  “She believes you feel that way simply to vex her further.”

  “Now you are beginning to understand.” He slipped his arms around her and brought her closer. “Sweetheart, I would never wish your aunt a moment of trouble even though she has heaped a mountain upon you.”

  “She means well.”

  “And so does whoever is killing the outlaws.”

  She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Everything they said or did came back to that fact.

  “However,” he said, “you have taken on another huge task. Can you convince Cross’s lads not to run off with the Rossingtons’ possessions?”

  “Anything, they say, is possible.”

  He shook his head. “Mayhap, but you are asking the sons of highwaymen to act like the brothers of an earl.”

 
“Once we knew that Cross was planning to send the boys here, saying they were my children was the only plausible idea I had to explain why they were in the carriage.”

  “And I agreed that it was a good idea, Pris, but now the Rossingtons will hold you responsible as their ‘mother.’ You shall need to keep them from riding roughshod through the house.”

  “I did not think of that.” She groaned. “Mayhap we should have come up with a different idea.”

  “Too late. This one is already in motion, and who knows? It may work out.”

  “You could sound more optimistic.”

  “I told you long ago that I would never be false with you.”

  Priscilla sighed and leaned back against the settee. “I despise lies, but yet I lathered the constable with them.”

  “From what I heard, other than gaining a few extra sons, you were quite honest.”

  “Quite honest?”

  “That is as close to the truth as you can be now.” He wagged a finger at her. “But you are stepping on dangerous ground, Pris.”

  “Mayhap, but the children—”

  “I am not speaking of the children, but of how you offered to intercede with Rossington on the constable’s behalf. I warned you about matchmaking.”

  “I am not matchmaking.” She paused and smiled. “Very well, I am, but only a bit. If I can persuade Lord Rossington to listen to Constable Kenyon—even if the baron tosses him out afterwards—I will have spared the constable and Miss Verlyn the unending heartache of pining after each other.”

  “No, you will have only postponed the inevitable. Rossington has his eyes set on rich husbands for his daughters so that he might live off their largesse. A constable with only a few months left on his service is not a proper match in his mind.”

  “Constable Kenyon might be asked to remain in the post for another year. Goodman seems to believe he is doing a good enough job, and who else in the parish would be willing to let the justice of the peace appoint him now? No one else will want to try to chase down a murderer with the highwaymen striking almost at will.”