She had not mentioned Charles Pleasaunce’s or Rupert’s involvement, in spite of being quite out of charity with the latter. She had avoided explaining Alex Gordon’s precise role because—well, because she was not at all sure what it was, though he must be some sort of government agent. It was apparent that at least Mr. Jessup suspected the connection.
They were watching her expectantly, hoping she would explain further. “This is a very serious business. I was instructed to keep it secret because if it were widely known, foolish people might panic. But given that the official with whom I spoke may be out of town, and it appears someone may wish to harm me, I am confiding in you because…” How to explain that she could not go to her father’s home?
“Because you need somewhere to hide, Mistress Jane,” Mrs. Jennings said.
“Yes.”
“With no one knowing,” Jessup added. He, Mrs. Jennings, and Mrs. Harrow all looked sharply at Molly. “With no mention of it to anyone—not the grocer’s boy or the servants next door or a beau or family.”
“I’ll never say a word,” Molly squeaked. “I never did that time I went with you to look at carpets, mistress.”
“Which is true enough, as it took everyone by surprise when the new carpet for the bookroom was delivered,” Mrs. Harrow said.
Mrs. Jennings tapped a finger against her lips. “It would be easy enough to conceal you, if you could pass as a new maid. We wouldn’t mention you at all, but if someone chanced to spy you at a window, that’s what we would say. You’d have been hired to help with the cleaning, as Fannie left us to take a post in one of the grand houses on Grosvenor Square, where her brother is a footman. It would mean wearing a maid’s gown and cap and apron, but Fannie’s would fit you. And if you wouldn’t mind eating in the kitchen, for someone might notice if you took your meals in the dining room, which would look peculiar. Or you could dine in your chamber, of course.”
“On the top floor, where you all have your rooms,” Jane pointed out. “That would make a great many stairs for someone to climb with my meals. I couldn’t sleep on the floor with the family bedrooms: the light might be seen even through the draperies and reveal someone was in residence, other than all of you.”
“That’s well thought on, Mistress Jane. Though it will make it uncomfortable for you, as well as unsuitable, to live like a servant.”
“Not nearly as uncomfortable as I’ve been today, Jessup.”
“Ay, well, there’s that,” he agreed.
****
Alex could have fallen to his knees and kissed the filthy paving stones. After the fresh sea air, the smell of London assaulted his nose, but oh, he was glad to be home. They’d had rough seas and then been delayed by adverse winds when they were coming up the Thames. The brig Fair Weather was not notable for cleanliness, and the food was bad. Alex did not really enjoy sailing.
He wanted a good meal. He wanted a bath and a change of clothing and a comfortable bed and to sit in front of a fire with his feet up and a good book and a glass of brandy. He wanted to see Jane and explain. He wanted…well, no. He needed to see his father. Everything else would have to wait.
It was not much over a mile to Somerset House, where he suspected he would find his sire at this time of day, and he wanted to stretch his legs. It was unfortunate that he must present himself in filthy linen and shabby, stained suit—and smelling ripe, too—but it could not be helped. He was striding toward the entrance when a fellow coming out glanced at him and broke stride. He had forgotten his old friend Hitch-Shoulder.
“Here, you! Halt—” And Hitch-Shoulder sprang at him.
He had spent days in cells, days of playing the fox in Scotland, and far too much time on shipboard worrying about matters ranging from his own possible execution as a traitor to Rupert’s fate (or Jane’s reaction to it) to whether some Somerset House clerk would demand an accounting and repayment of the money Rupert had stolen from him. Salt beef and ship’s biscuit lay leaden in his stomach. He was desperate to explain to his father what he had done and why it had seemed the only thing to do. He could almost see his brother Edward’s pained expression. Ned was rising in the diplomatic service and never put a foot wrong. Their younger brother, Gilbert, who might one day be either a bishop or else merely a beloved vicar, would suppress a sigh.
Gordon’s fist shot out by reflex. His blow caught the man in the stomach, doubling him over. His next blow connected with Hitch-Shoulder’s chin, stretching him full length on the ground. Alex dropped his valise and ran like a hare.
He would wager the next words after “Halt”—would have been—“in the king’s name.” He must keep out of the authorities’ hands until he could communicate with his father.
He sprinted for his life into the entrance of Swan Yard across from Somerset House, almost knocking over a peddler with a barrow, who swore vilely. His immediate impulse was to get home. His second thought as he pelted over the cobbles was that the used clothing he’d bought in Burntisland would make him an object of suspicion in Bloomsbury Square. He should get out of sight and send a message to his father.
He swerved into White Hart Yard. It ended at Drury Lane. He turned right, then left to the Craven Buildings, going through their stable yard at the back, which debouched into Maypole Alley. Should he go left or right? Left would take him north to Stanhope and Haughton streets. If he went right…He hesitated, trying to recall everything he could of the area. It was one with which he was not very familiar. Maypole Alley led roughly north and south. If he went to the right, south, he would come either directly or indirectly to the Strand, a little way east of Somerset House. Not a direction in which he wished to go! But to the right, the mouth of the alley ended at some small street lined with old houses which must date back to Queen Elizabeth’s day. His several visits to New Inn, when he had contemplated without enthusiasm a career in the law, came back to him. The entrance of New Inn was in Wych Street.
His heart leapt inexplicably. Jane’s house. Refuge. He trotted down the alley, then turned east on Wych Street, past Lyons Inn on the right and New Inn on the left, to Jane Stowe’s house, with the relief a hunted fox might feel on going to earth in his den.
How was he to explain his tatterdemalion appearance, he wondered, tapping at the back door. He hardly looked like a respectable if poor gentleman hired to catalog a library. Not that his dress was in any way remarkable in this area. No one passing had looked twice at him.
As the door opened, a grumbled “It never fails! The chit’s away just when I’m rolling pastry” warned of an irritable reception. Then the cook’s round, ordinarily good-natured face stared at him.
“Mrs. Harrow, it’s I, Alex Gordon. I thought I’d best come to the tradesman’s entrance, given my—”
“Quick! In with you, sir.” She pulled the door wide and stood back to let him enter, shutting it behind him and throwing the bolts. Molly emerged from the pantry, tea canister in hand.
“Go tell Jessup Mr. Gordon’s here, girl.” To him she said, “You’re looking pinched, Mr. Gordon. As soon as you’re settled, there will be a bite to eat.”
“Thank you. Ah…I realize I am not correctly attired for a call. I must look like a vagabond.”
“Think nothing of it, sir. We all understand. Mistress Jane explained it to us.”
“She did?”
The butler appeared, followed by the kitchen maid.
“I’ll take you upstairs, sir. Mistress Jane will see you in the bookroom. The windows do not look out upon the street. These are unconventional circumstances and, I fear, call for putting aside some conventional behavior. This way, please.”
“I’ll put together a tray and send it up. Mr. Gordon, would you like ale? Or Mr. Jessup will fetch the brandy.”
“Ale would be most welcome.” How fortunate he had arrived when she was actually in the house. It would have been awkward to explain to the servants that he must stay until he had dispatched a note to her and she replied. Or perhaps they would have underst
ood: she had explained something to them. The question was, exactly what?
The library was well lit, with windows on two sides; two overlooked the little back yard, for you could not call it a garden. It contained a necessary house and was clearly utilitarian rather than decorative, though one corner sheltered a tiny kitchen garden and a tree grew near the back wall. Another window opened on the passage beside Markham’s house, but it gave no view of the bookroom door to anyone looking out its neighbor’s windows. The room had been rearranged also, with the desk and chairs as far from the windows as possible, out of any line of sight from the house on the other side of the yard. He mentally applauded the forethought which had suggested the changes. Jane and her staff were taking no chance of someone next door or in the house across the yard seeing someone in the room.
Jane stood tensely by the chairs, twisting a handkerchief.
“I will leave the door open, Mistress Jane.” Jessup executed a half bow to her and retreated down the hall on silent feet.
“Thank God you are safe. When you did not return by the eighth, I—Mr. Lattimer and I were concerned.”
Not a word about her brother? He thought of saying, “So you went to Mr. Lattimer then?” and dismissed the idea. Of course she had; he had asked her to do so, and she was sensible and not timid.
“I fear I have failed you, Mistress Jane. I was unable to bring your brother back with me.” He wondered how to explain what had occurred. Better, perhaps, to say they had been separated.
“Oh, Rupert! I suppose he would not let himself be saved from his error. That would be just like him.”
Evidently, she was not going to be grieved that he had lost Stowe.
“I think he was too frightened to trust me.”
“At least you are safe. I could never have forgiven myself if you’d come to harm through trying to help Rupert.”
“Thank you, Mistress Jane.” Did she feel a certain partiality for him, or would she have felt the same whoever had gone with Stowe? The latter, he supposed, though he hoped otherwise. “But why was my—Mr. Lattimer concerned? I did not expect him to worry over my being a little delayed. It was only that—”
Mrs. Harrow bustled in with a tray holding a pitcher of ale, a mug, a teapot, and its accoutrements, and a dish of cakes and biscuits. She set it on a side table. “Is there anything else, mistress?” He would have expected the task would be Molly’s. Either the cook was curious or Molly was not to be trusted to overhear even a word or two. Well! Molly did tend to chatter, as he knew from his visit to the house soon after Markham’s death.
“No, that will be all.”
As she left, Jane said, “Please serve yourself, and do sit down.” She poured herself a cup of tea and seated herself in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.
When he was seated and had taken a long draft of ale, he decided what he had meant to say, “—if I never returned, he would know why,” sounded over-dramatic. “The letter was intended only to supply a few bits of information I had not had time to report to him.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “For some reason, Mr. Lattimer believed Rupert was cooperating with you.”
“I wonder where he got that idea.”
“Apparently from you, Mr. Gordon. When he read the letter, he could not understand why you would think what he described as a simple errand should become complicated. He was quite surprised when I told him my brother had not confided fully in you. Then he asked me why I was worried.”
“May I inquire what you told him?”
“I gave him to understand that Rupert’s character is not strong, and he could not be relied upon if there were any danger or even inconvenience to himself.”
“Ah.”
“You lied to him, Mr. Gordon. Or at least misled him.”
“I admit it. But if I’d told him Stowe might not agree to inform the authorities there, the matter would have been handled differently, and there would have been no chance to get your brother out of the situation.”
She sighed. “Thank you for trying to help him, wretch that he is. I hope you won’t be in difficulties because of it.”
“Probably not,” Alex said. What could his father do? Dismiss him? A very fine, thorough raking-down was the worst he could expect, apart from the problem that brought him here.
“And thank you for bringing me word, sir. I think you must have come directly from shipboard? For I believe I see a smear of tar on your coat sleeve, rather than the dust of the highway.”
“I did. I did not come solely to let you know about Stowe, however.”
“Oh?” She blushed a little and looked down at the tea bowl in her hands.
This would be a good time to tell her he had come straight to see her, except that, unlike many young ladies, she would soon see through such a blatant falsehood and despise him. How could he have known she would be here? The truth was a better policy with Jane Stowe.
“There was a little difficulty. We were both taken into custody, though we were freed when Dundee went over to the Jacobites. Then after I burned the barn in which the muskets were stored, I became aware I might be hunted.”
She gave him a long look. “I think you had better give me a full account of your adventures, sir.”
Ah. Yes, perhaps so. She and her servants were so deeply entangled in the affair now, she had a right to know. Boiled down to the relevant facts, it hardly seemed so much activity could be described in so few minutes.
When he finished, she said, “They might well wish to avenge themselves, if you destroyed their arms. They must have been counting upon those weapons.”
He realized he had possibly not been specific enough. “…not by the Jacobites, Mistress Jane. Our own troops. Because they thought I was a Jacobite.” Perhaps they were not searching for him. The army very likely had enough to do in Scotland without pursuing one escaped suspected Jacobite. “The thing is, my arrest as a supporter of the Pretender was mentioned in the Newcastle Courant. So I may be liable to arrest here. I’ll write to…er…Mr. Lattimer. I merely need a place to stay while he clears up the misunderstanding.”
“Oh! Oh, dear. But Mr. Lattimer—” She frowned, evidently in perplexity rather than annoyance.
“As I’d been staying here to catalog the library, it seemed a logical place to take shelter.” He smiled. “Though I was a bit surprised your staff let me in, looking as I do.”
She was biting her lip. “I wrote to Mr. Lattimer this very morning. His butler told my messenger that he is not in London at the moment. Which may be true or not. You see, I am supposed to be staying with Mr. and Mrs. Lattimer at their country house.”
They regarded each other blankly. “Your cook said you’d explained to them. I wondered about that. What has happened?”
She told him. His tankard was empty and the tea was cold in the pot before she finished.
“This is a confounded coil. I cannot like it that Pleasaunce’s confederates have tried to seek you out. If you are already hiding here, Mistress Jane, I must find somewhere else and write to Mr. Lattimer at his country home. He should be informed of this as soon as possible, and also of my return.”
“I have already dispatched a letter to Mrs. Lattimer. She was aware of what was going on, when she and Mr. Lattimer escorted me to Hawthorn Cottage. If her husband is not there, she will probably know where he is. But, of course, I have not yet received a reply.” She chewed her lower lip. “I know it would be shockingly improper for you to stay, Mr. Gordon, but I think you must. To write to Mr. Lattimer, I had Mrs. Harrow take my letter to her brother’s haberdashery to have him send it with one of his boys. The boy came here to report rather than passing it through his papa. It is not a convenient way to communicate, but I did not like to send one of my servants, and I am not sure I would trust the penny post. Foolish as it may sound, men will gossip and take bribes, too, and if someone should pass on word that a letter from this house was being sent to Mr. Lattimer…”
“What admirable
instincts you possess, Mistress Jane. I would have done the same.” He watched her blush with pleasure before adding, “I particularly dislike that they found you, in spite of Mr. Lattimer’s precautions.”
“The thought makes me quite nervous, I vow.”
“While it’s improper, I think I must remain here in case those villains track you this far.”
“Your room is as you left it. I will have hot water sent up so you may bathe, if you wish.”
He laughed. “I certainly need to do so. I haven’t had a good wash since Stowe and I sailed for St. Andrews. I left a change of clothing here, fortunately. But I will sleep on the servants’ floor. That may make my presence marginally more acceptable.”
“I am already occupying a room on that floor, however. You were living here while cataloging the books, and you have returned, so you can resume your old bedchamber, and I will have Molly sleep in the second bed in my room.”
Few would consider that adequate chaperonage. If he stayed in the house, almost any decent person would consider that he had compromised her reputation, which would necessitate making her an offer of marriage. Not that he was in any way opposed to doing so, as he had never met a young lady he liked as well.
“If this house is under observation, the watchers may not know you employed a librarian to live in. Why should they? They probably were not set to watch until you and Pleasaunce saw each other, after I was gone. If they see a chamber not on the servants’ floor is occupied, they may suppose you are here and break in. But if they have heard one Alex Gordon was staying here, they might also have heard that an Alex Gordon was in Scotland in company with Rupert Stowe and was detained by His Majesty’s forces.”
“But if the watchers are Jacobites, that is no difficulty. They would think you one of themselves.”
“They may be aware I was not working on behalf of their cause,” he said cautiously.
“How—oh, my curst brother! Could he do such a thing?” But the question sounded rhetorical.
“Shocking language, Mistress Jane!”
“You are laughing at me, Mr. Gordon, but I assure you, if I’d had any idea he would betray you when you were trying to save him, I would never, never have let you go with him.”
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