by Mary Brendan
‘There’s a better life waiting for you than teaching other people’s brats for a living.’
‘There’s a better life waiting for you than pursuing criminals for pay you don’t need,’ Fiona shot back. ‘You, sir, are in the privileged position of being able to play at having a career and may stop at any time you choose. I am not so lucky.’
‘I take what I do seriously,’ Luke said quietly. ‘And if you think that money brings with it happiness and contentment, I can assure you it does not.’
Fiona sensed he was about to add something, but he turned from her, shielding his expression while pacing along the corridor. Puzzled by the change in him she thought he might leave without another word, but he retraced his steps. Cocking his head to one side, he stared pitilessly at her until, flustered, she blurted out, ‘I have applied for a teaching position and I intend to take it up. I would be a poor wretch indeed if I backed away from a new challenge before giving it a try.’
‘You deserve better,’ Luke returned.
‘It is what I want to do.’ It was far from the truth, but she’d bristled at his domineering tone. ‘It is what I shall do,’ she added determinedly, hoping to convince herself as well as him.
Luke extended dark fingers towards her, trailing a fingertip down the side of her forearm. ‘I want you...you know that,’ he said throatily. ‘Why do you persist in making things hard for yourself?’
Fiona threw up her face to the ceiling and gave a sob of laughter. So he thought it would be hard for her to bow and scrape for her pittance of a salary, did he? No...being relegated to the outer circle of his existence while he lived his charmed life with his wife and their children...now that would be hard for her.
Then she thought of Becky Peake and wondered if the brunette might get Luke down the aisle. Their attachment obviously ran deep and Luke must trust his mistress, too, or he wouldn’t have brought her with him on such a dangerous mission.
That led Fiona to reflect on another puzzle to which she’d not yet had an answer. Who had been in line to play the part of the duke’s daughter had Luke decided to carry on with Thornley’s kidnap plot?
‘You said you initially agreed to get involved in the duke’s scheme, so you must have had an accomplice who was prepared to impersonate Joan Thornley.’
‘I did...somebody I know...’ A corner of Luke’s mouth quirked in half a smile as he anticipated what sharp question might come next.
‘You chose to draw your mistress into danger, despite knowing the plot had so many holes in it?’
Turning his head, Luke squarely met Fiona’s accusation. ‘I chose to leave Becky in London, but she took it upon herself to follow me here. As a rule I work alone and the inclusion of a female accomplice was another reason I decided to quit the contract almost before the ink had dried on it.’
‘It was selfish of you to use your lover’s devotion to your advantage.’
‘Becky needed no persuasion to get involved. And it’s less a case of devotion than possessiveness.’
‘I see...’ Fiona murmured, understanding why his mistress would risk a lot to stay close and keeps tabs on him. The brunette was no doubt aware her lover had a roving eye. Fiona wondered if Becky had guessed Luke had attempted to seduce her. Or perhaps the woman was confident of her hold over him and believed he’d never fully stray. And so far he hadn’t fully strayed...at least not with her. ‘And where is Becky now?’ Fiona blurted.
‘Probably with my friend, Drew Rockleigh, travelling back to London.’
‘Did she go willingly?’
‘She’d sooner have returned with me, but she’ll find Rockleigh an adequate companion.’ Luke smiled slightly.
‘And if she doesn’t perhaps she’ll again come after you.’
‘If she does she’ll not find me so tolerant of her unwanted presence,’ he returned coolly.
‘You sound heartless...’ Fiona murmured.
‘You’d sooner I dragged her around with me?’
‘You may treat your camp followers as you will, sir. They are none of my concern and neither will I ever join their number.’ She’d snapped like a jealous shrew and Fiona forced herself in the next quiet moments to appear relaxed because his mouth had slanted in amusement.
‘My relationship with Becky is finished now. You’ve no reason to fret over her, Fiona.’
‘I can assure you I do not!’ The lie was rattled off as Fiona flushed to the roots of her silky fawn hair. She had dearly hoped to keep from him that she viewed Becky Peake as a rival.
‘Oh... I thought you’d be sitting with your friends, Miss Chapman.’ The landlord had barged backwards out of the kitchen door and swung about to face her. He was holding a tray laden with two cups of chocolate. Seeing Fiona’s companion, he gave a low bow, dropping the tray obsequiously close to his knees.
‘Major Wolfson...what would you like, sir?’
Luke glanced at Fiona, a wicked glint just visible beneath lazy lids.
‘Nothing from the kitchens, thank you... I’m just off to the stables.’
‘Ah, settling your shot, then, and on your way, are you, Major?’ the landlord said, disappointed to know such a flush fellow was leaving so soon. Every local innkeeper knew how free Major Wolfson was with his tips. Having batted a look between the couple he mumbled about taking the drinks through to the saloon.
‘Are you returning to London now?’ The question burst out of Fiona.
‘Eventually... I’ve a score to settle first.’
‘With the Duke of Thornley?’ Fiona asked with a frown.
‘No... I’ve said all I needed to, to His Grace.’
‘You’re not going after Jeremiah Collins?’ Fiona gasped in shock. ‘Why?’ Their differences now seemed unimportant; she was anxious that Luke might again risk his life rather than give up being a hireling. ‘I wish you would not go after him, sir. You are badly outnumbered by his gang and might be ambushed and captured.’ Seeing that her comment had not made him stop and reflect, she blurted, ‘Besides, if you provoke Collins he might spread dirt about me from malice.’
‘I’ve said I’ll take care of you in every way necessary,’ Luke returned quietly.
‘There are some things that cannot be put right with a pair of duck-foot pistols...or a gift of sovereigns.’ Fiona sounded exasperated. ‘I’ll not allow my future to become a game of chance, dependent upon men’s whims and favours.’
‘I’ll not abandon you, Fiona.’ Luke took a step towards her, a crooked smile softening his hitherto stern expression.
‘And what of Becky Peake? Did you abandon her? Will you renew your acquaintance with her when back in town and spread your time and generosity between us?’ Before he could answer she carried on, her tone now level and composed. ‘Thanks to you I’m on my way to take up my position in Dartmouth tomorrow.’ She evaded him by pacing slowly to and fro until he again propped himself against the wall, hands plunged into his pockets. She knew he was watching her from beneath heavy lids and kept beyond his reach. ‘You have helped me in putting my life back on track, and in return I’d like you to also have a future in front of you. If you pursue that fiend Collins...’ Her voice tailed away and she kept her back to him to protect the glitter of tears in her eyes at the dreadful idea of him being killed or maimed.
‘I came to Devon to rid the area of the gang and I’ll leave when the job’s done.’
Fiona pivoted on a heel. ‘But...you’ve cancelled the contract with the Duke of Thornley!’ she argued, coming closer to him in her agitation. ‘Why make it your business?’
‘Because it is my business and I don’t need a contract. Now it’s personal between him and me. And Collins knows it.’
‘Miss Chapman...come along, my dear, your chocolate will get cold.’ Betty Jackson had hove into view and seen the couple, face to face, in the c
orridor. ‘Do have another brandy with us before leaving, Mr Wolfson,’ she cajoled. ‘It will save my husband sinking the lot and falling asleep.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, but I’m setting off now.’ Luke turned a relentless gaze on Fiona. ‘Come with me!’ His demand was honeyed with persuasiveness.
Fiona drew a ragged breath, hovering for a second on the cusp between agreement and refusal before giving an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
Luke continued to drill his eyes into a crown of fawn hair as though waiting for her to change her mind. ‘Miss Chapman...’ he finally murmured, before stepping away from her and giving a nod that encompassed both ladies. ‘I wish you all safe onward journeys.’
‘And we return you the same sentiment, Mr Wolfson. Oh, indeed we do!’ Betty exclaimed.
‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’m sure you’ll see him again.’ Betty gave Fiona’s quivering arm a squeeze as the door closed on Luke’s departing figure.
Fiona mumbled something indistinct in response to the woman’s comfort. She was just overwrought with all that had gone on! she told herself impatiently as a tear trickled from the corner of an eye.
‘I know he likes you.’ Betty winked and tapped the side of her nose. ‘Just between us... I remember my courting days.’
Fiona bit her lip, realising that the woman was hinting she’d seen more than she’d let on when they’d all been outside earlier.
Chapter Sixteen
Cecil Ratcliff shoved away his half-empty coffee cup. With a look of utter distaste he picked up the piece of soggy toast on his plate, then in a fit of temper flung it to the floor. At breakfast time he desired eating broiled kidneys and poached eggs, juicy ham and freshly baked bread, not a slice of thinly buttered toast without so much as a dollop of jam to tempt the palate.
The woman he’d employed as a servant, since his wife absconded taking her maid with her, barely raised her head at the sound of his snarling. Dolly carried on sweeping out the fire, although there was no fuel in the outside bunker to bring in and burn in the grate. The scuttles were empty, too, and only a few small logs remained piled by the fireside. In an attempt to hide the gaping hole beneath the mantelpiece the maid continued scrunching up old copies of The Times and lobbing the paper balls over the fender.
‘Get me something palatable for breakfast,’ Cecil snapped, irritated that his servant had ignored his tantrum.
Dolly pushed herself to her feet. ‘Nothing in the larders, Mr Ratcliff. I had to cut the mould off that bread before I could toast it.’
That blunt remark brought a furious glow to Cecil’s unshaven cheeks. ‘Go to the grocer’s, then, you insolent chit. Tell them to send the boy round with every supply we lack.’
Dolly had only been with him for three days. Already she’d had enough. He was a mean swine who expected all the luxuries of home provided by a single servant for a pittance of pay.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Cecil roared as the maid continued swiping together her sooty palms. ‘You insubordinate hussy, get to the shop and put in my order,’ he bellowed.
‘You want goods from a grocer, you find yourself one who’ll take your order,’ Dolly returned shortly. ‘Every shopkeeper around says the same—they’ll not be coming back here till you’ve paid what you owe.’ Dolly pulled off her apron and flung it on the floor. ‘You can have back your job. I’m not surprised the other one went. You’re a slave driver, that’s what you are.’
Dolly was glad she’d not unpacked her things. She’d had an inkling she might not be staying long. Having stormed up to the attic room that had been her chamber for the two nights since she’d arrived, she jammed her few belongings into her carpetbag’s open mouth and was lugging it downstairs in a trice.
Cecil was waiting for her by the banisters, a faint smile turning down the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t you want to have your pay, Dolly?’
Dolly hesitated. Even if it were only pennies, it would come in handy. ‘If you want to give it to me, sir, I’d be much obliged to have it.’
Cecil nodded slowly. ‘I think you deserve something...’
As she reached the bottom tread he held out his closed fist, but instead of opening his fingers to reveal a few coins he backhanded Dolly, knocking her to the ground.
The maid was allowed to crouch, whimpering, at his feet for no more than a few seconds. Ratcliff hoisted Dolly up by her collar and dragged her to the door. Flinging it open, he tossed her on to the top step, then with a boot against her backside sent her crashing to the pavement.
On hearing Dolly’s howl Cecil slammed the door, then set off towards the drawing room with a satisfied smirk. Within moments he’d forgotten about the servant and was putting his mind to more important matters. There was not much left in the house to sell, but the small portrait on the wall would fetch something at the pawnbroker’s and Solomon had expressed an interest in seeing it.
Cecil gawped, open-mouthed, at the space where the picture had hung. He was sure that Dolly hadn’t taken it. For the short while she’d been in his employment the lazy slut had rarely moved from her warm spot in the kitchen. He glanced about at dusty surfaces on a few unattractive items of furniture that remained. Cecil tried to bring to mind when last he’d clapped eyes on the canvas, but since Maude had bolted, he’d been out more than usual and came home every night deep in his cups. He always went straight to bed and hadn’t set foot in the drawing room in days.
Maude... His thoughts pounced on his wife and his eyes narrowed. The woman he’d married hadn’t been the biddable mouse he’d taken her for. She’d certainly surprised him by running off. Perhaps she’d not fled empty-handed, but had stolen a valuable painting to speed her path away from him.
Spitting an oath, Cecil pulled out drawers in the sideboard and emptied the few remaining bits of silver cutlery on to the top.
* * *
‘Ah...Mr Ratcliff...back so soon,’ the pawnbroker purred, beetling from the back of his shop to welcome his prolific client. ‘Now, what have we this time?’ The elderly fellow slid his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and passed a jaundiced eye over the mismatched collection of knives, forks and spoons that Cecil had emptied on to the counter.
‘I thought you said you might bring a painting in for me next time, sir,’ Solomon mentioned.
‘Yes, I might...if I can find it,’ Cecil snapped. He didn’t like the fellow’s familiar tone. But Solomon paid good prices so Cecil bit his tongue. ‘It’s probably of little value in any case: very small and dull, and the frame is damaged.’
‘Ah... I know it, sir,’ Solomon said, lowering his eyes. ‘Your wife’s late husband bought that one from me some years ago.’ Indeed Solomon did know it and would have been very pleased to see it again. After he’d sold it to Anthony Chapman for a few pounds he’d realised it had been a Dutch master and worth a lot more than he’d got for it.
Cecil had picked up on the pawnbroker’s sly interest and he ruminated on the reason for it while fingering the silverware on the counter. ‘Mr Chapman knew about art, did he?’
‘No...no...’ the pawnbroker lied. ‘As you say, the painting is small and dull...unattractive.’ He shrugged. ‘But business is business and I take a look at everything. Bring it in when you find it.’
‘I will,’ Cecil said through his gritted teeth, pocketing the cash Solomon handed over for the cutlery.
For some minutes Cecil stood outside the shop with his head sunk towards his chest while he cogitated. Although it was easy for a person who didn’t want to be found to lay low in the heaving metropolis, he had a hunch that his wife was no longer close by. He imagined mother would have followed daughter; he’d not been able to break the bond between them despite his best efforts to divide and conquer. Previously Cecil had had little interest in Fiona’s whereabouts...but he did now.
Maude had only recently run o
ff so Cecil was confident that somebody in the coaching company would know in which direction she’d travelled. With a brisk step he set off to find the proprietor. On rising that morning Cecil had not been bothered about bringing Maude home, but suddenly he was determined to catch up with his errant spouse.
* * *
‘There is a gentleman below asking to see you, Miss Chapman.’
Fiona’s heart vaulted to her mouth. She’d been sorting through the few things in her travelling trunk, but now dropped the lid on it and gazed, wide-eyed, at the landlord’s wife. ‘Is it Mr Wolfson?’ she eventually forced out as her heart continued to batter at her breastbone.
Mrs Brewer shook her head. ‘He looks to be a well-to-do fellow and needs to speak to you urgently and privately, so he said. He wouldn’t give his name.’
Her disappointment at knowing Luke had not come back was subdued by a prickle of uneasiness. Fiona quashed her fears with logic; it was highly unlikely her stepfather would have discovered where she was, let alone put himself to the bother of pursuing her.
‘I’ll be down directly. Perhaps you would have one of the lads bring down my trunk. Is the Dartmouth coach soon due in?’
‘Should arrive before noon—the weather is as fine as can be, so I’m sure we’ll be hearing a blast of the horn soon.’ The landlady followed up the information with a reassuring beam.
Fiona followed the woman down some narrow creaking stairs to the saloon bar where a stout gentleman was standing with his back to her, his hat caught beneath an arm. He twisted about on hearing Fiona pass over the threshold.
‘You are Miss Chapman?’ he clipped out, giving her a sharp top-to-toe summary.
‘I am, sir, and perhaps you would acquaint me with your name?’ Fiona had bristled and taken an instant dislike to the fleshy-faced fellow staring at her through a pair of round spectacles balanced on his bulbous nose.
‘I, Miss Chapman, am your employer. Or I was.’ Mr Herbert strode to the door and closed it. ‘For your own good,’ he explained his move to closet them privately. ‘I doubt your reputation could be more damaged, but in the spirit of attempting to do what I can to help, I’ll keep what I have to say very quiet and concise.’