“No, Lord Everett. You did not distress me. I was already that. I simply do not know where to start looking.”
“I do,” he said. “At least, I have an idea.”
Evelyn stared at him. “How...how can you know?”
He smiled. “I took a guess? Not such a good idea with finances, mind you...”
Evelyn laughed and he gave a watery smile.
“Where do you think we should start looking?” she asked, reaching for the pot to pour some tea. She had hoped it would settle her stomach, but so far it was doing very little good.
“Well,” he paused, tearing another chunk off the bread and pausing to reply before finishing that, too. “I think, since there is only one way out of London that would be obscure and not attract attention, we should assume they went there.”
“You mean Marylebone Street?” Evelyn asked.
“Exactly.” he said it through a mouthful of bread, gesturing appreciatively with the remains of the bread in his left hand. Evelyn, who was usually fussy, could forgive someone so hungry bad manners.
She blinked. “That is very astute, my lord.”
He swallowed and blushed. “Thank you, my lady.” He looked down at the plate. “I must say, I...have come to like you.” He looked up at her, china-pale eyes wistful.
Evelyn reached across and patted his hand, a gesture that made him flinch. “I like you, too, Lord Everett. You are a true friend.”
He looked down at his hands. He swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
They sat quietly, and then Evelyn lifted her tea. “I think,” she said, “we should do as you suggest.”
“How, my lady?”
“Well,” she giggled. “What I think we should do is to head down the road to Marylebone Street, and go through on that course from the city, and follow it. We can see how far we go and see what would seem logical from there – we know they left mid-afternoon – probably closer to six of the clock, now that I think about it – so we can guess where they might have stopped when it became dark.”
Everett raised an eyebrow. “My lady, that is very sound thinking.”
Evelyn smiled. “Thank you, my lord. Shall we go?”
He looked around and Evelyn smiled reassuringly. “I think we have time to sit and digest that breakfast,” she added as she glanced at the clock. “It is only eight of the clock now.”
He leaned back, relieved. “Thank you, my lady.”
Evelyn grinned. She could barely believe her former mistrust – this man was delightful company! She impulsively decided she and Bronson should take care of him. She would invite him to as many parties and balls as she could think of, and try and introduce him to society – with help he could relieve his debts and invest wisely. He could also do with more company.
“I was wondering if we...” she began. His butler appeared in the door at that moment and knocked on the door jamb softly.
“My lord, my lady? Pardon me for disturbing, but...”
“Not at all, Hudson. What is the matter? Let's have it,” Lord Everett said expansively. Evelyn noticed that Hudson looked well-rested and a healthier color. He had been taken care of in the kitchens, too, she was sure. She wondered if she could arrange extra employment for him to supplement his non-existent payments.
“My lord, I had news from your house. It seems there is...trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?” Everett asked, frowning.
“Three cloaked men in the gateway. They refuse to leave. Say they need to see you...”
Evelyn saw him bleach of color. He stared. “Not them again...”
Evelyn raised a hand. “Hudson. Were the men dressed in dark cloaks?”
“Yes, my lady,” he said, frowning at her. “Like they all matched. Or so Suttner, our look-out boy, told me.”
Evelyn was already running to the door.
“What, my lady?” Everett was behind her, a gentle touch on her lower arm. “You look so frightened.”
“It could be them, Lord Everett,” she said, then paused, licking dry lips. “The men. The masked men. The ones who took Emilia...”
Graham Everett stared at her. “Masked men? Lady Evelyn...? I don't understand. Please tell me?”
Evelyn was already running across the threshold and down the stairs, chest burning from the action after little sleep. “I will tell you as we go. Now let us get there quickly...”
“Shall I ask Jarvis to ready the coach, my lady?” Her own retainer, Wallace, was in the hallway when they reached it, both at a run.
“No, Wallace. It's too slow. By the time the horses are harnessed up it could be too late. We'll take a hackney coach.”
“Let me hail you one,” he said quickly.
Evelyn donned her cloak and bonnet, wincing as she felt her hair tumble loose and whip in the wind. She could not help that, no matter how improper people thought it. Hopefully, no one who would disapprove of that was on the streets at quarter past eight on a Friday morning!
“Here we go,” Wallace exclaimed. A good minute or two of waving his arms had produced a result. An anonymous black coach was pulling across toward them, the driver already jumping off before it was fully immobile.
“Everett Heights. Hurry,” Lord Everett panted before turning to Evelyn and helping her into the open coach as if she were made of glass.
She smiled tenderly at him and he jumped in beside her. The cab driver climbed up and together they sped through the morning streets of London.
As they went, tense and worried, Everett cleared his throat.
“You promised me a story?” he said hopefully.
“The masked men. Yes. Excuse the fanciful appellation – I could think of nothing better to call them. When my cousin, Lady Sumpter, was journeying here, she was stopped on the road by men. They were cloaked and masked. Now, before you assume as I did that they were highway brigands, let me tell you what happened.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said with a smile.
“They said they wished to speak to her. One of them threatened her with dire consequences. One of their number rescued her.” She sighed. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this,” she added worriedly. “Lady Sumpter would be most upset – it was told confidentially.”
“I will not tell. Continue?”
She sighed. “I hope so. Well, in any case, one of them rescued her. Now, when she disappeared, she left a note to me. She intimated that she was with that man. The one who rescued her.”
He frowned. “That does not seem so bad? Surely, if he rescued her, then...” he trailed off and Evelyn protested vehemently.
“He is with them, Lord Everett! One of their members. How can we trust such a man?”
Lord Everett sighed. “You are right.”
As Evelyn said it, a thought occurred to her. Could she really trust the man she was with? Her worry for Lady Sumpter had made her override convention to the point that she was here, in an unmarked coach, with a stranger, her hair loose and disheveled about her. She had also forgotten her fear of this man.
She tensed.
“Here we are,” the coach driver called down. “Everett Heights.”
“Thank you, my man!” Lord Everett called up, already springing out. He reached for the fare and grimaced. Evelyn quickly looked in her purse and found it, then passed it surreptitiously to him. He gave her a grateful smile. Then they ran to the door and went inside.
“They're round the back,” Lord Everett explained as he gestured toward the rear side of the house. “They're trying to stop the grocer or the night-soil man or any other services that still call here.”
“To starve you out?” Evelyn raised a brow.
“Something like that,” he grinned weakly. “Intimidating me into giving up.”
“But why?”
“Creditors?”
Evelyn bit her lip. They hurried through to the servant's area of the house, heading downstairs to the kitchen. Evelyn stared around the space. It was almost empty, a cave-like space almost bare o
f everything, even basic equipment. She felt her desire to help this man consolidate more.
In the kitchen, they peered through the grimy windowpane that faced the back entrance to the property. Evelyn, standing on a box to reach the window, felt her heart sink.
She recognized all three men. It was the merchants. Sutton, Hargreave and the one she never did know the name of.
She turned to him. “It's them.”
“The men you spoke of?” he said hopefully.
“No,” she sighed. “Creditors.”
Lord Everett looked sad. “Well, then,” he sighed. “I suppose I can either stay here and wait them out, or leave.”
“You should come back with me,” Evelyn said. “And we should go quickly. If the masked men are not here, then what if they are at my home? If they wish to ransom Emilia, they would call.”
Lord Everett blinked. “True, my lady. But do not rush – we only just arrived here.” he pulled a face. “I shan't let this lot throw me out so easily! At least you should have some refreshment.”
Evelyn shook her head. “I have to go, now! Every second could make the difference between life and death for Emilia...” she was already running back to the entrance hall.
Lord Everett followed her down the corridor, more slowly this time.
She reached the front door and set her hand on the big brass doorknob. Lord Everett put a hand on her upper arm, restraining her. Evelyn resisted the urge to shake it off. She turned to face him, expression haunted.
“I must get home, I have to go! Now! Before something terrible occurs...”
“I cannot allow you to leave like this. It is not safe.”
“I need to leave now, Lord Everett,” she said, opening the door and rushing to the street. “I must hail a coach...” she was waving her kerchief to attract attention, and Lord Everett came to stand with her.
“Use my coach,” he said helpfully.
That was when Evelyn remembered why she had come here. His coach. The blue insignia.
“Your coach...?” she whispered it faintly, swaying on her feet. She had suddenly remembered why she had been afraid. Now she knew perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps she should have trusted her instincts and seen that the murderer was staring her in the face all along.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A FIGHT IN THE FARMLANDS
A FIGHT IN THE FARMLANDS
The blow had merely stunned Emilia, not incapacitated her. She opened her eyes. She was on the grass around the shady side of the stables. Someone was dragging her by the ankles.
She would not risk a scream, in case this time her assailant made her unconscious. However, she would not let herself be dragged away. She dug her fingers into the grass, feeling the wet grassy blades and thick stems in her hands, her fingertips in damp silt.
Whoever was dragging her sighed and pulled harder. She clawed at the grass and practiced the technique she had developed when playing roughly with her little brothers and Constance. Making yourself heavier. She let her legs hang, her middle droop, her body go slack from the waist to ankles, as heavy and cumbersome as possible.
“Damn you,” the person behind her panted. He let go of her one ankle and she tried to stand. Then regretted it as he grabbed her knee. He twisted it and she was too shocked to move as pain knifed through her making her eyes water. She screamed, then, and he hit her again, hard, trying to make her silent.
“Oy! What under Heaven...”
She heard a male voice shout, and saw feet on the grass ahead of her, her vision swimming with agony from the blow on her already-stunned scalp. The boots were dark leather, expertly worked, with a slight heel in the style of the British cavalry, and shiny buckles. She recognized them from a ride in a carriage. From a walk in the park. A night at an inn.
“Oscar..?”
“Get off her, you scoundrel...” Oscar was grunting, snarling, making noises of aggression that she had never heard anyone, man or woman, make in her life before. She heard a ringing blow and suddenly, miraculously, her ankle was free. She wriggled out of the way and lay in the shadows, too tired to sit up.
She propped her head on her arms, so she could see more than simply boots – a dark pair and a softer cocoa-brown pair – flattening the emerald-green grass.
She stared.
Oscar, compact and lithe, was raining blows on someone, snarling viciously in wordless rage and grief. She could not discern anything he was saying, but somewhere heard a string of sounds that might have been her name.
The assailant took a blow at his head, and Oscar grabbed his wrist and twisted. The man lifted a leg and kicked Oscar in the shin, making him cry out. Emilia crawled to kneeling, but her knee was bruised and agonizing and she soon collapsed back into sitting against the wall. There was no way she could stand. She wanted to help but felt helpless. She watched, frightened.
The other man was shorter than Oscar, dressed in brown. He wore a long white shirt which covered his wrists. He was wearing a hat at first, she noticed, but it fell off during the fight, revealing pale hair. He was wearing a mask.
Evelyn watched as Oscar directed a blow at the man's shoulder that made him grunt, but he brought his knee up again and Oscar made a sound of pain. She saw Oscar kick out at the man's ankle, but the man used his momentary split in observation to lay a hand on his torso, pushing him back. Oscar stumbled, but came in again. He hit the man in the ribs. The man leaned forward with the blow, and then raised his fist. He was aiming for the hollow place in the skull where her father's friend, a fellow military officer, had told them that a blow, just rightly placed, could crack the skull and kill a man. She saw the fist move on a line for Oscar's head.
“Oscar!” she screamed.
He turned. His skull was already swollen, one lip split and bleeding. There was a purple bruise down the side of his face, already swelling fast. His blue eyes met hers, wistful and full of love. The blow glanced by his head and the man leaned forward with it, off balance.
Oscar looked round at her, and then the man directed a final blow at his shoulder, and then ran into the forest.
Oscar ran after him, but came back a half a minute later.
He sighed. He reached Emilia and fell to his knees. “He had a horse,” he panted wearily.
Then he lay down on his back, looking up at the sky. Emilia, almost as spent, huddled where she was.
Oscar was panting, chest rising and falling. Emilia glanced at his ribs, where one of them was already swollen – she could see the swelling below the shirt and was suddenly afraid it was fractured. She looked down at his ruined, handsome face. She stroked his bleeding, swollen skull, hair slick with perspiration and plastered to his temples.
He made a sound and coughed, then spat out phlegm that was reddened with blood. He turned back to looking at the sky.
“Next time,” he said, and then coughed. He smiled. “Next time, if you want to wait for breakfast, do you think you could wait inside?”
Emilia could not help it. Bruised, aching and weak with relief, she burst out laughing.
They both laughed. When they had recovered themselves, Oscar wincing from his bruised and aching ribs, she wriggled forward so she looked into his eyes.
“Thank you. For coming back. For saving me.”
He grinned, blood drying and twisting the split in his lip. It was still the sweetest smile. “Thank you, too, then. You saved my life back there.”
Evelyn blushed. “Of course,” she said before she could think about it.
His sapphire-pale eyes met hers. He reached a ruined hand, knuckles bruised and bleeding, swollen to make it a non-human paw, and tenderly stroked her hair.
She leaned down and stroked his face. He winced.
“Now, my lady,” he said quietly. “Do you trust me?”
She managed a smile, though her whole body ached and her head pounded, focus blurry. “With all my heart.”
There, in the grass beside the inn, bruised and broken with the dew and sweat soakin
g them and birds calling from the trees behind, they kissed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SURPRISING DISCOVERY
SURPRISING DISCOVERY
Evelyn whirled to face the man whose hand was on her arm. “You will unhand me!” she demanded, pulling away. She was striding up the pavement, her ankles aching, her feet crying out in her walking shoes, when he reached her.
“What on earth is the matter?” Lord Everett said. He moved to stand in front of her, but she turned to go the other way.
“What did I say?” he called out brokenly as she whirled to head in the other direction. She reached a street and was about to cross when a light coach sped past, making her jump back. She turned again, but he was between her and the other exit. She stood.
“You said you would take me in your coach,” she called, eyes blazing. “You forget what Lady Sumpter told me.”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What did Lady Sumpter tell you?” he asked. “You mean, besides about the men who kidnapped her?”
“About those very men!” Evelyn shouted. She felt her patience fray. This man abducted her cousin. This man threatened Emilia. This man killed Lucian, Lord Sumpter. She spat. Her bonnet had fallen aside and her hair was around her shoulders, bright in London gray
“What, Evelyn?” he said desperately.
“She revealed the badge on the coach. The one concealed from view.” She was shouting and she was angry. “The one that was blue, with acanthus patterns around a central shield - your badge.”
Lord Everett stared at her.
There, she thought savagely. Let him digest that.
“But, Lady Evelyn,” he said a little desperately. “I don't own a coach.”
“Don't tell me tales,” Evelyn said coldly. “You just said you did.”
“That was because I forgot. I had to sell it. Months ago. What do you think I live off?”
Evelyn stared at him. “I don't believe you.”
An Earl To Remember_The Yorkshire Downs Series_Love, Hearts and Challenges_A Regency Romance Story Page 50