Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “Indeed, it does,” Evelyn gave a little laugh. “But being the young vicar is not always a bad thing. I have heard only good reports of you. Now that you are a father, the villagers are more likely to warm to you.”

  The vicar fairly beamed, smiling broadly. “You heard?”

  “I think everyone has heard,” Evelyn said. “What a happy event. Your son and wife both continue to do well?”

  “Bursting with health, both of them. There has never been such a wonder as my Nettie.”

  Mr. Wilson came hurrying to the door. “Mrs. Swinton, Dr. Alton come quick. Something dreadful has happened, and Mr. Rudge is nowhere to be found.”

  “Where could he be? We shall come at once!” Evelyn exclaimed, hurrying through the door.

  Dr. Alton and the vicar hurried along in her wake, neither of them speaking.

  What can have happened to him? He was sitting up in bed, but not well enough to get up. Is he better? Did something frighten him?

  Evelyn could scarcely breathe, her fear was so great.

  Chapter 43

  It was a fearful sight that met their eyes as they entered the small guest chamber. The bed covers were in a knot, as if there had been a struggle. The bedside table was overturned, and the clay dish that been sitting on it was shattered on the floor, spilling its grisly contents.

  Mr. McElroy was sprawled across the floor, his new leg broken into splinters. There was a large bump on his forehead, and blood was spreading from a wound on his arm. Dr. Alton hurried to him, while Evelyn paused in the door. “What happened?” she exclaimed in bewilderment.

  “That,” said Constable Morris, “is the question of the day. I was hoping you might have some answers for us.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I don’t. I saw them at breakfast, then I went down the hall to spend time with the Duchess.”

  “You’ve not been back to this room since?” Constable Morris asked.

  “Not at all! What about Mayson? What has happened to him?”

  “He was not here.” Constable Morris’s mouth was set in a grim line. “We can only hope that he was frightened and ran. The other possibilities are far more grisly.”

  “Such as?” Evelyn fixed him with a glare.

  “That he might have attacked Mr. McElroy.”

  “I hardly think that likely,” she said tartly.

  “Or that they were both attacked, which is more likely, and that Mr. Rudge was harmed, and then bodily carried away.”

  “You will find him?” Evelyn could hear the distress in her own voice.

  “We will do our best,” Constable Morris said. “We will start a search immediately. But Mrs. Swinton, with scarcely any information to go on, we will have a hard time of it.”

  Betty appeared at the doorway. “Mrs. Swinton, the Duchess… Oh, dear Lord! What happened here?”

  “That is what we are trying to determine,” Constable Morris said. “Mrs. Swinton, go on back to the Duchess. We will come talk with you directly. We need to clear the room so that Dr. Alton can work with Mr. McElroy.”

  “Come on, please, Mrs. Swinton,” Betty tugged at her arm. “We’s just in the way here.”

  Reluctantly, Evelyn let Betty draw her away, but not without one distressed backward glance.

  “I will come to you as soon as I know anything,” Constable Morris said. “We will find him, Mrs. Swinton.”

  Evelyn entered the Duchess’ drawing room as if she were a puppet on strings and sat down on the ottoman.

  “What is it, Mrs. Swinton?” the Duchess asked in alarm. “What has happened?”

  “Mr. Rudge is gone, and Mr. McElroy is dreadfully injured.” Evelyn buried her face in her hands, and tried to pull herself together.

  “But how can this be? Did you not just see them both at breakfast?”

  “I did, and now… Oh, Your Grace I am so dreadfully frightened for Mayson.”

  “Oh, my dear. I am sure you are. But this is all very strange, Mrs. Swinton. Why should a cook, even a cook as excellent as Mr. Rudge, be a target of so much malice?”

  A sob escaped Evelyn. “It is all my fault.”

  “Your fault, Mrs. Swinton? But that makes no sense either. Come, come my dear. How can it possibly be your fault if you have been here with me all morning?”

  “I will be breaking a confidence if I tell you,” Evelyn looked up at the Duchess. Her tear-streaked face was so pale it appeared bloodless.

  “While I would normally endorse keeping secrets secret, this is hardly the time to keep something to yourself if it can help get to the bottom of this, Mrs. Swinton. Consider me your confessor. I will keep your secrets.”

  “It is not my secret.” Evelyn scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

  “Evelyn, dear child,” the Duchess said gently, “If you can shed some light on all these strange happenings, then you should. Tell me, at least, and I will be the judge of whether it needs to be told to others. If it should, I will also sift those who should know from those who should not.”

  To tell or not to tell? If Mayson has been harmed, if the knowledge could save him, I hardly know what to do.

  The war within her must have shown on Evelyn’s face for the Duchess said gently, “I would never tell anything that would harm either of you.”

  Evelyn pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve, wiped her eyes and nose, before folding it and tucking it away again.

  “Very well, Your Grace. I must trust someone. Mayson is not quite who he has appeared to be.”

  “Aha! I knew it! Say on, Mrs. Swinton.”

  Evelyn tried to think of the best way to say it. “His name, Your Grace, is Mayson Rutley.”

  “Rutley! He is the lost heir?”

  Evelyn nodded. “He feared for his life, so he faked his own death shortly before he was to come into his majority. But now…”

  “Now?” the Duchess prompted.

  “Now, he has been unhappy about the way the people at Hillsworth have been treated. And about how tumbledown it has become.”

  “I see,” said the Duchess. “but how does that become the tale of mayhem and mishap that has developed for the last few weeks? And how can it be your fault?”

  “It is my fault because I encouraged him to begin to take steps to claim his inheritance, Your Grace. He has a friend who is a magistrate. After Mayson went to him to begin the process of proving his identity and taking his rightful place, the accidents began to happen.”

  “I see.” The Duchess tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Was this also about the time that the broadside advertising a reward for locating the heir came out?”

  “Why, yes, Your Grace. I believe it was.”

  “Now that is very interesting. This curious tale might have more than one branch to it, and perhaps a few red herrings, as well. Send for the constable. He, at least, should hear this.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Evelyn rose and tugged on the bell pull.

  Mr. Wilson came to the door. “You rang?” he asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Wilson. Please send the constable up to me. There is something he should hear.”

  When Mr. Wilson had departed, Evelyn said, “There is something else you should know, Your Grace.”

  “What is that, my dear?”

  “Yesterday, he decided to give it all up. As soon as he is well enough, we plan to travel to New South Wales to begin a new life.”

  “Good gracious!” the Duchess exclaimed. “I thought you were both happy here.”

  “We were. We are, Your Grace. But Mayson felt that his presence is endangering the household. Much as I love working here, I could not let him go alone.”

  “Of course you could not,” the Duchess agreed. “I should be loath to lose either of you, but I would not stand in the way of such love as I have seen developing between the two of you. I had hoped that I would have both of you continuing on as part of the household.”

  “I know, Your Grace. We might have been glad to do so, had not this unknown pers
on begun creating situations that endanger the everyone.”

  “That intolerable situation must stop, of course,” the Duchess said firmly. “That is why we shall speak with the constable.”

  There came a tap at the door. “Come in,” the Duchess called.

  The constable entered the room.

  “Constable Morris, Mrs. Swinton has something she needs to tell you.” The Duchess looked around at the servants and the other gentlemen who had entered the room with Constable Morris. “Clear the room, please.”

  When the last extra person had left the room, the Duchess turned to Evelyn. “Tell the Constable what you just told me.”

  Evelyn gave one little hiccupping sob, and recounted her story again, this time in more detail.

  “So,” the Constable said slowly, “Mr. Rudge proposed to you. Then when you accepted, he revealed that his name is more correctly Mr. Rutley, or Lord Hillsworth. He showed you a crescent moon birthmark which indicates that he is rightfully the Earl of Hillsworth. Is that what I am hearing?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Yes, Constable Morris.”

  The constable stood up, looked as if he would like to pace the floor, but since there was no room, he walked around his chair and sat back down. “Is there anyone besides his uncle who could vouch for his true identity?”

  “Why, if he really does have the birthmark, I suppose I could,” the Duchess said. “I have not seen him since he was a tiny child. Not knowingly, anyway, and I had no reason to inspect my favorite cook’s wrist to look for markings.”

  “How would you know about it?” Constable Morris asked.

  “George and I were visiting—George was the late Duke—when the Rutley baby was about two years of age. He fell down and skinned the palm of his hand. I used my handkerchief to bind up his wound until we could take him inside and deliver him to his nurse. I suspect she would know him, too, if we could find her.”

  “Was she an older woman?”

  “Dear, no. She was a village lass whose babe was stillborn. Lady Hillsworth died in childbed, so while it was tragic for the young mother, it was fortuitous for the baby. I do not think she was a day over eight-and-ten summers when the accident occurred.”

  Constable Morris made some notes in a leather-bound book that he tucked back into his pocket.

  “This certainly explains motive, especially with the handbills that are being circulated offering a reward. But it really gets us no closer to finding him. Is there any place he might have gone to hide? Any favorite place he might run to?”

  Evelyn shook her head, indicating that she did not know. Then she added, “We used to picnic on the dock that juts out into the mill stream down by the huge willow. But I do not think that would be a good hiding place.”

  “That at least gives us another place to look,” Constable Morris said.

  “Can I help look?” Evelyn asked. “If he is frightened, if I call for him, I think he would come to me.”

  The Duchess looked horrified. Constable Morris shook his head.

  “It is kindly thought on, Mrs. Swinton. But we could easily lose you as well. No, I will have one of the footmen take Mr. Smith or Mr. Martin to check around the willow. Meanwhile, I will call upon the men from the village, and send them out in teams to cover the grounds.”

  “But what if the teams are part of the problem? Oh, please, Constable Morris. I cannot just sit here and wait. I think I should go mad.”

  Constable Morris’s face softened. “I understand. I will send you out with one of the teams. But you are on no account to go alone.”

  “Thank you, Constable Morris. Just let me quickly change into a walking suit. I will not be but a moment.”

  As Evelyn hurried to her room, she heard the Duchess ask, “Will she be safe? She has grown dear to me.”

  And Constable Morris’s reply, “I will add her to my search team. That way I think she will be safe enough. Meanwhile, I will station one of my men at your door lest you be in danger.”

  Evelyn did not hear the Duchess’ reply. She was too busy trying to change into sensible outdoor clothing in great haste.

  Chapter 44

  While Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Henshaw supervised teams of housemaids and footmen to comb through the manor house from attic to cellar, Constable Morris organized men and dogs to search the gardens, stables, and woods about the manor. In addition, he sent teams of fleet-footed village boys to the outlying farms and hamlets in case Mayson had been taken by wagon or on horseback to some other area.

  Evelyn trailed after him, uncertain what role she could play, but determined to be part of the search. The Duke’s hound master met them near the picnic area. The day had dawned misty and cold, with a stiff little breeze that made Evelyn shiver.

  “We’ll get the hounds right on it, Constable Morris,” the hound master assured him. “Indeed, we need to hurry, because once the rain sets in the scent will not be good.”

  “I understand.” Constable Morris handed over what looked like a nightshirt. “This is out of his soiled linens.”

  “That seems right,” the hound master said, then showed the shirt to the hounds.

  The tan and white beasts sniffed at the shirt, then began sniffing around in ever widening circles. One of them began baying by the kitchen door, then broke off, and began snuffling in circles again a few feet out.

  “Reckon he picked up an old scent,” the hound master commented. “Mr. Rudge’s trace should be strong around where he worked.”

  “He is unlikely to have walked away,” Evelyn burst out. “Would the hounds pick up his scent if he was being carried?”

  “Fair point,” the hound master commented. “Where was he when he went missing?”

  “In one of the guest chambers,” Evelyn said. “His own quarters are still inhospitable.”

  “A fire was it?” the man asked. “Miserable business.”

  “Indeed,” Constable Morris agreed. “I’ll ask the butler if we can take one or two of the hounds up to the room. Mrs. Swinton has a point. If his feet did not touch the ground, there might not be a trail to follow.”

  “Can the dogs pick up the trace of anyone who should not have been in the room?” Evelyn asked.

  “Depends on who it was, Mrs. Swinton. Dogs are smart, but they do not understand much in the way of words, and they for sure do not guess thoughts. Best we take three or four dogs, and let them each track a scent. We’ll just have to see what they come up with.”

  They went up to the kitchen door, and happened to meet Mrs. Henshaw coming up from one of the cellars.

  “May we have leave to take the dogs up to the chamber where Mr. Rudge was staying?” Constable Morris asked.

  “On the carpets and clean floors?” Mrs. Henshaw exclaimed in horror.

  “It could be a way to find Mr. Rudge,” Evelyn explained. “May we please?”

  “Very well, but if one of those dogs lifts a leg, leaves something behind, or chews on the furniture, I shall make note of every item they touched.”

  “The Duke’s dogs are very well trained,” the hound master put in. “I hardly think they will do any of those things. Especially since we should need only a short while indoors.”

  “Very well,” the diminutive housekeeper said. “But mind that they do not damage the carpets.”

  As a group, they trooped up to the guest bed chamber. At a word from the hound master, they spread out and began sniffing around the room. Almost at once, one of them came over to Evelyn, and let out a short, sharp bark.

  Evelyn held down her hand, with the back of it facing the dog. “Yes, I was here,” she told her.

  The brown and white female gave her hand a brief look, and glanced at her handler as if to say, “What now?”

  Meanwhile, two of the dogs picked up Mr. McElroy’s scent, and apparently that of the people who had helped him back to his room. One of them began baying, as if on the trail of a fox or a badger, and tugged his handler down the hall on the end of the leash, ending up at the door of the gue
st chamber where the scullery was staying.

  Another of the beasts, a wire-haired little terrier, sprang away from his handler, dashed down the hall, and set up a furious barking at a particular door.

  “What is in that room?” Constable Morris asked.

  “That is the entrance to the Duke’s chambers,” Evelyn replied. “I do not believe he is in residence today. We would have to ask Mr. Wilson for the key. Those rooms are kept locked unless the Duke is using them.”