by Jo Beverley
She read over the letter again, but it gave up no more wisdom. Oscar Ris. They’d come up with possible explanations for everything else, but not that. Perhaps it had a private meaning for Lord Caldfort.
Dear heaven! Could Lord Caldfort have had a hand in his nephew’s disappearance all those years ago? Consigned him to imprisonment with Oscar Ris?
She’d try the suggestion on Stephen, but she could see the main objection. If the then Colonel John Gardeyne had decided to get rid of his nephew, he would have killed him, not locked him away somewhere. And only in fairy tales did hired killers turn softhearted and spare the victim.
The clock struck half past six. The sun was up, so she could be, too. She rang for Catherine, and by seven was taking breakfast with a fidgety, excited Harry. Waiting until eight for the post chaise to arrive was clearly going to be a torment for him. She and Nan occupied him with last-minute packing and with the important choice of toys to take in the coach.
With half an hour still to go, Nan said, “Will I take him down to the stables, ma’am, to wait there? The horses and cats will amuse him.”
It was an excellent idea, but with escape so close Laura didn’t dare let him out of her sight. She felt as if Jack could be lurking, ready to pounce, and she couldn’t warn Nan.
“No, I’ll take him down to my room. You make sure everything goes down to be ready, then wait there to say good-bye.”
Her bedchamber and boudoir did distract Harry a little, especially her mechanical singing bird in a cage—a favorite treat. She thought for a moment of taking it with them, but recognized in time that the winding and playing would weary her long before it wearied a child.
Even now it was making her sad. Hal had given it to her for her twentieth birthday, saying he’d bought it because she was Lady Skylark. Even then, when he could do no wrong, she’d recognized that it didn’t fit. No one caged a skylark. What point, when it sang only when on the wing?
“The coach is here, ma’am!”
“Thank heavens,” she said to Catherine, and they shared a smile. “Come on, Minnow.”
He was already at the door and would have rushed down the stairs if allowed. She had no intention of risking a fall now, and made him go at a decorous pace.
Mrs. Moorside and Rimmer, the butler, were waiting to bid her farewell. She went first with Harry to Lord Caldfort.
If she needed proof that Lord Caldfort was not his usual self, she found it. He seemed paler and weary, as if weighed down by something. Or as if he’d not slept. Hardly surprising if he thought he was about to lose everything.
Or, she wondered, is he burdened by the decision? Is he thinking of paying Farouk to remove the problem?
He kissed Harry’s forehead, holding him too close. Harry squirmed as he always did, and Laura didn’t blame him. His grandfather smelled of snuff and camphor at the best of times, and today he smelled worse. Sour.
She did feel sorry for the old man. However he was thinking about it, Azir’s letter must have been a shock, and it laid a terrible burden on him.
“You enjoy a good long holiday,” Lord Caldfort said again to Laura as he let Harry escape. “No need to hurry back. Lad’s too young to be learning estate management yet, you know.”
Just how far would this stretch? “My sister Juliet is at Merrymead at the moment, sir. Perhaps I might travel back to London with her.”
She saw the struggle, but then he said, “Good idea, good idea. Just for a few weeks, though.”
Why had that letter caused this peculiar behavior? If they found Henry Gardeyne’s legitimate son, perhaps it would be a kindness to the old man, as well. His dilemma would be over and it might be possible for him to live out his life here.
She and Harry said farewell to the senior staff, then went outside. Laura sucked in the crisp autumn air as if it were freedom itself and let Harry run down ahead to the horses. He knew not to go too close.
The four horses looked fresh and healthy, jingling the traces as they shifted, ready to be off. The last trunk was being loaded into the boot, and in a moment the lid was slammed shut.
Stephen was already there, but a handsome bay horse was saddled and waiting for him. How were they to talk if he was riding? Mind you, how were they to talk with an excited Harry along?
Laura remembered that he hadn’t met Harry and collected her son. “Come and make your bow to Sir Stephen, Harry. He’s an old friend of mine who’s going to travel with us a little way.”
Stephen came to meet them halfway. Harry did bow and say, “Pleased to meet you, sir,” in proper manner, but then added, “May I ride with you, sir?”
Stephen looked startled and Laura said, “He must remember doing that with Hal. No, Harry, not today. When we get to Merrymead, your grandfather and Uncle Ned will take you riding.”
“May I get in the coach, Mama?”
“Of course. Off you go.”
He raced to the coach as if speed would make the journey start sooner.
“A charming lad,” Stephen said.
“Yes, but the next two days will take fortitude.”
“No nursemaid?”
“I never take her. She’s not needed at Merrymead. How far can you come with us?”
She meant, When can we talk?
“To Andover.”
About twenty miles and two changes. It would do.
Harry was hanging out of the carriage and calling for her to hurry, so she did. She was as keen to be away as he. Nan took a tearful farewell, Stephen mounted, and they were off.
Laura looked back at Caldfort House as long as she could, but that was only for the relief she felt when it finally slid out of sight with no sign of Jack Gardeyne in hot pursuit. Harry was now safe.
Chapter 13
The novelty of the carriage and the passing scenery held Harry’s interest for quite some time, and then the changing of the horses at the first stage fascinated him. Laura let down the window so he could lean out and watch.
Stephen rode over to chat, but this stop would be too brief for much. “All went well, I assume?” he asked.
“Yes, though Lord Caldfort is definitely in a strange state of mind.” Laura kept a grip on the back of Harry’s jacket as he leaned out, and spoke softly. As they say, little pitchers have big ears. “He even agreed to let us spend some time in London if we wished. Why would this matter of HG make him do that?”
“To be sure that you don’t catch wind of anything he does about it?”
She nodded at him. “That could be it.”
The new horses were in the shafts, their postilions in the saddles. Laura pulled Harry back into the coach, and Stephen said, “Call a halt at Andover and we’ll talk properly.”
She agreed and they set off again, fast enough to keep Harry glued to the window. Stephen rode beside them at a canter, and Laura was glued to watching him.
She’d always thought of him as a thinker more than a sportsman. He’d certainly never been as sporting mad as her brothers and the other young men of the area. Or like Hal, but Hal had been an extreme case. A blood, a buck, a Corinthian.
Being married to a Corinthian gave a woman an appreciation of a fine rider, and to her surprise, Stephen was one. He was clearly riding because he enjoyed it, and she enjoyed watching him. There was something sensual about a good rider on a good horse. She’d never thought that before.
Not even with Hal.
Something was changing, as if the strange events of yesterday had cracked a seal. If Harry was not the heir to Caldfort, she could marry again. It would no longer be wicked to view men as potential husbands.
Men like Stephen?
She grimaced. After the debacle six years ago, he was the last man to be interested in marrying her. Last night had proved it. Not a hint of interest in anything but the letter and the mystery.
Despite the riding, he was clearly still a man of the mind—and besides, she remembered Lady Skylark. That showed what he thought of her. A foolish player in the riggings of l
ife.
There would be suitors, however. She’d been the toast of Dorset before her marriage and a toast of London after it. She was older now, but it would be coy to deny that she still had charms enough to attract a new husband.
She wouldn’t pursue those thoughts yet. It would make disappointment too sharp. But they lingered like a distant but pleasant melody.
In Andover she told the postilions that she wanted tea, and took Harry into the White Hart. Stephen soon joined them, but Laura pulled an apologetic face at him, because Harry was eager for refreshments and wanted to chatter about everything he’d seen.
She’d brought his bag of carved animals, however, and once he’d drunk his milky tea, eaten a cake, and talked for a while, he scrambled off his chair to play on the floor.
It seemed a minor miracle, and Laura thanked heaven for it.
She shared with Stephen her thought about Lord Caldfort having a hand in his nephew’s disappearance.
Stephen saw all the problems she did. “I suppose it’s possible to imagine that Oscar Ris, hired assassin, had a daughter who managed to marry Henry before her father carried out his wicked work. . . .” Eyes laughing, he shook his head. “No, it isn’t.”
“But I do think HG must be a child rather than a man,” she said. “It explains the delay. His legitimate origins may not have been clear until recently.”
“If true, it might be hard to prove his claim.”
“There’s whatever evidence was sent. I wish I’d found that.”
“Caldfort may have destroyed it.”
“I suppose so. I do have something, though.”
She showed him her copy of the portrait.
“Clever woman. I tried to commit it to memory, but this is much better. I’d forgotten how skilled you are at drawing. You were always sketching us.” He glanced at her. “What happened to those pictures? They must be a record of a misspent youth.”
There’d been one, drawn from memory, of the swimming. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, “but they must be around somewhere. I would never throw them away.”
“Ah,” he said. “I wondered.” After a silence he went on. “So if we come face-to-face with someone claiming to be Henry Gardeyne, we can check for resemblance to this, but if the claimant is his son it becomes harder. Resemblance to fathers is a chancy thing—for which, I’m sure, many women are grateful.”
“Cynic!”
“Realist.”
They smiled at each other, but then Laura sighed. “I still don’t see how I can go to Draycombe, Stephen. Not, at least, in the next few days. I can’t arrive home and immediately leave—”
Harry put an animal on the table by Stephen. “Cow!”
“Definitely,” Stephen said, which fortunately seemed an adequate response as Harry returned to managing his farmyard.
“He’ll be back with another one,” Laura warned.
“If a similar response is all that’s required, I believe I can cope. I can get you to Draycombe, too, if you’re willing.”
“How?”
“Definitely,” he said in response to a presented “Hen!” Then he continued their conversation. “We have a little breathing room. Caldfort will have to investigate this Azir Al Farouk. Do we assume that he’ll send the vicar?” He glanced down. “A baa-lamb. Assuredly, sir.”
This slightly more complicated response caused Harry to frown, but he went back to his animals for a while.
“You could always make the appropriate sounds,” Laura said, fighting to keep a straight face.
“Baa?” Stephen responded with horror. Feigned, she thought, though she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t interpret him as she once had. It shouldn’t surprise her, but it did.
“He’d have to send Jack,” she agreed. “Whom else can he trust? And that certainly gives us breathing room.”
“Why?”
“Today is Thursday. On Sunday, Jack has two services to lead. He could get down to Draycombe and back in time if he pushed, but he’d have no time to investigate there.”
“Curate?”
“He doesn’t have one.”
“Then you’re right.” He looked at the animal presented, glanced at Laura with a mischief that was familiar, and did a creditable imitation of a turkey gobbling.
Harry broke into giggles and turned back to his animals.
“Now you’ve done it.”
“It was your idea.”
“I never thought you would!”
“Oink, oink,” Stephen said to a pig, but caught Harry’s hand. “Your mother and I need to talk a little without interruption. Then I will play barnyard animals with you. Yes, sir?”
Harry frowned mutinously, but if a battle of wills waged, Stephen won. “Yes, sir,” Harry said, and wandered back to his toys.
“Well done.”
“A short respite, I’m sure. Now, getting you to Draycombe. Would your family be suspicious if you claimed friendship with a Mrs. Delaney, living near Yeovil in Somerset?”
“Perhaps not. They don’t know every detail of my life. But I don’t know this Mrs. Delaney.”
“You do now. Eleanor Delaney is the wife of a friend of mine—”
“I know. King Rogue!”
He winced. “I really did bore on about the Rogues, didn’t I?”
“We were fascinated. Nicholas Delaney. King Rogue. Leader of your merry band. So he’s married now?”
“Yes, and in the right place, but most of all, in a matter like this we can trust him.”
Laura didn’t like to express doubts, but she must. “This is a delicate matter, Stephen. Complex and private. I don’t think it’s suitable for . . . for schoolboy nonsense.”
Instead of offense, he seemed to fight a laugh. “Oh, I assure you we’re past that. Trust me, Laura, in matters delicate and complex, the Rogues are your men, and in totally adult ways.”
“Rogues? Plural? This can’t be broadcast around England!”
Any amusement faded. “You can trust all the Rogues, but if you don’t wish to, so be it. I still recommend trusting Nicholas. I pledge my life that you can.”
How could she respond to that other than by agreement, even though doubts lurked?
“His home is only a few hours’ journey from Draycombe. More to the point, Nicholas and Eleanor will accept us as guests, lie for our cause, and if it comes to trouble, be useful support.”
“Trouble?”
“We don’t know how violent and desperate this Farouk is, or how many people he has with him.”
The situation shifted. “I never thought of that. How foolish I am. I’m embroiling you in danger.”
“You think me too delicate for it?” It was phrased almost as a joke, but Laura detected affront. She wasn’t sure why he would feel that way, but she hastily reassured him.
“Of course not. But this is only your concern by accident.”
That didn’t seem to help, so she tried to smooth his ruffled feathers. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t turned up, Stephen. And I value your help in more ways than the practical. I know you’ll advise me well. You know the law, and I trust your judgment. You’ve always followed the highest principles.”
“Have I? It has cost me greatly at times.”
What was that wry tone supposed to convey? He was an enigma, but she had no time for delicate male feelings just now. “I still can’t leave Merrymead as soon as I arrive.”
“No? What if you receive a letter explaining that your friend is about to travel elsewhere. That it’s then or never. Given that you have a month at home, that should do.”
She supposed it would, but his strange mood had her on edge. “Harry will have to come,” she pointed out. “He won’t be happy to be left for days, and I wouldn’t want to leave him.”
“The Delaneys won’t mind. They have a daughter. She’s younger, but they’re accustomed to children.”
“You seem very sure.”
“I am.”
She shrugged. �
�Very well, then, and we need to be on our way. If we travel to the Delaneys together—”
“That could cause talk. I will arrive separately.”
“You could always pretend to be courting me.” The words slipped out and her cheeks burned. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “A useful excuse if we need it.”
He seemed to feel no awkwardness about it, for which she was grateful. But his response proved that he no longer felt like that about her. For which she should also be grateful.
“Anyway,” she said, “I wouldn’t do anything so deceitful.”
“Laura, Laura! We’re going to have to lie, and possibly cheat and steal, too, for this cause.”
She looked at him. “You’re right, beginning with lying to my parents. I’m going to hate that.”
“If you insist on perfect virtue, our enterprise stops here.”
Virtue. That made her rethink everything. “Then it must stop here. I can’t afford scandal, Stephen, and my being in Draycombe with you would be a terrible one. It would give the Gardeynes an excuse to cut me off from Harry, and if I’m right about Jack, that could cost him his life.”
He frowned in thought. “Disguise, then. I should be myself. My position might be useful if we need to call in the authorities, and I’m also fairly well known to some gentlemen of the area. But you can be a distant relative. One in poor health, whom I’m escorting to try the sea air. Nicholas will arrange it. He’s good at that sort of thing.”
Laura felt as if he was dragging her into danger. “You’re forcing this. If I agree to this plan, then I agree to the disguise. But I think I should stay at the Delaneys’.” She saw his resistance and put a hand on his arm. “If it’s only a few hours away, I can make decisions from there. And then I can stay with Harry. We can’t take him to Draycombe if I’m in disguise, and I can’t leave him with strangers.”
His arm was tense beneath her touch. “You used to trust me more than this, Laura.”
“We were children then. The consequences were minor.”
“Were they? They seem to have brought us here. But come along. You’d best be on your way. You have two days to think over your decision.”