“Why are you looking for Berty?” Lady Southridge asked directly, going toward the door and closing it with a soft click once she reached it.
“I’m concerned that she is with a person about whom I have some…questions,” he answered honestly.
“I see. Alice?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm. Then I suggest you ride after them! Why are you waiting? Also, I should tell you that I wrote to His Grace this morning and notified him of the party we are planning. I…” She paused meaningfully. “…I encouraged him to attend.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “May I ask why?”
“Because I’m quite good at a few things in life, and in those few, select things…” She smoothed her lavender day dress. “…I’m usually not wrong. I have strong suspicions, and you may thank me later,” she answered vaguely.
Henry gave a curt nod, not in gratitude but simply just to acknowledge her statement, cryptic as it was.
“I’ll be off then, by your leave?”
“Indeed.” Lady Southridge gave a shooing motion with her fingers. “Do you know the locale of the estate?”
Henry paused mid turn. “Not exactly. I know the general site—”
“You’d be much more certain if you would— Never mind.” She paused. “Take the road just beyond the gate, travel east for a few miles till you see the fork. Take the right and follow it to the manor. It’s much smaller than GreenFord Waters, but the gate bears the initials of the name.”
“Thank you,” Henry answered quickly and turned to leave.
“Best wishes,” Lady Southridge replied, her tone slightly alarmed.
It was a sentiment with which he could heartily agree.
Soon he mounted the same gelding from that morning and set off at a run past the GreenFord Waters’ gate. As the miles passed, and he saw no fork in the road, he grew concerned. He only met one other rider on the road, so it wasn’t often traveled. Then, rather suddenly, in the distance, he saw a deviation in the path, and his heartbeat accelerated. Sure enough, he took the right side of the fork and slowed his mount, giving him time to catch his breath lest he be winded and useless should he need him to be swift.
The sun was growing lower in the sky, and he wondered why he hadn’t intercepted Berty on her way back home.
Surely, she should be finished visiting the estate by now.
Yet the road was empty save for him.
As he spied a moderately sized manor peeking through the swale in the hills, he increased his pace. The gelding sped ahead with little encouragement, and soon he was pulling the horse up beside an iron gate with two large letter Gs. But Berty’s conveyance was nowhere to be found.
In fact, it looked as if the estate were locked tight, as the gate wouldn’t move as he pushed against it.
Trepidation welled within Henry, and he thought around the problem at hand. Taking into account that Berty had at least made it to this destination, upon finding it unavailable for visitors, where would a reasonable secondary destination be? Initially, he would think that returning home would be primary, yet if she were still out of spirits with him, then she might not consider that option. Was Bath too terribly far? He glanced to the west. It seemed a viable option.
As he turned the gelding toward town, he cursed the oddly dry earth for its ability to hide secrets. Surely if the road were slightly damp — as was usual — then he could discern if a carriage had been upon the road recently. Yet it was nearly impossible to tell, much less know with any amount of certainty.
As he drew closer to Bath, he considered his options. Where was a potential location for her to stop? He traveled first to Milsom Street. Scanning the crowds, he searched for warm brown hair and that flashing intelligence in her gaze, yet came up short. As he was about to turn his mouth away, he saw not Berty, but Alice come from a shop, her eyes warily scanning the crowd before melting into the flow. Henry dismounted his gelding and followed her, careful to keep enough distance between them as to not raise suspicion. She turned the corner, and Henry pushed through several men so that he would not lose sight of her. As he rounded the corner as well, he caught sight of her head turning and glanced down as she searched behind herself as if wary.
And why would she be suspicious, unless she had something to hide?
“But where is Berty?” he whispered quietly as he lifted his gaze to watch her once more. She was crossing the cobbled street, and Henry moved quickly to follow suit, groaning when he stepped in a mess of road apples, clearly not paying attention to his footing.
Yet he carried on.
Boots be damned.
Alice glanced around again, and this time he leaned back behind a hay cart, counting to three before glancing back.
And meeting her knowing gaze.
Just as Berty touched her shoulder and, from the expression on her face, scolded her maid.
Who Henry wasn’t so certain was actually a maid.
Rather, wasn’t simply a maid.
His view obstructed by a passing cart, he surged forward. After pushing a peddler to the side as he fought through the evening crowd, instinct told him he wasn’t going to be fast enough. He thought of calling out, but his voice would be lost in the din. No, his only option was catching up to them. He rushed back to his mount, swung onto his back, and navigated the gelding, only to find that the carriage was pulling away at an alarming speed.
Not at all common for traveling through the densely populated area of town.
Henry gave pursuit, yet as he rounded a corner, a dog ran onto the road, spooking his mount and causing him to come up short, wasting precious moments of progress. Henry reined in the horse and kicked his flanks, urging him on just as he watched the carriage round the corner that led from town.
And not toward the duke’s residence.
But toward the sea.
Damn, it was getting worse and worse.
He only hoped that Berty had her knife, and that she as willing to use it on her maid as she’d been willing to use it on him.
Yet the coachman had to be in on the ploy as well.
And if he, then how many others?
He urged the horse faster and began to close some of the distance. Abruptly, the carriage turned from the road that led toward the sea and took a far-less-traveled route that led toward a dense wood. His gelding coughed, and he whispered encouragement to the animal as it clearly was winded with all the travel he had done over the course of the day.
The carriage crested a small hill that led into the wood, and as Henry topped the same hill a few moments later, the carriage was nowhere to be seen.
A gentle breeze blew a dry leaf across the road, the otherwise silence deafening. Pulling up his horse, he tried to listen past the panting of the animal and search the trees, for certainly that was the only option for the carriage. Yet it would be quite difficult to hide a conveyance of that size.
A bird flew from a tree just beyond him to the right, and he slowly dismounted, listening. A horse stomped, the sound seemingly only a few yards away as he inched closer, his senses on high alert. If Berty wasn’t yelling in protest, was she gagged? Bound up? Certainly in danger.
A bullet whizzed by his head, and the wood echoed with the recoil from the shot. He ducked belatedly, hiding behind a tree and cursing his disadvantage that they could see him, yet he couldn’t see them.
Yet.
He wound around the opposite side of the tree trunk and slowly traveled along the ground as much out of sight as possible. His gelding stomped impatiently, and he realized too late the horse wasn’t tied to anything at all. It was only providence that the gelding hadn’t bolted at the sound of the shot.
Or perhaps it was too tired to care.
A rustling sound caught his attention, and he focused on its direction. Behind a fallen oak, he made out the dark shape of a carriage in the filtered sunlight through the trees as it waned into sunset. One form shifted slightly, and he gauged it based on its height compared to the carriage.
Tall.
Taller than Alice.
Taller than Berty.
Accomplice number one.
The person shifted on restless feet, and Henry continued to inch forward, cursing the fact that he’d left his pistol at the estate, but he did have his daggers.
And, Lord willing, Berty had hers as well.
As he grew closer, the person took a few steps back toward the rear of the carriage, the sunlight flickering across a face just enough for fleeting recognition.
Captain Brockston.
With swift movements, Henry withdrew the dagger from his sleeve and flung it through the air. The point hit its mark in the man’s left arm, the arm that Henry had noted at their first meeting was his dominate hand, effectively preventing him from lifting his pistol or knife, should he have one.
Which Henry’s experience had proven that they always had a back-up.
With a grunt, Captain Brockston pulled out the knife, his hand immediately gripping the wound as he leaned against the carriage. A flash of silver caught the sunlight, and Henry ducked and rolled just as another bullet whizzed past him.
Damn it all, this was growing tiresome!
The carriage door opened and out sprang a lithe figure, shadowed enough that he couldn’t discern if it were Berty or Alice. When the figure started at a dead run, Henry gave chase.
If it were Berty, he reasoned, she wouldn’t be running away. So it must be Alice! He was several yards away from the carriage when he paused, watching for the perfect opportunity. As the person glanced over her shoulder, Henry gave aim, recognizing Alice’s features. Pulling his second knife from his sleeve, he let the object fly through the air, hitting her lung and kidney area. Henry counted to five as Alice reached forward and grasped several branches before falling forward as was expected.
He reached the carriage and bent quickly to remove the smaller knife from his boot to ensure that Brockston was unable to threaten Berty further. Sure enough, the man rounded the conveyance, his face contorted with pain and anger before transforming into a frown. “I say, man, there’s no honor in attacking Miss Lamont. I thought better of you.” With a wince, he lifted his rapier with his right hand and pointed it at Henry.
“I should be inclined to speak the same of you,” Henry bit out, lifting his knife enough to flicker the steel in the sunlight. After all, if the knave was innocent, just where was the coachman from GreenFord Waters?
“I will let you go no further to attack this innocent woman,” Captain Brockston warned, perspiration dripping down his temple.
Henry paused, narrowing his eyes. What ploy was he working? He bypassed the answer and asked his own question. “Is Miss Lamont safe?”
“Of what import is it to you? You, a blackguard who is clearly masquerading as the duke’s servant, harassing both my beloved and her benefactress!”
Henry called out. “Berty!”
But there was no answer. Indecision flickered across Captain Brockston’s face as he certainly had to wonder at Henry’s use of her Christian name.
And about her lack of reply.
Henry circled the captain. “If she is not in danger of you, then why does she not answer?”
The carriage door opened. “Because she was gagged and tied by her own maid!” Berty tossed aside a length of muslin and narrowed her eyes at the standoff before her. “Both of you, stand down. Your quarrel is not with one another, but with that fiend who tied me up…” She turned to Captain Brockston. “…and lied to you, sir. My coachman was never a threat to me, simply to her once he discovered that she wasn’t following me as was custom. You, sir, were a willing scapegoat.”
Captain Brockston’s countenance fell. “Of what can you mean?”
“Henry, where is Alice?” Berty ignored the captain’s question.
“Not over not twenty yards away. She cannot run. Her lung is punctured,” Henry said coldly.
“Leave me here with Captain Brockston, and be sure she hasn’t made away. She has much to answer for, and I do believe you found your informant, Mr. Willox.”
“Alice?” Captain Brockston asked, his expression troubled as he clearly tried to digest all the damning information.
“Go.” Berty nodded to Henry.
He slowly stepped away, making sure that Captain Brockston was as trustworthy as Berty had suggested. When the captain made no move to attack Berty as she approached, he turned and hastened to where Alice lay. She had rolled over on her back, blood aspirating from her lips as she coughed.
“It was unwise for you to use the duke’s ward as your cover, miss.” He almost laughed at the irony. Was he not doing the exact same? Only to uncover her?
A twisted smile sneered across her features. “The same could be said for you, sir.” she replied laboriously, her breath coming in pants.
“We shall see.” He reached down and lifted her so that she could walk toward the carriage, making sure she felt the small dagger at her neck should she try to escape, impossible as it was with her injury.
“Captain Brockston?” he called out, praying the captain would have the wherewithal to deal with the informant rather than see his love interest.
“How could you?” Captain Brockston inquired, his expression a mask of hurt slowly shifting to cold indifference as Alice spat blood in his direction.
By way of answer, she twisted in Henry’s grasp, trying to wrench away, and as she loosened one hand, she reached down to grasp her boot, only to be rendered incapacitated as Henry’s knife sliced through her throat.
“What a pity.” He withdrew his knife and sighed as the woman sagged onto the forest floor, her blood staining the earth red.
“Dear Lord,” Berty whispered, her knife dropping from her hand and landing on the dirt.
“I-I had no idea,” Captain Brockston stuttered, and Henry glanced to him as he closed his eyes. “I thought — I thought she was interested in my work. I admit it was a rather swift courtship, but I never imagined…” He stumbled backward, wincing at the abrupt step as his hand reached up to grasp his injured shoulder.
“Sorry about that, old chap. But you understand that you—”
Captain Brockston raised his good hand, now streaked with his own blood. “I understand. In your place, I would have done the same.” He nodded, his gaze flickering back to where Alice lay.
“D-dear me.” Berty’s face was ashen.
“Berty.” Henry tucked his knife back into his boot and closed the distance between them. Unable to help himself, he pulled her into a tight embrace, inhaling the soft scent of her hair and affirming to himself that she was healthy, whole. His body finally realizing the danger she was in, Henry refused to let her go, but kissed her hair, her forehead, running his hands down her back.
“Henry…” She sighed.
“Yes, love?” he replied, letting the endearment slip against his better judgment.
Berty pulled away just enough to meet his gaze.
“What in heaven’s name took you so long?”
BERTY WATCHED AS Captain Brockston loaded Alice’s body upon Henry’s gelding and slowly headed for the military encampment. He and Henry had discussed the necessary proceedings, and Captain Brockston had taken it upon himself to deliver the body and give account.
Henry warned him that he’d be notifying his commanding officers the following day as he came to collect the borrowed gelding, as well as giving a full account to the War Office. Yet when Henry had disclosed the information that he’d potentially inadvertently slipped to Alice, Henry had also assured him that there would likely not be a court martial, as the details revealed weren’t of a sensitive nature.
Thank heavens.
Yet the question remained… could Alice have had a more fruitful source?
But dead men told no tales.
And neither did dead women.
Regardless, the informant had been neutralized, and that was the primary goal, at least that was what Henry had said by way of parting with Captain Brockston.
Berty had watched in silence, unable to quite reconcile the events of the day.
“Are you well?” Henry reached up, placing a hand to her face as his gray eyes studied her.
The sunset was casting an orange glow as the sun tucked itself behind the distant sea. “Yes, I believe so.” She tilted her head. “You know, I always wanted adventure, and now that I’ve had it, I quite think that the mundane life is very underrated.”
Henry chuckled. “I’ll remind you of that when you wish for new thrills next week.”
“Does that mean that you’ll be around next week?” Berty dared, curious as to how this odd extension of their argument from this morning was going to turn out.
“Possibly.”
“You’re impossible.” Berty withdrew from his touch, utterly irritated, her emotions running high from the day’s events.
Henry chuckled, earning a glare from her. “So quick to jump to wrong conclusions. We shall have to remedy that.”
“Lucky me,” she retorted.
He trailed his fingertips down her cheek then took a step back. Can you relay the events of the day once again, before my senses become muddled from kissing you senseless?” He quirked a grin.
Berty arched a brow as she gave a slow shake to her head. “You’re assuming that I would allow you to kiss me.”
“I can be quite persuasive when I wish to be.”
“I can be quite stubborn when I wish to be, sir,” she replied saucily.
Henry chuckled. “Of that, I am well aware!”
“You say it as if I’ve been a great trial to you,” Berty shot back, though her lips pulled into an amused grin. How she was enjoying this, even in the midst of the terror of earlier. Once she had known that Henry was there, her heart had found peace.
“That would be putting it mildly. Let us continue this conversation as we head back to GreenFord Waters. No doubt, the entire staff — as well as Lady Southridge — are in vapors, concerned about your welfare.”
“Dear me, I hadn’t quite thought about that.” Berty’s brow pinched. “Did they know you came after me?” Lady Southridge would be in a fit of nerves!
A Hoyden and an Heiress (Greenford Waters Book 4) Page 8