by Archer, Kate
The footman handed her a note, bowed, and walked off.
“From my mother, no doubt,” Kitty said unfolding it. “I hope she does not say she is tired and we leave early, I am very much enjoying Lady Hathaway’s hospitality.
Though Kitty had fully expected some missive from her mother, the writing was in a distinctly masculine hand. She nearly dropped it after reading it.
“Are you well, Miss Dell?” Miss Danworth asked.
“Well enough, I suppose,” she said, handing the note to Miss Danworth. “I only should have kept my guard up about a certain gentleman’s schemes.”
Miss Danworth read the note: “Meet me in the garden, I have proof of the true identity of Veritas. Grayson.” She folded it again and said, “What on earth?”
Kitty smiled bitterly, her amusement and levity flown from her. “Lord Grayson pretends he will solve a mystery for me which I believe I have already solved. He will reveal himself as Veritas, a gentleman who has caused no end of trouble and embarrassment to some of my friends. He will wish to laugh at my expense.”
“But you will not meet him alone,” Miss Danworth said. “It would be talked of, I’m sure you know.”
“I certainly will not. Though it appears that Lord Grayson does not mind putting me in a compromising position. I had not believed that of him.”
As Kitty looked across the ballroom, she caught Lord Grayson’s eye. He smiled at her, as if the assignation was arranged. How naïve he must think her! She would not meet him, she would not dance with him and she would not dine with him. She had allowed her feelings to run on ahead of her, incautious and unseeing of the danger.
Now that he had been fully revealed to her—his utter carelessness of her reputation and prospects—she felt almost leaden. It was as if a black fog settled round her shoulders.
Kitty realized a very horrible truth. She was wounded by this. Not just offended, or her sensibilities shocked. She was wounded. Deeply wounded.
She had allowed her feelings to go too far. Much, much too far. She might just have allowed herself to love him. Now those feelings had turned back around to her and shot through her like an arrow.
It was terrible! He was terrible! She must stop at once. Why should she have any sort of feelings at all for such a person? Why should she care for one who cared so little for her?
A lady alone in a garden with a gentleman was tantamount to claiming an engagement, and if no engagement was forthcoming, the lady’s reputation was ruined. Lord Grayson knew it perfectly well.
“Something is not right here,” Miss Danworth said.
“Nothing is right, I am afraid,” Kitty said, willing her eyes not to water.
“Not quite what I meant,” Miss Danworth said briskly. “I have known Lord Grayson these past two seasons. He is a rascal of a flirt and I am quite sure he’s been wrong in some of it. But he has never compromised a lady. I must discover more of this. If he goes so far, we must all condemn him.”
“Do as you please, condemn or not,” Kitty said, swiping at her uncooperative eyes. “I will retreat to the lady’s retiring room. I do not yet know what to do about supper, but I will rid myself of Lord Grayson.”
Kitty turned on her heel and hurried from the ballroom.
Chapter Eighteen
Giles was not at all certain what was happening at this moment. Miss Dell had left the ballroom and Miss Danworth was coming toward him. He might have guessed that Miss Dell had ripped a hem or some other feminine emergency, had not Miss Danworth’s expression told him otherwise. She looked like murder.
She waved a paper in front of his face and said, “Do you really go so far?”
He had not the slightest idea what she talked about.
“You cannot be so obtuse,” Miss Danworth went on. “Not even you can toy with a lady’s reputation in such a manner.”
“What are you implying, Miss Danworth?” Giles asked. “Really, I will need more clues. I am not toying with anybody’s reputation.”
Miss Danworth handed him the note. Or, shoved it at him would be a better description. He unfolded it and read it, taking in a sharp breath. He instantly understood the scheme, though he would not have credited Sir John with such cunning.
“She is not such a fool as to meet you, I hope you understand. I am only surprised by this, Lord Grayson. I did not think you an absolute reprobate.”
“Before you continue with your condemnations, this is not my hand,” Giles said. “I did not write this. My God, where has Miss Dell gone?”
“Out of your reach,” Miss Danworth said, though her confidence in her recent accusations seemed to falter.
“This was not written by me,” Giles said. “It was written by Sir John Kullehamnd. He is the real Veritas.”
“Sir John? The scholarly gentleman who came to see the Palaskar collection?”
“The very one,” Giles said. “Miss Dell is in danger. She does not know the facts—I know Sir John was in possession of John Hill’s diary because I took it and Kullehamnd is Swedish for hill and revenge.”
“Sir John?” Miss Danworth said, appearing mystified. “John Hill? Revenge?”
“I suspect he plans a kidnapping. Go to her and make sure she stays well away from the garden. Alert her mother and brother. I will answer this note and deal with Sir John myself.”
It seemed Miss Danworth had finally comprehended the real case of the situation. She nodded and hurried away. Giles set off toward the garden.
*
Kitty heard the door to the retiring room swing open. She dabbed at her eyes and turned her head away. She had closeted herself in the very last alcove of the cavernous room. She’d already told the maid who attempted to attend her that she suffered allergies as a cause of her dripping eyes, the most ridiculous story in the world. She did not wish for anybody else to see her cry.
“Miss Dell! Where are you?”
It was Miss Danworth come to comfort her. It was kind of the lady, but Kitty did not think she could be comforted at this moment. She had done the stupidest thing in the world. She had fallen in love with a man who did not love her. Worse than that, the gentleman did not have even the slightest regard for her. She’d been the mouse who played with a cat and could not understand why it was dying. It had always been in the cat’s nature to toy with its prey.
“There you are,” Miss Danworth said, coming round the corner. She sat next to Kitty on the peach velvet sofa and said, “Thank goodness you are safe.”
“Of course I am,” Kitty sniffled. “I told you I would not meet Lord Grayson in the garden.”
“The note was not from Lord Grayson, I am convinced of his veracity. He says it was written by Sir John to lure you out there and you are in very much danger. Something about a diary and John Hill and Kullehamnd meaning hill and revenge in Swedish.”
“Kullehamnd? Is that what it means?” Kitty said, horror creeping into her voice.
“I wished to make sure you were safe in here before I go to find your mother and brother. Lord Grayson even went so far as to speculate that Sir John may have kidnapping on his mind.” Miss Danworth paused, then said softly, “Though Sir John? Kidnapping?”
“It was Sir John all along!” Kitty cried. “It really was. No wonder he was so forceful with me and came to my father for my hand. My grandfather and Martin Folkes kept John Hill from the society. Therefore, my dowry would have been John Hill’s revenge!” Kitty paused, her thoughts racing. “But who is he really? Why does he seek revenge? Perhaps he is a grandson of John Hill?”
Miss Danworth patted Kitty’s hand. “I cannot claim to make heads nor tails of it, I am only glad you are safe.”
“But do not you see? Sir John must be mad! He had a diary bound in human skin!”
Miss Danworth recoiled at the idea. “I am almost afraid to hear further of this bizarre circumstance,” she said. “Stay here and I will fetch your mama. She will know what to do next.”
Miss Danworth hurried from the retiring room.
/> Kitty sat for a moment, the facts all falling into place as if the bits and pieces flew from various directions to finally come together in a cohesive whole.
She leapt to her feet. Lord Grayson was in very grave danger. Whether or not Sir John was some relation to John Hill, he was most certainly mad. A madman never stopped to consider the outcomes of his actions. Rationality fled and wild ideas reigned. Anyone stepping in the way of a madman’s plot would be dispatched.
Of course, that was precisely who Sir John was. How did she not see it? The man did not entertain anything that did not suit him. He just plowed on.
She must go out and attempt to stop whatever was about to happen.
She fled past the maid, who would by now be convinced that it was Kitty herself who was mad.
Mad or no, she felt filled with courage. Lord Grayson had not attempted to lure her alone into the garden. Whatever he was, he was not that. Whatever his intentions, if he ever had any intentions, he had not sought to compromise her.
*
Giles stepped into the back garden. It was eerily quiet. Lady Hathaway’s guests had long ago been ferried in, the footmen had decamped inside, and all that was left was the Viking ship standing alone under the sputtering candles along the walkway.
Giles moved forward cautiously, cursing his luck. He’d been in battle enough times, but rarely had he sought it out. He’d certainly never sought it out without even a weapon in his hand.
He must assume Sir John to be armed. How else could that weaselly person hope to carry off a kidnapping? He might be able to overpower Miss Dell, but without a weapon to threaten her with, it was unlikely he could stop her from raising the alarm with her screams.
Giles paused, listening for any sound. There was nothing, beyond the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze.
Perhaps Sir John had lost his nerve, or perhaps he’d seen that it was Giles who arrived and not Miss Dell and decided to make a hasty retreat.
He slipped along the path that ran next to the Viking ship, its grass beaten down by the footmen who had toiled at pulling the ship back and forth with ropes.
Giles reached the stern of the ship and paused, listening.
A sudden crack exploded in his head and he fell to the ground.
*
Sir John clutched his metal helmet. It was all going wrong!
The last of the laudanum had worn off and he felt as if his muscles twitched of their own accord. It was like trying to wake from a bad dream, but he could not wake up!
Where was Miss Dell? How dare Grayson turn up in her place.
He had taken care of Grayson. The popinjay just now lay on the ground, having had a brick to the head.
But where was Miss Dell? Would he have to go in after her? He had not planned for that. He did not know how to do that. Why was God forsaking him when he was so close to victory?
He was just as close to defeat, he knew. There was no other option but to go forward. There was no other plan. He could not retreat and regroup.
Just as despair was settling over him like a shroud, he saw a peek of light ahead. The doors had opened and Miss Dell’s figure silently slipped into the garden.
Grayson moaned. He put his boot on the lord’s head to stop him. God had sent him a reprieve and he must act!
He took his foot off Grayson’s head and stepped forward. He would approach Miss Dell swiftly and be off.
Before he got another step, Grayson grabbed hold of his leg and pulled him down.
*
Kitty stepped into the darkness and paused. For a moment she did not hear a sound. Perhaps she was too late? Was Lord Grayson injured or dead and Sir John had run away? Or worse, was Lord Grayson lying somewhere and Sir John still lurking in the darkness?
She ought to go back in and get help.
The silence was suddenly broken. She heard a crashing sound and curses from somewhere near the stern of the ship. She swept up one of the last candles still burning along the path and ran toward the sound.
The two men rolled on the ground. Lord Grayson yelled, “Go back inside, Miss Dell!”
Though Kitty ought to have done as she was told, she felt rooted to the spot. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” she repeated to herself. She looked round her, searching for something she could use as a weapon.
Spotting one of the oars the footmen had used to pretend at rowing, she picked it up. As Sir John rolled to the top of the melee, she swung it down as hard as she could.
It made a sickening crack, and Sir John collapsed lifeless. Lord Grayson rolled him off just as shouts were heard behind them.
Frederick, leading a cadre of footmen, came running to the scene. He was just as quickly followed by the baroness and Miss Danworth.
Kitty’s brother stopped, attempting to take in the scene. Lord Grayson got to his knees and said, “Dell, be so good as to grab a rope from that confounded ship and tie the villain up. He breathes despite Miss Dell’s valiant effort.”
Frederick sprang into action; the baroness rushed to Kitty’s side. “Are you all right,” she said. “Are you unharmed?”
“I am perfectly fine,” Kitty said, though she was not certain that was true. She had dropped the oar and her empty hands now shook. “You are alive,” she said in wonder, staring at Lord Grayson.
“Very,” he said, rising and rubbing his head. “Thanks to you.”
“But your head,” Kitty said, watching the lord rub it.
“Sir John complimented my head with a brick,” Lord Grayson said. “Though he did not realize how hardheaded I actually am.”
“I am afraid I’ve been hardheaded myself,” Kitty said. “I did at first think, when I got the note…”
“That I had written it,” Lord Grayson finished.
“Yes.”
“But I would never…”
“No, I know,” Kitty said.
Frederick had tied up the still-unconscious Sir John. He directed the footmen to haul him into a room well away from the guests and send for the magistrate. All the while, Kitty and Lord Grayson gazed at each other.
The baroness, now assured that her daughter was unhurt, looked interestedly back and forth between her daughter and the lord. “It seems you have defeated the villain together,” she said. “Two people of different strengths combine to victory.”
“I cannot say what strengths I brought to the case,” Lord Grayson said, “other than a foolhardy idea to come out here alone.”
“It was very brave, though,” Kitty said.
“Was it?”
“Oh, I think so.”
“But then, you were so brave with that oar!”
“Well, perhaps.”
“I wonder, Miss Dell, if one were to improve. If a particular gentleman who was perhaps not quite up to snuff were to…apply himself. Well, what I say is there is no reason in the world I could not read every book in Lackington & Allen. If I had reason to.”
“Or,” Kitty said softly, “I might say that a certain lady might not study absolutely all of the time. That lady might make room for other things like poetry and plays. Perhaps science is not to be one’s constant companion.”
“Is it not?” Lord Grayson asked.
The baroness smiled and had the good sense to move away from the couple. Frederick returned from disposing of Sir John, but Lady Penderton caught him halfway there and halted his progress.
Lord Grayson grabbed Kitty’s hands in his own. “I know I am not worthy, but if you’ll have me, I will improve! I’ll force Crackwilder to tutor me all the day long.”
Kitty squeezed his hands back and said, “You’d better not harass poor Mr. Crackwilder in such a manner. Further, I do not see where any particular improvement is necessary.”
“But you would not mind that I so rarely know what you’re talking about,” Lord Grayson said, coming closer to her.
She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Kitty looked up and whispered, “Perhaps I should not talk so much then.”
Lord
Grayson’s lips touched hers to stop her talk. After a gentle kiss he said, “There is no one in the world I love so much as you.”
“Shakespeare?” Kitty said.
“Yes. Much ado about nothing.”
“And so it has been, I fear.”
“We are a ridiculous pair,” Lord Grayson said. “But what care we? And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones—”
“And good in everything.”
“As you like it, Kitty Dell.”
*
Sir John, whose name was finally revealed as John Clover of Cloverhill Hall was committed to Bethlem. His story, which he told authorities willingly in the hopes that they would provide him a supply of laudanum, was published in the newspapers in horrid detail. It captured the peoples’ imagination, as it was frightening to think that a once ordinary person who had fallen on hard times had set in motion a devilish plot on account of a found diary. Readers of the tale whispered among themselves that there might be more Sir Johns lurking about.
The Royal Society was both relieved that Veritas had been unmasked, and relieved that so little attention to their own participation in the scheme was paid. The Royal Society’s involvement was entirely crowded out by the fairytale of romance. Miss Dell was said to be a delicate, trusting, and innocent creature. Lord Grayson was styled a veritable warrior coming to the rescue. In particular, he was quoted as having said, “We have been to Valhalla and returned unscathed,” which sent the ladies near swooning. No mention was made of the real case of the thing, that they were of equal intelligence but wildly different interests, and neither of them saw a reason to correct the facts.
Lord Grayson’s application to Lord Penderton for the hand of his daughter went remarkably smooth. It might not have, had Lady Penderton not explained the matter thoroughly to her husband.
“But I hardly understand what you say, my dear,” poor Lord Penderton said after having been woken up upon his wife’s return from Lady Hathaway’s ball.
“He has asked Kitty for her hand and she has accepted, is that not wonderful?”