“I only came down here to ask after the cook.”
“’Tis I,” the woman said warily.
“I was wondering if you could tell me what is being done for Miss Smithson?”
“Not much to do.” The woman shrugged. “She isn’t keeping much down. I send up toast and tea, various broths and jellies. But for now we just wait and pray.”
“And do you prepare everything for her?”
The woman cackled. “Mercy, no! I’ve got enough to do without fixing tea for one sick guest. That’s why I’ve got a kitchen staff, you see.”
“Right, of course,” Kate said. “I was only wondering if perhaps Miss Smithson suffers an aversion to something that is keeping her sick. The doctor seems to think that her illness is rather dragged out.”
The cook pursed her lips in thought. “We haven’t made her any tea that’s different from what every Englishman drinks every day of his life. As for beef broth, I don’t know what she can have an aversion to in that.”
“Thank you for your time. I must pay my compliments. The meals I’ve enjoyed here have been wonderful.”
The cook smiled proudly and continued sipping her tea as Kate slipped away. She was frustrated to the point of boiling over and she was ready to receive some answers. She was dangerously close to barging into Mrs. Smithson’s room and demanding information from her mother. Did the woman even understand the danger her daughter was in? Did anyone?
Kate swallowed down her frustration at Mrs. Smithson and Miss Smithson for not being forthcoming with any information; at Peter and his friends for abandoning them; at Mr. Evans for his pointed attentions that were no longer reciprocated; and at the rest of the party members for being so clueless when all of this was going on right under their noses.
She found herself knocking on Miss Annie’s door and stepped inside when the girl answered it herself.
“I need to ask you some things, and I need you to answer me without argument.”
Miss Annie’s face was bewildered. She hadn’t pulled a wrapper on and stood there in her thin night rail.
“But please put on a dressing gown or a blanket or something first,” Kate amended.
“What is going on?” Miss Annie asked, sliding her arms into a silk dressing gown and tying the sash.
“A great deal. Or nothing, perhaps. I don’t know. Is there anyone that has been upset with your sister recently? Or someone who may have reason to be upset with her?”
“Well, yes,” Miss Annie said as if this was common knowledge. “She can be rather…trying sometimes. Most of the women that live around here aren’t very fond of her. The unmarried ones, at least.”
Kate understood this sentiment. She recalled the day Miss Smithson had snubbed her in the Larkins’ shop and then approached Sir Peter with the brightest of smiles. “Anyone in particular? Is there anyone that would have reason to try and hurt her?”
The younger girl reared back as if she’d been slapped. “What are you saying? You don’t believe that she was pushed too, do you?”
“I do not know,” Kate answered honestly. “But I would rather be safe and believe her than be sorry I did nothing.”
Slumping down on the edge of her bed, Miss Annie rubbed her eyes. “I do not know. I just do not know.”
Kate sat on the feather mattress, sliding an arm around the weary girl. “Would you tell me if anything comes to you? I am not entirely sure there is anything to figure out, but if there is someone trying to hurt your sister then we must be very cautious.”
“Of course.”
She went to leave when Miss Annie’s arm shot out and stopped her. “There is one thing. I’m not sure there’s any merit to it. In fact, I feel rather silly even bringing it up.”
“What is it?” Kate asked. She could feel a humming through her body, anticipation that she was about to discover a key piece to the puzzle.
The guilt in Miss Annie’s face had Kate holding her breath. “If I tell you this then you must promise not to be upset with either of them—and not tell a soul. You must not tell a soul.”
“I won’t be upset,” Kate said quietly.
“My sister is betrothed, though it is a secret. She only told me because I discovered them in an intimate embrace in our gardens.” Annie looked as though she had deflated, as though it was a relief to unburden herself by sharing this secret.
Kate felt the breath leave her body. She whispered, “Who is the man?”
“Martin Evans.”
32
Kate
Kate’s body went cold. She assured Miss Annie once again that she was not upset with either Miss Smithson or Mr. Evans and left the room before she gave away her distress. If only Peter was around and she could tell him this development. Surely it had to mean something. Leaning against the closed door in the dim corridor, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a deep voice came to her from the shadows.
“Is everything all right?” Mr. Evans asked, stepping from the darkness toward her.
She swallowed and offered him a strained smile. “Yes, of course. I was only wishing Annie a good night. I hope she does not catch her sister’s illness.”
“That would be a shame,” he said, stepping closer.
“I find myself very weary now. I must bid you goodnight.”
His arm shot out and grabbed her by the elbow. “I’ll escort you.”
Kate had no other option but to accept and let Mr. Evans lead her down the corridor to her own room. When he halted and didn’t let go, she sent a pleading prayer that Emily would come to her and avoided Mr. Evans’s gaze.
“I feel a connection to you, Kate.” His voice was low, and she feared he was going to ask for her hand now. But how could he? He was already betrothed to another.
He continued, “I did not believe my luck when you happened upon me that day in the woods, when my brothers were searching for me.” He seemed contemplative for a moment but didn’t let her go. “I was afraid they would force me to be a moving target for their arrows. Of course, it was fate that brought you back into my life now, before—” He paused. “Well, you must see that.”
His lips were upon hers before she realized what was happening. Something within her revolted even as her mind was taken back to Miss Annie’s words about finding him in an intimate embrace with Miss Smithson. He backed away a moment later and smiled down at her affectionately. She wanted to gag, but she swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and slipped into her room the moment he released her, bolting the lock behind her.
Rinsing out her mouth with clean water from the pitcher on her washstand, Kate took a rag and washed her face, neck, and hands, clearing away the vile remnants that clung to her from Mr. Evans’s touch. She wrestled off her gown and scrubbed the areas on her arm where he’d possessively taken hold of her.
She felt violated. Her skin crawled, a bitter taste filling her mouth.
She was completely certain now that Mr. Evans had something to do with Miss Smithson’s unfortunate circumstances. What he had to do with it exactly was still a mystery. But it could not be a coincidence that he was secretly engaged to her while outwardly courting Kate. Besides, that kiss was as dominating as it was possessive. He had been staking his claim.
Kate crawled into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin, but she was positive that sleep was a long way off. Instead, she wondered exactly what Peter was doing at that very moment.
Peter
“Another round?” Cohen asked, his grin wide, proving how amused he was at his own joke. He was a far cry from Lord Aniston’s slumped shoulders and heavy snore.
“We aren’t drinking anymore,” Peter reminded him. “This is reconnaissance.” He picked up his full mug again, then set it back on the table. He wasn’t interested in drinking. He needed information.
They had ridden over to Split Tree and talked with Mr. Cruikshank before Cohen had distracted Mr. Gibson while the other three thoroughly searched his office. They had found a few papers with cryptic mess
ages, and Peter had taken them to compare handwriting. He found nothing within the office that matched it, but they all stated the same meeting place: The Blue Boar.
Peter raised his head to take in the blue painted boar on the wall as Mr. Sims asked the group if they wanted anything else. He ordered dinner for the table to give them a reason to stay and Marsh shook Aniston awake once the food arrived.
“This was much more exciting on the Peninsula,” he said in a sleepy voice.
“Then, it was a matter of life or death,” Cohen supplied around a bite of roast beef.
“And it isn’t now?” Marsh said in his deep voice. The group was silent as each of them seemed to think over the implications.
“Do you think they’ll meet here tonight?” Aniston asked Peter, who shrugged in response.
“I doubt it, but I don’t know what else to do.”
The men nodded in understanding and went back to their food. Another two hours of eavesdropping on conversations and wasting their time in the inn’s taproom and Peter called their mission to a halt. “We may as well get some sleep and reevaluate in the morning,” he explained, receiving no complaints from his men. They returned to a very dark Evanslea and a weary groom rubbed his eyes as he took their horses.
They were halfway across the lawn when Marsh came to a halt, throwing up his fingers in a sign they had developed to indicate silence. The men didn’t ask questions, they simply obeyed. Marsh was not the captain, but he had seen something and the rest of them trusted him implicitly. He motioned to the kitchen door, and Peter nodded, signaling for Aniston to go with him while Marsh and Cohen went around the back.
Peter moved toward the kitchen door, a faint flickering inside revealing the single candle someone was holding. He crept up to the window as a dark form rushed past him in the opposite direction. Motioning for Aniston to chase the escapee, Peter dashed into the kitchen, eager to find who the shadowed man had met up with. He came upon a dark, empty room and moved about as quickly as he could. When he located a candle on a shelf by the stairs, he lit it with embers from the fireplace and glanced around to find the kitchen bare. He checked the pantry, larder, and still room, but all of them were empty. It was when he was leaving the last of these rooms that he heard the door at the top of the stairs close abruptly.
Panting sounded behind him, and he found Aniston in the doorway, shaking his head with his hands on his knees, his breath coming ragged.
Leaving Aniston in complete darkness, Peter took the candle up the stairs two at a time and went after whomever was escaping. He banged the door open—and hit someone with it if the sounding “oof” was any indication.
“What the devil?” exclaimed Martin in a dressing gown.
“Which way did he go?” Peter asked.
“What are you talking about?” Martin said, bewildered. He searched the floor for his candle and found it, holding it up to Peter’s to light it. “I was just coming down to the kitchen for tea.”
Peter stepped around his brother and ran down the corridor, cupping a hand around the candle flame to keep it from going out. He checked all of the downstairs rooms and headed back toward the kitchen to question the other men.
Martin remained by the top of the stairs, gaping at Peter. “Are you mad? You’ll wake the whole house.”
“No,” Peter said, walking past his brother and swiftly down the stairs. Cohen and Marsh had arrived, and Aniston had located another candle. Peter set his down on the worktable before leaning both of his hands on the surface. “Anything?” he asked his men. Well, his friends now.
“Nothing,” Marsh said, and Cohen just shook his head.
“I chased him to the woods, but he had a horse ready to go and took off quicker than I could catch him,” Aniston said. “I wish I had the foresight to go for a horse myself.”
“Which direction did he go?”
“Toward town.” Aniston nodded his head in the direction of Larkfield.
Peter let out a frustrated breath. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”
The men quieted when Martin stepped into the kitchen. He lifted a teapot from the counter, poured a measure of water into it from the pitcher and lit the stove, all the while being watched by four pairs of intent eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Marsh asked gruffly, causing Martin to startle.
“Correct. This usually helps.” Martin pulled down the tea box from a cupboard just to the left of the sink and prepared his cup.
It was easy to believe that Martin regularly came down for tea given his ease in the kitchen and how well he knew where everything was. Peter watched his brother move the kettle and put out the fire in the stove, before Martin took his cup of tea to the stairs. Martin turned and saluted the men around the table before walking up slowly and shutting the door behind him.
“Do you think?” Aniston asked Marsh. They communicated silently and Marsh nodded once.
“Someone needs to tell him,” Cohen said, his head flicking toward Peter.
“Go ahead.” Aniston threw his hands in the air in surrender.
Marsh rolled his eyes, then faced Peter head on. “It’s your brother.”
“What is?”
“The man we’ve been looking for. It’s obvious.”
Peter glanced at each of his friends. They all had the same sober look. “But I just ran into him at the top of the stairs. You all saw that he was coming down for tea. Do you think most men know how to boil a pot of tea in the middle of the night?”
“Only those who need to use it as a cover.”
“Oh, be reasonable,” Peter said. He looked into the eyes of the three men he trusted most in the world and they each looked back at him with intent. They were serious. “But what would he have against Miss Smithson? For mercy’s sake, he’s the one who has been visiting her over the past year.”
Marsh raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. Cohen moved to where Martin had left the kettle and began brewing himself a cup. Aniston lifted a finger and Cohen pulled down a second cup.
“I think the motive is irrelevant at this point.” Marsh said. “We have found our man and we need to move fast. If it is in fact Martin, then Miss Smithson is in more danger than she knows.”
Peter wanted to continue arguing but saw that it was fruitless. They made valid points, but he’d known Martin his entire life. Martin might have a penchant for revenge against his brothers, but he would not hurt a woman.
“I think we’ve found what we’ve been looking for,” Cohen said after storing the tea away in the cupboard. He reached on his toes and pulled a dried plant out of the same shelf, turning to place it on the center of the table. “This, my friends, is foxglove.”
33
Kate
A soft knock sounded at the door and pulled Kate out of her distressing dream. She had been on edge ever since the events of the evening before and had shifted those anxieties and fears into her sleep. The knock sounded again, and she panicked momentarily. It was completely dark in her room, not even the barest hint of light coming through the drapes. It had to be sometime in the middle of the night.
She feared it could be Mr. Evans and jumped out of bed, moving to the door to confirm it was locked before responding. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry. It’s me,” came the reply.
“Peter?” she asked to be certain. She knew his voice, but it was quiet and muffled through the door.
“Yes.”
She unlocked the door and opened it enough to peek outside. “What has happened?”
He was standing close, his face lit by a small candle. His hair was in disarray and his clothes looked like he had slept in them. Given the time of night, perhaps he had. He dragged a hand down his face. “Quite a bit has happened. No one is in immediate danger, but I felt it was important to fill you in. The cover of night may be an advantage, too.”
“Or a danger to our reputations. What if you are seen?”
“There is no one awake except for my friends. And I tru
st them implicitly.”
“But may I?” she asked softly.
He looked into her eyes intently. “Yes.”
“Give me a moment.” Kate closed the door and immediately was swallowed by darkness. She opened it again and reached for his candle. “May I borrow this?”
A smile tilted one half of his lips, and he handed over the candle, their fingers brushing in the process. She mumbled her thanks and used the light to quickly pull on her dressing gown and slippers. Her hair was braided, the end tied with a ribbon, and she pulled it over her shoulder. It would have to do. She was not going to put it up.
Kate cracked the door open and Peter came in, closing the door behind himself. She led him to the only chair in the room, but he pulled over the vanity seat and sat a good distance from her, for which she was grateful.
“I need to apologize first,” Kate said. To her dismay, Peter said nothing. He looked to be struggling within himself, so she forged ahead. “I do not doubt your character, Peter. And I only said I did because I was angry, and I wanted to hurt you.”
“It does not change what I did.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. Standing, she moved to his side and held his hand in her own. “But you are not that same boy. We all make mistakes and I forgave you long ago when someone helped me to see that holding onto that anger only hurt me. If you are still grieving over your actions, then it is time you forgive yourself.”
Peter stared into her eyes, his own expression indecipherable. She lifted his hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it before releasing him and moving back to her chair. “Now what have you come to tell me?”
Peter’s gaze flicked away, pain on his face. She wondered if it was because of what she had just said or what he was about to tell her.
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