“Martin is behind everything.”
Peter
Peter searched her face, but he did not detect any surprise. “You already know?”
“I may have figured it out this evening.” She shrugged. “I spoke with Annie and she told me that your brother and Miss Smithson are secretly engaged. When I saw him after that, he made it abundantly clear that I am the object of his affections.”
“How so?” Peter asked, stiffening. Never mind that he had just learned Martin’s motive. He would consider a secret engagement later, for this was far more pressing. If his brother had taken advantage of Kate, he’d go find the man right now and put him out of commission. That could solve both of their problems.
“He made it clear,” Kate said in a voice that brooked no argument. “How did you know?”
“We arrived home to someone sneaking into the kitchen,” Peter said. He explained how he had sat in the taproom of the Blue Boar after finding the notes in Mr. Gibson’s office, and then bumped into Martin by the kitchen entrance. “Whether he was hiding the poisonous plants there until he could safely transport them or leaving them hidden for whatever maid or footman he has adding the foxglove to her tea, we do not know. But it is clear she is being poisoned; there are too many signs for it to be a coincidence. Our only dilemma is considering what to do with this information. I hoped you could give me some insight.”
Kate nodded, her look contemplative. “We must get Miss Smithson out of here posthaste. It would be too much work to ensure that she is not being given any more of the foxglove, and in her own home she could recover quickly.”
Peter nodded. He had had the same thought. “But will we be tipping our hand?”
“Not if we make it Mrs. Smithson’s idea.”
Peter grinned, glad he had bothered Kate with this. Of course he had to make it Mrs. Smithson’s idea. He felt a little dumb for not having thought of it himself. The woman made all of the decisions for her family and it would be quick work to use Aniston to make her feel like the best place for Miss Smithson to heal would be her own home. The man was so charming he could convince the woman in a trice.
“But what do we do about everything else? Are you positive that Martin is behind her fall? He was with me that entire day.”
Peter felt the familiar jealousy and tried to push through it. “If not him, it could have been someone under his direction. Mr. Gibson, perhaps? I am hopeful we can get Martin to confess. Trust me—he likes to be acknowledged for his devious plans.”
She gave him the startled look that he expected to see earlier, and he rose from his chair. “I must let you get some sleep. Please do not feel like you must rise early tomorrow.”
She nodded at him, and he bowed quickly before retreating. The image of Kate with her plait falling over her shoulder and the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her waist would be one that he never forgot. It had taken all of his self-control to remain in his seat as they spoke. When she kissed his hand, he had wanted to pull her onto his lap and show her precisely how he felt about her. But it would be wrong to act so ungentlemanly, particularly after she had praised his character.
His room was quiet, and he placed the candle on his bedside table before removing his coat and loosening his cravat. He had his waistcoat unbuttoned when a creaking floorboard pulled him from his thoughts of Kate crawling back into her bed, and he turned around. The last thing he saw was a large brass object coming straight for him.
And then he blacked out.
34
Peter
Peter felt the banging in his head even before he opened his eyes. Light streamed over his face and he screwed his eyes closed, for trying to peek just pierced his skull even more. A bustling sound came from the side of the room. “Who is there?”
A reply came from his valet and he eased back on the pillows, turning his face away from the sunlight. Covering his eyes, he began to open them when he realized he was in his bed and he sat straight up.
The resulting pang in his head was horrific; he would have cried out if he had not been using all of his strength to stay upright. But how did he get in bed in the first place? He squeezed his eyes shut. Thinking was far too painful.
“Can I fetch you anything, sir? Tea, perhaps?”
Peter decidedly did not want tea. “What time is it?”
“Just after eleven,” came the reply.
Stunned for a moment, Peter found his voice again. “Send for Lords Cohen, Marshall and Aniston, at once.”
He lifted his fingers and gently touched the lump on his temple, recoiling from the pain the pressure caused. There was no sticky substance, which was good. But what a ghastly headache.
It was only ten minutes or so later that his friends arrived.
Aniston’s eyebrows lifted and he sucked in a sharp intake of breath. “That’s quite a lump, old man.”
“We thought you were just tired from last night,” Cohen said, guilt stealing his features. “I should have thought to check on you.”
“No, I only spoke with Kate for a few minutes, briefing her on the developments. And…” Fear snaked through his body and he bolted from his bed. Running past the bewildered men, he raced down the corridor, his head pulsing with each footstep and stopped short of throwing Kate’s door open. He knocked, resting his hand on the wall to still the dizzying sensation. The sound of the knob turning sent relief coursing through him.
Until the door opened to reveal Mrs. Nielsen.
Peter cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of his current dishevelment. Whoever had knocked him on the head and thrown him in bed had not bothered to remove any of his clothing. A blessing and a curse in this moment.
“Might I ask what I can do for you?” she asked.
Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. “Is Miss Kingston in?”
“No,” came the reply, a hint of panic reflected in her eyes. “Actually, I have not seen her all day. But Apple is missing from the stables, so I just thought to check her wardrobe for her riding habit.”
“Is it there?” he asked, pushing the door open and walking past her.
“No,” Mrs. Nielsen said. “I was about to go out and look myself. She is still so new at riding and could easily be unseated.” She looked from him to his three friends that had followed him down the corridor at a more sedate pace.
He didn’t feel like disagreeing with a lady, particularly in front of all of these men, but he had more faith in Kate’s riding than Mrs. Nielsen did. A fact that was not exactly a comfort in this moment.
“Is Martin here?” Peter asked, holding himself taut. He was so afraid of the answer.
“No,” Mrs. Nielsen replied. “He left this morning for London. Apparently, there was an event he could not miss.”
“I’d say,” Marsh muttered under his breath. Mrs. Nielsen shot him a confused glance, but Peter hardly noted it as he looked to his friends. They each nodded and within a moment, the four of them were racing for their own rooms.
“Wait!” Mrs. Nielsen called. “Where are you going?”
“We are going to find Kate,” Peter called back over his shoulder.
They rode hard, each of them having only taken a few minutes to pack a bag. Peter had changed his clothes and sent his valet down to the kitchens for food supplies. He would have raced straight for Domino and been off after speaking with Mrs. Nielsen, but years at war had taught him the correct way to launch a campaign. And proper preparation went a long way.
Cohen possessed the fastest horse and rode over to Split Tree before meeting up with them on the road to London. He’d spoken with Mr. Cruikshank briefly about the recent developments, warning him and asking him to find a way to covertly send the Smithsons back home and away from Evanslea. Peter wondered how he would accomplish it but knew him to be a clever man. He could handle it.
The countryside raced by in his peripherals, but all he could think was that he needed to get to Kate. It was undeniable that Martin had decided it was time to cut his losses a
nd steal her away. Whether he was planning on an elopement to Gretna Green or a special license in London was anyone’s guess. Peter originally wondered if Martin had announced his leaving for London to throw them off, but his gut told him that Town was where he needed to go. His intuition had never let him down.
They slowed their animals to give them a reprieve on an uphill, and Marsh called from his own horse, “What’s the plan, Captain?”
Peter looked to his friend, hoping the helpless feeling within was not showing on his face. “I think I know where he would take her.”
Marsh nodded. It was good enough for him.
But not good enough for Aniston, apparently. “Where is that?”
“We have an aunt who has a small townhouse in Cheapside. She is traveling overseas, so her house has been locked up these last few years. It must be completely empty.”
Aniston nodded and Peter dug his knees into Domino’s side as he crested the hill. He could just now see the haze of London’s coal fire smoke on the horizon, the mass of buildings just touching the skyline, and anxiety rippled through him. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.
35
Kate
Kate’s wrists ached from the twine holding them together. Her back was bent at an odd angle on the sofa, and she longed to stand up and walk around. Or away. The house Mr. Evans had taken her to was dark and drafty, and she imagined it had remained unused for some time. That was not a good sign.
The sun had made its full descent, and aside from a flimsy candelabra on the table in the corner, the room was cast in shadows. Mr. Evans had left some time ago, and it was with great relief that she had heard the door close behind him. Of course, it was also impossible for her to escape. She could not untie the twine around her wrists without getting up, and her feet had long since fallen asleep, as tight as they were tied together.
Glancing around as well as she could with her neck leaning against the arm of the sofa, Kate decided that she had been placed in an outdated and seldom-used parlor. It was on the smaller side with a minimum of windows, and she wondered if it was part of a small house, or just one in a set of rooms. She hoped for the latter, for if Mr. Evans had rented rooms, that meant there were other lodgers nearby and she could find help. The idea grew within her, and she was about to yell for help when the door creaked open, and heavy boots tread inside. Her heart leapt momentarily until she caught sight of Mr. Evans’s pale hair.
“We’re all set for the morning, my love,” he said as he came to sit on the edge of her sofa. She watched him with apprehension as he lifted the papers in his hand. “Special license,” he explained.
Kate swallowed, the fear rising within her. “I will not marry you,” she said with conviction.
A frown marred his forehead. He looked at her for quite some time, his gaze sweeping her every feature before he said quietly and clearly, “You need not consent. Now get some sleep.” With this, he swept from the room, taking the candelabra with him and leaving her in darkness. She squeezed her eyes closed to stem the warm tears that were gathering and leaned her head back on the sofa, sending up a prayer. If ever there was a time for a miracle in her life, it was now.
Mr. Evans’s boots could be heard moving about the room adjoining hers. Faint sounds drifted through the window of horses trotting or people walking by. She knew from the view through the carriage windows that he had taken her to London, but as he had wrapped her in a blanket to carry her in the house—a gag in her mouth that prevented her screaming—that was the extent of her knowledge. She listened to Mr. Evans move about the other room and continued searching her mind for any possible way of escape. If they were all set to be married in the morning, that meant she had hours left to devise a plan. A lot could happen in the course of one night.
Peter
Peter slammed his fist into the wall, causing Mr. Fleming, his London butler, to jump. Aniston, Marsh and Cohen had not, for they were all used to his temper on some level or another. Not that they were relaxed in any way themselves, for all of the men were vastly disappointed at finding both the townhouse belonging to Peter’s aunt and the Evans’s townhouse void of Martin or Kate.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Mr. Fleming asked, wearing the mask of a placid butler, though his eyes told a different story of concern.
“No,” Peter snapped. He faintly recognized the sting of his knuckles as he paced the corridor and shook out his hand. He’d rather smash in Martin’s face, but that wouldn’t be possible until he located the man.
“What about Doctors’ Commons?” Aniston said, perking up. “He’d have to go there if he wanted to obtain a special license.”
“This late? They wouldn’t be there,” Cohen said.
“No,” Marsh agreed. “But we might still be able to retrieve some information.”
Peter looked at Marsh and was briefly taken back to Spain, when the giant man had obtained his scar. Peter never wanted to be on Marsh’s bad side when he was in need of information. But it was a blessing to have him there helping Peter.
The men took off at once, and Peter was glad he had paid a street urchin to hold his horse for him. He arrived at his destination not ten minutes later and tossed Domino’s reins to another boy, briefly wondering if the children ever went home. Or if they even had a home to go to.
“I’ll take the back,” Cohen said, nodding to Marsh. The two took off around the side and Aniston walked the street with Peter. He wasn’t sure precisely what he was looking for, as the streets were mostly empty, save for a few beggars. Aniston began questioning a few of the people in the street to no avail, and Peter went as far as asking the woman seated in a doorway across the street if she had seen a man fitting Martin’s description that day. When the woman replied with the best recipe to season a joint of beef, Peter walked away.
“Nothing,” he said when he came back to Aniston.
“Same,” Aniston said, his eyes full of compassion.
Marsh and Cohen returned, their gazes sorrowful. Peter couldn’t stand the pity he saw there. He just needed to find her.
When they returned to their horses, Marsh halted. “You there,” he said to the trembling boy holding his horse’s reins in his most authoritative voice. “Have you seen any blond gents coming in for a license?”
The boy’s mouth went slack.
“You’ll be rewarded for what you tell,” Marsh said, lessening his intensity a fraction. The boy started to slowly shake his head when a small voice peeped up from behind them.
“I saw him.”
Peter turned around and took in a young girl, her dress in rags, and a coat that must have belonged to a man at some point hanging over her slender frame. “My brother don’t see nothing out here by the street, but I saw a gent couple hours back that don’t come here regular. He had papers when he left.”
“What did he look like?” Peter asked, anticipation making him antsy.
“Light hair. Angry eyes. He was a gentl’man, he was.”
Peter would have chuckled at the description if he wasn’t feeling so desperate. “Do you know where he went?”
The girl shrugged. “Jumped in a big fancy carriage and took off that way,” she said, pointing down the street. That direction could lead many places, but Martin had taken Kate somewhere he did not think he’d be found. And there was no better place to become lost in London than the infamous rookery.
“The East End?” Marsh asked with a raised eyebrow.
“You read my mind,” Peter said as he tossed the girl a few coins and jumped into the saddle. Her grin was worth every penny, so he tossed her a couple more.
They rode down the street, the buildings and tenements becoming more foul smelling and dilapidated the further they went. They searched street by street, methodically looking for the Evans crest and the sleek blue carriage. He would spend all night looking if he had to, and as the hours passed, he was nearly positive that that was exactly what he was going to do.
Aniston and Cohen dis
mounted and searched in pubs and inns as Marsh and Peter scanned the stables and carriage houses. The expanse they had remaining to search was seeming more and more impossible, and Peter was wondering when his trusty intuition was going to kick in. He realized he hadn’t prayed in a while and found himself fervently begging God to lead him to Kate.
“We’ve got it!” Aniston shouted, running from the Black Knight’s taproom and flagging Peter down. “A man in there saw Martin’s carriage three streets south turning toward an inn he called the One-Eyed Sailor.”
“Let’s move,” Peter commanded, turning Domino around and pressing him forward at full speed. He recognized a voice behind him reminding him to be cautious, and he reined in slightly, but not enough to stop him from running square into a hackney that pulled into the street right at that very moment. Peter flew from Domino’s back, his head smacking on the ground as his bad arm smashed against the cobblestone street. He moved to stand and fell again at the pain that shot up his arm.
“Captain!” Aniston called, jumping from his horse and kneeling at Peter’s side. He helped him to stand and led him back to his horse. “Let’s walk. We are nearly there.”
Peter shook his head, the action causing him excessive pain. He grabbed Domino’s saddle with his good hand and tried to pull himself up with one arm the way he had seen Cohen do many times. It took a few tries, but he was finally seated and moving again toward the inn, this time at a much more cautious pace.
Flanked by his men, he approached the rundown One-Eyed Sailor and slid from Domino’s back.
“What’s our plan, Captain?” Cohen asked, coming to stand beside him.
“We rescue her,” Peter said simply, gazing up at the multiple stories of the inn and the possible rooms she could be kept in. He waited until Marsh and Aniston flanked him before taking a deep breath.
A Forgiving Heart Page 23