by Archer, Kate
As the fever left, memories flowed back. Shine’s betrayal, the explosion in his arm that had knocked him to the ground, his returning shot and struggle to mount his horse. Then, his wild ride through the streets, hanging onto Horus. His ever-stalwart horse had sensed the danger and had stepped lightly but swiftly back to the house. Horus had even whinnied and stamped his feet when they’d arrived to the door.
Freddy had run out, only thinking to relieve him of his horse. Hayes had noted the whiteness of Freddy’s face as the boy stared at his drab overcoat soaked in blood as he’d slid off his horse. Cobb and Molton had been out in a trice and they’d carried him into the house. He had a vague recollection of being hauled down the stairs to the kitchens and complaining loudly about it.
Cobb had since told him that he’d lost a fair amount of blood. To quell the servants talk, Cobb had given them a story. Their lord had acted as a second to a friend and then been set upon by highwaymen on the way home. His panniers had been packed with bandages and such, in case his friend was hit. The highwaymen must have thought the panniers carried valuables.
Hayes had grimaced upon hearing the tale. There were vast holes in that story—his pistols had not been dueling pistols and nobody met for a duel in the dark. The only detail that had the ring of truth was the panniers. Cobb had been observant enough to notice that he’d had them when he left and had returned without them. Although, it would be rather foolish to believe a second and not a surgeon had brought bandages. He did not know if they believed half of it, but Cobb had taken the further precaution of warning them all that if the matter was spoken of again, they would be dismissed without reference. The housekeeper had sniffed at the threat; Molton had been equally unimpressed. However, the rest had been cowed to silence. He hoped that silence would hold over time.
As far as Mr. Shine was concerned, Hayes prayed they’d seen the last of him. There was always the danger that an unhinged individual might try something else, but just now Shine would be nursing a wound in his leg. With any luck, it would fester and kill him. If he lived, Shine had got enough money to relocate himself. He hoped the man had some sort of self-preservation instinct and would move on.
Hayes felt stronger now and had been out of bed for a half hour at a time. That was well, as he’d had to beg off on a number of engagements already. He’d claimed a fever—a vague enough complaint that it might be construed as anything. Though, he would have to make a reappearance soon. He would also have to send some sort of communication to Mrs. Hemming. There was still a guard on her house and they were followed from place to place, but it must seem odd that nothing had been heard from him beyond telling them to stay home and not attend Lady Blakeley’s half mask. He supposed they might have gone after all, but at that moment he had not known if Mr. Shine had associates who might try to kidnap Miss Farnsworth while he attended his midnight meeting in the park.
He thought it would be best if Miss Farnsworth and her aunt never knew what had actually occurred—it would only serve to frighten them. He must just communicate that the danger had likely passed.
Hayes went to his desk by the window and pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer.
Mrs. Hemming,
Please excuse my absence, I have been much taken up with discovering more about our mutual acquaintance. By the evidence I’ve gathered, I have hope that we will not be troubled further by that particular gentleman. For now, I will leave my men in place on Cork Street and you will continue to be discreetly followed but I believe the danger has passed.
Hayes bit his lip as the wound began to pulse in his arm. He might wish to write more, but he dared not test the wound before he had to. He might wish to write something that would be a hint to Miss Farnsworth. Though, he was not certain what that hint should be. As he’d laid in bed hour upon hour, she’d been much on his mind.
What a start they’d had! Both with their backs up. She’d claimed a particular skill at piquet. He’d condescended. She’d taught him a lesson. He’d found he was neither used to nor fond of being taught a lesson. They had gone on prickly and uneasy.
His feelings had begun to change in some slight way at Lady Catherine’s ball. They had been more affected as he’d watched her rescue young Sam from Riddick’s cudgel on Lady Jersey’s steps. Sam, who had now become a favorite in the stables, due to his propensity for telling of the horrors of St. Giles. And there was Sam’s mother, who was less of a favorite with the housemaids for her propensity for telling of the horrors of St. Giles.
Then, he and Miss Farnsworth had been locked together in a room, under threat, and she’d shown her real worth. Her bravery. Her nerve. And of course, the Bergrams’ ball, where he’d stared at the ringlet of a curl against her neck. Where he’d found out her real circumstances. Her dowry would be small. Too small for him to consider.
Hayes paused. He was not considering her dowry! Good lord, the laudanum was playing tricks with him. Why else would he be thinking of dowries?
He was a gentleman of the Dukes’ Pact. He would take his time, no hurry to marry. He would have his way, and his way was to avoid the state for a year or two. His way was to have the estates on firm footing before committing himself. Miss Farnsworth would be off the scene before it was his time to declare to any lady. A woman like that did not drift from season to season. In any case, he doubted she could even afford to come back for a second round.
For all he knew, she was being courted as he lay there. Why shouldn’t she be? She would make a rational choice for a husband, she would not leave the town without her future secured. She had too much care for her sisters to do otherwise.
Though, why should some worthless fool win the lady? He could imagine the fellow—he was of a suitable estate and would provide adequately. It would all be very adequate. She would accept him as her duty. Or worse, she would like him, though Hayes was certain she should not. Adequate did not seem adequate for Miss Farnsworth.
Or, Good God, what if Grayson prevailed? Grayson was intent on making Miss Farnsworth his latest romantic conquest. The lord might think he’d toy with the lady’s feelings and then be off to the next. But Grayson played with fire and one of these days he would not escape. Why should he not take his fall at the feet of Miss Farnsworth?
Like a wayward horse, his thoughts went this way and that way as he used all of his strength to steer them back to the right path.
None of it mattered, he did not know what he would write if he could and he could do no more just now than sign his name.
*
Mrs. Hemming sorted through her various correspondence. Lily saw her pause at one particular letter. Her aunt’s expression was so singular that Lily wondered if it were another communication from Lady Carradine. She’d given up wondering if Lord Ashworth would write something—she’d spent too many days waiting with bated breath for the post to arrive, and then nothing to show for it. She had allowed herself to hope for naught, his silence said everything that needed to be said.
The past days had been spent fulfilling their engagements, always aware that there was a man on horseback who trailed them. Both she and Mrs. Hemming were cognizant of the idea that Lord Ashworth did not yet believe it entirely safe to dispense with the precaution. He would provide a guard for them. Though, he would not provide himself, as he had done on the way to the Bergrams.
She had not seen him at the Findlay’s dinner, though Lord Findlay was a cousin and she’d been certain she would. Then, she’d heard he had some sort of fever complaint—the flimsiest of excuses one used when one wished to absent oneself. A person claiming such a disease had bought themselves at least a week if they cared to and were in no danger of having visitors. Lily knew in her heart that it was not fever that kept him away. It was she. After all, was not a hopeful female more dangerous than any disease?
She wished they would finally meet again, so that she could show him she had no thought of him. That she did was beside the point. She was skilled enough at hiding her feelings that she mi
ght convince him of it. She would wear her card player face. Then, they could go back to their old footing.
“Ranier,” Mrs. Hemming said, laying down the letter, “I wonder if you might give us a moment alone?”
Lily dropped her napkin. Was the letter her aunt had just read indeed another from Lady Carradine? Or even, finally, from Lord Ashworth? Surely, it was something of importance.
Ranier appeared as surprised as Lily at the request, but shooed the footmen from the room and closed the door behind him.
Mrs. Hemming slid the letter across the table.
Lily instantly recognized the handwriting; it was from him. He had finally written, though as she scanned it she wished he had not. It was the shortest of missives, only to say he believed Mr. Shine gone, though the watch on them would stay for now.
He could not have written any less and she understood him very clearly.
“He is not very voluble, is he?” Mrs. Hemming asked.
Lily laid the letter down. “I think he must be much engaged and only wished us to know the facts.”
“I wonder that he does not call on us, considering what has transpired. I should like to know what he knows. How has he concluded that Mr. Shine will trouble us no more? And if he knows it, why does he keep the watch on the house? For that matter, why have we been turned over to some nameless fellow when it was himself that escorted us to the Bergrams?”
“I believe it was said at the Findlays’ that he suffers from a fever of some sort,” Lily said.
Mrs. Hemming looked critically at her niece. “But my dear, he cannot be both much engaged and abed at the same time.”
Lily flushed and twisted her napkin. “Perhaps that is it—he is too ill to write a long letter.”
“Even I can write a letter when I am sick enough to be abed. In truth, I write rather more in those circumstances, it passes the time.”
Mrs. Hemming paused and Lily hoped her thoughts would take her in another direction. Then her aunt said, “There was nothing between you that has somehow gone amiss?”
“No, certainly not!”
“I only ask because of the unusual circumstance that occurred in Lady Carradine’s house. I only thought maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Lily asked, alarmed at where her aunt’s thoughts seemed to be taking her.
“Oh, I do not know, perhaps an ill-advised kiss that both of you would prefer to forget.”
“There has been nothing like that,” Lily said hurriedly. “Nothing at all, I can assure you.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Hemming said, seeming satisfied. “I suppose Lord Ashworth will illuminate the matter further at his leisure. Now, we’d best open the door or else Ranier will think we are scheming.”
*
The Grace Kelter had set sail two days ago. On the night of his encounter with Lord Ashworth, Shine had bound his leg, stowed the money from the panniers in various pockets, limped his way back to the road, and hired a carriage. He’d been forced to leave the park without the horse he’d intended to take from the lord. It had been a good plan—take possession of a fine horse that would carry him to the port and then be sold for a good price. He’d planned on taking the money, the horse, and whatever valuables Ashworth had on his person. He’d even take his clothes, at least the ones not bloodied. They would not fit him but would be of sufficient quality to fetch a promising amount. He’d not worried that he’d be connected to the murder. Ashworth would not have told anyone of the meeting. To tell of the meeting was to tell the tale of Miss Farnsworth and he was certain Ashworth would keep that close.
As for a gentleman murdered in Hyde Park in the dead of night? That it was a lord would cause a stir, that could not be avoided. But it would be assumed the lord had been very drunk and beset by footpads. Why else would a lord enter the park at such an hour?
He’d debated if it were strictly necessary, but he knew that rumors of him being a cheat might follow him across the globe and resurface at any time. Ashworth would be the source of those rumors. He had only to hope Miss Farnsworth would be so frightened to hear of the lord’s demise that her lips would remain shut forevermore. He thought she would stay silent, to say anything about it must reveal her part in it. As much as these fine ladies pretended at swooning and being over-delicate, he had the idea that they could hold up well enough when their own safety and comfort were at issue.
Of course, there was Meg to worry over. He’d meant to be off that very night, but he’d been hit and must tend to it. He’d got out of the carriage a distance from Meg’s crumbling abode, he must be seen to come on foot to support his story. He’d known he would not have been able to hide his wound, he’d bled too much. So, he’d told Meg of being attacked and barely escaping with his life. After all, they were in the neighborhood of the Seven Dials. Nothing more usual than that. In any case, he did not think Meg bright or likely to be solving mysteries. She was too wed to the blue ruin to do much beyond rent her rooms, buy tea on the black market, and purchase bottles of gin. He suspected she’d often forgone dinner in pursuit of her liquid lover.
For a few coins, she’d dressed the wound. He’d have wished to have a nurse with cleaner hands and better breath, but he’d had no choice. He was intent on not involving anybody beyond what was necessary. In any case, it was only a deep graze and would heal soon enough. He’d left Meg’s genial household on the following morning in order to make the ship for Venezuela.
It had been a mistake. As he traveled, the wound had festered. He’d taken care of it as best he could with hot water and clean bandages at the inns he stopped at. He purchased yarrow, and when that had no effect, he’d tried comfrey. And yet, every day it grew deeper. It suppurated through the layers of bandages and on the last day of his journey to the port, he had begun to smell it and covered it in honey. He wrapped extra layers of bandages around it before he boarded the ship so that it would not be noticed. Short of bad weather or a leak, there was little a captain liked less than a sick or injured passenger.
He had laid low in his cabin for two days, hoping if he kept his leg still the infection would begin a retreat. He’d liberally dosed himself with the laudanum he’d purchased on the off chance he was caught and kept himself quiet that way. The infection only grew worse and the pain had finally driven him to the ship’s surgeon.
Mr. Hennesey had poked around in the wound for what seemed ages, sending waves of pain through him such that he had never experienced.
Finally, the doctor had straightened himself and cleaned his hands with a rag. “The leg will have to come off.”
In the coming years, Mr. Shine would work to forget the next hours and days, so filled with horror were they. That he lived was all he could say for himself. That he would arrive to Venezuela missing a vital appendage, that particular appendage drifting down in the ocean deep somewhere, was too grim to contemplate. He rued the day he’d become suspicious of a signature and chased after Nancy Manton.
He had played a game of hazard and the dice had come up against him.
Chapter Fifteen
Lily did not know if Lord Ashworth would avoid Lady Hathaway’s ball or not. If he did, she could not hope for a firmer answer. If he did not, she might also receive a firm answer, told to her by his attitude. Though her logical mind knew she had already received her answer, her less than logical mind had fretted for hours before they had set off.
It was a brief reprieve that the entry into Lady Hathaway’s house was such that Lily had never experienced or imagined. Penny had been right—the theme of the ball was the Tudor court. Lily had not had any idea how far Lady Hathaway was prone to take a notion, but it blessedly captured all her thoughts in that moment.
Rather than enter by the front door, they were led by a footman dressed in the Tudors’ favored green livery down a lit path to the back of the house. Whatever Lady Hathaway’s gardens had been, they were transformed to such that Henry VIII might have looked upon them with favor. First, a charming knot garden filled with hyssop, s
weet briar, rose campion, and peonies, all cleverly made of colored papers. Then, hedges smartly trimmed and laid out in perfect order to guide one to a bridge fashioned as a barge, with running water flowing beneath it representing the Thames. It seemed they had arrived to Hampton Court.
Entering the back of the house, they were led down a series of corridors to the cloak room to deposit their coats and Lily was handed her dance card. Then it was on to the great hall. The space had been transformed into a scene from the 1500’s—wood beams had been installed on the ceiling and silk flags embroidered with the Tudor rose hung over their heads.
Lily was almost breathless with wonder by the time she made her curtsy to Lady Hathaway. Their hostess was dressed as a court lady, her ornate wide sleeves embroidered with pearls and gold thread. Her stiff headdress framed her face and was embedded with multi-colored stones.
Lily moved away and stood with her aunt, looking about for acquaintances. She would not admit who it was she looked for, but while she was at it, she could not help but notice a petite lady standing by a powerfully built gentleman. The lady was looking at her in the most determined manner. Now, the lady was making her way over.
Lily glanced behind her with the thought that perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps it was not herself that lady sought.
She had not been mistaken. The lady said, “A friend pointed you out, though I feel I know you through your letter to me. Miss Farnsworth, I am Sybil—Cassandra’s friend.”
“Lady Lockwood!” Lily said, curtsying deeply.
“I am so pleased to find you here, may I know your friend?” Sybil asked.
“Of course,” Lily said, in a fluster. “This is my aunt, Mrs. Amelia Hemming.”
The ladies smiled at each other. Mrs. Hemming said, “Goodness, you’re a pretty little thing.”
Sybil’s amusement at the comment was evident, for which Lily was relieved. Sybil said, “You sound very like my husband, Mrs. Hemming.”