by Corwin, Amy
By morning, she felt flustered and pulled to the point of dizziness. Matters worsened when her uncle and Chilton insisted on coming to breakfast early instead of taking trays in their rooms as decent men ought to do. After a quick meal, she escaped for a long walk with one of the dogs, hoping that the fresh air would clear her mind and give her some much needed energy.
She was just returning to the house when someone called to her.
“Miss!” Joshua yelled, dashing around the corner of the stables. “Miss Archer!”
Oriana stopped and adjusted her annoying bonnet which had slipped during her perambulations. Her cheeks were cold from the chilly February weather, but she didn’t want to return to the house. On the other hand, Hunter, the big black dog who had always been Uncle John’s favorite, desired that very thing.
He nudged her forward.
“Stop, Hunter. Sit. There’s a good doggums.”
Hunter sat on her shoe crushing her toes. Gently tugging her foot out from under him, Oriana watched as Joshua ran up to her. She had been gone from the house for quite a while. With a tired sigh, she supposed that in her absence some new emergency had arisen.
She turned slightly away from Joshua, wishing he hadn't seen her. Outside, the air was fresh and clean. There were no gamesters or smugglers to worry about. And free of the house, she felt less exhausted than she did stuck inside, worrying about everyone and everything.
She glanced up and sighed again.
Down the lane a few yards, Chilton approached as well. It appeared that he, too, had taken a walk, although it must have a more energetic one than hers. His clothing appeared disheveled. Even at a distance, she could see the disarray of his cravat.
“Thank goodness, there’s Mr. Dacy,” Joshua said. “Quick, I’ve hitched up the gig to Buttercup. It’s awaitin’ you at the curve in the road under the old apple tree.”
Oriana stared at Joshua’s earnest and nervous face. He kept reaching out as if to take her arm, only to jam his hands back into his pockets.
“Why would you do such a thing? I’ve had my outing already. Hunter wants his treat,” she replied.
Hearing his name, Hunter barked in enthusiastic agreement.
“You don’t understand, Miss Archer, please just do as I say!”
“I beg your pardon!” It took a lot to scandalize her but being told what to do by a footman-cum-valet was more than enough. Even if they had played together as toddlers, and he had once, impudently, stolen a kiss when she was eight and he was seven.
“Please!” Joshua turned and rushed toward Chilton. “Mr. Dacy! You must come right away and drive Miss Archer down the road a mile and then back again to the house.” Joshua accompanied this extraordinary statement with a flurry of straightening and retying of Chilton’s clothing.
He knocked Joshua’s hands away with a frown. But the lad was determined. He managed to retie the crushed cravat and smooth the dust off his employer’s jacket before Chilton pushed him away with irritation.
“What do you mean by ordering me about?” Chilton said as she joined them.
“It’s Mr. Archer’s orders, I swear!” Joshua said, his eyes bulging with anxiety.
“Uncle John? Why would he request such a thing?” she asked.
Joshua caught her by the elbow. “I—well, Miss, you can’t go in there right now. Please just do this before the constable sees you.”
“The constable?” Chilton replied in a startled tone.
He moved between Oriana and Joshua, making it impossible for his valet to touch her again. Her stomach fluttered at the protective gesture, and then she sternly reminded herself not to be a gudgeon.
He obviously had no clear idea what he was doing.
Joshua on the other hand seemed to have very determined ideas about what he was doing. He chivvied them down the lane, darting quick glances over his shoulder.
“He’s here already. You two must arrive in the gig—together. Tell him you’ve just returned from London.”
“London!” Oriana and Chilton exclaimed in a chorus of dismay. She flushed and continued. “That’s clearly impossible. We can’t have traveled to London together without a chaperone. It's most improper. If this isn’t just like one of Uncle’s plans...” Her speech drifted off in a bout of furious concentration.
The constable's presence at The Orchards was ominous, particularly in combination with her uncle's peculiar scheme as presented by Joshua. She caught Chilton’s gray gaze on her. He wore such a look of intense speculation that her stomach twitched into a knot.
“And what about our luggage?” She instinctively thought of the plan’s potential flaws. It had all the earmarks of something hatched in a panic and without much thought.
“I’ve thought of that. Miss Helen is waiting in the gig. The three of you’ve got to be seen coming back together. Now, please!” He tried to herd them down the road, his face scrunched with agonized urgency. “Please!”
She moved one step before stopping. “What about Hunter? Did we take him to London, too?”
Joshua hurried them even faster down the road.
“No. I’ll take him. I’m out walking him right now,” Joshua replied in a relieved voice when Oriana and Chilton began walking again. “That’s to be my role. Walking the dog.”
As they came to the bend, she saw her sister sitting in the gig, idly stripping off her gloves and then smoothing them on over her fingers again. When Helen glanced up and saw the three of them, she waved gaily. The blue silk ribbons from her chipped straw bonnet fluttered prettily under her chin.
Her sister looked elegant and beautiful in her new blue velvet traveling dress. A matching cape trimmed in a blond satin that exactly matched her silky curls draped over her delicate shoulders. She even had two feathers decorating her bonnet, one in gold and one in blue. They highlighted Helen’s eyes and hair to perfection.
Oriana glanced down at her drab brown pelisse. It covered an even drabber dull gray-brown walking dress. She sighed.
Some days, it was difficult not to utterly detest Helen.
Oriana waved back. She tried to pick up the pace to join her sister until Chilton halted them.
“Precisely why did the three of us go to London? Did Mr. Archer assign us any particular reason?” Chilton asked.
Joshua laughed. “Being unconscious at the time, no.”
“Unconscious? What do you mean?” Oriana replied in alarm.
“Nothing, I don’t mean nothing by it. He’s...napping, is all.”
“Napping? While the constable is sitting in our hallway?”
“Please, Miss Archer. You’ll see when you arrive—if you ever do arrive, which you won’t if you don’t step smartly and get into the gig.”
Chilton’s brows furrowed for a moment. Then his expression cleared.
He appeared almost happy, and she stared at him with interest. Her stomach fluttered, like a fledgling bird preparing for its first flight. Then he smiled down at her, and her heart soared to the heavens.
“We’ve obviously been to see my father.”
“Your father?” she asked, bemused by his warm smile.
“Yes. My father.”
“You have a father?”
His lips twitched before he let out a deep laugh. She couldn't help but smile in response.
His dark gaze caught her eyes as he replied, “I believe it’s necessary in everyone’s life—at one time or another—to have a father. No matter how inconvenient it may be.”
“Why did we visit him?”
“Why does anyone visit their father?” he replied, his tone teasing.
Her heart abruptly fell.
“Oh,” she replied. She certainly knew why the Archers visited their parents. It was the same reason all gamesters did—to ask for funds.
She wondered how much he owed if the debt couldn’t be paid off by his heavy purse. Even after the Archers’ very minor depredations, there was quite a lot remaining.
And she wondered if he owed the
money to his employer, Mr. Lyndel. Perhaps that was why he was employed by such a scoundrel. Maybe Chilton would actually have to make a real trip to London to visit his father soon to avoid having his own limbs broken.
“You don’t look very happy with the idea.” He said huffily.
“Well, why should I be?” She sighed and watched his happiness falter and fade.
“I thought—never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He pulled her forward to the gig and stood beside it to help her up.
Helen patted the seat beside her and smiled complacently.
Gazing at Chilton’s shuttered, hard face, Oriana wondered if she had been dreaming when he smiled at her. She was baffled by his sudden change of mood. When she laid her gloved hand in his, he glared down at her, his gray eyes cold and hard.
“Mr. Dacy.” She refused to step up into the gig and kept a steadfast grip on his hand. “I’m sorry if I said anything to distress you.”
He cut her off. “You mistake me, Miss Archer. I’m not upset. Just bored.” When she didn’t release his hand, he placed his free arm around her waist and tried to hoist her into the gig.
She trod on his foot. “Stop this immediately. I am attempting to apologize to you.”
“There is no need. Now please get into the gig so we can get this farce over with.”
“If you speak to me in that horrible fashion, I shall do no such thing. I am sorry if I wasn’t sufficiently pleased that you have a papa you can go to when you are in need, but I was distracted.”
“When I am in need?” His grip on her waist tightened. She gasped for breath. His scowl deepened. “What do you mean, in need?”
“What are you doing, Oriana?” Helen called from the gig. “Why don’t you get in?”
“Oh, do be quiet, Helen,” she told her sister ruthlessly. She turned her attention back to Chilton. The bland expression on his face confused her. However, at least the tightness surrounding his eyes and mouth was gone.
Unfortunately, instead of lightening his expression, it just left his face enigmatic.
“I didn’t mean to be unsympathetic about your need to visit your father. I know how difficult it is to apply to your family for funds. Just be thankful you have a father to assist you. Why, I have had to write papa at least twice this month about housekeeping funds, myself.”
He grinned and hoisted her up into the seat despite her protests.
“Then it is excellent you have a father, as well.” He climbed in after her.
After he managed to wrest the reins from Helen’s grasp, he snapped the whip well over Buttercup’s head. The gig jerked forward and Buttercup took them at a smart pace toward The Orchards.
Chapter Twenty
Cold Hands: A run of poor hands.
They arrived at the front door in time to see Joshua pulling Hunter around to the stables. Chilton jumped down from the gig. Then he assisted Oriana and her sister to alight.
“Were you part of this plan, Helen?” she asked, staring at the front door.
Helen shook her head, dislodging one of her golden curls over her forehead. She gazed up at it, crossing her eyes as she concentrated on poking it back up underneath the brim of her hat.
“Helen!” Oriana repeated.
“Oh, sorry—I beg your pardon?”
“Do you know what's going on? Why is the constable here?”
“Really, I haven’t the faintest notion. Joshua came running in while I was writing to Mamma. He insisted I come with him in the gig.”
“And you agreed? Why? Didn’t you even ask him?”
“Well, no. I just assumed he had a good reason—really, I thought you might have gone too far on your walk and wanted us to come fetch you.”
“Oh.” She understood completely.
As if fearing Oriana didn’t understand at all, Helen continued, her tone aggrieved. “I thought you might have walked to the village. It would have been a lovely afternoon, you know. And we could have gone to Mr. Hawkins' shop. Joshua says he has a lovely new bolt of blue watered silk that I really thought you might like to examine.”
The front door creaked. Mr. Brown held it open and stared down at them impassively. Grabbing her sister by the elbow, Oriana turned toward the steps.
After tying Buttercup to the hitching ring, Chilton joined them and offered her his arm. She tucked her hand into the warm hollow and let him drag her into the entryway.
A fat dumpling of a man with thick gray hair, a black jacket, and a black top hat sat on the bench inside. When the trio entered, he jumped up and bowed.
“Ah, the Misses Archer.” He bowed again. Then he caught sight of Chilton. “And you might be?”
“Mr. Dacy.”
“Dacy, sir?”
“Yes, Dacy. Mr. Chilton Dacy,” he replied brusquely. “And you are?”
“Mr. Allen, sir. Tom Allen.” The two men shook hands.
Rose who hurried out of the nether reaches of the household, wiping her damp hands upon her apron, looked flustered. Oriana and Helen handed their wraps to her.
With increasing trepidation, Oriana turned to their butler. “Our luggage is in the gig, Brown. Would you have someone remove it to our rooms?”
“Dreadful thing, sir, just dreadful,” Mr. Allen said when Rose left with their wraps. His blue eyes followed the maid’s progress up the stairs. “I’m awful sorry, Miss Archer, to be greeting you this way.”
“Why are you greeting us, Mr. Allen?” She gestured toward the Blue sitting room. Then she pulled her sister away from her primping in front of the enormous mirror hung on the wall.
“I'll explain in a moment, Miss Archer.” He followed them all into the parlor and waited for them to sit before he pulled up one of the straight-backed wooden chairs they generally reserved for card parties. He parted the tails of his jacket and sat gingerly, as if afraid his weight would break the chair.
She sat on a small settee and was surprised when Chilton sat down next to her. When he picked up her hand under the curious gaze of Mr. Allen, she felt shocked, although it was comforting to clutch his warm, dry fingers. She sniffed and then breathed more deeply, her nerves eased by the spicy scent of bay he wore. She wished she could rest her head against his shoulder instead of sitting stiffly facing Mr. Allen.
Helen, sitting opposite in her favorite pale gold wing chair, gazed at them. Her eyes grew quite round as they lingered on Chilton’s hand clasping Oriana’s. Oriana suppressed a smile at her sister’s reaction and tightened her grip on his fingers.
“Now, Mr. Dacy and Miss Archer, I understand you're just returning from London?”
“I didn’t realize our traveling plans were of such widespread interest,” Chilton commented.
Mr. Allen smiled grimly. “I should have mentioned, sir, that I’m here on official business.” He removed a small brown leather-bound notebook from his waistcoat pocket. The booklet had a stubby pencil stuck in a loop holding it shut. “I’m the constable in Peckham. I’ve been sent to enquire into certain matters.”
Oriana’s fingers felt numb. Chilton calmly laid his other hand on top of hers and pressed it lightly, reassuringly. The gesture effectively hid the nervous twitching of her fingers from Mr. Allen’s sharp blue gaze.
Taking a chance, she darted her eyes once, very briefly, to Chilton's face. His lips curved slightly in a sort of half smile, and his strong fingers tightened their hold briefly.
Subtly relieved, she turned her attention to Mr. Allen. “Has something happened? While we were gone?”
Mr. Allen nodded, his blue eyes examining her. Her back stiffened under his regard, and she irrelevantly wished she had on something a little more stylish.
Although, to be honest, the dusty hem of her dress and her stout leather half-boots did lend credence to the idea that they had just returned from London. It was simply too bad that her sister didn’t look mussed enough to have walked across a room.
“Did you know a Mr. Lyndel?”
Despite the pressure on her hand, she couldn’t
suppress a sudden gasp. “Mr. Lyndel? Why, yes. I mean, no! I mean, well, yes. I suppose I do.”
“What Miss Archer is trying to say is that she is familiar with his name,” Chilton interrupted smoothly. “He was, I believe, a mere acquaintance of her uncle’s, Mr. John Archer.”
“Then you know him?”
Chilton shook his head. “No. Have you asked Mr. Archer?”
“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it, sir?”
Her breathing stopped. Then she took a deep, deliberate breath. “I don’t understand, Mr. Allen. What is the problem?”
“Your uncle is under the weather, so-to-speak.”
“What do you mean? Is he unwell?” Oriana half-rose, remembering Joshua’s words. Something awful had happened to her uncle that morning. She knew it.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Allen said. “Then you haven’t seen your uncle this afternoon?”
“Well, no, I—we...” Her voice drifted off.
“Of course she hasn’t seen him today. Didn’t you see us drive up in the gig? What is this all about?” Chilton pulled her deeper into the seat next to him and put a heavy arm around her shoulders.
“Sir, when I arrived, Mr. Archer was upstairs in his bed. I went to his room to question him and found him more than simply ill. He’s nearly dead. Beaten.”
She rose, gasping. Her eyes locked with Helen’s, who stared back in shock.
Mr. Allen held out his hand. “Sit down, Miss Archer. The doctor’s been and gone. He’ll live, I’m sure.”
“Yes, but—”
“He’s asleep, Miss, and will wait until we're through. You can do nothing for him now but watch him rest. I’m afraid I need your attention for the moment.”
Oriana’s temper tightened across her brow.
“I can stay and talk to Mr. Allen, Oriana, if you wish to see Uncle John,” Helen offered in a soft, hesitant voice. When everyone glanced her way, she blushed rosily and twisted her hands together in her lap. “Or, I could go up, although he always prefers you—”
“I would appreciate it if you all stayed. This won’t take long.”
“What did Doctor Barker say?” Oriana asked, trying to hear any sounds from upstairs. “What happened?”