‘What the hell is going on?’ Brin asked aloud, pouring himself a substantial measure of whisky and downing it in one.
He wasn’t left stewing in his own anger for long before Harlow returned.
‘Looks like the cove has been camping out in that dower house,’ he said. ‘How’s Miss Dorset?’
‘Recovering. She’s in her room and her maid is with her. No sign of the man, I suppose.’
‘Nah, but he obviously intended to have another go at Miss Dorset, which is why he hadn’t left the estate. It’s just bad luck that I chose to take her there and made his job easier for him.’ Harlow’s expression turned venomous. ‘He’s got a hell of a nerve.’
‘Your arrival took him by surprise, so he needed to create a diversion in order to scarper. As you say, you obligingly delivered his potential victim to him and he took his chance.’
‘Just you wait until I get my hands on him,’ Harlow growled. ‘What sort of snivelling coward clouts a lady on the head. Still an’ all, I reckon her bonnet saved her from having a cracked skull. It helped to absorb the impact. I took it off to see if she was bleeding. It had a solid crown that was completely smashed in.’
Brin shuddered. ‘Bonnets can be replaced.’
Harlow sniffed. ‘Even so, I knew there was something wrong when I found the door unlocked. I shouldn’t even have let her step inside.’
‘I doubt whether you would have been able to prevent her,’ Brin replied, heaving a sigh.
Harlow grunted.
‘The damned impudent cur chose a clever hiding place,’ Brin said thoughtfully. ‘That house is on an isolated part of the estate, away from the tenants’ cottages and the farmed land. No one has much reason to venture in that direction which is probably why it wasn’t searched.’
‘I’ll be having words with the man who didn’t bother,’ Harlow growled.
‘We didn’t take into account the possibility that the man was actually camping out on the estate, although we undoubtedly should have done. Part of me was convinced that he would have thought about his own hide and escaped after he attacked Miss Dorset and Lady Melody. Seems I underestimated his determination.’
‘So what now?’ Harlow asked, throwing himself into a chair.
Brin told him about Anglesey being missing from the shoot. ‘I can’t remember if he left the house with us. What with there being so many of us, plus the loaders and beaters and the dogs it was all a bit chaotic. But I definitely noticed him missing just before I was summoned back here. Could it have been him in the dower house?’
Harlow shrugged. ‘Possibly. He’s tall enough. But it can’t have been him camping out there because he’s been living here in the house, taking part in the activities. Besides, if he wanted Miss Dorset dead, there are opportunities enough to affect an accident, especially with her being in an otherwise unoccupied wing of the house.’
Brin nodded. ‘A push in the small of the back as she’s about to descend the stairs, a pillow over her face while she’s asleep.’ He shuddered. ‘I take your point.’ Brin stood with his back to the fire, scowling as he contemplated the brazen attempts on the life of the spirited female who had rapidly come to mean so much to him. ‘The time for discretion is past. Whoever wants Miss Dorset dead is determined to see the deed done, we now know that for a certainty. She won’t be safe, even after she leaves here, until we discover who’s behind these murderous attempts and why. In fact, she will be even more vulnerable when she returns to her normal activities because her aggressors are becoming less cautious.’
‘Agreed, so…’
‘I shall speak with Anglesey as soon as he shows his face. I want to know why he wasn’t at the shoot this morning and why he was seen speaking with Pickard in the village.’
‘Shouldn’t be long.’ Harlow glanced out the window as a fresh deluge splattered against the glass. ‘Always assuming he’s remained at the shoot.’
Brin rang the bell and told Walker when he responded to it that he required to speak with Anglesey the moment he returned to the house.
Not ten minutes later, Brin heard the sound of male voices as the shooting party trudged through the hall. Shortly thereafter, a damp and muddy Anglesey tapped at the library door.
‘Sorry about this,’ he said affably, glancing down at his attire, ‘but I assumed the summons must be urgent.’
‘You were not at the shoot this morning,’ Brin said without preamble and without inviting Anglesey to sit.
‘I was not aware that attendance was compulsory, or that my staying away would create problems,’ he replied, an edge to his voice.
‘Where were you?’ Brin demanded, standing to confront the man, topping his height by a good three inches.
Anglesey puffed out his chest. ‘I fail to see what business that is of yours.’
‘Indulge me.’
Brin’s tone implied that it was not a request. Anglesey’s face turned bright red and at first Brin thought that he might refuse. Eventually, he lowered his gaze and focused his attention upon his muddy boots.
‘I had hoped to have a quiet word with Lady Hazel,’ he said. ‘I was not entirely frank with you when we spoke yesterday. I realised that our assignation would be cut short when I heard the commotion outside. I urgently needed to speak with her in private and there is no opportunity here in the house. Her mother watches her like a hawk and she shares a chamber with her sister, who will not cover for her. Hazel had assumed she would share with her friend, Miss Dorset, which would have made things much easier but…’
‘You went back to that cabin?’ Harlow asked.
‘I did. I had asked Hazel to meet me there if she could, and she promised to try. But I knew she might not be able to come up with an excuse to avoid the shopping expedition. I told her to feign illness if necessary but…well, I waited for over an hour, she didn’t come and so I returned to the shoot, frustrated.’
‘I see.’
Brin studied the man standing in front of him. Nothing about his demeanour implied dishonesty, and he was satisfied that he had planned nothing more sinister than a liaison with Lady Hazel that morning. If Farrah was right about his straitened circumstances then it would be in his best interests to settle matters with her at the earliest opportunity. How he hoped to do so when the girl was underage and her mother was adamantly opposed to the match, Brin had no idea. But he would take a very dim view of matters if his intention was to compromise her, thereby leaving Lady Beardsley with no other option than to give her consent. None of the well-heeled gentlemen Lady Beardsley had in mind for her daughter would take her on if she had sacrificed her virginity.
‘Pickard? What do you know of him?’
Anglesey looked genuinely bewildered. ‘To whom do you refer?’
‘Don’t mess his grace about,’ Harlow growled. ‘Answer the question.’
Anglesey scowled at Harlow, who could appear very intimidating when riled. ‘I would gladly answer it if I knew what the devil you’re talking about,’ he replied on a jagged sigh.
‘You were seen talking to him in the village a few days ago. A tall, dark-haired man in a blue coat.’
Anglesey’s expression cleared. ‘Ah, that was Pritchard. Wait a moment…you…’ He scowled. ‘The blaggard who attacked Lady Melody wore a blue coat. Surely you don’t think that I had anything to do with that?’
‘We are satisfied that the man you were seen talking to carried out the assault,’ Brin told him. ‘Naturally, we are anxious to know who he is and how you come to be acquainted with him.’
‘He’s connected to a club I sometimes frequent in Southampton.’
‘The Albion,’ Brin and Harlow said in unison.
‘Well yes, but if you know that, I fail to understand the need for this inquisition.’
‘What purpose does Pritchard serve at that club?’
‘Much the same as Harlow here does for you. He runs errands for the owner, a man by the name of Compton. He resolves disputes, collects debts, throws cheats out
, that sort of thing.’
‘Do you owe him money?’ Brin asked.
Anglesey bridled. ‘I say, that’s none of your damned business!’
‘Answer his grace,’ Harlow said in a menacing tone.
Anglesey huffed. ‘I have a modest debt outstanding, but nothing out of the ordinary. Compton knows that I always discharge my obligations.’
‘Otherwise Pritchard would encourage you to cough up,’ Harlow suggested.
‘Quite. Anyway, when I saw him in the village I was a little worried that he had come looking for me. I have had other matters on my mind and not been to the Albion for a while. But it seems my fears were groundless. He told me his being in Exeter was nothing to do with me and that he would appreciate it if I said nothing about having seen him.’ Anglesey looked a little sheepish. ‘He is not the sort of man it would be wise to disappoint.’
‘You know that he’s dangerous, you are aware that a stranger in a blue coat carried out an audacious attack upon a defenceless woman on my estate and yet you didn’t think to mention Pritchard to me?’ Brin shook his head in disgust, thinking Lady Hazel deserved a great deal better.
‘As far as I am aware, Compton does not sanction assaults upon respectable ladies,’ Anglesey said, attempting to appear dignified.
‘As far as you are aware,’ Brin replied scathingly. ‘Who else connected to this party is a member of that club?’
‘No one that I am aware of, although…’
‘Yes,’ Brin encouraged.
‘Miss Dorset’s brother is a regular. As is a man by the name of Elton. I overheard the two of them discussing Elton’s forthcoming betrothal to Miss Dorset, but nothing appears to have come of it.’
Brin nodded brusquely. He glanced at Harlow, who shook his head to indicate that he had no further questions.
‘Thank you, Anglesey. I’d be obliged if you would keep this discussion to yourself.’
‘It’s not something I am likely to shout about.’
‘There has been another attack upon Miss Dorset today.’
‘I say! Is the lady…’
‘She is recovering but I don’t want the other guests to know. I am only telling you because Pritchard’s sudden appearance miles from home cannot be a coincidence. Keep your wits about you—and if you see him anywhere, I must be the first to know.’
‘You can depend upon me.’
‘And if you think of anything else, any reason why Miss Dorset could possibly pose a risk to anyone, have the goodness to come to me. This matter is gravely important.’
Anglesey gave his assurance and left the library shaking his head.
‘What do you make of that, guv’nor?’ Harlow asked.
‘I think he’s a snivelling excuse for a man who’s in deeper with the Albion than he’s letting on. But I cannot think of any reason for him to want to harm Miss Dorset. Quite the reverse, in fact, because he needs her to facilitate his meetings with Lady Hazel. Besides, we know where he was when the first attack took place.’
‘It could be that he’s in deep with Compton and offered to help him out when Compton needed someone to harm Miss Dorset.’ Harlow scowled. ‘But why would Compton want her dead? I doubt whether she gambles at his club.’
‘No, but her brother does.’ Brin ground his jaw. ‘Perhaps he’s run up a large debt that he cannot settle. Compton’s man can’t kill him. If he does, he’ll never collect. But he can threaten those closest to Dorset.’ Brin thumped his thigh, feeling a black cloud of anger fogging his brain. ‘Miss Dorset told me that she and her brother are not close. Even so, I don’t suppose he’d want to see her badly injured, or worse, if only because he would know what was in store for him if he continued to ignore his obligations.’
‘It would serve as a reminder that no one’s untouchable,’ Harlow said. ‘I mean, if a person can be attacked when she is the guest of an influential duke, then Dorset will be shaking in his boots.’
‘It’s all speculation, Harlow,’ Brin said, his frustration evident in his tone. ‘Until we hear from Castlereagh and from the Albion, we’re no further forward. And if someone at the Albion ordered these attacks, we’ll never get to the truth.’ He threw back his head and growled at the ceiling. ‘Damn it, why haven’t I heard back from Whitehall?’
Walker appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. ‘You have a visitor, your grace.’ He proffered a salver with a card upon it. Brin snatched it up, read it and thought his eyes must be deceiving him. ‘Mr Percival Dorset. What the devil…’ He sent Harlow a bewildered glance. ‘Farrah’s father. He’s supposed to be in France, so why on earth is he here?’
Chapter Fourteen
Farrah drifted in and out of the most luxurious dream. Brin was carrying her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all. She wasn’t sure why he deemed it necessary, but she wasn’t about to complain. She leaned against the solidity of his chest and rested her aching head on his broad shoulder. He put her down somewhere comfortable and held her hand as he stroked her hair and told her he couldn’t bear to be parted from her. Her throbbing headache eased as the earthy vibrancy of his tone dipped to a seductive register. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wallowed in the answering awareness that streaked through her body.
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Yes, I feel it too.’
‘Feel what, miss?’ A cool hand touched her brow and a voice that wasn’t Brin’s intruded upon her private dream. Incensed, she tried to block it out, but it persisted. ‘Do you feel feverish? The doctor must be sent for.’
Farrah’s eyes flew open and she saw a maid who looked vaguely familiar leaning over her wearing a worried frown.
‘Who are you?’ Farrah asked, blinking up at her, wondering what she had said aloud and if she had embarrassed herself.
‘Don’t you recognise me, miss?’ The woman looked increasingly concerned. ‘Don’t you know where you are?’
Farrah struggled to sit up. The maid took her elbow and helped to ease her upright.
‘Careful now. You’ve had a nasty fall.’
The room gradually stopped spinning, as did Farrah’s head, and slowly the events of the morning came back to her.
‘You’re Susan and I had…’
‘That’s it, miss. You took a tumble and gave your head a terrible bash. The duke was right worried about you. Carried you up here himself, so he did.’ Farrah swallowed, both relieved and perplexed to discover that she hadn’t dreamed it. ‘He gave me strict instructions not to leave you alone for a minute. As if I would! He’s sent someone up twice to ask after you. Most concerned, he is.’
‘How…how long have I been asleep?’
She gently probed the back of her head with the fingers of one hand, recalling that she had not fallen but that someone had dealt her a hefty blow when she and Mr Harlow had visited the old dower house. There was a tender lump that made her wince when her fingers touched it and her head still felt fuzzy, but the pounding headache had eased and everything was more or less in focus.
‘All the afternoon, miss. It’s just turned five o’clock now.’
Farrah cautiously nodded. The curtains had not been completely closed, enabling her to see that it was now full dark outside and that rain was pounding down.
‘Did I…Did I say anything in my sleep?’
‘Nothing that made any sense, just lots of disjointed rambling. I shall be able to tell the duke that you’ve regained your senses and no lasting harm appears to have been done.’ She beamed as she plumped up the pillows behind Farrah’s back and straightened the coverlet. ‘He’ll be that relieved to hear it. Now, I expect you’d welcome a cup of tea and perhaps a bite to eat.’
The thought of warm tea was welcome and her stomach rumbled in response to the suggestion of food. She had not eaten all day.
Susan smiled her approval. ‘Stay there in the warm. I’ll be right back,’ she said, slipping quietly from the room.
Farrah waited for the door to close behind Susan and then pushed the covers aside.
She had no intention of remaining where she was but didn’t have the strength to argue the point with Susan, who appeared to have become quite dictatorial since the duke had personally given her instructions regarding Farrah’s care. She was wearing her chemise and nothing more. Presumably Susan had removed the rest of her clothing without waking her.
Farrah found her robe draped over a chair and slipped her arms into it, feeling weak yet considerably better than when she had first woken. An encouraging sign, she was sure. She would drink her tea, eat whatever Susan brought up for her and then insist upon going down. Obviously, this latest attack was highly significant. Whoever wanted Farrah dead had now made it crystal clear that she was the intended target, eradicating all doubts in that regard.
Brin would be very worried about her safety. Farrah was concerned herself, and urgently needed to know what plans he had formulated to catch the murderous individual who was prepared to go to such desperate lengths to do away with her. Brin wouldn’t tell her anything all the time she was confined to her chamber, despite the fact that it was her life under threat. Men could be so infuriatingly protective. But if she confronted him and allowed him to see that a bump on the head had not reduced her to a wilting violet, he would have to take her into his confidence and tell her what he intended to do.
‘What on earth…’ Susan almost dropped her tray when she returned to the room and found Farrah out of bed. ‘You shouldn’t have got up, miss, especially not without my help. Knocks on the head are funny things. You’re probably concussed. It happened to a cousin of mine once. A horse kicked her in the head and she went right peculiar.’ She fussed with a small table, which she placed beside Farrah’s chair in front of the fire and loaded it with the enticing delicacies from her tray. There was nothing delicate about Farrah’s appetite, but she forced herself to eat slowly and to drink two cups of tea before declaring herself replete.
‘I shall dress now and go down,’ she told Susan, who was in the middle of stoking up the fire. She dropped the poker in some alarm.
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