Читать книгу The Homeless Heiress - Anne Herries - Страница 7

Chapter Two

Henderson went off without another word or a look in her direction. Georgie scooped up the clothes he had left for her and turned her back on the housekeeper as she dressed hastily in breeches and shirt that were far too big for her. She rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and legs of the breeches, tying them round the middle to hold them in with a neckerchief the valet had brought, then scraped her hair up under the cap.

‘Show me where,’ she said and Mrs Jensen stared at her, clearly still in shock. Her wits had gone begging and she looked dazed. ‘Mr Henderson will need help if Captain Hernshaw has been badly hurt.’

‘Yes, come this way,’ Dora said, coming out of her trance. ‘I’ll show you, but don’t ask me to help, because I shall faint at the sight of it. I never could stand blood, and that’s a fact!’

‘We can manage,’ Georgie said, understanding that she felt bad because of the way she had reacted. ‘My aunt was just the same. When my uncle had a shooting accident, I was the one who patched him up until the doctor—’ She stopped abruptly, because she had already said too much. She hadn’t intended to mention her uncle at all!

‘I thought…’ Dora shook her head, because the sight of her master stumbling into the house in such a state had shattered her nerves and she did not know where she was. She had assumed Georgie was alone in the world but now it seemed she had an aunt and uncle. However, it wasn’t her business, and there was no time to think of anything but Captain Hernshaw for the moment. ‘You had better come at once.’

Georgie followed her swiftly along the hall to a set of double doors at the end, which led into the master suite. She went in, leaving Mrs Jensen to hover outside. The first room was a sitting room, which she noticed seemed less dark and dull than the rest of the house, and might have been refurbished recently, but there was no time to stare, for a voice summoned her from what was clearly the bedroom beyond.

‘In here!’

Hurrying to answer Henderson’s call, Georgie found him bending over the figure of his master. There was blood everywhere and he was frantically trying to press down on an open wound in Captain Hernshaw’s shoulder and directing the footman to do the same to another wound in the captain’s thigh.

‘What can I do?’ Georgie asked, going to the bed.

Henderson glanced up. ‘Not going to faint on me?’

‘No, I shan’t do that,’ she replied. ‘Can I do that while you attend to the wound in his thigh? It looks as if it is the worst. Shall you stitch it or apply a tourniquet until the doctor arrives?’

‘We don’t have time to wait,’ Henderson replied tersely. ‘Unless I can close that wound, he will bleed to death.’

‘You’d better do it, then,’ Georgie said. ‘I’ll apply the pad to his shoulder and the footman can hold him down for you. He will likely come to his senses and fight you when you start.’

‘You’ve had some experience of this,’ Henderson said, giving her a knowing glance. He moved the footman to one side and looked at the deep wound to his patient’s thigh. ‘I’ll sew it roughly for the moment to stop the blood. It won’t be pretty, but it may save him.’

‘Get on with it,’ Georgie said, pressing down as hard as she could on the secondary wound. ‘Otherwise he will certainly die. No one can lose this much blood and live.’

Almost an hour later, Georgie looked down at the man lying amongst the stained sheets. His face was very pale and she thought he was completely out of it now, for he had fought them so hard when the cauterising iron was applied to his thigh that Henderson had had to knock him out with a strong dose of laudanum, forcing it down his throat as he raged at them in his agony.

She shuddered, because she knew that he had come very close to death that night. The experience had been far worse than when her uncle was shot in an accident, and she was feeling weak after their efforts to save his life. Even now there was no guarantee that he would live. It was likely he would take a fever or his wound might turn bad, as wounds so often did, the poison going inward.

‘You look terrible,’ Henderson said, glancing at her in concern. ‘You should go to bed, Georgie. I can mange him now.’

‘He will take a lot of nursing,’ Georgie replied, frowning. She did not know why, but she was reluctant to leave the man lying there so still and pale. ‘I’ve seen something like this before. It wasn’t as bad as this, but bad enough. Your master could still die of a fever—and he has lost a lot of blood.’

‘Yes, I know. I’ll have the doctor to him, but I don’t see what else we could have done.’

‘You did everything any doctor would have,’ Georgie said. ‘Did you learn that in the army?’

‘My father was an army surgeon,’ Henderson said. ‘It was his wish that I should take it up, but I wanted to be a soldier. I soon learned that my father’s skills were necessary out there and I made it my business to learn all I could—from him and from books.’

‘You saved Captain Hernshaw’s life.’

‘If he lives.’

‘If he lives,’ Georgie agreed, because she knew the outcome was still in doubt. ‘I’ll go to bed now, but I’ll come back later so that you can rest.’

He nodded his head, not bothering to answer. Georgie left him to finish clearing up the mess they had created. She was feeling so very tired. Everything had happened so fast that she hardly knew what had happened. But as they fought for Captain Hernshaw’s life she had known very clearly that she did not want him to die!

As she walked back to her room, Georgie was thinking about the man she had helped to tend. Seeing him lying there, his life in danger, had affected her more than she would have expected. She had only known him a few hours, but already she was praying for his recovery. She did not know why, but for some reason it was very important to her that he should live.

Georgie had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had touched the pillow. When she woke again it was to see the first rays of the morning light creeping in at the window. For a moment she lay, stretching, feeling relaxed, and then suddenly it hit her and she recalled all the events of the previous night. She had slept in her clothes in case she was needed, and sprang out now, hurrying along the hall to Captain Hernshaw’s apartments. As she went in she saw that Henderson was applying a cloth to the patient’s forehead and went to him.

‘How is he?’

‘Feverish, I think,’ Henderson replied. ‘The laudanum kept him quiet most of the night, but he is starting to fight now.’

‘You’ve been up all night,’ Georgie said. ‘I meant to come, but I slept too soundly. Give me the cloth. I can do that and you should rest.’

‘Yes, I need an hour or two,’ Henderson agreed. ‘The doctor came and gave me some medicine for the fever. I’ve given him one dose and he shouldn’t have more for two hours. If I’m back, I’ll give it to him, but the measure is one spoonful, no more.’

‘Yes, I see,’ Georgie said and glanced at the dressing chest where the dark brown bottle and a spoon had been placed. She took note of the time by the clock on a tall chest. ‘He has the next dose at nine forty-five.’

‘Yes, good.’ Henderson looked approving. ‘I shall leave it to you, then—and thank you.’

‘He helped me. It is only fair I should help him.’

Henderson studied her in silence for a moment, but said nothing more, just turned and left her to get on with the job of bathing the patient’s brow.

‘Justin…’ Georgie turned her head as she heard the feverish mumbling. ‘Forgive me…I should have been there…don’t die…I’m sorry…it wasn’t your fault…it wasn’t your fault…’

Georgie wrung out her cloth in cool water and stroked it over his heated forehead. His dark hair was damp with sweat, hanging in rat-tails about his face. He wore his hair longer than most men did these days and she thought it gave him the look of a rebel, a man who did not conform to the fashion of the day.

‘Justin…no…’ He gave a tortured cry and sat up in bed staring wildly in front of him. ‘You can’t die… forgive me…forgive me…’

‘He forgives you,’ Georgie said as he fell back against the pillows with a sigh. She wasn’t sure if he could hear her in his fever, but she stroked her fingers down his cheek, soothing him. Touching him made her feel a little strange, because she felt he needed her and she longed to help him. He was in such torment and his pain tugged at her heartstrings, bringing tears to her eyes. ‘He knows you wanted to save him…it isn’t your fault if he dies…’

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist, his eyes staring at her, but seeing something beyond her. ‘I knew,’ he muttered. ‘I knew what they did to him! I should have stopped them. It wasn’t his fault…he was gentle…so gentle…they killed him…’

‘It’s all right,’ Georgie told him, her fingers caressing his cheek once more. ‘Rest now. Justin is safe…’

‘No, he died…’ Tears were trickling down his cheeks now. ‘He died because I wasn’t there to help…’

‘But you wanted to,’ Georgie comforted, her heart wrenched by his obvious distress. ‘You would have if you could…’

‘Failed him…’ His eyes had closed now, but she thought he seemed a little easier. She stroked his hair and his face, using the cool cloth to wipe away the sweat from his forehead and the tears from his cheeks. His outburst had been a revelation, for who would have guessed that he could be so moved? He seemed such a stern man, giving no sign of any deep emotions, but clearly he felt them. He had inadvertently revealed another side of his character, one that she might not have known was there if he hadn’t been struck down like this, and it had reached out to something inside her, arousing tender feelings she had not known she had. Georgie wondered who Justin was and what had happened to him—and why did Captain Hernshaw feel so very responsible?

It wasn’t her business, she decided as she sat back in the chair Henderson had drawn close to the bed. At least he was resting for the moment. He was still hot, but the mutterings had stopped and he appeared to be more comfortable.

She sat watching him, studying the curves and angles of his features. He wasn’t a handsome man by the standards of the day. His features were much too harsh, his nose straight and patrician. His mouth looked softer when he was sleeping, not hard or angry as it did when he was annoyed, and his lashes were thick and dark. She could not see his eyes at that moment, but she knew they were grey—eyes that could be cold or sparkle with amusement. He intrigued her. What kind of a man would bring a thief he had met on the streets to his home? What kind of man was tortured by something in his past? Had he done something dreadful? Was that why he begged forgiveness in his fever?

She would probably never know, Georgie realised. She had hoped to persuade him to help her reach her great-aunt’s, but he was unlikely to be able to leave his bed for some weeks. Could she stay here all that time—ought she even if he allowed it?

She was torn by uncertainty as she sat watching him. One part of her told her that she should leave as soon as she could, because it would be foolish to become more involved with him. Perhaps one of his servants would lend her enough money to take the coach to Yorkshire…and yet she could not desert this man while he lay ill. Against her will, she felt drawn to him in a way she could not explain. Besides, Henderson would need help until his master was over the worst. And, Georgie admitted, she wanted to help take care of him, to see him strong and well again, to touch him and… She shut out the foolish thoughts. She wouldn’t run away while he needed her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to have foolish thoughts either!

Henderson returned exactly two hours after he had left. Georgie wondered if he had slept at all, but when she asked if he had, he merely said he was rested.

‘I got used to not having much sleep when we were fighting on the Peninsula,’ he told her. ‘I don’t need a lot. Mrs Jensen said you were to go down when you are ready, Georgie. She will give you breakfast in the small parlour.’

‘Oh…thank you,’ Georgie said, becoming aware that she was beginning to feel hungry. ‘Yes, I shall. Do you want me to help with his medicine first?’

‘I can manage him,’ Henderson said. ‘He is easy enough when he’s like this; it’s when he begins to feel more like himself that he gets restless. He doesn’t make a good patient.’

‘You have nursed him before?’

‘He wouldn’t thank me for telling you, but, yes, he has been wounded badly a couple of times.’

‘He was lucky to have you.’

‘I’m the lucky one,’ Henderson said. ‘When I was caught by a blast from a cannon, it cut my face to ribbons, and I had a stomach wound that should have been fatal. They thought I was finished, but he wouldn’t leave me. He carried me back to base over his horse and he forced the surgeon to sew me back together, and then he sat with me until he knew I would live. He paid for someone to nurse me until I was on my feet again. A good many would have left me to die—and when they told me I was no more good for the army, he told me I had a place with him for life.’

Georgie looked at him intently. ‘You love him, don’t you?’

‘I’m not sure whether it’s brotherly love or gratitude,’ Henderson said with a grimace, ‘but I know I would die in his place if it came to it.’

‘I call that love,’ Georgie said and smiled. ‘I’ll come back later. We’ll look after him together.’

‘Yes, miss, if that’s what you want.’

‘It is,’ she said, ‘and you can call me Georgie.’

Henderson shot her a curious look, but didn’t answer. She was discovering that he was a man who spoke only when he thought it necessary, and she felt pleased that he had told her his story. It must mean that he liked her and trusted her. She felt that she had made a friend, someone who might help her if she were in need.

She went downstairs to the small parlour and discovered that Mrs Jensen had set out a table for her. There was a dish of scrambled eggs with ham and some good fresh bread. It smelled wonderful and she ate most of what had been left for her, gathering the dishes afterwards just as Jensen entered.

‘There’s no need for you to do that,’ he said, his expression doubtful and a little sad as he looked at her. Georgie suspected that he thought her no better than she should be. Perhaps he believed she was masquerading as a boy so as to carry on an illicit affair with his master. ‘Mrs Jensen and I are used to taking care of things in this house.’

‘Have you been here a long time?’ Georgie asked.

‘Forty-odd years,’ he replied. ‘I served the old master until he died. I thought I would leave when that happened, but I’ve stayed on to take care of things for the captain.’

‘I am sure he is grateful,’ Georgie said. She sensed that he was not as willing to be as friendly as his wife, and that he didn’t quite trust her. ‘But you should tell him if you wish to leave.’

‘Don’t you go saying a word to him!’

‘No, I shan’t, but if you would like to retire you should consider telling him yourself.’

‘When he has time to settle down…’ Jensen shook his head. ‘That’s if he recovers from what happened last night…terrible to think such a thing could happen so close to home.’

‘It may be as well it did,’ Georgie said. ‘Had he not been able to get home, he might have bled to death in the street.’

Jensen looked grey in the face. ‘Nothing like that ever happened when the old master was alive. I can’t think what things are coming to…’

He looked suddenly old and his hand trembled as he gathered the dishes. Georgie felt sorry for him, because he was so obviously upset.

‘I am sure Captain Hernshaw will recover now,’ she said. ‘Mr Henderson was very quick and clever last night. He saved the captain’s life.’

‘You helped him,’ the old man said and shook his head sadly. ‘Mrs Jensen told me she couldn’t have done it. I’m not sure why he brought you here, but it may be a good thing.’ He sounded and looked doubtful even as he said the words.

‘I was in trouble,’ Georgie said. ‘Captain Henderson helped me—but I would have done it for anyone. I am not frightened by a little blood.’

‘It was a lot of blood,’ the old man said, giving her a reproachful look. ‘We’ve never had young ladies in this house…and certainly not dressed as you are.’

‘I am sorry if you disapprove, but I am in hiding, you see. If a certain person discovered where I am, he might…kill me.’ She had decided to stick to this part of her story, because she couldn’t be sure of the reaction she would get if she told the truth.

‘Such goings-on! The old master would turn in his grave if he knew…’ Jensen grumbled to himself as he picked the tray up and went out of the room.

Georgie sighed. She would have felt better if she had been allowed to help, but it was obvious that Jensen would not allow that. His wife would probably resent it if Georgie offered to help in the kitchen. There was nothing for it but to find a book to read, though she doubted she would find anything of interest in this room.

She wandered over to the bookshelves, looking at the volumes of history and scientific volumes. They would send her to sleep in five minutes! She looked further along, almost giving up until she saw the book of poetry. It was new, bound in red leather, and very much out of place amongst all the others. Picking it out, she frowned as she opened it and a folded paper fell out. Georgie replaced it without opening it because it wasn’t hers to read. She took the book and curled up in a chair by the window, beginning to read, but after a while she saw that it had been marked in ink in the columns and some words had been underlined.

What a terrible way to treat a new book! And it was by Lord Byron, something she had wanted to read for a long time! Who could have done such a thing?

She frowned over it, trying to ignore the ink marks, but they annoyed her and she found herself fixing on them when she ought to have been reading the poetry. She was caught by the regularity of what seemed to be a pattern, and began to wonder if perhaps it was a code of some kind, though she couldn’t make much sense of it. She flicked through the book and found the folded paper someone had left inside, hesitating because it wasn’t hers and yet intrigued.

Oh, what did it matter? It shouldn’t have been left there for anyone to find if it was important. She unfolded it and read through the few lines of explanation, a spiral of excitement curling through her as she realised that she was right. It was a code and with this she could break it easily. By studying the text in the poetry book and then comparing it to the instructions in the letter, Georgie soon realised that if you took out the letters that had been marked you could make new words and sentences.

It was a message of some kind! She looked at what she had thought was just scribbling in the margins and realised that the numbers and letters referred to certain lines. Someone had already done a lot of the work and Georgie found it easy to work from that person’s notes. Counting along the lines, she found the words that had been underlined and suddenly the message began to jump out at her.

It concerned a plot to kill members of the government and an important man, who, she thought, was meant to be the Regent! She sat holding the book for some minutes, staring at it in disbelief, thinking she must be mistaken. Surely she was wrong! If she had translated this correctly, the man she had tried to steal from the previous evening might be concerned in a wicked plot to bring down the English government and the throne!

She couldn’t be right! She must have made a mistake…and yet the terrible attack on Captain Hernshaw that had happened close to his house might be directly connected with what she had just discovered. No! She would not believe he was capable of such infamy! Georgie got to her feet, placing the letter back where it belonged and closing the book with a snap. She returned it to its place on the shelf. She had made a mistake when deciphering the message…or perhaps Captain Hernshaw was concerned with this plot because he was trying to stop it happening…

It had to be that, she decided, because she could not—would not—believe that the man who had treated her so well when he might have handed her over to the watch was a traitor to his country.

Besides, she had no right to pry into his private affairs. Glancing at the clock, she saw that some hours had passed. It was time that she went up to give Henderson a chance to find himself something to eat.

They took turns to watch him throughout the rest of the day and during the night, but there was little change, though once while Georgie was with him he seemed to be feverish. Once again she heard the name Justin, though what he was saying wasn’t clear this time. She smoothed his damp hair back from his forehead, talking to him softly, and after a while he quietened. She smiled down at him, thinking how much younger he looked when he was resting. She knew a strong temptation to kiss him and stroke his face, but fought it because it wouldn’t be right to take advantage when he was vulnerable. She sat down again to watch over him from a distance. When Henderson came back, he was sleeping peacefully.

‘He seems better,’ the manservant remarked. ‘I think he may be through the dangerous time, Georgie.’ He smiled at her. ‘Go to bed now. I can manage him from now on.’

‘I’ll come back so that you can have your breakfast,’ Georgie replied. ‘You told me that the trouble will start when he comes to his senses, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but…’ He shook his head at her. ‘It isn’t fitting for a young lady to be in a gentleman’s bedchamber.’

‘Who will know?’ Georgie asked and grinned. ‘I shan’t tell if you don’t.’

He tipped his head to one side, considering her. ‘Who are you, miss? I’d swear you were a lady if I didn’t know he found you on the streets.’

‘My name is Georgina, but I can’t tell you any more than that,’ she said. ‘I ran away from…where I was, because something terrible would have happened if I hadn’t.’

Henderson gave her a look of disbelief. ‘Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?’

‘I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.’

‘The captain will want to know when he’s himself again.’

Georgie looked at their patient. ‘I want to trust him, but I am afraid he might not believe me.’

‘If you tell him the truth, he will help you.’

‘Will he?’

Henderson looked at her hard. ‘You will have to trust someone eventually—and he is the one who can help you.’

‘Yes, I know. I will try, honestly, I will—and could you please call me Georgie? I don’t want anyone outside this house to know I’m a girl.’

‘They’ve only to see your hair,’ Henderson told her. ‘I shan’t betray you, but you must be very careful.’

Georgie agreed that she would and he went away to have his breakfast. She stood watching over their patient for a while; he seemed to be resting more easily. She bent to stroke his hair from his forehead, smiling at him as he murmured in his sleep, and then she leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. His eyelids flickered, which made her back away hastily. She wandered over to the window, where she discovered a rather battered-looking chess set on a little table near the window. She began to set out the pieces and had just finished placing them when Henderson returned. He smiled as he saw what she had done and came over to the table.

‘We played this many an evening during the campaign,’ he told her. ‘There wasn’t much else to do, miss.’

‘Shall we play a game?’ Georgie suggested. ‘I used to play with my father, but I haven’t played for ages. I’ll take white and you have black.’

‘Yes, if you wish,’ Henderson agreed and moved a piece for his opening gambit.

Georgie moved a pawn to block him and battle was joined. She gave a chuckle of delight as he removed her first piece, for it was obvious that he was a worthy opponent and she need not fear to play her best game. Neither of them noticed when the man in the bed opened his eyes.

Richard lay with his head resting against the pillows for some seconds before he became aware that he was not alone in the room. He was at first conscious only of the throbbing agony in his thigh. There was some soreness in his left shoulder, but it was his thigh that pained him the worst. He could not for a moment think where he was, his pain swirling him back to the battlefield and the agony he had endured from wounds gained there. The girl’s laughter penetrated the fog that held him, making him focus on the two figures near the window.

It was a few moments before he realised that one of the two was Henderson and the other…was a rather odd-looking urchin dressed in clothes that were far too big for him. He inched his way up against the pillows and the sharp stab of pain cleared his thoughts. No street urchin, but the girl he had brought home the night he was attacked.

Richard grimaced as he continued to watch them. Her laughter was infectious as she moved her chess pieces with lightning speed and gave a chortle of glee.

‘Check!’

‘I didn’t see that coming,’ Henderson told her ruefully.

‘I am sorry to interrupt your game, but could I have some water?’

Richard’s words brought their heads round instantly. Somewhere beyond the pain and the need to relieve his thirst, he felt amusement at the guilt reflected in the girl’s face. She got up at once and went swiftly to pour water into a glass.

‘Come back to us, have you, sir?’ Henderson said, unperturbed. ‘I thought you were over the worst last night. You gave us all a fright, captain. What happened?’

‘I had been somewhere and it was on my way back…’ Richard frowned as he recalled the murderous attack. He had delivered his package to the man who waited for it and returned home. He had had no sense of being followed and the attack was silent and deadly, his assailant stabbing him in the leg viciously and then the shoulder. ‘Rather like you, Henderson, I didn’t see it coming.’

‘That’s unusual for you, sir. You hadn’t been drinking?’

‘Not sufficiently to lose my awareness. Whoever it was must have been a professional.’

‘And good at his work,’ Henderson said. ‘If you hadn’t been so close to home, that thigh wound would have done for you, captain. You almost bled to death.’

‘Who patched me up?’

‘Mr Henderson,’ Georgie said, bringing him the glass of water. ‘He did everything a doctor could, but much more quickly. We couldn’t wait because you were losing too much blood.’

Richard’s gaze centred on her face. ‘You didn’t let this rascal help patch me up, Henderson?’

‘Georgie was very good. She has helped me look after you, captain. She didn’t flinch at the sight of blood. I should have been hard put to it to manage without her.’

‘So you know she is a girl?’ Richard sipped the water she offered, his hand closing over hers as she held the glass to his lips. He drank a little and then nodded. ‘Thank you, that is enough.’ He sighed and lay back against the pillows, his eyes closing as he felt a shaft of pain. Georgie started to move away, but his hand came out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. ‘Where did you get those ridiculous clothes?’

‘Henderson gave them to me. I think they belong to you.’

‘Indeed?’ His eyes opened once more. He looked at his manservant, who nodded. ‘We must buy her something suitable. Perhaps Mrs Jensen will know.’

‘I can’t stay here dressed as a girl,’ Georgie said. ‘I don’t mind wearing your things.’

‘Get her something that fits her, Henderson,’ Richard said. ‘If she is determined to keep up the masquerade, make it a youth’s clothing.’

‘Yes, sir, I’ll do that,’ Henderson said. ‘Frederick has a young brother. I’ll ask him to buy a few things.’

‘Yes, do that…’ Richard sighed and closed his eyes. The girl was a problem he could have done without at this particular time, but she had made herself useful. Besides, he just did not have the energy to deal with her for the moment. ‘I need to rest…’

He was vaguely aware of some whispering going on, but the strange tiredness was creeping over his body and he was slipping away, his eyelids too heavy to open.

Georgie left the bedchamber. Henderson had told her that she should find something to eat for herself, and she went down to the parlour. Some cold ham, pickles and fresh bread had been left out for her. There was also a pot of coffee, but it was nearly cold. She drank some because she did not wish to trouble Mrs Jensen for more.

After she had eaten, she gathered the dishes and took them through to the kitchen. Mrs Jensen was there but there was no sign of her husband.

‘You shouldn’t have bothered with those, miss.’

‘I like to help,’ Georgie said. ‘I don’t want to cause more trouble for you than I need, Mrs Jensen.’

‘Well, you’re not a bother, whatever Jensen says,’ Dora told her kindly. ‘I rather like having a young person in the house. It makes a change, and I told Jensen so. He was ready to retire years ago, but I’m younger. I still enjoy my work, and that’s a fact, miss.’

‘I am glad I am not a trouble to you,’ Georgie said. ‘I know Mr Jensen thinks it is all very shocking, and of course he is right—but I have nowhere else to go. If Captain Hernshaw would hire a post-chaise for me, I could leave, but I couldn’t ask him while he was unconscious, could I? As soon as he is well enough, I will ask for a loan of some guineas and then I can leave.’

‘Well, as to that, miss, it is up to the captain who he brings home, and that is what I told Jensen. We’re here to look after the house, not to judge. Besides, there’s nothing going on—couldn’t be with the master so poorly.’

‘He has come to his senses this morning,’ Georgie said. ‘I helped to nurse him when he was in the fever, Mrs Jensen, but he is a strong man and he will soon recover, I think.’

‘I am sure you are right, miss,’ the housekeeper said and nodded her head as if she had the same thought. ‘Mr Henderson told me he had been wounded badly before. It was a good thing you were here to help, that’s all I can say, miss.’

It was on the tip of Georgie’s tongue to ask her to remember that she was supposed to be a boy, but she decided it didn’t matter. As long as she stayed in the house, and out of the way if the captain had visitors, she would be safe enough. She didn’t know that the man she disliked so much was in town to look for her. He could be here for a quite different reason. All she had to do was stay here until she could persuade Captain Hernshaw to help her.

She had decided that she must try to get to her great-aunt’s home and ask her if she would take her in. It need only be for a short time, after all, because as soon as she was in possession of her fortune she could hire a companion and set up her own establishment.

In the meantime, Georgie needed something to amuse herself. She went to the parlour that she had made her own since coming to the house and began to wander about the room. She took down the book of poems and began to read through it, trying to ignore the scribbling in the margin.

After a while, she laid the book aside. Obviously, Captain Hernshaw was mixed up in something nasty. It had not occurred to her previously to wonder why he should have been in those mean streets where he’d found her, but now she frowned over it. Had he gone there to meet someone? She knew from her own experience that the slums were haunted by rogues, thieves and worse—so what had a man like that been doing there? And what was in the package she had snatched from him?

It must have been important for him to chase after her the way he had. Could he possibly be involved with the kind of people who would work against the government and the Regent? She had begun to like him rather a lot and tried to dismiss the thought.

Getting to her feet, she was about to replace the book, but then changed her mind, taking it with her as she went back upstairs. She paused outside Captain Hernshaw’s rooms, then knocked and entered. She saw at once that their patient was awake, sitting up against the pillows. Henderson had clearly been busy, for his master was clean-shaven and looked much better than he had when she’d left earlier.

He gave her an odd look as she entered. ‘What are you doing here? I must thank you for helping Henderson, but you should not continue to visit me here now—unless you have no reputation to lose?’

Georgie blushed. ‘I came to see if I could do anything for you,’ she said. ‘If you would like me to read to you…’ She hesitated and then approached the bed, showing him the book. ‘I found this downstairs.’

‘Did you indeed?’ Richard glared at her. ‘And have you been reading it?’

‘Yes…’ She looked away from his hard gaze and then back. ‘It has writing in the margins and some words are underlined.’

‘And what do you make of that?’

Georgie took a deep breath. ‘I am not sure. It might be some sort of a code…’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because I tried making sense of it.’ She hesitated, then confessed, ‘There was a paper inside that gave me instructions for breaking the code.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes…at least I was able to form words and sentences.’

‘And that has made you wonder if I am a spy or an assassin?’

‘No, of course not,’ Georgie denied, a flush in her cheeks. ‘I mean…it does look bad, but I didn’t think you…but you were attacked and I wondered…’

‘I should have left you where I found you,’ Richard said ruefully. ‘I knew you were trouble from the start.’

‘You’re not involved in a plot to kill the Regent, are you?’ Her eyes opened wide.

‘If I were, you would have just signed your own death warrant,’ Richard said, a gleam of annoyance mixed with laughter in his eyes. ‘No, I am not involved in it—but I may be involved in trying to stop someone who is.’

‘Yes…’ Georgie let out a long sigh of relief. ‘I thought it must be that. I am so glad it isn’t you.’

‘Are you?’ He arched his right brow. ‘Are you able to keep a secret, Georgie?’

‘Yes, of course. I shan’t breathe a word.’ She hesitated, feeling uncomfortable at what she must do now. ‘Could you lend me some money—enough to travel post-chaise to Yorkshire?’

‘Lend you—or give you?’

‘Oh, I should pay you back soon,’ Georgie said. ‘If you would do that, I could leave at once and I would not trouble you again.’

Richard’s gaze narrowed. He studied her face for a moment or two. ‘I could lend it to you,’ he said. ‘I may do if you tell me the truth. I know you told me some story of having been forced from your post as a lady’s maid because of your employer’s son, but I think you were lying to me. I don’t think you were ever a maid, were you?’

She hesitated, and then met his eyes. ‘I didn’t know you then,’ she said. It was no use, he wouldn’t believe her if she told him more lies. She was going to have to tell him the truth! ‘You could have been anyone. My real name is Georgina Bridges. My father was Sir John Bridges, my mother the youngest daughter of Lord Nairn. They were both killed in an accident two years ago—and they left a fortune in trust for me. I inherit in a few weeks’ time. My uncle, Sir Henry Mowbray, wants me to marry a man he owes money to—but I hate him, so I ran away. They want my money and they think he will give some of it to them if they make me marry him, but I know he would keep it for himself. He is so horrid…the way he looks at me makes me feel…dirty.’ She ended on a sob of distress. ‘I ran away as soon as I heard them discussing it. I would rather die than marry him.’

‘And what is the name of this man?’

‘He is a Frenchman. His name is Raoul Thierry. He seems to be a rich gentleman, but there is something sinister about him.’ Georgie shuddered. ‘I did not know what to do when I heard my aunt and uncle talking so I ran away, but then…I told you what happened. I suppose my lawyer would give me money if I asked, but he might not believe it really was me.’

Richard’s eyes went over her. ‘In your present attire I am certain you would not get past his clerk. The money isn’t a problem, Georgie. But I am not certain you are telling me the truth.’

‘I am this time! I promise I am.’

‘Even so, you are vulnerable. You obviously aren’t capable of looking after yourself.’

‘I should have gone to my great-aunt the first time. I was wrong to stop in London.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘I know you must be angry. I tied to rob you and now you are ill and you do not want the bother of me.’

‘No, I do not want the trouble of a young lady,’ Richard admitted and frowned. ‘However, Henderson told me how you helped him and I owe you for that, Georgina.’

‘Please do not call me that! My Aunt Agatha calls me Georgina and I hate it. I am Georgie—and you don’t owe me anything. I did what anyone would have in the circumstances.’

‘No, that is not strictly true. Apparently Dora nearly fainted at the sight of the blood. You did far more than I could have expected of a stranger.’

‘You gave me supper and somewhere to sleep.’

‘And by doing that you became my responsibility,’ Richard said. ‘I am confined to bed for the next week or so, but once I am on my feet I shall take you to your great-aunt.’

Georgie looked at him doubtfully. ‘You cannot want that trouble, sir. Lend me the money and I shall go alone.’

‘No, you will not,’ Richard said. ‘If you have told me the truth, you may be in some danger. Therefore it is my duty to see you safe.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Forgive me, but I am weary. Please go away now. You have my promise that I shall take you to your great-aunt when I am able. For the moment you must be patient and wait.’

Georgie stared at him for a few seconds, but he had leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closed. She placed the book of poetry on the bed and then walked softly to the door, glancing back at him as she went out. She felt frustrated, for she knew that without money she could not hope to reach her great-aunt’s house. She could go to her lawyer, but it was doubtful if he would see her in her present state of dress—and if he did he would hardly believe that she was Miss Georgina Bridges.

If she ran away again, she might starve or become ill before she could reach safety. It seemed as if she must stay here, and wait for Captain Hernshaw to recover his strength sufficiently to accompany her to Yorkshire.

Richard opened his eyes as the door closed behind her. Her story was believable enough, though she had lied to him previously. If he accepted it this time, it would be wrong to let her go anywhere alone. Besides, she had mentioned a name—a name that he had learned to associate with treason.

It could be coincidence, but it was possible that by delivering Miss Bridges to her great-aunt, he would learn more of the man—or group of men he sought.

For a moment he wondered if she had been sent to rob him that night. She had certainly tried to take the package containing new information about the plotters—perhaps the names and whereabouts of men concerned in the conspiracy to bring down the government and cause chaos in England. He had not yet had the chance to decode it, though he’d delivered it to others who might recently have done so.

They needed the information, because the plot must not succeed. With the Regent dead, as these villains planned, there would be men in England who would not hesitate to settle with the French. Napoleon Bonaparte was barely contained in his island prison of Elba, where rumour had it he reigned like a prince. If he were to break free and march again, the Allies would join together to defeat him—but if England were in chaos…

Richard knew that without the British the Allies would not stand long against Bonaparte. It was imperative that this plot be foiled and quickly before things got out of hand.

If Georgie was involved with these people, he would be best to stay close to her. His instincts told him that she was innocent—and yet she had decoded the message in the poetry book. It was that first clue that had been instrumental in alerting other members of the intelligence service that a plot was afoot. He believed that the near-fatal attack on him had been because of his involvement in the affair, but he had not seen the face of his attacker for it had been covered by a muffler and only a pair of cold eyes had been visible.

Looking into those eyes briefly, Richard had known that his life was in the balance. It was merely the sound of approaching voices that made his attacker run off before his work was done. From somewhere he had found the strength to stumble the few yards to his home, and Henderson had done the rest…with the girl’s help.

Richard frowned. If his manservant were to be believed, Georgie had done well. He’d never had cause to doubt Henderson and must therefore be grateful to her for her contribution, and she was certainly entitled to the benefit of the doubt.

Richard knew that he had been feverish, and wondered what he had said in his muddled state. Had he mentioned his work for the government…or had he spoken of more intimate things? He knew that in the fever he had thought of Justin, his cousin. He felt the sharp grief strike at his heart, because the memories were still painful. Justin had been clever, a bright future his for the asking, but he had been led astray, his mind corrupted by opium and wine. He had sunk lower and lower, beyond the reach of his studious father, until at the last they destroyed him…those evil men who had drawn him into a web of bitter despair.

Richard had been away fighting and had known nothing of it until he returned. At his uncle’s behest he had gone looking for the cousin he loved as a brother, but when he found him it had been too late. Justin had been living in squalor, lying amongst his own filth in a disgusting house, his mind destroyed, his body wasting with a disease that could not be cured. Richard had taken him to a place of safety, staying by him until the last, holding him as he choked on his own blood. The memory haunted him, would never leave him. It had made him the man he was, harsh, stern, living only for his work.

The girl was an interruption, nothing more. Yet she had touched something that had been dead, something deep inside. For a moment as she stood there smiling down at him, he had wished that he had the strength to take her in his arms and kiss her until those wonderful eyes turned smoky with desire. It was ridiculous, for, even had she not been a lady, he was as weak as a kitten. However, she had stirred his heart in a way that no one had for years—and he found that he could not simply desert her.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

There was nothing much he could do for the moment. It would be a few days at the least before he could think of getting up, let alone taking a long journey.