Читать книгу Scandal And Miss Markham - Janice Preston - Страница 12

Thea had to give his lordship credit: he followed her without question to the gunroom. Once inside, he turned a full circle, eyeing the rows of shotguns, rifles and muskets that lined the walls. The windowless room was illuminated by the three lanterns Thea had lit on her earlier visit. Somehow, with Vernon inside, the room seemed to have shrunk and Thea wrapped her arms defensively around her torso and stepped away from him, putting a little more distance between them.

Vernon tilted his head as he met Thea’s gaze and those penetrating green eyes of his glinted as they caught the light. They felt as though they reached deep into her soul. She just prayed he could not read her thoughts.

‘I trust you do not plan to hold me hostage down here, Miss Markham.’

His comment startled a laugh from her. The thought had crossed her mind. Not to hold him hostage, but to force him at gunpoint to take her with him—a crazy thought that she had dismissed the minute her whirling thoughts, desperate to find a way to go with him, had seized upon it. That crazy idea had, though, led to another plan.

Which was why she had ventured down here to the gunroom in the first place.

‘Have no fear, my lord,’ she said. ‘None of these weapons is loaded. You are quite safe.’

‘Then why are we here?’

‘It occurred to me to wonder if Daniel was armed,’ she said.

‘Would he normally go out with a gun?’

‘He had a blunderbuss that was always buckled to his saddle, in case of an attack,’ she said. ‘There have been a few robberies on the roads hereabouts, over the past year or so. Daniel said there has been an increase in vagrants wandering the countryside—former soldiers, he reckoned, although others like to blame the gipsies. But a blunderbuss is not a weapon he could carry in his pocket. Look—’ she pointed to the table in the centre of the room ‘—I found that pistol case in the cabinet. It should have two muff pistols inside, plus the flask and balls. Firearms are Daniel’s passion. He bought this case and pistols at an auction in Birmingham a few weeks ago.’

She tilted the case to show the single remaining pistol to Vernon. He whistled.

‘So...your brother went out expecting trouble. Or even danger.’

‘It would appear so, although I cannot understand why he would take that particular pistol. It is very small.’

Vernon moved closer as he peered at the contents of the case, his sleeve brushing Thea’s arm, sending a tingle of awareness racing through her. She shivered in reaction, fighting the urge to leave the room. Her discomfort was unimportant...she must do this for Daniel.

‘Small but deadly,’ Vernon said. ‘I should imagine he took it precisely because its size means it is easily concealed. I see he has several cases of duelling pistols...’ He selected one case at random and opened it. He whistled again, lifting out one of the guns and sighting along the barrel. ‘Manton’s. A fine piece. But, too big to conceal and...’

‘And what?’

He shot her an apologetic look and grimaced. ‘Sorry. I was thinking out loud.’

‘But, having begun to speak, you must now finish,’ Thea said, irritation at her physical reaction to his proximity making her sharp.

She had no wish to be aware of him as an attractive man. Men were not to be trusted.

‘I told you before,’ she went on, ‘I am not one of your fine ladies who needs mollycoddling. I have dealt with hard reality and survived. Please do not patronise me. Do me the courtesy of dealing with me as an intelligent adult, not a child.’

He sighed. ‘Very well. I was about to say that a duelling pistol is not as handy at close quarters.’

Her stomach churned at his words, but she tamped down her fear. She had asked him and he had replied. She could not now blame him because she did not like what she heard. Besides, that was an interesting point to remember. She had already selected and primed a duelling pistol, ready to pack in her saddlebag along with her spare clothing. Daniel had other small pistols—she would take one of those along as well.

‘I thought you should see this for yourself,’ she said to Vernon. ‘As you said, it suggests Daniel was expecting trouble when he left.’

Just speaking those words made her throat constrict with unshed tears but Thea forced her emotions to lie low, knowing she must keep a cool head if she was not to hinder the search for her brother.

‘It is time to go,’ she said, ‘but there is also something else I must show you.’

Vernon raised a brow but, again, followed her unquestioningly. Up the stairs this time and along the upper corridor to the long gallery, where the family portraits hung and where Thea and Daniel practised fencing manoeuvres. The physical exercise had helped Thea to exorcise some of her anger and guilt after Jasper Connor had betrayed her and near bankrupted both Stour Crystal and her family.

Vernon headed straight for the portrait of Thea. ‘It is a good likeness.’

For a second, admiration glowed in his eyes, but Thea ignored the answering tug deep in her core. She could not help but be aware of Vernon’s allure. She’d wager there were ladies galore in the ton who regularly swooned at his feet, given one look from those green eyes, or one of his smiles, brimming with charm, but she was not interested. Not in Lord Vernon Beauchamp nor in any man. Being jilted at the altar tended to have that effect.

‘That is not why we are here,’ she said and led the way to the portrait of Daniel.

Apart from the portraits of Thea and Daniel, and an earlier one of Mama and Papa—painted before Papa had his stroke—there were only landscapes on the walls. Papa had harboured such grand dreams: dreams of building a dynasty, dreams of using his wealth to ensure his grandchildren might be accepted into the ranks of the upper classes, dreams of this gallery being filled with portraits of the generations to come. Now it might all come to naught. Thea would never give him grandchildren and, if Daniel... She choked off that thought, afraid her precarious control would shatter again if she followed her fears to their natural conclusion.

‘That is Daniel,’ she said, feeling another lump form in her throat as she looked up at his strong, dark features. ‘I thought it would help for you to know what he looks like.’

Vernon examined the portrait in silence.

‘He has your eyes,’ he said, eventually, ‘but I see no further resemblance.’

‘He gets his colouring from Mama, but he is tall like Papa,’ Thea said. They headed for the door. ‘I get my red hair from Papa, but my height—or, rather, my lack of it—from Mama.’

Back in the entrance hall, Vernon picked up the saddlebag by the front door.

‘I shall have to hope,’ he remarked, regarding his reflection in a mirror with a grimace, ‘that I do not meet anyone with whom I am acquainted. They will think I have run quite mad, dressed like this.’

Thea bit back her scathing retort.

‘I shall write to let you know what I find out about your brother and how my cousin is connected to him.’ A frown creased his forehead. ‘I still find it hard to believe Henry has anything to do with your brother’s disappearance. I have every hope of discovering the two things are unconnected.’

Which, again, proved Thea was right to follow him as she planned. If Henry Mannington was found to have no connection with Daniel’s disappearance, Vernon would go chasing off after Henry and what chance then would Thea have of finding Daniel?

She followed Vernon down the front steps, where Bickling, his groom, held the reins of Warrior, one of Daniel’s favourite hunters. Vernon swung into the saddle, raised his hand in farewell and set off down the carriageway at a brisk trot.

Thea watched until horse and rider disappeared from sight, then spun on her heel and raced up to her bedchamber. There was no time to lose. She had already told her mother she was going to visit a sick friend for a few days and Mama, as usual, showed little interest in Thea’s activities; she had never forgiven her daughter for the disaster that had befallen their family.

Thea had also written to Charles Leyton, the manager at Stour Crystal, to warn him he would not be able to contact either her or Daniel for a week or so. She hoped she would not be away as long as that, but it was best to err on the side of caution.

It was a relief to be taking action—she had been near paralysed with indecision until Lord Vernon’s visit, afraid of the consequences should Stour Crystal’s customers, or—God forbid—their rivals, learn that Daniel was missing. Uncertainty was bad for business. If she was responsible for spreading rumours and Daniel turned up unscathed, he would, rightly, be furious with her. She had caused enough trouble for the business six years ago. She could not bear to be the cause of more.

She had slipped across to the stables earlier, whilst Vernon was eating, and taken Malky—the groom who had taught her and Daniel to ride—into her confidence about her plan. He had not been happy but, in the end, he had agreed to saddle Thea’s favourite mare, Star, with a conventional saddle so she could ride astride and to meet Thea, with Star, on the edge of the copse behind the walled kitchen garden, out of sight of both the house and the stables.

She changed hastily into the clothes she had kept from Daniel’s boyhood, the ones she wore for their fencing bouts and for riding astride. She wondered whether or not she should take Malky with her. It would be the sensible thing to do, at least until she caught up with Vernon, but it would leave the estate short-handed at a busy time.

She examined her appearance in the mirror. She had bound her breasts to flatten them and had dusted fine ash from the fireplace across her skin, dulling it. She was dressed the same as countless young lads around the country, in jacket, shirt, waistcoat, breeches and boots. Her hair...she leaned closer to her reflection. She could pass muster as a lad during one cross-country ride—with her hair plaited and pinned and bundled into a cap—but would that suffice for a longer masquerade?

She reached for her scissors. It would grow again. She unpinned her hair and gathered it together. She swivelled her head from side to side as she gazed into the mirror, considering. Some lads had hair that grew to the nape of their necks, or even longer. She set her jaw. Time was wasting. She cut, hacking again and again at her thick hair until the bunch came free in her hand. She stared at it, lying limp across her palm, trying and failing to quash her distress.

It cannot be helped.

She pushed the hair under her mattress where it would not be discovered, and turned again to the mirror, biting back a cry at the sight that met her eyes. She pushed her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out—her curls more unruly than ever—then ruthlessly scraped it back and tied it with the length of twine she carried in her jacket pocket for emergencies. Her reins had snapped once, several miles from home, and since then she had always been prepared. Never had she envisioned using it for this purpose, however.

It is just vanity. Who cares what you look like?

Unbidden, Vernon’s face arose in her thoughts.

Hmmph. She thrust his image aside. He is a means to an end: finding Daniel. Nothing more.

It was time to go. Malky would have Star ready by now. Thea cast a last look around her bedchamber, sucked in a deep breath to quell her nerves and picked up her saddlebag. A quick visit to the gunroom for pistols, powder and shot and then she would be gone. As she crept down the back stairs she prayed none of the servants would see her. Her stomach roiled all the way to the gunroom and for the entire time it took her to load the smaller pistol she had decided to take with her.

She slipped out of the side door and hurried along the path to the kitchen garden, following the outer stone wall around until she reached the far corner. Then she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was no longer visible from the house. She stood still, leaning back against the wall, feeling the sun’s warmth, stored in the stones, radiating through her twill jacket, and waited for her nerves to settle. They did not. Her stomach continued to churn until she felt sick and she realised, with a jolt, that it was not the adventure to come that frightened her so very much but the thought of Lord Vernon Beauchamp’s reaction when he discovered she had followed him. Contrarily, that thought irritated her, which then had the effect of finally grounding those butterflies fluttering around inside her stomach.

It was not his place to dictate her movements and it was not incumbent upon her to obey him. She was her own woman. Seven-and-twenty years of age. Intelligent. She had no reputation to sully—it simply was not important to her. She would never marry and she was long past the days when she worried about how many partners she might attract at the assembly room in Bewdley. Come to think of it, she could not remember the last time she had visited the assembly room. Losing everything, including a fiancé and, very nearly, her father had effectively put an end to all such frivolity. They had—both she and Daniel—put their heads down and worked, with no thought other than to pull the family back from the precipice of bankruptcy. They had teetered upon the brink of that chilling state for a very long time.

Those years... That lump ached once more in Thea’s throat. She and Daniel had worked in partnership and they had not given up until the manufactory was safe. They had worked with Charles Leyton and the other men to develop new products that were now eagerly sought after by customers keen to decorate their homes and to display their wealth.

And now, when it seemed they could finally begin to breathe again, Daniel had vanished.

Thea pushed away from the wall. She could see Malky waiting, with Star and another horse, at the top of the opposite bank of the stream, on the edge of the trees. Gratefulness hummed through her. Malky clearly intended to accompany her and she saw now that was the best solution, at least until she caught up with Vernon. Her guise as a lad would protect her a little on the ride between Stourwell Court and Stourbridge, but not completely—a solitary youth might prove fair game for any manner of rogues on the road. She would believe that was what had befallen Daniel, but for the fact his horse had not returned: Bullet would always return to Stourwell Court. He had been foaled here.

She ran down the bank, jumped the narrow channel of water and hurried up the slope to Malky.

‘Afore you say aught, miss, I’m coming with you and there’s an end to it.’

Malky...he had taught her to ride. Solid. Dependable. Unflappable.

‘Thank you, Malky.’ Thea turned to Star, put her foot in the stirrup and was soon settled astride the spirited black mare. ‘Just until we catch up with his lordship, mind.’ Or, actually, before. Or his lordship would merely order her to return home with Malky. That would not suit her purpose at all. ‘Let’s go.’

They rode across country, taking the shortest route to Stourbridge, and Thea began to breathe a little easier at the knowledge they had made up time. Finally, they arrived at the outskirts of the town and they halted.

‘I will be safe enough now,’ she said to Malky. ‘You should return home. No!’ She held up one hand as Malky started to protest. ‘You cannot come further. You are needed at Stourwell Court. I shall be quite safe... I intend to let myself be known to his lordship before nightfall. It will be too late by then for him to send me home.’

‘And what do you intend to do while his lordship is inside the Nag’s Head?’

‘I shall go inside, too. It is a respectable enough inn. It will be an opportunity to find out if my disguise will stand casual scrutiny. You cannot deny it is better I begin here—in full daylight—than enter some low alehouse after dark when it is like to be filled with men in their cups.’

Malky sighed. ‘I don’t like you going inside such places, Miss Thea.’

‘Theo, Malky. I told you, I am now Theo. And I must go inside or how shall I discover—?’

‘I’ve bin in and out of such places all me life, mi—’ He clamped his lips together with a scowl. ‘You told me you were going to follow his lordship. You never said you’d be risking your reputation and worse besides by going inside such places.’

She touched his arm. ‘You cannot stop me, Malky. You know me. You know how stubborn I can be.’

‘Never a truer word,’ he muttered.

‘Must I order you home, Malky? You and I cannot ride into town together, or someone will recognise you and wonder who I am. Trust me... I will stay safe. I shall follow his lordship and, as I said, I shall make myself known to him before nightfall. He is a gentleman. He will protect me.’

‘And that’s another thing to worry about,’ Malky muttered. ‘His sort...they think nothing of debauchery and such like and you an innocent and all.’

‘I am well able to protect my virtue, Malky,’ she said grimly. ‘You need have no fear on that score.’

After several more grumbles, Malky finally left her and Thea rode Star up New Street towards High Street and the Nag’s Head, her stomach twisting with nerves at what she was about to do and at the thought of Vernon’s likely reaction when he discovered she had followed him. But then she thought of Daniel. She was doing this for him. And her nerves steadied as she left Star with an ostler and approached the door of the inn. She hadn’t planned much further than simply catching up with Vernon and then tailing him, but she had faith everything would work out all right. She patted her pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of the pistol. She could take care of herself and, whatever might have happened to Daniel, she would make certain she, at least, returned home to her parents.

She followed a man in through the door and turned left, as did he, into a taproom. A sweeping glance took in the dingy walls and ring-marked tables. She watched carefully how the man she had followed in behaved. He slid on to a settle and caught the attention of a serving woman by the simple expedient of raising one finger. The girl brought him a tankard, presumably of ale or porter.

Thea took a seat in an empty corner, where she could take in the whole room and see the door at the same time. As the woman turned from the other customer, Thea raised her hand. The woman acknowledged her and soon delivered a tankard, setting it on the table with a bang that sloshed its contents over the rim. She scooped up the coins Thea had tossed on to the table with a brief grin that made Thea suspect her tip had been overly generous. Nevertheless, she breathed a little easier. The woman had barely looked at her and neither had the other customers.

She sipped her ale—wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste—and allowed her gaze to slide around the room, examining each occupant in turn. The taproom was not full, with around eight customers, including Thea and the other newcomer, and a man behind the bar whom she assumed was Perrins, the publican—she knew his name from occasional comments Daniel had made about the place. But there was no sign of Vernon.

Where is he?

On the heels of that thought, the door opened and in strolled Lord Vernon Beauchamp.