by Kit Morgan
“Tory. Call me Tory.” Gosh, how many times would she have to tell people that?
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Aldrich laughed. “Please don’t force Emsworth to go against his deportment. It might do worse damage to him than falling in the water.”
Tory smiled at Emsworth. “Sorry. Miss Phelps it is, then.”
“Thank you, Miss.” Emsworth picked up a pole, handed it to her, then did the same for Aldrich.
The rest of their time was spent laughing, talking and – for Emsworth, anyway – making sure to stay on dry ground. Tory concluded that his shoes must be worse than hers! Parts of the stream bank were steep and slippery – Aldrich helped Tory get over the worst sections, but poor Emsworth was on his own. They hiked downstream, stopping now and then to cast a line. Aldrich did indeed show her the finer points of angling and made it look easy.
But when she tried … “Damola! I’m sorry, I keep catching my line on branches …” She caught Aldrich and Emsworth staring at her in shock, the latter red as a beet. “What?”
Aldrich smiled stiffly. “Are you always so … vocal when frustrated?”
“Vocal … what do you mean?”
“I refer to your free use of what sounded like profanity?”
“What? You mean because I said ‘damola’? Okay, yeah, I make up my own cusswords.” She scoffed. “Look, we’re nowhere near the duchess. You can drop the act.”
“Act? Whatever do you mean?”
“Both of you, in fact. Don’t you get tired of it? I don’t mean that it’s stupid or anything – heck, I’m doing it! But you don’t get paid to do it 24/7, do you?”
Aldrich and Emsworth exchanged a confused look as if they hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. Emsworth even shrugged.
Tory sighed. “Acting” still seemed to be the order of the day. “Fine, whatever. Let’s fish.” And they did for another hour before heading back up the bank.
By then, Emsworth had laid everything out on a blanket and Tory marveled at the sight. She hadn’t even noticed he’d left. “How did he do that so fast?”
Aldrich shrugged. “It’s his job.”
Tory stared at the beautiful china and glassware – no wonder he’d set the basket down so carefully. There were sandwiches, a roast chicken, an assortment of cheeses, apple slices, grapes, even a bottle of wine. “Wow,” she whispered.
“Emsworth, you’ve outdone yourself,” Aldrich said, motioning for Tory to sit.
She did and looked once more at the basket. “I can’t believe you managed to fit all this in there.”
“As I said before, the man is a marvel when it comes to packing a lunch.” Aldrich took the plate Emsworth handed to him and passed it to Tory.
“Thank you.” She took it. “This looks wonderful.”
“It is,” Aldrich agreed. “The duke employs one of the finest cooks in the county, if not the Empire.” Emsworth gave him a glass of wine and once again he handed it to Tory. But of course he would – he was sitting between her and Emsworth.
Tory took the glass and carefully set it beside her, hoping she didn’t knock it over. She began to eat, then noticed Emsworth wasn’t. “Aren’t you hungry?”
The butler looked taken aback for a moment. “My job is to see to your and Sir Aldrich’s comfort, Miss Phelps.”
Aldrich laughed. “She’s an American, Emsworth – she’s not used to our ways. Come, sit and eat. We’ll never tell.”
Emsworth’s face lit up for a second, then quickly sobered. “But, Sir Aldrich …”
“Sit down, for crying out loud,” Tory said. “Have some lunch.”
Emsworth audibly gulped.
“That’s an order, Emsworth,” Aldrich added.
“Well, if you insist, Sir Aldrich.”
“He insists.” Tory smiled at her handsome lunch companion. “Don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Emsworth looked at them warily. “Thank you, sir, Miss Phelps.” He sat, pulled a linen napkin out of the basket, set it on his lap and began to pile food on it.
“Have some wine,” Tory offered.
Now Emsworth seemed panicked. “Oh, but I couldn’t, Miss Phelps.”
“But …” She looked helplessly at Aldrich.
He shook his head. “Even I won’t cross that line.”
“Well, all right,” Tory said. “But I don’t see anything wrong with it. I mean, it’s not like he’s driving us home.”
“No, but it’s a long walk back,” Aldrich said. “We wouldn’t want the man to come staggering into the kitchen. If Mrs. Tompkins or Mrs. Dryden got a gander at him in such a state, they’d give him a good tongue-lashing.”
Tory giggled as Emsworth’s ears turned pink. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”
“No, Miss Phelps,” Emsworth agreed with asperity. “We most certainly wouldn’t.”
Tory and Aldrich spent the rest of the meal chatting about this and that, coaxing an occasional comment from Emsworth. She found it odd the man would be so hesitant to eat with them, but maybe he was a butler through and through, not just playing a part. His uniform was definitely period, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the real deal. Still, couldn’t a modern-day butler bend the rules occasionally?
When they finished, Emsworth packed everything up and they headed back to the house. Sir Aldrich educated her on things like the area weather, the different seasons, what fish could be found in the streams, the local wildlife. “We should go for a ride tomorrow after you give the duchess her lesson,” he suggested as they crossed the field.
“Lessons! Oh no – I wonder if she expected one today.”
“Obviously not, or she never would have agreed to let me steal you away.”
Tory sighed in relief. “Good, I was worried. I don’t want to blow my teaching gig.”
“Gig?”
“I mean, job.”
“Another American term?”
“Yes. I have a lot of them.”
“I can imagine – you are an American.” They both laughed. Emsworth even cracked a smile.
“Last time I checked,” she joked.
When they reached the house, Emsworth looked relieved. Maybe his feet hurt as much as hers did. “Will you be needing anything else, Sir Aldrich?” he asked as they entered.
“No, Emsworth. I’m sure Miss Phelps will want to rest until tea.”
“Very good, sir.” And Emsworth was off like a shot. Well, as quickly as a butler could go without abandoning propriety.
Tory sighed. “He couldn’t leave fast enough.”
“Indeed,” Aldrich said with a laugh. “He’s not one for the outdoors – he much prefers the house and gardens.” He offered her his arm and she took it and let him escort her to the staircase.
Becky appeared at the entrance to the drawing room. “Sir Aldrich, Miss Phelps,” she said, drawing their attention.
“Ah, Becky, you’re just in time to help Miss Phelps,” he announced. “She’ll be resting until tea.”
Tory felt a prickle of defiance but quickly suppressed it. After all, he was only playacting, not ordering her around. Or maybe he was just looking out for her. She smiled at the thought. “Yes, I could use some help getting these boots off.”
“Certainly, Miss Phe … I mean, Miss Tory.”
“Thanks for remembering.”
“Remembering?” Aldrich said, eyebrows raised in question.
“I asked her to call me Tory when we first met this morning. Didn’t I, Becky?”
“Indeed you did, Miss Tory.”
Aldrich released her arm and put his hands on his hips. “You’re determined to upset the servants here, aren’t you?” He winked conspiratorially.
She smiled. “It’s a gift we Americans have. Revolutions, you know.”
“I believe it’s working. But please, do leave your namesakes the Queen and the party alone – no sense overthrowing the whole Empire.” He smiled and turned to the maid. “I leave
Miss Phelps in your capable hands.”
Tory was confused by the mention of “the party,” then remembered “Tory” was also a nickname for the Conservatives in Britain. “Where are you going?” she asked Aldrich.
“To my room to change. I’ll not discuss business with His Grace dressed like this.”
Tory looked him over. He looked fine to her – better than fine, with his hair all windblown. He hadn’t worn a hat, which made her think he was done role-playing until he’d kept it up the entire outing. But no matter – maybe he’d drop his act the rest of the day. She yawned. “Oh, my goodness. I don’t know where that came from.”
He smiled tenderly. “You must be tired from your journey. I should have considered that before stealing you away for hours. I apologize if I’ve caused you any undue labor.”
“No, no, I’m fine. But I guess I could use a nap.”
He gazed into her eyes a moment before replying, “Then off with you. I’ll look forward to tea.”
She gazed back and, unable to speak, nodded. Aldrich was having an effect on her. And not just a “wow, he’s a great-looking guy” effect – more like an “omigosh, I could so fall for him!” effect. And that was dangerous. She didn’t have time to get wrapped up in a whirlwind romance, especially with someone like him who probably had dozens of girlfriends. For all she knew he came to visit the duke and duchess to get away from them.
“Is something wrong, Miss Tory?” Becky asked when they reached her room.
Tory sat in the nearest chair. Her jet lag must be catching up again. “How well do you know Sir Aldrich?”
Becky swallowed hard, her eyes darting around. “Well, he comes to visit Stantham Hall several times a year. He and the duke met at a ball six years ago.”
“But what does he do?”
Becky stared at her like a doe about to be hit by a truck.
“For a living?” Tory prompted.
“He’s a gentleman, Miss Tory. He has a small estate in Kent that he inherited from his father and his father before him and … well, he’ll pass it on to his heir.”
“But what does he do? I know he has nice manners and all, but what sort of work does he engage in? What’s his occupation?”
Becky could only stare. “I’m not sure I understand. He’s most fond of hunting and fishing. And, oh dear, let me see … he comes from an old family of knights and soldiers. Noble, some call them – for their deeds, not only because of blood.”
Tory’s mind was full of questions. Nothing Becky said spoke of a job. Maybe Becky wasn’t allowed to say. “Well, that would just figure.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Tory?”
Tory met the maid’s inquisitive gaze. “Nothing, Becky. I have this bad habit of thinking out loud.”
Becky nodded, then got on her knees. “I’ll remove your boots now, Miss Tory.”
“Thank you,” she said absently, her mind reeling. She braced herself as the maid pulled the cursed boots from her feet. “Oh gosh, that feels good.” She bent forward and massaged one foot. “Those things were killing me. Now help me out of the rest of this getup – I want to lie down.”
Not just lie down, though – Tory wanted some time alone to think. This was starting to get weird – not to the point where she’d try hitching a ride back to London and catching the first plane out, but definitely enough to make her wonder what was going on and come up with a few good questions to ask. Starting with whom to ask.
Meanwhile, back in the 21st century …
“When you’re done with those, there’s a few rooms that still need cleaning. Get ‘em done, then go home.” Marge walked away.
Benny scowled as soon as her back was turned. “Large Marge” as Mr. Smith called her, was one tough cookie, but he liked her better than Smith, who kept asking questions about Tory. What did Smith care where she was or how she was doing? Benny didn’t, so he didn’t tell his boss a thing. Besides, Tory never told him where she was going or what her new job entailed.
Benny scowled again. The witch hadn’t so much as called since she left. Didn’t she care how he was doing? Or that Maria wasn’t coming back because of having a stupid baby? Now he not only had Tory’s old shift but was working Maria’s on top of it. He was making money, sure, but he sure missed mooching off his sister and doing whatever he wanted. Life was a lot more pleasant when it didn’t involve work.
He shoved another load of laundry into the huge dryer, then began gathering what cleaning supplies he’d need. He preferred working the night shift – it was cooler, and shorter, only four hours. There wasn’t as much laundry to do, and he only had to clean the rooms that didn’t get done during the morning shift. Sometimes there weren’t any and he got to go home early.
Still, he hoped this didn’t last much longer. The last thing he wanted was for Mr. Smith or Marge to get it in their heads he should work a split shift – four hours in the morning, four in the evening. His entire day would be ruined. He shuddered at the thought and pushed the cleaning cart through the door and into the breezeway.
“What the …?” A limousine was parked in the “no parking” zone not ten feet away. Because of the tinted windows, Benny couldn’t tell if anyone was inside or not. Great – he’d have to go tell Marge someone was parked illegally, then possibly have to deal with the idiot once Marge called the tow company …
“Benjamin Phelps?”
Benny spun around. A tall, well-dressed man with brown hair stood there, looking him up and down as if measuring him up for a fight. “What?” He glanced at the limo. “That yours?”
“It is.”
Benny’s forehead creased. The man had a British accent. “You from England? Australia?”
“England.” The man looked him in the eye, through with his assessment.
“Well you can’t park there, pal. Better move it.”
“Certainly.” Suddenly the man was on him, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the limo.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Benny yelled. But before he could pop the man in the face, another emerged from the car. The two of them shoved Benny into the limo and sandwiched him between them. “What’s going on? Who are you?” he demanded.
Then he noticed a third man across from him. This one leaned forward enough for the light coming through the windows to illuminate his face. “Good evening, Mr. Phelps.”
Benny’s mind raced. He didn’t owe anyone money, did he? He’d made that mistake once before and never again. He didn’t deal drugs, and only bought them when he had the cash …
“What’s the matter?” the man asked. Another British accent. “Cat got your tongue?”
Benny stared at him. He looked to be in his early fifties, had wavy golden-blonde hair mixed with gray, and blue eyes. He was also … Benny swallowed hard as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “Who are you?”
“Who I am is no concern of yours,” the man said. “You, on the other hand, interest me.”
“What?” Benny glanced at the two well-dressed thugs on either side of him. One was shorter than the other, but both were bigger than he was. He’d never be able to fight his way out of there. Once again his mind raced over who he might owe money to. But he’d been trying to stay clean. If he screwed up anymore, Tory would kick him out of the house and he’d lose his meal ticket. Not that it mattered now. She was gone and he was stuck at this cheesy motel working just to survive.
“You’re not a very talkative fellow, are you?” the man asked.
Benny swallowed hard. “Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Should I?” Was this someone’s boss? None of the dealers he knew worked for an Englishman.
“No.”
Benny glanced at his captors again. They were probably armed. He turned back to who must be their boss. “What do you want?” He scowled for good measure. He knew he could look mean.
“Simply information. You’re good for that, I’m sure.”
Benny’s face screwed up.
“Information on what?”
The man smiled. “Your sister.”
Benny’s eyes went wide. “Tory?” He looked at the men holding him again. “What about her?”
“Where is she?”
Benny’s heart stopped. Was Tory in some kind of trouble? What was going on? He cursed to himself. Why hadn’t she told him? She might be a pain in the butt, but she was still his sister.
“Where is she?” the man repeated, his voice stern.
“Why should I tell you?” he spat without thinking.
The man smiled. “I can make it worth your while.”
That got Benny’s attention. “Why do you want to know where she is?”
The man shrugged. “I have my reasons.” He nodded to the tall man on Benny’s left.
The thug grabbed Benny’s left hand and forced one finger forward.
“Hey! Let go of me!” he cried. “What do you think you’re doing?” Both thugs held him as he struggled, while their boss pulled an odd-looking instrument out of his pocket, leaned closer and stuck the finger. “Ow! What was that?!”
“Just gathering a blood sample.” The boss snapped some sort of cover over the instrument and returned it to his pocket.
Benny continued to struggle, but to no avail. “What do you want?!”
“I already told you.” The man reached into his other pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “I want to know where your sister is.” He held the money up to Benny’s face. “Three thousand American dollars for that piece of information – and your silence. No one needs to know about this conversation. Ever.”
Benny gulped. “Wh-wh-what do you want with my sister?”
He smiled. “Let’s just say I need to satisfy my curiosity. Find out if she is what I think she is. You too, for that matter. But I have all I need from you on that score.” He patted his pocket.
Benny’s heart raced. He still didn’t have a clue what was going on. He stared at the cash in the man’s hand. “Who are you?”
“For your own safety, it’s best you don’t know. Others might come looking for her. Now, where is she?”
Benny drew in a shuddering breath as his eyes again fixed on the wad of cash. “Three thousand?”
“If you tell me where she is.”
