Fever Dreams

by Nicole Jordan

  Cecil bestirred himself to ask, “You mean to seek out Meade and interrogate him, Sir Alex?”

  “Yes, and make him divulge whatever he knows of Hitchens’s plans. Reportedly, Meade is living with his wife’s relations near Hertford, which is less than thirty miles away. If I can locate him and compel him to talk, I should make it there and back before nightfall.”

  Eve drew a shuddering breath as she stared up at Ryder. She couldn’t bear to think of what Claire was enduring at this moment, how terrified she must be. But her sister would have absolute faith in Ryder, and she did as well. If anyone could recover Claire unharmed, it would be Ryder.

  A numbing calm overtook Eve. She felt a terrible guilt that her sister had been seized when she herself should have been the target, yet she couldn’t afford to indulge in guilt or fear just now, not until her sister was safely returned.

  “Ryder…I want to accompany you to visit Meade.” When he hesitated to reply, Eve hastened to add, “Please…. I couldn’t bear to sit here and do nothing. And I know Meade. I might be more effective in getting answers from him than you could be.”

  “You might,” Ryder agreed. “Very well, you may come with me.”

  “What can I do to help, Sir Alex?” Cecil asked in a small voice. “I need to help, too.”

  Ryder smiled fleetingly at the boy. “You’ll remain here to coordinate our efforts. With all of us going various ways, we’ll use this room as a command post, and you will be in charge. Meanwhile, Cecil, you’ll have the doctor examine your head. I have no doubt it is hard as a rock, but blows such as you took can scatter your brains for long afterward.”

  Forcing a grim smile, Cecil nodded, satisfied.

  The mention of a command post made Eve wonder how Ryder meant to organize the hunt for Claire with so few resources at his disposal.

  “What about your league?” she asked. “The Guardians? Could they help find Claire?”

  When Macky shot Ryder a swift glance, Eve remembered that she wasn’t supposed to know about their order of protectors. But Ryder answered her question anyway. “I’ve already summoned half a dozen of my fellow Guardians from London. With luck, they’ll arrive here this afternoon before we return from Hertford. It will be Cecil’s responsibility to bring them up to date about our crisis. And to make certain the aunts don’t ban them from the house,” Ryder added with acerbic dryness.

  “Ryder, I am sorry about—” Eve started to say, before he cut her off.

  “It hardly matters now, Countess. Why don’t you ask Dunstan to have your traveling carriage harnessed and then fetch your cloak? We may not return before nightfall.”

  Eve rose at once, even though her knees were still ridiculously weak, glad to be given a task to perform.

  Just as she crossed the library, the door was flung open and Drucilla swept in, followed by a white-faced Beatrice.

  “Dunstan told us,” Drucilla rasped in a voice that was barely audible, “the dreadful news about our dear girl.” The haughty dame was actually shaking as she went to stand directly before Ryder. “Please, you will save her, Sir Alex, will you not?”

  “I intend to do my utmost, my lady,” Ryder replied grimly, handing her the bloody cloth. “Perhaps you will see to Cecil. I have urgent matters to attend to.”

  “Of course.” Before he could leave, however, Drucilla laid a trembling hand on his arm. “Dunstan also says that you learned about our dreadful footman from Lord Gyllford. If you had not pressed him, you might not have discovered that Hitchens was our villain all along.”

  “Yes,” Beatrice added in her soft voice. “It seems we have learned a valuable lesson, Sir Alex. Perhaps there is a time for violence after all.”

  “I was too harsh before, I see that now,” Drucilla insisted. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  A muscle worked in Ryder’s jaw, but he managed a calm reply. “Of course, my lady. Now if you will excuse me, every moment counts.”

  Turning, Ryder joined Eve at the door, where she impatiently awaited him. If the circumstances weren’t so dire, she reflected as she preceded him from the library, she might even have found humor in Drucilla’s about-face. They had wronged Ryder, and so had she.

  But Ryder didn’t appear in any mood to discuss forgiveness, judging from his dark expression, Eve decided as she went to fetch her cloak and prepare for the long drive to Hertford.

  His brooding silence continued during the entire journey to Hertford. Her traveling chaise made great speed, expedited by changing horses twice at posting inns. But for well more than three hours, Eve was left to struggle with her own desolate emotions alone.

  What would they do if they couldn’t find Meade? They would have no leads to her sister’s abductors whatsoever.

  She wanted to sob out her fear on Ryder’s broad shoulder. She wanted him to put his arms around her, to reassure her that her sister would be all right. Yet she knew she didn’t deserve his consideration. Not after the way she had treated him this morning, rebelling against his dictates when he had only been concerned for her safety.

  She was ashamed to think of it now. She had asked him to leave her house, despite all he had done for her, for her entire family.

  Eve wanted the chance to win his forgiveness, to regain his respect. And she certainly couldn’t begin by falling apart in front of him.

  As the interminable minutes wore on, however, a disquieting insight dawned on her. She had misunderstood Ryder’s silence, Eve realized as she stared at his profile, grim in the sunlight spilling through the carriage window. He blamed himself for what had happened to Claire.

  It was only natural that he would. He was a Guardian, and he had pledged to keep her and her family safe. He would consider Claire’s abduction his personal failure.

  Reaching out, Eve slipped her gloved hand in his larger one, not only seeking comfort but hoping to comfort him. “We will find her,” she murmured, managing the semblance of a smile. “I have every faith in you.”

  Ryder squeezed her fingers once, briefly, before turning his face away, focusing his gaze out the carriage window as he cursed himself silently. Eve’s brave smile pierced his heart; she was trying so hard to be strong. His own chest, however, was so heavy, he could barely breathe.

  He would never forgive himself for failing to protect Claire. And his guilt would be a thousand times worse if he couldn’t bring the girl back safely.

  A short while later, the carriage slowed, and he knew they’d arrived at the outskirts of the town. Hertford was much too large for all the inhabitants to know one another or to be aware of every newcomer. When they halted at a local tavern, Ryder had Eve wait in the carriage while he inquired about Mabel Meade’s relations. Four more stops were necessary, however, before he learned anything pertinent.

  Upon returning to the coach, Ryder directed the coachman before climbing in beside Eve. “Meade and his wife are indeed living at a farm belonging to her parents. It is a few miles beyond the next crossroad.”

  Eve nodded, the fragile look of strain in her eyes evident.

  “Are you certain you want to accompany me?” Ryder asked. “You could wait here in a private parlor instead.”

  Her spine suddenly straightening, she steeled her shoulders as if preparing to do battle. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  He wouldn’t deny her the chance either, Ryder realized. He intended to make Meade confess whatever he knew about his wife’s godson—and all his instincts were telling him that Eve would prove to be an asset in wringing any information out of the former steward.

  From the moment they arrived at the farmhouse, Ryder knew his instincts were right. They were admitted by an elderly woman, who identified herself as Mabel Meade’s mother, and then shown into a rear room, where a tall, thin man with stringy hair was lounging at a wooden table, staring morosely into a tankard of ale.

  An expression of surprise and alarm claimed Meade’s features when he looked up to see Eve sweep into the room. “You!”

  “Yes, it is
I, Mr. Meade.”

  Tobias Meade was clearly the worse for drink, for his reactions were slow as he struggled to his feet, and his words were slurred when he asked in a barely civil tone, “What brings you here, milady?”

  Even though Ryder had moved to stand beside her, Eve took command of the conversation. “I think you know, Mr. Meade. I want my sister.”

  His expression became hooded. “I don’t have her.”

  “But you know exactly who does.”

  Meade eyed her insolently. “If I did, you would be the last person I would tell.”

  Ryder took a threatening step forward, but Eve held up a regal hand. “I don’t care about the attacks on myself, Mr. Meade. All I care about is my sister. I will give you one chance to tell us everything you know about Ned Hitchens.”

  “Why should I tell you a thing, milady? You ruined me, turning me off without a character.”

  “We won’t discuss the fact that you deserved worse for your appalling stewardship,” she replied, her tone scathing, “perhaps even criminal prosecution. I simply want to know about Hitchens’s plans. I am prepared to make it worth your while to tell us.” Reaching into her reticule, she withdrew a roll of banknotes and tossed it on the table. “Here is five hundred pounds, twice the yearly income you claimed as our steward.”

  The man’s thin mouth twisted in a smirk. “You don’t expect me to betray my wife’s kin, do you?”

  At his taunting question, fire flashed in Eve’s eyes and her spine straightened. She was every inch the aristocratic lady of the manor, Ryder saw. A woman of power and substance with centuries of blue blood in her veins, groomed from birth to be a member of the ruling class.

  Meade evidently recognized her authority, for he retreated a step, cowering a little, simply from her air of command.

  An icy smile curled her lips. “I have no doubt you are involved in my sister’s abduction, Mr. Meade. If you help us, you won’t hang. You will merely go to jail.”

  “You can’t pin that on me,” he muttered. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “So you refuse to cooperate?” Her chilling smile remained as she gestured toward Ryder. “You have not met my good friend Sir Alex Ryder,” she said with acid sweetness. “He intends to make you reveal what you know about Hitchens. You should see how he dealt with the last man who crossed him. The poor fellow’s face will take months to heal.”

  Meade sent a worried glance at Ryder but drew himself up, blustering with false bravado. “He doesn’t scare me.”

  “You never were very bright, were you?” Eve said coolly. “You should be frightened, Mr. Meade. If not of Sir Alex, then of me. I could leave you to him, but frankly, I would rather have the satisfaction myself.”

  From her reticule, she withdrew the pistol Ryder had given her for protection and aimed it directly at Meade’s heart.

  If her unexpected move surprised Ryder, it certainly startled the former steward, for he took an abrupt step backward, holding up his hands defensively as he stared in fear and fascination.

  “Mr. Meade,” Eve said calmly, “my sister’s life is dearer to me than my own, and certainly dearer to me than yours. As I said, I will give you one chance to tell us what you know—or I will begin shooting you limb by limb, before putting a hole in your miserable chest. Now, what will you choose?”

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  Eve tightened her grip on the pistol, aiming at Meade’s left shoulder as she waited for his answer.

  “I suggest you do as Lady Hayden says,” Ryder drawled into the tense silence.

  Meade’s eyes flickered briefly to Ryder. He swallowed hard before returning his worried gaze to Eve. “You cannot shoot me, milady. It would be murder.”

  “That hardly concerns me now.” She steadied the hand holding the pistol, preparing to fire.

  “All right! I will tell you! Put away that gun and I will tell you what you want to know.”

  “No,” she responded. “You will tell me now. Why has Hitchens been terrorizing and attempting to kill me? And why did he take my sister hostage instead of me?”

  Doubtless concluding that she wasn’t bluffing, Meade ran a hand roughly through his greasy hair. “You were never supposed to be killed. Only scared a little.”

  “For revenge?” Eve prodded.

  “Aye. In the beginning I just wanted to make you pay for the humiliation you dealt me. And maybe to scare you into leaving the Park. So I hired Ned to arrange a near accident or two for you. They were never supposed to be fatal.”

  “But the incidents in London were almost fatal.”

  “Because the bloody fool thought that was what I wanted—his way of squeezing more money from me. He thought I would pay him to hurt you. But when he went so far, I washed my hands of him.”

  “Why did he abduct my sister? For the ransom payment?”

  “I know nothing about any of that, milady.”

  When Eve briefly waved her pistol, Meade threw up his hands. “I don’t know, I swear it! I saw Ned only once since he came back from London. It was three days ago, and he never told me a thing about what he was planning. Certainly nothing about any abduction.”

  “What did you discuss when you met him?” Ryder interjected.

  “He asked me for blunt. Seems he hooked up with some London ruffians and owes them more than a few quid. I couldn’t give him sixpence, though, since I’m dished up myself. When Ned threatened to squeal on me about those accidents he caused, I told him to bugger…er, push off.”

  “So he concocted an abduction scheme and targeted Lady Hayden’s sister?”

  Frowning, Meade scratched his head. “Stands to reason. I had no notion he was that desperate. But if he plotted to bilk her ladyship of money, I’ll wager he wants some of it for himself. Ned’s always hated having to serve the hoity-toity gentry, and he talked about what he would do if he was rich. Securing a fat ransom would allow him to leave behind this life and settle down elsewhere.”

  “What can you tell us about his possible intentions? His habits, his usual haunts…where he and his cohorts might have taken Lady Claire? If they were clever, they would have chosen a location that couldn’t readily be spotted, but one close enough to Hayden Park to provide easy communication.”

  At Ryder’s question, Eve held her breath, praying her former steward would offer some clue they could follow to find Claire.

  Meade’s frown deepened as he thought for a long moment. “Now that you mention it…. There’s a gristmill located a few miles beyond Braughing on the River Quinn. It belongs to Ned’s cousin’s family. He might be holed up there. Do you know it, my lady?”

  “Yes,” Eve answered hoarsely.

  Meade’s sullen expression softened. “I am indeed sorry about your sister. She always was a sweet young lady, and I don’t like to think about her coming to harm.”

  “Your apology is a trifle late, Mr. Meade,” she returned, feeling a surge of anger at this drunken fool who had set in motion the events leading to Claire’s abduction.

  “Well, I hope you find her.”

  Ryder spoke again, this time tersely. “You will be assisting us, Meade, before you’re incarcerated on the charge of attempted murder.”

  “But I told you, I’m not to blame!”

  “Your action against Lady Hayden was criminal, and you’ll pay for it in jail. But first you will accompany us to the Park. If Hitchens is not at the mill, then we’ll need to look for him elsewhere, and you know him better than anyone.”

  The steward nodded bitterly. His glance shifted to the table, to the roll of banknotes Eve had tossed there. “Can I keep the money, milady? It sure would prove useful.”

  Eve bit back her scornful reply. “You can use it to support your wife while you are in jail.”

  Meade nodded again. “I’ll fetch my coat and tell the missus.”

  She felt Ryder’s hand touch her elbow. “Wait for me in the carriage,” he said, guiding her to the door.

  He remained
to keep an eye on Meade while Eve returned to the coach. When her groom had assisted her inside, she sank wearily back against the leather squabs. Moments later she heard Ryder directing Meade to climb in the driver’s box with the coachman, while her two grooms took the footman’s perch behind.

  She was glad Meade wouldn’t be inside the carriage with her and Ryder. She could not have stomached looking at him. The mere thought of what the scoundrel had done made her hands clench into fists.

  Yet her anger was no match for the fear that swelled and twisted inside her. An icy cold filled her entire body.

  She sat there shivering as Ryder climbed in beside her, but she didn’t ask him to comfort her as she wanted to. When she felt her shoulder brush his, however, she gratefully absorbed his heat, letting it chase some of the chill away from her soul.

  Her body jolted when the coachman whipped up the horses to set an urgent pace home.

  “Do you think Meade could be right?” Eve asked Ryder, bracing against the rocking of the vehicle. “That we might find Claire at the mill?”

  “I’d say there’s a good chance.”

  “So we’ll go there at once and search for ourselves?”

  “Yes, as soon as we stop by the Park to gather weapons and reinforcements. It’s on the way to the mill.”

  Biting her lower lip to hold back the sudden hot sting of tears, Eve nodded. It would be an endless journey home. She was aware of every second the clock ticked away; every excruciating moment they delayed increased the danger to Claire.

  Thank God Ryder was here. She could not have faced this nightmare alone—even though just now she felt intensely alone.

  He seemed to sense her need, for after a pause, he slid an arm around her shoulders. “I was glad to see you put my pistol to such good use, Countess.”