Earl's Well That Ends Well

by Jane Ashford

  “But not harmed?” asked Arthur.

  The pub owner shrugged. “Not so’s you’d notice. Or so’s I would, at any rate. I reckon he’ll suffer a few clouts if he makes any trouble.”

  “I’d like to clout him,” said Tom.

  “If he starts a real fight, he’ll be thrashed,” Rigby added.

  Arthur found he didn’t care.

  “And he’ll be made to work for his keep, belike.”

  “I wish I could be there to see it,” said Tom.

  “You want to be tossed onboard as well?” joked Rigby.

  Tom grinned and shook his head.

  “One thing.” Rigby held up a cautionary finger. “You’ve got to lay hold of this fella yourselves. I ain’t getting involved with that.”

  Even more certain that the man had had brushes with the law, Arthur nodded. Rigby’s reluctance was understandable. Arthur wasn’t keen on that part of it himself. “We are not going to tell Señora Alvarez until this is over.”

  Rigby appeared to find this only natural. “I’ll see what ships is in port and send word with Tom about the possibles.”

  He looked startled when Arthur held out his hand, but he took it in a firm grasp, and they shook on the bargain.

  Ten

  Teresa was not surprised when Lord Macklin didn’t appear at the workshop the following day, or the one after that. It was only what she’d expected. Now that he knew the truth, he wished to have nothing more to do with her. Of course. She fought off the sharp stabs of disappointment this knowledge brought. He was a leading member of society. He followed its strictures, valued them. It had been ridiculous to hope otherwise. She hadn’t, really, hoped. Yet her eyes strayed to the doorway anytime there was movement from that direction. And she was downcast when the cause turned out to be someone else.

  She should forget that she’d ever met the English earl. Hadn’t she been continually wishing to do so? And so she would. Eventually.

  Her painting went slowly, and without its usual verve, another reason for melancholy. She had decided to give up and was putting on her bonnet to return home when a note arrived for her. Writing in French, the opera dancer Jeanne informed her that she’d received a special invitation to go out driving in the country the following day. The gentleman was not among the ones they’d had suspicions about. Indeed, Teresa couldn’t quite place him, which seemed a signal in itself.

  He’d promised Jeanne a fine meal on the outing and a gift of coin. He’d also told her not to mention it to anyone, as he didn’t care for people to know his private business. Well, he was out of luck there, Teresa thought. She’d convinced the opera dancers that secret assignations were not a good idea in the current situation, and that she, at least, should be told.

  Note in hand, she looked around for Tom. He wasn’t in the workshop, though he had been earlier. She checked the outside courtyard. It was empty at this time of day. Perhaps he had been given a task at the theater.

  But when she went over to Drury Lane, Tom wasn’t there either. This was unusual and began to concern her. It was true that he had no part in the play being presented that evening, but he was nearly always on hand to watch.

  She found Jeanne preparing to dance, and they spoke together in French. Teresa discovered that the drive was to Richmond Park, which heightened her suspicions. “There are many beautiful flowers in that place,” Jeanne said. “He knows I love flowers. He has brought me bouquets. We shall go early, and I will be back in time to dance. There is no problem.” Nonetheless, she looked a little anxious.

  “I do not think you should go,” Teresa said. Under the current circumstances, it was surely not a good idea.

  “I need the money. I am lacking the rent, and this would pay for a whole month.” Jeanne looked stubborn. “You said that we should tell you of any invitations, and you would protect us. I have done as you asked.”

  That was not exactly what she’d promised, but Teresa could see that Jeanne would not be convinced. Very well. She would do her best. Tom would return, and she would enlist his aid.

  But the play began, and still there was no sign of Tom. Jeanne was set to meet her escort at nine the next morning. Teresa had no more time. Lord Macklin was lost to her. She would simply have to manage this herself. She was quite good at managing, very proud of her skills. There was no reason to feel forlorn.

  She decided to use some of her carefully hoarded funds to hire a carriage for the day, and she knew just the driver to engage. She had ridden with him a number of times and chatted about his family and his ambitions. His hackney, on which he lavished the greatest care, had once been a nobleman’s carriage, sold when the peer had a new one built. It still looked polished and could easily be mistaken for a private vehicle.

  Her plan made, Teresa went outside before the end of the play. The driver she wanted, Vining, was often to be found near the theater after a performance, on the lookout for those wanting a ride home. She found the man in his customary position and made her arrangements, telling him a good deal of the truth about their mission. Vining was moved by the plight of the dancers and was happy to follow along and make sure Jeanne came safely back. A good fare for a whole day sealed the deal.

  After the play, Teresa walked home in the company of two of the actors. She paused at Tom’s lodgings on the way and learned that the lad was not there. “He said he’d likely be gone till tomorrow,” the landlady told her. “Has an invite from his lordship. Nice for some, to have rich friends.”

  Teresa couldn’t suppress a pang at the thought of them enjoying some sort of expedition that hadn’t been mentioned to her. But why should it be? Tom had known the earl long before she met him. They were friends. They had shared many adventures. There was no reason to suspect that Tom also had turned against her. He wouldn’t, even if the earl had told the lad her story. Which he wouldn’t. But the painful possibility that she’d lost Tom as well would intrude.

  Telling herself that she had endured far worse, Teresa walked home and spent a restless night fending off loneliness and regrets.

  She rose early enough to puzzle Eliza and quickly wrote out a description of what she’d learned and where she’d gone. She addressed the missive to Tom and left it sealed on the mantel shelf. Should it be needed, which she did not anticipate, the maid would find it and see that it was delivered.

  Vining was waiting for her at the appointed spot, a place where they could watch Jeanne’s lodging house without being noticed. Her supposed beau arrived on time in a showy phaeton with a restive team, and the girl ran out to climb onboard. Jeanne had donned her finest gown, and it made Teresa sad to see her smile up at the jaded young aristocrat who didn’t even bother to give her a hand up. He wore a scarf about his neck and his hat pulled low, Teresa noted, just as the innkeeper on the Richmond road had described. “Will we be able to keep pace with him?” she asked Vining.

  “The way that young sprig’s handling the ribbons?” Vining made a contemptuous sound. “He’ll not be rattling along with those tits. Touched in the wind, I reckon.”

  Taking this as a criticism of the other’s horses, Teresa nodded.

  “We’ll keep back so’s not to be noticed, but we won’t be losing him.”

  She pulled her head inside as they started off. She trusted Vining to know best how to follow another vehicle through London.

  They threaded the city streets and headed west toward Richmond. Teresa sat back in the carriage and tried not to compare this journey to her last trip along this route. She did not succeed. She wondered how long it would take to forget Lord Macklin. And knew at once that the answer was—forever. And with that she lost herself in memories of the time they had spent together.

  The carriage slowed and began to turn. Teresa roused herself and leaned out. “Where are we going?” she called up to Vining.

  “Our fellow went this way,” he answered.

&
nbsp; “But we haven’t reached Richmond Park.” They had passed the inn where they’d found some answers, she noted.

  “No, ma’am. Seems he weren’t telling the truth about that.”

  And why had she expected he would? “Where does this lane go?”

  “Into the countryside. I know London, not these parts. I kin follow though.” Vining sounded determined.

  They moved on over an increasingly rural road. Teresa wasn’t certain how many miles they had covered when a tall stone wall appeared on the right. She couldn’t see over it. When she asked Vining, he replied that he couldn’t see anything from his higher perch either. Trees on the other side obscured the view. “I’ve lost sight of the phaeton,” he said. He urged his horse on, and they speeded up.

  The lane splashed through a shallow stream. The ford was bumpy. Teresa gripped a strap as she was jostled about.

  “There he is,” said Vining. “Turning in at a gate up ahead.” He slowed so that they wouldn’t arrive too soon, obviously following the other carriage.

  A few minutes later, they came abreast of the gate. It was solidly built of wood and gave no glimpse of what lay beyond.

  “Was you wishing me to knock?” asked Vining doubtfully.

  Teresa thought she had found the answer to the dancers’ disappearances. But was there any way to confirm this? Before she could make up her mind what to do, the gate opened just far enough for a huge, heavily muscled man to step out. He carried no weapon, but his closed fists and dark glower were clear threats. “This here’s private property,” he said. “No visitors.”

  And yet Jeanne had been taken inside. Clearly, it would not be a good idea to ask about her.

  “Righto, my lad,” said Vining. “Can you tell me if this is the road to Morbury?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  Teresa admired her driver’s quick tongue. She sat well back so as not to be seen.

  “I reckon I took a wrong turning then,” said Vining. “Must have been back at that last crossroad. Y’ed think they might put up signposts.”

  His cheery manner had no effect on the guard, for the large man could be nothing else. He made a threatening gesture. “Be off with you.”

  “Yes indeedy. Reckon I’ll try the other way.” There was enough space before the gate for Vining to turn the carriage. He did so with dispatch and slapped the reins on his horse’s back. They started back at a smart pace. When they had passed through the stream once more, he spoke. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t want to be going back there.”

  “I would not ask you to,” said Teresa. “You may take me home now.” Perhaps Jeanne would return from her carriage ride, she thought. She could wait and see. But Teresa didn’t think she would. She’d found the source of the disappearances, and she needed to breach those walls and do something about it. For that, she had to have help, even if the idea of asking the person most able to give it made her squirm with humiliation.

  Vining left Teresa at the end of her street, and she walked from there toward Tom’s lodgings, hoping that he’d returned by this time. It seemed that he had. There was a coach at his door, and Lord Macklin stood beside it. This was lucky. She could give them both her news at once, though her spirit quailed at the thought of facing the earl.

  He was turned away from her, looking through the carriage window at something inside when she reached him. “I believe I have found our answer,” Teresa said.

  He started and whirled. He looked as if she was the last thing he had hoped to see. “Oh, er, what?” he said, sounding completely unlike himself. “You’ve found…what?”

  He had never been this awkward. Everything was to be different between them then. Teresa’s spirits sank. “I’ve discovered what we were looking for.”

  Lord Macklin stared at her as if he had no idea what she meant. Did he mean to sever all connection with her? The knowledge cut her to the heart, but she gathered her courage. She would have to persuade him to do this one thing before that.

  Tom came out of his lodging house. He was carrying a small vial, which seemed odd. He looked surprised to see her. He and the earl exchanged a look. Lord Macklin quickly shook his head. Had they in fact discussed her history? Had she misjudged Tom’s reaction?

  She longed to turn and walk away. But she couldn’t abandon the young women she’d promised to aid. “I must tell you what I have discovered,” she began. “It’s—”

  “We have an urgent appointment,” Lord Macklin interrupted. “Perhaps we could speak tomorrow.”

  The two stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the carriage door, a phalanx arrayed against her.

  “At the workshop perhaps,” added the earl. “I will call there.”

  This was not a hint. He wanted her to go away.

  “But we must be off now.” He gestured, and Tom ran around and climbed into the other side of the carriage. Lord Macklin edged the carriage door open just enough to slip through, shutting it practically in Teresa’s face. The coachman gave Teresa a quick glance, as if he was puzzled, and then the vehicle started off, leaving her alone in the street.

  She hadn’t quite believed that he would react in this way, Teresa realized, despite everything. And certainly not Tom. The blow was harsher than she’d anticipated. A desolation that she’d thought conquered loomed over her. In the empty street, she fought it off. Why should she mourn a thing she’d never expected to have? She hadn’t really believed in a connection with the earl, had she? He was not “gone” because he had never been there in the first place.

  And this was beside the point. She had to find a way to use Lord Macklin’s vast resources to rescue the dancers, even if he didn’t wish to be acquainted with her any longer. Perhaps a letter would do. She could explain what she’d found and assure him she was only seeking a way to get beyond those walls. She wouldn’t have to see his face as he decided whether he would be associated with her this one last time. Teresa’s breath caught on what was not tears. She turned to walk home. To her refuge, her bastion. But the idea was not nearly as comforting as it used to be.

  “Shouldn’t we have told her?” Tom asked Arthur quietly. He gestured at the Conde de la Cerda, lying on the floor of the carriage trussed up like a Christmas goose.

  “There was no time for discussions,” Arthur replied. “We can’t miss the tide.” Which was true. The ship was waiting. They couldn’t afford the least delay, and he had no doubt that Señora Alvarez would have had a good deal to say. Not only that, he’d taken great care to keep his coachman from knowing about their captive. Arthur had sent him off on an errand while he and Tom wrestled the Spaniard into the carriage. No, this way was better.

  He had everything under control, barely. Just barely. He was sticking to his mad plan and getting it over as soon as possible. “I didn’t want to implicate her,” he added. “She’d been seen with the conde.”

  “You implicated me,” replied Tom with a wry grin.

  “And that was bad enough. I wish I had not needed your help to subdue the man.” The Spaniard had fought like a cornered rat. He was glaring up at them now with eyes full of fury above the handkerchief gag. Arthur longed to reach the ship Rigby had found for them, set him aboard, and watch it sail away. There was one more unpleasant task to be accomplished, however. He looked down at the vial Tom was holding. “You’re sure of the dose?”

  “I talked to the apothecary. It’s right.”

  Arthur nodded. Suppressing his distaste, he pressed the Spaniard’s nostrils closed. When the man began to choke, Arthur pulled down the gag. The conde’s mouth gaped open as he pulled in a deep breath. Before he could do any more than that, Tom poured the laudanum into him. He swallowed convulsively. Arthur restored the gag on a stream of Spanish curses, vowing he would never do anything like this again. He was having trouble believing that he was doing it now.

  They drove on toward the docks.
After a bit, their captive’s eyelids began to droop. By the time they reached the ship where Rigby was waiting, the Spaniard was snoring.

  Arthur distracted his coachman while the fellow was transferred to the vessel. As he handed over the payment, he extracted a further promise from the ship’s captain that the conde would not be harmed on the voyage. Both the sailor and Rigby seemed annoyed that he would doubt their word on this, and strangely enough, he did not.

  * * *

  As soon as she entered her house, Teresa realized that she couldn’t stay. She was fully primed for action, vibrating with the need to do something. She went over to the theater and found that Jeanne had indeed not returned for the performance. The reproachful gazes of the other dancers were almost too much to bear. She couldn’t offer them empty promises, any more than she could answer questions about Tom’s continued absence. She departed before the play was half-done.

  Back home, she sat down to write her letter to the earl, trying to find words that satisfied in her borrowed language. But writing was more difficult than speaking, and the hour grew late as she didn’t find them. Finally, she shoved pen and paper aside. If he did not appear at the workshop tomorrow, she would go to his house. And she would not allow his servants to refuse her entrance. Teresa rose to seek her bed. She spent a restless night.

  He did come. Lord Macklin arrived at the workshop with Tom early the next morning. And he came directly over to speak to her. “I have some news for you,” he said before she could speak.

  Now he wished to speak to her? When he had practically run from her yesterday? The man made no sense. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I have found…”

  “May we talk privately?” He indicated the door to the courtyard with a gesture.

  “No one is listening,” replied Teresa impatiently. There were only a few people in the workshop, and they weren’t paying attention. “Yesterday I discovered…”

  The earl shook his head and beckoned as he walked toward the courtyard door. Tom shrugged and followed him. Teresa went after them.