Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  Hill shrugged his shoulders unrevealingly. “Surely you know, my Lord, of Miss Nelson’s stubborn nature. The lady was determined to leave. I thought it best if I accompany her.”

  The baron interrupted Aidan next remark. “Did you manage to discover the lady’s reason for leaving Lexington Arms’ safety?”

  Hill responded earnestly, “I suspect Miss Nelson feared her brother would learn of her whereabouts and insist upon claiming the Kimbolts as among his close connections. I doubt the woman had knowledge of the restrictions placed on Nelson by Godown. She has been from her home for four months–long before the marquis married Grace Nelson.”

  Aidan thought upon what Hill shared. Hill’s was a shrewd guess. Had his man spoken the lady’s inspiration? Had Miss Nelson left Lexington Arms to protect him? “What is the lady’s given name?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Mercy.”

  Aidan sucked in a deep breath. “Mercy. The perfect name.” He did not look upon Hill’s countenance. He suspected his friend’s mouth had turned upward in a knowing smirk.

  Swenton asked, “What was Miss Nelson’s destination?”

  Hill emphasized, “I placed her upon the coach to Bedford. From there, she planned to travel to London.”

  Aidan said in disbelief, “London? If Miss Nelson is as naïve as you fear, London is a dangerous place!”

  Hill’s lips had most definitely taken an upward turn. Aidan wanted to wipe the superior grin from his friend’s countenance. “I provided Miss Nelson with a list of legitimate boarding houses and another list of households in which to seek employment. All of them with Realm connections.”

  Aidan absorbed Hill’s information with satisfaction, but then he panicked. “Miss Nelson has no funds!”

  “You will discover a shortage in the market payment for the wool,” Hill confessed.

  Relief raced through his veins. “Thank you,” Aidan said honestly.

  Swenton wondered aloud, “Could the Englishman you observed with Jamot be Geoffrey Nelson?”

  Aidan thought on the possibility. “I doubt it. The man’s hair was dark as coal. Although Miss Nelson does not favor Lady Godown, the sisters both are fair of head. Miss Nelson is blonde, while the marquise has a lighter reddish-brown hair.”

  “I have seen Nelson,” Swenton admitted. “Lady Godown favors her brother.”

  Aidan immediately wondered whom Mercy Nelson favored. He asked the question to which he did not wish to give voice. “Could the man be the baronet of whom you spoke earlier?” He did not like to think of Miss Nelson pledged to another.

  Swenton screwed up his mouth in doubt. “You said the intruder was young, perhaps in his middle to late twenties. I understood the baronet was more than twice the girl’s age. Been married twice. Has five legitimate children by two previous wives and another family in a neighboring village.”

  Aidan’s frown lines met. Irony did not escape him: He experienced relief that Hill had seen to the lady’s safety, but he would feel better if Miss Nelson resided under his roof. He held no wish to make Baron Nelson a familial connection, but having the marquis, as an intermediary, would lessen the scandal associated with the baron’s immaturity. Aidan wondered why Godown had taken on the salvation of Lady Godown’s brother. If Gabriel Crowden knew of Nelson striking Lady Godown, the baron would have a high price to pay. Women thought of Gabriel Crowden as the dashing prince of the Brothers Grimm tales, but, in reality, the marquis was a lethal opponent. No matter the poor connection, Aidan owed Miss Nelson a marriage proposal. A gentleman knew his duty. “I wish Miss Nelson had shared her fears.”

  Hill asked, “Did not the lady say anything of her concerns in the note she left in your name?”

  Aidan asked doubtfully, “What note? I know of no message from Miss Nelson. Millie spoke of messages sent to her mistress by the unknown lord, but nothing of a farewell letter.” Such a note would do well in soothing his broken heart.

  Hill insisted, “Miss Nelson swore she left a note for you and one for me. The lady mentioned doing so on several occasions.” Hill stood. “We should search her quarters.”

  Aidan motioned Hill to return to his seat. “Last evening, I examined the lady’s rooms before I returned to my quarters. I had thought to learn more of Jamot or of her involvement in my house’s invasion.” He would not admit to having slept in her bed rather than to be alone in his. “There were no notes.”

  Hill placed his serviette on the table. “I think it would be prudent to look again. I asked Miss Nelson the contents of my note, and she readily confirmed her parting words. Perhaps you missed something in the chaos.”

  Swenton followed Hill to his feet. “I agree with Lucifer. The notes could be a possible clue to solving this mystery.”

  Aidan thought such a search an effort in futility, but he followed his friends up the main staircase.

  “I cannot believe the maids have not straightened the bed linens,” Hill grumbled as he jerked the counterpane across the surface. Aidan noted Hill’s expression when he spotted bootblack smeared on the material. He shot Aidan a quick glance, but his friend judiciously relayed nothing suspicious in his tone or his actions. “No notes here,” Hill said as he lifted the pillows to look under them.

  “None here either,” Swenton said from the desk.

  Aidan pretended to search, but he did not expect to find a message. “The lady misled you, Hill.”

  His friend shook his head in denial. “Other than the lie I foisted upon her, Miss Nelson has spoken honestly. If the lady swore to having left her farewells in a note, the letters should be in this room.”

  Aidan asked, “Then to where did they disappear?”

  Hill’s frown deepened. “Obviously, the maids would not have removed them. Whoever cleared the room would have reported their existence to Mr. Payne or Mrs. Babcock.”

  Swenton suggested, “Perhaps the maid Millie removed them. Did she not take Miss Nelson’s gown after the lady’s departure? Surely, if she came in to borrow the garment, Millie would have knowledge of the notes.”

  Aidan gestured lacklusterly toward the door. He was not certain he wanted to read Mercy Nelson’s farewell. Her words would likely squash his heart. “Lay on, Macduff. And damned be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’ Millie is confined to her quarters.”

  Moments later, Swenton led the way into the maid’s lodging. “Millie, we have another question.”

  The maid scrambled to her feet. “Yes, Sir.”

  “When you removed your mistress’s gown did you observe a note addressed to Lord Lexford?”

  “Aye, Sir,” the girl said readily. Then she scowled. “That be not completely true, Sir. You see, I kant read. So I asked Mrs. Babcock what the papers were about. Mrs. Babcock didn’t seem pleased by the discovery. She be sayin’ it weren’t proper for a lady to write to a gentleman unless they be engaged. At the time, we didn’t know whether Miss Purefoy be returnin’.”

  Swenton continued the questions. “What happened to the notes?”

  “Mrs. Babcock be sayin’ she would give them to Mr. Poley to decide if’n Lord Lexford should be seein’ them.” The girl shot Aidan a regretful glance. “I be sorry, me Lord, if’n I did wrong.”

  Aidan had the suspicion everything had changed without his participation. “It will all come to right, Millie.” He was not certain whether he meant his words for the maid or him.

  Hill said from behind him. “I suspect we should have a closer look at Mr. Poley’s quarters.”

  Aidan sighed deeply in resignation. He led the way toward his valet’s rooms, but he paused before turning the latch. In agitation, he said, “Do you recall your analysis regarding my valet and the housekeeper after Miss Nelson saved Aaron?”

  Hill nodded his understanding. “I asked which members of this household had not responded to the crisis.”

  “It just struck me that neither Poley nor Mrs. Babcock made an appearance during the fire last evening,” he said softly. Cynicism crept into his tone.


  Swenton spoke with determination. “As both are at services, it seems the appropriate time to search their quarters without interference.”

  Chapter 19

  Mercy sipped the tea she had ordered and waited for the next coach. If not for Mr. Hill, she would possess no such luxury. The man had protected her from the onset of their acquaintance. She had been fortunate to find such an honorable man.

  For the hundredth time, she eyed the table of four gentlemen and clutched her cloak tighter. The oldest of the four had made overtures in her direction, but the youngest had returned the man’s attentions to the cards. From what she had overheard the innkeeper say to his wife, the four men had spent last evening in a highly contested card game. The innkeeper expected the card players to be residents of the inn for several days. “You know they be staying as before,” the innkeeper had said. “So you need to keep a fit stew in the pot. They will play until one be the victor.” Mercy forced her eyes to the window. If the stage was on time, she had less than a half hour before she would be on her way to London.

  The sound of chairs scrapping along the wood floor announced a break from the game. Mercy stiffened and dropped her eyes when the older gentleman sauntered clumsily in her direction. “I know what would bring me luck,” he said loudly.

  Mercy shot a quick glance about the room. Other than the four gentlemen, the innkeeper and his wife, and her, the inn’s common room was empty. From the look upon the innkeeper’s countenance, she would receive no assistance from the man. A proprietor would never speak out against a paying customer, and especially one of the aristocracy. If she knew nothing else, Mercy was aware of class differences.

  “What say you?” the man leaned down over her, and Mercy could smell the stink of stale cheroots and alcohol on the his breath. “Come bring me luck, Sweetheart, and I will split my winnings with you.”

  In an attempt to place distance between her and the man, Mercy pushed further into the seat. “No, thank you, Sir,” she said meekly. She had hoped it would be enough to defer him, but the man sat heavily in the chair beside her.

  “Am I not handsome enough for you?” the man slurred his words. “You are a pretty one.” He reached to stroke her cheek, and Mercy recoiled from his touch.

  “Leave the girl alone, Monroe,” a deep male voice said from beside them. Mercy glanced up to see the same younger gentleman as before. “We have cards to play, and the girl has a coach to catch.”

  Monroe looked up and scowled. “There is still time. The girl has at least twenty minutes before the coach. I can be quick when I need to. You will wait the game for me, will you not, Stafford?”

  The young gentleman said with more firmness. “I think not.” He gestured toward the table. “Return to the game before we are at odds. I would dislike losing you as an acquaintance.”

  Mercy did not breathe. The one called Stafford meant to protect her, and she prayed his friend would agree. She noticed the signet ring upon the gentleman’s finger. It was not Mr. Stafford; the man was Lord Stafford.

  “What is the girl to you, Stafford? Do you want her for yourself?” the one known as Monroe charged.

  Lord Stafford took a combative stance. “I have no desire to deprive you of your enjoyments, Monroe, but I will not stand by and watch you force yourself on the girl.” He paused for emphasis. “I will ask you a final time to return to the game before I name my seconds.”

  Mercy did not blink; she made herself invisible by her inaction. The older man glanced at her before assessing Lord Stafford’s unspoken threat. Finally, Monroe heaved his weight from the chair. She waited in breathless horror. “No need to be surly, Stafford,” the man said genially. “I meant no harm.”

  “Of course, not.” Lord Stafford gestured his tablemate past him. Yet, the young lord waited until Monroe pulled out his chair to return to the table before he said softly, “Are you well, Miss?”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Mercy licked her dry lips. “My gratitude, Sir.”

  Lord Stafford nodded sympathetically. “Have a safe journey, Miss.”

  Mercy expelled a ragged breath. She quickly swallowed the last of her tea, gathered her bag, and hurried to the door. She would await the coach on the wooden walkway before the inn. Remaining inside was too dangerous.

  The time passed slowly as she ticked off the minutes in her head. The coach was late, and Mercy became more anxious with each passing minute. She glanced toward the door where the inn mistress waited. “Do you suppose I have time to tend my needs?” she asked politely.

  “The coach will change horses. You have mayhap ten minutes,” the inn mistress said matter-of-factly. “But Billie be late so he won’t be happy to wait for you.”

  Mercy looked up to see the dust stirred up by the approaching coach. “I promise to hurry,” she said as she scurried about the corner of the building.

  The small lean-to allotted for women to use for personal necessities was not much, but it did provide a certain degree of privacy. Mercy sat her bag away from the bucket left in place of a chamber pot. She held her breath as she squatted precariously over the offending item. Evidently, the innkeeper’s staff had neglected their duties. The area smelled of human waste, but Mercy muscled through because she knew it would be many hours before she would have a similar opportunity.

  Finishing quickly, Mercy straightened her clothes, grabbed her bag, and scurried toward the front of the building. She could hear the whinny of the horses and the jangle of the harness. Rushing forward, Mercy skidded about the corner of the inn, and slammed hard into a man’s well-toned chest. Strong hands reached out to steady her stance, and Mercy looked up into a familiar face.

  “You were correct, Talpur,” a sinister voice said to the shadow of a man behind him. “The one known as Lucifer saw our pigeon to Warwick.”

  Mercy fought the tears pooling in her eyes. She thought to beg for her freedom, but she knew her pleas would fall on deaf ears. “What do you intend to do with me?” she asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

  The man caught her chin and forced her gaze to fall on his countenance. She had once considered him handsome and had held hopes that Geoffrey would pledge her to this man. Yet, the face that stared back at her had lost its appeal. Her captor’s eyes bore into hers, and Mercy caught a peek of the evil buried deep within the man before he shuttered it away. “I plan to return you to my father,” he hissed. “The baronet requires something to distract him or he will likely stumble into my business, and I cannot have that. It would be a shame to dispatch pater before his time.”

  Mercy’s blood ran cold. She had never suspected Mathias Trent of being anything but an obedient son. She had always known if she married Sir Lesley, Mathias would not provide for her or his younger siblings with Sir Lesley’s passing; yet, she had never seen him as a leader. He was another Geoffrey Nelson! A pawn in a large, inexplicable game.

  “Trent, we must leave,” Jamot said softly.

  Mathias glanced over his shoulder. “See if the innkeeper has a horse and saddle for the lady. Our Miss Nelson is an excellent rider.”

  Jamot cautioned, “I doubt the innkeeper will have a side saddle.”

  Mathias smiled deviously at Mercy. A fierceness speed across his features, and Mercy knew real panic. “If that be so, my father’s intended will be showing her wares to all those who care to look.” He continued to grip Mercy’s arm so tightly she would have bruises tomorrow.

  Mercy’s mind raced. She required a means to escape, but few possibilities existed. She doubted she could outride both Mathias and Jamot. She prayed some bit of luck would look kindly upon her; yet, she held few hopes of regaining her freedom. Mercy closed her eyes to bring the image of Lord Lexford’s countenance into focus. She had left the viscount behind in order to shield him from these people–these twisted individuals. With that realization, Mercy opened her eyes to confront her future.

  *

  “Nothing!” Aidan grumbled. “Not even a trace of a clue.” They had examined ever cor
ner of Mr. Poley’s room before moving on to Mrs. Babcock’s.

  “What did you expect? You have given Poley and the housekeeper too much sway within your household because you wished nothing to change,” Hill said seriously. “In fact, you have spoken often of Poley’s disapprobation, as well as Mrs. Babcock’s caustic remarks. Perhaps you wished to ignore the abuse because you have never thought of yourself as the master of this estate.” Insult arrived on a high note.

  Aidan’s temper flared, “What are you suggesting?” His fist curled at his side.

  Swenton stepped between Aidan and Hill. “Lucifer gives speech to what you know, but have never acknowledged. We all joined the Realm in retribution for those parts of our lives over which we had no control. Kerrington required forgiveness for his first wife’s death in child birth; Fowler wished to remove the stigma of his father’s reputation; Wellston, a desire to save others because he could not save his sister; and Crowden, a necessitate to prove himself not a fool for trusting a fickled woman. Even before your father saddled you with a wife who could not love you, you have second-guessed your right to the title. Your right to be viscount. Your place as Andrew’s substitute.”

  Aidan’s expression screwed up in a tight scowl. “I am a surrogate for Andrew,” he protested.

  Hill said adamantly, “No, you are not, and until you accept your rightful place as Viscount Lexford, you will live a miserable existence. A wife and children will give you no peace, my Lord. You must learn to recognize your own worth and not depend on others to acclaim your significance.”

  As his friends rallied to his defense, something like culpability and like dishonor gnawed at his conscience. Aidan certainly did not wish to think upon the possibility of what Swenton and Hill asserted. “We may discuss my failings upon a future date,” he said authoritatively. “For now, I am seeking suggestions of where next to look for the missing notes.”

  Hill cocked an ear toward the hum of those moving about below. “It sounds as if services have ended. I suggest we speak to those involved.”