by Claudy Conn
“So he was, but he had been home for a fortnight before then…at Easter,” she offered hesitantly.
“Indeed, but only for a few days and again, the timing would not be quite right,” the duke returned. “I must wonder why you would insinuate that he could be the father, when it is obvious from these circumstances alone, that he is not.”
“I…er…well… I did not really pay attention to the timing, only to what my stepdaughter had told me.”
He eyed her with open disdain, and wondered what she had to gain by Ned’s hanging for the murder of her stepdaughter. Without any other facts he instinctively sided with the Sherborne lad. He said with derision, “Then what you are saying is that your stepdaughter actually named her cousin, young Sherborne as the father? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
She waved a frenzied hand, “Not in so many words. However, it was what she led me to believe. She said that she had a plan to make him marry her. What else could I think? I often saw that he followed her about…seemed quite taken with her.”
“I see. I will tell you what I think her words to you meant. I believe the poor woman felt she needed to scheme to get a husband because the father of her child would not marry her,” returned the duke. “Would you not say that makes more sense? My only question here is how could she induce Ned to believe he was the father, unless she meant to keep it a secret for a bit longer…until she could seduce him and then tell him she was with child.”
“I…what…I…well, I know nothing of such a plan,” Agatha Brinley said in a voice that told the duke, that while she may not have been told this precisely she had surmised as much.
He became infuriated and his voice was low and hard, “Mrs. Brinley, may I know if a proper search has been instituted for your stepdaughter’s diary?”
“Of course, but it has not been found,” she answered but did not meet his gaze.
“Odd, that a page should be torn out and left to be easily discovered. Who could have done such a thing?”
“Yes…no…I don’t know. My maid found the torn page,” she answered much flustered.
“Kindly call your maid to us,” the duke said quietly.
“Why?”
“I would like to speak with her,” the duke returned dryly. “Do you object?” His brow was up, his eyes coldly surveyed her.
She went to the bellrope and asked the butler to fetch her maid. She returned to the room and although the duke remained standing, she sat and her face was chalk white.
A frightened young and terribly thin young woman in a dark uniform and a white full apron arrived to bob a curtsey. He smiled kindly at her and said, “What is your name, child?”
“Sophy, Yer Grace,” she said scarcely able to meet his eyes.
“Sophy, I have a few questions. Please don’t be afraid, and do your best to answer them as truthfully as you may. I shall make certain you do not suffer in any way by speaking with me honestly. Are we clear?”
“Aye, Yer Grace,” she bobbed another curtsey.
“How did you happen upon the page torn out of Miss Celia’s diary?”
“I didn’t happen on it exactly,” said the maid. “Always thought it was an odd thing ye see…”
“Explain, Sophy.”
“Found it in m’room I did…on m’bed, all crumpled up.”
“Before or after Miss Celia’s untimely demise,” the duke asked gravely, thinking this already a different story than what Agatha Brinley had given him.
Her dark eyes snapped to his face and then to the floor before she said quietly, “Before, yer Grace. I went to find her, I did, so I could give it to her…not knowing how it got to m’room and all, but she wasn’t in the house and cook said she saw her go out about six o’clock.”
“Elly Bonner was her maid, did you know her well?”
“Jest to pass the time of day, sir. ‘Twas me that brought her to Miss Celia’s notice when Miss Celia said it wasn’t convenient to be sharing a maid with her stepmother. So, aye, I helped Elly get the job…but we weren’t confiding close, if ye know what I mean.”
“Do you know of any family she might have gone to and if so, where they might be?”
“Once she said she had a beau and how they were planning to marry and live like quality…seeing as he was soon coming into money.”
“Did she mention where this suitor of hers resided? Or how he meant to come into money?”
“No, Yer Grace. But I’ve always had a notion it wasn’t pound dealing that was his ken, not from what little I gleaned from her.”
“Did you ever see him with her…perhaps waiting for her outside the kitchen or near the grounds of Sherborne Halls?”
“Bless me, no!” She shook her head, “Always thought it was strange the way she would take off in the middle of the night. She did you know, though Miss Celia never suspicioned it. And once when I went into the village, she asked if she could come with me, she did, and then no sooner did we get there, but off she went without so much as a by your leave. I was jest about ready to leave town without her when she shows up, she does. Don’t take to driving the cart when the sun be ready to set, so I told her.” Sophy tilted her head a bit and suggested, “Thought she ran in to meet him, and must have been planned from their last meeting as never heard tell of no one bringing her any messages and such.”
“Thank you, Sophy, you have been most helpful.”
She started to leave, cast a hasty glance at her employer, Mrs. Brinley and said on a hushed note, “I feel it m’duty to tell ye, Yer Grace that I don’t think Lord Sherborne had anything to do with this. No I don’t. It wasn’t like that between him and Miss Celia. He liked her all right and made puppy eyes at her, but she never even glanced at him till just recently.” She shrugged. “But there ye be, no one listens to someone like me.”
“I do, Sophy. I listen to you and take great stock in everything you have told me,” the duke assured her and turned hard eyes on Agatha Brinley. He had noticed her expression while her maid had answered his questions and he had taken care to stand between her and the maid so that Sophy would not be intimidated by the woman. Again he wondered once more what the dour Agatha Brinley stood to gain if Ned was convicted of such a heinous crime.
* * *
“Hang me, Mandy. I’m stalled and near to going mad!” Ned stomped as he testily spoke. He dropped down onto his linen covered straw bed and released a long heavy sigh. “We’ve been here longer than I want to think about, and no closer to finding Elly Bonner than we were when I was being held in the courthouse cell and damn these tallow candles give off a fiendish odor in these closed quarters.”
“Confound it, Ned, it isn’t as though we have the favor of free movement to aid us,” snapped his sister. “Look, we can’t go at one another. We are both despondent and irritable, and lud, but these candles do have a vile scent. I never noticed before.”
“That is because we had the luxury of wax candles at home,” he said with a grimace. “Why did you get tallow…? ‘Tis made from animal fat, you know.”
“I grabbed whatever I could find without anyone knowing…that’s why, you heathen ungrateful brat.”
He laughed, “I’ll give you ungrateful. Aye, must sound that way, but heathen?” He eyed her archly and sighed sadly, “I don’t mean to croak at you, sis…but we are in a tangle and I don’t see a way out.”
Chauncey lowered his head and entered the arched doorway to their dimly lit underground chamber. He broke into a smile and held out one hand showing two ripe peaches, to the twins—the third he put to his mouth and took a large bite out of.
Ned and Mandy lost no time falling on this treat with relish. When they were nearly done with the fruit Mandy asked, “Chauncey, you astound me all the time. How did you get these?”
“Yer aunt ogles the kitchen, she does, but cook knows just how to manage and put aside a few things for us. Henry keeps it in the stables till I can make my way there. He says to tell ye not to worry about your brood mare, she is
doing fine.” Chauncey swung the basket he had been holding at his side and laid it down as he sank onto a nearby chair.
The twins fell on the basket.
With excited sounds of glee they discovered bread, cheese, dried meats, and hard boiled eggs.
Mandy turned and eyed Chauncey adoringly. They had run very low on food and had gone hungry for a couple of days. This was a feast and Mandy got up from it, and flung her arms around him. “Dear Chauncey! What would we do without you? But why does aunt ogle the kitchen?”
“She knows the servants are with ye and his young lordship.” He shrugged, “No doubt she suspicions they might be aiding ye to stay hidden.” He sighed heavily, “Never mind her now. Got a piece of news, don’t know what it means, but I hear tell, there is a tallow faced stranger staying at the Cock Pit in the village.”
Ned obviously did not feel this was of sufficient import to raise his head from the food he was consuming, but Mandy eyed Chauncey who had taken a seat on one of the bales of hay and proceed to eat his bread and cheese.
“Tallow faced stranger?” she asked and then stuffed part of the hard boiled egg into her mouth. She chewed swallowed, groaned with pleasure and asked, “And why does this matter to us?”
“Cat sticks, for legs, they say this stranger has, but a wisty cove all the same,” Chauncey answered. “The fellow claims to be on holiday, but the owner, Bradley of the Cock Pit,” he paused and pointed his large square chin at Ned, “You know him, my lord…”
“Aye,” answered Ned with a full mouth, “Capital fellow.”
“Right, and they say Old Branson down Southgate way has a grey sure to beat Tetley’s red.”
“Chauncey, this is no time to be discussing cock fights. What about this prune faced man,” Mandy urged.
“Right, well Bradley he thinks this Mr. Fowler, that’s his name, ye know,” he stopped, eyed the bread and took a large bite, chewed, swallowed and proceeded, all the while, Mandy tapped her foot.
He nearly choked as he tried to get enough down and Ned laughed while Mandy glared at both of them before he continued.
“Bradley is convinced Fowler is a Bow Street Runner!”
Mandy jumped to her feet, “Oh no!” she turned to Ned. “It can’t be! They have called for the runners to find us!”
Ned and Chauncey exchanged glances and Ned told his sister, “Take a damper. Sit, eat, because no out of town runner is going to find us here.”
“Yes, but this is awful, simply awful,” Mandy murmured but did in fact take a bite of bread. It was a day old but still delicious. Her stomach growled loudly for more.
“Coo, listen to you, Missy. You who planned this all, pluck to the backbone, talking like a suckling? Tsk tsk,” Chauncey got to his feet, “Up now wit both of ye,” he said portentously.
“Why, what’s afoot?” Ned asked as he shook off the dust, stood and stretched.
“Noted the viscount’s coach parked at Sherborne,” Chauncey announced. “By now, he must have had enough of yer Aunt Agatha and be on his way back. Thought ye might like to have a word with him…”
“Really?” Ned returned. “Why would he go visit our aunt? And what about his driver—can’t have him see us meet with Skip.”
“Brooks is a friend of mine. He’ll keep mum, he will and happy to do so,” Chauncey said firmly. “Now…hurry. It might do some good to find out a bit more from yer viscount about this runner.”
“Indeed, but why would Skip be up at the Halls?” Mandy frowned as she started out, bent and picked up her hat and a scarf for her face.
“It queers me to know or answer ye. Thought ye could ask him yerselves.” He started off and didn’t bother to look back as he heard them scramble about collecting their hooded riding cloaks.
They made their way down the torch lit tunnel under the abbey ruins and there opened the trap door that led them outdoors. Chauncey and Ned hurriedly hid all signs of the trap door with rocks and weeds, before the three made their way to where their horses were hidden in a makeshift stable of sorts. The horses were happily munching on fresh hay and looked up at their approach.
Chauncey helped the twins get saddled and tightened the girth on his own animal as he led them away and then mounted to turn his horse in the opposite direction.
“Don’t you come with us?” Mandy called after him.
“No missy. I have a meeting with a friend who has been m’eyes and ears while I’m in hiding wit ye. He has been searching out word about this Bonner woman.”
Within a few moments after they parted from Chauncey, the twins were tooling their horses carefully along the edge of the woods to the open road.
Mounted on her gelding with her blonde hair wrapped in a black bandana and a billycock hat angled low over her forehead, she smiled at her brother. She wore his shirt and a hooded cloak, over a pair of breeches (also his from his youth) and riding boots. She was thrilled to be out in the fresh air and on horseback, even if it was in broad daylight. No one would get close enough to discern that she wasn’t a lad.
“It is so good to be outdoors, isn’t it Neddy?”
“Aye, I’m prime for a bit of sport,” he said and chuckled.
“Ned, let’s have a bit of fun with Skip,” Mandy suggested.
“How?”
“I’d say we look every bit the high toby, don’t you think?”
He laughed, “You could say that I do, but you? Naught but a slip of a girl, no size to you.” He shrugged. “Besides, what toby worth his salt robs a coach in broad daylight?”
She took out her horse pistol and waved it with a laugh, “A daring one! And I can talk cant with the best of ‘em. Now, stubble it covey. What I lack in size…I make up with this.” She lifted the pistol.
“Game you are. Right then, let’s give him a fright.”
They passed through the glen to onto Abbey Road and took up strategic positions. They hadn’t long to wait as the carriage could be heard lumbering toward them. They pulled up their scarves to their eyes and their hoods over their heads and Mandy was struck by how warm it was even with the sun on its way down.
“He is coming—there just around the bend,” Mandy said excitedly.
As the viscount’s coach slowly managed the curve in the road and approached the clump of woods that would border it on either side, Mandy could hear the viscount’s driver whistling. She turned and motioned to her brother as she urged her horse forward, gun lazy in her hand.
They rode onto the road, blocking it.
The carriage slowed to a complete stop at her brother’s command, and Mandy marveled at his deep disguised voice. It nearly made her lose control and laugh, but she managed to restrain herself.
However, suddenly Ned cursed beneath his breath as he saw the driver reach for something. “Our little hoax is getting dangerous,” he whispered to his sister before he pointed his empty gun and demanded, “Put your fambles to the sky, m’buck…that’s right, that’s the way of it.” Ned rode up and stood in his stirrups to reach for the gun on the driver’s seat. “Aye, I’ll just hold this barking iron of yers so no one gets hurt.”
Mandy was grinning beneath the scarf and wanted to clap. She looked toward the open window of the coach and thought how odd that the viscount had his hat pulled low over his eyes, and she leaned toward that window and said, “Well now, m’fine covey. Out with ye!”
When no one responded and the door remained closed, she wondered if she had used a deep enough voice and lowered her voice to repeat, “Out now covey. Whot? Be ye asleep?” She clucked her tongue and added, “Come then before I must let some of that fine gentry blood of yers.”
Ned sat his saddle and grinned to whisper that she did indeed have an excellent command of thieves cant, when something suddenly caught his attention and Mandy saw his fine brows rise up with surprise.
Her own attention went to the carriage door which had finally swung open.
A male descended from its confines and he most certainly was not their friend, the visc
ount. Who was this? Where was Skip? And oh no, they were in for it now.
What should they do? She glanced hurriedly toward Ned who appeared dumbfounded. No help there. Should they just turn and ride off as fast as they could.
Who was this man in Skips’ coach? It didn’t make sense. She thought she might get to the bottom of it and in the lowest hardest voice she could muster, she said, “Hold up there, gent…time to stand and deliver.”
He brought up his face to hers and for a moment, his blue eyes turned her into a mindless container of mush.
He stood less than a couple of feet away and she knew this was the time to flee, but all she could do was stare into those glittering blue eyes of his and lick her lips beneath the dark wool scarf covering them.
He didn’t say a word and she gulped because she couldn’t say a word.
In addition to his bright eyes was the fact that he was the best looking man she had ever seen in her entire life and something inside of her tingled.
The gentleman in question decided to speak and he told them as his glare encompassed them both, “The last time I leveled the gun I now have under my cloak, the hightoby did not survive the encounter.” His voice was low, hard and Mandy had not doubt that what he had just told them was the truth.
He frowned as his gaze met hers and added, “I am loathe to destroy my very fine cloak and you two do not look old enough for the trade you seem engaged in, so then, what to do?”
One of his brows arched upward and as Mandy cleared her throat in an effort to say something, her brother interjected, “Ye be in the right of it. We know better than to have a go at ye, so we’ll jest be on our way then.”
“Will you?” said the stranger surveying them both, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t think so.” He centered his attention and the pistol he brought forward on Mandy and she bit her lip as he motioned and said, “You, down and it is not a suggestion.”
