“If I know about it, he be,” Justice answered. “Got ’im behind the platfrm, an’ he went runnin’ off inta the woods from there. Heard a horse go crashin’ through the underbrush. I reckon ’e dodged th’Guard all right an’ tight.” His words, he knew, would be passed on to those who did not hear him, and they would be accepted without question. Even the bodyguards, should the somehow escape, would swear to the truth of it. Justice had done his best to save Zachariah Wolfe. And if the man were caught, it would be by other means than those used tonight. Justice would once again emerge unscathed and with reputation intact.
In truth, the Bow Street Runners—Turner and his boys—would claim to have nabbed the great man on their own, several nights from now, and would make a great show of turning him over to the authorities at Newgate. That was the plan. It would work admirably. Except, Max thought, except now Bear and Coffee know that I expected some type of scuffle tonight. Perhaps I can convince them that what they’ll hear about is not at all what I expected. He trotted slowly up the path, the sound of the gathering fading behind him. In the trees to the right and left of him, he knew, the Guard still hid, unable to leave until the deframers themselves had departed. They had ben in those blasted trees since five o’clock that afternoon and were likely covered in moss by this time, he thought, grinning. But they would do as they had been ordered, for no one, not even the Prime Minister himself, wanted one of the deframers injured if it could possibly be avoided. Again they would be without a leader and unable to unite effectively, and so would pose no terrible danger—no danger worth the taking of their lives, Max added silently. And though they did not know it, they had friends in high places, gentlemen willing to stand for them in the halls of Parliament and call attention to their plight. There were not many, but a few could become many if one opened enough eyes. Lord Mapleton, when he took the floor in his robes and wig, was one of those who strove like a hellion to open enough eyes.
He rode slowly around the back of the Broken Bone and dismounted, tying his mount to a rail. His eyes searched the blackness for the little gig. He saw it sitting empty before the tumbled-down stable. His long legs carried him steadily toward the trees. “Bear? Coffee?” he whispered hoarsely. “Where ye be?”
“Here,” came a whisper back, and the one-armed ex-solider separated from the shadows and stepped into a spot of moonlight.
Mapleton hurried to him, and they faded back into the trees.
“Ye a bit muddy, Justice, but ye don’ look like ye bin in no kinda dust up,” Bear commented, inviting the man to join him on the ground. “Feels li’ we bin sittin’ ’ere forever. Were Wolfe’s speech so long then? Was ye wrong about that fracas?”
“I were wrong, but I were right, too,” Justice murmured, lowering himself cross-legged to the ground. “There were a fracas, but not a’tall what I was expectin’. The others’ll be tellin’ ye about it. Now, what were it ye wanted o’ me, boys?”
“Well,” sighed Coffee, “we bin thinkin’ real hard about it, Justice, since we settled down here, an’ we come to an agreement.”
“Aye,” nodded Bear. “We come ta th’agreement that ye best talk ta this lad. He been lookin’ all over th’earth fer ye.”
“Ye ain’t about ta hit me over th’ead an’ carry me off, are ye?” Justice asked, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “’Cause I know ye kin. I ain’t doubtin’ the possibility o’ it.”
“Ye didn’t be murderin’ no one, did ye, Justice? I cannot make myself believe it o’ ye,” Bear sighed. “Fer one thing, ye ain’t the type ta be runnin’ about plotting’ murderous plots.”
“No, I ain’t,” Justice responded. “An’ I didn’t be murderin’ o’nobody, thank ye very much. What’s the lad’s name, if ye don’ mind me askin’?”
“Tony, it is,” offered Coffee. “Name’s Tony Talbot.”
“Aye, an’ ye’re comin’ with us tonight an’ we be takin’ ya ta see ’im in th’mornin’. We agreed upon it,” Bear added. “Either ye be comin’ o’ yer own free will, or we be stickin’ yer poor unconscious body in th’gig there, but ye be comin’.”
Lord Mapleton did not know whether to laugh or cry. The urge to take these two men into his confidence was overwhelming.
“I will tell ye what, buckos,” he said, with a small grin. “I got me an appointment this very evenin’ wi’ a charmin’ mort what I ain’t seen much of in a long time. Now, I know ye do not want ta deprive me o’ such joys as await. Ain’t neither o’ ye could be that black-hearted, now could ye? An’ what I’m thinkin’ is that ye give me ta tomorrow ta figger where best an’ when ta be meetin’ this lad what ye’ve taked such a likin’ to, an’ I’ll stop me a bit in yer neck o’ th’woods an’ let ye know the when an’ where o’ it. Puddin’ Lane is it still, Coffee? Sure ’tis. Must be. Ain’t much where else ta go.”
“An how do we be knowin’ yer going ta show up, Justice?” Bear asked with a heavy frown.
“Why, because I’m givin’ ye me word, Bear. Me sacred word. An’ I be giving ye me ring, as well.” Justice tugged his gloves from his hands and stretching out his fingers into a beam of moonlight displayed a wide gold hand encrusted with emeralds that encircled his finger. “’Twas me father’s. Won it in a game o’ cards, he did, th’very day I were birthed. I be givin’ it to ye,” Justice matched his actions to his words, “an’ I be coming tomorrow, prob’ly long about two in th’afternoon, ta be pickin’ it up and givin’ ye th’word ta pass to the lad.”
Bear held the ring in the flat of his palm, staring down at it. Had to be worth a king’s ransom. He glanced up to Coffee, and Coffee nodded. “Awright,” Bear said. “I be takin th’ring, Justice. An’ ye may be sure ’tis safe wi’ us. We’ll not be sellin’ it behind yer back like. But do ye not show yerself tomorrow as ye promise, ye’ll never see the trinket again.”
“I’ll not be failin’, lads,” replied Justice, rising. “An’ it’s gateful I am ye be so understandin’ o’ a man’s needs.” Mapleton gave Bear and Coffee a slick little bow and left them.
By the time he reached home, the last of the carriages was pulling away. He marvelled at his good timing and rode into the stable yard, handing his horse’s reins to the head groom, who stared at his costume in amazement. “Do not stare, Gowan,” Mapleton chuckled. “You have seen me before, have you not?”
“Aye, m’lord,” answered the groom, “but not on th’night o’ yer daughter’s come-out. Ye’ll not be wantin’ to ride agin tonight, will ye, m’lord?”
“No, Gowan. You may tuck up the mount and yourself and the boys for the night. The guests have all departed, have they not?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“Excellent. Good night then, Gowan.”
The groom watched as his master strolled across the stable yard to the rear entrance of the house and slipped inside. He shook his hoary head and led the horse into the stables. Gowan had decided years ago that Lord Mapleton was fey. Having accepted that premise, he went on to accept all of Max’s vagaries with a sanguine temperament born of familiarity.
Lord Mapleton’s valet, Bernard, was not quite so accepting, however, and heaved a great sigh when his gentleman appeared in his chambers covered with dirt and grass stains and resembling more nearly an uppity footman than a Lord of the Realm. “I knew how it would be,” he muttered. “That not even Miss Amelia’s ball will stop you! You ought to be most sincerely ashamed.”
“Oh, stubble it, Bernard, and help me off with these boots,” Max grinned. “How many times must I explain to you that I am the master and you are the servant? I shall do as I think best and you shall learn to be less annoying about it.”
Barefoot, his hair awry, and in his shirt sleeves, Max sent Bernard off to bed for the night and made his way to his wife’s bedchamber. He entered without knocking, peeked into her dressing chamber, and chuckled at the picture Catherine presented sitting properly before her mirror as her abigail removed the pins from her hair. “You have two minutes, my love,” he announced fro
m the doorway, the unexpected sound of his voice making Liddy jump and Catherine giggle. He then strolled back into the sitting room and poured them both a glass of brandy.
“Away with you, Liddy,” Lady Mapleton laughed. “I shall manage the rest by myself. Having already slipped from her ballgown and into her dressing gown, she rose from before the mirror and, with her silver-backed brush in hand, hurried to him. “You are home, and quite close to two o’clock,” she said happily, throwing her arms about his neck and bestowing a long, deep, welcoming kiss upon him. “Max? You are all right? I mean, you were not, not…”
“I am in fine fettle, Kate. You are a terrible worrier, my dear, and I wish you might cease to worry after all these years.” Max released himself from her grasp and took the brush from her hand, replacing it with the brandy glass. He pulled a footstool before the wing chair in front of the fire. She seated herself upon it happily. He settled himself behind her in the chair and began to brush out her long chestnut tresses.
“But Max, your brandy,” she murmured.
“I shall live without it for a moment or two yet,” he assured her. “Was the ball all you wished it to be?”
“Indeed, and Amelia the most beautiful girl there. Max, do you think that Mr. Talbot has some particular interest in her? He waltzed with her, you know, and walked with her in the garden.”
“Did he? Well, and why not, my dear? Our daughter is enchanting. Do you have some objection to Tony, Catherine?”
“Oh, no! He seems a perfectly nice gentleman, and he is, after all, Cicely’s son.”
“Would you like to see Amy and Tony married?”
She turned to look at him with those gorgeous green eyes that still set his heart to leaping. “Do you think such a thing possible, Max? Amelia was so put off by him when they first met.”
“Turn back around, vixen. How am I to brush out this hornet’s nest if you keep wriggling about. Better. Were you not put off by me when we first me, Kate?”
“No, but I admit that there were times when I thought you a complete buffle-head.”
“Me?” Max asked with feigned surprise. “Catherine, how could you have done? Was I not always the epitome of propriety?”
“Doing it a little too brown, my lord,” Lady Mapleton laughed, taking the brush. “You were such a wag, always falling into one bumble-broth or another. She set the brush beside the decanters and brought him his brandy. He made room for her in the chair beside him and cuddled her against him tenderly.
“I love you dearly,” he whispered. “Even after all these years. I knew the moment I saw you seated so very terrified in Aunt Theckla’s drawing room, like a sparrow huddled against a hawk’s eye, that you were the young lady I wished to marry.”
“Did you, Max?” she asked softly, gazing comfortably into the fire. “You have never told me so before. I cannot remember you that day. I do know you came in, for we were very properly introduced, but I did not think of you in any way at all.”
“Ouch, a low blow, Catherine!”
“No, but I did not, Max. I was so frightened of making a faux pas before the duchess.”
Mapleton removed his brandy and hers to the side table and took her in his arms. He kissed her softly, tenderly, and then with an enthusiasm that made her giggle. “You are a romp and a vixen,” he whispered in her ear, “and you are baiting me.”
“Yes,” she giggled again. “And you are rising to the bait admirably, my lord.”
He laughed loudly at that and, standing, swung her up into his arms and carried her into her bedchamber, where he deposited her, still giggling, upon the bed. “Now, me little flash mort,” he growled. “I’ll give ye a bit er somethin’ ta remember me by!”
She laughed in delight and tugged him down beside her, hugging him close. “Max Mapleton, you are a complete wag. And you have windmills in your head as well. And if… and if…” Lady Mapleton’s voice dwindled to nothing as her fingers intertwined with his and then pulled away. “Why, Max, what has happened to your ring?” she asked. “You did not lose it?”
“Lose a priceless gift from such a pretty girl? Nonsense, my lady. I could never be so careless.”
“But you do not wear it? Where has it gone, then?”
“I gave it as a pledge, Kate.”
“Oh, Max! To whom? Your anniversary present?”
“It was all I carried of value, love. I had nothing else to pledge them. Tomorrow it shall be back on my finger again.”
“Well, it had better be,” Lady Mapleton warned, tugging playfully at his hair, “for if it is not, Max, you shall have a very disturbing twenty-sixth anniversary present from me.”
“Oh, no!” he exclaimed dramatically, “not that, my love!”
“Not what, Max? What do you think I mean?”
“Not another child, Catherine. I will go mad!”
That set Lady Mapleton off into gales of laughter. “Th-that,” she struggled valiantly to say, “th-that would be even m-more disturbing to me that it w-would to you, you blackguard!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE following morning amongst the communications delivered into Lady Mapleton’s hands she discovered an invitation from the Countess of Rutlidge. In the countess’s clear, crisp handwriting an additional note accompanied it. “Max!” Lady Mapleton called. “Come in here, will you?”
Lord Mapleton, who at that moment was in the midst of ruining his third neckcloth, tossed the frustrating article into Bernard’s hands and wandered through his bedchamber, across the sitting room, through Lady Mapleton’s bedchamber and into her dressing room. “What, Kate?” he asked, whistling at the lady in the cherry-and-white striped walking dress who sat sedately before the mirror staring at the note in her hand.
“Cecily asks us to attend a very odd sort of party.”
“How odd?” Max bent to glance over her shoulder. “Good heavens, Catherine, it is to be an out-and-out adventure!”
She glanced up at him questioningly. “It is certainly a novel idea, but why do you call it an adventure?”
“Believe me, my dear. It is to be an adventure. You have never been to Westerley, have you?”
“No, but certainly it is like many other country houses. It is not haunted, Max, is it?”
“I do not recall hearing such a rumour. But if a ghost needed a place to stay, Kate, Westerley would be his first choice.”
“Does that mean you do not wish to go?” Catherine asked with a glimmer of mirth in her glorious green eyes.
“It means I would not miss it for the world! Did I see something in there about a secret?”
“The party is for Geordan’s birthday, but Cicely does not wish him to know. We must buy him a gift, Max, I think. He will be thrilled, especially since he will not expect any such thing. I will call upon Miriam Clinton and see if she does not agree.”
“Miriam is invited? Gad!”
“Well, not Miriam, but both the girls. I am sure, since it is Cecily that invites them, that Miriam will be eager for them to attend.”
“Perhaps I’d better look at that note again and see who else she has invited,” Max groaned with a twinkle in his eyes. “No telling what I could be in for. Does she give you a list?”
“Well, yes.”
“Tell me, I promise I will go regardless. But I would rather not be surprised.”
Lady Mapleton sighed and shook her head sadly at him. “And I thought you loved surprises, Max. I am completely disillusioned.”
“Never mind, Kate, just read me the list.”
“Well, let me see. She asks you and I, and Amelia and David and Kit. We will go, Max. You must convince the boys of it. I am sure it is Geordie who gave their names to his mother. And Lydia and Pamela Clinton, which I have already told you. And Robert and Miss Sonnesby and Miss Thackett and Lord Bristol and…”
“And who, Kate? Why are you laughing?”
“Because I cannot comprehend why she has thought to invite Tracy’s mother, but I believe that name must have come fr
om Geordan too, don’t you?”
“Aunt Theckla? Surely you jest.”
“Not a bit of it. Cicely has asked her, but I cannot believe she will accept.”
Max chuckled. “I can well believe it. You will not be panicking each time she looks your way, will you? And you will remember who I am?”
“Oh, you,” Lady Mapleton grinned and, standing, hit him atop the head with the card. “Go tie your neckcloth and come down to breakfast. I believe that for once we shall all eat together.”
Kate? It is for this Friday, Cecily’s invitation?” Lord Mapleton asked on his way back to his chambers.
“Friday morning, breakfast at Rutlidge House and we all leave from there. We will return on Monday, if her plan holds true. Why? You are not going to tell me you must go off to…”
“No, no, no, I am not going to tell you anything of the sort. I just wondered.”
When finally they joined Amy, David and Kit in the breakfast room, they found all the talk to be about the ball. “I trust you were not too overworked, attending to all those young ladies, gentlemen?” Lord Mapleton murmured, taking his place at the head of the table. “I was sorry to leave you with all the work of it, but I could not stay longer.”
“Balderdash, Papa,” grinned David. “You were not in the least sorry.”
“Oh yes, he was,” smiled Lady Mapleton, pouring him a cup of coffee and carrying it to him. “He was extremely sorry, because he did not dance with Cicely Talbot.”
Amy could not help but giggle as her father stared down the table at her mother with a look that said quite clearly, “I will get you for that, dearest!”
“Did you once have tendre for Lady Rutlidge, Papa?” she asked with a look of extreme innocence.
“No,” he responded immediately. “I have never had a tendre for anyone but that sly boots at the other end of this table.”
“Besides,” Lady Mapleton added, “Cecily was already married, and Daniel would have had your father’s head upon a plate if he had looked at her with moon eyes even once. But confess, Max, you longed to dance with her last night. She looked so enchanting.”
Amelia's Intrigue (Regency Idyll Book 1) Page 25
