“She always looks enchanting, dear one. Even when she was wandering about in the woods and leaves have fallen in her hair. I wonder how you will look after a day at Westerley?”
“Westerley?” Kit croaked. “Are you going to Westerley?”
“We have all been invited to Westerley, my dears,” smiled Lady Mapleton. “There is to be a party for Geordan’s birthday.”
“At Westerley?” Amelia asked. “I thought no one was ever invited there.”
“So did I,” said David, with a glance at his father.
“Well, things are changing now, you know,” explained Lady Mapleton. “Everyone is so consumed with this sudden love of nature and twisted trees and vistas and ugly old ruins. Why, I expect Westerley could well become a modish estate before too long. Of course, we must all do for ourselves when we are there, for the place has no room to accommodate other people’s servants. But I am sure Cecily will see that we are all quite comfortable.”
The talk then turned to the specifics of the countess’s invitation, a discussion of who wished to purchase what for the earl’s birthday and various and sundry schemes of what might be done to entertain oneself in such a place as they expected Westerley to be. “I am sure you will not lack for entertainment,” Lord Mapleton assured them, “but you must none of you suggest to hunt. It will put Talbot out of countenance if you do so.”
“What? Does no one hunt at Westerley? Do they not even have gamekeepers on the estate?” asked David in amazement.
“No gamekeepers on any of the estates, though one may cross them, certainly, in the course of a hunt. But should a quarry go to ground within Rutlidge boundaries, you must give it up, I’m afraid, and look elsewhere,” grinned Lord Mapleton. “It is an unwritten law, but known to everyone who hunts near any of the estates, and there is nothing to be done about it.”
“I expect it is because Geordie is so fond of animals,” Amelia mused, sipping her tea.
“Not a bit of it,” replied her father. “It is because the fourth earl detested huntsmen. He could not hunt, you know, and therefore wished no one else to do so. He was used to cut off a hunter’s ear should he find on with a kill upon his lands.”
“Oh!” gasped Amelia, as both Kit and David stared.
“Max,” asked Lady Mapleton, “did you just make that up?”
“Yes. I thought it sounded rather like a gothic novel, didn’t you, Kate? I shall write one, I think, someday.”
“And get Amy to write it with you,” laughed David. “She has the most excellent imagination.”
By the time the conversation around the breakfast table had drawn to a close, Lady Mapleton was made happily aware that the boys were not going to need to be convinced to attend the affair. Lord Mapleton excused himself and left the room, sending word to have Gowan bring one of the horses to the front door in fifteen minutes. He then ran back up the stairs to his dressing room and closed himself in and Bernard out. When at last he emerged, he had turned from a gentleman to a common-looking, nondescript man of the lower classes. He waited until no one stood in the hall below, then hurried down the stairs and out into the forecourt where Gowan stood, reins in hand. “If ye don’t want to be seen, guv’nor, ye’d best hurry.”
“I am hurrying, Gowan,” replied Max, stepping up into the stirrup, swinging his leg over, and taking the reins. In a few seconds he was out of the courtyard and partway down Brook Street. The ride to Puddin’ Lane was a dull one, his drab figure arousing no one’s interest. It took him a full five minutes to remember in which narrow street Coffee’s lodgings stood, but he did at last remember and brought his mount to a halt before the grimy, soot-covered building. Dismounting, he called to a boy and gave the horse’s reins into his care. “If ye will walk ’er fer me till I come back, there be a shillin’ in it fer ye lad,” he promised, and went to knock upon Coffee’s door.
“Hi, guv’nor, be it Coffee ye’re lookin’ fer?”
“Aye, lad.”
“Well, he ben’t there. He’s at me pa’s, ’e is.”
“And who’s your pa, then?”
“Ye’re Justice, ain’t ye? I heard me pa talkin’ about ye. Me pa’s Bear Blake. I’ll take ye there. Tain’t far.”
“What’s your name, boy?” Justice asked, strolling beside the youth who was trying to lengthen his stride to match Justice’s.
“Jesse.”
“Ye like ’orses, do ye?”
“Aye,” nodded Jesse. “Someday I’m gonna ’ave me one an’ learn ta ride ’im neck or nothin’ like the earl.”
“An’ what earl is that?” Mapleton knew, of course, but Justice would not have known of it, and so he had the pleasure of hearing again how Bear had found a lord. The story of holding horses for the cits and the runaway coach he had not heard, and was bemused by it. “Quite a feller your earl must be then, eh, Jess? A reg’lar nonesuch.”
“Aye,” nodded Jesse in complete and obvious adoration. “A reg’lar nonesuch. This be it, me pa and Coffee be inside. Just toddle ri’ on in, they’ll be pleased ta see ye.”
Justice went inside and was invited to share a cup of tea.
“Ye be ’ungry, Justice? I kin make ye up something ta stifle th’pains,” Bear said solicitously.
“Naw, a cuppa tea be fine, lad. Keep me trim an’ fit, ’twill. I come ta claim me ring, lads.” Justice fished into the pocket of his worn driving coat and produced a rather grimy piece of paper, which he handed to Coffee. “That be th’place an’ time I best be able to meet th’lad. Ye tell ’im I’m glad to speak wi’ ’im, but does he reckon on one o’ them duels them bucks seem so fond of, he’s got hisself the wrong man.”
“Well,” sighed Bear, taking the paper from Coffee and studying the writing. “He bin talking odd, an’ that’s a fact.”
“’Tis?”
“Aye,” Coffee said. “Been talking about thin’s li’ fields o’ honour an’ handlin’ ’is own business. But ye tell ’im the truth of the matter, Justice, an’ I don’ believe he’ll go blowin’ no hole through yer ’eart or nothing stupid like that.”
“No,” Bear added. “Tony’s a right un. Jus’ wants to fine the man what kilt ’is pa. All ye got to do is tell what ye know, an’ there ain’t gonna be no trouble. Speaking o’ which, he heard about that spot o’ trouble at th’gatherin’ las’ night. ’Tis the topic o’ conversation all over th’lane.”
“Well, I reckon it would be,” Justice sighed. “Near ta lost me teeth when the Guard came slippin’ outta th’trees. Wolfe, ’e about lost ’is ’ead. Got ’im clear, though.”
“Aye, so we heard. Ye be a reg’lar hero, Justice.”
“So where’s me ring?”
“Huh?” asked Coffee innocently.
“Yer both tryin’ ta git me off the subjec’, an’ I ain’t buyin’ it, Coffee. Where’s me ring?”
“Well, now, it’s ri’ here,” grumbled Bear, crossing to the back of the room and returning with the children’s carousel.
Justice stared.
Bear set the toy on the table before him.
Justice stared even harder. “What th’devil?” he growled. The golden ring inset with emeralds that matched the colour of his Catherine’s eyes sat on the floor of the toy, in the precise centre. One of the children had slipped it over the centre pole, through the canvas top, and now it glittered enticingly up at him.
“Pretty, ain’t it?” Bear grinned. “’Twas Abby’s idea ta put it there, though Jess, he ’ad ta do it fer her.”
“But what is th’thing?” Justice demanded, studying the toy.
“A care-o-sell,” Coffee said carefully. “The’earl made it fer the children. Heard about Bear’s earl, ain’t ye, Justice?”
“Aye, heard all ’bout ’im. Didn’t hear ‘bout this, though.”
“Make it go fer ’im,” Coffee urged Bear with a grin. “Truth is, I likes watchin’ it meself.”
Bear produced the tiny crank, wound the mechanism carefully, and then released the pressure he had been putt
ing on the centre pole. The carousel whirled; the animals rode up and down on their tiny poles; the gold and green of the ring glittered; and Justice laughed loudly. “Wonderful!” he declared. “A grand thin’. An’ me ring makes it sparkly. Wha’ it needs though is some paintin’ on.”
“Aye, so says me Abby,” grinned Bear, “but we ain’t got the blunt to be buyin’ paint.”
“Wouldn’t take so very much paint,” mused Justice as the toy wound to a stop. “jist lots o’ differen’ colours. I lay ye odds I could git me hands on some. Let me check, Bear. Maybe we kin make Abby happy. Now, how do I git me ring back off a there?”
“Well, we bin thinkin’ about that, Justice, an’ ye ain’t gonna like what we bin thinkin’,” replied Coffee.
Justice ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Give it to me straight out, then. I ’ave a fear of people thinkin’.”
“We was thinkin’ of givin’ it over to Tony.”
“Why?”
“Well,” said Bear, “li’ a pledge o’ sorts. We gives it ta Tony an’ we’re all sure that yer gonna meet ’im when an’ where it says on the note. Puts the lad’s mind at ease, ye see.”
Justice groaned and chuckled simultaneously. “How do I know I kin trust this bloke not ta sell it, will ye tell me that?”
“He ain’t gonna do no such thin’, Justice. We already told ye that Tony’s a right un.”
“An ye think I ain’t?”
“No, not a but of it, but Tony, ’e don’t know ye li’ we do.”
“No, an’ ’e don’ know us all that well, neither. Makes us all seem more honest, sorta. An’ mayhap it’ll ’elp ’im believe ye when ye tell ’im what it is ye’ve got ta tell ’im.”
“Ye’re set on it, ain’t ye?” asked Justice, a smile playing about his face. “Alright, then. Do wha’ ye thin’. But tell th’lad I expects ta see me ring th’minute I arrives at th’spot.”
“We’ll make it clear, Justice,” Coffee assured him.
Nodding, Justice finished his tea. “Be givin’ him tha’ note soon, will ye. ’Tis Sunday I be figgerin’ ta meet ’im.”
“Aye, we be gittin’ in touch wi’ ’im directly,” Coffee nodded. He and Bear rose and accompanied the man back out to the street. Jesse, who had been walking the horse up and down, grinned and hurried to them. Justice reached into his pocket, produced the promised shilling, and tossed it to the boy.
“No, thank ye,” Jesse said, handing it back.
“What? Did I not promise ye a shilling?” Justice asked with raised eyebrows. “I keep me promises, lad.”
“I don’ be makin’ me pa’s friends pay fer holdin’ their ’orses,” Jesse said. “’Tain’t right.”
“Ye keep it anyway, Jesse. I’d feel better if ye did. I didn’t expect ye to be holdin’ this hack fer nothin’.”
“No,” Jesse answered with a sideways glance at his obviously proud and approving father. “Ye take it back, sir.”
Justice, frustration evident on his face, shrugged his shoulders and accepted the coin. “Then I’ll have ta fine a better way ta thank ye fer yer ’elp. I do thank ye for mindin’ the beast, Jesse,” he said as he mounted. With a wave he rode slowly up the narrow alley, looking back only once with a peculiar and perplexed frown. He fell into a deep pondering as he left the Lane, and the closer he came to the West End, the less attention he paid to his surroundings. At last, shaking himself back into awareness, he found himself on Berkely Street and that seemed to strengthen a certain resolve to which he had come. He turned the horse toward Berkely Square and spurred him into a canter.
THE Duke of Richmond raised his quizzing glass and studied Mapleton haughtily, in silence, as his cousin stood grinning in the doorway. What is it, Max, a hoax?” he asked finally. “It cannot, surely, be a step forward in men’s fashion.”
“Stubble it, Tracy. I have been working.”
“Yes? At what? Shopkeeping? Tell me, Max, are you secretly a cit? Is that why Mother has always been so critical of you?”
Max grinned, strolling in and claiming a place in one of the chairs. “Have you heard your mama has been invited to Westerley?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Does she go?”
“Certainly. I count upon you, Max, to keep an eye on her for me. Now, that is not why you came to see me, is it?”
“No, I need your assistance, Tracy. At least, I need the assistance of a certain type of gentleman, and you will be able to see me off in the right direction.”
The Duke of Richmond, proving them both with a glass of excellent port, settled into the chair opposite his visitor. His eyebrows slanted frowningly as Max began to speak, and then with a certain gained understanding the frown began to fade and a tentative grin flickered. The duke began to nod. The grin grew wider and more solid. As Max concluded what he had come to say, the duke laughed. “I know just the man, Max. And it will be perfect. He already knows Rutlidge and likes him very well. But I do not know if he will agree to travel into Puddin’ Lane.”
“I shall promise to protect him with my life,” Max smiled.
“No, do not say that; you will terrify him. Leave it to me. I will explain it. How soon would you be planning to need him?”
“Not until I return from Westerley. Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, I should think.”
“Done!” pronounced the duke. “Max?” he asked then in a much quieter voice. “May I go with you as well?”
“What? To Puddin’ Lane? Not dressed in anything that lies in your wardrobe, Tracy. You’ll send the residents into a panic.”
“I will find less intimidating garb, I promise. I want to see the thing, and I want to hear what Trevithick has to say.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TONY leaned against the mantel in the Grecian room and read the grubby note again. So, at last I am to meet Justice, and at Westerley, he mused. Brazen of the ruffian to name Geordan’s cave as the meeting place, but the man’s timing proves impeccable. Sunday afternoon—the party will be drawing to a close. It will be unexceptional for me to do a little wandering about the woods alone. But how you, sir, propose to arrive at the cave without being discovered beforehand confounds me.
He stared again at the ring he held in his hand. The colour and clarity of the stones brought to mind Miss Mapleton’s lovely eyes. “They are almost an exact match, Amelia,” he whispered with a slow smile. He chided himself for being a romantical sapskull, but could not dispel the tenderness he felt towards that young lady.
“After all, she is nothing like Elinor,” he murmured, shoving the note and ring into his breeches’ pocket. “She is not out to entrap me. And she likes Geord. She would never think to lock my brother away in some madhouse. Should would lock me away should I suggest it!” His eyes began to glow a warm golden-brown. He could envision her rising to Geordan’s defence. But he had loved Elinor Patton before her true feelings and intentions toward the earl had come out, and he had been deeply hurt to thin she had only intended to marry him to gain power over the Rutlidge fortune through him and his approaching guardianship of Geordan. Under the assault of similar emotions in regard to Amelia he was determined to tread warily.
THE little caravan that departed Rutlidge House on Friday morning was filled with good spirits as it wound its way through the streets of London toward the toll road. The Dowager Duchess of Richmond’s travelling coach led the way. It carried that fractious lady, the countess, Lady Mapleton, and a laughing James Farber, who could not believe, despite the insistence of all three ladies, that Max had once stolen that elegant equipage from the duke’s stables and hired it and his twelve-year-old self out to carry an eloping couple to Gretna Green.
“That boy should have been horsewhipped,” laughed the dowager. “I cannot think why he was not!”
“Possibly because it was Lord Allerby and Miss Virginia Krofft to whom he hired out,” giggled Lady Mapleton.
“What difference did that make?”
“All the difference in
the world,” grinned Lady Mapleton. “It was a terrible match and would have sunk Lord Allerby beneath his father’s notice, except that Max had not the faintest idea how to get to Gretna Green, and after tooling them about for hours, turned around and brought them back to London. Lord Allerby had gotten so foxed and Miss Krofft so angry with all the travelling around and getting nowhere that they never spoke to each other again.”
“Allerby got his money back, I hope,” James chuckled.
“Yes,” laughed the dowager, “but Allery’s father paid Max double the price for putting an end to the match.”
Lord Bristol, tooling his own cabriolet with Miss Sonnesby beside him, was busily teasing that young lady about Miss Thackett’s Stanhope gig which followed close behind them with Miss Thackett handling the reins and Miss Lydia Clinton as passenger. Interspersed between the coaches and beside them, the rest of the party rode their own favourite mounts, while the countess’s landau, piled with luggage, brought up the rear.
“I say, Tony,” Northampton grinned, “what a lark! Your mother has the most exceptional ideas.”
“Yes, we know,” Tony laughed. “Fortunately we are able to squelch some of them, aren’t we, Geord?”
“Y-Yes,” Geordan grinned.
“Why did she invite Aunt Theckla, though?” Northampton asked. “I should never have thought to do so.”
“Geord thought of it,” Talbot said, winking at his brother. “We knew you could not have Angelique to amuse you, so Geordie thought Aunt Theckla would be the next best thing.”
“She is very funny,” the earl said, laughing as Northampton clasped his hands melodramatically to his heart and slumped forward in the saddle, pretending to be mortally wounded.
“And I thought you were my friend, Geord,” he moaned. “I thought you were my friend.”
A little way outside of London, Miss Pamela Clinton, who had been conversing with her sister and Miss Thackett, brought her bay up beside Amelia’s chestnut and smiled. “I am so pleased for the opportunity to know you better, Miss Mapleton,” she said. “We seldom found time to converse in Wybridge. Tell me, have you known Lord Rutlidge long?”
Amelia's Intrigue (Regency Idyll Book 1) Page 26
