by Joan Smith
“Why, you must know Ravencroft sought my help the minute he got to Easton. I have been working with him hand in glove all along,” he said, and soon believed it. “I wondered he wasn’t at the race, when all his chums were there. Had a word with Lord Mercer and Aldritch. They tipped me the clue we was to keep Ford busy as long as we could. When Ford insisted on leaving early, I followed him.
“And a dashed lot of thanks I got for missing the party at Canterbury! Shot in the arm like a poacher. Why the deuce didn’t he keep me informed what was afoot?”
“Why to be sure, he thought you knew,” Amy said untruthfully. “He had seen you keeping an eye on Ford for a few days now. He saw you picking the man’s brains at the assembly.”
After a little consideration, Felix fell in line with this interpretation of events. “But why did he shoot me?” he repeated.
George came to the rescue with an invention of his own. “It wasn’t you he was shooting at, Mr. Bratty. ‘Twas one of Ford’s men, who was creeping up behind you to do you a mischief. That’s who his lordship was aiming at. You must have noticed Ford jarred his arm just as he fired.”
“I did notice that,” Felix said. “Creeping up on me from behind, was he? Planning to slide a knife between my ribs, the scoundrel. Well done of Ravencroft. We agents have to look out for each other. They’re a bloodthirsty lot, George. You’ve no idea what we’ve been through.”
George accepted this with equanimity. He knew which side his bread was buttered on. This fool would be his master in the near future, and he had no intention of coming to cuffs with him. “You are a brave man, sir. A hero. May I suggest a glass of brandy to help you recover from your dreadful ordeal?” he said, handing Felix a glass, “And perhaps a sling for Mr. Bratty’s arm, Miss Bratty. That is a wicked wound there.” He winked at her over Felix’s shoulder.
Amy was not slow to abet her footman. “Dear me, he will look a regular Corsair when he goes into society,” she said. “The ladies will think you a pretty dangerous fellow, Felix.”
Felix’s eyebrows lifted in pleasure. His part in the whole affair grew as he sipped his brandy. He was well into his cups by the time Ravencroft came to call.
Ravencroft’s questioning gaze flew to Amy, to gauge his welcome. He didn’t notice that she was wearing unspeakably horrible men’s clothes. He only noticed the magical halo of red curls framing her pale face, and the unconscious smile that lifted her lips and lit her eyes as she hastened across the floor to greet him with her hands out. He seized them and held on tight. “Is it safe for me to come in?” he asked.
“It is, but don’t be surprised if you had less to do with this arrest than you think,” she replied with a mischievous smile, as she drew him toward Felix.
“A good night’s work, Ravencroft, if I do say so myself,” was Felix’s greeting. “I was just explaining to young George here how we captured Ford. Got him locked up right and tight, have you? Good lad. Come and have a gargle. Pay no heed to Amy. You’d ought to put on a gown, Amy. You’re enough to frighten the Dragoons. I don’t know what Ravencroft must think of you.”
Amy’s hand flew to her lips in vexation. She had planned to change and look her best when Ravencroft came.
Ravencroft said, “I came to apologize for –” He glanced at Felix’s arm. “I hope the wound is not serious.”
Felix was enchanted with his sling. It would not be much inconvenience either, as it was on his left arm. “No offense taken, Ravencroft. I lost a deal of blood, but it is not life-threatening,” he said grandly. “We have to expect these contretemps in our line of work. All the same, I believe I shall dart off to London tomorrow to have my own doctor take a look at it. Wouldn’t want to lose my wing.” It was not his doctor but his friends that he wished to have a look at his sling. “You’ll be coming with me, no doubt, to report to – our superior. “
His grave tone and quick glance to Amy and George suggested that he dare not name this important personage in front of mere civilians. Into his mind darted an image of the Prince of Wales, the First Gentleman of Europe.
“Yes. As you are incapacitated, perhaps you would like me to write the report, Bratty?” Ravencroft suggested.
Felix hadn’t expected there would be writing involved. “That might be best,” he agreed, glancing at his sling with seeming reluctance.
“As we will be leaving in the morning, perhaps you could just jot down a few notes to help me now, before I leave?” he said, in an effort to get Felix out of the room.
“Oh, as to that, I leave the paperwork to you, Ravencroft. I am a man of action. You can act my secretary, if you don’t mind. Truth to tell, this arm is bothering me a good deal. I must recover in time to forestall – you know.”
Ravencroft recognized in this obliquity a reference to the royal assassination plot and said, “Just so. We shall need you in London. It might be best if you lie down now.”
Amy summoned George to assist Felix up to his bed. When they were gone, she turned to Ravencroft. “How does he think forged money and assassinating our monarchs are connected?”
“Both French tricks to weaken the country, I expect.”
“So, you will be leaving tomorrow, milord,” she said, trying for a normal tone. But her future seemed unutterably bleak without him. She waited on nettles for his answer, already feeling a profound sense of loss.
“I must accompany the prisoners and the evidence, the forged money, to London.” he explained. “Ford has opened his budget. Kirby and Gash have been picked up. I doubt we’ll ever find Alphonse, but we don’t need him. Fitz will keep a sharp eye that the forged banknotes don’t keep coming in.”
“Did you discover who killed Bransom? Don’t forget to take his watch from Jermyn as evidence.”
“Jermyn and Saxton both say it was Ford who shot him. Ford lured him to the coal yard on the pretense of having some information to sell him. Shot him – in the back – and buried him in the coal pile. Jermyn didn’t have a watch, so Ford gave Bransom’s to him, thinking no one would recognize it as Bransom was only in town a short while. The watch will go along to London in evidence. I don’t believe we shall require Lord Ashworth’s pistol, that Ford was carrying tonight, to tie him to Kirby.”
Amy smiled sheepishly. “Actually George brought it home and put it back in the case with its partner.” She listened, hoping Ravencroft would say something about returning to Easton.
“I would appreciate it if you could convince Felix he is too ill to travel,” he said.
“Don’t worry about Felix. He just wants to show off his sling. No one will take him seriously.”
“I shall inform Fitz as to who really solved the case.”
“Just tell him the Cougar offered what assistance his condition allowed. You didn’t forget the servants, out behind the barn?”
“They were let go. They believed Ford was only involved in the silk smuggling. No serious matter here on the coast.”
“And Fairmont, how deeply was he involved?”
“To his ankles, no higher. He convinced himself the money from Ford was gambling profits. He was in debt to Ford, and didn’t ask questions, though he must have been suspicious. A banker would be the first to recognize a forged note. He only handled the first shipment, however, and will get off with a fine and a warning.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yes,” he said rather impatiently, and changed the subject. “Amy, I wish you could come with us to London.” She studied him, trying to read if he meant more than he said. He was gazing at her with a small frown growing between his eyebrows. “I daresay you would not leave your papa?”
“I cannot like to leave so soon after his attack.”
They looked at each other in the still room for what seemed a long time. After a stretch of silence, they both spoke together.
“Well, it is getting late,” was overriden by, “Amy, I’m deuced sorry – “ They both stopped, and again silence fell.
After a moment, Ravencroft drew closer
to her and said in a soft voice, “When can I see you again?”
“I hope you will call if you happen to be in the neighborhood.”
“Amy! I’m not talking about a chance meeting at some vague future date. It shouldn’t take more than a few days to wind things up in London.” He reached for her and drew her into his arms. He palmed her cheeks with his warm hands, tilted her head up and gazed into her eyes, until he felt he was drowning in their dazzling green depths.
“If you can’t come to me, I shall come to you, my darling,” he said in a husky voice. “Can I trust you to keep out of mischief until I return?”
The air quickened around them. “Why would you come – What do you mean – “ she asked breathlessly, gazing at him with hope blazing like the noonday sun in her eyes .
“I mean – this.” He lowered his head and crushed her against him in a ruthless, soul-destroying embrace, until the world faded away and there was only her and Ravencroft and the delightful tumult of their passion. His lips were demanding, and hers answered every demand. She had craved excitement, but she had never imagined the world held such excitement as this, as if she were riding a whirlwind, and never wanted to get off.
His warm hands moved over her back, pressing her more tightly against the hard wall of his chest. A shudder shook her as one hand moved restlessly to her throat, then his fingers tangled in her hair. Her fears melted away in the heat of his love. She didn’t know how it had happened, could hardly believe that it had happened, that this proud lord had chosen her. She only knew it had happened, and she was the luckiest woman in all of England.
When he stopped for a gulp of air, she said, “But I can’t leave Papa.”
“Then Lord Ashworth shall come with us to Cheyne Bay. He won’t know the difference, Amy. “
“Oh, but to leave Felix here with no one to watch him.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him until we get him saddled with a clever wife. Bratty Hall is not your responsibility, my dear.”
“I daresay he can’t do much harm at present, with the trustees handling the money. I just don’t know.”
“What would your papa want? For you to sacrifice your youth, or for you to be happy?”
She thought a moment, then a smile slowly eased away her frown. “Of course. You’re right,” she said. It was what her papa would want, if he were in his own mind. “When will you return?”
He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “As soon as humanly possible. Sooner! I shall be on thorns, worrying about what new mischief you are up to.”
“Mischief?” she exclaimed, pouting. “I was doing my father’s work.”
“And wearing the elegant duds of your papa’s backhouse boy,” he added, fingering the lapel of her jacket.
She looked down at her soiled fustian jacket and trousers. “I meant to change,” she said, with an air of apology.
His saturnine face softened to amusement. “Don’t change yourself. Just the rags. I must go now, my dear. A bientôt. “
He took a last kiss and left. Amy went to her room and changed into her nightdress. She went to her papa’s room. He was sleeping like a child, with faithful Tombey beside him on the truckle bed. They would take Tombey with them to Cheyne Bay. Not much would really change for her papa. Oh, but how different her life would be!
Copyright © 2009 by Joan Smith
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
