Testing Miss Toogood

by Stella Cameron

  Fleur longed to escape. She tried to keep her attention on her food but the force of Dominic’s attention made it impossible. From time to time she glanced up, and every time he was studying her with an unfathomable gaze. She tried a little smile, but his eyes only darkened even more.

  “Tomorrow there is to be a ball here. Am I correct?” Miss Enid asked.

  “You know you are,” the Dowager said, mildly enough. “I told you as much as soon as you arrived. Of course you will be in attendance. I think you may enjoy all the fuss and the splendid decorations. The food, also, will be outstanding since Hattie and I do not believe in these pathetically sparse efforts put on by so many who know better.”

  “I shall wear my rich hyacinth,” Prunella said at once. “It is a masterpiece. And Enid plans on her new fading sunset. I’ve always liked her in yellow.”

  “Not fading sunset, sister dear. Not fading anything. I shall be in colonial mustard.”

  Fleur visualized a mustard gown with Miss Enid’s nut brown skin and all but shuddered.

  “Good,” Hattie said. “That sounds lovely and we shall have a marvelous time. You’ll get to see all of Fleur’s suitors. She is the toast of London, you know.”

  Both aunts set down their knives and forks and considered Fleur until her cheeks throbbed. At last Miss Prunella said, “She is a beauty. Fortunately she doesn’t have the freckles one expects with such red hair and pale skin. No, I’m not surprised the men are sniffing around her as if she were a dog in heat.”

  “Aunt Prunella.” Dominic whipped his head around. “Miss Toogood is young and such comments as the one you just made are distasteful—and they’re upsetting to her.”

  “And you care a great deal about Miss Toogood’s feelings?” Miss Enid said. “I rather thought so. Did you know that Miss Toogood’s mother is from a good family who disowned her for marrying Reverend Toogood?”

  “And the family is as poor as church mice,” Miss Prunella added.

  Rather than feeling abashed, Fleur’s temper rose.

  “We have done our homework and discovered a good deal,” Miss Enid said. “The older daughter is about to be passed over by the son of the local squire because the father wants better for his son than a penniless nothing.”

  “Letitia would be a wonderful catch for any man,” Fleur said, explosively. “And the squire’s son in question knows as much. If that mean man doesn’t realize the wrong he’s doing, he’ll lose his son altogether. I can’t imagine how you know such personal things about me.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, annoyed with herself for the outburst. The only way Miss Worth could know about Letitia was from the contents of the letter still on Fleur’s writing table.

  “Family loyalty is always admirable,” Miss Enid said with no sign of being at all ruffled. “As far as how I know what I know? A word dropped here, a letter left there. Houses with large staffs have no secrets. What sort of dowry could you bring to a marriage, Miss Toogood?”

  Hattie made a strangled noise.

  “Nothing,” Fleur said, more disappointed than angry about the invasion of her privacy, “Not a single bean or family heirloom. If I should ever marry—which is doubtful—it will be to a man who wants me only for myself and my strength of character, the fact that I will be tireless in my love and loyalty, and an unshakable friend.”

  Not even the sound of silver on china followed.

  Fleur looked around at sympathetic faces, all but Dominic’s which showed something entirely different and overwhelming. He stared as if he might see into her mind. A sniff caught her attention and she was amazed to see tears coursing down the aunts’ faces.

  Miss Prunella turned to her sister and said, “Wasn’t that beautiful, Enid? And I believe her. We must do all we can to help make sure she marries the perfect man for her.”

  Miss Enid’s muffled sob caught at the back of her nose and she sneezed. “We shall not rest until that is accomplished. Henrietta, dear sister, you are a woman of uncommon insight. A husband for Fleur Toogood. That is our mission.” They shook hands.

  28

  If she couldn’t get where she needed to go quickly, she would be too late. She had pleaded a headache and left dinner before the rest. Changing her clothes and getting to the chest outside Dominic’s rooms had been easy. The rest of her mission seemed overwhelming.

  Even more cramped than before, pillowed in the billowing mass of cheap and gaudy petticoats she wore beneath a modified scullery maid’s dress, with a thin cloak over the top, Fleur kept still inside the nasty chest. Dominic and Nathan had come upstairs and gone into Dominic’s rooms.

  Fortunately Fleur had told Snowdrop she wouldn’t need her this evening. She had no intention of involving the young woman in her own reckless plans but convincing Snowdrop she couldn’t go would have slowed Fleur down.

  Also, it seemed possible that Snowdrop had been the one to spread personal details from letters Fleur received. Who else could have done it? The idea sickened Fleur and made her feel even more alone.

  The real hurry would come when she had given Dominic and Nathan a head start into the tunnel beneath the window seat. She knew just the horse she would take from the stables to go after them. The pistol was hidden in her clothes and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it in the defense of Dominic—and Nathan, of course.

  The men would be slower in the hack but she’d still be at a great disadvantage. Fortunately she had a fine sense of direction and already knew the road to the center of London. She had even located St. James on a map in the library.

  There they were. She heard Dominic’s door open and the low hum of men’s voices. They moved quickly, too. She watched them through the crack between the chest doors. Not knowing how difficult it would be to follow them down through whatever lay beneath the window seat didn’t help.

  She couldn’t do it.

  Apprehension gripped her stomach and squeezed. She dared not take a candle because they would see it. This meant she must set off after them while there was hope that their candles would give a faint illumination for her.

  How heavy would the window seat be?

  The instant she saw it moved into place over their heads, Fleur tumbled from the chest and ran to the seat. She put an ear to the wood and listened. From underneath came faint scraping sounds.

  She swallowed and swallowed, but still felt sick.

  Now it was time to go. When she tried to raise the solid wooden seat her arms shook, yet she could not let it drop. Slowly Fleur opened it a few inches then managed to crouch and push her shoulder into the gap. She hissed at the pain but kept on lifting and, in the end, sat on the edge of the frame with her feet dangling inside and leaned forward until the seat rested against the window.

  Below she saw several steps of a downward flight and without giving herself time to think, jumped to the top step. She looked up but knew there was no way she could close the seat after her.

  Reaching out to touch rough-hewn walls, Fleur took the stairs as fast as she dared. At first the light from above helped, but all too soon it faded. She moved by feel, sliding one foot after the other across a step until her toes found the edge. The way was narrow and she could keep contact with the walls on either side of her.

  She went almost straight down to a tiny landing and made a sharp right turn along a tunnel to another downward flight. Fleur carried on, her heart thundering, her palms and back sweating. It would all be for nothing, she was sure, unless she could follow at enough distance not to be heard, but not at such a distance that she lost them.

  The faintest of wavery candlelight stroked stone walls. The men weren’t so far ahead and she must proceed with great care. If they were speaking their voices should rise to her, but she heard not a sound.

  Fleur decided that this passageway must have been made when Heatherly was built. Simple in design, it followed the outside wall, paralleling a floor then sinking by means of two rough flights of steps to the next level. At any moment she would reach ground l
evel.

  The hint of light snuffed out and Fleur stood in darkness so thick it seemed to touch her skin and she shivered. Scraping echoed back to her. It didn’t sound like a door being opened but more like a stone moving.

  Cautiously, she moved on—and realized she was below the ground.

  Stone clinked and clunked and slid into place. She heard it thump.

  Dominic and Nathan were already outside and she remained cocooned in nothingness that had its own sound, like hoards of gnat-size crickets. It pressed in to paralyze her.

  A stone tomb. She could die here and possibly never be found.

  And she was a maudlin fool. Edging forward, she scraped her forearm and breathed hard. She bent over her arm and hit her brow on a point of rock—and she cried out before she could stop herself. Warm blood trickled down her face.

  The only choice was to carry on, and quickly if she was to do any good at all.

  The tunnel ended and there was, indeed, no door. Feeling overhead, fresh dirt fell through her fingers. Painstakingly she outlined a slab of stone and soon felt a metal ring set into its center. Fleur grasped the ring with both hands and pushed with all her might. The stone didn’t move.

  Abandoning the ring, she concentrated on one side of the stone trapdoor, pushing, pushing, straining until it shifted the smallest amount. It tilted and rested on a lip, and Fleur saw a tiny sliver of pewter sky. The little rush of cool, fresh air invigorated her.

  But getting out there would take so long and that assumed she would be able to pull herself out by her arms.

  Already she was too late to follow them and be the lookout they would never know they’d had—unless something went wrong.

  Crying would show defeat or she’d cry right now. And, fiddlededee, she was not a person who gave up.

  Fleur toiled. The blood from her forehead dried on her face but sweat took its place.

  She would get out—at least she’d accomplish that much.

  Standing on tiptoe, with both arms braced, she counted to three and gave a mighty shove. The stone actually swung around and one end dropped into the hole.

  Fleur threw herself back against the unyielding wall, covered her head and screamed. The slab of rock slowly overbalanced and began to fall down into the tunnel.

  What happened next went so fast she lost her bearings completely. The slab stopped falling and, instead, disappeared outside the hole. Two hands and arms reached into the tunnel and she was plucked into the open air. One large hand clamped over her mouth while her captor lifted and ran with her away from the house.

  Fleur kicked. She squirmed and flailed, but he held her fast and he didn’t speak. Curls of fog drifted through the oppressive blackness and all Fleur heard was the rasping of her own breath.

  The Cat had her.

  He could well have been loitering and looking around, getting ready for whatever Dominic thought would happen at the ball tomorrow night. She had surprised him.

  Perhaps he’d seen Dominic and Nathan leave and planned to enter the house by the tunnel. Or perhaps he hadn’t seen them, but he’d been looking for a secret entrance for tomorrow evening and, thanks to her, he’d found one!

  She made as much noise as possible with her throat. Pathetic sounds she scarcely heard over the roaring in her ears. Fleur bit his hand. She managed to get a small piece of a finger between her teeth before she closed them and locked her jaw.

  The great, grappling man roared with pain. Fleur would have sneered at him but that might loosen her grip on the piece of skin.

  He wrenched his hand away and she shouted at once, “I’m worth nothing, you bad man. My family has no money so they can’t pay you for me. You might as well let me go. I’m absolutely no one, do you hear me?” She took a deep breath to scream only to have his hand cover her mouth again.

  But she had the pistol. She wrapped her right arm over her middle and drove the business end of the weapon into the man’s chest. At the same time she bit him again, and again he whipped his hand away.

  “That’s a pistol in your scurvy ribs, my man, and I know how to use it. My papa taught me. My finger’s on the trigger and if you’re to have any chance at all you’ll put me down carefully and back away. I may still shoot you, but I may let you go. That’s a fifty per cent chance of staying alive. Worth the wager, don’t you think?”

  “Fleur!” The instant he spoke her name she fell limp. Slowly he lowered her until her feet met the ground. And the lout began to laugh. “Scurvy ribs,” he said, his chest heaving. “Scurvy ribs?”

  Dominic’s voice changed everything. Instantly she smelled his familiar clean scent. “Don’t you laugh at me,” she said, hoping she sounded threatening. Terror had made him unrecognizable to her.

  “When someone captures you and you think he may intend to do you harm, you don’t start long conversations with him,” Dominic said, placing a finger and thumb on her gun-toting wrist and moving her aim toward the ground.

  “You’re a monster,” she told him.

  “Am I?” He turned her to face him and she looked up at him in the dark. “Villains don’t care who taught you to use a pistol. They can easily overpower you and take it away. You had been attacked already and you should have got off a shot at once while you had the benefit of surprise on your side.”

  Fleur tutted. “Why didn’t I think of that? You would probably be dead by now and ever so much less trouble to me.” Whatever he said, she had managed to stop him from courting danger, at least for tonight.

  “The biting was excellent,” he said. “You should always try to hurt an assailant and get away. But a lot of talk is just not on.”

  “You’re doing a fair amount of jabbering yourself,” she said. “Why did you come back?”

  “I never left. Nathan and I heard someone following and from the feminine sounds and your history, and the fact that you eavesdropped earlier, I assumed it was you. Poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong as usual.”

  “It does belong. Someone has to look after you.”

  His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “You don’t know your place, Fleur, and I fear you would never learn.”

  You would never learn. “I learn quickly,” she told him, with a nasty sinking feeling inside. He had given thought to having her in his life. “All I wanted to do was back you up. You know, like in some of the stories. The daring seeker of justice goes forth after the villain but he has someone in the shadows to back him up—just in case.”

  “You couldn’t do that, Fleur. You heard Nathan and me talking. We decided to leave by hack. What did you intend to do—run along behind?”

  “No! And I’m not a fool. What I tried to do was with the best of intentions, but I had already decided—before you scared me half to death—that there was no way for me to follow you. I had given up, much as it pained me and all I wanted was to escape from that hole and get inside the house again. Why didn’t you say who you were at once, instead of terrifying me.”

  “Because I wanted to terrify you,” he said and she could make out his angry features.

  “Why? What have I ever done to you?”

  He chuckled, then laughed louder, and he folded her tightly into his arms. “Why? To make sure you never do anything so foolish again. You have ruined this night’s efforts for me. Nathan has gone ahead with Albert. I hope they’ll get at least part of what needs to be done out of the way. Lives could depend on this.”

  She looked straight ahead at his chest. “You didn’t have to stay behind.”

  “Yes, I did. I could not risk you injuring yourself in that tunnel. You might have managed to creep back the way you came but without light anything could have happened to you.”

  “And you were concerned for me,” she said softly.

  “I am a gentleman.”

  “Of course, and you would have done it for any foolish female.”

  “You thought I was The Cat. Very flattering, I must say. Please don’t ever let me hear you say you are no one and you are
n’t worth anything again. You infuriate me. Your worth is incalculable and I assure you that if you were to fall into that man’s hands there would be no difficulty fulfilling ransom demands.”

  Now she got a lump in her throat

  “Give me the pistol,” he said.

  Fleur handed it over and said, “I had to try to be there.” It sounded so pathetic. “Somehow I thought I might take a horse from the stables and still manage to get within following distance of you. No, I didn’t think that—I hoped, that’s all. Now I’ve made a mess of things.”

  “Yes, you have. I think it would be best if we went back through the tunnel. I’ll light a candle.”

  “Why can’t we just use a door? Where is your habit?”

  “Albert is wearing my habit,” he said, in an even enough voice although she felt something icy behind his politeness. “How do you think it would look if we were seen entering the house together at such an hour?”

  Unfortunately I doubt if anyone would think a thing about it.

  He lit a candle in a holder, turned toward Fleur and paused only an instant before half dragging her back to the walls of the house. He held the candle aloft and peered at her. “You…” He looked closely at her forehead. “What have you done to your face?”

  “Cut myself on the wall down there,” she said very quietly. “Anyone could have done the same thing.”

  “Anyone who was hurrying and didn’t know the twists and turns, and who had no light. Well, it doesn’t look too bad but the rest of our ladies won’t be pleased when your ball is tomorrow evening.”

  “I’m sorry.” What else could she say?

  “You’ve got a beauty mark on your face!” He was astounded, no doubt about that. “A black heart. And…paint. Thick paint. Frightful. You need nothing of the kind—not ever.”

  To her amazement, he produced a large handkerchief and wiped at her face. So shocked was she, that she hardly winced when the pressure pulled at her injured forehead.

  “Lick it,” he commanded, stuffing the cloth against her mouth. She did as she was told. “You look like a person from a circus,” he said, concentrating until her skin stung. “Much better,” he concluded at last.