“Has she perchance been here recently?” Justin was still smiling but he was finding it difficult to maintain his practiced charm in the face of the butler’s glacial glare.
“I really couldn’t say, my lord,” replied Daniels stonily. He had been sworn to secrecy by Charles regarding any of Merriana’s movements. He had been instructed to tell no one that he had seen Merriana—absolutely no one.
Justin recognized a brick wall when he ran into it, and he knew enough of loyal butlers to understand that Daniels could be tortured and his only words would be “I really couldn’t say, my lord.”
Justin sighed, allowing his smile to fade. “Can you give me Charles’s direction then?” he asked, although by now he was almost certain that any responses he received would be negative. “I have urgent business with him.”
“I regret, my lord, that the Comte did not leave his direction. However, if I should hear from him I will be happy to tell him that you wish to see him.”
Justin realized that he had pried as much information from Daniels as he was likely to get—which was to say, nothing—but he had not been one of the government’s best agents for nothing. His mind was already considering other options as he turned from the Duke of Daughrity’s door.
If Merriana had come to Charles, and Justin had no doubt that she had, and if Charles had believed her, he would have hidden her away somewhere. But Justin and Charles had thought she was safe at Hilltops, and her wily uncle had had no difficulty in locating her there. Justin had no doubt that if her uncle wished, he could find her again. And if he learned that Antonia was alive and Merriana was not under arrest for murder, he would want to find her. It was up to Justin to find her first.
He wasted no time in recriminations. The fact that he could have kept her safe himself, had he believed in her all along, was hurtful but no longer relevant. He had to put that behind him and make every effort to ensure her safety now. Suddenly, he remembered that someone was staying in the duke’s house who would surely be aware of Merriana’s movements. Knowing better than to approach Daniels again, Justin nevertheless turned back to the duke’s residence, but this time he made his way to the back of the house.
If the young pot boy was surprised to find a fashionably dressed gentleman knocking at the kitchen door at eight thirty in the evening, he hid his surprise admirably. “Miz Crandall,” he called to the cook. “They’s somebody at the door.”
Justin stepped past the boy and looked around in the cavernous kitchen. The cook was sitting at the table having a cup of tea, but she jumped to her feet and curtsied clumsily. “Lord Cardleigh! Can I help you, my lord?”
Justin’s manners had been described by more than one hopeful mother as “the most regal in all of London.” It was not an unfounded statement. He could, when he wished, charm the knots off logs, and tonight he wished to charm the Duke of Daughrity’s cook.
“How do you do, Mrs. Crandall. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before, although I certainly have had the pleasure of eating many of your delicious macaroons while visiting Charles. I wonder if I might impose on you for a cup of tea? I’ve been traveling since a little after noon and haven’t had an opportunity to have dinner yet.”
Mrs. Crandall was as horrified as Justin had hoped she would be.
“No dinner, my lord? Then you must have more than a cup of tea. I didn’t fix for the family tonight, no one being in residence at the moment, but I’ve a bit of stew left from the servants’ meal. It ain’t what your lordship is used to, I’m sure, but—”
“It sounds delightful to me,” Justin assured her. “Since you made it, I’m sure it will be good. May I sit down at the table here?”
Mrs. Crandall was to express herself later as not knowing “whether I was on my head or on my ear, with a real lord sittin’ at the table in the kitchen like he did so every day.” However, she soon had a cup of tea in front of Justin and soon after that, a bowl of hot stew, bread, cheese, cold meats, and a “bit of pudding.”
He insisted she sit down with him and drink her tea. She was at first reluctant but Justin had soon charmed her into, if not being totally at ease, at least feeling fairly comfortable sitting with him. He asked about her family and found she had a sister who was also a cook and a brother who was at sea, and his skillful questions soon had her talking to him as though they were old friends.
At last, when Justin had finished his meal and leaned back with a replete smile, he decided it was time to approach the object of this visit.
“You’ll think I’m insane, Mrs. Crandall,” he began, “for bothering you like this, but, you see, I know none of the family is in residence at the moment, so I had hoped to catch Jacques in the kitchen. I have a message for either him or Charles and since Charles is not here…” Justin regarded Mrs. Crandall with hopeful eyes.
“Well, Jacques ain’t here either, your lordship. He left some days ago now with Master Charles. Master Charles came back but Jacques wasn’t with him.”
Justin suppressed a sigh. “So I take it that Charles had returned before Miss Merriana arrived,” he said with a degree of nonchalance that completely disarmed Mrs. Crandall.
“Yes, your lordship, it was about two days before Miss Merriana arrived. Of course, we aren’t none of us supposed to mention Miss Merriana being here, and wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me, but seeing as how you already know and being such a good friend to Master Charles, well, I don’t hesitate to tell you. Personally, I think Master Charles—the Comte I should say but can’t get used to—took Miss Merriana to be with Jacques.”
“I wonder where he took Jacques.” No one, least of all Mrs. Crandall, could have guessed from his calm demeanor that Justin’s heart had sped up as he waited for her answer.
“That I couldn’t tell you, your lordship, because I don’t know. If I had to guess, though, I would say it was to some friend of Jacques’ who had come over from France a long time ago. The parlor maid heard some French-sounding names being mentioned between Master Charles and Jacques the day before they left, and Jacques was saying how he’d be glad to see them after all these years.”
“Would this parlor maid remember the names?”
“No, your lordship, she couldn’t, because I asked her, but she said they were foreign sounding and she weren’t no good at remembering foreign words.”
“Ah!” Justin was careful not to allow his disappointment to show in his face. “I wonder when Charles will be back.”
“No one knows that,” Mrs. Crandall told him, “not even his valet, who he left behind and who is fit to be tied. To be frank, your lordship, I think there’s some funny goings on and I’m right worried about it. Everybody’s been coming and going, beginning with His Grace and Miss Merriana and that new girl who’s supposed to be a cousin of some sort; then Jacques arrives; then he leaves; then Miss Merriana comes back, but secret-like, and Master Charles takes her away. Well, you see what I mean.”
“I do indeed, Mrs. Crandall. In fact, I’m worried too. I had hoped Jacques might have some answers, but now it seems he is part of the mystery.”
“Yes, your lordship, that it does. I do know that Jacques visited some French people from time to time in that section of town where so many of them live that escaped when the Frenchies were cuttin’ off everybody’s head. Master Charles had the coachman drive Jacques down there from time to time, and he could probably tell you where he took him if he was here, but he’s not. Master Charles—that is, the Comte—told the coachman that he wouldn’t be needed for a few days, and he’s gone to see his ma, who is ailin’.”
Justin was silently cursing his luck behind the sanguine smile he affected for Mrs. Crandall. “Ah well,” he said with a shrug, “no doubt Charles will return soon and we’ll find that we’ve been tilting at windmills.”
“Windmills?” The incredulity in Mrs. Crandall’s tone told Justin clearly that, although her literary background did not include Cervantes, she might at any moment begin accusing her gues
t of having windmills in his head.
“Merely a figure of speech, Mrs. Crandall,” he explained swiftly. “What I meant was that we’ll probably find that nothing is wrong after all.”
“I surely hope you’re right, your lordship,” Mrs. Crandall replied with a frown that indicated she placed little hope in his prognostication. “I surely do!”
Justin soon took his leave and walked rather morosely back to his rooms. He would have preferred going directly to the section of town where Jacques would have visited French expatriates, but it was much too late in the evening to be paying calls on people who didn’t know him. But beginning tomorrow morning—early tomorrow morning—he planned to talk to every émigré in London if that was what it took to locate Merriana.
Chapter 26
Merriana, safely settled in the country with Jacques and his friends, was finding that security and leisure were mixed blessings, for she now had ample time to replay in her mind all that had happened during the last few days and to try to come to terms with the cauldron of emotions those events had stirred up. Anxiety, relief, love, hate, and anger all seemed to bubble about inside her, but the one emotion that appeared always on the verge of boiling over was the pure, unadulterated anger that she felt for Justin. Now, with little to do but think, she couldn’t seem to stop dwelling on his injustices toward her.
For not only had she contrived to save Antonia’s life by pouring out most of the drugged wine, she had also ridden away from that cottage in the woods in the company of her mad uncle, going as she believed to face her own death that day, to help ensure that Antonia would be safe.
And what appreciation had she received from Justin? He had berated her as being a willing participant in the kidnapping plot. She detested him, she decided, and she hoped to have the opportunity some day to tell him just how much.
But despite her internal fuming, Merriana was much too aware of the obligations of a guest to allow her mixed emotions to become evident to her hosts. After all, they had shown extraordinary generosity by accepting her into their home, and for her part, she could do no less than attempt to be a perfect guest, which meant hiding the fact that she was miserable.
Her hosts, the Belcours, were kind people who, through hard work and careful management, had established a profitable farm and a decent way of life for themselves in their adopted country. Monsieur and Madame Belcour were also fortunate in having two grown sons to help oversee their holdings.
Vidal and Henri Belcour were near Merriana’s age, one a year older, the other a year younger. Vidal, the older of the two, was soft-spoken and quiet, while his younger brother was a bit more lively, but both had appeared awed when a beautiful young woman of the French aristocracy suddenly arrived to share their home.
Their consternation had been short-lived, however, for they soon learned that they had nothing to fear from Merriana’s manner. She didn’t sneer at their plain ways, nor did she laugh at their unworldliness. On the contrary, she was so humbly appreciative of their hospitality that they soon found themselves trying to reassure her of her welcome there.
Merriana had instantly informed the Belcours of her background, for she felt it only fair that they understand the possibility of danger following her into their home. But if she had feared that they would wish her to leave, she was soon to learn her mistake. The two young men, with their six-foot frames and their broad shoulders and strong arms—made muscular with the endless heavy tasks necessary to run a farm—had found someone small and beautiful to use those magnificent muscles to protect. Vidal and Henri were delighted with their new roles and, since neither would allow himself to think of the unattainable young woman in a sexual way, they quickly adopted her as the little sister they had never had.
The farm itself was an idyllic setting for soothing lacerated emotions. Green fields and pastures were surrounded by gently rolling hills and, in the distance, by thick forests. The little farmhouse was cozy rather than pretentious, and although Merriana's bedchamber was tiny, it was clean and cheerful.
Merriana insisted that she wanted to help with the housework, but her hostess was uncomfortable with the thoughts of a comte’s daughter dusting her parlor and so set Merriana only light tasks that were quickly finished, leaving her with much too much spare time. However, as Vidal and Henri quickly accepted her company, they found ways to help her while away the hours. Between chores, they would call to her to come see a new litter of kittens in the barn loft, or invite her to help them harvest the early apples, or suggest that she inspect the new calf that had been born only yesterday.
In a matter of days, Merriana was running loose on the farm, her fair skin turning rosy and then freckled from the sun. Jacques, who dreaded what Charles would think when he came back for his sister, still didn’t have the heart to scold, for he had seen the anguish in her eyes when she first arrived and he’d watched it gradually fade as Merriana romped like a child with new playmates.
One day, Vidal and Henri asked Merriana if she would allow them to give her some pointers on defending herself against anyone who might wish to harm her. Merriana immediately understood that the brothers worried about her, and although she wasn’t certain their lessons would be of value, she agreed because she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
Thus, the three began meeting each afternoon in the barn so Merriana could learn from two enormous men how she could protect herself from others of their sex. By unspoken but mutual consent, the three didn’t tell the others in their household what they were doing. The older generation, each was aware, frequently formed obtuse but firm opinions on the propriety of the actions of the younger generation.
Vidal began the lessons by saying, “Now, Merriana, let’s see you make a fist.” He shook his head. “No, not that way. You’ll break your thumb. Like this. See? Now try that. Much better!”
They continued the lessons by trying to teach Merriana how best to exploit her strength—striking with her fists at eyes or nose, biting any available portion of her attacker’s anatomy, and scratching any skin unprotected by clothing. They had especially taught her how to kick and, amidst much blushing, exactly where to kick a man for the greatest effect.
Merriana herself had suggested that one of the young men feign an attack so that she could practice her new skills by pretending to use them in her defense. Henri agreed, albeit reluctantly, but he could see Merriana’s point when she insisted that all their demonstrations and instructions would be useless if she didn’t have some practical experience. Vidal, it was agreed, would be her coach, suggesting methods she could use to free herself from his brother’s grasp.
Merriana had been struggling quite convincingly in Henri’s arms when Jacques entered the barn. His keen cry of outrage and disbelief so startled the young people that Henri released Merriana too quickly, causing her to lose her balance and fall into the floor in an ungainly heap. Jacques’ distressed shriek had also brought Madame Belcour running from her kitchen and Monsieur Belcour racing from the vegetable garden.
Once Merriana explained, they laughed, then insisted on staying for the remainder of the session. Merriana ended up with four coaches rather than one, and the bloodthirsty suggestions they called to Merriana as she struggled against Henri’s grasp soon had him so weakened with laughter that he couldn’t have held on to a day-old kitten and Merriana freed herself with very little effort.
“I just hope,” Merriana announced with a wide grin on her face, “that the four of you are around if I’m ever molested by a villain. He’ll soon be too confused to do more than turn and flee for his sanity.”
And so the days were now filled for Merriana, with her friendships and her small chores. But the nights, when she lay alone and sleepless in her small bedroom, were too often times for wrestling with her memories and, despite all of her efforts, for thinking of Justin. She still hated him, but she still loved him too, and she was too inexperienced with love to realize that this was a perfectly normal combination of emotions. Whenever she
was forced to admit the futility of trying to banish him from her thoughts, she attempted to dwell on her grievances against him, hoping to feed her hatred and exorcise her love. But her mind drifted too often to the pleasure she had found in his smile, the laughter that had so frequently brightened his eyes, and the excitement she had experienced in his arms.
When she could force her thoughts into other channels, she worried. Where was Charles and what was he doing? Was he safe? Was her uncle Sylvester well? Did Antonia believe her guilty of conspiring in her kidnapping? And so her mind often kept her lying wakeful and restless until her exhausted body would say “Enough!” and put her to sleep.
Chapter 27
Justin had never spent a more frustrating twelve days in his life. He had used every bit of knowledge at his command—and it was extensive—for locating a missing person, but he had gotten not one clue as to Merriana’s whereabouts.
He haunted the part of town in which the émigrés lived, but no one would admit to knowing Jacques. He haunted the Duke of Daughrity’s doorstep until Daniels sighed each time the knocker sounded, knowing as he did who would be standing on the stoop and who this daily visitor would inquire about. The phrase “I’m afraid I couldn’t say, my lord!” began to sound overused even to Daniels’ ears.
Justin continued to visit Mrs. Crandall in the kitchen, hoping he’d learn that the coachman had returned, but that gentleman had sent word that his mother had taken a turn for the worse and he couldn’t leave her yet. No, Mrs. Crandall didn’t know where the coachman’s mother lived, but Master Charles did. Since Charles, to Justin’s certain knowledge, was not to be found in London or at his uncle Sylvester’s principal residence in the country or at any of the duke’s lesser estates, the fact that he was acquainted with his coachman’s direction was of no benefit to Justin.
Finally, in desperation, he tracked down and asked help of one of the agents with whom he had worked in France, a very resourceful young man named Michael Hudson who seemingly had half the underworld of London on his personal payroll. If anyone could locate Merriana, Justin reasoned, it would be Michael. Still, two more days came and went and even Michael and his minions had found no trace of the girl.
The Mysterious Merriana Page 21
