The Duke's Challenge

by Fenella J Miller

  She rolled into the space that ran down the centre of the table and came up on all fours using the chair legs as protection. She carefully turned her head. She could see no sign of either an attacker or of Jack. The smoke had cleared but the smell of cordite remained. From her hiding place she saw there were shards of broken pottery on the floor under the huge dresser opposite.

  Did this mean the bullets had struck there? They must have been fired from the outside, through the window. She considered the implications. The kitchen, unlike the rest of the house, did not have tiny leaded panes; it had clear glass and wooden frames. The ideal place, in fact the only place, a gun could be fired with any hope of hitting a person inside. She folded her hands on the chair seat, resting her head on them in contemplation. There was something odd about the whole thing, but she couldn’t quite think what this was.

  She sat up abruptly, forgetting she was under the table and the sound of her head cracking against the wood echoed round the room. She sank back with a startled cry rubbing her bruised crown. She remained frozen, expecting to see a pair of boots or a pistol jammed under the table, but all was quiet.

  She waited for the few moments then decided she was safe to emerge. As a precaution she crawled out keeping the table between herself and the window. She didn’t attempt to stand, merely rested her back against the dresser, brushing away the broken china first. Then, stretching out her legs to ease the stiffness she waited for the pain in her head to subside.

  She returned to the idea that had caused her to have the accident. The attackers must have been watching the house and had seen the lights go on in the kitchen. She shivered violently, recalling the feeling she had had that someone was in the passage with her on her way to the kitchen. Was it possible an intruder had been inside?

  Surely this was not possible - the doors were locked, the windows stout, the only way anyone could have entered was through a secret passage and this would mean the person was familiar with the building. The most horrific explanation was that a member of their staff was attempting to kill them.

  She shook her head, regretting it as a searing pain shot between her eyes. She could not believe Smith, the remaining footman, a pleasant middle-aged man, could be involved. And the butler was above suspicion. The two grooms were accommodated above the stables so they couldn’t have been involved either. She was being fanciful.

  She stopped, shocked to the core. Could Jenkins have been killed because he had unmasked Smith as a potential murderer? Perspiration trickled down her spine. Things were too complicated, too outlandish for her to make sense of. Why should anyone, especially a footman, wish to kill them?

  Then she remembered the unprovoked attack on herself; the three incidents had to be connected. She shivered again and her teeth began to chatter. It was cold sitting on the flagstones in her nightwear so far away from the fire and the broken windows were letting in a steady stream of cold air.

  She wished Jack would come back. Beneath his dissolute facade he was a formidable man with a lifetime of command behind him. She clenched her teeth to stop them rattling her already aching head. She was freezing- attackers or not - she had to get up and warm herself.

  Cautiously she pulled herself upright peeping over the table edge to ensure the room was empty. If Jack was prowling about outside she was certain whoever had shot at them would have vanished into the darkness.

  She picked her way carefully through the debris of broken crockery and glass. There was no need to add lacerated feet to crushed toes, bruised head and a partially healed cut. The kettle was warm and full enough to push back over the glowing coals. She would make a second pot of tea; extravagant, but in the circumstances allowable.

  She sensibly kept as close to the fire as safety allowed by standing inside the cavernous grate where, in olden days, a boy would have stood to turn the spit. From her vantage point she surveyed the wreckage of the kitchen. The floor was easily fixed; a good sweep and a scrub would put that right. The window could be repaired, if there was glass to be found, otherwise the broken panes would have to be replaced with wood.

  She stared at the dresser. Betty and the children had spent hours polishing the copper pans and bowls that hung there and the majority of these were undamaged. She realized that in the glow from the oil-lamps she could see a reflection of the window. She smiled— so that was how Jack had known they were in danger. He must have caught a glimpse of something in the surface of the pan and his instincts had done the rest.

  She blushed. How could she have believed he was hurling her to the ground in order to ravish her? She giggled. She had been reading too many romances. Mama had warned her they were not suitable for a gently bred young woman. She blinked back tears as she remembered her mother for she missed her so much and it was hard to keep to her vow not to grieve.

  Her mother had been desperately unhappy after papa’s death and had made no effort to fight the fever she had contracted. She had welcomed her demise, hurried towards her end, happily abandoning her children. A flair of anger shot through Charlotte. She would never pine away for a dead lover. She would put the needs of the living first. No man was worth dying for, not even Jack.

  Jack? What had he to do with anything? Yes, she had allowed him to take liberties with her person, behaved in a most unseemly manner, but that was all. This was just the natural reaction of a woman to an attractive man, was it not? Her feelings were not engaged, how could they be? She had only known him a few days and for most of those he had been drunk and frequently unpleasant. In future she would be more circumspect and keep a proper distance, behaving in the way she knew she ought. She would inform him of her decision when he got back.

  She was sitting at the table sipping her tea when he returned. He called to her as he closed and bolted the back door.

  ‘It’s quite safe now, Charlotte. Whoever it was has vanished – there’s no one outside.’

  She gestured to the teapot and he nodded.

  ‘You should wear your jacket; you look like a buccaneer in your shirt sleeves.’ She had quite forgotten her determination to remain aloof.

  ‘No doubt you would like me to wear a stock and a diamond fob as well?’

  She smiled, he sounded so affronted at the thought. ‘How you dress is none of my concern, Cousin. I was jesting; you know I’d not presume to criticise your attire or behaviour.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘You can say what you please, my dear, I’m immune to criticism. I live purely to please myself.’

  She snorted inelegantly spraying tea across the table. ‘That is absurd? But, never fear, I shall remind you of your words next time you fly into a rage because I have inadvertently upset you.’

  She became serious as he sat down, tea cup too small for his hand, the saucer left deliberately on the dresser. ‘Jack, are you certain that there’s no one hiding inside? I thought there was someone following me when I came here earlier.’

  ‘In the Hall?’ He frowned. ‘No, I’m sure you were mistaken. However I’ll search the place thoroughly as soon as I’m armed.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll sleep more soundly knowing we are, at least, safe indoors.’ She drank her tea in silence. ‘Who do think was out there? Why would anyone want to kill either of us?’ Her earlier considerations now seemed too far-fetched to mention.

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I aim to find out. I suspect that it’s disaffected locals inflamed by the seditious literature being circulated in many parts of Suffolk.

  ‘They certainly looked sullen and unfriendly and one threw a stone at me, did he not?’

  ‘He did indeed. And Jenkins, he must have been a second victim. But I can assure you he will be the last.’ He reached over the table to capture her hand but she removed it

  Surprised he raised his eyebrows. ‘Have I offended you? Are you upset with me, Charlotte?’

  ‘No, Cousin, far from it. I like you exceedingly.’ That had been quite the wrong thing to say for she watched his jaw clench and he began to push back his c
hair. ‘No, you misunderstand me. I am trying to explain. I like you; you are a brave and resourceful man, exactly the person to solve this mystery, but I don’t wish to repeat what has happened between us.’ She stared at him, her expression severe. ‘I wish to remain a cousin to you, nothing else. Do I make myself clear?’

  He nodded. ‘You’re right, as usual. And, as usual, I apologize for suggesting it could be otherwise.’ He shrugged, as if indifferent. ‘You are a beautiful woman, eminently beddable, and it has been far too long since I...’ he stopped and had the grace to blush. He had been about to say something exceedingly indelicate. ‘Stay where you are until I come back for you.’ His voice was gruff and he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  It was a long, lonely wait in the kitchen and it gave Charlotte too much time to think, to consider her options, to decide what would be the best for Beth and Harry. The promise to her mother to bring them to Thurston had been fulfilled. There had been nothing said about staying permanently once they had arrived. She had done as she had vowed, now she had to make her own decisions.

  She remembered the letter sent to her grandfather, the one that had been returned unread, that had coloured her feelings about Lord Thurston. His rejection had almost persuaded her not to come, despite having given her word. Grandfather, she belatedly realized, had already been dead. So who had read the letter addressed to him and sent it back? It could not have been Jack, he had not been in residence then.

  Another unpalatable thought occurred to her. Mama had been left nothing in the will, Lord Thurston had never relented, even in death he had rejected his only child. She swallowed the lump in her throat and got up to see if she could squeeze a third cup of tea from the cooling pot.

  Finally she made her decision. There was no question of her seeking employment and leaving the children, and Annie and Betty, to face the danger alone. Whatever she did it would have to include all of them, but at that precise moment she could see no fresh path to follow. She had no option; she was stuck at Thurston, for the moment anyway.

  There were footsteps in the passageway. One thing she did know was that would-be assassins were not the only danger she faced. The duke posed an even greater threat. For some unaccountable reason her sense of propriety went out of the room when he walked into it.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so long, Charlotte. I wished to be quite sure the house was secure. I hadn’t realized just how big it is until I was obliged to poke and pry into every room.’

  She averted her eyes from the pistol he held. ‘Goodness, I hope you haven’t disturbed the children? The last thing I want is for them to know what happened here tonight.’

  ‘Charlotte, be sensible. How can you not tell them? They are bound to notice the damage to this room.’

  ‘Oh! I hadn’t thought. But, Jack, they were so upset about Jenkins, and remember, Harry is only five.’

  He started to walk over, to offer comfort, but on observing her recoil, remained in the doorway. ‘They will have to remain indoors anyway, until the militia come tomorrow and flush the buggers out.’

  ‘Jack!’

  Her shocked exclamation made him laugh. ‘I am a rough soldier - profanities slip out. But I apologize, again. In future I’ll endeavour to curb my tendency to pepper my conversation with inappropriate words.’

  ‘Thank you, it would be appreciated.’ She tightened the belt of her wrapper. ‘If it’s safe, I’ll return to my rooms. I’m decidedly cold after sitting around in here.’

  She reclaimed the candlestick and kindled it from a taper pushed into the fire. ‘Listen, did you hear that? I do believe it was a cock crowing somewhere in the village. It will be full light soon.’ The blackness outside had slowly turned to grey during her long vigil.

  ‘It’s five o’clock; you’ve been up for far too long. Come along, I’ll escort you to your room.’

  She shook her head making her plait dance down her back. ‘I am quite capable of finding my way back. I shall bid you good night, Cousin, or should it be good morning?’

  *

  Jack allowed her to ascend, but remained alert on the stairs until he heard her bedchamber door close behind her. He didn’t return to his rooms but headed purposefully to the library. He had thinking to do and plans to make. He was used to going without sleep; he had done so many times before when fighting on the Peninsula. He had a campaign to organize, a battle to win. He grinned; two battles in fact, and he rather thought that disgruntled villagers were going to be easier to overcome than Charlotte’s reservations.

  Her ideas for rescuing them were sound, but couldn’t be put into practice until the other matter was settled. They were far too exposed at the moment; there were not enough men to keep watch. He desperately needed ready funds,.

  He rested his head on his folded arms; he would have a quick nap, ten – fifteen minutes - no more. Leaning on a desk was as good a place as any. He was wakened by the sound of footsteps in the passageway, women’s voices, and the clank of pails. He pushed himself upright. Good God! It was past six o’clock. He had slept for an hour; he was out of condition, his body not responding to his will. Too much brandy, too little food and not enough exercise. But all that was going to change; from now on he was a new man, he had a purpose in life again.

  Irritated by the clatter in what was usually a silent house, he yawned, stretched and strode over to open the door. Two young women, sacks tied round as aprons, were on their knees scrubbing the boards. They froze; he too surprised to react, the girls too frightened.

  The older one started to scramble up. ‘Your grace, we didn’t realize you were in the library or we wouldn’t have started cleaning here.’

  ‘It is of no matter. I am glad you woke me, I’ve work to do. Is Meltham up?’

  ‘He is, your grace, in his pantry sorting out the duties of the new footmen.’

  He nodded politely and, stepping round their buckets, went to find his butler, delighted by the news there were to be extra men working and living inside. He knocked sharply on the pantry door. The butler appeared, looking more animated than he had for years. He beamed on seeing who was disturbing him. Not a reaction Jack was expecting.

  ‘Your grace, I’m delighted to see you up so early. I have some documents from Messrs Blower and Thomas. I believe they will please you.’ He held out a rolled parchment neatly tied with blue ribbons.

  Jack took it. ‘Could you organise a jug of strong coffee and have it served to me in the library? And get those girls to clean my rooms. I am sick of living like a hog.’

  Meltham’s face appeared about to crack. ‘Perhaps, my lord, I could suggest one of the new men to act as your valet? Robert has had experience in this field.’

  Jack was about to refuse; he had always looked after his own gear, never bothered with a manservant. But he was a duke and things were different now. ‘That’s a sound idea. Get him in there with the girls; he can sort out my clothes, find me something clean to wear. And I shall require a bath as well.’

  ‘I shall arrange it right away. Young Robert will suit you perfectly. Shall I arrange for something more suitable for him to wear? A footman’s uniform is not appropriate for a valet.’

  Jack waved his hand in assent. ‘Whatever you like; send that coffee straightaway.’

  On his return to the library he spread out the parchment on the desk, moving the candelabra nearer. His heart beat heavily, his skin prickled with anticipation. He had remembered hearing the butler’s words to the lawyer last night, he had spoken of good news.

  He scanned the spidery black writing, absorbing its contents instantly. He banged his fist on the desk in triumph. There was money, not a lot, not the hundreds of thousands that there used to be, but by God, sufficient for his purposes.

  It appeared the old lord had left a few thousands in the funds and this had been untouched by the commercial disaster with the ships. Over the next hour he did some rapid calculations, gulping down coffee to keep himself awake. If he spent wisely, was miserly with his resources
, he could restore half the property, but would close down the rest.

  By employing local labour to clear the grounds, mend the fences, do all the outside jobs, he rather thought the discontent would go. With repaired cottages and food in their bellies not many men would still be prepared to risk dangling on the end of a rope.

  He got up, satisfied he was ready to explain to Charlotte how things stood. He glanced at the bracket clock- almost thirty minutes past seven. He doubted if she’d appear before noon. This gave him ample time to bathe, change his garments, and, God help him, even to put on a jacket and neck cloth!

  Chuckling he tossed the paper to one side and as he did so, a second sheet, secreted behind the first, dropped onto the desk. He almost ignored it, believing this was merely a letter confirming the financial document, but something prompted him to pick it up.

  The first paragraph of the letter merely informed him that Messrs Blower and Thomas were returning the following day in order for him to sign the paper that would release the remaining money. This was excellent news; he had not dreamt that he would be able to begin improvements so soon.

  He continued reading and his stomach lurched and he felt his face drain of colour. Horrified he collapsed back on to the chair. For a moment he stared blankly into space hardly able to assimilate the words. With shaking hands he held the letter up, reading the bold black script.

  We feel it is our duty to bring to your attention the fact that Miss Carstairs has been residing under your protection, unchaperoned, for the past two weeks and this is already giving rise to unpleasant gossip. Therefore, we respectfully suggest that we should find Miss Carstairs and her family an alternative establishment in Ipswich, before her reputation is irreversibly besmirched.