by Allison Lane
“Percy. Dear Lord.”
“Steady, Eden. We’ll find her.” The horses had milled about, then turned downstream. “Where does the stream go?”
“The Melton Mowbray Canal, but that must be ten miles from here.”
“Where is the nearest road?”
“A little-used lane crosses perhaps half a mile away. A better road is beyond that.”
“He’ll use the lane.”
“What did you see that I missed?” she demanded as he mounted.
“As she whirled to leave, the other horse cut her off. Both horses turned downstream. Since I doubt she went willingly, he must have knocked her out, then draped her over the saddle. But he cannot escape unseen without a carriage. The lane sounds ideal.”
“Where will he take her?”
“I don’t know – yet. First we need to verify my hunch. If I’m right, we’ll find her horse tied to a tree. Then you will return to the house while I call on Sir Richard.”
“You can’t leave me behind. I’ll lose my mind.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll be too busy. While I make absolutely certain that Percy is our man, you will check Debrett’s and every county register you have. Find every piece of property owned by a Montagu or someone related to them by marriage, especially relatives of Percy’s mother and grandmother. If you can’t find a likely hiding place, then I must ask Lady Debenham for ideas. But involving her will make it impossible to keep this quiet.”
“Right.”
“I expect to receive a ransom note this evening. We must be ready. Knowing Percy’s identity is our only advantage.”
“He can have the stone,” she swore. “It’s just a rock, of no real value.”
“The stone is the least of our problems. We must recover Olivia. Giving him the stone won’t achieve that.”
* * * *
Eden rode down the stream, shivering as trees closed in on either side. This shaded waterway had seemed cozy when she’d restored John’s garden eight years earlier. Now it looked sinister. A secret path leading straight to hell.
Sinister.
Was Percy left-handed?
She concentrated on their task, grateful that Alex was accustomed to danger, intrigue, and even violent action. His decisiveness soothed her. He hung low over his horse’s neck, nodding whenever he spotted another track. Most men would be paralyzed with fear by now – like her father. Or they would succumb to rage, issuing conflicting orders as their wits vanished.
Alex did neither. She could feel his brain humming – calm, logical, competent. No wonder the Home Office found him so valuable. John had been right to recommend him.
Alex turned left when they reached the lane. A hundred yards later, he entered the woods. Olivia’s horse was tied to a tree. Eden didn’t know whether to be relieved or hysterical.
“Can you lead it home?” he asked.
“Of course.” If her heart didn’t stop completely.
“Hurry. The sun is nearly down. Where does this lane emerge?”
“Nowhere useful. But if you take the first footpath to the left, you’ll reach the post road.”
“Good. I’ve got the sketch and will return as soon I can. Eat. It may be a long night. Prepare food packets in case we need to ride out. Small packets. We can’t take a carriage.”
“Go. I’ll be fine. But please be careful. Percy is obsessed enough to attack you.” Her heart blocked her throat at the thought.
Alex patted her hand. “He’s no longer nearby, but we’ll find him.” Handing over Olivia’s reins, he pulled her into a hard kiss, then vaulted onto his horse and was gone.
Eden turned back to Ridley, hoping she wouldn’t find blood on the saddle.
Chapter Nineteen
This time when Alex was ushered into Sir Richard’s library, it was Jeremy who faced him across the desk.
“What are you doing here?” Jeremy demanded.
“I have business with Sir Richard Marlow. Magistrate’s business.”
Jeremy shook his head. “It will have to wait. He’s ill.”
“How ill?”
“Very. Probably the fish. Half the household is suffering. The other half didn’t eat it.”
Frustration fisted Alex’s hands. “This can’t wait.” He drew the sketch from his pocket. “I won’t bother him myself, but would you show this to him? Wake him if you have to. Yes, it’s that urgent,” he added over a protest, passing him the image. “I must know who this is.”
Jeremy glanced at it, then settled deeper into his chair. “It’s Mr. Mason.”
“Mason.” Alex sat, feigning relaxation, though every sense pricked to the alert. Did this mean Jeremy was Percy’s unwitting accomplice? Percy might be using his knowledge of antiquities for his own purposes. “When did you last see him?”
“Last night. It’s the only time, actually. We’ve not been introduced.”
“Where?”
“The Pigeon – a coaching inn five miles from here that’s a favorite spot for cards.”
“Five miles. Which direction?”
“Southwest. On the turnpike.” He frowned. “You should have passed it riding over here. It’s only half a mile from Ridley’s gate.”
“How do you know Mason if you weren’t introduced?”
Jeremy shrugged. “He was speaking rather loudly to the innkeeper just outside the taproom door.”
“What time?”
“Well past midnight – three, perhaps? I’d been playing cards with the squire’s son until another game distracted us with its deucedly high stakes. Lasted until dawn. I didn’t notice Mason until he summoned the proprietor. He was seeking his brother – the man didn’t return from his last trip to London.”
“What?”
“He’d traced him as far as Melton, or some such. I didn’t pay much attention until they started talking about the highwayman who attacked John. I hoped we could finally identify him, but it wasn’t Mason’s brother. Mason stopped in the taproom for a bite to eat, then left. We never spoke.”
And just as well. If Percy had connected Jeremy to Christine…
When Jeremy held out the sketch, Alex shook his head. “It is more important than ever to show that to Marlow.”
“Why?”
“Mason is not his real name. I must know if Sir Richard knows him and by what name. But take care,” he added. “No matter what Sir Richard says, accept it without surprise and leave. Let’s not make his illness worse.”
Jeremy clearly didn’t understand, but he went upstairs.
Ten minutes later, he returned, shaking. “It can’t be,” he murmured over and over. Brandy spilled as he tried to pour it into a glass.
“Sit before you collapse.” Alex returned the sketch to his pocket, then poured brandy for both of them. He’d been right. Relief left him weak.
“He must be sicker than I thought,” murmured the boy. “He’s delirious.” His eyes revealed a mixture of horror and anguish. “Do you know what he thinks?”
“He swears the sketch depicts Sir Harold Iverson.”
Jeremy choked. “Sir Harold died ten years ago, so how could I have seen him at the Pigeon?”
Alex returned to his chair, confident that the boy had nothing to do with Percy. “Sir Harold did indeed die ten years ago,” he confirmed. “But Sir Harold never visited Marwood. The man currently calling himself Mason killed him and stole his name.”
Jeremy dropped his glass. “You mean Aunt Christine’s killer is alive?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll find the bastard and—” He headed for the door.
“Enough!” Alex’s voice froze Jeremy in his tracks. “You’ve done your part. Confirming that this is the man I seek will help me find him.”
“I’m going with you.”
“You have no training, Highbottom. He is dangerous, with a growing list of murders to his credit and other crimes too numerous to mention. Now if you will excuse me—”
“Why did you claim this was urgent
? Aunt Christine died ten years ago.”
“But he has been busy in the years since. He killed a man in London only three days ago. If I don’t stop him, someone else will die.”
“Who?” Jeremy gripped Alex’s arm hard enough to leave bruises.
“The lady in question is blameless, but revealing her name could damage her reputation.”
“Who, dammit! Olivia asked me to meet her this afternoon, then didn’t come. I— I intend to marry her. If anything happens…”
Alex paused. “If you intend to wed her, why haven’t you spoken to Mrs. Marlow?”
“John’s death shocked Mrs. Marlow into irrational antagonism. She forbade me the house.”
“She had her reasons.” He shook his head. “If you seriously hope to wed Olivia, you’d best behave like a gentleman instead of creeping about behind Mrs. Marlow’s back.”
Jeremy flushed. “That was Olivia’s idea. She doesn’t know why her sister suddenly took me in dislike, but it seemed best to put off a formal courtship yet again.”
“Again?”
“I’ve loved her for years but had to wait until she grew up. Enduring Cousin John’s interminable lectures was the only way to see her. But it taught me enough about antiquities to bring me here now.”
“I heard you were organizing Marlow’s collection.”
“The chance to spend months near Ridley was too good to pass. Then I discovered I was no longer welcome there.”
“Where have you been meeting her?”
“The temple by the lake. No one else uses it. I swear nothing untoward passed between—”
“Don’t tell me. It is Mrs. Marlow you must convince, and frankly, keeping assignations with an innocent will not advance your case. But enough of that. If you truly wish to help—”
“I do.”
“—then come with me. I’ll explain the problem on the road.”
As they cantered down the drive, Alex began his tale with the oddities Eden had noticed about John’s death. They hadn’t gone a mile before Jeremy proved his worth.
“Dressed?” he echoed about Sir Richard. “I’m not surprised. He spends most nights with his mistress, returning just before dawn. I suspect the six hours of sleep he takes in the mornings is all he gets.”
* * * *
Eden tugged Alex aside the moment Jeremy appeared in the doorway. “Why is he here?”
“He’s helping.”
“I won’t have him—”
“Hear him out, Eden.” He waved Jeremy toward the drawing room. “He’s not involved with Percy. He doesn’t want John’s collection. And—”
“How do you know?”
“I asked him – and before you malign my judgment, which we both know is questionable, please listen to him. He endured what he calls Cousin John’s interminable lectures because it kept him near Olivia while she was growing up enough to be courted. He accepted employment from Richard so he would be near Olivia. She summoned him to the temple this afternoon—”
“Why?”
“Probably to tell him you hoped I would offer for her. She saw through your pretense as easily as I did.” He shook his head. “She’d already accepted Jeremy’s proposal but was afraid to tell you because you threw him out. He’s been trying to persuade her to stand up for herself.”
She blanched. “I would never deny her a hearing.”
“I know that, but she doesn’t.” He softened his tone. “You have carried the burden of raising her for so long that you still think of her as a child, my dear. But she’s grown and has a mind and interests of her own. Offer guidance, but it’s time to let her make her own decisions.”
“To wed a pauper barely out of leading strings?”
“I don’t think he is as purse-pinched as you fear, and he is far steadier than most men his age.”
“So what now?”
“Set aside your antagonism and accept his help. He is frantic. If he doesn’t work with us, he’ll look for Olivia on his own, which could draw Percy’s attention and harm Olivia.”
She nodded. Had she really misjudged him? But— “What can he do?”
“Plenty. He knows why Sir Richard was dressed at dawn the day John’s body turned up – it has nothing to do with John. He saw Percy at the Pigeon just after the break-in here. Richard confirms that the sketch is Sir Harold, so that question is resolved. I hope it lets us locate him.”
She nodded then pulled out a letter. “This came an hour ago.”
He grabbed the sheet, then sagged. “From Terrence.” Disappointment twisted his face. “We’ll read it in the drawing room. Time is too precious to keep repeating news.”
She followed, berating herself for raising his hopes that it was from Percy. Yet Percy’s silence increased her fear. Why hadn’t he presented his demands? Olivia had been gone for nearly seven hours. Had something gone wrong?
Please let her be all right, she prayed, joining the men.
“—no word yet,” Alex was saying.
“What’s that?” demanded Jeremy.
“A report from the Home Office.” He broke the seal, then nodded.
“We are progressing.” He handed the page to Eden, then turned back to Jeremy. “It is Barclay who headed for Italy, so our so-called highwayman must be Emerson – Percy Montagu’s secretary,” he added to Jeremy. “Percy probably started the Italy story to account for the man’s disappearance.”
Eden skimmed the note. “Did you see the part about Mr. Jasper.”
“Yes.” He repeated it to Jeremy. “John’s agent was badly injured when he was attacked by footpads just outside Paris. A farmer took him in and nursed him through the resulting fever. He’d only just recovered his senses when Terrence’s man arrived.”
“What does that have to do with Olivia’s abduction or John’s murder?” demanded Jeremy, pacing to the window and back.
“Jasper recognized the leader of the attack as Barclay.” Alex sighed. Jasper had killed Barclay, at which point the accomplices fled. But it was yet another death to be laid at Percy’s door. Not that Barclay would have lived long in any case. Percy would have seen to that.
“I still don’t understand,” said Jeremy.
“In brief, Montagu wants the Sarsos treasure, but he wants no one to know he has it. Everyone who acquired a piece of it for him is gone. Everyone who has noticed his interest or that of his agents is gone.”
“Except Jasper and us.”
“Because he doesn’t have the last piece.” Alex held out his hand.
Eden put the stone in it.
Jeremy stared. “So John really did find it.”
“And died when Percy sent Emerson to steal it.”
“We didn’t know the stone remained here until this afternoon, and by then it was too late,” added Eden.
“So that’s why he grabbed Olivia.” Jeremy clenched his fists. “He wants a trade.”
“We hope.” Alex turned back to Eden before she could ponder his words. “Did you finish that list of properties?”
“It’s in the study. But it won’t help much. The Montagues own a great deal of land, and their connections own more – and that’s just in the six counties I’ve checked.” She headed for the door.
* * * *
Alex sat behind the desk, shaking his head over the list. The Montagu family was extensive, and their holdings more so. He scowled at the seventy-two parcels Eden had found within fifty miles of Ridley. Why the devil did this have to be Quorn country? Everyone and his brother kept hunting boxes here, most of them vacant this time of year.
Eden and Jeremy murmured softly in the corner, apparently discussing Jeremy’s courtship and prospects. Words like Consols, banns, and love washed over him. He could feel Eden’s antagonism softening as it became clear that Jeremy was far from destitute.
He relaxed. Eden loved her sister too much to reject Olivia’s choice when his only fault was youth. And Jeremy wasn’t that young. Which removed the last impediment to his own courtship. Or nearly. M
ourning remained an obstacle.
If only his other problems could be so easily solved. He had no idea which cousins Percy might ask for shelter, so could only pray that knowing his identity would give him an edge.
He arranged the list by distance and direction from Ridley. Percy would not have gone to his own home – his estate was well over a hundred miles away – but eliminating one house didn’t help. How many properties had Eden missed? Maternal cousins in remote degrees. Friends. Acquaintances. Had he hired a place? Owners would be delighted to find a tenant during the off season.
It also bothered him that no note had come. With each passing hour, his doubts grew. Was Percy taking her home after all? Might he use her for a time before demanding ransom? Had Alex missed a clue, precipitating disaster?
Simms finally appeared in the doorway, a letter on his silver salver. “This just arrived, ma’am. By one of the village lads. I’ve kept him in the hallway.”
Eden reached for it, then hesitated, hand shaking. “You read it, Alex.”
He broke the seal and silently skimmed. It was short and to the point.
Mrs. Marlow,
I do not like cheaters, as your husband learned when he reneged on our deal. Let us hope that you are more honorable.
If you want Miss Higgins back, take the Sarsos Stone – the real stone – to the King’s Arms in Derby. The landlord will exchange it for your sister’s direction. You have until sunset tomorrow. If you fail, I know a brothel that pays well for comely country wenches.
Come alone.
Oakdale
“Bring the boy,” Alex ordered Simms.
The others stared, eyes wide with fear. But neither said a word.
The boy was no more than eight. “Who asked you to deliver this?” Alex asked calmly.
“Old Rory, down at t’Pigeon. Give me a penny, he did.”
“Did he say who left it?”
“Uh-uh. Just said to deliver it quick-like ’cause ’t’was already late.”
“Which you did very well. Thank you.” He handed the lad another penny, unsurprised that he knew nothing. The innkeeper would likewise know nothing. At best he would report that Mason had asked him to deliver a message. A common request. More likely, he’d found the missive lying on his desk with a coin to pay for its delivery.
