Sophia called Julian to help her dig out a few pieces of music from a hiding place in the library, declaring she was not so rusty she could not entertain the company with her playing. Quarrelling playfully as to who was to blame for the missing music, brother and sister disappeared, leaving Roxanne alone with Edgar. Her heart sank as he smiled at her: a slow, sneering, triumphant smile, just as he had done on their wedding night.
“Understated this evening?” He indicated her pearls with a casual gesture.
“I think you have been misinformed, Mr. Doyle,” Roxanne replied coldly.
He glanced down at her left hand. “Have I?”
His gaze fixed upon the heirloom engagement ring she had remembered to put on. Generally Roxanne preferred to wear no jewellery while she busied herself with domestic chores. Tonight she had been aware of playing the role of Julian’s fiancée.
Roxanne gave a tiny yawn before she replied, putting up her hand in front of her mouth. Injecting a note of boredom into her voice, she said with a tinkling laugh, “Mr. Doyle, I think you will have very slim pickings indeed if you are prepared to risk life and limb for the few paltry pieces you see tonight.”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where’s the rest of it, then? The Pennington collection I’ve heard so much about.”
Roxanne shrugged. “Search me. I haven’t had sight of anything but what I am wearing. I do believe the best and most valuable pieces are locked up, but here or in London? I couldn’t say.”
Edgar’s grip on her wrist was painful, but she did not flinch.
“You won’t stop me, so don’t think of informing your fool of a fiancé.”
Roxanne gave him a mocking smile, projecting a bravado she hoped would discourage him from continuing with the planned robbery. “Inform on you? I wouldn’t dream of it. I’d like to see just how far you get with your plans.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but closed it as Julian and Sophia came back into the room. Sophia brandished some pages of sheet music in triumph. Edgar assumed a bland, affable expression and made a great show of ushering Roxanne to the most comfortable seat near the pianoforte.
Sophia was an excellent pianist and managed to coax an impressive performance from the creaky instrument, her skill overriding the occasional flat key. Mr. Hardwicke, who possessed a fine tenor, added to the festivities by singing several plaintive love songs. Roxanne refused to entertain the guests, saying that her playing was indifferent, her singing unremarkable, and she would not be cast into the shade after Sophia’s excellent performance.
The evening ended pleasantly after an hour of music and song. Gregson and his two nephews ushered the gentlemen to their various rooms while Mrs. Dawson attended to the ladies. Roxanne said goodnight to her guests and undressed with Becky’s help, all the while wondering what Edgar was planning. It had been impossible to snatch a few minutes alone with Julian who had been attending to the guests. Even now, while she could slip along the passage to his room and speak to him, what could she say? How could she admit to Julian that the reason she suspected Edgar of hatching a crime was because he had bragged of it to her. In addition, she would have to confess that not only had she known him previously, but had in fact married him. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Perhaps Edgar was merely boasting, she wondered. Maybe this was just another one of his ploys to frighten and bully her. When she finally fell asleep she had come to the conclusion that Edgar was all sound and fury, signifying nothing as the bard wrote.
The commotion that ensued at about three o’clock in the morning took the entire household by surprise. Roxanne sat bolt upright in bed, unsure if she had dreamed the terrible piercing scream that resounded from the kitchen area and echoed throughout the house. A cacophony of clanging of pots and pans and anguished yells came immediately afterwards. Then she heard a deep baying from Rufus, followed by vicious growls and snarls, then the sound of banging doors and the shattering of china. The screams and shrieks echoed round the back of the house to the front, through the garden, accompanied by loud barking from Rufus. As Roxanne flung on her robe, she heard the sounds of someone or something crashing wildly through shrubs and rose bushes.
When Roxanne reached the kitchen, she found Gregson already there, standing over a supine form. He held a large poker in one hand and a candlestick in the other. The scullery door leading to the back courtyard was wide open. Hemmings, clad in a pink flannelette robe, stood next to Gregson. She clutched a large frying pan in one hand; the other hand was pressed against her mouth. Her eyes bulged in fright. Mrs. Dawson, Mrs. Perry, the maids, and Sam clustered in a shocked group nearby, murmuring excitedly among themselves.
The kitchen was a shambles with pots and pans and broken china lying on the floor. Puddles of milk lay on the floor. Rufus bounded through the scullery door and began industriously licking up the remains of the milk. Skelton and Simmonds stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen, still buttoning their shirts, and gawked at the figure on the floor.
Roxanne stared at Edgar’s body, speechless and wondering if this time he truly was dead. Just then, Julian stalked into the kitchen, fastening his robe, followed by a yawning Peters.
“What the devil is going on here? Gregson? What’s all this noise about?”
Instantly the servants’ muted chatter rose to a loud babbling. Julian raised one hand for silence. Everyone kept quiet and Gregson stepped forward.
“Milord.” Gregson, retaining his composure even while clad in his nightshirt, nightcap and slippers, bowed. “I believe we have an intruder.”
Roxanne found her voice. “But that’s Mr. Doyle.”
Gregson put down his weapons and turned over the body. It was indeed Edgar Doyle, unconscious, but breathing. There was no wound to his head, but a large bruise was already forming on the side of his face. Roxanne had a sudden flash of memory from that disastrous night at the inn. She could see herself again, standing over Edgar, the poker hanging from her hand, blood pooling under his head. Her knees buckled and Julian caught her just as she slid to the floor.
“Here, Mrs. Dawson, take milady to her room.”
She and Becky took Roxanne by her arms and tried to help her from the kitchen.
“No, no,” Roxanne said, trying to regain her composure. “I am perfectly fine. Just the shock. The idea of intruders upset me.”
“What I want to know,” said Julian slowly, “is what one of our guests is doing in the kitchen with the key to the back door in his hand.”
The group gaped in surprise. Hemmings wailed. The key, which must have been concealed in Edgar’s robe sleeve, lay next to him on the floor. Julian frowned and then shook his head, as if dismissing a ridiculous thought.
A heavy tread down the stairs signalled Aunt Semphronia’s arrival. Magnificently attired in a deep shade of scarlet, her satin robe a seamstress’s dream of flounces and frills, Aunt Semphronia swept into the kitchen. Her matching nightcap perched atop a head of tightly twisted paper curls.
“All I asked for is a cup of hot milk, Hemmings,” she bellowed, “and I find—” She stopped and stared down at the unconscious Edgar. “I find everyone awake, the back door open and Mr. Doyle murdered before our very eyes.”
Julian hastened to reassure her. “No, not murdered, Aunt.” His gaze fell upon a now guilty looking Hemmings who vainly attempted to conceal the frying pan behind her back.
“I believe Hemmings bravely tried to repel what she thought was an intruder.”
Aunt Semphronia stared at her dresser. “Hemmings? Is this true?”
Hemmings, who appeared to want to say something else, nodded. She pressed her lips tightly together as if to prevent words jumping out her mouth.
“Well!” exclaimed the dowager. She sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. “This is a fine to-do.”
Gregson bowed. “Your Grace, rest assured Harold and Bernard are in pursuit of two persons whom I believe are would-be housebreakers.”
Aunt Semphronia gave a faint shriek. Hemmings
instantly leaped into action by directing the maids and Sam to assist Her Grace back to her room. Their eyes swiveled to Julian for direction. He nodded.
“You too, Mrs. Dawson. See that Her Grace is made comfortable.” He looked at the terrified cook. “Some coffee, if you please, Mrs. Perry.”
“Milord?” Skelton, still visibly shocked, ventured a question. “What can Simmonds and I do?”
“You can check the stables and make sure the place is safe. Then take a walk around the house in case someone is hiding in the shrubbery.”
“Right-o.” The two men dashed off.
He gestured to Peters. “Go with them and lend a hand.”
Peters hurried after the grooms. Julian took Roxanne’s hand and led her to the library. He gave her a rueful smile.
“Luckily my sister and Mr. Hardwicke are made of sterner stuff and have managed to sleep through this commotion.”
Roxanne, feeling her knees beginning to shake, sat down on the nearest chair. Julian busied himself pouring her a glass of brandy which Roxanne reluctantly sipped. Gregson appeared in the doorway and indicated he would like to speak to Julian. Julian beckoned him further into the room.
“Out with it, man. What’s going on?”
Gregson cast a careful look behind him and said, “My lord, Bernard and Harold have returned with Peters and it appears that although they pursued the two villains for a good distance, they had an accomplice on the road with a gig. They managed to make their escape.”
Julian raised his eyebrows. “A gig? Housebreakers? This is out of the ordinary.”
Gregson glanced at Roxanne. “My thoughts exactly, milord. This is no commonplace attempt. This is planned. It’s just fortunate that Hemmings came downstairs at that moment to make Her Grace a hot drink.”
Julian strode up and down, his brow furrowed in concentration, his hands thrust into his robe pockets. “Why did Mr. Doyle have the key to the back door in his hand? Where is it usually kept?”
Gregson coloured. “I am responsible for the key, milord. I keep it in the empty flour tin on the top shelf next to the door.” He hung his head. “I am sorry, milord, not quite the safest place one should keep it.”
“Who knows where the key is kept?” Julian demanded.
“Only Mrs. Dawson, Mrs. Perry, and me,” he replied. “One of them opens up in the morning and I lock at night.”
“And what about the temporary staff?” he asked.
Gregson shook his head. “The two maids are relatives of Mrs. Dawson, and Harold and Bernard are my nephews. There is no chance of any one of them betraying the household with such a wicked action.”
Julian continued to pace the room. “And yet, the key fell from Mr. Doyle’s hand.”
“I have no explanation for that, milord.”
Julian swung round and stared at Roxanne. “We shall have to ask Mr. Doyle when he regains consciousness.”
Mrs. Perry came into the library with a tray of coffee and biscuits. Although Roxanne had no appetite, she did as Julian suggested and drank half a cup of the steaming liquid and forced herself to eat a biscuit. Julian then directed Gregson to see that the servants went back to their beds and to personally check all the windows and doors were locked before he retired. Gregson bowed and left Julian and Roxanne alone.
Roxanne’s hands had stopped trembling. Julian sat next to her, idly stroking one hand as he thought aloud.
“There’s been a bit of talk in the village about housebreakers attacking large houses in the area.” He shook his head. “Dreadful that a criminal element has made its way down to the peace and tranquillity of the countryside.”
Roxanne made a noncommittal sound.
“I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” he said reassuringly. He looked at her with a loving smile. “I want you to return to London with Sophia and the others while I take the necessary steps to get to the bottom of this. I’ll discuss it with Sophia tomorrow.”
At his next words, a sense of horror rose within her.
“I’m sure Doyle was only trying to help. I can’t believe that any respectable man would be involved in a criminal activity.”
Roxanne wanted to scream in protest that Edgar Doyle was an archfiend from hell bent on making her life a misery. However, with the weight of guilt pressing upon her she did not protest.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, Dr. Grantley was summoned to examine Edgar. The patient lay in bed, his face pallid, as he groaned softly and complained of a blinding headache.
“The man could have had a cracked skull, but luckily your aunt’s maid only fetched him a glancing blow,” the doctor confided to Roxanne and Julian. “He was fortunate not to have received the full weight of the heavy pan against his skull. Not much I can suggest except to keep him quiet and apply cold compresses to his head. He should be up in a day or so.”
An inconsolable Hemmings simply wailed when the dowager attempted to extract a description of events from her. She said the kitchen was dark and she had seen someone fumbling at the door, but gave no further details. Piecing the story together with Gregson, Julian came to the conclusion that either someone had opened the scullery door and let in the burglars or someone had forgotten to lock the door and had left the key lying on the shelf preparatory to locking it. Gregson bristled when Julian tactfully suggested that with the unaccustomed flurry of extra guests and the dinner party, he had taken the key, meaning to lock the door, and had been distracted and forgotten to complete the task.
“Milord!” Gregson’s dismay was tangible. “Forget to lock the back door? Inconceivable! I have never ever been derelict in my duty, milord. Never!” He shook his head so vehemently his old jowls shook.
Roxanne laid a restraining hand on Julian’s sleeve. “Do you think perhaps Mr. Doyle found the key and, for some reason, thought to open the door?”
Julian stared at Roxanne. “What reason?”
Roxanne had no answer. She could not voice what she truly thought: Edgar had somehow found the key and opened the door for his accomplices. Hemmings must have come into the scullery and seen Edgar in the shadows. Suspecting his motives, Hemmings picked up the nearest heavy instrument and hit him over the head as he unlocked the door. Unbeknownst to any of the burglars, Rufus’s basket was behind the pantry door. Naturally, he pounced on the intruders as they entered the scullery. The intruders, not expecting any resistance, had been driven off by the animal’s fierce attack.
Julian bent down and scratched behind Rufus’s ears. The dog rolled his eyes and panted with happiness, unfurling his long red tongue. “At least you’ve finally proved your worth, my friend.”
Rufus thumped his tail on the floor.
Sophia quite shocked Roxanne by exclaiming, half angrily, that it was a shame no one had thought to wake her. “I’ve missed all the excitement,” she said with a pout. “Life is so safe and boring, nothing thrilling ever happens. Then the one and only time something happens, I sleep through it all and no one thinks to wake me up!”
“My dearest Sophia!” exclaimed a suitably horrified Mr. Hardwicke. “Imagine if someone had done away with you or kidnapped you or perpetrated some dreadful deed against you.”
They were sitting around the breakfast table, except Aunt Semphronia who breakfasted upstairs in her room and Edgar who was resting. Julian still appeared preoccupied. He did not add much to the discussion and occasionally drummed his fingers on the table.
Sophia pooh-poohed any real danger saying, “I think Gregson knew all along that we might be sitting ducks and that’s why Bernard and Harold helped with last night’s dinner.”
Gregson gave her a solemn bow. “Thank you, Miss Sophia, but I had no idea and it was just good fortune that my nephews were on hand to give chase.”
Roxanne felt a shaggy snout snuffle against her fingers. She sneaked a crust of buttered toast under the tablecloth. “Don’t forget Rufus, Sophia. He also gave chase and, judging by the screams, I think he had more success than Harold and Be
rnard.”
Julian looked up. “That’s an idea. I think I’ll go down to the village and find out if anyone has heard of two men being bitten by a dog.”
Roxanne’s heart sank. “Please don’t go,” she said in a low voice under the hubbub of discussion between Sophia and Mr. Hardwicke. “Gregson said they made off in a gig. They’ll be far away by now.”
But Julian had a mutinous look on his face and Roxanne knew it was useless trying to dissuade him. Muttering something about the Bow Street Runners, he went off, calling for Skelton.
Roxanne went upstairs later in the morning to look in on Edgar. Reluctant though she felt to exchange even a word with him, it was her duty as hostess to check his state of health.
He glared at her. “So, I expect you’ve come to crow.”
He looked terrible. His face was unshaven, his skin pasty and his eyes bloodshot.
“No, I haven’t,” she replied. “I’ve come to see if you’re still alive and I hope that this mishap will dissuade you from targeting the Pennington family.”
His eyes blazed and his lips tightened. “I want my pound of flesh, milady, and you’re going to help me get it.”
Roxanne recoiled. “What are you talking about? Your plans are over. Your attempt at robbery has failed.”
Edgar allowed a smirk to creep across his face. “Think so? I’ve got news for you. This mishap, as you describe it, has worked out perfectly for me.”
Roxanne took a deep breath, wondering when she would ever be rid of the man. She felt ill and desperately wanted to run out of the room and be sick just to get rid of the feeling, but she didn’t. She forced the bile back down and sat looking composed and confident.
“I can’t imagine what you mean.”
Married at Midnight: An Authentic Regency Romance Page 16
