"Yes, that is a goal, I'll admit."
Hugh clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Hellfire, man, you need to keep your wits about you. Nigel means business! You're the only thing left between him and the entire Glenwick estate, and he thinks he's already rid of you. You'd better get your mind off that female and think about your future."
He was not about to tell him those two elements were not mutually exclusive of each other. Hugh did have a valid point, though. Max would have no future—with or without Miss Farrow—if Nigel was allowed to go on as he had. Whatever their plan tonight, it had to include some way to bring down that contemptible villain.
"Very well," Hugh said after he contemplated a moment. "We'll do what we can to protect Miss Farrow. If you are convinced she did not know what your cousin was when she involved herself with him, then I suppose she doesn't need to be scandalized now."
Max could tell Hugh was not thoroughly convinced of Miss Farrow's blamelessness, but his friend would not let him down. He appreciated all Hugh had done for him and he vowed he'd make it up to him at some point. They'd find what they needed and they'd bring Nigel to justice. Then perhaps they would both find some peace.
Chapter 17
Meg fidgeted, pushing her food about her plate and trying desperately to appear interested in Papa's conversation about the village festival planned to help raise funding for the parish choir. The earl was pleasantly polite, yet she could not be at all comfortable with the glances he kept shooting her way. It seemed every time she looked up from her meal, Nigel was staring at her.
And not in a good way. It was in a way that said he'd fully meant everything he'd said and done earlier today and he was ready and willing to do them again. He was convinced she knew more than she did. How could she convince him she did not?
Worse, how on earth was she to ensure he remained here at their home for a leisurely meal when he was eating as fast as a starved pig? It was obvious the man had not come to stay. He would likely want to leave soon—she knew she certainly did—and he'd want to take Bartholomew with him. Probably he'd find some way to have private words with her, too. No doubt she would not like them.
"I hope your parrot trainer was able to gather himself together after his ordeal with Bartholomew," Nigel said when Papa had at last exhausted the festival topic.
"Oh, he was indeed. As I said, he's remarkably good with that bird. Pity he couldn't join us tonight."
"Yes, a pity. But I suppose it would be highly irregular to invite the help to dine with us."
"Oh, but Mr. Shirley has taken most of his meals here with us since his arrival," Papa explained. "I invited him tonight, but he declined due to a friend from London he was planning to meet."
"He's gone on to London?"
"No, his friend came to Richington from there. He's staying at our local inn and Mr. Shirley was to meet with him there."
"I see," Nigel said, his food intake suddenly slowing to a crawl. "I don't suppose he told you anything about this friend, did he? Why they were meeting tonight?"
"As a matter of fact, he did mention. He said his friend was bringing his references. Seems the fellow has had a devil of a time getting copies sent on when they were lost on his travels. You will not be surprised, I'm sure, to know Meg has been quite up in arms over this. I hope finally seeing the man's credentials will make her warm a bit more toward him."
Papa chuckled at his own words. Meg felt her face burning up. Heavens, she most certainly hoped seeing Mr. Shirley's credentials did not make her feel warmer toward him. She was nearly combusting from her feelings already.
"I should think you'd both be most interested in seeing his credentials," Nigel said. "I would, as well. Of course, that's assuming he was telling the truth."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it is possible, you know, that he's not meeting a friend. He could very well be leaving the village."
"Leaving the village?"
"Don't you think it a bit odd that there's been no sign of a friend up from London until the day I arrive and accused him?"
"I really thought nothing of it."
"Then perhaps you should," Nigel declared. "Perhaps you should wonder what really brought the man into your home, or why he is so very close to that parrot. Or your daughter."
Papa's eternal reserve and Christian charity was growing thin, Meg could tell. It was not often she watched her father struggle with the emotions of mortal men, but just now she could see that he battled back everything from anger and frustration to indignation and shock. It was, indeed, most infuriating to sit here and have the earl question their every action and insult Papa's ability to judge character. Not that Papa had actually judged Mr. Shirley accurately, but Meg was sure Nigel's suspicions were all based on motivation far more destructive than their parrot trainer's. Not that she knew Mr. Shirley's motivations, but still... Nigel was not a good man and he was being decidedly rude.
"Mr. Shirley has done nothing to make me suspect he is not all that he claims to be," Papa declared. "You, however, sir, seem intent on insult and accusation yet you can produce no tangible reason for it."
Instead of being put out by Papa's rebuke, Nigel simply smiled. "Just wait. I have a feeling you will soon have all the tangible reason in the world to regret not heeding my words. You should have given me the bird and thrown that pretender out."
"If there is tangible reason I should doubt Mr. Shirley, I should welcome it," Papa said.
"Then you'll be happy to know my steward and Mr. Barrelson are in the process of gathering it right now."
"What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"
"I mean, before this dinner is done, I expect you and your daughter will owe me an apology." Now he turned his smug smirk off of Papa and onto Meg. "And anything else I might ask for."
"Don't be ridiculous," Papa said. "If an apology is owed, you will certainly get it. I'm quite sure, though, that neither of us owes you anything."
"And I have some particular documents drawn up by my grandfather that indicate Miss Farrow might choose to feel differently. Unless she'd like everyone in town to know about them."
The documents! Good heavens, he had them. She knew from his face he did not lie: he had the documents and he would use them against her. She would be ruined. Worse, Papa would be scandalized for her. Nigel knew she would do anything he asked rather than allow that to happen.
He had won.
"Meg, what is he talking about?" Papa asked.
"Nothing, Papa. He is playing a game with us because he's worried we'll see he is wrong about Mr. Shirley."
Nigel shrugged and went back to his beef. "Believe what you will. The evening draws on and we will soon see who is wrong and who is right, won't we? Now, don't look so sad, Miss Farrow. Eat up your dinner. You're attractive enough, but I find a woman much more enticing if she has a bit of meat on her bones."
The house was quiet as Max led Hugh inside through a dim, heavily cob-webbed corridor. Most of the rooms in this part of the house were unused, closed up over the years as Grandfather had aged and the once vibrant Glenwick line withered away. A feeling of sorrow and loss still hung over the place.
Max tried to recall the many happy years spent here, but then his father had died suddenly and his mother claimed there were too many painful memories to visit here often. Then the family suffered the loss of Max's uncle, and then the attempts on his own life started. Then finally tragedy struck Grandfather. The house was left in a state of mourning and the staff dwindled to barely enough to keep the place standing.
But this left it easy to creep about undetected. Carefully, silently, they made their way into the large, dark-paneled room that served as an office. It was still in disarray from obvious previous searches, but Max wasn't concerned about that. If Nigel had found what he'd been seeking, the hunt would have been over and he'd not have come after Miss Farrow for the book or the parrot.
Nor would he have lured Miss Farrow into the house to search for those
incriminating documents drawn up by his grandfather. If Max had not overheard the scoundrel discussing them himself he would have assumed them to be non-existent. He thought it unlike his grandfather to leave evidence that would harm Miss Farrow when clearly his intent had been to help her, but he supposed it was possible. Apparently they did exist and Nigel had wanted to be sure Miss Farrow knew of them. It was an excellent lure to get her to join in his search and to reveal any secret hiding places she might know of. Obviously Nigel had been out of luck. She had no clue of anything like that.
But he could still use the documents to hold over her head. He wanted the book and he wanted the parrot. What better way to force Miss Farrow to deliver those than to threaten her with those documents? Max had to get them into his hands before he could press things further.
But now that he was here, where should he look for them? Nigel claimed he merely knew of them but had not found them. Was that to be believed? Not likely. Nigel could not very well use them against Miss Farrow if he did not actually have them. His threats were invalid if he had not already located them.
Yes, Nigel must have had them already when he lured Miss Farrow here to help hunt. Max stared at the piles of disheveled papers and ledgers and assorted books of all sizes. The room had been thoroughly ransacked, searched top to bottom more than once. It was far worse, even, than when Miss Farrow his visited. Clearly Nigel was repeating his efforts and clearly they had not been aimed at finding those documents.
This room had been ransacked in search of the book. That was the item Nigel knew he needed yet had been unable to find. That's why he has resorted to near violence when he realized Miss Farrow knew of the book. Just as Max had realized, Nigel had, too; the book was the key to finding the treasure.
And those incriminating papers regarding Miss Farrow... the likely truth of them dawned over Max like an approaching thunderstorm. The fact that Nigel knew of their existence while Grandfather had never once mentioned them in any of his correspondence with Max could only mean one thing. They weren't real. Nigel had crafted them himself when he realized he'd need to get Bartholomew away from the vicar.
So that meant Nigel would not leave the parsonage tonight without what he wanted. He needed that book and he suspected Miss Farrow knew where it was. He would use every trick he could pull to get her to relinquish it. That could only mean one thing.
"I know where those documents are," he announced to Hugh.
"Good, because this place is a wreck."
"They're not even here," Max informed. "We've been duped."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we'd better get the hell out of here. It's a trap."
Before Hugh could question his meaning Max heard the unmistakable click of a pistol from the darkened doorway behind them. Boots echoed on the floor. Damn, Max had fallen right into Nigel's scheme. He raised his hands helplessly, feeling the merciless aim of the pistol on his back.
"Good evening, gentlemen," a voice said. "I see you've forgotten your masks."
Chapter 18
Dinner tasted like dust as Meg tried in vain to continue. Nigel seemed so smug, so sure of himself. What did he have planned? What could he know that they didn't?
Max was in danger—that had to be it. Somehow, even seeing the man in person and finding nothing to convict him, Nigel was still suspicious. The vicious gleam in his eye said he had no doubt that whatever he planned would succeed.
She did not like that one bit.
"Would you care for some fruit?" she asked, forcing herself to play hostess and offer the tray from the center of the table.
"Thank you, Miss Farrow," Nigel said, reaching for an orange. "Your fruit looks quite tempting. I'm surprised there is any left, as a matter of fact, after allowing that parrot trainer at your table all week."
It took everything she had not to throw the tray at him. What a monster he was! Her mouth popped open to give a snippy retort, but the loud pounding at their front door interrupted her. She glanced at Papa. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nigel, however, seemed to have expected the disruption.
"Are you expecting someone?" he asked.
"No, I don't believe so," Papa replied.
"Well, I am," Nigel said, dropping his uneaten orange and rising from his chair.
Meg jumped to her feet, as well. Mrs. Cooper scurried past the dining room on her way to the front door and soon they heard loud voices and the sounds of several sets of heavy feet. Meg glanced at Papa. He shrugged at her, just as confused as she was but not nearly so worried.
After all, he would have no idea that Mr. Shirley might be in danger of hanging just now.
Meg gave up the pretense of calm. She darted from the table, rushing to the entry hall where Mrs. Cooper seemed at a loss to deal with the four men who suddenly crowded their home. Meg recognized all of them.
The first two were Mr. Barrelson and Mr. Perkins, the shifty-eyed steward from Glenwick. They did not look happy. Between them, two other men stood with their hands bound: Mr. Shirley and his companion. Her heart clenched in her chest. What on earth had they been caught doing?
"Well, what do we have here?" Nigel said, coming up behind her. "Could it be someone owes me an apology?"
"I suspected there had been thieves in the area of Glenwick," Mr. Perkins said. "So I convinced Mr. Barrelson to assist me in hunting them and look what we found."
Papa followed Nigel into the hallway and was trying to make sense of the scene. "You found these men at Glenwick?"
"Not only at Glenwick, but inside, ransacking his lordship's personal study," Mr. Perkins replied. "Thieves, no doubt about it."
"It's true," Mr. Barrelson confirmed. "I saw them myself."
Papa stammered in shock. "Is this so, Mr. Shirley? You were found inside the very house?"
"It is, sir," Mr. Shirley replied, not nearly as terrified as Meg felt for him. "My friend, Mr. Baxter, and I were inside the study."
"I told you!" Nigel fairly sang. "These are the highwaymen who fired at me, now they have broken into my home!"
"And what were you doing there?" Papa asked.
"Looking for something," Mr. Shirley replied.
For heaven's sake, didn't he realize how badly this looked for him? Meg chewed her lip, desperate to think of something to say. But what could she? They'd been caught in the very act.
"Likely looking for more things to steal from me!" Nigel said. "No doubt you are the same ruffians who broke into my home and stole from me some days ago."
Mr. Barrelson seemed taken aback by this. "You had a burglary some days ago? I have heard nothing of this."
"I did not wish to make a fuss."
"But you only just arrived in town this morning," Meg noted. "How could you have been robbed there some days ago?"
"Er, my steward informed me," Nigel said quickly. "Isn't that so, Mr. Perkins? When I arrived, you told me of the breakin and that you suspected a book had been stolen."
"Yes, of course that is true," Mr. Perkins agreed. "I did not go to the magistrate at first because I wasn't certain the earl would want such notoriety."
"No doubt these are the guilty parties," Nigel said, pointing angrily at Mr. Shirley. "This one seems to be the leader. Search his room and you will likely find my missing book. Search the whole house!"
"I beg your pardon," Papa said. "I see no reason to search my home. Surely Mr. Shirley will tell us if he has your book hidden here."
Nigel rolled his eyes and gave a dubious snort, but Mr. Shirley appeared entirely agreeable.
"Certainly I'll tell you. I've stolen nothing from this man."
"You have my book! I know you do!"
"I have a book," Mr. Shirley admitted. "But it isn't yours."
"So you are a thief and a liar. Magistrate, I demand you search the house."
"No need to overturn this house as you have done to Glenwick," Mr. Shirley said, scowling at Nigel. "The book you've been looking for is upstairs in my room. You'll find it tucked under the mat
tress."
"Ah ha!" Nigel said.
"Very well, I will look into the matter," the magistrate said. "Mr. Farrow, if you will accompany me. The rest of you should wait in the drawing room while we get to the bottom of this. Perkins, see that these men do not escape."
"We wouldn't dream of it, sir," Mr. Shirley said.
The magistrate shook his head, confused by all of this. He led Papa up the stairs while Mr. Perkins ushered the rest of them into the drawing room. Mrs. Cooper waited in the doorway, wringing her hands and watching nervously up the stairs. Two minutes... three minutes... five minutes ticked by slowly before the men's footsteps were heard on the staircase again. By the sounds of squawking and repetitive cursing, it would appear Bartholomew was returning with them.
Nigel had taken a spot on the settee and motioned for Meg to join him, but she'd sooner have faced a roomful of savage tigers before she accepted that. She waited across the room, wracking her brain for some way to get poor Mr. Shirley out of this mess. It seemed things were getting worse for him by the moment.
"Is this the book?" Mr. Barrelson said when he and Papa returned.
Bartholomew leaped from Papa's shoulder onto Mr. Barrelson's head. He swatted the bird away and held up the book. As expected, it was the book of rhymes. Nigel's eyes grew twice normal size and his hungry grin covered only half of his mouth.
"Let me see it," he said, leaping up off the settee and practically dragging it out of the magistrate's hand. "Yes! This is it! I told you he stole it from me. This was in my grandfather's study, kept under lock and key. The only way he could have gotten it is if he stole it himself."
Suddenly inspiration struck Meg. If the book had been the old earl's, and if Nigel hadn't actually been here to see it before it was stolen... perhaps there was a way to save Mr. Shirley, after all. All she had to do was ruin herself.
"No, he didn't steal it," she announced loudly. "I did. I stole the book."
What the devil was the lunatic woman doing? Didn't she realize what this would do to her reputation, what people would think of her if she made such asinine claims? Max simply wouldn't allow it.
Miss Farrow's Feathers Page 18
