A Grand Deception

by Shirley Marks

  "After a few hours of terrorizing the countryside, they'd be back to bed," Miss Shrope mused aloud. "I never joined them, of course. But I did hear of their ill deeds the next morning. I suppose that, in itself, is good reason to send boys away to school."

  Sherwin had certainly never caused such problems, and if his brothers had, he had never heard of their exploits.

  "Are you thinking of using that escape route?" Her gaze darted to the window.

  "I do not see that I have any alternative." Sherwin pushed the sash window upward and leaned toward the opening. He couldn't estimate the distance to the ground, but if Miss Shrope's brothers could manage it, he would do the same.

  Sherwin had no idea of his mother's agenda. Surely they would not proceed to Scotland. To have him recite vows over an anvil at Gretna Green could not be what his mother wanted. Lady Amhurst would find an elopement completely unacceptable. Were they on their way to Marsdon Manor, or were they to remain at Sandstone Abbey? A parson might be on his way to the house at that very moment to perform a marriage ceremony.

  "What is my direction once I leave the grounds?" he asked Miss Shrope.

  She turned to stare out the window, as if it somehow aided her navigation. "Go down the main drive and turn ..." She tapped the side of her face with her fingertips. "I don't know if it's south or east."

  "No matter," Sherwin assured her. "I've no notion of direction. Left or right will suffice."

  "Ah-right, then. Turn right. The village lies directly on the road. It's not very far by carriage. I suppose by foot it will seem longer."

  Sherwin knew there remained a great chance he would still get lost. He then glanced down at his new footwear. Descending a tree in his boots would take some skill, probably another one he did not possess. He told himself if Wellington's army could manage with this type of footwear, so could he.

  "I'm sure you'll be able to pick up the mail coach at the Dog and Whistle Inn just outside of Weybridge."

  "Very well. Then I'll be off." Sherwin was determined to do this. If his accomplishment could be gauged by his sheer resolve, he would succeed.

  Miss Shrope blinked at his announcement.

  Of course he was afraid. His hands shook when he reached out to take hold of the window jamb. Sherwin steadied them by grasping the frame tightly. He lifted his foot and realized he could not move further, as the shoulders of his jacket held his arms immobile. "One moment" He replaced his foot on the floor and attempted to remove said garment.

  "Allow me to help you." Miss Shrope stepped behind him, grabbed the neck of the jacket, and aided him by pulling his arms free of the sleeves.

  Her intake of breath upon display of his undress was followed by her quick turn away from him. Miss Shrope's full attention focused on straightening his jacket and folding it over her arm.

  "Before I depart, I must make it known that you are all that is kind, and I am sure there will be a gentleman who will value you for yourself. There is no need to coerce anyone into marriage with you." Sherwin cleared his throat, ending the awkward moment, and returned his attention to the window.

  Before a second attempt, he unfastened the cloth-covered buttons of his waistcoat for further ease of movement and pulled the fabric away from his torso. His left hand settled on a pocket, assuring him the small portrait rested safely inside, which gave him strength to continue.

  "Again." He nodded, alerting Miss Shrope as well as preparing himself.

  He lifted his foot and grabbed the sides of the window frame, moved outward in a single effort, and straddled the sill. Although Sherwin's heart pounded in fright, he would not allow his nerves to dictate his actions. There would be no turning back for him.

  "There's a shallow ledge under the window where you should be able to gain your footing," Miss Shrope added, and none too soon. In a few moments Sherwin would be out there on that ledge. "Keep close to the building"-her tone grew more urgent-"and move in the direction of the tree. Oh, do be careful."

  He felt for the ledge under the window with the toe of one boot, then tested his footing for stability. It was narrow. The ridge was probably meant to be a decorative architectural element, not to support defiant males who disobeyed their parents.

  He brought his left leg out the window and stood on the ledge, which must have been only an inch or two at the most, with his feet spread wide. Once outside he faced into the bedchamber, and Miss Shrope, who remained trapped inside. Sherwin hoped his actions would not cause her further problems.

  Finding handholds by feel, he slid his feet along the narrow ledge toward the tree. Eventually he came close enough to grasp its branches and pulled himself toward the center, holding on for dear life.

  The perilous journey was made even more challenging by his shaking legs, compromising what little balance he had. The boughs strained under his weight, and he realized his next step could be his last.

  Sherwin nearly threw himself toward the tree's solid center. His cheek pressed into the rough bark, and an earthy scent filled his nostrils. His hands did not meet when he wrapped his trembling arms around the trunk.

  He clung there, catching his breath and calming his frayed nerves. A minute later, he stepped down to the heavier limbs of the lower branches as if he were descending a library ladder. Reaching the last, lowest branch, Sherwin dropped safely to the ground.

  He brushed his hands off, making a cursory assessment of his person.

  Miss Shrope stood at the window from whence he had come, gazing down at him. "Well done!" she whispered.

  Sherwin raised his hands to her. "My jacket, if you please."

  She disappeared inside and returned moments later with his blue garment. She held it out the window and released it.

  Sherwin easily caught his jacket as it fell. He waved farewell to Miss Shrope, who returned his gesture with a "Good luck to you, my lord."

  To Muriel's great relief, Aunt Penny had sent their regrets to Lord and Lady Emerson that they would not be attending the soiree that evening, even before the callers arrived at Worth House that afternoon. Both aunts, Penny and Mary, were concerned with their niece's growing fatigue and deemed quiet and more rest was in order. They were making a concentrated effort to limit her parties for the next week or two and to watch for Muriel's improvement.

  It suited Muriel very well.

  She was in no mood to pretend that she enjoyed herself when all she could think of was Sherwin and his safety, for by now, without word of him, she had become convinced he was in some sort of danger. With his disappearance, she became irritable and wholly disagreeable. All of which was explained by Aunt Penny as fatigue and overexertion from the breathtaking pace of the current Season's activities.

  The dark circles that rimmed Muriel's eyes might have been initiated by her early-morning studies. They grew more pronounced with her sleeplessness over Sherwin's wellbeing.

  She had never felt more helpless, or more angry at Freddie for not coming to her aid. He was a man, or so it seemed; why could he not do something? And Muriel wondered if there was truly nothing she could do to help locate Sherwin.

  "What do you think of that, Lady Muriel?" Lord Peter, who had made a pest of himself of late, insisted on an answer. "Lord Amhurst absconding to Gretna."

  "There's no need for an elopement, I think. He's got a special license, to be sure," Sir Calvin corrected his friend.

  "All right, then. Whom, out of all his ardent admirers, did he choose, do you think?" Mr. Stanley looked about him to hear the proposed candidates.

  "I am sure I cannot say." Mr. Ambrose turned to Muriel. "What say you, my lady?"

  "I have no idea," she replied rather coolly. "You might want to check the betting book at White's. I hear that's where all the important wagers are registered."

  Lord Peter, Mr. Ambrose, Mr. Stanley, and Sir Calvin all laughed.

  "And how on Earth would you have knowledge of the betting book at White's?" Mr. Ambrose, who sat with Sir Calvin and Mr. Stanley between him and his riva
l, Lord Peter, seemed amazed that Muriel was in possession of a brain.

  What would Mr. Ambrose's opinion be of Muriel when he discovered she was capable of thought as well? Men! She could not tolerate their company any longer-she wanted nothing more to do with them. Farewell and good riddance too!

  Muriel wondered if she might impose upon Sir Samuel again. Perhaps there was something he could do, unlike Freddie, to help locate Sherwin. Sir Samuel, she considered, was far cleverer than her own flesh and blood.

  "Moo!" Susan nudged her. "We have new visitors, and these gentlemen are about to leave."

  Muriel pushed aside her thoughts of Sir Samuel and turned to bid the gentlemen farewell.

  "Lady Muriel..." Sir Calvin remained behind. "Might you accompany me for a drive in the Park tomorrow?"

  She could not, in all good conscience, pass any time in his, or any other gentleman's, company, when she did not know of Sherwin's fate.

  "I am sorry. I am occupied tomorrow afternoon." Muriel would make sure she was, for his benefit. She recognized Sir Samuel's voice; he must have been just entering Worth House. "Perhaps another time, Sir Calvin?"

  Sir Calvin bowed. "I shall inquire when next we meet and hope for better luck."

  Had she learned nothing from spouting untruths? Muriel drew Susan close by her arm. "Pray find Sir Samuel and tell him he is to accompany us for a drive in the Park tomorrow."

  "Us? Whatever are you-" Susan leaned against the firm insistence of Muriel's hand, pressing her forward.

  "And if you come across Freddie," Muriel added, "inform him that he will also be joining us."

  "Sometimes I think you go too far, Moo," Susan replied over her shoulder.

  "I am certain you are correct, Sukey. I promise I shall reform my ways." But now was not the time.

  Sherwin located the village of Weybridge within an hour's time. He bypassed the main street, thinking he would not be noticed, keeping a careful watch, thankfully at a distance, for the Dog and Whistle Inn. He approached the establishment and stepped inside, not quite knowing what to expect.

  "Might I inquire as to when the coach leaves for London?" Sherwin could see but not read the signboard on the wall, which perhaps held some information.

  "Lunnun, you say?" The man in a brown jacket behind the counter leaned closer to Sherwin, which made him more unrecognizable.

  Without his hat, cane, and gloves, Sherwin felt woefully underdressed to command any amount of authority or respect from anyone.

  "If I may introduce meself, milord? Rodney James, proprietor and manager of the Dog 'n' Whistle, at your service. The mail coach don't arrive until after four, and don't 'spect it to leave fer near six or so hours yet."

  "Oh, I see." Sherwin wasn't sure what he would do until the coach arrived or until its departure.

  "There be a private parlor ready if'n yer lordship is in need of a place to rest or 'ave a meal whiles ya wait."

  "Yes, that sounds splendid." If nothing else, it would keep Sherwin out of sight. Might he mention to Mr. James to remain silent if anyone should ask about him? Sherwin decided against it. His request might draw more attention his way.

  He said nothing and followed Mr. James up the staircase to a private parlor. Sherwin remained there for nearly seven hours. He spent his time waiting, sitting quietly, pacing a bit, sipping tea, and nibbling on bread and cheese throughout the afternoon.

  At a knock on the door, Mr. James entered with a servant girl, who piled the empty dishes on her tray.

  "The mail coach is 'ere," Mr. James told him. "I fought ya might want to settle yer accounts 'bout now."

  "My `accounts'?" Sherwin stood and had the most uncomfortable feeling. "I beg your pardon, sir. What exactly ..."

  "Payin' fer coach passage, fer one thing. An' what's 'bout the parlor, a private one at that-it costs aplenty-and yer meal?" Mr. James had lost his prior friendly manner of address. "Yer fancy city wardrobe musta been dear. Are tellin' me you ain't got the blunt?"

  Money. He was asking to be paid. Mr. James had every right, of course. But Sherwin hadn't a farthing with him.

  "Don't thinks I don't know?" He stared hard at Sherwin with one squinting eye. "A swell the likes of you, showin' up 'ere, lookin' like ya do? Wiffout a hat? No travelin' coat? Ya smell of a lad in trouble."

  Sherwin gulped, finding it difficult to swallow.

  "And whens a couple o' fellows come 'round asking for a chap wif yer looks, Roddy, I says to meself"-he poked his own chest, as if he truly were in conversation-"I ain't givin' the lad upstairs away. 'E might be in the briars, but he ain't done nuffin' bad. No, I says. So I turns 'em away. Says I ain't never seen ya."

  "I've done nothing wrong," Sherwin explained. Mr. James may not have had a formal education, but he clearly knew exactly what Sherwin was all about.

  "And this is 'ow ya repays me fer savin' yer hide?" Mr. James balled his hands into fists.

  "If I could only ..."

  Even without his glasses, Sherwin could see Mr. James' head angled downward, examining the London-made attire, which must have, if Sherwin had given it some consideration, been costly, indeed. At the time he hadn't given a thought as to the bill; Freddie had taken care of the details.

  "I had-have no intention of leaving without paying. It's only that . . ." Sherwin wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do. Perhaps Mr. James had a suggestion? "I haven't any money with me."

  "Well, now, I 'spose ye gots somethin' of value?" The innkeeper appeared to have found his good humor, and a wide smile returned to his face. "A trade's what we'll do to settle yer accounts."

  The most precious item Sherwin possessed was his lover's eye, and he could not part with that. His hand slid protectively over the pocket where it rested.

  "Oh, no, not there-I be wantin' yer pocket watch. 's gold, I take it?"

  Sherwin drew his watch into his palm, catching the play of the flickering candlelight on the elaborately engraved cover. The timepiece had never been of real use to him ... until now. "You will take this as payment for my stay in your ... establishment and for passage in the coach to London?"

  "Oh, aye, milord." Mr. James nodded. "And the chain, if ya please. We'll be considerin' that a deal amongst us gentlemen."

  "I agree." Sherwin unclipped his small portrait from the bartered item and handed the gold watch, fob, and chain to Mr. James. There it was-payment in full.

  Fifteen minutes later he was seventh in line for the mail coach. Sherwin stood behind an old woman clutching a small brown panting object, which he surmised was a dog, in one arm; she had her other wrapped around a young, sickly child. At the head of the line were two large men and their large wives.

  Sherwin turned to take his last glimpse of the Dog and Whistle in the fading light of day. By this time tomorrow he should surely be in London, and if luck were with him, by Muriel's side.

  Muriel sat in the small parlor with a book after supper Tuesday evening. She hadn't actually been reading the book, merely holding it up before her face, pretending, to anyone who might chance to pass in the corridor, that she was engrossed in the pages. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

  Both Aunt Penny and Mrs. Wilbanks thought Muriel needed quiet, time to rest. She and her aunt had been out nearly every night since she had arrived in Town. Susan and her mother, once they had arrived in London, had joined them whenever they could. It seemed that Muriel had been busy nearly every hour of every day.

  "One evening at home should do you a world of good," Mrs. Wilbanks had told her just before she and Susan had left for their evening's entertainment.

  How could Muriel read? How could she do anything while Sherwin's fate remained unknown to her?

  Long before she had sat for supper, Muriel had penned a missive to Signore Biondi canceling their Wednesday morn ing lesson, sending it in the very same prearranged manner she had always contacted the tutor. The young messenger's name was Marcello, and he stopped by twice a day, checking the place where Muriel hid her correspo
ndence.

  It was impossible for her to concentrate on her studies. If only there was something Muriel could do to help to find Sherwin.

  Two hours later she went to bed. Not that she slept. She would probably look worse than she had the day before. Her aunt and Mrs. Wilbanks would be quite put out, not knowing why Muriel's health continued to decline. She could just imagine the next step would be a tisane or poultice. After that they might send for a physician.

  How could Muriel tell them that what she really needed was a Bow Street Runner?

  Knowing she would be unable to sit placidly at the breakfast table the next morning, she had a tray brought up to her room but allowed the contents to remain untouched.

  After barely touching her toast and tea, Muriel donned a frock for her drive in the Park with Susan, Freddie, and Sir Samuel later that afternoon. If she could manage to have a private word with Sir Samuel and explain her-Sherwin'spredicament, perhaps he would come to her aid once again.

  Muriel descended the stairs, still deeply disappointed at her brother's inability to act when action was clearly needed. She turned right, heading for the foyer.

  A cacophony of male laughter echoed down the corridor. She identified her father as one of the participants, but the identity of the other gentleman remained a mystery.

  Moving cautiously and quietly toward her father's library, she leaned around the corner to observe. Muriel felt uneasy at the jovial scene before her. The Duke and Sir Samuel stood at the doorway, shaking hands, as if sealing a business deal.

  "What are you doing? What's-" Freddie approached, coming from behind her.

  Muriel straightened and gasped in fright. She waved, shushing him, and returned to her post, leaning around the corner to catch a glimpse.

  Freddie stepped lightly, nearing with care, and peered around the corner just above his sister's head.