Yes, he knew what he meant, damn him. As if his relationship with Miss Darshaw was something to be bandied about on the street.
“What news do you have for me, Feasel?” Lindley asked, making it very clear he was not about to be badgered about what did—or did not—go on last night.
Feasel took the hint, cleared his throat, and got on about their business. “No news from Tom yet on Fitzgelder’s whereabouts, but it’s early still. Foolish lad probably found some snug little port to drop his anchor last night. I expect to be hearing from him anytime now. Then I’ll tan his randy little hide.”
Bother, but it was inconvenient the boy saw no need to rein in his passions any better. With Fitzgelder on the prowl this was not time to let their guard down. Still, Lindley supposed he could hardly fault the lad, not after giving in to his own Achilles’ heel last night. Somehow they’d get by until Tom decided to do up his trousers and make himself useful again.
“Well, don’t tan him so much he’s no good to us, Feasel,” Lindley advised. “I’m heading up to Loveland today, and I’m counting on Tom to find his way there in case I need him.”
“I’ll head up there with you, milord.”
“No. I need you here. Keep an eye on Miss Darshaw.”
Clearly Feasel felt this task was beneath him. “Oh come, sir. You can’t think she’ll be much of a threat to us now, after all this?”
“Of course she’s no threat! By God, Feasel, you’ll stay here and see that she stays at the abbey and no one gets to her.” Lindley hoped his tone conveyed the gravity of his intentions. Feasel was a good man, but he would not be high in Lindley’s favor if he allowed any harm to come to that young woman.
“I see, sir,” Feasel replied, and Lindley believed he truly did. “She will be safe.”
“Good. I’ll send help for you when I can. When you are in contact with Tom, have him come after me. You know the way?”
“Well enough, sir,” Feasel assured. “So the girl told you her father would be at Loveland, even though our people have seen nothing of him there?”
“He’s not there yet, Feasel. He will be.”
“Very well, milord. But what if—”
Feasel’s words were cut off by pounding hoofbeats. Lindley instinctively reached for the pistol he had tucked on the floor near his feet. Feasel pulled a lethal-looking knife from his boot. Neither was needed.
The rider hailed them as he approached. It was Tom.
“Well, here he is now, milord,” Feasel said, clearly loud enough for Tom to overhear. “My own precious get, the useless moll-monger himself.”
“It’s good to see you, Tom,” Lindley said, hoping any hide-tanning could wait until he was gone. “Your father was just saying he was hoping to hear from you at any moment.”
“Well, he’s hearing from me now, and I’ve got something to tell ye, sir,” Tom said, somewhat breathless from his ride, or perhaps the fury in his father’s eyes.
“Come to brag of your night’s debauchery, are you?” Feasel asked.
“No, sir!” Tom replied. “I’ve come to tell ye what I saw, heading on the north road.”
“Fitzgelder?” Lindley asked.
“No sir, he ain’t been through Warwick yet, though I was lookin’ for him all the night long.”
Feasel grunted dubiously at that.
Tom continued. “It was some actors; a whole pack of them, milord.”
“And did the actresses distract you with their great big—”
This time Lindley did the interrupting. He knew exactly what Feasel thought his son had been doing, but he did not wish to get in the middle of a family dispute. Especially not over such things as great big, er, distractions.
Tom barely took time to frown at his father. “No, sir. I didn’t see any actresses. Well, not any young ones, anyway. This was a troupe of mostly men. And, milord, they was heading on up toward that place you told us your man D’Archaud might be going.”
Well, but this did sound promising. “The actors were heading to Loveland?”
“Aye, sir,” Tom replied. “And at least one of them was speaking French, too!”
By God, that was good news indeed. If D’Archaud had been looking for some of his old friends to hide him, a troupe of French actors would be the first place Lindley ought to look. My, but how convenient that Tom was a randy young sort and happened to be out and about at all hours to notice the troupe.
“Good work, Tom. How long ago did you see them?”
The young man shrugged and his mop of sandy hair flopped onto his forehead. “It wasn’t yet daylight, sir. Papa left word where I’d find him, so I got myself out here as quick as I could.”
That would have been an hour ago, at least. From Warwick it was just over an hour’s ride to Loveland. D’Archaud and his friends were quite likely there already. Damn, but if they found what they wanted and then left, Lindley might lose track of them yet. He was not about to let that happen.
“Then we have no time to waste. Tom, you head back to Warwick and follow them up to Loveland that way. I’ll go from Southam and come around from the east. If we get to Loveland and they are not there, we will know they must have gone on north.”
Tom nodded. The boy might be easily distracted, but he wasn’t slow. He’d follow up on his end of things. Lindley could trust him.
“And what of me, milord?” Feasel asked.
“You’ll stay here.”
Feasel looked almost hurt. Did he truly think Sophie was so very unimportant to any of this?
“I need you, Feasel,” Lindley said. “She’s got to be kept safe.”
“Very well, milord. I’ll remain here.”
“Thank you.”
Lindley honestly could not ever remember thanking the man for anything and meaning it this much.
“Are we riding hell-for-leather, sir?” Tom asked.
“Most definitely,” Lindley replied. “Er, if your mount can take it.”
“Aye, sir. He don’t look like much, but he can move.”
“Then let us be on our way.”
Tom grinned like a child in a sweetshop. He spurred his horse forward, gave his father a nod, and was off in a cloud of dewy dust. Lindley gave Feasel a nod of his own, then urged his pair into motion. D’Archaud wouldn’t know what hit him. It would all be over soon. Justice would finally be served.
Somehow, though, Lindley found it hard to match Tom’s enthusiasm.
SOPHIE STOOD AT THE WINDOW AND WATCHED. SHE’D given up battling the tears. By now they were flowing freely and there was little she could do except an occasional dab.
He was gone. She’d heard him this morning. He’d climbed out of bed, dressed silently, insulted her by leaving behind an embarassingly large pile of coins, then left. She could do nothing but stare out the window and watch his beautiful carriage glide elegantly down the lane.
He had the locket, of course, and all she had were a few sordid memories. Anything that had been beautiful and precious between them had been destroyed by his actions. He didn’t even wake her to say good-bye.
Now Papa would meet justice, and she would be free to go beg Madame to take her back. She was well qualified to be far more than a seamstress now. Perhaps fate would be kind and she’d die young, as so many girls did.
But first, she’d allow herself one last vanity. She’d throw herself down on Lindley’s soft bed and have a good, sniffling cry.
Chapter Sixteen
A knock at the door woke her. Apparently after shedding every tear in her body she’d fallen asleep. No telling how long she’d been that way. She should have tried to find a way to leave, to warn Papa that Lindley was coming, or at least to see about arranging her own life. The last thing she wanted was to stay here, trespassing on Lindley’s goodwill as if she had any right to it. As if she wanted it.
But now someone was rapping at the door. A servant, most likely, come to evict her from the premises. Wimpole and his wife had been friendly and accommodating last night
, but surely by now they realized what she was. Lindley’s ridiculous story of her kidnapping and legitimate connection to Dashford was thin at best. Of course no one would truly believe it, especially as they must have noticed the man spent the entire night in her bed.
She did not belong here. This was his family home, not some shameless love nest where he might stash a ladybird now and then. She needed to leave, and surely now that he was gone, his servants would easily agree. She was glad, at least, the sunlight streaming in through the window assured her it was still early in the day. As she recalled, they’d passed through a village nearby. There would be plenty of time to make her way there. Perhaps the coins she’d earned on her back last night would be enough to buy her a seat on the coach back to London.
Straightening her clothes, she wiped the last trace of tears and went to the door, determined to keep some measure of dignity. The housekeeper might know what sort of woman she was, but Sophie certainly did not have to act like one in front of her. She would tell Mrs. Wimpole she was already packed to leave and ask direction to that little village.
She opened the door, and the words died on her lips.
“Annie?!”
And there, beside Annie in the corridor, was Madame herself, holding Annie’s babe and smiling as if this were the grandest reunion of her life. Well, it certainly was the oddest. What on earth was Madame Eudora doing in Lord Lindley’s family home?
And there was Wimpole with a very nervous Mrs. Wimpole.
“See, Wimpole?” Madame said with one of her dazzling smiles. “I told you there would be no trouble. Miss Darshaw and I are dear, dear friends.”
“Yes, er, Miss Eudora, but his lordship didn’t say anything about you visiting…”
Wimpole was clearly as confused by everything as Sophie was. Still, he did seem to know Madame by name. What was she to make of that? She glanced at Annie, hoping for some sort of explanation. All she saw was an uncomfortable anxiousness in her friend’s eyes. Well, at least Sophie wasn’t the only one feeling a bit off balance by all of this.
But Madame seemed entirely at ease. She propped the babe more securely in her arms and brushed past the others, making her way right into Sophie’s room as if she belonged there. Indeed, she glanced around the place and smiled.
“Thank heavens someone replaced that dour old wallpaper. This room was absolutely tomblike.”
Sophie did all she could not to let her mouth drop open and her jaw hang slack. By heavens, did Madame belong here?
“Come along, Annie,” Madame called behind her. “Mrs. W, bring up some tea, will you? The young ladies and I have so much to catch up on.”
“But Miss Eudora, what will his lordship say?” Mrs. Wimpole muttered, sounding quite beyond exasperated.
“Richard will be more than happy to find me here. Trust me, Mrs. W. The feud is long over and Richard has welcomed me back to the fold. I’ve only now decided to accept his most generous offer.”
The Wimpoles did not seem to quite believe that, yet they did not argue. Obviously, whatever the relationship was between these elderly servants and Madame, it was not one of strangers. Sophie hoped Madame had every intention of explaining.
“Now, how about that tea?” Madame said with another smile.
Mrs. Wimpole paused slightly, then gave a grudging little curtsy. Wimpole gave a nearly inaudible grunt, but both turned and made their way from the corridor. Annie scurried into the room behind Madame. Sophie shut the door.
“So,” Madame began, fairly tossing the babe to Annie and turning to run her approving gaze up and down Sophie’s drab appearance. “Lindley had you here in my bed, did he?”
Sophie’s jaw dropped. Madame’s bed? Good heavens! What was she supposed to say to something like that?
But apparently Madame didn’t expect a response. She went on perusing the room, touching things, studying things, and smiling in a way that was far from dazzling.
“Although I suppose Marie had my bed replaced years ago. I suppose I forget how much time has actually passed…”
Madame’s leisurely way of examining the room was very off-putting. Sophie glanced at Annie, but she was consumed entirely with nuzzling her cooing child. All else was silent and tense. Even the air in the room felt strangely unbreathable.
“You’ve been here before, Madame?” Sophie asked when she could stand no more of the silence.
Madame laughed. “Not for years. Tell me, do you find it to your liking? I would imagine Haven Abbey is quite luxurious for you, dear Sophie.”
“I’ve only been here a few hours, Madame,” Sophie replied.
“Oh come now, Sophie. Can you not tell me you would give almost everything to live in a place such as this? Can you just imagine it, being mistress of such a home?”
Madame laughed again, a shrill sound, almost like breaking glass.
“No,” Sophie replied, stepping closer to Annie. “I can’t. I could never see myself as mistress of such a place.”
“Of course you can’t.” Madame sighed, turning from her perusal of a needlework pillow. “That’s always been your trouble, Sophie. You have no idea what you could attain if you’d only reach your hand out to take it.”
Personally, Sophie felt she’d reached out and taken quite a lot lately. Whatever did Madame mean by that, anyway? It was all so confusing.
Mrs. Wimpole arrived at the door with their tea. She let herself in, and Madame ordered her about sharply, directing her to place the tray on the table near the window and then leave them. The woman complied, but Sophie was quite certain there was mumbling under her breath as she left. She couldn’t really blame her. Something about Madame’s demeanor was, well, demeaning.
“Come, Sophie,” Madame said abruptly. “We’ll let Annie get the tea ready. Let me show you some of the abbey.”
“But won’t the tea be cold, Madame?”
“Nonsense. Mrs. W always brings it too hot anyway. Walk with me, Sophie. Annie knows what to do.”
Annie nervously stroked and fussed over her child, but she assured Madame she would prepare the tea. Sophie noted the woman’s hands were shaking. Good heavens, why should that be? But Madame took Sophie’s arm and looped it around hers, not giving her much choice but to walk beside her out into the corridor.
“So, dear Sophie, tell me what you think of my fine home here,” Madame said.
“Your home? Er, it’s very lovely,” Sophie said, wondering what else she could say. Madame’s words were shocking, to say the least.
“It’s not lovely,” Madame corrected. “It’s archaic. It’s drafty in the winter and far too huge to keep up with. Why, I daresay there are rooms in this moldering castle that no one has visited in years. It’s ridiculous that it has sat virtually empty all these years. Now I…I would have done something with it.”
Sophie stared at the floor and let Madame lead her. Everything inside her screamed out that something was very, very wrong.
“You seem a bit nervous, Sophie.”
“Er, I suppose so, Madame, but…”
“You are afraid Lindley might not approve of my being here?”
“Well, frankly…yes.”
Madame snorted. “Silly girl. You have no idea. Obviously he has not told you who I am, has he?”
“I thought I knew who you were, Madame,” Sophie replied cautiously.
Madame clicked her tongue and shook her head. “To think, little Sophie, I’d begun to suspect he actually cared more for you than just what he could get between your legs. Clearly I was wrong.”
Well, that was more than insulting.
“All Lord Lindley has ever truly been interested in has been capturing my father,” she happily informed her former employer. “Any, er, other interest was purely due to my own talents for distraction.”
“Ah, suddenly you’ve become an expert in feminine wiles, have you? Really now, Sophie. If you were such a grand distraction for the man, why did he rush off the very minute the sun rose this morning?”
Bother. How on earth did Madame know what time Lindley left her today? And truly, what business was it of hers? What was this woman’s relation to Lindley, anyway?
“His lordship is highly motivated to capture my father,” she replied.
“Oh? And does he suddenly believe he knows where he might find your father?”
“He has some idea, I believe.”
“Did you tell him?” Madame asked.
“Of course not,” Sophie said. “I have no idea where to find my father. And even if I did, why would I tell Lindley?”
“You would not have had to tell him if you gave him that locket.”
At this Sophie could only stare at the woman. How could Madame know of the locket?
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know about it,” Madame said, pinning her with a gaze like daggers. “I’m aware you took that locket from Fitzgelder, my dear. Did Lindley lure you into giving it to him? Or did you fancy yourself in love and just hand it over voluntarily?”
“I most certainly am not in love with Lindley!”
“Then you still have the locket?”
“Er, no…”
“So you gave it to him.”
“I did not!”
“Then who has it, Sophie? Honestly, did you simply lose track of it? Something so important to your family and you lost it?”
“I did not. I…er, my father has it.”
This clearly surprised Madame, but Sophie could not tell if this was in a good way or a bad way.
“Your father has it?”
“Yes. Of course.”
She wasn’t quite certain why she lied. Silly, but Madame’s odd behavior and accusations were making her feel like a scolded child. She should not have to take it from this woman. Not after Madame withheld information about her father all those years, after she showed up inexplicably here and threw the servants into a fluster, after she accused Sophie of willfully handing her father over to the enemy and then had the absolute nerve to suggest Sophie might actually be in love with the man!
“Did your father tell you why this locket is so important?” Madame asked.
Temptress in Training Page 28
