His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Carr seems to find it wherever he goes.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He has vowed, according to this note that his coachee passed to Tate, to repay those bumpkins who gave him a thrashing last night.” He grimaced. “You may be quite right about my brother. He seems in need of a guardian to get him out of this pickle.”

  “Galen, I am sorry. If you must go and find out what Carr is up to, go.”

  “To assuage your conscience?”

  She shook her head as she put her hands on his arms. “No, you should go to ease yours. You have taken on this obligation, and I was wrong to belittle it. You have understood why I must do what I do.”

  “No, I do not understand that at all. I don’t want to understand it. I want you to stop.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You must.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You sound as if I have a choice.”

  “You have a choice. You could stop any time you wished.”

  “I vowed to help these people.”

  “And you have.”

  Phoebe knew she must put an end to this conversation before she said the very worst thing: telling him that she intended to return to London posthaste. “Go,” she urged. “Go and save your brother from his own carelessness.”

  “Only if you promise me that we will continue this conversation after I have retrieved him.”

  “Galen—”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” she whispered, knowing that if she delayed Galen further, he might not return home before the mail coach was due to depart on the morrow.

  He pulled her into his arms. “I may not be able to save him from his folly, but I must save you from yours.”

  His lips slanting across hers gave her no chance to reply. Not that she wanted to when she feared he would discover that she was kissing him good-bye.

  There should have been a path cut into the rug.

  As Phoebe paced between the window and the door to the hallway in the parlor of Thistlewood Cottage, she was sure she must be wearing out both her slippers and the pattern on the rug. She had not been surprised that Galen had not returned before she went to sleep. When neither he nor Carr had made an appearance when she woke, she had begun to worry.

  At dawn, she had begun pacing. Now that midday had passed, along with the time when she should have left to get on the mail coach, she continued walking back and forth.

  “Would you like some hot chocolate now, my lady?” asked Mrs. Boyd as she came into the parlor.

  “I am not hungry.”

  “You must eat something, my lady.”

  Phoebe wandered from the center of the room back toward the window. “Mayhap later.”

  “Not eating will do nothing to bring Lord Townsend home.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Eating will allow you to be strong enough to help him when he arrives.”

  “Help him?”

  “I should not have said that.”

  “But you did.” Phoebe lowered herself onto the closest chair and motioned for Mrs. Boyd to take the one beside her. “I have seen your dedication to Lord Townsend. You would not have said that if you did not wish me to know it.”

  Mrs. Boyd sat on the chair, her hands folded in her lap. “I know you care for Lord Townsend, my lady.”

  “We have had this discussion before.”

  “Yes, that is why you should know that he is not a foolish man. He will do what he thinks is best for those he cares about.”

  “He has rescued Carr so often.”

  “So often that Mr. Townsend expects that he will continue to do so.”

  “Yes,” Phoebe said. If she expressed her dismay with that thought, she might offend Mrs. Boyd who had so much affection for Galen’s family.

  A throat was cleared, and Phoebe looked toward the doorway. Vogel was standing there, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Yes?” Phoebe repeated, but this time as a question.

  “A Mrs. Gerber to see you, my lady.”

  “Mrs. Gerber? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Vogel said, “She insists on seeing you, my lady. She says it is an emergency and that Jasper sent her.”

  “Jasper?” Phoebe came to her feet. “Bring her in without delay. Mrs. Boyd, thank you.”

  “Y-y-yes, my lady,” Mrs. Boyd said, clearly shocked at the sudden dismissal. The housekeeper glanced at her again and again as she went out of the room.

  Phoebe’s fingers curled into fists. Later, she would apologize to Mrs. Boyd, even though the apology must be laced with lies. She could not trust anyone here … except Galen.

  Why had Jasper sent someone to call on her here? Jasper should not have allowed even his name to be spoken here.

  Vogel brought a woman to the door, then stepped away. Her simple dress was pocked with the same dust that had stolen the shine from her light brown hair. She must have been traveling for a long time. All the way from London? Or had she come from somewhere else? It did not matter. All that mattered was how this woman had come here with Jasper’s name on her lips.

  “My lady, thank you for seeing me,” the woman said, staring at the floor.

  “What can I do for you?” Phoebe asked the question with caution. Even at this juncture, she must be careful not to say anything to betray herself.

  “You helped my husband, Charlie, my lady.” She knelt and held up her hands. “Please help me now.”

  Phoebe took the woman’s hands. Bringing her to her feet, she said, “Tell me your name.”

  “Mona—Mona Gerber.”

  “Mrs. Gerber, I do not know any Charlie Gerber.”

  “But you do. You helped him get off The Southern Cross before he could be sent to Botany Bay almost two years ago. You—”

  “No, you are mistaken.” Jumping to her feet, Phoebe rushed to the door. She looked around and saw no one. She hoped no one stood just out of sight. Mrs. Gerber’s words might carry through the house. Closing the door, she turned to face Mrs. Gerber. “Please sit,” she said.

  “Oh, Lor’, my lady. I couldn’t sit on that fine chair. I’ll get it all dirty.”

  “Please sit.” Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Please.”

  Mrs. Gerber sat, wide-eyed, while she stared at everything in the room. But when Phoebe took a seat across from her, Mrs. Gerber’s eyes focused directly on her.

  “You know that I should not be receiving you,” Phoebe said.

  “I know.” She wrung a handkerchief with torn lace, then dropped it into her lap.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “That was easy. We all know where to find you.” She smiled broadly. “Those of us who know we can depend on you, my lady, know that you left London and came here.”

  “Those of us?” She pressed her hand over her heart, which seemed to have forgotten how to beat. “Who?”

  “Those of us who need you know where you are all the time.” Mrs. Gerber smiled hesitantly, and Phoebe realized the woman was younger than she appeared. “We don’t tell no one else. We know you have helped us, and we do not want to betray you.”

  “But you are here.”

  “I must see my Charlie.”

  “But if I were to help you, then others might come.”

  “That is true.”

  “You must see why I must say—”

  Mrs. Gerber slipped out of the chair and knelt beside Phoebe again. “My lady, do not say no. Charlie’s mother is dying. She wishes to see her son just once more.”

  Closing her eyes, Phoebe shook her head. “Anything I say will sound coldhearted.”

  “I am not asking for Charlie to come home. I simply am asking if he might see his mother one last time.” Tears ran down Mrs. Gerber’s face so fast she could not wipe them away. “He can be snuck in and out of the house without anyone being the wiser. I know he can, my lady. Then he can go back to wherever he has been since you took him off The Southern Cross, and he will finish his time.”

  �
��I must think about this.”

  “Please help us, my lady.”

  Phoebe took a deep breath. “I must think about this. Where can I reach you to let you know my decision?”

  When Mrs. Gerber gave a street address at the far edge of Bath, Phoebe struggled to breathe evenly. Discovering that Phoebe was staying at Thistlewood Cottage must have been a temptation Mrs. Gerber could not ignore.

  “I will be in touch as soon as I can,” Phoebe promised.

  Mrs. Gerber smiled so broadly that Phoebe was unsure how her smile could be held by her thin face.

  As soon as the woman had taken her leave, Phoebe sent Vogel to bring Tate to the parlor. The coachman had brought her home last night, because Galen had sent the coach back for her after he had collected his horse from the stable here. Although Tate was curious, he only nodded when Phoebe gave him instructions.

  She went to the window to watch him walk toward Bath. He should not be gone more than an hour. By the time he arrived back with his information, Galen might have returned. Then she could ask his opinion about all of this to-do. But did it matter? She knew what he would tell her. She would be jobbernowl to seek out Charlie Gerber at the farm where she had been sending the escaped transportees two years ago.

  Yet, if she did not, what was to prevent Mrs. Gerber from telling the authorities all she knew? Phoebe shivered. She should have guessed that those who might need Lady Midnight’s help would share whispered confidences. No wonder, Jasper had sent this lady to her. He knew that not helping Mrs. Gerber could be more dangerous than helping her.

  Not that it mattered. There was no other choice.

  Seventeen

  “Mrs. Gerber lives at the address you gave, my lady,” Tate said, wearing the baffled expression as he rocked from one foot to the other. “She has two children, and her husband was sentenced to be transported for poaching. He has been gone for two years.”

  Phoebe did not release the curse banging against her lips. It would do her no good to own that she had hoped that Mrs. Gerber had been lying. That might have been far worse, because it would have suggested Mrs. Gerber had been sent here to trap her.

  From where she sat by the window, she asked, “Has Mrs. Gerber been away from Bath recently?”

  “Yes. There is talk that she went to London on some sort of business.” He scratched his head. “I wasn’t sure what to believe on that. What reason would a poor woman like her have in London?”

  Instead of answering Tate’s question, Phoebe asked, “And is there an old woman in the house?”

  He nodded. “There is one, but she is very ill. One neighbor even told me she might already be dead, but the rest told me she was still barely alive.”

  “So it is true.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. How much simpler it would have been if Mrs. Gerber had been spinning a story for her in an attempt to trip her into confessing.

  She should ignore the plea. Others would have tragedies and joys they could not share because they were hidden far from their families. Yet, she had never stood face-to-face with one of those who missed someone dear. The poor convicts who had been rescued from the ships were only shadows along the wharves or in the cellars on Grosvenor Square until they disappeared into darkened wagons.

  But those in the shadows had discovered her identity. She ignored the hysterical laughter teasing the back of her throat. If she did nothing, she might endanger not only her households at Grosvenor Square and Brackenton Park, but Galen’s as well. No one would believe that Galen was sucked into her crime only when he had saved her from the men chasing her. The tale he had told them when he had hidden her face against his shoulder in his carriage would now label him as guilty as she was.

  She truly had no choice but to help Mrs. Gerber. Then, once Charlie Gerber had seen his dying mother and returned to where he was serving out the time of his sentence, she would find a way to make certain this did not happen again.

  I want you to stop. The memory of Galen’s voice resonated through her head along with the rest of the conversation. So assuredly she had told him that she could not halt this work that she had begun with such gullibility five years before. So coolly she had told him that she had no choice but to continue. Now those words were coming back to haunt her.

  You have a choice. You could stop any time you wished. It had been simple for Galen to say that. She had tried to make him understand that she had made a pledge to save as many of these people as she could.

  And you have.

  With Galen’s words raging through her memory, Phoebe came to her feet. “Tate, bring the carriage.”

  “Where are we bound, my lady?”

  “Exmoor.”

  “Phoebe?” Galen stripped off his mud-splattered coat and tossed it onto a chair by the door. Striding into the parlor, he called Phoebe’s name again.

  “Do you have to shout?” Carr held one hand to his head. “Without Tate in the box, I have been bounced against the roof of the carriage too many times for a man with megrims.”

  “Your head would not be aching if you had not gotten yourself so in your cups that you got into another rough-and-tumble with those lads who were waiting to ambush you by that country tavern.” Pushing his wet hair back out of his eyes, Galen turned to face his brother who had collapsed into a chair. Both of Carr’s cheeks bore imprints left by knuckles. “If you would heed good sense just once, you might not find yourself in predicaments like that. I shan’t always be about to untangle you from your messes.”

  Carr raised his eyes, revealing that one was already turning purple. “Because you are too busy playing court on Phoebe Brackenton?”

  “You must own that it is a more pleasurable pastime than trying to avoid flying fists as I extract you from yet another fight.” He went to the door to the garden. Although it was past dark and the rain had turned to a thick mist, he knew that Phoebe might have sought the quiet of the garden while she waited for him and Carr to return.

  “So that is how it is going to be?”

  Galen looked back at his brother who was now struggling to his feet. “Carr, you are in no state to be discussing anything. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  “So you can find Phoebe and do the same?”

  His fist struck Carr’s chin before Galen had time to form a thought. As Carr reeled back, clutching his chin and bumping into a chair, Galen shook his hand. Years ago, he had learned that Carr’s chin was hard.

  Carr snarled a curse. Galen grasped his brother by the torn lapels as Carr added a crude insult about Phoebe.

  Pushing his brother away, Galen said, “I have heard enough of this. I will accept your apology after I have spoken with Phoebe.” He strode toward the door where Mrs. Boyd and Vogel were watching with identical horror on their faces.

  “Why should I apologize for the truth?” shouted Carr. “Phoebe Brackenton may have a lady’s title, but she is no better than the dockside whores she cavorts with.”

  “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “I know she met you just outside the Little Lost Lamb. You know it is true, although both of you have denied it.”

  Galen took a deep breath. This lie had deteriorated before his brother’s childish persistence in discrediting Phoebe. “Yes, it is true. But you are mistaken in your assumption. She was the lost lamb I offered to save from the wolves.” Without pausing, he asked, “Mrs. Boyd, has Phoebe retired?”

  “No.” The housekeeper wrung her apron and glanced at Carr.

  “Then please let her know I wish to speak to her as soon as I have washed up.” Galen picked up his coat and folded it over his arm. He scowled at his brother before walking away along the hall.

  Vogel hurried after him. “My lord,” he said in a near whisper, “she is not here.”

  “Not here? Where is she?” He searched his mind but could not recall any invitations they had had for this evening.

  Roland rushed toward him as Mrs. Boyd hurried up from the other direction. Again the expressions o
n his valet and the housekeeper matched the alarm on the butler’s face.

  “What is it?” Galen asked.

  Mrs. Boyd motioned for them to follow. “This way, please.”

  Galen went into the antechamber of Phoebe’s room. When he saw a bag sitting in the middle of the table, he growled an oath under his breath. He ripped it open and saw a change of clothes and a few personal items inside it. He started to ask a question, then paused when he saw the brocade box that held the ruby necklace set next to the bag.

  He opened the box and lifted out a small slip of paper. Unfolding it, he read:

  Dear Galen,

  I have always considered myself a woman of courage, but my courage fails me now when I must take my leave. I thank you for all you have done. I wish I could stay longer. The obligations that are mine will not allow me to remain in Bath. If you do not wish to call upon me in London, I will understand. I hope you will come to understand that my heart chooses to stay with you even though I cannot.

  Always yours,

  Phoebe Brackenton

  Putting it beneath his coat so it could not be read by anyone else, although he suspected the housekeeper already knew its contents, Galen turned to Mrs. Boyd who stood in the open doorway and was now dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “You said she had left.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Without her bag? Why would she return to London without her bag?”

  Vogel glanced at the others, then said, “She did not go to London, my lord, although that may have been her intention.”

  “Then where is she?”

  When the butler quickly explained how a woman had called and her desperate plea to Phoebe to help, horror descended on Galen.

  “How could Phoebe be so foolish?” he asked.

  “Foolish?” Mrs. Boyd’s eyes snapped with sudden fervor. “Can’t you see that she went to do whatever she must do in order to protect you? I heard her say to Tate as they were leaving that no one must know where they went.”

  Vogel nodded. “She told me as well that, under no circumstances, was I to receive this Mrs. Gerber again at Thistlewood Cottage. She said, ‘This should not involve Lord Townsend. It is my problem.’” He scowled. “If I may say so, my lord, she has done whatever it is she has done to protect you.”