Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01]

by One Wicked Night

  “I have little time to waste on wild-goose chases—”

  “Just a few minutes, sir,” Nick pleaded. “I will show you.”

  “How?”

  “Just follow me and bring along two burly servants. I will prove it to you.”

  Hogan held up one hand, fingers wide. “Five minutes, Redford. Not one second more.”

  “Good,” she murmured under her breath, relieved. Now if only Nick could deliver on his word.

  Nick turned to her. “I cannot allow you to join us, my lady.”

  “But why not?”

  “Rogues still roam freely.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me.” He shook his head, insisting, “Wait for us here.”

  “Your five minutes are fading, Mr. Redford,” Hogan interrupted.

  “No, Lillian.” With a final look of warning, Nick spun on his heel and headed out the door.

  Hogan waved a hand. “My office is at your disposal, my lady.” Then he, too, raced out the door.

  Lillian stepped through the threshold, careful not to be seen. She understood that she should follow Nick’s instructions, but somehow her feet managed to enter the hallway of their own accord. Part of her recognized that she bristled at being ordered about. But truly, she couldn’t help it; her very fiber would not allow her to sit by idly while Nick’s and Lancelot’s futures hung in the balance.

  Servants parted before Nick and stared after him in his wake. The air fairly crackled with urgency, and Lillian realized that her heart was beating rapidly with apprehension. She had no idea what Nick was up to and prayed that it was not folly. She had faith in him, yes, but this was the queen’s favorite dog that had been abducted.

  A servant scurried past and she spun around, pretending to be casually examining a tapestry. Turning, she peered out the long corridor as Nick, Hogan and two burly servants marched down the passage like a small army preparing for battle. She scuttled down the long hallway after them, her shoes silent on the thick carpets. If Nick turned around, she wondered if she would drop to the ground, a pillar of salt, Nick’s wrath come down from the heavens to smite her. She stifled a mental giggle at the thought. Egad, she was as skittish as a fox.

  Nick led them down the hall to the servants’ staircase. Lillian tried telling herself that she had come far enough and would cease this fool’s quest. But soon she found herself at the top of the stairs and eyeing the open doors of the room that Nick and Hogan had just entered.

  Could she dare?

  The large room had pale-colored walls and a sundry of mismatched but expensive furniture placed throughout. It was the servants’ salon, Lillian realized, with finer furnishings than were to be found in some of Society’s London homes. She slipped inside, hoping to be unobtrusive near the wall by the door.

  Two housemaids huddled in a far corner, but upon seeing Nick and his party, they immediately rose and drifted out. Mr. Glen’s carrot-topped head could be seen cresting an armchair facing the hearth. Wilson stood before him, cap in his hand, his brown hair mussed and hanging in his eyes.

  “I say…” Wilson sputtered.

  Glen spun around in his seat and then stood. “I pray to the Lord you have news of our Lancelot?” Mr. Glen asked anxiously.

  “Take off your gloves, Mr. Glen,” Nick demanded.

  “What?” he cried, his pale cheeks quacking with agitation.

  “I wish to see your injuries.”

  “I don’t understand,” Glen cried, his eyes directed at Hogan.

  “I insist you take off your gloves, Mr. Glen,” Nick urged.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wish to see the injuries you claim to have gotten while searching the bushes for Lancelot.”

  “I must protest, sir,” Glen implored Hogan. “I am hurt—”

  “Do as he says, Mr. Glen,” Hogan replied stonily.

  Glen bristled. “You will take this…character’s word—”

  Nick stepped forward, menace in his every movement. “If you don’t take off your gloves, then I will take them off for you.”

  “All right. All right. But I will not forget this indignity.”

  Wilson’s eyes flew from Nick to Glen, to Hogan and back to Glen, uncertainty in his brown gaze.

  With painstaking care, Glen slowly stripped off his gloves, exposing white bandages with bloodstains peeking through. Holding up his hands, he challenged, “Are you satisfied?”

  “Take off the bindings,” Nick ordered.

  “Now see here,” Glen sputtered.

  “Off, or I’ll rip them off.”

  Lillian was appalled at Nick’s rough treatment of Glen. Could the poor servant truly be behind this terrible crime? She could hardly credit it; he seemed to cherish his charges, especially Lancelot.

  Glen swallowed. Eyeing the men, he untied the knots on the bindings and slowly unwound the cloth. Long, bloody slashes fanned his hands, some deeper and redder than others.

  Wilson’s eyes widened, and his freckled face blanched.

  “How did you get those injuries, Mr. Glen?” Nick demanded.

  Glen’s cheeks reddened, but he did not answer.

  Nick pressed on, “I went out to where Lancelot was taken, and the only bushes there are rhododendrons, hardly the kind of bush to cut with such ferocity.” Nick stepped closer. “I ask you again, Mr. Glen, how you got those injuries?”

  Mr. Glen’s willowy frame shuddered. “This proves nothing.”

  Wilson was shaking his head, his gaze disbelieving.

  “What is it, Wilson?” Hogan asked.

  Wilson’s voice was hoarse. “Them’s dog bites.”

  Hogan’s face hardened. “Where is Lancelot, Glen?”

  Glen shook his head back and forth. “This proves nothing.”

  “I asked at the village pub, and it did not take long to find out that you’ve got gambling debts, Mr. Glen. Much more than you can make working for Her Majesty for at least seven years. So for you, a quick fix might just be the ticket, eh?” Nick stepped around the armchair and grabbed Glen’s arm, twisting it hard behind his back. “Where is Lancelot?”

  “If you don’t let me go, the queen’ll never see her demmed dog again!” Glen screeched.

  Lillian’s mouth dropped open.

  Nick jerked his arm higher. “Who has Lancelot?”

  Glen’s face contorted into a pained grimace, but he gritted his teeth. “Hurt me and the dog dies. You’ll have to let me go.”

  Hogan clenched his hands. “You dastard. You’ll hang for this!”

  “You’re going to let me go or the queen will never see her Lancelot.” His eyes glittered with satisfaction. “The queen will not take the chance of losing Lancelot. She’ll let me go.”

  “The queen has nothing to do with this,” Nick growled. He swept his boot under Glen’s legs, knocking the man flat on his back. Nick jerked his head, motioning for the two servants to assist. “Hold him down.”

  Lillian moved along the wall, unable to help herself. She had to witness this.

  Nick grasped Glen’s left hand while the two men held down the scrawny servant.

  “You must let me go!” Glen shrieked. “The queen—”

  “Shut up,” Nick ordered, reaching down into his boot and pulling out a long, menacing dagger.

  Lillian gasped.

  Glen’s eyes widened with terror.

  “You’re going to tell me where Lancelot is and who your accomplices are.” Nick sliced the knife through the man’s uniform cuff, exposing Glen’s pasty white wrist.

  Glen screamed, “But you can’t!”

  “I’m no gentleman. I follow any bloody code that pleases me. For the moment, I’m liking the Bedouin way of doing things: A thief loses his hand.”

  Nick slowly slid the knife into the crease at Glen’s wrist. Bright red blood seeped out of the gash.

  Glen screamed and his body jerked. The servants grunted, locking him down.

  Lillian cringed, sickened, but she could not tear her eyes
away.

  “Hold still, Glen,” Nick bit out. “The more you move, the more it will hurt.”

  “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” Glen screamed, his eyes imploring Hogan. “Just get this madman away from me!”

  Nick pressed the knife on the wound. “Where and who!”

  “My sister’s barn! Next to the mill! My sister and brother-in-law took the dog!” His body wracked with sobs. “Please stop!”

  Nick gestured to Wilson. “Do you know his sister’s barn?”

  Wilson nodded, his freckled face flushed with anger.

  Nick dropped the arm. “Take this worm to Hogan’s office. No water. No food. No contact with anyone.”

  The men’s faces were grim as they nodded.

  Hogan pulled out a white handkerchief and blotted his sweaty brow. “Do exactly as Mr. Redford says.”

  Nick leaned over Glen, slowly wiping the bloodied knife on the quivering servant’s uniform. “I’ll be back, Glen. If you sent me on a fool’s errand, I’ll take out your tongue.”

  Glen’s eyes rolled back in his head.

  Nick turned, and Lillian tried to melt into the draperies. “Since you don’t have the good graces to stay out of trouble, Lillian, you might as well come along where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Pursing her lips, she nodded and stepped forward, trying not to look as guilty as she felt.

  “I didn’t want you to witness that,” he whispered sharply, offering his arm.

  “I’m a big girl, Nick,” she murmured.

  “Not as big as you often think.”

  Even though it was well deserved, she was hurt by his rancor. “Nothing untoward happened.”

  “But it could have. I swear you’ll have me gray with fright before the week’s end.”

  “You’re not afraid of anything,” she countered.

  “You have no earthly idea.”

  Chapter 22

  The neglected barn smelled dank with the scents of manure and old hay. Dust sprayed the air with the stomp of the servants’ footsteps as Nick led the search. Servants rummaged through hay and pails and broken tools, crying out, “Lancelot! Lancelot!”

  Silence greeted their calls.

  The sunlight streaked into the barn through the loft’s window above, casting the building into areas of illumination and shadow. The dust drifted up into the light like a grimy cloud.

  Hogan stood with Lillian in the threshold, the morning’s sun on their backs casting long silhouettes onto the earthen floor.

  “I don’t see him anywhere!” Wilson shrieked with anguish, gripping his cap in his hands.

  Hogan patted his handkerchief across his clammy face. “Was the knave lying?”

  Nick stopped, looked around and then dropped onto his knees, staring at a small hole.

  Lillian would have stepped forward, but Hogan blocked her with an outstretched arm. “You might not want to see this, my lady.”

  “I need a shovel!” Nick commanded. “Now!”

  Two servants raced out the door as Nick clawed at the dirt with his fingers. Wilson fell beside him, burrowing his hands into the area.

  Fear welled up within her. Dear Lord, they had buried poor Lancelot? But how could he survive?

  Lillian pressed her fist to her mouth, holding her breath.

  The men arrived with shovels and Nick threw off his coat, grabbed one and rammed the shovel down, digging. Another servant dug just a foot away.

  Lillian began to pray.

  Nick’s movements took on a precise quality as he carefully worked around a circular object. After a moment, he reached down and gently yanked it out. It was a long-necked ceramic water pitcher, the bottom broken out.

  “What is that?” Hogan whispered to her.

  Hope rose in her chest. “I’m not certain, but it could be a channel for air to get through.” Her heart pounded, and she felt like her skin was splintering from anxiety.

  Nick tossed it aside, lifted the shovel and started digging again. No one uttered a word; the only sounds were the spades hitting the earth and the huffs of the men as they worked. After many tense moments, a small thud boomed through the barn like quiet thunder. Everyone froze.

  “Stop digging,” Nick ordered. “We don’t want it to break.”

  Using his fingers, he excavated around a square about the size of a small traveling chest. Lillian stepped closer for a better look, and Hogan drifted forward beside her.

  A dirt-covered wooden box came into view.

  Nick leaned over, sticking his eye into the hole. “Damn! I can’t see a thing.” He sat up. “Help me get this out. And be careful.”

  Gently, they lifted the box out of the ground and set it down. It was square, with a small hole in the top left corner. Nick peered inside the hole. Slowly, he reached his hand inside the opening, his shirt-sleeve bunching on the outside of the box. Everyone held their breath.

  Relief washed over his features. “He’s alive.”

  Wilson cried, “Hurrah!” The other servants cheered.

  Tears burned the back of Lillian’s eyes.

  Pulling his arm out, Nick ripped at the wooden top. Half of it came off, nails spiking. Inside, a small, blond, long-haired dog lay curled in the corner, looking filthy and pitifully dejected. Two small cups sat empty beside him. The stench of dog feces filled the air.

  “He’ll need water,” Wilson said as he reached for the dog, then froze. “May I, sir?”

  Nick nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Nick looked up, and his eyes met Lillian’s. The triumph filling his cocoa brown gaze made her heart swell, and she found herself blinking back tears.

  “Dusty in here,” Hogan murmured, wiping his handkerchief in the corner of his eye.

  Nick turned to Wilson. “Give Lancelot a bath, Wilson, and then take him to the queen.”

  “I must interject, Mr. Redford.” Hogan stepped forward.

  Nick looked up.

  “You shall be the one to take Lancelot to the queen.”

  Lillian thought her heart might burst through her chest, it was so filled with joy.

  “But first, Mr. Redford, a quick bath and a change of clothes for you.” Hogan smiled wide, his eyes glinting. “I shall have Colonel Thompson take Mr. Glen into custody and chase down his nasty relations. And I will ensure that Horseguards receives a full accounting of today’s events.”

  Hours later, Nick enjoyed the ride back to London much more than the tense journey out of the city. He did not dwell on Lillian’s heart-stopping kiss in the carriage. Today, the air smelled of spring and wild-flowers, and for a moment Nick wondered at the pleasure of living in the country. But he pushed the thought aside. He would never leave London, it was in his blood.

  “You were magnificent!” Lillian enthused for the third time in an hour. Her azure eyes sparkled like the ocean on a clear day, and her cream-colored cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of cherry. She looked particularly beautiful without all of those unnecessary face paints.

  He could not help the grin from lifting his lips. “I had a little help.”

  She waved her hand in dismissal. “Did you hear what the queen said about you? She said that you were ‘one of the most trustworthy men of the empire!’ That you should be knighted for this!”

  “She did seem pleased.”

  “Pleased? She was elated! Thrilled! Impressed beyond reckoning! And she well should have been! You were magnificent! Admit it!”

  “We did a good job today.”

  “Ha!” she scoffed.

  “The queen thanked you as well, Lillian.” He might have given up if it had not been for her un-shakable confidence in him. He did not know what he had ever done to deserve her faith, but he would be eternally grateful for it.

  Looking back, he recognized his mistake. He had been too focused on the hunt, not seeing the full picture. Only with Lillian’s insistence had he paused, and only with her information had he recognized his target. It was not accidental that she had been with him at Windsor; he con
sidered it divine intervention. Moreover, his triumph seemed sweeter for having her to share it with.

  Through the window the sun glistened on her hair, shining it reddish gold. Her blue eyes sparkling, her lush lips lifted and she smiled at him. He felt pulled into a sensual web of intimacy. What he would have given to be able to kiss those luscious lips once more. He had not meant to kiss her again last night, but it had been like fuel to his fire, giving him that final rush of confidence he’d needed to succeed.

  Her lovely brow furrowed. “I’m just angry with myself for not asking the queen about postponing Dillon’s trial. I had such stars in my eyes that when I finally realized it, I had lost my opportunity.”

  He pushed away all thoughts of honeyed kisses, reminded again of his charge. Lillian was in his care, needing his protection. He was not about to take advantage of that position. “Hogan will help, if we need it. But I’m hoping that we don’t require the additional time.”

  “I think you’re right about Sir Hogan. He would help if he could. He’s a kind person and very grateful to you.”

  “Well, he certainly has taken a liking to you. I was frankly amazed that he followed your suggestion about promoting Wilson.”

  “Wilson is the perfect man for the job. Besides, Hogan will ensure that Wilson is properly supervised until he’s ready to handle his duties on his own. I suspect those dogs might be kept under lock and key from now on. Under heavy guard. And,” she added dryly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Colonel Thompson gets the posting after his aggressive lobbying to come to Windsor.”

  “It is a matter for the army, and all,” he commented, his tone mockingly serious.

  “What do you think, ‘Lancelot’s Lackeys’ or ‘Royal DogGuards?’”

  They both laughed. To Nick, it was a relief and a joy to be able to have made it through this thorny tangle and to be laughing about it. He sent a prayer of thanks to Dunn for the opportunity, and another to the heavens for sending Lillian his way.

  She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “What a glorious day! The felons are in custody, Lancelot is well, if a bit shaken, and you, sir, are in line for a knighthood. If we could only exculpate Dillon today, then all would be well in the world.”