Too Dangerous For a Lady

by Jo Beverley

Hermione had been grateful for the way her sister and brother-in-law continued to make light of the incident for the boys’ sake, but she’d struggled to play her part, especially when the sun began to set. She’d never been truly terrified before, and the memory of the threat of casual death threatened to choke her.

  Take the papers.

  Break your neck.

  It was Thayne’s fault, but she must take some of the blame. She’d been stupid over him from the beginning, even when he’d confessed to being a criminal, and all because of an encounter six years ago, which she’d doubtless built in her mind. Even if the magic had been real, he was a different person now—a thief who’d made dangerous enemies. She should have forced him to leave her bedroom immediately, and if he’d refused, she should have screamed. Now all she could do was force him out of her mind and lock the door after him.

  A few miles beyond the incident, they’d taken a break for the sake of the horses, but they hadn’t left the carriage and they’d pressed on as fast as possible. They must reach Great-uncle Peake before he died, but she knew they all wanted to avoid traveling in the perilous dark.

  The sun was down now, though they still had evening light, but they’d not reached Tranmere. They might have considered stopping, but the Wirral was a sparsely populated place and they passed no suitable inn. When darkness settled, the map said they were within a mile, so they lit the carriage lamps and carried on, the children dozing, but the adults awake and tense.

  Soon they saw lit windows ahead, but they couldn’t make out any details of the buildings. There were other lights scattered across rising ground on their left, and on their right, glimmering at a distance, Hermione saw what must be the great port of Liverpool across the river. Was she the only one wishing they were entering a busy city instead of this quiet place that seemed hardly more than a large village?

  The coachman had to halt and ask for directions. They were pointed up the slope and so the weary horses had a climb. In daylight and different circumstances they might have all left the coach and walked to ease the weight, but not tonight. They passed entrances to driveways, reading the letters engraved on pillars, until at last they arrived at their destination. The house was only a pale cube, and the only sign of life a faint glow from the fanlight over the door. Hermione had the irrational fear that they’d be turned away, back into the night. When William knocked at the door, however, it opened and they were soon made welcome.

  “When darkness settled, we were sure you’d stopped on the road, sir, but all’s ready. I’m Mrs. Digby, Mr. Peake’s housekeeper. Oh dear, we weren’t told there would be children.” Billy and Roger must have looked distressed, for she said, “Never look like that, young sirs! You’re very welcome, and we’ll set you up in a fine room of your own.”

  “Not tonight,” William said firmly. “They’re asleep on their feet, and in a strange place they’ll be best sleeping with an adult. Myself, in fact. My wife and her sister can share the other room and have the baby with them. If we could have a quick supper for the boys, Mrs. Digby. Bread and milk, perhaps?”

  “In an instant, sir. Nolly, off you go and get it. Mary and Deb, fires, then warming pans!” The maids hurried to their duty and a footman went to bring in the luggage. “A groom’s been hired, and the stables made ready, sir, for Mr. Peake doesn’t keep horses or carriages at the moment. Come with me, if you please.”

  “Plenty of servants,” Polly said quietly as they went upstairs. In other words, plenty of money.

  Hermione and Polly were taken to a pleasant enough bedroom except that it was chilly. The fire had been allowed to burn down, but a maid hurried in with a sling of wood to build it up again.

  As soon as the maid left, Hermione asked, “Do you mind William sleeping with the boys?”

  “Of course not. He knows I’d want to be with you tonight, and you with me, after such an ordeal. Henrietta will have to sleep between us,” she said, placing the sleeping infant there. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. He’s very kind. You’re both very kind.” All the tears she’d been holding back burst free.

  Polly drew her to the sofa and rocked her. “There, there. We’re safe now and that madman is dealt with. There’s nothing to fear. Nothing at all. Please do stop crying, dearest.”

  Hermione managed to stop the tears, but she lingered in the hug, wishing she could tell Polly everything. The journey had given her too much time to think, and her thoughts had been terror-fueled. That brute had seemed dull-witted, so he’d acted on orders. There were others involved. She’d given Thayne back his wretched letter, but would his enemies—his throat-cutting enemies—know that? Or would they send another brute after her?

  Take the papers.

  Break your neck.

  Perhaps she should run away from here so as to protect Polly and the children. But how would the villains know she’d gone?

  She drew apart and blew her nose. “I’m better now, and I’ll be better tomorrow. It’s been a long, hard day.”

  “A dreadful one,” Polly said, rising to take off her bonnet. “It seems an eon since we fled the King’s Head this morning,”

  Hermione realized she wasn’t wearing a bonnet and didn’t know where her crushed and broken one was. The housekeeper must have thought her very odd to arrive bareheaded.

  “I wonder what happened to the Spenceans,” Polly said. She didn’t wonder long, for she added, “I wonder if Great-uncle Peake will want to see us tonight.”

  “Oh, I do hope not.”

  William knocked, then entered. “A couple of maids are helping the boys eat their supper and get ready for bed. I’m told Great-uncle Peake has already retired for the night. According to Mrs. Digby, he is worse by the day. She said we might only just be in time.”

  “Good that we pushed on, then,” Hermione said.

  “And that we weren’t delayed by magistrates and courts!” Polly exclaimed.

  “A supper is being laid out for us below,” William said. “A maid will stay with the boys. Another could come here to watch over Henrietta.”

  Hermione knew she couldn’t eat. “I’ll look after Henrietta,” she said. “I’m not hungry. I just want to join her in the bed.”

  But in the unpredictable way of infants, Henrietta decided to come fully awake and demand attention. Hermione fought tears again.

  “We’ll take her down with us,” Polly said, scooping up her daughter. “You go to bed, Hermione. Everything will be better in the morning.”

  Polly and William took Henrietta away and a maid arrived with hot water and a warming pan. Hermione was soon in a cozy bed, but she lay sleepless, in a room lit only by firelight.

  It was less than twenty-four hours since Mark Thayne had invaded her firelit bedroom and turned her life upside down. He’d rekindled magic and stirred foolish hope, but then he’d plunged her into danger and fear. She prayed never to see him again, but the tears that came showed folly was hard to destroy.

  * * *

  As they ate, Mark had told Braydon everything he knew about the Three-Banded Brotherhood and the Crimson Band. He included names, the locations of meetings and of stores of arms and supplies, including that guillotine. It would mostly be new to Hawkinville and some tiny detail could be crucial. As Ned Granger, he’d been sparing with communication, because every message had carried risk. Since assuming the alter ego, he’d not met with Hawkinville or any government official. If he’d been detected as a spy, his usefulness would be over, and in the Crimson Band under Solange’s guiding hand, suspicion could easily mean death, so he’d passed on information in indirect ways, and only when he had something of imminent importance.

  He was hoarse by the time he finished, and he drank some more of the ale that Braydon had sent for an hour or so ago. He glanced at the clock. Half past eleven. Too late to set out to Tranmere tonight. He was tempted to ride through the
dark, but it would be demented, and all being well, Hermione was safe in her bed. He could only hope her misadventure wasn’t giving her nightmares.

  “Mrs. Upshaw won’t mind my using your bed?” he asked.

  “Of course not.” Braydon was packing his valise. “You’ll take a coach to Tranmere tomorrow?”

  “I believe there are boats. Smoother and probably quicker.”

  “You’ll merely lurk there? Perhaps you should put Lady Hermione on her guard.”

  “She’s been abducted. I think she’ll be on her guard already.”

  “Against explosive letters?”

  “Hades, you’re right. I’ll make sure she understands.” Which will involve another meeting, which I can’t regret.

  “Dying relative, wasn’t it?” Braydon said. “We’ll hope he or she doesn’t linger. Once Lady Hermione is back in Yorkshire, on her home territory where strangers would be noticed, she’ll be safer.”

  “She’ll be safest when Solange and the rest are either dead or in jail. Those papers should do it.”

  “What then? You’ll become Faringay again?”

  “The threat doesn’t end with them. Arthur Thistlewood is a greater danger than Waite. He’s more like Solange in his demented purpose and without a scrap of Waite’s caution.”

  “Maybe so, but how are you going to achieve anything?” Braydon asked. “You can’t be Ned Granger anymore. How long will it take to insinuate yourself into a new group, and aren’t there already people there?”

  Strangely, Mark had never thought to this point, but the danger remained. He must fight on.

  “You work is done,” Braydon said with some force. “It’s time to return to reality. You are Viscount Faringay, with responsibilities.”

  Mark contemplated his half-empty ale glass. “Who is Faringay? What is he? I’ve never used the title. My father died when I was in the army and I didn’t fancy suddenly assuming grandeur there. When I sold out, I slid into being Ned Granger. Can I settle to being a rural landowner, a patron of worthy causes who gives occasional speeches in the House of Lords? Look at you. A brief period of calm comfort and you’re leaping back into the fire.”

  Braydon locked his valise and glanced at his pocket watch. “How have you explained the absent Lord Faringay? I’ve never heard it mentioned.”

  “He’s on a somewhat vague mission to Mauritius to report on operations against the East African slave trade.”

  “Which is operated by French slavers, so your excellent command of the language recommends you.”

  “And Mauritius being so far away, no one is likely to notice whether I’m there or not. The governor stands ready to affirm my presence if asked.”

  “How pleasant for you now to return to your native land.”

  Mark played along. “I’ll miss the warmth and sunshine of the south Indian Ocean.”

  “What stories you’ll have to tell.”

  “I have them prepared.”

  “Of course you do. If you need lodgings in London, I have rooms, and you’ll have a transformation to achieve. A new wardrobe isn’t acquired in a moment.”

  “I’ve become rather fond of the casual way of dress.”

  “You’ll be a shabby viscount? You’re too shabby now for even Ned Granger. You at least need a hat and that rip in your breeches mended. I’ll consult Mrs. Upshaw.”

  He soon returned with a beaver hat about half as tall as his own and considerably more hard-worn. Mark tried it on and it was a tolerable fit.

  “People apparently leave things behind,” Braydon said, “and she holds them awhile in case they send for them. She’s assembling a few items and I paid for a cheap valise she has by. If you change your breeches, she’ll mend those.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re normally on top of such details yourself.”

  “It’s been a brain-addling day.”

  Braydon picked up the valise. “Time for me to go. Perhaps you’ll have a few peaceful days to recover.”

  “I hope I’ve not entangled you in more adventure than you’d like.”

  Braydon smiled. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Chapter 15

  Exhaustion could be a blessing, for despite the horrors of the day, Hermione did sleep. She woke to early morning sunshine and an absence of sickening fear. She lay next to her sister probing for it, as a person probes for a painful tooth, hoping not to find it.

  It had gone. She was still concerned, but in a rational way. Her attacker was in custody. Thayne was a wretched man in so many ways, but he wouldn’t let the brute slip free to hurt her again. She no longer had those perilous papers and no one of vile intent knew where she was.

  She must concentrate on the reason for being here. Today, she and Polly must prove to Great-uncle Peake that they were worthy of the inheritance. The number of servants indicated at least a comfortable prosperity. She slid out of bed, being careful not to wake Polly or Henrietta, and put on her robe, for the fire had gone out and the room was chilly.

  Yesterday she’d woken to a warm room because Thayne had built the fire before he’d left. She tried to push all thought of him out of her mind, but he seemed to be hooked in there like a teasel. She couldn’t fend off curiosity.

  What kind of thievery had caused that horrible man to pursue him and then her, without care or caution?

  How had Thayne transformed so quickly from scruffy thief to liveried groom?

  Oh, nothing made sense! How had Thayne even known where she was going? Had she told him? If so, it was a lesson not to chatter with strangers, or people she ought to treat as strangers. But if he’d not pursued, who would have rescued her?

  Take the papers.

  Break your neck.

  She shoved that away and drew back a corner of the curtain to look out at the weather, and she discovered a glorious view. No wonder people built houses on this hill. The window overlooked the river and a forest of masts of mighty ocean-sailing ships. Smaller ships and boats plied who-knew-what trades between them. Great-uncle Peake must have chosen to live here in order to watch the living pageant of one of the country’s busiest ports.

  She saw a boat set out from the nearby shore to cross the river. That must be the Tranmere ferry, and it had a tall chimney puffing smoke. A steamship. She’d never seen one before, but what a clever development, immune to wind and tide. Perhaps it carried milk, eggs, and butter to feed the city, or took people across the river to work. Another boat, this one with sails, came down the river and docked below. Were there ferries up and down the river as well? It was a fascinating scene to watch, so she moved a wooden chair behind the curtain and sat there, happy to be distracted by the busy scene.

  The clock struck nine and Henrietta woke, making only little noises for now, but Hermione came out from behind the curtain. Polly was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching the wider world go by. There’s a marvelous view.”

  Polly stayed in bed. “It will still be there later. Do ring for someone to make up the fire.”

  Hermione did that, and a maid came in with kindling and wood. When the fire was going, she asked, “Shall I bring up your water, my ladies?” That agreed to, she hurried off.

  Polly hugged her knees. “How are you?”

  “Better. Did you learn anything new last night?”

  “This house is only three years old. Can you imagine? And Great-uncle Peake only has a lease on it.”

  Hermione understood the concern in that. His owning the house would be more promising.

  Polly lowered her voice. “Hermione, there are no oriental artifacts. Suppose he didn’t go to India at all?”

  “Of course he did. Remember the items we saw when we visited Grandfather and Grandmother Havers? So many intriguing gifts her brother had sent.”

  “All
behind glass so we couldn’t touch them. But that doesn’t mean the sender has to be rich. I woke in the night fretting that it’s all a hum. That he has only a few thousand.”

  “You can’t call it a hum, because he’s never claimed to have a fortune. He merely implied that he’d leave what he had to us.”

  “But . . . Oh, you’re right, but after such a journey, and you being attacked, it will be outrageous if it’s for nothing.”

  “Anything is something, dearest, and my being attacked wasn’t his fault.”

  “You’re being sensible again.” Polly climbed out of bed, put on her robe, and drew back the curtain. “There are certainly a great many ships.”

  “All implying adventures.”

  “You’ve always been the one for romance. To me they imply rough voyages and even rougher sailors.”

  “Romance?” Hermione protested. “I’m the sensible one.”

  Polly considered it. “No, you’re the level one, whereas I fly high and low. But you enjoy stories of adventure and mystery like Guy Mannering and The Corsair, whereas I find them unbelievable.”

  “You’re not supposed to believe them.”

  “Then what’s the point to them?”

  Hermione laughed. “And there you have it.” Had her odd reaction to Thayne’s invasion of her room come from a taste for incredible adventures? If so, she’d been cured.

  “Take that man you met at your first ball,” Polly said.

  “What?” Hermione stared at her.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten now, but you built dreams around him for months, and after only one dance.”

  “Two.”

  “So you do remember.”

  “Of course I remember,” Hermione said, trying for a light tone. “My first gallant at my first ball. He was tall, dark, and handsome and we almost kissed.”

  “No! I never heard that. Tell.”

  “Mother caught us too early. Our lips never touched.” Then.

  “Even so, that was bold for seventeen.”

  “He was the one being bold. I was merely willing to be bolded. When was your first kiss?”