Regency 01 - The Schoolmistress and the Spy

by Julia Byrne

  Lucas nodded. “Don’t get off that bed,” he said to Emily, before turning and striding toward the stairs.

  Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “Really, Emily, that man is impossible. You will have to dismiss him. I’ll do it for you tomorrow.”

  “Not while we need him,” Emily retorted. “You must admit he gets things done.”

  “I don’t know about that. I thought he was supposed to be clearing out the attic, but there appears to be any number of objects still lying around.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been up there. Except when you found Lucas there yesterday.” Emily’s gaze suddenly dropped to her hands. A horrible thought had just occurred to her.

  Fortunately, Charlotte didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “I had the notion that the front room might make a good indoor exercise area for the girls,” she said. “I know summer will be here shortly, but during the winter it would be perfect.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” With an effort, Emily managed to put some enthusiasm into her voice. “I’ve been thinking about using the room for painting and drawing since Mr. Quadling mentioned it to you. The light is perfect, or will be when the room is cleared and the windows washed. But there’s no reason it couldn’t be used for both purposes. How clever of you, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I’ll go and make a cold compress for your knee, Emily. Despite Lucas’s doubts as to my experience, I believe Dr. McAllister will agree with me that it is an effective remedy for bruises.”

  When Charlotte left, Emily sank back on her pillows, grappling with a suspicion that made her feel utterly miserable. She also felt hideously disloyal for wondering, even for a moment, whether Charlotte had gone through Lucas’s belongings. Her friend’s disapproval of Lucas went deep; she hadn’t realized quite how much until Charlotte had spoken so icily just now. Had Charlotte hoped to find something to discredit Lucas so badly that she, Emily, would be forced to dismiss him?

  Surely not. Charlotte had made her feelings plain—exceedingly plain—but she was aware that Emily was in charge of the school. Charlotte never over-stepped the mark, never presumed upon their friendship. As well suspect Tibby, which was so ridiculous she actually smiled at the notion.

  Emily relaxed, but the question of who had searched Lucas’s room made her uneasy. She sighed. Whatever had made her think that a school would be a nice, well-ordered place to live, where she could put down roots, enjoy the challenge of educating young minds, and where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened?

  *

  Dr. McAllister was a distinguished-looking man in his late-forties, who employed a kind, but no-nonsense manner. Emily decided he was probably extremely popular among his patients, with the possible exception of dedicated hypochondriacs.

  By the time he’d finished bending her knee this way and that, however, while deeply probing her bruised flesh, she’d revised her opinion. The man was a sadist, quite unsuited to the medical profession. Her knee throbbed viciously, she felt more than a little sick, and her head was starting to ache.

  “I expect you’re feeling rather unwell after all that poking about, Miss Proudfoot,” Dr. McAllister said, with what she considered to be goulish cheer.

  She managed to resist the temptation to glare at him. “Thank you for coming out at this hour, Dr. McAllister,” she murmured. “It was very good of you.”

  “Not at all, my dear. Now, there’s no need for that worried frown. There’s nothing wrong with your knee except severe bruising which has gone deep into the soft flesh behind the kneecap. Tomorrow you may bend and straighten it, very gently, two or three times every hour so it doesn’t stiffen up, but I want you to walk as little as possible, until the joint can take the weight of your leg.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad, is it, Emily,” Charlotte said in bracing tones. She had dressed again in preparation for the doctor’s visit and looked pleased that her opinion was being confirmed. “What about a cold compress, doctor? I have one prepared in case you recommended it.”

  “Usually I would,” McAllister said. “But, in this case, cold will only aggravate the stiffness in Miss Proudfoot’s knee. Arnica for the bruising, and brief applications of heat a few times a day will be more effective.”

  Charlotte’s pleased expression froze. “Miss Proudfoot will need to remain in her room, of course.”

  “No, no.” Dr. McAllister twinkled at Emily. “Have your man carry you up and down the stairs, my dear Miss Proudfoot, but I see no reason why you can’t continue teaching. It’s good to see a young ladies’ academy in Lymingford,” he added, closing up his bag. “I’ve heard excellent reports from the local parents. I expect you will be enrolling several new pupils when the next term begins.”

  Emily decided she had been too severe in her judgment of the kindly doctor. She beamed at him. “That’s good to hear.”

  He patted her hand in an avuncular way and turned to Charlotte. “I’ll leave a dose of laudanum with you, Miss Haymes. It will give Miss Proudfoot a good night’s sleep, which is the best thing for her at the moment.”

  “Thank you, Dr. McAllister,” Charlotte said stiffly, ushering the doctor out of the room. “Is there anything else…”

  As Charlotte’s voice faded away Emily lay very still and wondered where Lucas had gone. Not that he could remain in her room while the doctor was examining her, but for some reason, his absence seemed to add to her misery.

  She was being quite irrational, of course. It wasn’t as if she was at death’s door. Nor did she have any intention of becoming dependant on a man because of twenty minutes of unbridled passion. No doubt she would see him in the morning.

  *

  The lamp was still burning in Emily’s study when Luke returned to it after Dr. McAllister departed.

  He gathered up the accounts and ledgers and put them away in the bureau. While he was there, he checked that everything was as it had been when he’d searched the room earlier in the week. Then he sat down behind Emily’s desk and subjected its contents to the same examination.

  Nothing had changed.

  Luke closed the drawer containing Emily’s files and sat back, gazing thoughtfully at the room. If Emily’s bedchamber showed her gentler, softer side, with its ribbons and lace-trimmed pillows and books left lying open on the chair, this room spoke of her need to be meticulously organized. But its neat desk with its pristine files and records was no help in his search for a blackmailer.

  He needed to ask her about the ledger hidden in her room. He needed to do it now, because time was running out. He couldn’t go on deceiving her. He was already perilously close to the edge of the hole he’d dug for himself. If he fell in he might not be able to climb out again. But he knew he would never stop trying, because the thought of losing Emily sent something akin to panic surging through him.

  Hell, he would even stay here at the school if that’s what she wanted, although there was an estate waiting for him.

  That blinding knowledge had struck him like a runaway carriage when Sir John Proudfoot had demanded to know why a cousin of the Earl of Danebridge was posing as a man-of-all-work at his granddaughter’s school. He’d known immediately that Sir John had recognized him, thanks to his resemblance to his own grandfather, and had intervened just in time to avert disaster.

  Fortunately, Sir John was fobbed off with the information that Emily was assisting him in a confidential investigation for Whitehall. Sir John had promptly stated that he washed his hands of his granddaughter, which suited Luke perfectly. It was one obstacle out of the way. He’d take care of the others in turn, until nothing stood between him and Emily.

  Shoving aside the unpalatable thought that, obstacles notwithstanding, he couldn’t force Emily to love him, Luke got to his feet. He doused the lamp and left the room, closing the door behind him. All was quiet within the house. He went swiftly up the stairs and tapped on Emily’s door.

  There was no answer. He opened the door and saw that she was asleep. A lamp was burning very
low on the chest of drawers where the light wouldn’t disturb her. He assumed Charlotte had left it there in case Emily needed anything during the night.

  He crossed the room and hunkered down to open the bottom drawer of the chest. It was the work of seconds to remove the ledger hidden beneath her clothes and quietly close the drawer. He walked over to the bed and watched her for a moment in the dim light. She looked warm and tousled and incredibly innocent lying in her bed. Her lashes were ebony half-moons against her cheeks, one little hand was curled near her lips.

  He couldn’t wake her to ask about the book. She had been through enough today. He’d look through it and they would talk in the morning.

  He reached out and touched her hair very gently, conscious of a deep aching need. He would give anything to climb into bed with her and hold her through the night. It wasn’t just physical, this wrenching need. The longing he felt for her caught at his heart, reached deep into his soul. He yearned. Not just for Emily, but for her love.

  And all he had to cling to was the trust she had given him that afternoon. A trust he was about to shatter.

  Cursing silently, Luke turned and left the room. He walked through the house, his footsteps as silent as the night. When he reached his bedchamber, he turned up the lamp and sat down on the bed. Drawing the light closer, he opened the ledger at random.

  Shock slammed into him, ice-cold and brutal. What he saw had disbelief knotting his stomach. There was a terrible ache in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. For several mind-numbing seconds, he couldn’t even think.

  Then the date of one of the entries caught his eye. Slowly, logic and reason returned. Taking a deep breath, he went back to the start of the book and paged through it more thoroughly.

  Listed in Emily’s neat script were dates and amounts of money. But nothing made sense. Though expenditure was itemized, there was nothing to say where the money had come from; no names, not even initials. And the entries went back several years, long before the first blackmail notes appeared.

  The amounts were odd, as well. Some were quite small, even negligible—a pound or two here, ten pounds there. Others numbered in the hundreds. Nor was there any continuity. Sometimes there were months between entries. And although the writing throughout was recognizably Emily’s, the earliest entries were in a more rounded, schoolgirlish hand. She had told him she’d handled her father’s finances from the age of twelve, but what had been the source of such irregular income?

  He quickly flipped forward to the most recent pages. Three entries corresponded with the dates he’d been given for earlier demands for money, but there was nothing relating to the latest notes.

  Frowning, he closed the book. Was this the legacy from her father that Emily had mentioned? Was it George Proudfoot who had turned to blackmail to feed his hunger for the next game of chance? If so, Emily probably didn’t know how her legacy had been obtained.

  But why the guilty flush on her face that first day, when he’d asked how she’d bought her school? Why had this book been hidden?

  And who was blackmailing people now?

  Luke shut his eyes briefly before he put the book aside. There was nothing he could do until morning, except think about how he was going to tell Emily the truth. And then try to get some sleep.

  It was going to be the longest night of his life.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Emily awoke, the light of a pale misty dawn was creeping through the muslin curtains.

  She cautiously took stock of herself. Her knee hurt if she moved it, but she felt much better. Buoyed by that happy circumstance, she turned over—and blinked in surprise. Lucas was sitting in the chair by the window, legs outstretched, as if he’d been there for quite some time.

  “Lucas? What are you doing here?”

  He rose and walked across to her without answering. He sat down on the bed beside her and flattened his palm on her other side.

  Just for a second Emily felt caged, although she could move freely if she wished. With that realization, the sensation faded, but there was something about Lucas that had wariness wrapping itself around her.

  “I put away your account books last night,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. This morning I brought this one back to return it to your chest of drawers.”

  She felt her eyes widen as she glanced at the book in his other hand. Her book? Her private account book? He’d taken it?

  Ice spilled through her veins as the only possible answer struck her. Lucas had searched through her clothes. In the middle of the night. While she was lying here asleep and unknowing. And he’d taken her secret account book!

  “You took that book from my room.” She lifted her gaze to his face, not bothering to hide the accusation in her eyes. “You searched through my things.”

  “Emily, I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important. I came up here this morning to ask about this ledger and to explain everything to you.”

  In a flash of anger she tried to shove his arm out of the way so she could struggle to a sitting position. He didn’t even appear to notice the attempt.

  “Let me up,” she ordered. “If you’re going to tell me you’re not really a man-of-all-work, but here for some underhand purpose, I won’t listen to it lying down. In fact, I won’t listen to it at all while I’m stuck in this bed. Get out!”

  “Emily—”

  “Out! If you don’t leave, I’ll scream the house down.”

  “That would only delay this conversation,” he said calmly. “And upset your students.”

  She was shaking with hurt and anger, but he had her in a bind with that statement. To think she had told herself she’d feel somewhat peeved if her room was searched. She had seriously underestimated her reaction. Or maybe she was furious because it was Lucas who’d gone through her things.

  She pushed that thought aside. This wasn’t the time to focus on the fist beginning to clamp icy fingers around her heart. There was something very wrong here. Every question, every doubt she’d had about Lucas was clamoring at her brain. She needed to concentrate on that.

  “Very well,” she said bitingly. “Since it appears I have no choice, what do you want to know?”

  He moved back a few inches so she could finally sit upright. She tried to wriggle back against her pillows to put more distance between them, but was forced to stop and put a hand under her knee to support it before she could complete the manoeuvre. Her awkwardness made her even angrier.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe he cared one way or the other, and tried to derive some satisfaction when he drew in an audible breath. At least he hadn’t attempted to help her. He probably knew she would have slapped his face.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He glanced at the book in his hand then put it down on the bed. “This appears to be a record of income, albeit extremely irregular, and expenses. Do you know where the money came from?”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” he said coolly, “someone in this house, or with access to it, is blackmailing people.”

  Her jaw dropped. She shook her head. The charge was so ludicrous she couldn’t even comprehend it.

  “Did your father give you these sums of money?” he went on. “Was this the legacy he left you?”

  Still dazed by the charge of blackmail, Emily could only answer him. “No. At least, not a legacy he was aware of.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  She glared at him. “It means that whenever Papa won anything, in the hells or officers’ clubs or anywhere he played, I took some of his winnings and hid them. I stole from him, almost from the time I went to live with him until he died.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You have your answer, now leave.”

  “What did you do if he lost and had to make good on any IOUs?”

  She
shrugged and looked away. “I only took small amounts at first, just enough to buy necessities. By the time I was taking more, Papa was drinking so heavily he didn’t remember what he’d won. If I told him there was only a certain amount left in the house, he’d take that and pay the rest out of his next winnings.

  “I wasn’t going to be left alone in a foreign country in wartime, without any money and with Tibby dependent on me,” she added fiercely. “If Papa had been killed we would’ve been destitute. I dare say the army might have helped us get home when it was safe, but who knew when that would be? And my grandparents were too far away. Besides, they’d told me I could expect no help from them if I chose to follow the drum.”

  “It’s all right, Emily,” he said gently. “The world is a dangerous place for a woman on her own, let alone a young girl. You had every right to expect your father to look after you, and when he didn’t, every right to protect yourself.”

  “I felt guilty sometimes,” she murmured, shifting her gaze to the ledger. “Until I overheard one of Papa’s acquaintances threaten to have me kidnapped and sold to a brothel to pay Papa’s debt to him. I was terrified. But when I told Papa what I’d heard, he fobbed me off, said I must have misunderstood. But I didn’t! I didn’t.”

  “How old were you when that happened?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Lucas suddenly looked extremely dangerous. “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The debt was paid, and a few months later Papa told me the man who’d threatened me had been killed in a skirmish with some French soldiers.”

  “The bastard’s lucky he’s not still walking around,” Lucas muttered.

  Emily barely heard him. Now that she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “But even though Papa managed to avert disaster that time,” she whispered, “I was so afraid the same thing might happen again. He wouldn’t stop drinking and gambling no matter how I pleaded with him. I realized that our safety—Tibby’s and mine—was totally dependent on a man who cared more for games of chance than his responsibilities to his family. So I started taking larger amounts whenever Papa had a big win. I knew I had to fend for myself when it came to my safety and the future, or God knows where Tibby and I might have ended up.”