A Noble Man

by Anne Ashley

  "Of course, when we return to Jaffrey House we'll be kept busy enough," Trapp continued, and Benedict, thrusting aside his disturbing thoughts, paid him the compliment of listening.

  "The boys will be home from school in the summer. Then we'll certainly have our hands full! The stables is a favourite haunt of theirs."

  Benedict had gained the distinct impression from their conversation a few days before that Sophia was very fond of her twin younger brothers, and he himself was very much looking forward to making their acquaintance. The meeting, however, would not take place whilst he was still in the guise of a groom, if he could possibly avoid it. It was bad enough having been brought into contact with the eldest brother. Lord Angmering was no fool, and Benedict didn't doubt for a moment that Marcus would have little difficulty in recognising the Duke of Sharnbrook when they met in the not too distant future. He would need to cross that bridge when he came to it. In the meantime he had more than enough to concern him.

  Once again he found himself glancing across at the counter in time to catch a pair of decidedly unfriendly eyes staring fixedly back across at him. Surly and unkempt, the rogue bore all the appearance of someone who would do virtually anything for money, perhaps even murder. But who on earth disliked him so much, bore him such a grudge, that he was prepared to hire ruffians in order, perhaps, to attain his ends? He smiled grimly as one name, and one name only, sprang to mind.

  If his suspicions were correct, and Sir Lucius Crawley had hired a pack of ruffians to satisfy his lust for revenge, then Benedict did not want Trapp involved in the inevitable confrontation. He had quickly come to respect this frequently gruff, hard-working man, and although he didn't doubt for a moment that he would give a good account of himself if set upon, Benedict had no intention of allowing this to happen if he could possibly avoid it.

  So, after tossing the remaining ale down his throat, he carried the empty tankards across to the counter. Trapp glanced up, surprised, when Benedict returned, setting just the one refilled vessel down on their table, and then did not offer to resume his seat.

  "What's this then? Ain't you joining me, lad?" he asked, not attempting to conceal his disappointment.

  "No, Mr Trapp. One is more than enough for me," he lied. It was the best home-brewed he'd tasted in many a long year, and in normal circumstance he would have been quite content to have remained all evening. "I'll get back and check on the horses. You stay here and enjoy your ale."

  Trapp did not attempt to argue and, being unsociable by nature, would have been more than happy to sit by himself supping his ale had he not happened to notice the rat-eyed rogue who had been propping up the counter follow Ben from the inn.

  He had ho reason to suppose for a moment that Ben had lied, that he did, in fact, know the man, and he began to feel decidedly uneasy. Some sixth sense warned him that all was not as it should be. He just hadn't liked the look of that fellow—a villain if ever there was one!—and it seemed just too much of a coincidence that he should have chosen to leave when young Ben had.

  Abandoning his tankard, he wasted no time in following. Fortunately Ben had chosen to take the same route back to the stables by which they had come, and Trapp quickly caught sight of his tall, long-striding figure some distance ahead. Unfortunately he could also see the stranger following, and closing fast.

  He increased his own pace, and was certainly gaining on his quarry, when what he had feared happened: two men suddenly appeared from nowhere and, aided and abetted by the stalker, hauled Ben into a side alley. The street was busy, crowded with carriages, but there were very few people about on foot and, seemingly, no one except himself had seen the incident, or if someone else had, he or she was disinclined to become involved.

  Galvanised, Trapp ran with surprising speed for a man who would not see fifty again, and arrived at the entrance to the narrow alley in time to witness Ben, still manfully attempting to grapple with the three stocky attackers, suddenly tumble to the ground.

  Slightly stunned by the heavy fall, Benedict was forced to sustain a volley of merciless kicks and blows before one of the attackers was blessedly hauled from the fray. Out of his rapidly swelling left eye he caught sight of his valiant rescuer delivering a punishing blow to the villain who had followed him from the inn and, summoning up his last reserves of strength, took immediate action by smashing a sizeable stone against a well-muscled leg. The assailant fell back, groaning in agony, too badly injured to be a further threat.

  Marcus had been correct when he had supposed that his father's newest employee had sparred in his time. Benedict was indeed a keen exponent of the art, and he had little difficulty in dealing effectively with the third and last assailant. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he delivered one powerful blow which sent the man in the frieze coat sprawling to the ground, and a merciless clasp on a grubby neckcloth kept him there, gasping for air.

  "Who paid you to kill me?" Benedict hissed, pitilessly maintaining his constricting hold.

  "Not kill," the man croaked, ineffectually clawing at the powerful fingers while fighting for breath. "Only—only rough you up a bit."

  "Who was it?"

  "Swear I don't know, guv'nor. Never seen 'im afore. Came in The Three Ferrets a day or so back looking for someone who'd do a job for 'im."

  It would have afforded Benedict supreme satisfaction to squeeze the very life out of the rogue, but sense prevailed, and he released his hold. "Describe him! What did he look like?"

  "A weedy cove in black clothes."

  This was hardly a description of Sir Lucius, but then, Benedict reminded himself, Crawley was unlikely to have gone about hiring thugs himself. "A servant?"

  "Aye. Looked like it to me." The hired thug raised a hand to his throat, but wisely refrained from attempting to escape. "Told me where to find you, told me what you looked like too. Wanted you followed, see? Then, when the time were right, we were to give you a good 'iding. But we weren't to take our time about it, not if we wanted the rest of the money. The cove wanted the job done quick, like."

  With lips bruised and bleeding, Benedict managed a twisted smile as he hauled his captive to his feet by the lapels of the worn frieze coat. "Well, it would seem you've earned your full reward, you rogue."

  "Eh?" The man looked bewildered, suspicious and hopeful in equal measures. "Ain't yer going to turn us over to the Runners?"

  Benedict didn't answer, but glanced up the deserted alley. Some detached part of his brain had registered that the man with the injured knee had limped away long since, quickly followed by the second partner-in-crime, with the doggedly determined Trapp hard on their heels.

  "If I did that then you'd be quite unable to collect the remainder of your ill-gotten gains, now, wouldn't you?" he responded at last. "Not that I think you if have an easy time of collecting your—er—blood money."

  "No 'ard feelings, guv'nor, eh?" The small but sturdy villain looked even more unprepossessing when he smiled. He had several teeth missing, undoubtedly the result of his nefarious activities, and what few remained were black and decayed. "These be 'ard times, and work be 'ard to come by. A man must take what 'e can get."

  "Work?" Benedict echoed, totally unmoved. "Yes, and there are those who aren't too particular what they do so long as they get their reward. Which brings me back quite nicely to what I was saying earlier... Are you quite certain that you shall receive your dues?"

  It was quite obvious from his expression that the villain wasn't at all sure. "Told me he'd be in The Three Ferrets the day after tomorrow. And he'd better be there!"

  "Take it from me, he won't be," Benedict assured him with a certain grim satisfaction. "But you will be paid in full if you do precisely what I tell you..."

  The following morning Sophia left the house just before noon. Since the unfortunate encounter with Sir Lucius Crawley she had made a point of never taking exercise at the same time each day, in the hope that in this way she could avoid any further confrontations with would-be suitors. Her brother
's escort, of course, had ensured that there had been no repetition of the unfortunate incident in Hyde Park, and she had very much enjoyed having Marcus with her for the past few days, for he could be the most amusing companion when he set his mind to it. Nevertheless she couldn't deny that she was very much looking forward to furthering her acquaintance with her enigmatic groom.

  Consequently she was most disappointed to see her father's trusty henchman awaiting her arrival outside the house, and demanded to know why Ben was not to escort her.

  If Trapp felt aggrieved by this total lack of enthusiasm for his company, he certainly betrayed no sign of it. "Had a bit of a mishap, as yer might say, m'lady, and so I've relieved 'im of his doo-ties.."

  Sophia was not slow to notice that the head groom himself was sporting a fine black eye. "You also appear to have sustained an injury yourself, Trapp. What on earth has been happening? You look as if you've been in a mill."

  "A mill, m'lady?" he echoed, trying to appear the picture of innocence. "Now, what on earth makes you suppose that I'd indulge in a bout of fisticuffs? I'm a peaceable man, I am."

  Raising a decidedly sceptical brow, Sophia allowed him to help her into the saddle. "No one would think you peaceable, Trapp, if they'd ever heard you rant and rage at the stable-boys back at Jaffrey House." She didn't quite catch his muttered response, but didn't trouble to ask him to repeat himself, and merely demanded to know what, precisely, had occurred to render Ben incapable of escorting her out that morning.

  "Oh, he were more than ready to do so, m'lady, but I thought he ought to rest."

  Sophia succeeded in maintaining her temper, but it was an effort. "And still I'm waiting for an answer, Trapp. No doubt you'll oblige me in your own good time."

  The sarcasm was not wasted on him, and he could not forebear a smile. His master's only daughter always put him in mind of a little terrier dog—inquisitive and determined, never willing to release its hold once it had its teeth into something.

  "Titus decided to take exception to a rat visiting his stall, and lashed out. Unfortunately young Ben just 'appened to be standing behind him at the time and copped the hoof full in the chest, poor lad!"

  As Titus, the most placid of all her father's fine carriage horses, had never been known so much as to draw his ears back when pestered by a yapping dog, Sophia found this explanation very hard to believe. "And I suppose Ben caught you in the eye with his elbow while he was reeling from the impact."

  "Aye, that's the way of it, my lady," Trapp confirmed, the derisive note in her voice having gone completely undetected this time, and Sophia, faintly smiling, decided to say no more for the present, thereby successfully lulling her father's minion into a false sense of security.

  She maintained quite beautifully an air of sublime unconcern, not once attempting to raise the subject again, not even to enquire into the extent of her personal groom's injuries. After a sedately ridden circuit of the park, during which she stopped from time to time to exchange a few words with several acquaintances, including Lady Elizabeth and Robina, she returned to Berkeley Square and, still maintaining the innocently complaisant air, accompanied the groom round to the mews.

  "I could quite easily have led your horse, my lady," Trapp informed her while helping her to dismount.

  "I know you could easily have done so," she responded, smiling with deceptive sweetness, the period of feigned docility having well and truly come to an end. "What you seem quite incapable of doing, however, is satisfying my curiosity over precisely why Ben was unable to accompany me today," and before he could do or say anything to deter her, she was already halfway up the staircase leading to the room above the stables.

  She discovered Ben lying down on his narrow bed, which seemed totally inadequate for a man of his size, browsing through an old edition of the Morning Post. The fact that he could evidently read never occurred to her as being in any way out of the ordinary, for she had come to the conclusion days before that she had acquired a personal groom with quite exceptional talents.

  Benedict was very well aware that someone had entered. Quite naturally assuming it was Trapp, he made no attempt to rise, nor did he attempt to speak either, for although Trapp was becoming less taciturn with each passing day, there were still lengthy periods when he made not the least attempt to converse. It was only when Benedict detected the unmistakable foreign aroma of feminine perfume in the room that he troubled to lower the printed sheets in his hands, and glance round.

  "My lady!" The joy at seeing her so unexpectedly induced him momentarily to forget his hurts. He tried to stand and received a painful reminder when several ribs groaned in protest.

  Sophia was beside him in an instant, hand gently placed on one broad shoulder for a moment or two, urging him to remain seated. She could see clearly enough the evidence that he had been in a fight: the gash above the left eye, the cut and swollen bottom lip and the grazed knuckles.

  She did not suppose for a moment that the head groom had been responsible for inflicting these injuries. Trapp, she knew, could be difficult on occasions, hard to please. Nevertheless she had never known him resort to physical violence before in order to maintain his high standards, except on one or two occasions when he had been caught administering a sound box round the ear to a certain work-shy stable-boy back at Jaffrey House. Ben, however, was no idle lad. With his superior height and strength, not to mention the added advantage of age, he could overpower Trapp in a trice.

  "What happened to you?" Gentle yet determined, she was intent on knowing the truth. "And please do not insult my intelligence by repeating that farrago of nonsense concerning Titus."

  What in heaven's name had the inventive Trapp been telling her? Benedict wondered, detecting the sound of a heavy tread on the stairs, and wishing fervently that the crowned head of the stables would hurry and offer some guidance on how to proceed.

  When they had eventually returned to their room the previous evening, and Mr Trapp, his work-roughened hands surprisingly gentle, had tended to both their hurts, Benedict had not hesitated in confiding in the man who had so gallantly come to his aid. The name Sir Lucius Crawley had meant nothing to Trapp, and although he had voiced in no uncertain terms his wish to see the vindictive Baronet receive his just desserts, he had agreed wholeheartedly with Benedict's dictum that the fewer people who knew about the incident, the better. In return Benedict had reluctantly agreed that he ought to remain out of sight as much as possible, at least until the evidence of the confrontation had begun to fade. Their carefully considered stratagems, however, had been made without taking into account the unpredictable behaviour of the very determined daughter of the house.

  "I'm waiting for an explanation," the subject of his thoughts announced, tapping her crop impatiently against the folds of her skirt, and Benedict wasn't certain whether he wished to kiss her or shake her, or both.

  Trapp's eventual arrival was of little help either. In response to Benedict's enquiring glance, he merely raised his hands in a helpless gesture, proof enough that he had had little experience in dealing with unruly females, at least the two-legged kind. So Benedict had little choice but to take command of the situation, and swiftly came to the conclusion that, all things considered, only honesty would serve.

  With considerable discomfort he rose to his feet, the better to face her. "It pains me to tell you, in more ways than one, that both Mr Trapp and I were involved in a fight last night."

  "That much is abundantly obvious," she responded, not in the least amused by his obvious attempt to make light of it all, and Trapp, feeling that it behoved him to say something, experienced a sudden flash of inspiration.

  "Set upon by three ruffians. After our purses, they were. They didn't get 'em though, 'cause young Ben 'ere and me, we gave a good account of ourselves, and soon had 'em scurrying away like whipped pups."

  Ben's expression of comical dismay only succeeded in increasing Sophia's scepticism. "Although one must deplore such behaviour, one cannot help but f
eel a degree of sympathy for those ruffians' plight, Trapp," she remarked, her tone as dry as kindling. "They must have been desperate men indeed to have chosen you two as their victims... Desperate, or just plain stupid! Had they succeeded in their aim, they would have been woefully disappointed with their ill-gotten gains. After all, two grooms out enjoying an evening tipple hardly present rich pickings."

  Trapp looked helplessly across at his subordinate. If it was guidance he sought, then none was forthcoming, for Benedict was staring directly at Sophia, his eyes alight with amusement, and more than just a hint of admiration too.

  "What really induced those men to set upon you?" she asked, directing the question at him.

  "The inducement was money, my lady," he assured her. "They were paid to do so."

  "But why? Does someone bear you a grudge?" She found this difficult to believe, and would have dismissed it in a trice if he hadn't appeared quite so sincere as he nodded his head. "I would be the first to admit that I do not know you very well, but I wouldn't have supposed for a moment that you were the kind of man to go out of his way to make enemies. Do you know who instigated the attack upon you?"

  He did not attempt to answer.

  "Whoever hired those men must surely have possessed sufficient funds to do so," she persisted. "Have you truly no idea who it might have been?"

  Again he did not answer, but suddenly there was no need for him to do so, for all at once she realised who it must have been, and was assailed by a veritable torrent of conflicting emotions. Foremost among them was a searing sense of shame, knowing that but for her none of this would have happened, realising that her childish behaviour in trying to thwart her father's plans to marry her to some eligible parti had resulted in an innocent man becoming hurt.