The Earl's Mortal Enemy

by Issy Brooke

  Suddenly the cart rocked and Froude pulled the tailgate down so that he could clamber up and face her. He shoved something along the floor of the cart which looked like a bucket. He loomed over her, his face in gloomy shadow. She wondered if he expected her to hang her head and be cowed.

  She would never do that. She stared up at him, trying to project defiance.

  He had a bottle in his hand. For a moment she thought he was going to strike her with it but he unscrewed the lid and began to crouch down. He reached out and she flinched, but he just pulled aside the cloth that was jamming up her mouth. She was glad she had left that in place even though she had got her hands free.

  But instead of setting the bottle to her lips, as she expected, he said, “Look, I do not want to harm you. I will help you if you are good. Shift around so I can untie you for a moment and let you drink.”

  She could not risk him discovering she had already got herself free. She hated what she was about to do but it was the only thing she could think of. As he moved towards her, she hawked up as much saliva in her dry mouth as she could, and she spat at him, full in his face.

  He recoiled in horror and she, too, felt sick to her stomach at her own actions. Very little had hit him but it was the gesture that mattered the most. He rubbed at his face, jumping to his feet. He grabbed the bottle from the floor and kicked at her with the same movement, while uttering vile obscenities. It was strange to her that she accepted the insults as due to her, even though she was the victim acting in self-defence. How interesting are the ways we are conditioned to think and feel, she thought as Froude retreated from the cart. He called her a stream of horrible, unrepeatable things and she didn’t say a word in reply.

  There was one small mercy. She hadn’t been gagged again. She wondered when her chance would come. Perhaps he would leave her outside all night in the cart, while he sought shelter in the barn. She wriggled in excitement, ready to make her dash for freedom, but he must have thought better of such a plan. He hitched the horse back to the cart after it had had its brief break, and urged it into the barn itself. Once he had dragged the double doors closed, it was almost pitch-black inside the space. He lit one small lantern, and sat on something by the door with the bottle. She could see him if she twisted and raised up her bottom slightly, but the lantern threw terrible shadows across his face and made a huge dark shape loom up behind him. She sank back into the hay. If she could not see him, he could not see her. She brought her arms round to her sides by very slow degrees, biting her tongue to stop her whimpers as the blood flow returned at last to normal.

  There was a noise. She stopped for a moment. Was it a normal countryside noise of the night? The horse whinnied and she heard a footstep within the barn, then Froude shushing the horse to be silent. Something had spooked it. She heard the very light noise of Froude inching one of the double doors open as silently as he could. She stretched out her arms and rubbed at her hands. Her bleeding wrists were too painful to touch. I need a weapon, she thought. She inched her way up to peep at Froude. He was standing in the thin slither of grey that marked the open doors, and looking out into the dusk.

  There was another noise, louder, like rustling. Was it a deer in the undergrowth? A badger, a fox, a hedgehog...

  Froude stayed at his post. And Adelia got ready to act.

  Twenty-seven

  Theodore, Montgomery and Prendergast waited together behind a hawthorn. Their horses were back on the main road, tied to a tree. They had crept down the track leading to the hollow marked on the map. This was the second place they had visited. The first place they’d tried had had no sign of any disturbance for some time. But this track had fresh marks in the mud as if a cart had recently passed that way, and they knew from the map that the track led nowhere but to a barn in a hollow.

  They encountered a handful of other farm workers on their way back to the manor for more orders, and asked them to come with them. The more they looked at the tracks, the more convinced they were that they were now following the right lead. A boy had been sent down to the barn to make a reconnaissance of it, as much as he was able to. He was now creeping back to where Theodore and Prendergast stood.

  He whispered, “I am sure there is someone there, my lord, sir. I heard a horse inside the barn. I wasn’t sure if there was a light or not showing, but I think there might have been, and I do not dare to get any closer.”

  “Let us circle this place and make sure all his routes of escape are guarded,” Prendergast said.

  “What if he is not in there? We will look stupid,” Montgomery said.

  “Yes, we will, but we’ll survive such things,” Theodore told him. “I’d rather be a fool than a widower.”

  Montgomery winced and then nodded. “Very well. Let us spread out.”

  The farm labourers slid off into the dark, their brown and grey clothing blending perfectly with the shadows. Theodore tried to tuck his bright white collar under a scarf more effectively. Montgomery simply tore his own collar off and bundled it into a pocket before heading to the left as indicated by Prendergast. Theodore went to the right for a short distance, slithering down a banking but trying to remain behind trees as he got closer to the barn.

  Prendergast stayed where he was, by the main track which led to the barn’s doors.

  As silent as they all tried to be, something must have alerted the occupant of the barn. Their fears and hopes combined were all realised as a yellow glow of light suddenly appeared in the centre of the barn’s entrance, illuminating a tall male figure.

  It was Samuel Froude.

  “I know you’re out there!” Froude shouted.

  Prendergast grunted, “Let us do this, then,” and stepped forward, walking down towards the barn until Froude shouted out.

  “Stop! I can see you!”

  Although the gathering night was moonless, it was overcast, which meant the low grey clouds seemed to shine and made the visibility better than it might have been. Theodore could see the outline of Prendergast, and the softly illuminated shape of Froude in the barn’s opening. He could not see Adelia. His palms were slippery with sweat.

  Prendergast stopped when he was commanded to. He said, in a strong voice that held no hint of nervousness, “Mr Froude, we have this place surrounded and we are all armed. You will make things much worse for yourself if you do not come with us willingly and quietly. Accept it is all over now, and do not prolong the agony. There is no other way out of this for you.”

  Froude snorted with hollow laughter. “I have one ace in my hand, you fool. I have Lady Calaway in here. She’s mine now, as she always should have been. But I am not afraid to forfeit her life if you do not allow me to pass. Let me go, let me walk away from here, and I promise you that you shall never hear of me again. I will leave her behind for her pig of a husband to do with as he will. She’s proven herself to be unworthy of my love, anyway. But if you prevent me from going, then I am afraid you force me to –”

  But no one was to find out what Froude was going to be forced to do, though it was surely unpleasant. He stopped speaking abruptly, and the lantern fell to the ground. By its light, they could see how he swayed and then crumpled over the lantern itself, half-shielding it.

  Another figure stepped over the heap on the floor. She picked up the lantern, adjusted it, and walked up the track towards Prendergast.

  “Ah, good evening, Inspector,” said Adelia. “Is my husband around at all, do you know?”

  EVERYTHING BECAME RUSH and chaos though Inspector Prendergast was at the centre of it all, controlling events with a calmness that Theodore found impressive and almost a little intimidating. Lanterns flared into life all around, making the tree-lined hollow almost like a stage set with strong shadows and contrasts, and figures flitting from light to dark, with shouts and cries just out of one’s sight. And that was because Theodore was looking at no one but his wife as she came towards him, holding out her hands. In spite of her dramatic exit, now she was weeping, and he was sure t
here was a wet blurriness in his own eyes that he had no shame in showing.

  He grabbed her and enfolded her in a tight hug. She was shaking and he wanted to enclose her completely, make her warm and safe and shield her from all the world.

  “Did I kill him?” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t think so.”

  “Blast it all,” she muttered, and pulled away from him as if she were going to turn around and head back to the figure on the floor so that she might finish the task.

  He held her back. “Let them do their job.” They watched together as labourers and constables together swarmed over the area. It was hard to see Froude as he was surrounded almost completely but they could tell when he was carried to the waiting police carriage and hurled inside. If he was conscious, he gave no sign of it. The Black Maria rumbled off up the track so Theodore was surprised when they were then approached by Inspector Prendergast.

  “My lady, how are you?”

  “Shaken but alive.”

  “We must speak at length about the events of this day but not now. Lord Calaway, if you would be so good as to take Lady Calaway home? I am sure you will see to her every need. I shall call tomorrow as soon as I am able to. And I would like to thank you both for your assistance.”

  Theodore said, “I think, in the end, I didn’t do anything. This investigation was thoroughly Adelia’s, all the way through. She went to London, and she just bopped the fellow on the head with a – what have you used? An iron bar! So you have strong arms from all that archery. But all I’ve done is sulk in corners. Even our daughter has been of more use than I have been.”

  Adelia laughed. “You sound almost petulant about it!”

  “I shouldn’t worry,” Prendergast said. “I will confess I have found it useful to have someone to talk to – or, as was often the case, someone who talked at me, challenging me in my silence to order my thoughts more thoroughly. It should have been a far more straightforward case than it proved to be.” He paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I have learned a lot but I need to take a few days to understand quite what it is that I have learned.”

  “Your speech at the charity dinner next week will be marvellous,” Adelia said.

  “Oh good heavens! I had forgotten about that particular trial.” He sighed heavily. “As you are so much a part of this, perhaps you might make the speech, my lady?”

  She laughed at him. “Even now, this whole affair is being rewritten in people’s minds to fade me into the background, and Edith too, and to lay all the glory upon you and my husband instead. And that is how it should be, I am sure.”

  “I don’t think Edith would agree with you about that,” Theodore said as they bid farewell to Prendergast at last and headed for a waiting gig that had been sent from Ivery Manor to take them back to Thringley House. “She is not a woman to fade into any background. She is the new sort of woman.”

  “Are you calling me the old sort?” she exclaimed, slapping him lightly. Her outstretched hand caught his eye and he took hold of her arm gently, turning her wrist to bring it into the glow of the gig’s lamps.

  “Oh, Adelia.”

  “I cannot look,” she told him. “When I see what damage I have done there, I shall surely cry. Let us get home, get fed, and get bathed. I can be strong until I see the doors of my house. But let us hurry.”

  He heard the wobble in her voice and it was more terrible to him than all manner of murderers and thieves and threats and criminals.

  They hurried home.

  Twenty-eight

  Inspector Prendergast turned out to be a truly appalling after-dinner speaker.

  Adelia had to bite the inside of her cheek and she kept her hands in her lap, tightly clenched, while she smiled politely each time he stuttered to the end of an impossibly long sentence. She understood why he was speaking in a stilted and overly elaborate way. He was clearly acutely aware of his lowly beginnings and his lack of pedigree so he had overcompensated to a dreadful degree. He was a very capable policeman but he was under-confident and nervous when faced with a room full of the greatest and the best in local society.

  The only thing which prevented the speech from becoming a disaster was the fact that he was telling such a compelling tale. The whole table of people were spellbound as they listened. What made it particularly interesting was that everyone knew, or knew of, the people involved in it all. Every time Adelia or Theodore was mentioned, all eyes turned to them, and Adelia had to smile. Theodore didn’t merely smile. He beamed with pride and everyone tittered with good humour.

  Adelia was pleased to hear Prendergast naming and praising each of his constables. Indeed, to her mind, he downplayed his own role and increasing the contribution of others, but that was again to his credit. When it came to the dénouement – an event that everyone had already heard about but were eager to listen to again – her own role could not be downplayed or omitted. A spontaneous round of applause broke out when Prendergast spoke about her sudden intervention and how she had felled her own captor and brought a murderer to justice.

  Her wrists were still raw, though healing. She pressed the painful areas, and was thankful for her long sleeves.

  Later, as they mingled to music in a large ballroom set out with clusters of tables and chairs and ranks of servants clutching bottles of alcohol, she made sure to keep her long white gloves on but she saw people’s glances stray again and again to her wrists, as if people wanted to ask to see her injuries. They were all too polite, of course. Everyone asked about her health and her recovery, and cooed with wide eyes as they spoke over and over again about her ordeal.

  The little knot of people around her fell silent momentarily as Lady Purfleet swooped upon them. The Duchess was tall and as thin as a birch tree with silver hair piled up in a fashion very becoming to a lady of her mature years. There was a taut steeliness about her which always intrigued Adelia. The Duchess had been born into a high family and had married into an even higher one, one of the richest and most powerful in the land; there were far more Viscounts and Barons, Earls and even Marquises than there were Dukes, and she ought to have been plump and soft from a life of ease. But there was always something in her manner that suggested to Adelia that she had been forged and had made herself into something strong, though why or how, Adelia could not guess. Lady Purfleet was not a woman who indulged in personal small talk. She drew others into chatter and tended to listen intently without offering her own contribution. As people were always rather keen to talk, often people did not realise until much later that the Duchess had not uttered more than a few well-chosen words.

  And behind the Duchess, hovering like a fat cat waiting to pounce on a long-awaited mouse at last, was Mrs Ingram. The speech must have been a difficult thing for her to endure; she would have been drowning in the resentment that it ought to have been her husband up there, but tempered with the satisfaction that Prendergast had not excelled in the giving of the speech, even if the content had been superb.

  Lady Purfleet must have been aware that Mrs Ingram was behind her. She seemed to angle herself so that she was screened from the rest of the company as she said in a low voice to Adelia, “My dear Lady Calaway. So good to see you here. What a trying time you have had. But I noticed Lady Ivery is not present. Is she quite well?” As she spoke, she walked slowly towards a pair of chairs set near a small round table, which made a cosy little nest.

  Adelia followed and they both sat down. There was a space around them which meant no one could get close enough without being obviously an eavesdropper. Mrs Ingram fumed from a distance.

  “Lady Ivery is very well. Sadly her broken leg prevents her from attending anything like this. I am not sure she would have come even if she had been able to.”

  “She is quite the independent character; everyone says so. And what is this business she is getting involved in?”

  “Not so much getting involved in, as absolutely directing. She has been utilising all the many connections t
hat the Ivery family has – you know how vast and sprawling it is! – and somehow getting them to send her all the information they discover on their travels. I don’t fully understand it,” Adelia confessed. “But she has concocted such a system in her little office that you can ask her the most obscure question about visiting such a place or whatever, and she will tell you the answer within moments. She has installed all manner of strange instruments and seems determined to take them apart and remake them.”

  “Instruments? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Goodness, you’d really need to ask her that. Do pay her a call; she’d love to show you around. She talks about Babbage and the things he invented, and seems to be very keen on these American things, punch cards I believe they are called? They look like thick paper with holes in but apparently they are very important for, um, tabulating ... things.” Adelia shrugged helplessly. “And that is the limit of my knowledge, I am afraid. I am not sure what tabulating involves.”

  “She is awfully clever. You must be so very proud of all of your daughters. And I want to particularly thank Lady Lassiter for her help in obtaining some delightful artwork for me. I understand you are to spend the Christmas season with her in London?”

  Adelia blinked in surprise. That was the first she had heard of such a plan. Then she remembered that last letter from Charlotte, Lady Lassiter, saying she had hoped to meet them all again soon. What on earth was going on? Adelia smiled a little late, and said, “Our plans are not quite set yet, but I do hope to see her in the near future. Christmas is London, however, can be such a tiring whirl, especially for a woman of my age.”

  The expected response should have been “nonsense!” but Lady Purfleet nodded. “Life itself becomes a whirl, does it not?” She sighed.