by Julia Parks
“O’ course not, Mr. Havelock,” said Tom Summers respectfully. The young groom, not as adept at masking his feelings, glowered at the huge man. The coachman jabbed the youth with a bony elbow, making him more cheerful.
Roland took a long pull on the potent liquid and said, “I was hoping you’d do me a favour, Summers.”
“Aye, sir,” said the older man cautiously.
“Yes, you know I’m no judge of horseflesh. I was hoping you’d go out to the stables and pick out a decent team for me to drive to London. Nothing too racy, mind. I’m not as good with the ribbons as you are,” Roland said with a self-deprecatory laugh.
“Be glad to, Mr. Havelock. What did you have in mind, a chaise and four or just a pair?”
“Handling a pair is as high as I aspire, Summers. Thank you.” Roland stood up and paid the reckoning for himself and the two servants.
Young James watched him leave with wide eyes. He shook his head in wonder and commented, “What d’ye think o’ that, Mr. Summers? I never knew ’im t’ be so polite and all.”
“Nor ’ave I. Still, it’s no wonder,” said the older man. “Just shows ’e knows ’ow t’ behave if ’e wants somethin’.”
b
When Jane entered the private parlour, Roland was already wiping his chin. He speared a last elusive bite, finishing this before he stood up.
“Must apologize for eating without you, Jane. I really must be going. I don’t drive as fast as your man, and though I’ve less distance to cover, I do want to be settled in some lodgings before dark. Besides, the thought of travelling across Hounslow Heath at dusk makes me shiver. I’ve no desire to make some highwayman’s fortune.”
“That’s quite all right, Roland.” She extended her hand, and he bowed over it. He held out a chair for her, choosing one that faced away from the yard.
“Goodbye, Jane. Thank you again for bringing me this far. Oh, I’ve already settled the reckoning for this and for your people, so don’t let the landlord tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you, Roland. How thoughtful of you. And remember to send me your direction when you get settled in London. I want to be sure you receive your invitation for Heartland’s Open Day.”
“I will,” he promised as he left the room.
Jane looked at the table before her. It was still overflowing with food. How odd that Roland had left her so much from which to choose. Perhaps he was sickening with the same fever she had had.
Jane selected her food carefully, relieved she was able to consume a normal quantity. Evidently, whatever bothersome little illness she’d experienced was gone.
As she ate, she listened to the muffled shouts of coachmen and ostlers as carriages arrived and departed the busy inn. The noise was constant, rather like a gentle rainfall, almost lulling one to sleep. Her back to the window, she only listened. Watching such endless activity might have been tiring in itself.
It was into this sleepy atmosphere that a frantic Lord Devlin burst. The door flew open and slammed against the wall. The landlord shouted his protests. Drew and Jane stared at each other.
Drew’s appearance was shocking. His driving coat with its modest quantity of capes was open, revealing a stained shirt. He had torn off his cravat and removed his coat; his waistcoat hung open limply. His face was unshaven; his black hair was truly windswept.
Jane got to her feet. With a wave of one hand, she dispersed the landlord and the small knot of curious spectators. Slowly, she walked to the door. Drew watched in silence as she shut it.
“You look terrible,” she said bluntly.
“You’re looking a trifle pale yourself,” he answered.
“I’ve been ill.”
He walked to the table and sat down, helping himself to a dish of kidney pie. Jane watched as he devoured the remainder of it and drained her cup of tea to wash it down.
“Where’s Havelock?” he asked finally.
“He’s already gone.” Jane was surprised how calmly she spoke.
“Are you all right? He didn’t do anything to hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” asked Jane, her voice rising slightly. Oh, no! Roland only told me the truth—a truth so painful I will never trust another man again! Instead of shouting those words, she said flatly, “No, he didn’t hurt me.”
Drew buried his face in his hands. He looked so vulnerable, so rumpled and dear. Jane wished with all her heart she could go to him, but knowing what he had done, she couldn’t take one step closer. He raised his head.
“I have been travelling since yesterday morning to get here in time. Now I find you well and apparently out of danger. It makes me feel foolish, Jane.”
“I don’t know why you would do such a thing. Didn’t Madame DuClaire give you my note?”
“Yes, I got that piece of rubbish. I must have read it a hundred times during the night while crossing the Channel.”
“You crossed at night?” she asked, distracted by this particular revelation.
“Yes, at night. Had to give Jean-Francois’s friend a bloody fortune to take me over!”
“That is unfortunate. At least, you are here, though I’m not sure I understand why.”
“Not understand? The devil, you say!” He reached into his pocket and flung a grimy, crumpled scrap of paper onto the table. “And how was I supposed to feel when I read this? Well, let me tell you, Miss Lindsay, I felt bloody awful! And then to find out you’re travelling with that snake in the grass!”
Jane put her hand to her ears and screamed, “Stop!”
The silence following this eruption was deafening. Even the carriages in the yard were still for a moment. Jane was appalled at her freakish outburst. The usual inn sounds resumed, and she expelled a pent-up breath.
Drew stood up and began walking in her direction. Jane circled behind a chair and warned, “I shall scream if you touch me.”
“Do you think I care what people will think?”
She knew he meant it. He had no respect for society’s opinion. But she did.
“You profess to care for my opinion. I can’t bear the thought of you touching me.”
He winced, but he moved farther away.
“I have reason to believe Havelock may have been trying to kill you.”
Jane gripped the back of the chair and shook her head.
“It’s true. The accident at the abbey, the shelf in the larder—all of that.”
b
Jane circled the chair and sat down. She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders began to shake. Drew took a step toward her then stopped. She didn’t want him to comfort her.
“Jane, I realize it may be hard for you to think a relative capable of this, but he is a desperate man; he will do anything to get his hands on Heartland.”
She raised her face. He expected to see tears. Instead, Jane was laughing. This was more frightening than tears.
Between spasms of laughter, she gasped, “The most amusing thing, Drew, is that he says the same thing about you!”
She continued to laugh, and Drew waited patiently for her to regain control.
“Jane, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Do I? How? You’ve been sending me those silly notes and lying about it. They nearly drove me crazy, especially when I realized Cherry wasn’t behind them. You must have known they would upset me. I’m hardly the type to have a secret admirer.”
“You are exactly the type, with that frigid facade you put on for the world.”
“You do have a way with words, Lord Devlin.”
He watched her walk toward the door. She opened it, holding it open for him to pass. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t fall into your arms this time, Lord Devlin. I fear I’ve had enough of men and passion to last me a lifetime.”
“But Jane…”
She shook her head, and Drew realized it was useless. He might persuade her, but somewhere, deep inside, she would always wonder. He didn’t want a wife who couldn’t trust him implicitly. He strode past Jane and
out into the yard. He found Tom Summers by the carriage where they were harnessing a new team. One of the new horses was proving restless. He reared, moving back and forth in the traces.
Standing beside the carriage, Drew heard a strange cracking sound. He bent down, looking carefully at the tongue of the vehicle. Not wanting to sound a general alarm, Drew called to Jane’s coachman.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Summers, I think you better check the carriage. Looks as though someone has tampered with it.”
“Impossible, my lord. Except for a quick bite, either me or James has been watching the carriage,” replied the old man indignantly. Nevertheless, he too bent to inspect the tongue. He straightened up and shouted, “Here, you! Get that horse out of harness!”
“Wot’s yer problem, mister?” yelled one of the ostlers.
“Get that beast out o’ th’ way, I says. There’s somewhat wrong wi’ the carriage.” Drew, Summers, and young James inspected the wooden tongue. Summers shook his head. “This here tongue’s been cut. See where the ax took out chips of wood?”
“Who’d do such a thing?” asked James.
“Who, indeed?” said Drew quietly.
They stood up. “Mr. Havelock,” whispered James, not realizing he was voicing the thoughts of his two companions. “That’s why ’e was being so nice. ’E wanted to get you an’ me away from th’ carriage and into the stables!”
“You’re no doubt right, my boy, but I don’t think your mistress is in any mood to hear such a tale at this moment.”
“So ye’ll just keep mum about it, d’ye hear?” said Summers.
“O’ course, Mr. Summers. I wouldn’t upset Miss Lindsay for the world,” said the young man stoutly.
“Good,” said Drew. “I must prove whether our suspicions are correct. Did either of you see Mr. Havelock leave? Did he go in the direction of London?”
“Yes, my lord. ’E might double back, if ’e was wishful to see if ’is dirty work paid off. With a cut like this, ’twould probably hold past Newbury. It’s flat going till after that. ’Twould take some pulling and lunging up a ’ill t’ make it break in two.”
“In other words, the tongue would snap where it would do the most harm.”
“Aye,” said Summers slowly. “When ye catch that young beggar, m’lord, give ’im one for me.”
“I’ll give him several for all of us,” promised Drew.
“You may as well let them repair this, Summers. That way, if Havelock intended to backtrack and intercept you, he’ll wonder what’s become of you.”
“Then ’e would end up ’ere.”
“True, and I’ve no worry but you’d know how to handle him. Just keep a close watch on your mistress—now and later. When I meet Mr. Havelock, I intend to persuade him—forcefully, if I’m lucky—to leave the country again. This time, for good.”
“Amen to that, m’lord.”
Drew’s rented phaeton was brought into the yard with two fresh horses. He swung up easily and waved to his two co-conspirators.
“Good luck t’ ye, m’lord!” called Tom Summers.
b
Jane watched this exchange with interest from the darkened doorway of the inn. When Drew was out of sight, she joined her coachman beside the damaged carriage.
“What’s the problem, Summers?”
“Just a bit o’ trouble wi’ th’ carriage, miss. Don’t you worry about it. It’ll delay us ’bout an hour; we may ’ave t’ put up for th’ night somewhere, but we’ll put most o’ th’ ground between ’ere and ’ome behind us before nightfall, never you fear.”
“What happened to it?” asked Jane, peering past the coachman.
“Just a weakness in th’ tongue, miss.”
“May I see it?” she demanded. He stood aside. Jane, who was as knowledgeable as most men about carriages and horses, took only a quick glance to determine that someone had tampered with the vehicle. She turned to her coachman. “When did this happen? Is it possible Lord Devlin had access to the carriage while you were eating?”
“Lord Devlin?” asked the incredulous groom.
“James!” warned the older man.
“But Mr. Summers, if ’t weren’t for Lord Devlin, we might never ’ave seen the thing! We’d ’a been killed!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lindsay, but what th’ boy says is true. Lord Devlin thinks it might ’o been done by yer cousin.”
“Yes, he would think that,” murmured Jane. “Do whatever you must to get us on our way, Summers.”
Jane wandered back inside. She returned to the private parlour, her thoughts uncomfortable company in view of all that had passed.
Perhaps she had been too hasty. And yet, she was too weary to try and make sense of all that had happened. If Drew were to be believed, she had been travelling with a man who wanted her dead. Then why hadn’t Roland tried to kill her somewhere along the road?
She had no answer to this question, except the unpalatable thought that Drew should not be believed. Oh, perhaps Roland had been partially correct. Perhaps Drew had wanted Heartland so badly that he would consider marriage to its mistress. But that fact held no comfort for her. To marry a man whose true object of desire was her estate? Never.
“Miss Jane, the landlord wondered if you’d like a room upstairs to rest in until our carriage is fixed,” said Tucker, poking her head in the parlour’s door.
“No, Tucker, I’ll just wait here.”
“Miss Jane?”
“Yes.”
“About Lord Devlin—”
“Tucker, I know you are partial to his lordship, but I’d rather not discuss either him or my cousin. Not now, not ever.”
“As you wish, Miss Jane.”
“Just call me when the carriage is ready to go.”
Chapter Ten
Havelock reached London by four o’clock and soon had secured lodgings at a modest boarding house near St. James Street. He sent the carriage to a nearby inn, which agreed to return them to The Crown in Reading. Next, he changed his coat and made his way out of doors, determined to enter the first gambling den he came across.
“Why the hurry?” asked a smooth voice from behind.
Havelock wheeled to face his nemesis, his beady eyes bulging in their sockets.
“Devlin! How the devil…?”
“That’s how I earned the nickname, Havelock. Always turning up at the most devilish moment.”
Roland Havelock looked to his left—a dark alley lay that way. To his right? A busy street. He took a step back, preparing to flee.
“Not so fast, old boy,” drawled Drew, grabbing the mountainous man by his lapels.
“Here now Devlin,” protested Havelock.
“Precisely. Here and now,” replied Drew with a deadly calm. Exhibiting a physical strength that had frightened much braver men, Drew yanked Havelock into the alley and threw him against the brick building, making the big man’s teeth rattle.
“What do you want of me?” Havelock squeaked.
“A bit of truth and a promise.” Drew pulled a pistol from his pocket and stepped away, keeping the firearm levelled at his prisoner’s ample girth. “Tell me all you have done to Jane; tell me how you’ve tried to kill her.”
“You’re mad, Devlin!” cried Havelock. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“We both know why, though I regret having to admit I probably put the idea in your head.”
“So you admit to being a party—”
“I only admit that I didn’t realize how dangerous you would become. Now tell me.” Drew could see Havelock’s brain churn, wondering exactly what Drew already knew. He would be loathe to admit anything he didn’t have to.
“Actually, it wasn’t all that much. Just a scare or two.”
“Tell me!”
“Well, Sims did most of it,” whined Havelock. “But he never succeeded.”
“Ah, yes, Sims. He was responsible for the larder shelf. And the abbey stones?”
“That was Sims, too!”<
br />
“But your hands are not entirely pristine, are they? The chocolates?” Drew was fishing now. He had never been convinced there had been anything wrong with that box of sweets. Drew waved the pistol and demanded, “Well?”
“All right! Yes! Yes, I poisoned the chocolates and the tea, as well! Just let me go, Devlin! Please! I’ll leave, the country, anything!”
“The tea? Now that would have been…?”
Too late, Havelock recognized his mistake—Devlin hadn’t known about the tea. Havelock’s shoulders sagged and he confessed, “In Dieppe, but I gather Jane didn’t like the taste of it. She must not have drunk it, except a little. She only became ill.”
Hearing the details, Drew wanted to pull the trigger, ridding the world of one of its evildoers. Instead, he said coolly, “And then we come to the carriage.”
Roland Havelock’s head jerked up. He had counted on Drew not being aware of his latest attempt. Until that very moment, Havelock had clung to the hope that even as he spoke, his cousin might be lying dead in a ditch. Now, all was well and truly lost. Jane would live. His mother would never inherit Heartland, and its income was lost to him forever.
He nodded and said, “Yes, and the carriage.”
“One more thing, Havelock.”
“No, I swear—there was nothing else!”
“I beg to differ. Where did you get rid of the Heartland pendant?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about now. The last time I saw it, it was on the table beside Jane in the gold salon.”
“You’ll forgive me if I wonder why you would bother to remember such a trivial detail.”
Havelock was panting like a trapped animal. His eyes slid back and forth searching for an escape that would not materialize.
Drew cocked the pistol. “I am always amazed at the hair triggers the gunsmiths put on these duelling pieces.”
Havelock wiped his brow on the sleeve of his coat, staring at the pistol all the while. Finally, he began to tremble. “Fleet Street. Number twenty-three. But it won’t be there any more!”
“You had better pray that it is,” said Drew. He yanked the cravat from Havelock’s neck and tied his fleshy hands behind his back, securing it to a pipe that ran the length of the building. Then he pulled out his own handkerchief and gagged him.
