by Laura London
Lynden nodded glumly. “I know—and I blanch to think what Melbrooke would do if either of us tried to sneak out, because after he made me give my word that I wouldn’t try it, he said, ‘let us hope you mean to honor that’—and in the coldest way, too! He positively loathes me now.”
“Don’t say that!” said Lorraine, dropping her hands to her lap and clasping them in distress. “Oh, don’t! How could anyone loathe you, Lynnie?”
“Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Monroe did,” Lynden pointed out inexorably. “They didn’t find it too hard, and Melbrooke finds me just as troublesome as they did! What’s more, he has less reason to feel obliged to like me—he’s not even a relation.”
“Not related? You’re married!”
“That,” said Lynden, darkly, “he could have annulled.”
Lorraine paled. “Lynden—he hasn’t said anything on that head, has he?”
“No, but heaven knows what he’s thinking—I don’t! I never suspected that he would do anything so drastic as drag us south to keep us out of Lord Crant’s vicinity. What a fool I was last night to drop that skeleton key. Raine, your happiness hangs in the balance. There’s nothing for it. We must act!”
Lorraine sighed and opened the lid of the piano, her fingers trilling the keys. “I hope that doesn’t mean that you are again going to suggest that I flee to the smuggler’s cabin and elope with Kyler while you distract the household by feigning a spasm of the heart. No matter how desperate the circumstances, I couldn’t bend my principles to participate in an elopement…” She paused to perform a thoughtful arpeggio. “Unless—oh, unless Kyler asked me first. Besides, it would never work. No one would believe you could fall to a spasm of the heart at your age.”
Lynden was about to argue that she could pretend a weakness of the heart, arising from an early bout of measles, when Lord Melbrooke pushed the door open. The candlelight shimmered in his amber locks, but it was a glint made cold by his distant demeanor, like the sun reflecting on the top of a mountain that is otherwise shrouded in mist. He bade the twins good evening, and said, “I wanted to inform you our departure is set for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. The roads are dry and if the weather tomorrow is as mild as it has been, travel should be pleasant.”
“That,” said Lynden, “depends on where you’re going.”
He gazed at her coldly. “So, you are still angry about my decision to leave. Don’t say any more on that score; last night you said quite enough. I know your feelings, but that doesn’t alter my determination. I won’t be moved, Lynden.”
“Like a hound over a fresh-buried legbone,” muttered Lynden ungraciously. “I ought to tell you this about your travel plans: I doubt I’ll feel able to leave in the morning.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows in ironic solicitousness. “Do you predict you’ll be feeling too delicate?”
“Yes, I do!” said Lynden defiantly, angered by his skeptical tone. “I have a heart flutter from childhood measles, it may surprise you to learn.”
“The only thing that surprises me is that you’ve had all day to plot and you haven’t thought of anything better than a heart flutter,” Melbrooke observed.
Lynden stared furiously at him. “If I died, you’d be sorry you said that, wouldn’t you?”
Only the most optimistic of observers, upon reading Melbrooke’s expression, could have ascertained that His Lordship might greet his young wife’s demise with anything other than the most profound relief.
“Sometimes, Lynden,” he began, “I have a strong urge to…” But before Melbrooke could complete his sentence, Lynden had decided that she preferred to remain in ignorance of the nature of his urge, and stood up, stamped her foot, announced she was having a spasm, and collapsed gracefully in Lord Melbrooke’s direction, having carefully calculated that he was near enough to catch her.
“Lynnie, what have you done?” cried Lorraine, jumping to her feet.
Supporting Lynden’s limp body in his arms, Melbrooke could not bring himself to regret a circumstance that prescribed his pretty bride throwing herself into his arms, no matter how unflattering might be her motive. His hand touched the healthy, glowing skin of her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open and looked up at him with suspicious limpidity. There was a noise in the doorway, but Melbrooke assumed it to be one of the servants and didn’t turn his head. Lynden’s view, however, included the doorway and she looked toward the sound. What she saw changed her from an inanimate and sickly caricature to a vibrant young lady in a soft pink evening gown, who in the space of three seconds had pulled herself from her husband’s embrace, shrieked, and then stood gaping at the doorway.
Lorraine clasped one hand to her bosom and rushed forward, exclaiming, “Oh, you’ve come! You shouldn’t have! Oh, Kyler, you’re here!”
The disreputable gentleman referred to was leaning against the door frame, legs casually crossed. When Lorraine reached him, he gave her a quick, one-armed hug.
“Aye, I’m here… Dash it all, though, you oughtn’t to charge like that—could knock a man full over.” He grinned lovingly at Lorraine, the wide, sensitive mouth curving. His chapeau-bras was shifted back over his dark curls, and his long leather cape and shiny, black leather riding boots were splashed with mud. A large flintlock pistol was hanging backward at his hip; and the black patch over his left eye completed his raffish and piratical appearance. “I was worried when you two rascals didn’t come to our rendezvous today. I thought maybe Lord Melbrooke had discovered you’d been sneaking out at owl-time and so I’d better come down and help you explain away the mess. Mind you, here I find the hornet thump into her husband’s arms, amorous as you please, so I may have been wasting my time.”
“Kyler, sometimes you’re so stupid,” said Lynden indignantly. “We weren’t making love—I was having a heart spasm.”
“Maybe you were having a heart spasm,” retorted Kyler, “but I think His Lordship there was having a different kind of sp—Ow! Blast it, hornet! Good thing I’ve got my high boots on. You almost kicked my leg off! Between you and your sister, a body could be bruised black from head to toe. What are you glaring at me for—that is your husband, ain’t it?”
“Of course he’s my husband!”
“I’d better make myself known to him, then.” Kyler doffed his hat and made His Lordship a graceful bow, a charming light dancing in his eyes. “Behold me, My Lord, Kyler Miller at your service.”
Lord Melbrooke beheld this rather astonishing young man for the space of a full minute. Kyler, quite unabashed by the survey, smiled at Lorraine, gave Lynden’s curls a playful tug, and sauntered into the room, slapping his hat on his thigh.
“Indeed.” There was a spark of interest in Melbrooke’s smoky eyes. “I have no obsession for ponderous formalities, Mr. Miller, but I couldn’t help observing that you weren’t announced by a servant. Did you, perhaps, not enter the house by the front door?”
“I snapped the latch and crawled in through the parlor window,” Kyler disclosed casually. “But I could have gotten in a dozen ways. Devilish easy house to enter. No need to bother about it, My Lord, cracksman ain’t my lay.”
“I’m delighted to be so informed,” said Melbrooke dryly. “Could it be, then, that your—lay—is… What was it? A tinsmith?”
“Tinker,” corrected Lorraine in a small, scared voice.
Kyler laughed. “Oh, I do tinker in this and that. But I know naught of the trade. That’s just a tale the princess here thought up so she wouldn’t have to ’fess that she met me on the High Toby. In short, sir, we met when I held up milady’s coach.”
“A congenial circumstance,” observed Melbrooke.
“You wouldn’t think so if you’d ever held up a coach,” Kyler informed him knowledgeably. “The princess fainted dead away in my arms and the little one attacked me like a weasel at a trout. I decided right then that a snaffler’s life was not for me! To tell you the truth, My Lord, I’d like to go honest, but if you don’t believe that and have a case of the distr
usts, I’ll let you train my snapper on me while we talk.”
He turned out his pistol and handed it, butt-end, to Lord Melbrooke, who received it, gave it a short, expert examination for weight and balance, and then returned it to Kyler. “A pretty weapon,” said Melbrooke, “but I’m afraid I’d feel a little silly pointing it at you, since I can’t help remarking that it’s not loaded.”
“Of course it ain’t. I didn’t want to take the chance of you getting mad and blowing it off at me, which Lord knows, you might do once you hear the full story of what these twins and I have been about.” He re-holstered the pistol.
Lorraine slipped her hand through Kyler’s gloved hand and spoke. “Are we to tell all, then? How glad I am! Kyler, your decision does you great honor!” She turned to Lord Melbrooke and said earnestly, “My Lord, you cannot know the depth with which I have regretted those dictates of conscience which have kept Lynnie and me from sharing Kyler’s story with you. But how could we have spoken without his sanction, or even, in honor, have asked him to give his sanction when this regards a matter so painful, so private, and so fraught with danger?”
Melbrooke took this dramatic announcement with what was in Lynden’s eyes a disappointing degree of calm. He merely remarked that they had better waste no time in relating to him so weighty a narrative, and motioned his wife, sister-in-law, and dashing young guest to be seated. Kyler added a festive note to the occasion by drawing a bottle of duty-free brandy from a capacious pocket in his cloak and offering to share it with his companions. Lynden hurried to bring from a wine table a set of glasses embossed with the Melbrooke coat-of-arms.
Kyler took a fortifying gulp of the brandy, modestly pronounced it very tolerable stuff, and, after a somewhat lengthy introductory comment, handed to Lord Melbrooke the letter containing his stepmother’s deathbed revelations. The three younger members of the party waited in suspense while Melbrooke read the letter and then reread it. When Lynden could bear it no longer, she left her padded armchair and, with a sigh of pink skirts, sat on the Chinese floral carpet at Melbrooke’s feet.
“Well?” she demanded, looking up at him.
He carefully folded the paper and gazed at the company, new comprehension dawning in his eyes. His hand stroked Lynden. “It appears, little one, that my judgments were too quick. Almost, I begin to see the light. This letter is remarkable—I should say, incredible.”
“You don’t believe it?” said Lorraine, clenching a fist, knuckles white with anxiety. Lynden sat alert at her husband’s knee, challenge bright in her eyes.
Kyler leaned back against the sofa cushion, resting his ankle on one knee, looking soberly at Melbrooke. “Can’t blame him if he doesn’t,” he said frankly. “Don’t know whether or not to believe it myself. At least I didn’t until the girls discovered that sundial.”
“Sundial?” inquired Melbrooke reflectively. “Could you be referring to the sundial in the castle courtyard at Crant?”
“Yes, that one,” said Lynden from her place at his feet. “You’ll be mad as mare’s meat, though, once you’ve heard what Raine and I have been about.”
“Will I? Then somehow I shall strive to moderate my temper within the bounds of civilized usage. No doubt your two comrades here will be able to protect you from the more violent exigencies of my wrath.”
“Not me,” disclaimed Kyler ignobly. “I think she should be beat! Never know what she’ll do next, but it’s likely to turn me into an old man wondering about it. I was foolish enough to give her a skeleton key and spent the whole time I was down in Broughton worrying what she would do with it. Don’t know what possessed me to give it to her in the first place.”
“Neither do I,” said Lynden crossly. “Because all it did was get us in a parcel of trouble without producing the least reward.” She gave a sideways, underlashed glance at her husband. “I suppose you want to hear it from the beginning, My Lord? Very well. Things began with Lady Irmingarde’s sundial…”
In a discourse much amplified by Lorraine and amended by Kyler, Lynden related the story of the initial trip to Crant Castle and the evidence of the sundial rubbing; with some embarrassment and defiance, she told how the three had broken into the Crant mausoleum on the night Melbrooke had been waiting for her; and faltered to an end with an exposition of their (weak) motives for exploring the locked tower on the Crant property.
“What a trouble merchant you are, child,” said Kyler with disapproval. “It’s plain as friar’s smocking that horse wouldn’t run.” The disapproval left his face at her indignant expression, to be replaced, strangely, by chagrin. “There now, don’t needle up on me. I don’t know why I was talking about poor schemes, hornet, when this morning I went to Crant Castle and belled out a dozen times worse than you.”
“To Crant?” questioned Lorraine worriedly.
“Without us?” said Lynden, not at all pleased.
“Aye, missy, without you, and it was a good thing, too, from the way things turned out. I made it back from Broughton last night and recollected that Crant was throwing a gala ball, so I decided that this morning early would be a good time to poke around the castle. I thought since the place was bound to be teeming with guests and their servants, no one would be too suspicious when they saw another stranger floating about.”
“Excellent plan,” said Lynden sarcastically. “Gentlemen floating about in leather capes, eyepatches, and riding boots were bound to be three pennies a dozen.”
“Of course I wasn’t going to go like this. I, um, borrowed a livery from one of the Countess Chepstow’s outriders. But the fellow didn’t appreciate it when he came into the tower storeroom to see me halfway into his coat and set up a squawk like a damn rooster—loud enough to wake half the place up. I made a fast exit down the hallway and ran smack into Lord Crant himself as I was turning the corner. My Lord Crant looked at me as if I was the walking dead, and then gave me a smile that would chill your soul. ‘Now who could you be?’ he said. ‘Unfinished business, eh?’ ” Kyler’s face darkened. “Damned if that man doesn’t have a lot to answer for. Anyway, this other fellow sneaks up behind me. Turns out to be some gone-to-seed Prussian henchman of Crant’s called Otto.”
“Ottmar!” corrected the twins in unison.
“That’s it, Ottmar. He was planning to hit me over the head with a chair. I ducked out the side door and ran up the staircase on the inside of the castle wall, with Crant urging Ottmar after me. There was a murder-hole in the walkway that my own ancestors used to drop stones on invaders trying to climb the castle walls. I dropped through it into the putrid, freezing moat. That was a long fall, let me tell you! And I’ll wager they were surprised to see me go that way. But I had my horse tethered nearby and got away.” Kyler paused. “There’s something I’m worried about now. He saw me, and it concerns me that he’ll connect my reappearance in his life with the twins’ snooping.”
Melbrooke had been listening intently to Lynden’s narrative, then to Kyler’s. For the most part his face remained impassive, but occasionally a smile would touch his lips. All the while, his fingers played gently in Lynden’s dark curls. He gave no sign that any of the story surprised him, nor did he appear angry; and beyond remarking at one point that once the mystery had reached Lynden’s hearing he supposed the rest was inevitable, Melbrooke had ventured no other comment. Now he leaned forward, his face serious.
“I think you may be right. Lord Crant came to see me this afternoon.”
His words produced surprise. “He must have been here while Lorraine and I were in the bake shack eating fresh finger cakes!” said Lynden.
“Possibly,” agreed Melbrooke. “Crant didn’t stay long. He was on his way south, escorting his sister to Leeds. He came, it seems, to tell me he had been attacked this morning, and the villain—a prodigal illegitimate son, to whom it seems Crant had already behaved with great generosity. Crant told me that this young man had become more and more demanding, and this morning visited him requesting payment for an ill-considered gambl
ing debt. After being refused, the boy became violent—Crant’s story went—and fled after threatening Crant’s life.”
“A wicked, wicked lie,” said Lorraine, her soft voice trembling with anger.
“Aye, but it’s a clever blackguard,” said Kyler. “No doubt he thought if the girls came to you about me, you’d already be convinced I was his ne’er-do-well by-blow.” He looked at Melbrooke, tension in the dark young face. “Now who do you believe, Crant or me?”
Melbrooke smiled. “I’ve known Crant for fifteen years, so naturally I believe you.”
“Huzzah!” cried Lynden, grabbing Melbrooke’s hand and kissing it fervently. “Oh, Justin, I knew you were a right one!”
Lorraine’s eyes misted, and she favored Melbrooke with a warm smile. “Indeed he is!”
“Then you approve of what we’ve been doing?” said Lynden.
Melbrooke pinched her chin lightly. “Now that I didn’t say. You ought to have told me, my dear.”
“Perhaps I ought, but I’m not in the habit of confiding in you, and, besides, it wasn’t my secret. Anyway, I’ve got a dandy idea now. You see, I’ve figured out why Crant’s taking his sister south. Probably she doesn’t know anything about Kyler’s birth or Crant’s treachery, so Crant would like to have her out of the way should things get lively. And with Crant himself out of the way tomorrow, it would be a prime opportunity for all of us to go to the castle and begin a thorough search…”
Melbrooke shook his head. “No, Lynden. From now on you and Lorraine will have no more active part in the matter. I’ll do what I can to help your friend here, but only on the condition that you refrain from any involvement. Is that agreed?”
“It is if I have anything to say in the matter,” assented Kyler. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to see the girls safely out of this, and I don’t mind telling you, My Lord, I’m devilish grateful to have your help because I was sharp-staked out to know what move to make next.”
