“Couldn’t you at least have shot him in the arm?” Randolph asked.
Peregrin lowered his head into his hands. “He was going to kill me. That’s all I knew. It was him or me. And now I can’t show my face in London.”
“More like the whole empire.” Randolph stood with a sigh. “I shall ask Thomas to go round to your lodgings and pack your things. But you can’t stay here long. Most likely the police will come here when they don’t find you at home or at your club.”
“Thank you,” Peregrin choked out. When Randolph had left the room, he looked bleakly at his sister. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to carry it out.”
“What? New York?”
“You know.”
She gritted her teeth. “This is for more than just money and position now, Perry. If you ever want to come back to this country again, you need someone in a high place to watch out for you and smooth the way.”
He nodded, raking a hand through his wild hair. “Yes. I see that. But I had no idea at first that you wanted me to carry it out. Perhaps I could hire someone there.”
“Discretion is of the utmost.”
“There was so much blood.”
Merrileigh swallowed. “Well, the first thing is to get you off English soil. You’ve never been to New York, dearest. You’ll find it exciting. And there’s absolutely no one else we can trust in this matter.”
Peregrin frowned. “I say, it’s hard when I’ve just lined my pockets. I was looking forward to living large for a short time at least.”
“Well then, go and live large in New York. But do not let David Stone set foot on the deck of a ship. You can cut all the capers you want, so long as you see that through. And keep me informed. When Randolph thinks it’s safe, we’ll tell you, and you can come home.”
“But my friends! Hedge wanted me to go to Ascot with him, and Rutherford is getting up a house party in a couple of weeks.”
“Hedgely has done enough for you, don’t you think?” Merrileigh couldn’t keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice. “Besides, they have horses in America.”
Peregrin fingered his cravat, which usually hung in a beautiful waterfall. “Lord Raglan’s nephew is in New York, I believe. Might be one to show me about, with no questions asked.”
Merrileigh reached for the fan she’d left on a side table and opened it to cloak her expression. “Yes, that’s right. Make all the friends you can. It may help you later. Didn’t Lady DeGraves marry an American plantation owner?”
“He’s in the Carolinas, dear. Not close to New York at all.”
She shrugged. “Just put on a good face. And never talk about this to anyone. Ever. If it comes up, tell the truth—it was self-defense. If the man were a commoner, you’d be in the clear. Most people will understand that.”
He nodded. “What if David has already boarded a steamer?”
“I think it’s too early, but if you miss him, we’ll have to deal with the consequences.”
“And what if I miss the steamer in Liverpool?”
Merrileigh pursed her lips. She had researched the available berths well during the past few days. “There’s another leaving from Dover on Tuesday next, but you must do all you can to make the one in Liverpool. And Perry, these steamers are so efficient. You’ll be there in two weeks, and you’ll miss some of the hot, muggy weather while you are at sea.”
Peregrin smiled wryly. “How delightful. Can’t argue with a good sea breeze, can you? Hmm. Always thought that if I got too deeply in debt, I could skip to America or Australia.”
“You’ll be fine,” Merrileigh whispered eagerly. “When you return in a year or two, your name will be clear. Your friends will want to hear every detail. You’ll be in demand for parties. People might whisper behind your back a bit, but the young ladies will find you mysterious and dangerous.” She fluttered her fan.
“You make it sound like a good thing.”
“Men who weather a good scandal are the most fascinating, you know. They’re said to make good husbands, too.”
“If you say so.” Peregrin’s face scrunched up in puzzlement. “America’s huge, you know. How could I be certain whether or not he’d left port already?”
“I’ll ask Randolph to contact the solicitor—not Conrad. The young one, Iverson. I’ll send you a letter as soon as we learn anything.”
“Where?”
“Hmm. I believe there’s a hotel called the Metropolitan. Lord and Lady Wingford stayed there. I’ll write to you there unless I hear first from you, with a more complete address.”
He nodded his consent. “I suppose I shall have to travel without a valet.”
“You goose!” Merrileigh spanked his hand with her fan. “It’s not as if you have a private valet now. You three fellows share one footman, and you know it.”
Her brother squared his shoulders and pursed his lips. “Hogg’s not a footman. He’s our houseman, thank you very much. And I was thinking of hiring my own valet. If I didn’t have to spend all my winnings on a voyage, that is.”
Merrileigh eyed him narrowly. “Hogg? You could at least call him something more dignified.”
“That is his name.”
She scowled, wondering what sort of name that was. She called all her parlor maids Mary, no matter what their real names were. “Well, if you do hire a valet, make sure you get one with a dignified name. If you’re careful, you can hire one.”
Randolph entered. “I’ve dispatched Thomas. Merrileigh, if we’re going to the Fitzhughs’ tonight, you’ll have to get dressed.”
“Oh. Yes.” She looked uncertainly at Peregrin. “I hate to leave you, but if we don’t show up, Eleanor will be very cross at me.”
“I suppose the story’s already all over town,” Peregrin said.
Randolph frowned. “Then we must go out and stand up for you. Do you have funds?”
Peregrin nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Randolph looked distinctly relieved. “If what you’ve told us is true, then it was self-defense. Get us an address as soon as you can, and we’ll let you know if the coast is clear. But if Brampton’s people want to prosecute, I suppose you’ll have to stay away.”
“Do you think it will go worse for him if he flees?” Merrileigh asked.
“I don’t know. But if he stays, they might hang him quickly to satisfy the screaming aristocrats.”
Perry’s complexion took on a greenish tinge. “I’ll go. And thanks.” He extended his hand.
Randolph shook it. “I’m sorry this happened, Perry. Rent a horse, now. Don’t mess about with a coach or anything like that. Too easy to trace. And if you have a choice, the farther away you land, the better. Canada, the Indies…”
“Right. I’ll just stop here until your man returns with my bag.”
Merrileigh stepped up to him and kissed his cheek. “This will all turn out, Perry.” Would he have the nerve to carry out her request? She turned away, aware that she might never see her brother again.
CHAPTER 16
Millie laid aside her Bible—David’s Bible—when someone rapped on her door.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It’s McLeary. Can I talk to you?”
Millie frowned and rose from the bed, where she’d lain down and napped for an hour before reaching for the book that now meant so much to her. She supposed it was time to go back to the kitchen and help Mrs. McLeary.
She brushed her skirt smooth and quickly patted the impression of her body from the quilt. A glance in the looking glass showed that her hair was passable, and she opened the door six inches.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I’m hoping so, Mrs. Evans. See, the missus don’t feel so chipper. She wondered if you was up to fixin’ the midday meal by yerself. She started beans and put bread to rise, but now she’s feelin’ all-overish.”
“Oh, she must lie down,” Millie said. “I shall come down directly, sir. Just leave all to me. Oh—” She paused with her hand on the edge of
the door. “How many are we for dinner?”
McLeary ran his meaty fingers into his beard. “Hmm. Seems to me about twenty. No, if you count the drivers and shotgun riders, I suppose nearer twenty-six.”
“Has another coach come in, then?”
“Yes ma’am. The ferrymen want to put the nosebag on here this noon as well.”
She grimaced. “I’ll plan on thirty then. How does the river look?”
“I think she’s startin’ to ebb. But no one will cross today.”
“What about dishes? Do you have enough?”
“I’m thinkin’ two sittings.”
Millie nodded soberly. “And could you get someone to wash them, please? I’ll have my hands full.”
“Mm. I’ll put one of the tenders to work. They got nothin’ to do today, since the stages ain’t runnin’.”
He left her, and Millie quickly washed her face and hands, ran a comb through her hair, and took an apron from her satchel. Mrs. McLeary’s aprons could wrap around her twice, and she’d rather wear her own.
She retrieved the Bible and laid it reverently on the upended crate beside the bed. “Lord, give me strength, and thank You for this opportunity,” she said aloud.
David ignored the temptation to join his fellow travelers in raising a glass of beer. A couple of them couldn’t seem to quit after one or two, or even three, though it was still an hour shy of noon. He stuck to his coffee.
Listening to their stories passed the time. One of the shotgun riders tried to coax him into a card game that now had five participants, but David waved him off with a smile.
“I’m not much of a gambler, sir. But enjoy yourselves.”
“Well now, I recollect back in ‘41, when I first saw the Rockies,” one of the passengers said. His full beard and worn buckskin jacket led David to believe the man, who was about his age, had a history with the mountains. He seemed about to draw the longbow, as the old-timers said when one set out to tell a story, and he had an appealing manner of speech. David took a deep swallow of coffee and settled back to hear the tale.
Despite the overcrowded inn, the travelers spent a quiet day. The sun shone gloriously throughout the afternoon, lending a touch of unreality to the scene. With such favorable weather, they ought to be moving toward their destinations, yet here they were, becalmed at McLeary’s way station, listening to a rough man regale them with an account of his early trapping adventures.
The meals constituted the highlights of the day. The dishes at dinner, though plain fare, hit the gustatory spot. David thought the beans were especially well seasoned, and the cornbread melted in his mouth—not the dry, crumbling version they’d eaten their first evening here. Pudding and cookies followed, fit for a king, or at least the ruler of a small duchy.
Millie was again absent from their table, and David wondered if she was behind the toothsome menu. Mr. McLeary served their main course, but when it was time to refill the coffee cups and pass the desserts, Millie emerged with the host. She wore a colorful, pieced pinafore apron over her plain traveling dress. From across the room, she might have passed for a twenty-five-year-old farmer’s wife. A very pretty farmer’s wife.
David tried not to follow her with his eyes. When she came near, he smiled and thanked her but said no more. The other men all got a word in, teasing and trying to flirt with her.
“Capital food, Mrs. Evans,” called Andrews, the dandy from their stagecoach.
She cast a charming smile his way. “Thank you, sir.” She moved on to the next diner, and Andrews stared after her with a silly, vacant look on his face.
“This your cookin’?” one of the drivers asked her.
“Some,” she said briskly. “Mrs. McLeary had things started.”
“Whyn’t you take a stroll with me after dinner?” the driver said. “I’ll show you round the barn and all the corrals.”
Millie laughed and moved away with her tray. “I think not, but thank you, sir.”
Supper turned off even better. David had heard in the interval that Mrs. McLeary kept to her bed all day. He couldn’t wait to see what Millie produced for them, and he was not disappointed.
Yet another stagecoach arrived from the west, and Mr. McLeary apparently felt it was time to sacrifice a few chickens. What Millie did to those birds he would never know, but the fried chicken surpassed anything David had ever had the privilege to taste. Mashed potatoes would have been the perfect complement, but it was too early in the season for those, and it seemed the McLearys’ supply from last fall was exhausted. When he tasted Millie’s rice dish, he forgot about potatoes. This was even better.
Where had that minx learned to cook like this? Was she born knowing about herbs and sauces and how to cut lard into pastry dough? He doubted it, but she certainly had a gift. Even the greens went down well. The only part of the meal he would criticize if asked—which, of course, he wasn’t—would be the bread. It was disappointing after the feather-light biscuits they’d had at breakfast.
Of course, David thought as he sipped his perfect coffee. Mrs. McLeary had started the bread before she succumbed to her illness. The jelly and pickles of course, were hers. The rest was Millie’s. The smooth, flavorful gravy, the tart lemon pie with toasty-browned meringue topping and flaky piecrust.
With so many guests crowding the tables in shifts, he couldn’t hope for a second slice, so he left the dining room satisfied yet slightly wistful.
He considered going around to the back kitchen door and offering his compliments to the cook but thought better of it. After all, he wouldn’t want Millie to think he was going soft on her again—though many a man would marry a woman on the spot if he knew she cooked like an angel.
No, he wouldn’t think about that. He’d escaped her clutches once. Nothing could induce him to get close to her again. Beneath that appealing exterior lay a hardened, unscrupulous soul, whether she admitted it or not.
The odd thing was, other than her appeal to him at Fort Laramie, he hadn’t seen her grasping for anything on this journey or chumming up to a man, though she’d had plenty of opportunities. She was as pretty as ever—nay, beautiful, if you replaced the apron and threadbare dress with a proper wardrobe and loaned her a hairdresser for an hour. Millie Evans would stand out in any company.
But for some reason, she no longer sought to stand out. Rather, she tried to avoid notice. Very strange.
The next morning, Mr. McLeary announced at breakfast that they would cross the river on the ferry as soon as they had eaten. Millie hurried to put out the food and an extra pot of coffee, then dashed up to her room to gather her things. The passengers from her coach would be in the first group crossing.
As they walked toward the river carrying their luggage, she could see the brown expanse before them. It still overflowed its banks and spread wider than it should, but the ferryman seemed confident they could cross safely.
The swirling water frightened Millie. She’d crossed many a stream in her day, but not at flood stage. Still, the ferry appeared to be sturdy. The ferryman said it would take two trips to get them all across. She considered holding back and seeing how the first group did, but all of the others from her coach were taking the initial trip. It she waited for the next, she would delay them. Or perhaps they would go on without her. Tales ran rampant of drivers leaving without passengers who were late.
Their coach and team had to cross with them, though the other stages would stay on the west side of the river. What if the horses panicked in midstream? She wished the stage line could just have another coach and team waiting for them on the other side.
The animals were loaded first and securely hitched to iron rings in the ferry’s deck. Since the dock had been damaged in the flooding, the ferry was brought close to shore, and a sturdy plank ramp was constructed for animals and people to use in boarding.
Once the coach and team were secure, Millie and her fellow passengers, along with the travelers from the second coach, were permitted to board.
&nbs
p; The family that had shared the inn with them went first, and the wife seemed surefooted when she embarked, though she did hold fast to her husband’s arm as they ventured onto the ramp.
Millie had no one to help her. She gathered handfuls of her skirt and set foot on the end of the gangplank. The boards quivered just a bit. The ferry was tied fore and aft to pilings, so the boat would not move during this process, but still it swayed a little. Millie gulped and stepped forward.
“May I assist you?”
It was Andrews who had spoken. Millie had avoided him as much as possible during their stay at the McLearys’, and when he’d attempted to engage her in conversation, she’d made sure others were included. Treat them all alike, she’d told herself. That was the key. Don’t let any one man think you’re singling him out for special treatment.
Only one man in the party stood a chance of snaring her heart—indeed, it was half caught already. But David Stone remained aloof so far as Millie was concerned. He had praised her cooking, but not overmuch, and for the last two days he had greeted her pleasantly if they happened to meet in a doorway. Other than that, he’d barely spoken to her during their delay at the stage stop.
Since adolescence, Millie had instinctively allowed men to help her. She had come to expect it, and it was one of her tools in working toward success. Most men would offer to help a woman, especially if she was neat and ladylike in her appearance. If she was pretty to boot, she could choose whose arm she wished to hold. In this case, Andrews was first in line. Glancing about, she saw at least three other men fall back with disappointed frowns. Perhaps if she had paid them more attention at breakfast this morning, they would have been bolder in offering their protection and aid.
At once she felt a pang of remorse. Since she’d turned to the Lord, she’d begun to learn that God looked upon men—and women—differently than mortals did. And using another human being for one’s own gain and comfort was not acceptable in God’s view. Millie strove to attain humility and selflessness in her new life, but those lessons went down very hard. She was still trying to fathom their meaning and what good could come from self-effacement.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 77
