A Murdered Earl

by Marina Oliver

  ***

  Luke, his knee considerably less painful, was preparing to go and see Bella the following morning when Aunt Caroline appeared in his room.

  'What is it?' he demanded, seeing her expression.

  'A constable, here,' she replied. 'There are two of them, one insisted on going to the kitchen, so there's no way out at the back. You'll have to see him.'

  Luke finished tying his cravat, and was pleased to see that his hands didn't shake. 'I have Maggie's statement to give him,' he said, taking it from the drawer where he'd kept it overnight. 'Let's go and talk to them.'

  In the drawing room he found the constable who had originally questioned him. The man looked miserable, but when Luke came into the room he straightened his shoulders and looked sternly at him.

  'I'm here about the murder of the Earl of Redditch,' he said slowly. 'There is new evidence which points to your guilt.'

  Luke raised his eyebrows. 'And I have a sworn statement here which shows that one of the other witnesses has been lying. The Viscount was alone, not dallying with the maid as she was forced to tell you. I think that throws some doubt on his own innocence. Here it is.'

  The constable waved it aside. 'Later. I expect you persuaded the girl to change her story, a handsome young buck like yourself.'

  Luke frowned. 'I have witnesses that she spoke willingly. What new evidence do you have against me?'

  'You were heard, a day or so before he died, quarrelling with the Earl about some jewellery.'

  Luke stared at him in astonishment. 'I never quarrelled with him about any jewels? Who says I did?'

  'It was when you were at Redditch Court. The Viscount's valet, Harris, overheard enough to know you were accusing the Earl of stealing some jewels you said belonged to your father. He told one of the maids there, and the Viscount heard about it when he was recently in Oxfordshire. How do you, a valet, come to possess jewels?'

  Luke was frowning. He'd asked the Earl if his father had sent the jewels to him for safekeeping, and the Earl had been annoyed. That was what Harris must have heard. Coldly he explained.

  'So you deliberately sought employment with the Earl in order to accuse him of having your family's jewels?'

  'Not to accuse him,' Luke replied furiously. 'I hoped he might be able to help me!'

  'Then why not go to him in the ordinary way and ask?'

  'Because I need to work to keep myself, and it seemed a good idea at the time to seek employment with him so that I could discover what sort of man he was, find a way to ask him without seeming to accuse him!'

  'It's not good enough. I'll have to take you to come with me and – '

  Luke took a step forward but before he could speak the door was flung open and Uncle Joshua strode into the room.

  'What the devil's going on here?' he demanded, and Luke thought he'd never seen his normally placid uncle in such a temper. 'I come home, and find some damned constable in the hall, trying to prevent me from entering my own house. And you're another, I suppose? Well, never mind that now. Luke, this message was brought to the shop a few minutes ago. As soon as I read it I came round. Do you think it's genuine?'

  'Just a minute, sir,' the constable interrupted, but Joshua impatiently waved him aside.

  'Oh, be quiet, man! This is important!'

  He handed a sheet of paper to Luke, who took it and swiftly scanned the contents. Luke looked up after a moment. His eyes were stricken.

  'Luke, what is it?' Aunt Caroline asked urgently.

  'Sylvie. It's from that devil, Bossard! He orders me to meet him. He's got Sylvie, and if I don't go at once heaven knows what the fiend will do to her!'

  Aunt Caroline twitched the paper from him and read it quickly. 'Luke, be careful, it might be a trap!'

  He stared at her blankly. 'I know. But I have to risk that, don't I?'

  'He says to go alone, and makes threats if you ignore him. Luke, you can't! It would be suicide? You know how the man hates you!'

  'I must. But I'll get Louis to come behind me. I won't be completely alone.'

  'Sir!' the constable began, his tone offended.

  Luke glanced at him. 'For heaven's sake, man, I haven't time to bother with you now! Get out of my way!' he added as the constable moved towards him.

  'I must insist – ' the man began, but Luke laughed grimly, gave him a shove which sent him sprawling onto the floor, and with a brief smile to his aunt and uncle, raced out of the room.

  ***

  Chapter 18

  'It might be a trap,' Louis said.

  Luke nodded. They were gulping down ale while waiting for new horses to be saddled, and Louis was stuffing bread and cheese wrapped in a napkin into his pockets.

  'I shall be prepared,' Luke replied shortly. 'Come on, we can't afford to delay,' he added, and mounted the horse before the stirrup leathers were lengthened for him. 'I'll do that,' he snapped at the ostler, who was being irritatingly slow.

  'How can you be so certain he has your sister?' Louis persisted when next they allowed the weary horses to drop to a walk.

  'I can't, but I intend to visit her employer first. It's only a few miles from the inn where he said we were to meet.'

  'He could have followed you back to Clerkenwell on some occasion, without your seeing him,' Louis said a little while later. 'Was it his men who attacked you?'

  'They cursed in French. It must have been. He could have been with them, keeping out of harm's way, and followed me home then. It would be simple enough to discover that my uncle had a shop, and pay a lad to deliver the letter there. It would give him more time to get away. Joshua said it was a boy from the area, but he couldn't describe the man who gave it to him.'

  'If he was in London two nights ago, he would have had little time to return to Oxfordshire, capture Sylvie, and send you the message. There must be more than one person.'

  'I hope to meet those two bully-boys again,' Luke said grimly. 'I've more than a dagger to defend myself this time.' He patted the deep pockets of his riding coat. 'I just need time to load them.'

  Louis nodded. 'I trust your uncle keeps his pistols well oiled. It seems a little odd for an apothecary to possess such a fine pair of duelling pistols.'

  'I believe someone gave them to him when he was young, in settlement of a debt. But don't worry, he takes good care of them. And you have your own.'

  They rode in silence after that, concentrating on getting the best speed out of their hired hacks. In Witney they changed horses again, and were soon on the road to Burford and Mrs Bradford's house.

  Both Mrs Bradford and her husband were in the drawing room, and the two young men were ushered in immediately.

  'Mr Peters, thank God you have come! Did your grandfather send for you?' Mrs Bradford exclaimed. 'I am devastated that such harm should come to your sister while she was in my house!'

  'Now, my dear, we can't be sure what has happened,' her husband, large and several years older, said soothingly. 'You mustn't make yourself ill, the children need you until young Sylvie can come back.'

  'What happened?' Luke asked, turning to Mr Bradford, not bothering to tell them that his grandfather's message had missed him.

  'Your sister was in the orchard playing with the children. She was – is very good with them, and they adore her. The housemaid saw what happened as she was dusting in one of the bedrooms, but of course she was much too far away to do anything or tell me. Two men rode up to the small gate which leads into the lane, and one of them came in. He spoke to Sylvie, and from what the girl said, he seemed to be asking for directions. Sylvie walked with him to the gate, pointed across the fields, and then he seized her and threw her up to his companion, and they rode off. That is all we know.'

  'I had a message to meet them, at an inn near Wychwood forest,' Luke said. 'I believe they must be holding her there, in some isolated cottage or hut.'

  'They contacted you? What do they want? A ransom?'

  'That's absurd! Sylvie hasn't any money. But perhaps they
thought she was a daughter of the house,' Mrs Bradford said slowly.

  'They want information, which they believe either Sylvie or I can give them. Taking her was meant to persuade me to part with it. Unfortunately neither Sylvie nor I can oblige. We know no more than they do.'

  'What can I do to help?' Mr Bradford asked abruptly. 'I can ride with you, bring a couple of men.'

  Luke shook his head. 'Thank you, but no. I am afraid that if they see too many men they will either disappear or harm Sylvie. I am going to meet them alone. Louis will keep watch on the inn and follow if they take me away. We will deal with them when we know where Sylvie is.'

  'It's too dangerous. They are bound to keep you once they have you,' Mr Bradford said.

  'What else can I do? Without them I cannot find Sylvie. I just have to depend on making a deal with them or escaping once we are together.'

  'Are you armed?'

  Luke nodded impatiently. He was anxious to leave, to reach Sylvie who must be desperately frightened. 'Pistols and a dagger.'

  'Let me bring someone else a while later. We can circle round, come from the opposite direction. You could leave a message for me at the inn. I would be discreet.'

  'If several men appear to be following they might take fright and harm Sylvie. I cannot risk that.'

  'Then let me at least wait at the inn, and your friend can follow. If you need reinforcements, he can come for me.'

  Seeing that he would not be content unless he could help, Luke nodded. 'Give us two hours,' he said, 'then come to the inn. Do you know the Bird in Hand? I believe it's close to the River Evenlode, northwest of the Forest.'

  'Yes, I know it!' Mr Bradford said grimly. 'A regular thieves' kitchen, if rumour is correct.'

  ***

  An hour later Luke and Louis were skirting the gloomy forest, mounted on two of Mr Bradford's hunters which he had insisted on lending them. They were approaching the road through the Evenlode valley when Luke heard rapid hoofbeats behind them, and glanced back.

  'Damnation!' he exclaimed. 'It's Bossard and two others. Ride on, Louis! They mustn't catch us both!'

  Louis gave a startled glance over his shoulder, and spurred his horse, but he was too late. A pistol shot rang out and the horse, hit in the leg, stumbled and crashed to the ground. Louis managed to kick his feet from the stirrups and fall free of the beast, but his head connected with a stone and he lay ominously still.

  Luke had no time to load his own pistols, and he reflected grimly as he struggled to control his own startled mount which was eager to bolt that they would serve no purpose until he knew where Sylvie was. Eventually he brought the animal to a halt, and turned to face their attackers.

  'Was there any need to attack a chance-met traveller?' he demanded angrily.

  Bossard sneered. 'We know him well, my friend. He's another of your cursed aristos. You were told to come alone.'

  'Where is my sister? I swear that if you have harmed her I'll send you to hell!'

  'She is unharmed – at the moment. Dismount,' he snapped to Luke. 'Search him!' he ordered curtly, and as Luke, knowing he had no option, slid off his horse, the other two men dismounted and approached.

  Luke watched grimly as they found and removed his pistols and the dagger he had concealed in his boot. Then Bossard ordered him to get on the horse again and one of the men tied his hands together behind his back and hitched the reins to his own saddle. Louis's inert body was swiftly searched, and then tossed across the back of the other man's horse. Bossard, glancing at the injured horse which was struggling to rise to his feet, shrugged and took aim. This time the shot went between the eyes, the beast quivered, and lay still.

  The three attackers wheeled away from the road and took a narrow track which led into the forest. Luke jogged uncomfortably on the saddle as he concentrated on keeping his balance. Having to exert pressure on his swollen knee, already aggravated by the long ride, was exquisitely painful, and his bruised shoulder ached abominably from being stretched back to accommodate his bound hands. The movement, however, was rousing Louis. His friend had raised his head, uttered a groan, and then flopped back across the horse's withers. At least he wasn't dead.

  Luke cursed himself for not suspecting an ambush. If he'd been in Bossard's shoes he'd never have expected an enemy to appear alone and defenceless. Only a fool would do so. But he seemed to have been a fool not to. He began to think hard.

  He glanced at Bossard's companions. They were clearly Frenchmen, they spoke the language fluently. Were they the two who'd attacked him in Lincoln's Inn Fields? But the one he'd stabbed could scarcely have recovered so soon. Bossard seemed to have several bullies at his disposal. Whoever they were they didn't seem to care now about revealing their identity, and that was ominous. They wouldn't let him go if they feared he could identify them. Both were, he judged, in their thirties, both had snub noses, fat cheeks, and dark hair. They were so similar they might well be brothers. Had he seen them in France? Were they from near his home, more revolutionaries, perhaps? But he had spent so little time in France he did not remember many of the people on the estate, let alone those from the nearby towns. The townsfolk were more likely to be leaders of the mobs who attacked the chateaux and murdered their owners.

  His reflections were interrupted as they rounded a bend in the path and came into a small clearing. At the far side was an ancient cottage, tiny, probably no more than one room, but with sturdy shutters across the single window, and a stout oak door which seemed out of place in such a dwelling.

  Bossard halted and dismounted. Luke's captor signalled to him to follow suit, and Luke swung his leg across the saddle and let himself slide to the ground, wincing as he landed and jarred his knee. Bossard tethered the horses to a tree and walked across to the cottage. Luke watched, saw him reach under the thatch above the window and remove a large iron key, then unlock the door. The others were carrying Louis towards the cottage and Bossard jerked his head. Luke obeyed the silent command and followed them inside.

  For several moments he was unable to see in the deep gloom, but gradually he made out a rough table and some stools, an empty hearth, and on the opposite wall a bed set into an alcove. Bossard was opening the shutters, and in the slightly better light details suddenly became clear. On the bed, sitting with her back to the wall and her feet stretched out in front of her, was Sylvie. She was gagged, and from the position of her arms, strained back, Luke guessed she was also bound. Louis was flung unceremoniously down beside her, and she flinched as his unconscious body flopped sideways and fell against her shoulder. With an angry exclamation Luke moved towards her, but Bossard caught his arm and dragged him back.

  'Not yet, my friend. You can reserve your rapturous reunion until later.'

  Sylvie's eyes were round with horror as she saw Luke, and she struggled to get to her feet, but fell back with a moan of frustration.

  Bossard leered at her. 'If you promise to behave, I'll untie your bonds and you can try to talk some sense into your brother,' he offered. 'But be persuasive, I've no wish to remain in this hovel for more than a few hours.'

  Sylvia cast an anguished glance at Luke, then nodded her head. Bossard grinned and walked across to the bed. He cut the rope round her ankles, throwing up her skirts to do so in a calculated manner which made Luke struggle hard not to rush to her aid. He hauled Sylvie to her feet, ripped off the gag, then spun her round so that he could cut the thin rope which bound her wrists together.

  'A tasty morsel, when it's not spitting fire and fury,' he commented, his hand in the small of her back as she pushed her towards the table. 'Sit there. We need the bed for our unexpected guest.' Luke glanced at Louis, who had fallen flat when Sylvie's slight support had been taken away. At least he appeared to be breathing normally, but his eyes were closed and his hand hung limply over the edge of the bed. 'You can all three share it later. That should be amusing for you,' Bossard went on, putting his hand on Sylvie's shoulder and forcing her onto a stool.

  'Pig!' S
ylvie spat at him as she rubbed at her wrists. 'Why can't you believe me? I don't know where the jewels are! Neither does Luke! Do you think we'd be living on the charity of our family, or be working as servants, if we had them?'

  'Perhaps you have come to believe that being a servant, such as I was, is not dishonourable. Sit beside her,' he snapped at Luke.

  For a couple of hours they denied all knowledge of the jewels, and Luke explained how his father had left the chateau with them, but no one knew where he had put them. Bossard sat facing them across the table, toying alternately with his pistols, which he had reloaded, and a wicked-looking dagger. His henchmen, who had gone outside to deal with the horses, returned and sat on stools either side of the empty hearth, leaning back against the walls with their feet sprawled in front of them. Outside, the summer daylight faded, and inside the cottage it grew colder. Probably it had never been warm, even in the hottest summer, without the heat of a fire, Luke thought as he saw Sylvie trying to control her shivering. Deserted for many years, he suspected, it had become damp.

  Eventually Bossard seemed to become conscious of the cold, and he ordered one of the men to find some wood and light a fire. The other fetched a lamp which had been in a cupboard, and gradually a faint warmth was discernable as the dry wood caught and flared. The lamp smoked, but that was a minor inconvenience, the very sight of it made the room appear more cheerful.

  One of the men fetched the pouches which had been tied to the saddles, from which he drew slices of cold rabbit pie and a loaf of bread. They drew their stools to the table, either side of Luke, and Sylvie was ordered to move to sit beside Bossard. Luke saw Sylvie lick her lips, and he wondered when she had last eaten.