“I see,” Constable Morris commented, studying the little dog who continued a furious scratching and whining at that door.
The handler reached down and picked the little dog up. “I’m sorry, Constable. Maisie is a favorite of the Duke’s. She has caught his scent, and probably is hoping for a treat. He spoils her abominably.”
The rag mop of a dog continued to squirm and whine. “I’ll take her out,” the handler said. “Perhaps she needs to relieve herself.”
The hound master nodded absently. “Most peculiar behavior. I have not seen her behave like that before, but we usually are accompanying the Duke when we have them out. She likes to ride on his saddlebow.”
They had just started back down the hall, when one of the younger pups, who had been casting about the hallway, let out a yip and nearly dragged his handler down the stairs. Maisie struggled in the arms of her handler, and tried to escape.
“Do you think they found something?” Constable Morris asked.
“More likely picking up our back trail,” the hound master said, keeping a grip on the lead attached to the brown and white matriarch who had sniffed Evelyn’s hand. “Here, now, Majesty,” he addressed the hound. “What is it, girl?”
The bitch snuffled and strained at the lead, heading toward the servants’ stair.
“Perhaps they went out that way,” Constable Morris suggested.
One of the youngest handlers snorted. “More likely sniffing out dinner, Mr. Carter. That is a mighty scrumptious odor coming up those stairs.”
“One of the younger hounds, perhaps,” the hound master replied. “But not Majesty. She’s one of our best trackers. Let us see where she takes us.”
The group that had entered, consisting of Constable Morris, Evelyn, Mr. Carter, and three young handlers, followed Majesty. Their progress was accompanied by Maisie’s whimpers as she continued to struggle to get down.
Mrs. Bates, the cook from the village, met them in the kitchen. “Oh, Lor’,” she exclaimed, “There you are. I just told Mr. Wilson that I saw someone leaving by the kitchen door this morning. Whoever it was carried what looked like a carpet. I did not think anything of it, until I heard about Mr. Rudge going missing. Do you think they carried him out that way?”
Majesty had her nose to the ground, and was casting about the stone floor for the scent she had latched onto. Just as they thought they were making some progress, the Duke came striding down to them from the Main House.
“Making trouble again, Mrs. Swinton?” he jibed humorously, as he approached the group. He then nodded to the dogs, “How are they doing, Carter?”
“They seem a bit confused, Your Grace. They are having a hard time getting a clear scent.”
“I should imagine so,” the Duke replied. “This is a busy house, and if the culprits are employed here, their scent might well be all over.”
Maisie’s handler set her down, and the little rag mop dashed straight for him, then ran around him in circles, barking in a high-pitched yap.
The Duke stooped down, and she jumped into his arms, wriggling, and licking at his face. He laughed and said, “Atrocious little beast! What have you been eating? Your breath smells dreadful.”
Maisie apparently took this as high praise, for she settled down in the Duke’s arms and closed her eyes contentedly.
“You’ll get no more from this one,” the Duke said. “I’ll just take her with me, and go on down to the leading edge of the searchers. I believe they have reached the forest.” With that, the Duke of Tolware strode off down the lawn toward the other searchers.
Meanwhile, Majesty continued to snuffle about the grounds. She sniffed at the Duke’s footprints, and stared after him, but did not seem to focus on him. She continued to sniff about. More than once, she sat down, looking baffled. But she was soon up on her feet again, whuffling loudly.
Majesty backtracked several times, zigging and zagging here and there. She went to the stables once. The stable master met them, but denied there being any horses missing. “There is a horse blanket gone, though,” he added. “It’s the one the late Duke used on his favorite horse. We just put it by, like.”
“Let Majesty check the stables, then,” Constable Morris said. “Perhaps Mr. Rudge is more mobile than we thought, and finding the day chill, took the blanket.”
The constable, stable master, and hound master went into the stables. The rest, in deference to the stable master’s worry about upsetting the horses, did not go in.
When they returned to the rest of the group, Evelyn could see frustration on Constable Morris’s face. “Nothing,” he said, in response to her inquiring look. “Just nothing.”
As they walked back toward the Dower House, the wind picked up and the clouds that had been collecting overhead began to crackle with lightning. Across the river, the leading edge of the storm was visible. Rain was falling in a torrent. Fat raindrops began to fall from the sky. The group hastily took refuge on the roofed stoop back of the kitchen just in time to shelter from the downpour.
“Well, that’s put an end to using the dogs,” Mr. Carter said.
“Will you keep on looking?” Evelyn asked anxiously.
“Yes, we will, Mrs. Swinton,” Constable Morris replied. “But we are now reduced to what human eyes can see and human ears can hear. Any scent trails that might have been available have been washed away.”
Evelyn clasped her hands so tightly together that her knuckles turned white, and stared down across the expanse of lawn toward the meadow, the river, and the forest. “Perhaps Mr. McElroy is awake and we can learn something from him,” she suggested.
“My thoughts exactly, Mrs. Swinton,” Constable Morris confirmed. “Why don’t you go on up to the Duchess for now. Perhaps the two of you can come up with some good ideas. Meanwhile, I will put on my oilskins and go down to see how the searchers are doing.”
Going into the house and climbing the stairs to the Duchess’ rooms was the hardest thing Evelyn had ever done.
Oh, God, Evelyn silently prayed. Let him be safe. Just let him be safe, and I’ll never ask for anything again.
Chapter 45
When Evelyn entered the Duchess’ chambers and took off her hat and pelisse, the Duchess looked at her and said, “Well?”
Evelyn shook her head. “Nothing yet.”
“This is dreadful. Simply dreadful. Shall we next all be murdered in our beds?”
“We shall take care of you, Your Grace. If I must leave you, some other trustworthy person will be at your side.”
“Thank you, my dear. Mrs. Henshaw and Mr. Wilson will see to me. But your concern is noted. Now, what have they done to find Mr. Rudge?”
“Dogs. But now it is raining. The villagers have made a line and are looking through the wood.”
“Has anyone thought to look at the old stable?”
“Stable? What old stable?”
“The one that went with the old gatehouse. It was an inn for a time, but then there was some nonsense about population centers and land rights, and the road was moved about five miles west of its usual position.”
“No, I don’t think anyone has thought to look there. Constable Morris is new to the area, as am I.”
“Do ring for someone,” the Duchess directed. “I shall send a note to Constable Morris. No. On second thought, we cannot trust anyone else. Ring for Mrs. Henshaw to stay with me, and you shall go find Constable Morris. Who would you trust to go with you?”
“Jemmy or Mr. Bruce,” Evelyn promptly replied. “I would rather have Jemmy, if he can be spared.”
“We shall spare anyone you wish, save Mr. Wilson. Mr. McElroy is in a sad way, for this time in addition to his wooden leg being broken, he was hit on the head with a poker.”
“Oh, no!” Evelyn cried out. “How is he?”
“Dr. Alton stopped by to see me, and said that his skull was not cracked. Although I believe he has a large bump on his head, it is thought that he will recover.”
“This is simply d
readful,” Evelyn said. “I begin to see why Mayson wanted to leave as soon as he might be well enough.”
“Do you think he might have stolen away on his own?” the Duchess asked.
Evelyn shook her head. “No, I do not believe so. And, in all events, he was still feverish and more than a little ill. If he had left his bed, he would not have gotten far.”
Mrs. Henshaw appeared at the door. She was impeccably turned out, as always, but her mouth was set in a straight line, and there were tired smudges beneath her eyes. “How can I help you, Your Grace?” she asked.
“Mrs. Swinton is to go find Constable Morris. I want Jemmy to go with her, if he is well enough, and I will need you and the two maids, Betty and Molly Sue to run our errands.”
“I will do it gladly, Your Grace,” Mrs. Henshaw said. “Might I make a suggestion?”
“Indeed, you may, Mrs. Henshaw.”
“Bring Mr. McElroy up to sit with us. Constable Morris left Mr. Smith and Mr. Martin, the men from London, to watch over him. I would feel safer to have them both under my eye, as well as Mr. McElroy. That would free up one of the London men to go with Mrs. Swinton, as well as young Jemmy.”
“An excellent solution,” the Duchess said.
Shortly, Evelyn set out in the company of Mr. Martin and Jemmy. All three were equipped with oilskin coats and hats, as the rain continued at a steady rate. The men wore oiled-leather boots, but the only available pair was so large on Evelyn, that she declared she would be fine with her own carefully polished walking boots.
Jemmy guided them down past the willow, then to the back of a long line of villagers who were walking hand in hand, breaking the chain only to go around a tree or similar obstruction. After a couple of inquiries, they found Constable Morris trying to make notes in his book while using his coat as an inefficient umbrella to protect the paper from the rain.
He knitted his brows as he watched them approach. “What happened?” he asked in alarm.
“Nothing horrible,” Evelyn reassured him. “But her Grace had a suggestion for a place to look. She says there is an old stable beside a burned-out inn building. She says she thinks enough of it should be intact to serve as a shelter.”
“Excellent! I shall commandeer a guide, and go there immediately,” the constable said. “Go back to the house, and tell the Duchess I have received her message.”
“I am going with you,” Evelyn said firmly.
“But…” the constable started to protest.
“I’ll go, too,” Jemmy put in. “I grew up here, and know just exactly where that that old stable is located. When I was a boy, it had held together enough that my friends and I made a fort of it on more than one occasion. It has grown more ramshackle with time, but it might be better shelter than none in this weather.”
Constable Morris looked annoyed, but he was not about to let a knowledgeable guide out of his sight. “Very well. Let us be about it.”
“We just need to go down the old lane,” Jemmy said, taking the lead. “It is really not far at all.”
“Not far at all” to a country boy is a good way for city folk not used to walking over rough terrain. Evelyn, Mr. Martin, and Constable Morris were a great deal slower than Jemmy in traversing the high grass and weeds that grew in the lane. This was an area that clearly had not been recently mowed.
Evelyn spotted the first sign that they were on the right track. A man’s plain, white handkerchief was trampled into the ground, made nearly invisible by the muck. A little farther along a twig was broken in three places, yet left dangling on the tree.
Within a few strides, they could see a ramshackle stable building. From within it, came the sound of a harsh, booming cough. Before the gentlemen could stop her, Evelyn broke into a run.
Chapter 46
Mr. McElroy was telling a long tale of one of his adventures in Africa. “…an’ then I says, never mind that. You’d best . . .” Mayson was listening drowsily, only half hearing the story.
Mr. Bruce entered, and without a word to either of the occupants of the room, he strode over to the fireplace, picked up the poker, turned, and struck at Mr. McElroy with it.
Mayson staggered up from the bed, intending to go to Mr. McElroy’s assistance, but he was grabbed from behind, and a strong arm choked off his wind. He struggled, but barefoot and hampered by his nightshirt and the bedclothes that seemed to wind about him like some strange vine, he could not get free.
The old soldier flung up his arm, deflecting the poker, and threw a strong punch at the footman’s gut. The younger man twisted away from it, and punched Mr. McElroy in the temple. The soldier fell like a stone.
“The leg. Destroy that leg so that it is nothing but splinters.”
“But…”
“Do as I say,” the harsh voice barked. “Before I…”
Then Mayson knew no more.
Mayson came to himself sometime later, shivering with cold. He was lying on a lumpy surface, wearing only his nightshirt. His hands were bound behind him, his legs and feet wrapped up in something that kept him from moving. The only blessing was that the thing wrapped about his lower limbs gave the illusion of a little warmth.
“Where is he?” he heard the Duke of Tolware say. “He said he would be here.”
“He will be here, Your Grace,” Mr. Bruce replied. “He promised. I did just exactly as you said I should. I did not tell him any names, I just said I had found his nephew, and he would be here. I just hope to goodness that I did not kill Mr. McElroy.”
“You’d best hope you did kill McElroy, because he saw our faces. I want to turn Rudge or whoever he really is over to Hillsworth, collect the reward, and go pay off my debtors. But just like every other thing in my life, nothing about this has gone as planned.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I did my best . . .”
The dust inside the bag over his head began to tickle at Mayson’s throat. His nose began to run, and he began the deep, involuntary coughing that had plagued him for the last several days.
Quick footsteps came toward him, and someone undid the bag. He drew in a deep lungful of cold air, and continued to cough.
When he caught his breath, he said, “If you keep me here in this weather, I am not likely to survive until morning.”
Quick running footsteps could be heard outside the building. “Kill him, and let us escape!” the Duke of Tolware hissed.
“That… that would not be right. We… we were just to trade him… ” Bruce whispered in protest. “I am so sorry, Mr. Rudge,” he said, starting to wrap the rough blanket more tightly about Mayson. “It was not supposed to go like this.”
The door burst open.
“Darrius! Mr. Bruce!” Evelyn exclaimed.
“Evelyn!” Mayson cried out in alarm. “Get away, get back. They mean to kill me.”
“No one is killing anyone,” Constable Morris said firmly, stepping through the doorway, a brace of pistols in his hands. “Martin, clap them both in irons.” He then set his teeth on his lower lip, and let out a piercing whistle.
“But that’s the Duke!” Martin protested.
“I know,” Constable Morris said, looking grim. “Do it anyway.”
Chapter 47
The crowd of villagers were brought into the large dining room, making it fuller than it had been since the late Duke’s time. The Magistrate had been among the searchers, which relieved anyone of the need to send for him.
Darrius was seated to one side of his usual large chair, making room for the magistrate. His hands were still shackled. Mr. Bruce sat beside him.
The Duchess had tottered down from her room, leaning on Mr. Wilson’s arm. Lord and Lady Carletane followed her, having shown up while Evelyn was out. Blanche trailed behind them.
Evelyn had shed her oilskins, but still wore her muddy boots. Self-consciously, she shook her skirts out over them as she sat by the Duchess’ side. Mayson was seated on her other side, now clad in a robe and wrapped in a comforter with a hot brick at h
is feet. Mr. Wilson had brought in a stack of handkerchiefs and a small basket. These things now sat in front of him, along with a pitcher and a glass of water.
The magistrate was also equipped with a pitcher and glass. He was just pouring some, when a loud voice came from the hall, “What is this outrage! I protest. I am a law-abiding citizen.”
Mr. Smith appeared, escorting Leroy Rutley into the room. Rutley stopped in the doorway, and his mouth fell open. “You! What are you doing here?” he bellowed. “I thought you took off for the Gold Coast or some other foreign parts. Or that you really were dead.”
Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 27
