Simon took the stairs two at a time, and when he got to the second floor took a left down the hall to the suite where his valet was, hopefully not near death or Simon would never forgive himself.
At the door he stopped when he heard not only his mother but Cook and Mrs. Lee talking through the door. Taking in a breath to calm his shattered nerves, he loosened the latch and marched in. Quickly, he looked around and didn’t see the doctor, not that the man was any good even when sober.
“Has the doctor been sent for?” he demanded.
“There’s no need,” his mother announced.
“Fear not, Your Grace, he’ll make a full recovery, but it will take time, and we have to make sure infection doesn’t take hold. Between Cook and I we have a vast array of poultices to prevent that from happening,” his housekeeper told him.
“Can I talk with him? I need to know what happened?”
“I’m sorry, but no. He was in such pain I had to give him a cup of tea with laudanum so he would relax before Mrs. Lee and I could treat him. I’m guessing he’ll be sleeping for the next few hours,” Cook explained.
“Thank you. When he wakes I need to be told immediately. In the meantime, I’ll be in my office interrogating the coachman and his assistant. Also, Lady Emma is following in the cart. Mrs. Lee, if she comes up here instruct her to come to my office. Duchess, would you care to join me?”
“As much as I’d like to hear first-hand of the events, I feel my place is best served here. Cook needs to return to the kitchen to prepare for dinner so that will only leave Mrs. Lee and me to watch over him,” Laura stated.
Cook stepped toward him and curtsied.
“Unless notified, dinner will still be at seven. Will that be suitable, Your Grace?”
“Yes, make arrangements for trays to be delivered here for the staff watching over Harold,” Simon directed to her.
“I’ve already taken that into consideration. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do need to work on making sure dinner is ready on time,” Cook told him.
“Yes, certainly go, and have a tea tray sent up here for the duchess and Mrs. Lee.”
With those instructions given he watched her walk out before turning back to his mother, he then nodded and departed for his office. When he arrived at the first floor he was met by Emma climbing up the stairs toward him.
“Lady Emma, Harold is in the blue suite being guarded by the duchess and Mrs. Lee. I’m about to find out what happened from the coachman. Would you care to join me?”
“Yes, I would like to hear what they have to say,” she declared.
With her at his side they started for his office and the two men waiting for them by the door. He could tell neither was pleased, most likely not for being hauled in front of him but for what had happened.
“Your Grace, m’ lady,” the coachman said, after giving them a bow.
Simon swung the door open, guided Emma in, and waved the men to follow. With her present, he decided to stand behind his desk with her at his side.
“We need to learn all, from the time you departed London until you were attacked.”
The coachman told them everything that happened, including where they changed horses and spent the night.
“At any time did you happen to see the same man when you made these stops?” Simon asked.
“No, Your Grace. Even when we were forced to halt, neither of us saw the two men who attacked us.”
“Where did that happen?” Emma demanded.
“M’ lady, as you might not be familiar with the road from London, you may not know of the bridge before the curved hill that seems to extend for miles and miles.”
Simon turned to Emma, “I know where they are talking about. If I remember correctly, even running the horses at a gallop by the time you reach the crest they’re at a walk. If I’m not mistaken, there is a horse path which crosses the road at that spot,” he explained.
“Yes, Your Grace, and that’s where the two men, one from each direction sprang upon us. They had a brace of pistols drawn, on full cock and pointed at us. We couldn’t see their features because of the wide-brimmed hats pulled down and scarves to hide their faces. The one from the right side did all the talking. He ordered us to halt then demanded the duke step out even calling him by his Christian name.”
“Which name did he use? Philip or Simon, and you have permission to speak it,” Simon ordered.
“He used Simon, Your Grace. When the speaker called out your name, Harold stepped out. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than the one talking shot him. Fortunately, the man’s horse moved at the same time so the ball went through Harold’s shoulder, not his heart. They then fled in the same directions they came.”
“Coachman, the man who did the talking, was there an accent? Did he speak as a gentleman would?” Emma asked.
“Like you, Your Grace. Very proper with a hint of a French accent, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Aye, Your Grace. Coachman is right. I remember from when I was in the army,” the assistant said, having been silent up to this point.
Simon knew, whoever these people were they had planned the attack very well, from the spot they’d selected and coming from both sides. With their faces covered and only one talking, hunting down these people would be next to impossible.
“Can you remember what they were wearing, especially the shooter? Were the clothes of fine or average quality?” Emma asked.
“He was in gentleman’s attire, while the other wasn’t and seemed calm at what they were doing,” Coachman answered.
“Thank you. If either of you think of anything else tell Richmond you need to speak with me, and he’ll inform Winston.”
“Yes, Your Grace, m’ lady.”
With a nod Simon dismissed them and waited until they left the room. Once alone with Emma he guided her to the settee and waited for her to get comfortable. With her settled he started to take a seat on the chair opposite when his mother swept in.
“Mother, your timing is perfect as we’ve only now finished with the coachman. Would you care to take a seat so Emma and I can tell you what we learned?”
“Yes, please.
“Unfortunately, we learned very little about the two people who attacked Harold. Only one spoke. With a very slight French accent and as a gentleman of the ton would. He was also attired in fashionable clothes.”
“And the man called Simon by name,” Emma said. “Once Harold stepped from the carriage he was shot. My question, did the man who shot Harold do it thinking he was Simon?”
“Irrespective of the reason, we need to find out who did it, then we might learn the why?” Simon asserted.
“Agreed. I might have an idea. Until now, we’ve thought Philip had a tryst with a young English lady and the family out of shame fled to the country. What if, instead it was with a young French mademoiselle? With France in turmoil, they could have gone to New Orleans or Quebec. There the boy would speak French, but when he got old enough was sent to one of the major cities in the colonies. There he’d work on losing his accent while learning to be a proper gentleman,” Emma speculated out loud.
“Dearest, what you say is entirely plausible. It had been well known Philip did have a thing for the French ladies, and many thought he’d offer for one,” Laura added.
With this new information at hand, Simon wondered in what direction to take the hunt. Would they be able to learn of anything from the letters? That might be their only chance at finding the woman, but how long would that take? In the meantime, he pondered the fact that he and his mother could be in danger, with the possibility of Emma also.
Laura, he knew would follow his directive to not go out without escorts, but the problem was with Emma. Even though they’d only been acquainted with each other for little more than a day, he’d learned she was very strong willed. It was a trait he appreciated but not at a time like this.
Standing, he marched over to the sidebar and poured a whiskey. After taking a strong sip he tur
ned and was met by the ladies’ glare as they stood in front of him.
“Excuse me, what did I do wrong now?” he pleaded.
“Don’t you think with everything that’s happened today we might appreciate a glass also,” Emma stated.
“I’m sorry, all I have is whiskey. Would you like me to ring for Winston to bring sherry?”
“No, what you have is suitable,” Emma directed.
“As you wish,” Simon calmly said, but he was surprised at her request.
He turned back and poured two more glasses then handed them over. With a wave of his hand, Simon hinted they should retake their seats. Once they were comfortable, he watched Emma take the slightest sip of her drink.
“Ladies, right now we are faced with several problems which need to be resolved.”
“Simon, if you’re referring to our safety, I can assure you I won’t leave the palace without either a footman or groom,” Emma declared.
“And the same with me. But what about you, Son? Considering how stubborn you can be at times, I hope you’ll have a guard with you also,” his mother added.
“Yes, I promise. This person has already, most likely, murdered my father and tried to kill my valet thinking him to be me. All we know about him, he can pass for a gentleman of the ton and speaks with a very slight French accent. Any one of us could walk by him on the street and never realize it,” Simon avowed.
He then watched as Emma attempted to take another sip of her drink only to wrinkle her nose. He decided to ring for Winston to get her a sherry when the man stepped through the doorway.
“Your Grace, please pardon this interruption, but Richmond has sent a message that Hubert, Coachman’s assistant, wishes to address you.”
“Is he here?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I show him in?”
After taking a seat at the desk he nodded for his butler to bring the man in.
“Your Grace, I present Hubert.”
From his seat of authority, Simon watched as the man timidly made his way into the office, stopping to bow to the ladies. He noticed Hubert was carrying something wrapped in a cloth.
“Thank you, for seeing me. I know this must be untimely, but you said if we remembered anything to make you aware.”
“Yes, and I see you brought something with you?”
“Your Grace, I told you I was in the army, and that’s why I handle the weapons on the carriage. When I went back to clean the shotgun and pistols I noticed this one was exactly like the one the shooter used. With your permission, may I unwrap it or would you rather do it.”
“Set it on the edge of the desk then step back,” Simon ordered.
From his seat, he watched as the man did as instructed. When Hubert was far enough away, Simon held up his hand to stop him. He then stood, marched around the desk, and unwrapped the bundle, revealing a pistol. Immediately he recognized it as being French made and in the style used by a French cavalry officer. With this, another tiny piece of the puzzle was added to what little they already knew.
“Can I ask where you got it?”
“In Spain, Your Grace. I found it on the ground after a small battle, and since it still worked, I kept it. Am I in trouble for doing that and not telling my officer?”
“As I am currently your officer, so to speak, no you’re not. However, I’ll keep it and make sure you are given another.”
“Thank you. Actually, I’m a bit glad to get rid of that thing. Who knows how many good and solid Englishmen were killed by it?”
“After your dinner, I want you to sit with Winston and tell him exactly when and where you found it. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to serve you,” Hubert uttered then backed from the room.
“Winston, thank you for bringing this to our attention. Now, would you please get Lady Emma a sherry as she doesn’t appreciate whiskey, then meet with Hubert.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll be right back.”
After making sure the pistol was safe and wouldn’t discharge, he returned to the ladies and retook his chair.
“From your reaction on seeing that weapon, it would seem we now have another clue in finding this person. Do you think Hubert’s information will be helpful?” Emma said.
“Yes, it will, dear. Between Simon and myself we have enough friends in and out of the army to find out which French units fought at this battle, that is once we learn where it occurred. It’s possible Simon might have been there as well.” Laura told her.
“That is very true as I did fight several small engagements in Spain along with major ones. All we can do is wait to see what Hubert has to offer.”
“Son, Emma, now that we have learned a little more my next question is how did it go at the mill?”
Simon peered over to Emma and nodded.
“It went very well, and we have decided to have an architect evaluate the building to see if any strengthening will be needed. Also, it turns out the dried-up stream goes to the opposite side of the mill. Granted the bed will need to be deepened, but if everything goes as planned by harvest season the new stones should be functioning as envisioned,” Emma explained to the duchess.
With a few things, for now, resolved or heading in that direction, they returned to studying the late duke’s letters.
Over the next two hours they continued to sort through the notes and letters Philip had saved. Unfortunately, they didn’t find any useful information, just letters from several ladies, as his mother said “of dubious reputation”.
When the clock on the mantle rang out six times, Simon suggested they put everything away, retire to their suites to bathe, and properly dress for dinner. This announcement brought, much to his happiness, a smile from his mother.
He was beginning to wonder if the strain of reviewing the letters might be becoming too much for her.
Chapter Seven
At the top of the stairs Simon bowed to the ladies and renewed his promise to meet up with them in the duchess’ parlor. As he marched down the corridor to his room he saw two footmen hastily depart his suite. He suspected it was because of the cutting words from Edmond about bringing the dukes trunks up more hastily next time. If they didn’t, their jobs would be in jeopardy. Hearing this tirade reminded him of a similar one from Harold several years ago when he landed in Spain.
Could it be these two men are father and son? Or was it their training?
He decided to go with the latter until proven otherwise.
It surprised him that when he stepped into the doorway, spread out on the ducal bed was his deep blue jacket and matching trousers. Next to them a pure white shirt and, he deduced, a heavily starched cravat.
Tonight he’d be dressed as a duke, which would make his mother very happy. He did wonder what Emma would think of him properly attired. Hopefully, she’d be pleased.
“Your Grace, your bath is ready,” Edmond said, then bowed.
“Thank you. I do approve of the jacket for this evening, and I see you had a chance to get the wrinkles out.”
“Yes, and I would have had everything hung or put away if those footmen had been quicker in bringing your trunks up. I am truly sorry to hear Harold was shot but pleased he will heal soon.”
“So am I, and I will pass your kind words along to him.”
Once his bath was finished, he noticed a shave might not be out of order. This had been one of the curses of the Radcliffe men. They tended to grow heavy whiskers and needed to scrape them off at least twice a day. After removing the stubble, he wiped away the residual soap with a towel then stepped back into the main part of his suite.
Suitably attired for dinner with his cravat tied fashionably, thanks to Edmond, Simon stepped out of his suite. He marched down the corridor then took a right onto the south hall where Harold rested, fortunately not near death. Quietly, he slipped in, to be greeted by Agnes and Abby.
“We were able to get a little barley soup into him before he fell asleep. We’re keeping it warm
ed by the fire for when he awakes in the hopes to give him more. This is what Cook recommended,” Agnes said.
“I’m fully awake and want meat and potatoes, not that weak, tasteless barley soup they’ve been trying to force down my throat, Your Grace,” his valet demanded.
“Harold, as much as I would like to agree with you, may I remind you of what happened to me when I was shot outside Granada. You wanted me to have barley soup also, but I insisted on stew. After the first bite I threw it up and reopened the wound.”
A loud squeak echoed out in the hall, and Simon knew it came from Emma. He turned, met her in the doorway, and took her hand in his.
“M’ lady, as you can see, he’s fine,” he glanced over his shoulder to Harold. “So you will do as you are told.”
“As you command, Your Grace. Can I at least talk with Edmond?”
“Yes, you may.”
Simon offered Emma his arm, and they strolled from the room. While they made their way down to the duchess’ parlor Simon wondered what the two men would discuss. Winston marched toward him, a piece of paper in his hand.
“Your Grace, m’ lady, I spoke with Hubert and wrote down everything he told me.”
“Thank you. Put it on my desk, and we’ll deal with it after dinner.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
With a nod, Simon dismissed the man before settling his hand on the small of Emma’s back. No sooner had they touched when he felt a warmth rush up his arm before alighting over his heart. Granted, they’d touched before, and he’d felt his body react to her, but this was one of the first times he’d had this particular feeling. Casually, he peered down to see how Emma felt and noticed a pinking on her cheeks. He smiled at knowing she had the same response to his touch.
“As promised dinner will be on time.” Winston bowed and stepped from the room.
“Simon, why did you have him put the report in your office? Don’t you want to read what it says?” Emma asked.
“Yes, I’d like to know the same thing,” Laura announced, as she swept into the room.
The Duke's Bride (The Radcliffe Family Book 1) Page 6
