Damsel in Disguise

by Heino, Susan Gee

  “What woman? Which way did she go?”

  The girl shook her head, and the dingy cap she wore wobbled atop sooty hair. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see her myself; I just heard about it.”

  “From whom?”

  The girl pursed her lips and took a step back. “Oh, don’t make me tell you, sir. I don’t want him getting in trouble. He’s a good boy, sir, and he never meant to be helping no criminals!”

  “Blast it, what criminals? Tell me what you know. Who set this fire?”

  The girl’s eyes were wide, and she nearly shook the cap right off her head. “Oh, sir, I don’t know anything about that; I swear! My Jeb was just doing what he was told, he was—”

  “Jeb? The one who’s been gone all flipping day on some errand or other?”

  “Yes, sir. He just got back a little while ago. Brought up that pretty carriage he’d been sent after down in Geydon.”

  “He went to Geydon to bring back a carriage?”

  She nodded and grinned as if her beau had done something truly remarkable. “Yes, sir! He brought back the finest carriage you can imagine. A phaeton, and he drove it himself!”

  By God, it couldn’t be, could it? This Jeb had been sent to bring Lindley’s carriage up here? That could only mean Lindley was around, and was expecting to be here at some point tonight or tomorrow to retrieve the thing! Hellfire, had Rastmoor been scouring the whole bloody countryside while Lindley was hiding Sophie someplace right here under his nose?

  Could Julia have been right about hearing their voices?

  “If those people who left in that phaeton had anything to do with this fire, sir, you can be sure my Jeb didn’t know anything about it. He was too busy getting things ready for the gentleman and his woman. Honest, it never crossed his mind the pair of them might be up to no good.”

  “Who are they?”

  “By faith, I don’t know, sir.”

  “Well, what did they look like, for God’s sake?”

  “I didn’t see them, sir,” the girl replied quickly, and her lip was trembling now so he could barely understand her words. “I only heard them, sir. The gentleman comes in to call for his carriage, and he tells my Jeb he needs it right away. Then he goes out to the yard, and we hear him arguing with this woman.”

  “What woman?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Likely the one what left in the carriage.”

  “Did they leave before the fire started?”

  “No, sir. It was after; I’m sure of it.”

  “So you believe they started it?”

  “They must have, sir. Wasn’t nobody else around. We thought they left, though, ’cause it got really quiet out here, until there was yelling about a fire, and all.”

  “So you didn’t actually see them start the fire.”

  “No, sir! Else we would have called the mistress and master straightaway!”

  “But you did hear a man and a woman arguing in the yard.”

  “Yes, sir, that was for certain.”

  Well, that seemed to match up with Julia’s story, didn’t it? Of course, that could mean nothing. Julia herself could have been arguing with someone and simply told the story of hearing it to provide a nice tidy alibi for herself. Or perhaps she simply paid this hapless wench to corroborate her version of things. Just because he was an idiot and wanted desperately to believe that Julia was an innocent bystander in all this didn’t mean he was about to take a stranger’s word. He’d done that before, and look where it got him.

  “What were they arguing about?” he asked the girl.

  “I don’t know, sir. They was trying to be hush about it, I think. But I could tell from the tone they wasn’t getting along well.”

  “And you didn’t bother to come out and see what was going on? Are women accosted here so often you tend to ignore it?”

  The girl actually looked indignant. “Oh, no sir, it wasn’t any sort of argument like that. No, that woman wasn’t arguing ’cause she was in trouble or nothing. She just didn’t like something the gentleman said, I figure. That’s how it sounded to me, sir.”

  “But you didn’t at least look out here just to be sure?”

  “My Jeb and me, we know enough to keep our noses out of affairs of the quality, we do. And anyone could know from the way that gentleman used his words, he was quality. If he and his woman want to stand out in the yard and have a spat, my Jeb and I won’t tell them they can’t.”

  “Very noble—and convenient. So you didn’t actually see this argumentative woman?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nor him, the gentleman of quality?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Yet you heard his voice clearly enough to form an opinion of his heritage?”

  “I did, sir. I was . . . well, I was in the stable there, and I heard him talking to my Jeb when he came in to call for the carriage.”

  “But you didn’t get a look at him?”

  She twisted her sooty apron in her hands. “See, sir, the master’s kind of funny about us kitchen girls coming out here to the stable. But my Jeb and me, well, we didn’t figure it would be so very bad if I come out here to visit him every once in a while. Just once in a while, mind you, and we never let it interfere with our duties, I promise!”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. But naturally when that gentleman came in, you figured it might be best if he didn’t catch you.”

  Her cheeks flushed deeply under the ash and grime. “I wasn’t exactly in a right state to be greeting the patrons, sir, if you understand.”

  “Yes, I grasp the situation. Tell me, though, how much time passed between when you heard the arguing and when the alarm was raised for the fire?”

  More blushes. The girl couldn’t quite give him a definite answer. Apparently she and her darling Jeb had been otherwise engaged during that time. Hellfire, it was a wonder the couple bothered to surface at all despite the raging inferno in their employer’s establishment. The girl’s story gave him none of the answers he needed right now.

  “And what of the woman?” he forged on. Unlikely he’d get any solid information at this point, but he might as well ask. “You said she left. What do you mean?”

  She brightened. “Oh! She left. In the carriage, sir.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “With the gentleman. My Jeb got it all ready for him right quick, just like he said. He’s an honest man, sir, and if he’d have known he was getting it ready for some scapegrace fire starters . . . well, he wouldn’t have done it. But they must have come in and took the carriage while we was all out fighting the fire.”

  “Then you saw them leave?”

  “My Jeb did, sir. He noticed them just as they turned the corner out of the lane. He said it looked as if they was in a hurry—the woman’s yellow hair was hanging out from under her shawl and the man was driving the horses for all they was worth.”

  At last, something solid. “She was blond?”

  “It’s what my Jeb says, sir. Do you think that might be the self-same woman you was looking for?”

  “I believe it was,” he replied, surprised by his own truthfulness. Sophie was blond. Perhaps Julia had been right; perhaps the girl had been arguing with a man in the yard just before that damned fire.

  God, he hoped so. He’d really much rather have been nearly assassinated by Sophie and Fitzgelder’s flunky than by the woman he loved.

  Used to love, he corrected.

  He fumbled in a pocket for some coin to reward the girl.

  She shuffled nervously but accepted the offering. “I suppose you’ll have me tell the master now, wouldn’t you, sir?”

  “Tell him?”

  “How I come by knowing who might have set this fire. Then the magistrate can be called and someone sent out to find your lady friend and that gentleman. They wasn’t just trying to warm up your sleeping room, after all.”

  “No, they weren’t. I’m sure your master would very much like to get his hands on them for all this damage.”
<
br />   He wouldn’t mind getting them to answer a few questions for him, either. But what would that accomplish? If this really was Sophie, and her companion really was Lindley or even if the instigator was one of Fitzgelder’s minions, they could simply deny their involvement. Surely Fitzgelder had enough money or friends in low places that could easily protect him from conviction. Any accusations Rastmoor might make—unfounded since he himself had seen no trace of anything that might formally tie his cousin into this—would only serve to drive Fitzgelder to more drastic measures. And that could mean more than just Rastmoor’s life was in danger.

  No, at this point he’d prefer to keep the magistrate out of it. This was between him and Fitzgelder. No one would gain anything by dragging family skeletons out into daylight. He’d deal with things his own way.

  “No, I don’t think your master needs to know,” he told the girl with a forced lightness. “The damage inflicted here was aimed at me, so I’ll be responsible for the repairs. That should ease your master’s worries. I see no need to burden him with tales of kitchen maids and stable boys in the night.”

  Her eyes lit, and she smiled. She was almost pretty. “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you and bless you!”

  “But tell me,” he asked. “Which direction did your Jeb see them go?”

  “That way, sir,” she replied, pointing to the south.

  London, of course. Damn. Fitzgelder would get that locket and have the proof he needed to set his schemes in motion. Things would not go well for Rastmoor’s mother and sister. For their sake, he had to get that locket back before it reached its destination. Which meant, of course, he’d be heading south, right into the lion’s jaws.

  He’d have to hurry, though, if he hoped to overtake them before Fitzgelder could get his filthy hands on the locket. And there was something more, too. Something far more dangerous would be traveling with them to Fitzgelder. Sophie carried the truth of Julia’s identity!

  God, that meant Fitzgelder would know, too. If any part of Julia’s story was true, and she really was on the run from Fitzgelder, she could be in even graver danger than Rastmoor. He simply stood to be murdered by his cousin; there was no telling what fate the hateful man might have planned for a wayward wife.

  Rastmoor glanced over to where Julia carefully poured cold water on the arm of a slightly singed servant. She must be forgetting she was playing a part just now; her actions were gentle and feminine, not those of the man whose clothing she wore. Perhaps she was not such a fine actress, after all. Perhaps she really was just a woman who’d been another victim of the bastard, Cedrick Fitzgelder.

  But those were dangerous thoughts. He’d best not let himself ponder along those lines. People got hurt when they gave Julia credit for having a heart.

  “If I may say, sir, you’d be wise to let her go,” the scullery maid was saying.

  He couldn’t quite pull his attention back to her. “What?”

  “Your lady friend, who just ran off on you,” she said. “It was awful what she did to you.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “But you should let her go. I daresay it could be dangerous for you if you don’t.”

  The wench had no idea how right she was. “Indeed, it would be.”

  “A broken heart will heal, sir.”

  Now he finally took his eyes from Julia and turned them on the girl. She was entirely too young to have any idea what she was talking about, but he appreciated her concern. He wished he could take the advice she offered, but he knew he wouldn’t.

  “Here,” he said as he managed to dig out a few more coins. “Keep track of these. You and that Jeb fellow might find a good use for them someday.”

  She curtsied and thanked him repeatedly so that he was enormously uncomfortable. He finally found some excuse to get away from her and wound his way through a gauntlet of well-meaning patrons who milled about the yard and asked after his welfare. Each one thanked God for his safety and expressed their astonishment that such a thing could happen in a respectable place.

  No one seemed to have seen anything to indicate what might have caused the fire, and it appeared the general populace had not been enlightened to the fact that it was intentionally set. Well, he was in no hurry to inform them. The last thing he needed was public panic and local constabulary entanglements. He’d just quietly look into things.

  The first thing he needed to do was verify the servant girl’s tale. Had someone actually come to request Lindley’s carriage in the middle of the night? Was it indeed gone now? That would be easy enough to determine.

  He slipped into the carriage house. No carriage. He hadn’t really expected to find it there, of course. The girl would have known he might look.

  He snagged a passing hand and asked the boy what he knew of it.

  “Aye, it’s a mystery to me, sir,” the young man said. “Jeb had to go all the way down to Geydon to get it. Waited there all day for them to fix it, too . . . An axle was broke, or something. He finally got it back here tonight and last I saw it sat right here in the carriage house. Real pretty and fixed it up right nice. Don’t see many of those high-perch phaetons here, we don’t. You might go ask Jeb what happened to it, though. He’d be the one what knows.”

  “Jeb, is it? I might just do that.”

  Indeed he would do that. A few questions ought to quickly absolve Lindley and his impeccable wardrobe, else they’d damn him for sure.

  Rastmoor only had to question two more sooty servants before locating the infamous Jeb. He wasn’t surprised to find the man strapping and well-featured, but he was disappointed in his understanding of gentlemen’s attire.

  “Well, how am I supposed to know who tailored his clothes?”

  Rastmoor took a deep breath and wished to God for something to drink. “I don’t give a blow who the bloody tailor was,” he said with false calm. “All I asked was if the man appeared well-tailored or not.”

  “I don’t know from tailors, sir,” Jeb defended. “Truth of the matter is, I didn’t happen to notice the man’s clothes. If you ask me—and begging your pardon, sir—one quality gent’s the same as another.”

  Quality. There was that word again. “So he was quality, was he?”

  “With a gig like that? He’s quality for sure.”

  “But how were you certain it was his carriage? Couldn’t anyone have come in and ordered you to harness it up?”

  Jeb straightened up his shoulders and set his jaw. “I don’t give out a gentleman’s carriage to just any bloke that comes along to ask for it, sir. He’s the self-same man what told us to go fetch it from Geydon. By God, the self-same man and no one but him.”

  So, that was his proof. It had been Lindley, after all. His own friend was a part of the plot to kill him. Damn! And it sounded as if Sophie was with him, willingly. This meant that very soon Fitzgelder would know Julia was here. That is, if he didn’t already know. At worst, Lindley and Sophie would reach London just after noon tomorrow, taking that locket and everything they knew straight into Fitzgelder’s drawing room. Fitzgelder could have people after Julia within an hour of that.

  A set of ill-fitting men’s clothing would hardly protect her then.

  He left Jeb to mutter about the oddness of the upper classes and meandered back to where a few servants and patrons still milled in the yard. For the most part, it appeared guests and servants alike were returning to normalcy. Rastmoor found Julia’s gray form among the others and watched as she bade a polite good evening to the two ladies they had met on the previous night. Thankfully, they and the sleeping babe appeared unharmed by the recent events.

  Of course, they would be. They had been safely across the hall, in the room Rastmoor should have had. Only Julia had known which room Rastmoor was truly occupying tonight. The thought gnawed at him.

  Could he really credit her with plotting his demise? Every part of him revolted at the thought. He watched her gracious smiles and tender glances at the still-slumbering babe. Fool that he was, he simply couldn
’t imagine Julia capable of murder. He waited until she was alone then slid up beside her.

  “Everyone survived?” he asked casually.

  “A few minor burns and disturbance of the lung. Nothing serious. We’ll all have sore throats for a day or two, I expect,” she replied, clipping her words and keeping her eyes on anything but him. “Quite fortunate no one here knows you well. They were most eager to save your life.”

  “Yes, I’ll have to thank them,” he said, ignoring the slight.

  “Did you have a nice conversation with the scullery maid?”

  He did not ignore the pointed tone to her voice and hoped it was something akin to jealousy. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Lovely. She seems quite your type.”

  “Quite yours, as well,” he replied. “She corroborated your story to the letter. Oh yes, I heard all about the male and female voices arguing in the darkness. Pity this chit didn’t manage to get a good look at them, either.”

  “Perhaps now you believe me?”

  “I believe Lindley and Sophie are involved, and they drove off together while everyone else was fighting the ruddy blaze.”

  “What?”

  “Says your kitchen wench . . . and her hot-tempered beau in the stables there.”

  “They saw them?”

  “They did.”

  “I told you it was Lindley! I told you!”

  “Yes, so you did. As I suggested, we might not be so quick to absolve Sophie from all wrongdoing.”

  “Insufferable man,” she hissed. “Obviously she was arguing with Lindley because he is holding her against her will. Now he’s taken her away again! We must find them. Which way did they go?”

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  “Well? Which way? Surely you did think to ask, didn’t you?”

  He pulled his brows low. If he told her the truth, she’d no doubt head off on some foolhardy crusade to save her friend. If he told her nothing, she’d simply go find out from Jeb and his wench all on her own. If he lied and suggested they hurry off in the wrong direction, there might be a chance he could get her to safety.