by Mira Stables
As the Andalusian chose this moment to utter a derisive snort, and Marquis to look down his rather Roman nose with a very superior air, the simple remark seemed exquisitely humorous to Nell, and it was in a ripple of merriment that she permitted Charles to toss her up into the saddle.
To the watching eyes of Sir Nicholas the little cavalcade trotting gently down the lane appeared entirely carefree and harmless. With the faintest possible shrug, as of one who disclaimed all responsibility, he strolled across to the fireplace and tugged the bell.
It was some minutes before Rudd answered the summons, but Sir Nicholas remained unruffled. Not until the innkeeper, thrusting a hand inside the breast of his coat, pulled out a slim package and laid it on the table, did he display any emotion. Then a shade of annoyance was apparent as he said sharply, “He did not come?”
“Oh yes, he came all right,” returned the inkeeper grimly. “But he didn’t bring no money. They’re not buying any more. Seemingly they’re having every kind of trouble over there since the Russian business. What with raising fresh troops and fitting them out, there’s no gold to spare for the likes of—us.” Little enough of the gold had come his way, he thought resentfully, considering the risks he ran. He must do Sir Nicholas’s bidding, for Sir Nicholas knew too much about him to be gainsaid, but he’d have done it more willing if he’d been well greased in the fist. As it was, there was even a mild entertainment in seeing my fine gentleman so nicely thwarted, though he hastily suppressed any sign of amusement as he saw the black rage which contorted Sir Nicholas’s features.
But that visible flare of fury was brief. The habit of impassivity was deeply engrained, and within moments he had resumed its mantle. “Then there’s no help for it,” he said quite gently, “it will have to be the girl. I would rather have waited longer. Her demise so soon after coming under my protection may occasion unwelcome comment. But my affairs will not wait. If only this business had gone through successfully”—he pushed aside the rejected package—“I could have kept to the original plan. Now there is no time to waste on establishing myself as a devoted guardian. I have, perhaps, a month before my creditors become uncomfortably pressing. So let us devise a little.”
He glanced enquiringly at Rudd, but quick thinking was not that worthy’s forte. “You said it could be made to look haccidental,” he growled, “and it’s got to says I, for there was too many damned nosey fellows came down on us enquiring into that other young chap’s death. I’ve no mind to swing for the sake of you winning a fortune.”
Sir Nicholas regarded him pensively. Threats were no use in this case. A man can only hang once. Therefore he must be persuaded. “There’s fortune enough for us both,” he said mildly, “and neither of us need swing if we move carefully.”
“Aye. And how do I make sure I get my rights in this ’ere fortune you’re making so free with?” demanded the innkeeper suspiciously.
“Why, my good man,” responded Sir Nicholas airily, “you will know so much about my means of acquiring that fortune that I feel sure I could never resist any reasonable demands that you might make. You see I happen to share your aversion to—er—swinging.”
Rudd uttered a surly grunt. His doubts were not entirely allayed, but he was prepared to listen further, and to lend his aid—on terms.
“This damned interfering soldier comes very mal a propos,” decided Sir Nicholas thoughtfully. “He would certainly regard the sudden death of his betrothed wife with considerable suspicion, and this we must at all costs avoid. Let us consider if his presence cannot be turned to good account.”
He began to pace up and down the room, meditating aloud in short considered phrases, punctuated by intervals of pacing. “I feel, I really feel, that we must dispense with this young man,” he began. “I find him quite superfluous. It should not be difficult. If need be—a duel. Only yesterday he was all too willing. But even with my skill, there is always the element of chance about a duel, so we reserve the idea. Some mishap must befall him. An encounter with footpads? A brush with smugglers? Housebreakers would be safer of course, but that sets the scene too close for safety. We must consider this.”
He considered it for several moments, pacing backward and forward, and it became apparent that no immediate and perfect solution had been vouchsafed.
“Once we have decided the manner of his disposal, the rest follows naturally and inevitably,” he went on. “Heartbroken at the death of her belovèd, unable to face a future so bereft, my poor niece commits suicide.” A trace of artistic satisfaction coloured his voice as he brought this tragic tale to its dénouement. But Mr. Rudd’s withers were unwrung. Indeed he entered a sturdy objection.
“Now that’s what I call downright wasteful,” he said. “The wench is a tasty piece for them as likes them young and tender. There be stews as ’ud give thee a good price for her, aye, and make sure she was never heard of again. Not London, mebbe—that’s happen a bit too close—but I’ve heard tell of some rare places in Liverpool.”
Sir Nicholas regarded him with some sympathy, but found himself nevertheless bound to depress this burgeoning hope of easy profit.
“I fear you have not given sufficient thought to the matter,” he said kindly, “or you would have realised that I must produce indisputable evidence of my niece’s death before I can inherit my brother’s fortune. A simple disappearance is not sufficient. There must be ample proof of death, and for this a corpse is the most readily acceptable. It does indeed seem wasteful, but the greater ultimate profit should be our goal rather than the immediate but paltry relief of necessity.”
Rudd relinquished his hopeful scheme with regret, but felt bound to admit that Sir Nicholas had a good headpiece on him. “And ’ow was you thinking a young lass would do the dreadful deed?” he enquired, and by way of helpful illustration drew an imaginary knife across his throat.
“Indeed no,” replied Sir Nicholas austerely. “It is a well known fact that females cannot abide blood. Nor are they sufficiently skilled in the use of a knife, even if they had the will. No. I think she will rather take poison,” he decided reflectively. “We have good authority in literature for such an action.”
Rudd eyed him with grudging respect. He would cheerfully knock the girl on the head if so required, but these fancy touches were beyond him. He did however venture to suggest deferentially, “It’s queer stuff, Sir, is poison. If you give ’em enough to do the job right, like as not they taste something queer and spew it out. Then you’ve all to do again, and them suspicious like into the bargain.”
“There is much in what you say,” allowed Sir Nicholas judicially. “Yet it could be contrived. A small dose of the drug, sufficient to cause unconsciousness, could be administered in coffee or chocolate which would mask the flavour.”
“Aye! That’s the way of it,” agreed his lieutenant enthusiastically. “And then drop her over the cliff before she comes round.”
Sir Nicholas frowned sharply and suddenly, a most unusual departure from his customary imperturbability. “No! We’ll make sure before she goes over,” he said grimly. And added, in a whisper incomprehensible to his associate, “We’ll make very sure—this time.”
Chapter Eleven
The morning’s ride had been a pure delight once they had shaken off the constriction that seemed to charge the atmosphere of the Fleece. The mare had shown herself a perfect mount and Nell had been wholly absorbed in the joy of riding such a responsive yet spirited creature. Once he had satisfied himself that she was fully capable of handling Tina, Charles had left her to her own devices, falling in amicably with her choice of route and watching with interest and approbation as she tested the mare’s capabilities. Finally she had led him a merry dance cross-country, in which the lightly burdened Tina had outpaced even the long-striding Marquis, while poor Galoon was hopelessly left behind. When they finally reined in to the gentle amble which permitted conversation, she was quite herself again, eager to dilate on Tina’s manifold perfections and even to best
ow a meed of praise on the powerful black which he was himself bestriding.
When she had finally done praising the horses, they had fallen into a companionable silence, each pursuing a train of thought which concerned the other. Presently Nell said seriously, “I have no wish to pry into your private affairs and duties, Sir Charles, but I have been unable to keep myself from pondering the probable reasons for your presence here. You said this morning that there were several matters that you wished to talk over with me. I beg that you will not feel it necessary to disclose even the smallest hint of your purpose here. What I do not know, I cannot betray.” A hint of mischief crept into her voice and an irrepressible dimple quivered as she added demurely, “I fear that one of Papa’s favourite maxims was, ‘Trust a woman with your money and your life, but never with a secret’.”
Charles laughed, divided between relief and amusement. “Then I will take his advice,” he accepted, smiling, “though indeed my immediate task is simply to be watchful. And in that you can help me if you will. You know these villages and these people even better than I do myself, for I have been away too long. Look for anything that seems unusual—unexpected. But you must not seem to be watching. And if you should stumble on anything odd, however small it seems, don’t on your life go enquiring into it, for that could be dangerous. Tell me of it straight away, or if it is quicker, tell Giles.”
She thought this over carefully for a little while and then said with surprising shrewdness, “Something unusual—unexpected. Such as a fine town beau like my Uncle Nicholas making a prolonged stay in a village inn?”
“Yes. That kind of thing,” agreed Charles, feeling rather uncomfortable. “Though in your uncle’s case there seems to be a perfectly good reason for it.”
She shrugged. “I do not believe he cares in the least about my behaviour or my reputation,” she said calmly. “I think he has some plan to trick me out of my grandmother’s money. But never mind my affairs. That is the kind of thing you mean?”
Charles nodded. “Exactly the kind of thing. But do, I beg of you, be careful. Simple as it seems, there really is danger. Grave danger.”
She had promised to be careful, and no more was said on serious topics. They had returned reluctantly to the Fleece, and Giles had taken Galoon and Tina back to Springbourne, carrying Nell’s promise that she would visit Emma later that afternoon.
Then Charles had disappeared. Where he had gone she had no notion, so was able to answer perfectly openly to Miss Smithson’s enquiries about his whereabouts and plans, though indeed the poor woman only wished to know if he would be requiring a nuncheon. Nell herself was very glad to take a bowl of soup and some fruit after her spoilt breakfast and energetic morning. She chattered away freely about her afternoon plans, and Miss Smithson’s reserve softened at the mention of Emma. She became positively human, and at last summoned up courage to ask diffidently if Miss Easton would be so obliging as to carry some of her curd tarts to Mistress Woodstead, who had once commented favourably on their succulence.
Nell expressed her entire willingness to carry the gift and added her own appreciation of Miss Smithson’s cookery. Miss Smithson flushed a dull and unbecoming pink and acknowledged that she was thought to have a light hand with pastries. Nell mentioned the hot milk, asking if she might have coffee or chocolate instead. But here she ran into unexpected opposition. Miss Smithson didn’t exactly refuse. She simply said that milk was much safer, but it was abundantly clear from her attitude that Nell could expect to get milk. It was quite puzzling. Surely she didn’t object to the small extra labour of making coffee or chocolate? And how was milk safer? More digestible perhaps? But as she had gone off to pack the curd tarts into a basket as soon as she had delivered her ultimatum, there was no opportunity for further argument.
Emma greeted her with loving warmth. It was quite difficult to believe, as she poured out the story of her adventures into those sympathetic ears, that only one day had elapsed since she had left the Lamb.
Emma listened and nodded and put in the odd word to encourage the flow of chatter, and when Nell reached the end of her story and handed over the basket of curd cakes she said, on a note of quiet satisfaction, “So you’ve made friends with Mag Smithson. That’s good. She’s a decent lass and an honest one, far different from her good-for-naught uncle. Why she stays with him is past my understanding, for I’m sure she could get a post with some respectable family. All she says is that he helped her when she was in need and that she’ll stand by him. She’s even stopped coming to Church. It’s my belief the old skinflint keeps her so short of money she’s none to put in the plate and is ashamed to come without.”
“The poor thing!” exclaimed Nell indignantly. “Can’t we do something to help her? He’s a dreadful man. Charles says he’s dangerous. We must get her away from him somehow.”
Not by a flicker did Emma betray her amused pleasure at the easy use of Charles’s name and the implicit confidence in his judgements. Gravely she replied, “Time enough to be thinking of that when we get your affairs straightened out. Maybe you could take her into your service when you come to set up housekeeping, but dear knows when or where that will be. And she’ll be a dour one to shift. Once she’s made up her mind, she sticks to it.”
Nell laughed. “I know. You should have heard her about the milk. You know how I hate it. I asked if I could have coffee or chocolate instead, but all she would say was that milk was safer—just as if I were a little baby girl. I know it’ll be there waiting for me tonight. Ugh!”
Emma didn’t answer immediately, so that Nell glanced up at her, to surprise an oddly measuring look directed at herself. There was a queer tense little silence, and then Emma said slowly, “You’ll do well to take notice of what Mag Smithson says, Miss Nell. ’Tis no use pretending you’re not in danger, for well we know you are. And if so be as anyone was wishful to do you a mischief, they could slip something in a cup of coffee so’s maybe you’d go to sleep and never wake up again. Mag’s right. Milk is safer. You’d be likely to taste anything queer about milk. Seems to me she knows or suspects more than she dare say, and she’s doing her best to look after you.”
Nell stared at her, eyes huge and dark in a little white face. It was one thing to speak lightly of a wicked uncle; quite another to face immediate and positive threat. “I s-see,” she said slowly, and her voice sounded quavery and frightened in her own ears. She reacted promptly, bracing herself against the fear that had set her heart bumping. This shivering little coward was not her father’s daughter. “I was just surprised,” she explained in tacit apology. “We thought—Sir Charles and I—that I was safe enough for the time being, as Sir Nicholas would scarcely move against me openly.”
“There’s no telling what’s in his mind, nor what needs are driving him,” said Emma bluntly. “With such as him you can never be off your guard. Oh! If only I was up and about again and could see after you myself. To think of all the years that I’ve prayed for a son—and then this has to happen. I’ll be out of this bed tomorrow, doctor or no doctor.”
Nell realised that Emma considered the situation desperate indeed. Never before had she heard her rail against fate. Rather she had seemed to dispose of the fates of others. To hear her fretting at her own helplessness was rather as though the sun had suddenly decided to revolve in reverse. Nell did her best to offer reassurance and was reiterating a solemn promise to exercise the utmost caution when she was interrupted by sounds of arrival in the inn yard which drew her to the window in time to see Charles leap lightly down from a curricle, exchange a word or two with Giles who had gone to the heads of the splendid pair of greys which were harnessed to the light vehicle, and then stroll into the inn.
She turned back to the bed, her nervous qualms quite dispelled, exclaiming eagerly, “Sir Charles has just driven in, Emma, in such a turnout. Beautiful greys. Oh! Do you think he will invite me to drive back with him?”
The wish was to be granted. Bella came hastening in, face abeam, to ask i
f Mistress would receive Sir Charles, and the gentleman himself followed close on her heels. He was come, he explained, in the hope that Miss Easton would allow him to drive her back to the Fleece, and had ridden over to Trevannions especially to bring back the curricle. It was rather an antiquated vehicle, he added apologetically, since it had belonged to his father, but it would serve for the present.
“I really cannot have my betrothed wife tramping the countryside like a gypsy,” he teased. “When you wish to visit Mistress Woodstead or your other friends in the neighbourhood, either Giles or I will drive you.” Emma’s eloquent grey gaze expressed the depth of her relief and gratitude.
Nell was thankful too, of course. It would be so very comfortable to have a stalwart defender always to hand. Yet the calm assumption of her submission to a check on her independence touched some irrational spring of resentment within her.
“Emma knows we’re not really betrothed,” she said, sounding, even in her own ears, like a cross child. “And you and Giles have better things to do than dancing attendance on me.”
“But none more delightful,” offered Charles gravely, quite unable to resist such an opening, and giving her his very best bow.
Nell coloured furiously though she knew he was only teasing, and was on the edge of impetuous retort when Emma intervened, saying sternly, “You’ll do just as the Captain says, Miss Nell, and no nonsense. Whatever would your father say, to hear you arguing with your superior officer like that?”
This rather unusual method of controlling a rebellious nurseling silenced Nell and amused Charles, the latter registering a mental vow that his future offspring, if any, should be placed under military discipline from the moment of birth.
Emma was right in a way, conceded Nell reluctantly. Since she had consented to Charles’s scheme and had engaged herself to help him, she supposed he did stand in the role of superior officer. A tactful enquiry as to whether she had ever driven a sporting carriage, coupled, upon her denial, with an offer to teach her how to handle the reins, was quite sufficient to dissipate any lingering traces of rebellion, and she danced downstairs eagerly to receive her first lesson. Since the greys had worked off the edge of their high spirits on the journey from Trevannions, she acquitted herself quite creditably, Charles, however, took over the reins as they neared the Fleece, feeling that his pupil could not yet be expected to negotiate the entrance to the stable yard. Indeed it exercised even his skill to manage the sharp turn from the lane through the narrow gate, and he had no attention to spare for what was happening in the yard, though he was vaguely aware that Nell’s eager chatter had died away. Then, as the greys drew to a halt, he saw that the landlord was standing by the stable door, deep in converse with a stranger.
