The Lady Emily Capers, Set One

by Regina Scott

  His first thought was that he wasn’t sure where his left leg was supposed to go. His second was that the horse did seem ridiculously high. Hannah’s worried face was at his knee. He had no time to settle himself or think of anything further, however, as the world suddenly exploded around him. The docile but spirited mare heaved upward, throwing him back against the saddle. He snatched at the pommel to steady himself, but she jerked forward, and he pitched headlong out of the saddle. The paving stones of the courtyard loomed up, and he knew no more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The world seemed to stop. Hannah wasn’t sure she was even breathing. Certainly, the girls beside her were still, eyes wide in shock, as the horse dashed off toward the stables.

  And David didn’t move.

  Mr. Asheram reacted first, hastening to David’s side. Hannah didn’t realize she had even moved, but somehow she found herself beside him as he knelt on the ground.

  “Is he . . .” she started, but she couldn’t make herself finish the question, for the answer was too horrid to contemplate.

  “He’s alive,” Mr. Asheram confirmed, gently rolling him onto his back.

  Something twisted inside Hannah. The left side of his face was streaming blood, and it seemed to her that his head was dented. Terror and sorrow mixed until her knees would not hold her.

  “David, oh, David,” she murmured, sinking onto the ground and reaching out to touch his pale cheek. “What have I done?” She pulled up the train of her borrowed riding habit to stop the flow of blood.

  “What have you done indeed?” Lady Brentfield demanded, moving closer as well. “If it wasn’t for your selfishness, this would never have happened.”

  Hannah reeled, feeling as if she had been struck. It should have been her on the ground, it should be her blood flowing. He had done nothing but seek to calm her fears.

  Behind her, she heard running feet as other servants hurried up.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Lady Brentfield snapped at them. “Your master is injured. Take him to his chambers at once.”

  “Wait,” Mr. Asheram ordered, glaring up at her. “We need to determine the extent of his injuries before we move him, or we might do further damage.”

  He was right. Yet Hannah hated to see him on that cold, hard ground.

  Lady Brentfield returned Mr. Asheram’s look with one equally as determined. “We cannot wait. We must carry him indoors and send for the doctor.” She pointed to a waiting footman. “You there. See that Dr. Praxton is brought at once. Until then, you three carry his lordship into the house.”

  “You aren’t the one to give orders,” Mr. Asheram said with a growl, rising majestically to his full height.

  “You dare to defy me?” As if the very idea was ludicrous, she laughed, voice bright and sharp.

  Hannah gasped at the sound. How could she laugh now? The girls must have been equally as shocked, for they stepped back from her. Lady Brentfield did not seem to care.

  “I am the mistress of Brentfield,” she told David’s friend. “The servants will do as I say, if they know what’s good for them.”

  Anger swept through Hannah, threatening to carry her off. She surged to her feet, stepped between the countess and Mr. Asheram. “Stop it, both of you! We should be thinking of David!”

  Mr. Asheram took a deep breath even as Lady Brentfield blinked as if surprised by Hannah’s vehemence.

  “You’re right, Miss Alexander,” Mr. Asheram murmured, bending over his master again. Hannah held her breath as he gently wiped away the pooling blood with a handkerchief. Then he tapped David’s cheek, calling his name. David did not so much as move or open his eyes. Even a dribble of water from a cup a helpful groom offered failed to rouse him.

  Hannah wanted to be sick as the tears started coursing down her cheeks.

  “Well? Can we move him now?” Lady Brentfield demanded.

  Mr. Asheram did not acknowledge her. “Weimers, help me carry him,” he ordered a young footman standing nearby.

  Hannah turned as they carried his limp body past her and the girls. Ariadne and Daphne were stunned to silence, and there were tears, of all things, in Priscilla’s eyes, along with a look that appeared faintly accusatory. Yet both Priscilla and Lady Emily were gazing at Priscilla’s aunt, Lady Emily’s look decidedly narrowed.

  She knew she should see to them, but all she could think about was helping David. She stumbled in his wake, but Lady Brentfield caught her arm, jerking her to a stop.

  “I will see to his lordship,” she informed Hannah. “Your place is with the girls. You are the chaperone. It’s time you started playing the role.”

  Hannah blinked, trying to gather her wits. Lady Brentfield was obviously out of patience, for she pushed Hannah toward her motionless charges. “Go on. Do your duty. I must do mine.” She hurried past them for the house.

  Hannah drew in on herself. How could she do her duty? Her mind refused to focus on anything but David. His still body, his face so pale beneath the blood, seemed to be engraved on her memory. Painting after painting flashed before her, each more heartbreaking than the last--The Fall of Icarus, The Death of Arthur, The Burial of Christ. Only the last offered any hope; it was Good Friday after all. She knew from her grandfather’s teachings that another good man had been terribly hurt on that day and rose again. But no matter how she tried, she seemed incapable of believing that David would triumph.

  That such destruction could happen in a blink of an eye terrified her. One minute he’d been smiling confidently down at her, the next he had been stretched unmoving upon the ground. For all she knew, his life had been taken in that moment. And Lady Brentfield had said it was her fault.

  She might not have caused the animal to rear up like that, but she had been willing to do anything to avoid having to face David regarding his proposal--not even trying to help with the restoration after the fire, ignoring his attempts at conversation last night, even allowing the girls to convince her to try riding for fear she’d have to stay behind with him if she didn’t accompany them. If she had been willing to stand her ground and refuse to ride, he would never have mounted that horse. Her own fears and inability to make a decision had destroyed him. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had cried when a voice penetrated the fog of her misery. “Miss Alexander?” Ariadne murmured. “What should we do?”

  Hannah took a deep shuddering breath and looked up. Four worried faces confronted her. Ariadne and Daphne had tears running down their faces, and Lady Emily’s lower lip trembled. Priscilla was so pale that Hannah thought she might faint. Until that moment, she had never realized how young her charges were. Ariadne had yet to shed the last of her baby fat. Daphne’s eyes were perpetually wide in wonder. Priscilla still dreamed of marrying a prince. Even Lady Emily, for all her dire predictions, sometimes showed a need for support from the others. Hannah held out her arms, and they crowded against her.

  “It was awful!” Daphne said with a sob. “I’ve fallen from a horse any number of times but never like that! He must have been so terribly hurt. Poor Lord Brentfield!”

  “Head injuries can be very dangerous,” Ariadne agreed with a sniff, her own head against Hannah’s shoulder. “I hope Lady Brentfield knows to watch him closely.”

  “She’ll watch him closely,” Lady Emily predicted. “If you ask me, she is our villain.”

  Hannah gasped, and Priscilla broke away, eyes wide in her pale face.

  “How dare you, Emily Southwell! I don’t care if you are the daughter of a duke. You have no right to make such accusations. The countess would never . . . she couldn’t . . . oh, what if she did!” She crammed her fists against her mouth and ran for the house.

  Hannah could not move to follow her, with the others so close.

  “Could Lady Brentfield be a murderess?” Ariadne murmured in apparent fear.

  Hannah’s arms closed around the girl in a fierce hug. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to think
such a horrible thing about anyone.”

  Lady Emily looked abashed.

  “What should we do?” Ariadne asked again.

  What should they do indeed? Hannah wanted nothing more than to run to David’s side. But the girls needed her, and she knew staying with them was the right thing. Besides, if there was some sort of plot to these accidents, she could hardly leave the girls untended with the criminal on the loose. Hannah stiffened, and the girls stepped back.

  “The first thing we do,” she declared, “is find Priscilla. And we will ask the servants to fetch us as soon as there is news of Lord Brentfield’s condition.” Her fears assailed her anew. He would be fine. He had to be fine. Her heart wouldn’t survive without him. “And then,” she added, “I think it would do us all good to pray.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Finding Priscilla was not as difficult as Hannah had feared. The girl was face down on her bed, thoroughly soaking the rose satin comforter with her tears.

  “Ineffectual,” Lady Emily proclaimed. “If you are truly repentant, we should see it in your actions.”

  “I don’t think this has anything to do with repentance,” Hannah replied, seating herself beside the distraught girl. “And I don’t think it would hurt if you apologized.”

  “Neither my station nor the situation requires it,” Lady Emily argued. When Hannah raised an eyebrow, the girl wilted. “Oh, very well. I’m sorry, Pris. But your aunt is the most likely suspect.”

  Priscilla shuddered and sat up. Hannah offered her an encouraging smile. “I know,” she murmured. “She has the temperament for it, I think. I’ve been wondering about her ever since you first mentioned that the accidents might be attempts on Lord Brentfield’s life. But to truly believe she would be capable of murder? It’s horrible!”

  “Horrible and unfounded,” Hannah insisted. “Lady Brentfield has not turned out to be the hostess we expected, but to go from disinterest to murder is a very long road. I think we should curtail these discussions until we have proof.”

  “We do have proof,” Priscilla said quietly.

  Hannah stared at her, feeling the blood drain from her face. “What?” she whispered.

  Daphne, Ariadne, and Lady Emily crowded forward eagerly. Priscilla hung her head.

  “Father told me that the countess was left out of her late husband’s will. We don’t know why. She’d only been married to the previous Lord Brentfield for five years, so it may be that he simply hadn’t taken the time to revise the will.”

  “It’s also possible,” Lady Emily put in darkly, “that he recognized her true nature and refused to leave her anything.”

  Priscilla sighed. “Yes, that’s possible too. Either way, she is beholden to the current title holder for her living.”

  “But surely Da . . . the current Lord Brentfield will provide for her,” Hannah protested, finding it impossible to believe that anyone she knew could be so wicked. “He’s let her live in the great house. She’s entertaining guests as if the place were her own. She should be grateful!”

  Priscilla grimaced. “When have you seen my aunt grateful for anything? She would see such gifts as crumbs and want the whole cake. She tried to marry him, you know.”

  “But she wanted him for you!” Hannah argued.

  “Only after she found he wasn’t interested in her. Then she decided to let me have a go at it. We tried to compromise him the other night.”

  “Oh, Priscilla!” Daphne cried as the other girls gaped and Hannah shook with mortification. She was supposed to be their chaperone! How could she have let them down, and David too!

  Priscilla raised her head, pouting. “We didn’t succeed. He wasn’t in his room. The countess thought he must have been with Miss Alexander.”

  They were staring at her now. Could it have been the night she and David had gone exploring? No, Priscilla had already started helping her court him. Surely the girl would not have done so if she were planning on catching him for herself. It had probably been the night he had first found the new passage. She was grateful he had been unable to sleep.

  “He wasn’t,” she assured the girls.

  They nodded, apparently willing to accept her word for it.

  “So,” Lady Emily put in, “when neither of you were successful against him, Lady Brentfield turned to murder.”

  “Yes, I fear so,” Priscilla sighed, lower lip trembling.

  “I can’t believe it,” Hannah maintained. “Murder? Simply to have more than she needed?”

  “Most assuredly,” Lady Emily intoned.

  “But if there was no mention of her in the will,” Hannah persisted, “what would she gain?”

  Lady Emily opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut again. She glared at Priscilla.

  “Well, don’t look at me,” Priscilla said. “I’d be happy to find she’s innocent. But I don’t think she is. She’s done too many strange things lately. She took us to visit the Earl of Prestwick when she loathes the man, and everyone knows he refuses to marry so he isn’t even interesting. She took us shopping in Wenwood, which she’s forever protesting has no place worth shopping. And she’s the one who taught me that trick with the horse.”

  “What trick?” Hannah demanded, and the girls echoed her words.

  Priscilla shrugged, picking at the bedclothes. “It’s an easy way to rid yourself of a rival, only of course you don’t expect that they’ll actually be injured. Most young ladies of the ton know how to sit on a rearing horse. You only make them appear foolish. Only Lord Brentfield, of course, didn’t know how to ride.”

  “But what did she do?” Lady Emily urged.

  “You simply place a burr under the edge of the saddle. No one notices until the rider sits.”

  “And the prickles are driven into the horse by the weight,” Lady Emily concluded. “Of course!”

  “She didn’t seem the type to become acquainted with a horse first to me,” Daphne agreed. “Talk to the horse indeed.”

  Hannah blushed, remembering.

  “Oh, poor Lord Brentfield!” Ariadne moaned.

  Lady Emily started. “No, not poor Lord Brentfield. Poor Miss Alexander! That trap was meant for her!”

  Hannah started. “What do you mean?”

  “Lady Brentfield could not have known his lordship would be so gallant. She put that burr under the saddle for you, Miss Alexander. She meant for you to be thrown.”

  Hannah closed her eyes. It all made an evil kind of sense. The girls might not be able to determine a motive for the woman’s deadly acts, but Hannah could. Suddenly she knew why old Lord Brentfield had hidden his treasures and what Lady Brentfield had hoped to gain by David’s death. With David out of the way, Lady Brentfield would have the run of the house. She could find the missing treasures and sell them. She could be living in high style on the Continent before the next heir, or the Crown, arrived to take ownership. Hannah could not imagine how her own death might benefit the woman, but perhaps spite was enough of a motive if one were prone to commit murder. She opened her eyes and found the girls staring at her again.

  “You are right, I fear,” she told them. “Lady Brentfield appears to be guilty.”

  “I knew it!” Lady Emily crowed.

  Priscilla compressed her lips in an obvious attempt to keep from crying. Ariadne and Daphne exchanged glances.

  “What do we do now?” Daphne wanted to know.

  “Now,” Hannah replied with determination born of love and fear, “we make sure she doesn’t have the opportunity to finish her work.”

  The girls were willing to help and eagerly followed Hannah to the east wing, but getting any farther proved difficult.

  “Sorry, ladies, but his lordship can’t have visitors,” the young footman told them. He had obviously been set on duty outside the bedchamber, but by Mr. Asheram or Lady Brentfield, Hannah was afraid to learn.

  “Fetch us Mr. Haversham, then,” Lady Emily demanded in her most ducal tones.

  The footman moved to comply,
but Hannah caught his arm. “Is Lady Brentfield in the room as well?”

  “Yes, miss,” he replied, clearly puzzled by their intensity. “She and Mr. Asheram are awaiting the doctor.”

  She exchanged looks with the girls and knew they realized the danger of removing Asheram and leaving Lady Brentfield alone with David.

  “Then we will wait as well,” Hannah told the footman. “Is there a sitting room nearby?”

  He pointed to a room down the corridor, and Hannah nodded. “Please let us know the moment the doctor arrives.” She led the girls away from the door.

  “Why don’t we go tell Mr. Asheram?” Daphne asked as they found seats in the wide room. “We don’t have to call him out; we could go in to him.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Who knows what she’ll do if we force her hand? I want her well away from David before we expose her.”

  Too late she realized she had used his given name. The girls were more observant, for they giggled. The humor relaxed the tension in the room, and she was pleased to find that they passed the next while in almost normal conversation.

  The room was warm and pleasant, done in tones of russet and gold. She noticed that several of the paintings on the walls seemed to be the wrong color, and one of the walls was brighter than the others, as if some tapestry had been removed recently. Her lips tightened as she realized she was again seeing evidence of the attempted art thefts. Lady Brentfield was intent on robbing David, and future generations, of treasures meant to be shared. If only the woman could be stopped before she hurt anyone or anything else!

  Chapter Sixteen

  While they waited, Hannah encouraged the girls to say a prayer for David’s recovery, but they had not finished before Mr. Asheram appeared in the door to the sitting room. He looked tired, but not devastated, which could only mean that David was still alive. Hannah jumped to her feet and ran to him.

  “What are you doing here!” she demanded, ready to shove him back to David’s side if needed.

  The girls had leapt to their feet as well, and the gentleman’s eyes widened as if he’d noticed their militant stances.