“Well, if you’re living here secretly, I suppose that explains the shutters,” Hazel observed, taking the comfortable chair Irene indicated. “Only…er—why is it a secret? Would Mr. Armitage mind?”
“No,” Irene said uncertainly. She exchanged looks with Edward and added, “Though I doubt he’d approve of Bart’s plan.”
“That sounds exciting,” Hazel approved. “What is Bart’s plan?”
“We can’t tell you that,” Edward said apologetically. “It’s a secret. Bart’s secret.”
“Ah, then obviously I shall have to ask Bart himself,” Hazel agreed, smiling at the younger children who came in to join them. “Can you fetch him? I feel he should know we’re here.”
“Can’t do that right now,” the younger boy said with great caution. His name was Dennis, Hazel remembered. “But later, of course, I will.”
With a quick, nervous smile, Irene hurried off, presumably to the kitchen.
Hazel gazed thoughtfully at Edward. “He isn’t here, is he?”
“Bart? Not at this moment,” Edward said awkwardly. “But he should be back soon.”
While Sir Joseph strolled about the room, examining some of the books on the shelves, the younger girl, Louise, who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old, came and perched on the arm of Hazel’s chair.
“You were Amelia’s favorite pupil ever,” the child confided.
“Was I?” Hazel asked, startled. “I’ve no idea what I did to deserve such an accolade, but I’m very honored. If you must know, Amelia was also my favorite governess.”
“Did you have many?”
“No,” Hazel admitted. “Only two.”
“And now you look after the Princess of Wales?”
“I used to be one of those who served her.”
“Is she beautiful?” Louise asked.
Hazel, very aware of Sir Joseph wandering well within ear-shot, replied defiantly, “Yes, I would say so.”
“Do you like her?”
“Very much.” Hazel braced for more questions, but the child moved on.
“Did you meet the king and queen?”
“I was once presented to the queen,” Hazel said, “but I’ve never met the king.”
“Good thing,” Dennis surmised. “Everyone says he’s mad as a frog.”
Perhaps fortunately, Irene reentered the room with a large tray and sent the youngest two scampering off to bring the things she couldn’t carry. It was an odd meal of fresh bread, ham, boiled eggs, cheese, pickles, and fruit.
“We’re clearing out Amelia’s larder,” Irene said guiltily.
“Well, if it’s all a secret, I suppose you can’t go out and buy things,” Hazel observed.
“Exactly.”
While they ate, the children chattered away, asking questions of Hazel and telling her about their absent host the vicar and how pleased they were Amelia had married him, for now, they could live with her instead of with Aunt Vale.
“What did Bart quarrel with your aunt about?” Hazel asked curiously.
“Bart is in love and wants to be married,” Edward said with an edge of scorn.
“Aunt and Uncle insisted it was impossible and forbade him to think of her,” Irene added.
“Mistake,” Sir Joseph commented unexpectedly. “No one ever listens to that kind of advice.”
“Well, you can’t, can you?” Irene agreed. “You can’t help whom you think of. Or whom you love.”
“And is it impossible?” Hazel asked.
“Probably,” Irene admitted. “But he has to try, doesn’t he?”
Hazel prevaricated. “What does Amelia think?”
Irene exchanged glances with her siblings. “I don’t think she quite grasped how serious it had become. She was somewhat involved with her own affairs before the wedding.”
“Listen!” Dennis exclaimed suddenly.
Everyone lapsed into attentive silence. Glancing at Sir Joseph, Hazel read sleepy enjoyment in his eyes. Much of life seemed to amuse him. Then she heard what the children had—a horse’s snort and the slow clop of hooves.
“It’s Bart!” Louise exclaimed, bolting to the door.
The arrival seemed to excite a great deal of emotion in all the children, who rushed out of the room together. Hazel could not resist going with them, and Sir Joseph, she was aware, sauntered along behind.
The front door was flung open, and the children spilled onto the step. And stilled.
A riderless horse stood facing them from the terrace. Saddled and bridled, it breathed as though it had been galloping.
“Oh, no,” Edward said. “Now, what do we do?”
“Unsaddle Bertie,” Irene said mechanically. “Give him water and turn him loose in the field.”
Edward nodded gloomily and walked down to lead the horse away. The other children turned back inside. It came to Hazel that they were no longer anxious. They were frightened.
As they returned to the parlor, Irene put her arms round the younger children, giving each a quick hug as she murmured something that was probably meant to console them.
“Where is Bart?” Hazel asked abruptly. “And why has his horse come home without him? Irene, you have to tell us, because he could be injured or ill. We have to find him.”
Irene shook her head, sinking into the nearest chair. “We know where he is,” she whispered.
“Then tell me.”
Irene closed her eyes in what looked alarmingly like shame.
Beside Hazel, Sir Joseph asked flippantly, “Is he eloping with his lady love? And sent the horse back to explain it to you?”
Irene let out a hiccup. There might have been a surprised laugh in there. But she shook her head. “Of course not. He would not elope without us.”
Sir Joseph’s lips twitched, but beneath the amusement, he did appear to be thinking. “Of course, he would not. He is clearly a good and caring brother. So, what would he do without you? Where would he go alone? Somewhere dangerous, perhaps.”
“He said it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Dennis said darkly. “He said they would just cough up without a fuss because no one wants to die for a few coins or gewgaws.”
“Dennis!” Irene warned. She jumped up and began pacing.
Hazel watched her, uncomprehending, trying to make sense of the children’s words.
Sir Joseph, however, seemed to be one step ahead. “Why would he do that?” he mused.
“Do what?” Hazel demanded.
“Take to highway robbery.”
Hazel’s mouth dropped open. “Take to… He would never do such a thing!”
“Of course he would. Lots of wild young gentlemen have done so, just for larks. Did it myself once for a wager. But usually, such tearaways have wealthy, if furious, fathers to get them off if they’re caught. Your brother doesn’t have that, does he?”
“No,” Irene whispered. “And if it comes out he is the vicar’s brother-in-law…”
“I see your difficulty,” Sir Joseph said.
“How could they not know he is the vicar’s brother-in-law?” Hazel demanded. “It must… Oh.” She stared at Irene. “That is why you are here in secret.”
“They don’t know us in the neighborhood,” Irene whispered. “And he went in disguise, dressed in clothes from the vicar’s charity box.”
“But that is insane!” Hazel burst out. “He could hang! We have to get him out of there!”
From the doorway, Edward regarded her with increased respect. “Of course, we do.”
She frowned. “I still don’t understand why he was robbing people, though.”
“My uncle wouldn’t give him his allowance early. He needs a new coat and the means to get to Sussex.”
Bewildered, Hazel looked about them all.
“Where she is,” Dennis explained.
“He was desperate,” Irene excused her brother.
“He was idiotic,” Hazel retorted. “You can’t just go around robbing people because you don’t have enough mon
ey of your own!”
“No, but he meant to pay everything back when he could,” Louise said anxiously.
“Hare-brained,” Hazel said impatiently. “But do you know he’s been caught?”
“If you pat Bertie’s rump, he kicks,” Edward said.
“Who could blame him?” Sir Joseph murmured.
“If Bart was caught,” Edward pursued, “he said he would make sure Bertie got back here—he’s the vicar’s horse, and he always comes home. So, Bart meant to make sure the horse got away, even if he didn’t. A sign to let us know, for one pat on Bertie’s rear, and no one would get near him.”
“And Bertie came home…” Hazel frowned. “Where would Bart be taken?”
“Scorton jail,” Irene said, wringing her hands.
“And then he’d be brought before the magistrate tomorrow morning,” Sir Joseph murmured. “Would that be in the same building?”
“We don’t know,” Irene whispered. “We only stopped there once. Oh, dear, I don’t know what to do! Bart said if he was caught, we should go back to Aunt Vale, but indeed I don’t think we can go back and just leave him in jail!”
“Of course, you can’t,” Hazel agreed. Not for the first time, she felt Sir Joseph’s gaze upon her, but she refused to look at him, concentrating instead on the matter in hand. “It would be best to get him out tonight, but I’m not sure I can think of a plan in time, and it will be difficult in the dark when none of us know the town.”
Sir Joseph stirred. “Don’t worry about it,” he said mildly. “I’ll get him back for you in the morning. In return for feeding and stabling my horses, and a stretch of floor for me to sleep on.”
*
The children did better than that. After caring for Sir Joseph’s horses and “hiding” them in the somewhat cramped stable behind the house, they dragged the curricle into the tiny carriage house beside it.
Then, they cleared the large sofa in the parlor for Sir Joseph’s use. There was only one spare bedchamber, where they decided Hazel should sleep. Though the boys generously offered to give up their chamber to Sir Joseph, he declined on the grounds of speed. In fact, he looked ready to drop, which wasn’t surprising since he had been up for two days straight and enjoyed a heavy night’s carousing in between, which it was more than time to pay for.
The children led Hazel up to a small but comfortable bedchamber and dug out pillows and a blanket, which Hazel helped Dennis carry down to the parlor while Edward lit their way.
Sir Joseph was already stretched out on the sofa with his coat removed but spread over him like a blanket. He had blown out all the lamps and candles, so Hazel was glad of Edward’s light.
Briskly, she shook out the blanket, plucked the coat from over him, and replaced it with the blanket. After a moment’s hesitation, she knelt and lifted his head, sliding a pillow beneath it. Fortunately, he didn’t wake, for the intimate act made her feel very strange. She hadn’t expected his hair to be so soft or his head to feel so comfortable in the instant it lay against her breast. In sleep, his face was untroubled, not remotely sneering, sardonic, mocking, or any of the other characteristics she had imagined of him. Almost like an innocent little boy. Apart from the large, lean body…
Hastily, she rose and swept the others from the room with her.
It had been a very odd four and twenty hours.
Chapter Four
Hazel fully expected Sir Joseph to be still sound asleep when she crept downstairs the following morning. She did not enter the parlor but walked on to the back of the house, intending to light the fire and see what there was to eat and drink. But in a small, square hallway just before the kitchen, she discovered Sir Joseph.
In his shirt sleeves, his hair rather endearingly rumpled, he held a hunk of bread in one hand and was crouched in front of a large box of assorted clothes. A small bundle of garments lay beside him, as did a cup of delicious-smelling coffee.
At Hazel’s approach, he glanced up and rose to his feet with a smile. “Good morning. You look fresh as a daisy. Would you like coffee?”
“Good morning, and yes, I would love a cup of coffee, but don’t let me disturb you. What are you doing?”
“Looking for a suitable change of clothes in which to retrieve young Mr. Sprigg.”
Hazel blinked up at him. Considering he had claimed to be drunk for most of yesterday and had fallen asleep so rapidly last night, she had not expected him to remember Bart’s plight, let alone be prepared to do anything about it.
“You know, you are not obliged to do anything for Bart,” she said, hastily brushing past him, for something about him in such casual dress unsettled her. Perhaps it was the reminder of how she had first encountered him emerging from the princess’s bedchamber. Perhaps it was the strong, masculine column of his throat rising from the open neck of his shirt.
“Why not? Do you have a plan?” he asked, following her into the kitchen.
To her surprise, there was no one else there. But the fire was lit in the hearth and kettles of water warming on the grate above.
“I wouldn’t call it a plan,” she said ruefully, moving toward the coffee pot set on the cupboard top. “I thought I might try to overawe the officials or the magistrate himself, by throwing around my connection to the Princess of Wales and generally pretending to be more important than I am.”
“Would that be sensible? In the circumstances?” He reached above her to the shelf and brought down a cup, a simple act that brought him far too close to her.
She felt the heat of his body, its lightest touch against her back. He set down the cup, and moved away, letting her breathe again.
“What circumstances?” she demanded as his meaning finally penetrated. Perhaps it had been too easy to bury her own problems in those of the Sprigg family. She had almost forgotten the reason she was here in the first place.
“Of the children’s desire for secrecy and your connection to them.” He poured coffee into the cup and set down the pot before raising his eyes to hers. “And your…hurry to be away from London.”
The Armitages were not here. There was no one respectable to deny she had been in Connaught Place after the princess’s departure. Impatiently, she pushed that aside for later.
“You have a point,” she admitted. “I have no reason to intercede for a highwayman caught red-handed, unless I reveal his identity. And mine.” She brightened. “Perhaps you could overawe them? You would do it so much better than I. I’m sure if you look down your nose at them with just that air of superior amusement, they will believe he is your groom or something like that, and let him off because anything else would be too foolish.”
He turned away before she could read the change in his expression, but the ridiculous thought crossed her mind that she had hurt his feelings. But before she could dwell on that unlikelihood, he said, “I’m not sure I care to associate my name with highway robbery either. Not if my career in the Foreign Office is to continue.”
“Of course not,” she agreed at once. “I’ve already said you are not obliged to do anything for him.”
Looking thoughtful, he picked up his own cup from the table in the center of the kitchen and finished it. “I believe more direct action is required. We have too many difficulties and far too many uncertainties to rely on compelling others to release our hero. So, we must simply do it ourselves.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean, dress up as highwaymen, hold them up, and break him free at pistol point?”
A breath of laughter escaped him. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? For such a disapproving handmaiden, you have quite outrageous ideas.”
She flushed at this description but refused to be cowed. “It was your idea, too!”
“It might have been,” he allowed, “but I found a detailed map of Scorton in Mr. Armitage’s study, and the magistrate’s court is merely on the other side of the market square from the jail. They would hardly need a coach. And since it’s market day—”
“How do you know it’
s market day?” she interrupted.
He pointed to the wall where either the cook or Mrs. Armitage herself had nailed the page of a calendar with MARKET clearly marked. “The square will be far too crowded to risk pistols and a huge hue and cry.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Use the crowd to our advantage. That is, my advantage.” He wandered out of the kitchen and back to the box of clothes. “This must be the vicar’s charity clothes box, where Bart found his disguise in the first place.” He delved in and brought out a large-brimmed lady’s bonnet trimmed with lace and a bright red feather.
“I hope that is not for me,” Hazel said warily.
“Of course not. You, my sweet, are not coming.”
“I am not your sweet,” she exclaimed. “And I most certainly am!”
“Make up your mind,” he said provokingly.
She glared at him. “I am coming with you!” she clarified. “You were obliging enough to bring me here, and I will not repay that by involving you in the calamities of strangers. You said yourself it would damage your career. At best.”
“Only if I’m caught.”
“Well, you won’t be,” Hazel said firmly. “Because whatever your plan is, I won’t let you do it.”
His eyes smiled in the beguiling way that caused a strange flutter in her veins. “How do you propose to prevent me, sweet handmaiden?”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped. “And I will prevent you by simply doing it myself.”
For an instant, he searched her eyes. “If I refuse to take you, you’ll follow me, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I am a diplomat by trade, so let us negotiate.”
*
An hour later, once the children were up and had been informed of their guests’ intention to go and rescue Bart, Hazel and Sir Joseph left together in his curricle. They had debated also taking Bertie for Bart to ride but were afraid the animal would be recognized. Besides which, the children told them that a local farmer came by every second day, as a favor to the vicar, to make sure Bertie was happy in his paddock and had enough water to drink.
Pursued by the Rake Page 4
