Page 40 of A Gentleman in Possession of Secrets (The Lord Julian Mysteries #10)
Chapter Seventeen
“Damn you, woman!” Downing bellowed. “Damn you to the infernal fiend, and damn this lot you’ve brought down upon us.”
Why was it, that even when exasperated to the point of profanity, the Irish accent was so euphonious?
“Toss your weapon out the same window,” I said. “You have the word of an officer and gentleman that you’ll not be harmed.”
A musket was ejected from the east-facing window.
“Your pocket piece too.”
A derringer followed.
“The same for your accomplice, Downing. Don’t be tedious, and don’t try to be clever.”
“Don’t push your luck, English.”
Another pistol followed.
“And the fowling piece,” I called. If one firearm could be carried through the English countryside without raising suspicion, it was a fine, long-barreled fowling piece. An item fitting that description joined the growing collection at the foot of the cottage steps.
“Send your brother out first.” While I spoke, the captain and Miss Hannah joined me. Dutch was covering the eastern side of the cottage, Carstairs the north, and Dorset the west.
A young gent in somewhat wrinkled country attire emerged from the cottage and came down the steps. He hadn’t put his hands in the air, nor would that show of harmlessness have been convincing.
“Brian Downing, at your service.” He bowed stiffly. “My older brother had little to do with this. Leave him in peace, and I’ll take what’s coming to me.”
“Noted for the record,” I said, though in truth, he’d surprised me. “Sylvester Downing, show yourself.”
Miss Hannah’s erstwhile suitor emerged from the cottage.
His fine clothing was also overdue for a wash and ironing, and he’d apparently parted company with his razor, perhaps in an effort to disguise his appearance.
Dark whiskers gave him a piratical air, but around the eyes, he resembled his younger sibling.
“You mustn’t kill them,” Miss Hannah said. “They deserve to live knowing they’ve failed.”
“Not an Irishman born who doesn’t know the taste of failure,” Brian said. “Largely thanks to you lot. Summon the king’s man if you must, but leave my older brother out of this.”
Sylvester remained silent, which did not raise him in my esteem. The younger brother was defending the heir, a noble if misplaced display of loyalty.
“Do we tie your hands, or will you come peaceably?” I asked.
“We come peaceably,” Sylvester said. “Provided nobody quotes us any damned poetry, or great literature, or Bible verses. That blasted female can go on in French and German and Italian too. Damnedest thing I ever heard.”
Hannah and the captain beamed at each other.
“Dutch, Dorset, Carstairs! We’ve prisoners to escort.”
The three of them materialized from the forest. Dutch collected the discarded firearms, passing a pistol to Dorset. Carstairs, cradling his rifle over his arm, considered the brothers Downing.
“We have a three-mile hike along the river before us,” he said. “Any man attempting to escape before we reach the captain’s property will be shot in the foot, compliments of the 95 th Rifles.”
“My horse is at the livery,” Sylvester said.
“And what of your dog?” I asked. Man’s best friend had helped give away the Downings’ game. I and the local chickens and rabbits would doubtless rather see the hound taken in hand.
Brian put his fingers to his lips and emitted a piercing whistle. “Was the dog that started it all, really. Boru is a good fellow. Kept us company, you know?”
“Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast,” Hannah murmured, “but the mercy of the wicked is cruel.”
“Proverbs,” the captain replied. “Chapter 12, verse 10.”
Sylvester groaned. Brian scanned the perimeter, and the panting canine revealed himself, tail wagging, tongue lolling.
“What of Strother?” Hannah asked. “He was here, wasn’t he?”
The Downing siblings exchanged an unreadable glance.
“He was here,” I said. “He was concerned for your welfare, but the gunplay did not sit well with him.” I would have said more, except that voices drifted to us from the direction of the charred oak.
“Reinforcements have arrived,” Carstairs observed. “Gentlemen, using the term loosely, let’s be off with you to the bridle path.”
With Dutch and Dorset flanking the prisoners, they trundled away through the undergrowth, the dog bringing up the rear, in apparently great good charity with all.
“I hear ladies,” Hannah said. “Is Mama on hand too?”
“Not if God is merciful,” the captain replied. “I believe that’s Miss West and Lady Ophelia. Carstairs must have overstepped his orders. He does that from time to time.”
“I like Carstairs,” Hannah said, taking the captain’s arm. “He’s very well-read, and in any man, that is an attractive quality.”
She led MacNamara down the path as she continued to hold forth, acting as his human walking stick on the uneven ground. I took one last look about—I’d see the windows replaced, of a certainty—and thanked the celestial powers that Miss Hannah was safe and free.
The battle was over, but the day’s work had only begun. I was calculating just how long it would take Strother to reach London when I joined the captain and Miss Hannah beneath the oak.
To my great surprise and satisfaction, Strother waited with them, accompanied by Lady Ophelia and my dear Hyperia.
“Mr. Stadler was good enough to keep us company,” Lady Ophelia said.
“He did try to ride off, all the while mumbling something about forgive-me-must-dash. We couldn’t allow that.
I ask you, what could be more pressing than a gentleman’s duty to protect a pair of helpless ladies when firearms are in use in the forest primeval? ”
“Nothing on earth could be more pressing to a man of honor,” I replied. “How did you dissuade him from fleeing?”
Strother studied the blue sky above. Lady Ophelia looked smug.
“I loosened the girth on his saddle,” Hyperia said. “He tried to mount up and gallop off. The horse took exception to the saddle slipping halfway over the side, and by the time Mr. Stadler had the beast calmed, Lady Ophelia had located her peashooter.”
Reinforcements, indeed. “Well done, ladies. If Wellington could have commanded such as you, Napoleon would have been defeated in ninety days flat. Strother, we will accompany the ladies back to the captain’s house in their coach.”
“March, young man,” Lady Ophelia said, shaking a gloved finger at him. “I suspect you have been naughty, and naughty fellows must take their punishment.”
He flashed me another one of those sullen glowers, then shuffled down the trail with Lady Ophelia in his wake.
“Was he naughty?” Hyperia asked, “or merely a coward?”
“A bit of both. I’d rather not let him out of my sight, if you don’t mind.”
“Right.” Hyperia led the way. “No telling what her ladyship might do to him in a moment of inspiration.”
“Hyperia?”
She paused on the path and regarded me over her shoulder. “Jules?”
“Loosening his girth was brilliant, and I love you.”
“Thank you, Jules. The sentiment is entirely reciprocated.” She allowed me to steal a kiss, and then we resumed our progress to her ladyship’s coach.
The captain’s guest parlor was crowded. MacNamara, flanked by his intended, occupied the sofa.
Lady Ophelia and Hyperia had the wing chairs.
Carstairs did sentry duty by the windows, and Dutch and Dorset guarded the door.
The Downing brothers, trying to look at ease and failing miserably, idled by the empty hearth.
Strother had all but secreted himself in a corner at the end of the sideboard, and when his mama the viscountess joined us, he appeared to shrink in on himself yet further.
“Sit with us, Mama,” Hannah said, patting the place beside her on the sofa.
“Hannah.” Lady Standish regarded her daughter quizzically. “You’re looking well.” She took the seat Hannah offered, that cushion being the only free perch in the room. Her ladyship sat gingerly, as if she expected riot and mayhem to erupt at any moment.
Whatever reaction I’d anticipated to the reunion of mother and daughter, it hadn’t been you’re looking well . No sign of relief, frustration, joy. A platitude alone, and that was apparently all Hannah had learned to expect.
I remained before the sideboard, feeling somewhat like Headmaster before an assemblage of the school’s most reluctant scholars.
“I am well, Mama,” Hannah replied evenly, once her mama was settled. “I am very well, thanks to James and his friends.”
The use of the captain’s given name inspired the viscountess to a minor sniff. “I see Mr. Downing has returned to the area.”
Sylvester offered her ladyship a bow. “My lady, greetings. May I make known to you my brother Brian, late of County Mayo.”
“My lady.” Brian’s bow was all that was polite.
Hannah was having none of that. “Sylvester has behaved very badly, Mama. He lured me from the property with talk of having found the perfect dog for Strother, and the dog is quite nice. What followed was not nice at all.”
Strother’s ears had turned pink.
“You should have known better,” the viscountess retorted. “I would never allow Strother to have a hairy, slobbering, shedding creature turning Pleasant View into a kennel. Strother is well aware of this.”
That the viscountess had disparaged her daughter was apparently also to be expected, but her vituperation of the dog earned her censorious looks from every other occupant of the room.
“He’s a good dog,” Brian said softly.
“But Sylvester has not been a good brother, has he?” I put the question to the sibling whom I judged the most sensible. The younger son, who’d gone along to prevent disaster, and found himself in the midst of worse trouble than he could have imagined.
A singularly unpleasant experience.
“Sylvester is our dreamer,” Brian said, though that observation served as neither explanation nor apology.