Page 6 of Escape of the Scoundrel (Escape #1)

S anderly was aware of the moment Cedric Illsworth arrived at Grand Court, for the man had one of those loud, penetrating voices that set one’s teeth on edge.

Sanderly had already played his obligatory game of pall-mall. He had repressed his urge to whack the ball hard enough to lift the hoops off the ground, and was now stretched out on a bench in the sun, pretending to be asleep while he amused himself observing Harriet Cole.

She was oddly joyous in her game, as though nothing had ever been so much fun. He wondered about her past, while admiring her focus and her slender shape, and smiling inwardly at her frequent laughter.

Illsworth’s much more strident tones could be heard at the front of the house. Sanderly could almost feel Bab’s glare as she willed Sanderly to immediately go about her business. Sanderly, however, had no intention of appearing so eager. Bab had no subtlety, which was how she had got into this mess in the first place.

Illsworth did not join them in the pall-mall games. Sanderly presumed he planned to make an entrance at tea, or perhaps supper. There was no sign of Wolf either, who was presumably nursing a hangover of mammoth proportions. Perhaps Illsworth did too.

Sanderly allowed himself to yawn and stretch, then strolled unhurriedly away from the pall-mall players toward the house. He ignored his sister.

Entering by the garden room, he found it empty, although as he passed through, he could hear the sounds of childish hilarity in the room next door.

“Go on, Harry, bash it down the line!” urged a boy’s gleeful voice.

On impulse, Sanderly turned away from the staircase and sauntered into the next room instead. Three somewhat ill-dressed children—a boy and two girls—of various sizes were jumping up and down by the window. Although Sanderly had barely glimpsed them at the Duck and Spoon, he was quite sure who they were.

Poor Lady Grandison , he thought with some amusement, as they cheered and then grumbled as, presumably, “Harry” missed the hoop.

“Drat it,” said the taller girl. “Now that old fellow will win.”

“But the old have so little to look forward to,” Sanderly said sardonically. “It is a kindness to let old Thornton win something.”

They all turned to him in surprise. Oh yes, they were Harriet’s siblings. They all had a similar, direct gaze and quick smile, the same-shaped noses and pointed chins, even though the shades of their hair were lighter and straighter in two cases.

“Do you think so, sir?” the girl said in some surprise. “I think he has just practised a lot and likes beating the younger folk to flinders.”

“And Harriet, you know, has not played for years,” the boy said.

“Why is that?” Sanderly asked, sauntering across to the window from where there was a fine view of the game.

“Randolph,” the small girl said with loathing. The others nudged her. She glared up at them. “Well, he is awful!”

“Is he?” Sanderly wondered.

“Yes,” said the larger girl. “Very awful, but we don’t mean to speak of him.”

“Well, I am pretty awful myself,” Sanderly said, “so you needn’t mind speaking of him to me. You are Miss Cole’s siblings?”

“Yes,” said the girls.

“No,” said the boy. “I’m a cousin.”

“Randolph wants to ’prentice him instead of sending him to school,” said the little one, shifting agilely aside to avoid the inevitable buffets. “I expect you agree, if you’re as awful as Randolph.”

The refined accents and the early bolting from the Duck and Spoon began to make some kind of sense. “Are you running away from Randolph?” he inquired.

“No!” the older girl said, glaring at her sister. “We have accepted an invitation to stay with Harriet’s godmother. Who is Lady Grandison.”

“Very wise.”

The children were regarding him with more favour again. Except for the little girl who said uneasily, “You don’t know Randolph, do you?”

“Oh, no. At least I hope not. We awful people tend to keep as much distance as possible between us. My name is Sanderly.”

“How do you do, Mr. Sanderly,” said the boy politely. He bowed, as did the little girl. The older girl gave a reluctant curtsey.

“How do you do?” Sanderly replied affably, “though I must correct myself. More properly, Sanderly is my title. My name is Fforbes. With two Fs,” he added.

“Why are there two Fs?” the little one demanded.

“Who knows? In case I lose one, I expect.”

The boy grinned. The girls giggled. The older girl said, “I’m Rose Cole. This is my sister Orchid, and my cousin is Alex.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“Yes, but what do we call you?” Alex asked.

Sanderly considered. “Snake,” he said. “Except in public, when I suppose you should call me my lord. But do tell me how the awful Randolph stopped Miss Harriet from playing pall-mall?”

The subsequent conversation was enlightening. He endeared himself to the children further by commenting that it sounded as if the unspeakable Randolph needed a punch on the nose.

Alex grinned. “Draw his cork, sir! I say, were you at the prize fight yesterday?”

The girls groaned, just as a maid bustled into the room. “ There you are, children! It’s tea time.”

“Can we have it with Lily in her bedchamber?” Orchid asked. “Lily isn’t well,” she added to Sanderly. “She’s our other sister and she’s staying in Harriet’s room until she’s better.”

“Stop bothering the gentleman and come away,” the nursemaid said hastily.

They went obediently enough, although they cast conspiratorial grins over their shoulders at him. They were really very like Harriet, smiling still, although the whole family was clearly escaping from an entirely unacceptable situation. He could guess some, at least, of what had not been said.

None of your business, Sanderly . He always referred to himself as Sanderly, even in his thoughts, something he had forced himself to do when Hugo died. It still felt unnatural and utterly wrong, but at least his whole being no longer contracted in pain.

No, it was none of his business. But he wished them well in their escape.

***

“Y OU REALLY DON’T MIND about the Coles being here?” Lady Grandison said to her husband as she changed for dinner. Sir John, resplendent in evening dress, complete with a “waterfall” arrangement of his cravat, and a gold, crested pin that matched his sleeve buttons, had wandered into her dressing room while the maid was putting the finishing touches to her coiffure.

Sir John took a pinch of snuff and closed the box. “Of course not, my love, except in so far as it makes additional work for you.”

“More for the servants,” she admitted. “I’ve brought the seamstress up from the village, but even so, a couple of the maids are necessary to help with all the sewing—there are the children to think of as well as Harriet, because I really can’t have them seen , even in the grounds in those disgusting rags.”

“A little overstated, my dear,” Sir John said mildly. “Ill-fitting and excessively mended, but they do not wear rags .”

“Not quite, but John, what is Randolph Cole thinking to let them go about so? Keeping them virtually prisoners in their own home...”

“Well, that’s the thing. It is not their home any longer. It is Randolph’s. He is not obliged to keep them at all. Arguably, he is saving their trust funds.”

“By using Harriet as a servant when she should be going to parties and finding a husband? The girl is an heiress of means and as pretty as a picture. Why isn’t he using that to get them all off his hands? I wonder if you shouldn’t post up to Gorsefield to call on him, bring him to his senses? After the party, of course.”

“Whenever I go, I have no rights in the matter. I am quite content to house them all at Grand Court. But have you considered, my dear? We will need governesses and tutors, and Alex should probably go away to school at some point.”

“Harriet has a plan,” Lady Grandison said with a sigh. “She has applied for a post as governess, which she is convinced she will be given, and from her salary, she thinks to send them all to school so that they only need join us for occasional holidays. She has no idea of the costs!”

Sir John sat on the chaise longue. “I imagine Harriet would be a breath of fresh air as a governess and whoever she taught would adore her. On the other hand, I can’t actually imagine anyone employing her. She is far too young and much too irreverent.”

Lady Grandison rose, her eyes sparkling. “Exactly! But I have a better plan. Marriage!” she finished in triumph.

“With whom?” he asked warily.

“We have lots of eligible bachelors here! Sir Ralph is already very taken with her, but he is not the only one. There is Dolt and Fool.”

“My dear!” Sir John protested.

“Well, the nicknames are unkind. They merely need to grow up a little. Neither of them would be my first choice but they are both of excellent birth and fortune. Lord Wolf would be better for her, though I suspect his pockets are to let.”

“His pockets are full of holes,” Sir John said dryly.

“True, but I always had a soft spot for him. But there is no point in my choosing for her. Harriet is like her dear mama and will select her own husband. I just have to ensure she has a wide choice, and she does! I might hint that her fortune is a little larger than it is...”

“And whoever she chooses will find out.”

“Well, if he’s worthy of her, he won’t care. Of course I shan’t be vulgar about it. Indeed I shall be very vague.”

“With what aim?” Sir John asked, mystified.

“Just to boost her popularity. You know what men are. They value something—or someone—much more if it is coveted by others.”

“Some men, perhaps.”

She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Not you, of course, dear, but others.”

“Like Wriggley? Illsworth? Sanderly?”

“Oh, I think I draw the line at Sanderly, dear. I don’t want her ostracized .”

“To be honest, I’m surprised you invited him.”

“I didn’t think he’d come,” she admitted. “Everyone said he was fleeing the country, and in any case, he never accepts invitations. It was Bab who summoned him, suddenly panicking, no doubt, that she would never see him again.”

“I would have thought she’d thank God, fasting.”

“Oh, no. She never speaks ill of him, if you notice. As a result, people rarely do so in front of her—at least no one with any honour or kindness. So she doesn’t really know half of what is said about him.” She frowned suddenly. “And only a quarter of that can possibly be true. He is his own worst enemy, is Sanderly, but decidedly he will not do for Harriet. Shall we go down, Sir John?”

Obediently, he rose and offered his arm. “Be discreet, my love. Don’t tell everyone poor Harriet’s as rich as a nabob.”

“All these years, Sir John, and you still doubt my subtlety...”

***

D RESSED EARLY FOR DINNER , Sanderly made his way purposefully along the empty passage to Illsworth’s room. He had found no chance to beard the miscreant either before, during or after tea, for Illsworth, like everyone else, avoided him.

Martindale—dear James—was also keeping well out of his way.

Nevertheless, Sanderly had hopes of being in Harwich by the morrow. If he got the wretched cravat pin back now, then he could lecture James over the after-dinner port when he was likely to be more susceptible. Then his duty to his sister would be done and he could escape. He could find passage on another ship, if his own had already sailed, which seemed increasingly likely.

But he would be free.

He paused an instant at Illsworth’s door. The footman at the end of the hall—whom he had bribed for the information—gave the faintest of nods. Sanderly’s lips twisted of their own accord. He gave a brief, faint knock and immediately sauntered into the room.

Illsworth stood before a looking glass in his shirt sleeves, wrestling with his cravat. His startled gaze met Sanderly’s in the glass.

“Illsworth,” Sanderly said fondly, as if they had just run into each other by accident. “How do you do?”

“Struggling, if you want the truth. I wish I had not left my man in town. It seemed such a good idea not to have his disapproving face around when I went to watch the fight, but now, as you see...”

“I do,” Sanderly said, eyeing the mess of the other man’s cravat. “Still, never mind, the pin is the thing. Is it not?”

Illsworth understood. It was in his eyes, a hint of surprise and irritation before he smiled as blandly as ever. “Not to me, Sanderly. My man has a way with the folds of the cravat. I don’t suppose I could borrow your fellow?”

“Sadly not. He gave notice rather than brave foreign shores. Allow me.”

Illsworth tried to whip off the necktie, but Sanderly was faster, quickly adjusting the folds. Illsworth’s hands fell to his sides, clenched tight. His body was rigid as Sanderly created order of the mess the other man had created.

“There,” Sanderly said, holding out one hand, palm upward, while continuing to hold the cravat in place with the other. “Pin.”

There was a pause. If Illsworth hadn’t guessed his purpose before, he definitely knew now. He moved, picking something off the dressing table and dropped it into Sanderly’s palm.

Sanderly had little idea what Bab’s pin had looked like beyond the fact it contained a sapphire. But it was certainly not jet. “Not that one. Too severe.” He met Illsworth’s gaze. “Or not severe enough. Either way, it is quite wrong. You promised my sister you would wear the one she gave you.”

Illsworth’s eyes all but dripped with contempt. “If I had such a thing, I would not put it in your hand.”

Sanderly gave his most unpleasant smile, the one which had once reduced subalterns and the most recalcitrant of private soldiers to instant obedience, and which nowadays made society shudder.

“Is that honour you are pretending? Better late than never. My sister asked you to return the pin. You will do so now.”

“She is not here,” Illsworth sneered, “whatever scandal you may have heard about her. Feel free to look.”

Sanderly sighed. “Don’t try my patience, Illsworth.”

Illsworth laughed. “Or what, Snake ? You’ll call me out? The officer cashiered for cowardice?”

“Of course I won’t call you out,” Sanderly said softly. The world would guess why, which would be disastrous for Bab. “But never rely on any man’s cowardice, certainly not when his fingers are at your throat.” He changed his grip on the cravat, crushing it and twisting it tight.

Instinctively, Illsworth grabbed at his wrist, tugging. Sanderly twisted harder.

“The pin, if you please.”

Illsworth began to struggle in earnest, using both hands to try and push him off, but he fought as though he were young Alex’s age, which was interesting.

“Don’t make an enemy of me, Illsworth,” Sanderly said softly. “Just give me the pin.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Illsworth gasped.

Sanderly gave another vicious twist.

“I haven’t got it!” Illsworth croaked, when Sanderly loosened the necktie enough for him to do so. “It was stolen from me! Look!”

He grasped a box on the dressing table which contained two pairs of sleeve buttons and one cravat pin beside the one Sanderly had discarded. It was plain gold.

Sanderly looked from the box back to Illsworth. The man could be lying. But there was just enough outrage in his voice to be convincing.

Sanderly let go of the necktie and Illsworth staggered back into the mirror.

“When was it stolen?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Illsworth gasped, tugging the necktie loose from his throat. “At the Duck and Spoon, probably. No doubt by that girl you tumbled. No wonder she was so damned grateful. I’d check your own possessions.”

Sanderly had no intention of drawing the man’s attention to the fact that the girl in question was now at Grand Court. He simply said, “When did you last see it?”

“When I packed it—when my man packed it—in London.”

“And when did you notice it was gone?”

Illsworth shrugged impatiently, though his eyes slid free. “Just now.”

So the weasel had been about to wear it this evening. Sanderly curled his lip and looked Illsworth up and down. “And people wonder why I eschew society.”

Since there was nothing more to be gained here, he strode to the door without a word of farewell. He had grasped the handle before Illsworth sneered. “And no one eschews you, Snake?”

“Oh, it is undoubtedly mutual,” Sanderly agreed with some amusement. Illsworth actually seemed to think it was a barb. If it ever had been, it had ceased to prick a long time ago.

He emerged into the passage, by ill fortune, just as James Martindale strode past. He wore evening dress, but he did not have his wife on his arm. Sanderly, fully expecting to be ignored again, paused to give an elaborate bow.

Unexpectedly, James halted, glaring at him. “I might have known why you reared your damned head here. Stirring the pot as usual! Playing Cupid, Sanderly?”

“Good God, no. You of all people should know that the liaisons of others revolt me.”

“Then what are you doing with him ?”

“Well, if you lower your voice and show any sense I might tell you,” Sanderly said, turning back along the passage in the opposite direction. “Discretion, dear James, is the thing. Bab still in her room?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, which was fortunate, since James never gave him one.

He found Bab in her bedchamber, being presented with a fan and reticule by her maid, whom he dismissed with a single jerk of his head. The woman fled with the barest scared glance at her mistress.

“Snake!” Bab pounced. “Have you got it? Did he at least promise not to wear it in front of James?”

“No. And no. And you have just removed my last suspicion that you got it back yourself. He says it was stolen, somewhere between London and Grand Court.”

Bab stared at him. “And you believe him?”

“Mostly, yes.”

She sank into the chair behind her. “But who would have done such a thing? If he reports it to Lady Grandison, there will be all sorts of unpleasantness and if it is found...”

“Exactly.” He found himself frowning at his sister. “The man’s a rat, Bab.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I thought he was a friend.”

“No one has any friends in a tight corner.”

Unexpectedly, her eyes cleared. “You do, you know, Snake. You should just stop pushing them away. Come, you may escort me down to dinner since James was in such a wretched hurry. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“He’s my after dinner treat,” Sanderly drawled.