Page 9 of Lady Ferocity (A Series of Senseless Complications #1)

F elicity stared as the terrible beast showed its teeth, its canines yellow and at least four inches long. She dropped the latch and backed away. Turning her head, she saw the garden had emptied, but for Mr. Stratton and her father. Both stood motionless behind her.

“Do not look at us,” Mr. Stratton said, “never turn your back on a large cat. Just slowly back up.”

Felicity did as she was bid and took two very slow steps back, as she had no experience at all regarding what one ought to do in such a situation.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two stoats up on their back legs, motionless and still, as if hoping not to be noticed.

The zebra was still for a moment, then it bolted to the back of its fencing. Felicity could hear its heavy breathing. The heavy breathing of absolute panic.

The tiger’s head whipped round toward the sound. Felicity gasped, certain Lady Albright’s zebra was moments away from a terrible demise. Her gasp brought the tiger’s attention back to her.

The beast pushed on the door, seeming curious to find it open. It pushed further and the gate swung fully open with a whine from the hinges.

“Stay very still,” Mr. Stratton said softly.

That would not be very hard to accomplish. Felicity wished to run, but she felt frozen where she was. She was paralyzed in terror, just like the stoats.

The tiger’s two front paws were out of the enclosure. They were impossibly massive, like a terrible dream of a monster. The claws could not be seen, but Felicity knew they were there, ready to come out when they were wanted.

The beast looked round as if he was not sure what he ought to do next. Felicity thought he found himself surprised to be free. She did not think his hesitation would last long.

“Do not move an inch, I am taking your shawl,” Mr. Stratton said.

Felicity’s mind was not working very well, and she could not fathom why Mr. Stratton should choose this moment to require her India shawl. Nevertheless, it slipped from her shoulders.

The movement attracted the tiger’s attention. He stared with a strange and intense focus.

Suddenly, the shawl sailed over her head and into the enclosure. The tiger was lightning fast after it. Mr. Stratton pushed her out of the way and slammed the enclosure door behind the beast.

He forced the latch closed. The tiger was contained once more.

Felicity’s heart pounded as it had never done before. How had Mr. Stratton known that a cat that size would chase like a housecat?

It was a cat’s instinct to chase what ran. That was how.

Then the idea of what would have happened if she’d run—it would have been after her just as fast as it had gone after her shawl. It would have been his instinct to chase and pounce on her, just like a housecat on a mouse.

Felicity felt tears spring up in her eyes. She felt like laughing or crying or both. Never in her life had she come so close to dying. One lunge from that beast would have done it.

Mr. Stratton sighed in relief and turned to her.

He suddenly lurched forward with a shout and Felicity was horrified to see the tiger’s paw swipe through the bars, massive claws outstretched. A terrible ripping sound rent the quiet of the night and Mr. Stratton fell forward on the grass.

As he lay on the ground, Felicity could see the tiger had ripped right through his coat and his shirt. The blood seeped everywhere and was dreadful to behold.

At least, dreadful for her to behold. The tiger seemed to find it less dreadful and lifted its nose to the air, sniffing it. It smelled the blood. Seeming enraged by it, the beast crashed itself against the bars of its enclosure.

“No time to waste,” the duke said. “Let us go from here before the creature takes another run at it. Felicity, help me get him up. Come on, mister, time to quit this party.”

Mr. Stratton seemed to be in a state of shock, but he made a valiant attempt to rise. Felicity grabbed his arm on one side and the duke took the other.

Between them, they supported him to the door which, incredibly, they found locked. She supposed once people understood that a tiger was loose it was every man for himself. They’d been left to face the beast alone, with no means of escape.

The duke banged on it and shouted, “Open this door at once or I’ll hunt down every last one of you and shoot you in the head!”

Felicity heard fumbling with the lock. The door cracked open and Lady Albright appeared, her face gone very white.

“Out of the way,” the duke said, pushing the door fully open. “Send for a doctor, we’ll get him up the stairs and take over one of your bedchambers.”

“But what… what happened? Who let Tiberius out?” Lady Albright stuttered.

“My daughter fell against the latch after some idiot made her sneeze,” the duke said, practically dragging Mr. Stratton forward. “One wonders, Madam, why there was not a lock on it!”

“The padlock? Oh dear…” Lady Albright said softly.

From this, Felicity supposed there was meant to be a lock on the door. Really, how careless must one be to forget to secure the lock on a tiger’s cage?

Mr. Stratton was getting heavier and harder to hold upright.

Her father pointed at two stunned looking footmen. “Don’t stand there with your mouths hanging open. Carry this fellow above stairs!”

The footmen hurried over and took Mr. Stratton from either side. Felicity was rather relieved to be unburdened, as she had not known how much longer she could have held up her side. Mr. Stratton was rather tall and slim, but there was a solidness to him that she had not expected. His arm had been heavy as iron.

Now that she was unburdened and in better light, she could see the extent of the damage to Mr. Stratton’s back. It was as if someone had taken a sharp knife and cut him open in four deep lines.

He had bled a lot and seemed only barely conscious. The side of her dress where she’d held him up was dripping with his blood.

“You all right, girl?” the duke asked.

Felicity nodded, attempting to appear very brave.

“Right, I’ll go up and see the mister squared away. Have a stiff brandy while you wait, that will set you up.”

Felicity nodded, vaguely aware that Lady Albright was attempting ten things at once. She was directing the footmen who helped Mr. Stratton, sending the butler for the doctor, sending another footman to the stables to find the padlock that was supposed to be on the tiger’s enclosure, loudly explaining how Tiberius simply did not know his own strength and would not have purposefully hurt anyone, outlining what the tiger had eaten for his dinner to point out that it was not as if he were hungry, explaining how the padlock had no doubt been forgotten when the tiger had been served that dinner, and finally hurrying up the stairs behind the patient.

The duke followed the lady and the patient up the stairs and Felicity had far more faith in her father’s ability to set things right than Lady Albright.

The house had emptied, but for the servants and Lord Denderby. He rushed forward and Felicity could not think where he had been when the latch came undone. Where had anybody been? Where had Lord Rustmont been?

People had disappeared out of that garden like a magician’s trick. As far as she could tell, they’d kept going right out the front doors. She could hear the distant sounds of carriages and people, but Lady Albright’s house was eerily empty.

“My son!”

“He has been taken above stairs and a doctor has been sent for, Lord Denderby,” Felicity said.

“Look what you have brought him to,” the viscount said, fairly spitting the words out. “He is an only son! You are a family of lunatics, that’s what you are.”

The viscount headed toward the stairs.

“It was not my tiger, my lord, and it was not me who forgot to put the padlock on the door!” she called after him. “Furthermore, you hightailed it out of that garden without your son, I noticed. And even furthermore, the door was locked when we tried to get in the house—where was all your concern then?”

The viscount paused his race up and stairs and cried, “There was a tiger on the loose!”

Felicity crossed her arms by way of answer. The viscount turned and continued his ascent, disappearing down a corridor.

Felicity began to feel a bit wobbly on her feet as the shock of what had happened began to leave her. She thought she’d best follow her father’s advice and drink something strong to settle her.

She wandered into the empty drawing room and grabbed the decanter of brandy. She did not bother with a glass, nor did she bother about sitting on Lady Albright’s white velvet sofa in a dress soaked in blood.

Her mind felt rather blank, her ability to think flown off somewhere. All that would come to her was that she was glad to be alive, and she hoped Mr. Stratton remained alive too.

She took a long swig from the decanter, and then two more for good measure.

*

Percy had been laid on his stomach in one of Lady Albright’s bedchambers. It had all happened so fast! One moment, they were facing a tiger who’d just realized his door was open, the next the beast was tricked back inside and the problem solved, then the next the dastardly creature had swiped at him through the bars of his enclosure.

He could not see the damage done to his back, but he could feel it. At first, it had been more of a shock than pain, but the pain had set in by degrees. Just now, it felt as if he was on fire.

Somehow, Lady Felicity’s father had taken charge of the sickroom. The duke was sending the staff in all directions for hot water, bandages, turpentine to clean the wounds, and a large brandy for the patient. Lady Albright seemed to be hovering at the edges, occasionally defending the tiger, who Percy now knew was named Tiberius.

Tiberius could make his way to the ninth circle of hell for all he cared.

“Well then, Stratton,” the duke said, “the good news is you saved the day. The bad news is your wounds are looking… not very good.”

Though Percy ought to have been considering the duke’s assessment of his injuries, his mind settled on the fact that the duke had for once called him Stratton, rather than mister.

He supposed one must get oneself gravely injured for the duke to remember one’s name.

“Lady Felicity,” Percy said. “She is all right?”

“As right as can be expected. I advised her to dose herself with brandy and I advise you to do the same. Of course, I’ll have to hear from her what upsets her more—facing down a tiger or turning round to notice that her precious Rustmont had flown the coop.”

“He’s a stick,” Percy murmured.

“And a coward, as far as I can see. I expect it’s all up with him—Felicity knows well enough that I can’t have a coward for a son-in-law. I’d harass him to the edges of his sanity!”

Percy laughed, though the movement caused the burning on his back to surge.

“You seem a stalwart sort—why don’t you make a run at her? At least I’d know she was safe from wild animals. Probably the best I can hope for.”

Percy coughed and choked and worked to clear his throat. Why did not he take a run at Lady Felicity? That was a circumstance he’d not seen coming. He’d put all his effort toward convincing his father that he was set on Lady Felicity. He’d not thought of the duke at all in his plan.

“Uh, well, as to that, you see, the way I see it, I suppose…”

Before Percy had to elaborate any further by way of a string of random words, his father burst into the room.

“My god!” the viscount shouted. “He’s an only son and look what’s happened to him!”

“It was never going to be very sensible to own a tiger, in my opinion,” the duke said matter-of-factly. “Something like this was bound to happen.”

“The tiger was not a danger until somebody let him out!” the viscount cried.

“You really should get hold of yourself, old fellow,” the duke said. “Hysterics won’t help Stratton, here.”

“I demand an end to this pursuit of that man’s daughter!” the viscount cried at Percy, apparently unable to put aside his hysteria.

“Ah, that’s the game is it?” the duke asked. “I did wonder. Well, I am agreeable, even though he’s only a mister.”

“You see what they are, Stratton! They are deranged lunatics!”

“Hah!” the duke said, laughing heartily. “I’m not the one looking everywhere for invisible pineapples, am I? Do you often hallucinate about fruit that isn’t there?”

“Why aren’t you dead on the moors?” the viscount asked the duke, fury trembling in his voice. “We all thought you were dead on the moors and we were very relieved to hear it!”

“I do not know who the we could be that you refer to, Sir Pineapple, but most people find me delightful,” the duke said.

Percy had the idea the old soldier believed it, too. Oddly, the duke was somehow growing on him.

Fortunately, the doctor came in before his father could respond to being called Sir Pineapple.

Dr. Redmond took charge of the room at once. He showed himself to be a no-nonsense sort of gentleman who was not the least bit awed by a duke and a viscount hurling insults at one another. He ordered the duke out and he ordered Percy’s father to sit quietly in a corner else he would be put out too.

The doctor examined the wounds and pronounced them precisely what one would expect from a tiger’s claw. “If you avoid infection, you ought to do all right,” he said. “I’ll dose you with laudanum and get it all cleaned up—I don’t suppose a tiger keeps his claws very tidy. You’ll be sore for quite a while, I imagine.”

“If he does not die!” the viscount said. “He is an only son—if he dies, the title will go to my imbecile nephew!”

Percy heard Dr. Redmond sigh deeply. “I’ll give your father a dose of laudanum too. I can’t see what else will calm him down.”

“I do not require being calmed down,” the viscount said. “I will take my son home now. Somebody call my carriage!”

“You will do no such thing,” the doctor said sternly. “He is not to be moved for several days. I will stay the night to ensure he does not develop a fever and then we will see where we are. Now, you get in your carriage, by yourself, and get out of my way.”

There were various sputterings from the viscount’s direction, but for once he could not find the words to respond. It made Percy laugh despite it causing him pain.

He heard the viscount jump to his feet. “I have decided to depart. I will return on the morrow. First thing! I order you to stay alive, Stratton.”

With that fatherly advice, he promptly stomped out of the room.

“All right, one problem solved,” the doctor said. “Roll carefully on your side so you can drink down the laudanum.”

Percy did as he was bid, though it was excruciating.

It was well worth it though. Once the laudanum took effect, his pain lessened remarkably and his spirits rose. After all, aside from his skin being torn to shreds, the evening had gone rather well.

To think, he would forever be known as the fellow who fought off a tiger. It would be very pleasant to go round being a tiger- fighter. He did not suppose Rustmont could claim to be a tiger-fighter.

Rustmont. He’d run away with all the others, like a hare from a fox. Like a frightened child. Like a fainting woman. Like a… not the high-flown Corinthian he pretended he was. He wondered what Lady Felicity thought about that .

Percy said, “Rustmont is afraid of a tiger.”

“Everybody should be afraid of a tiger,” the doctor said drily.

“I wasn’t afraid of the tiger,” Percy said boldly.

“Then you are one die short of a set,” the doctor said.

This caused Percy to laugh. “That’s funny—that’s what I said about the duke and now it’s me. And you know what? Lady Felicity isn’t afraid of a tiger either. She was cracking brave!”

“She sounds stupendous.”

“Gad, have you seen her hair?”

“No, I have not. Though I presume the laudanum has taken good effect.”

“Rather.”

The next hour was not so pleasant, as the doctor worked on his wounds. After that, the jolly fellow gave him another dose of laudanum and he drifted off imagining all the monikers he might have earned for himself—The Tiger, The Savior, Scar-Back, The Undefeated, Genghis Stratton, Master of the Beasts, Percy the Great—there were so many possibilities he could not imagine which one would stick. He wondered what Lady Felicity would think about that .

“Gad,” he murmured, “have you seen her hair?”

*

Felicity’s sisters had gathered round her in the drawing room, captivated by the tale of the tiger escaping its cage and Mr. Stratton getting it back in again, and then Mr. Stratton being horribly attacked.

At least, five of her sisters were captivated—Valor’s eyes were wide and she was white as a sheet.

“I knew something like this would happen,” the youngest Nicolet daughter murmured. “I’ve had night terrors of beasts dragging me away and tearing me apart.”

“You are in no danger, Valor,” Grace said.

“You don’t know that, though,” Valor said. “That tiger is still here, right in London, and it got out of its cage one time. It could get out another time.”

“Everybody knows that if a tiger gets out one time,” Verity said, “they get a better lock so it doesn’t get out a second time.”

“They forgot the lock altogether,” Felicity said. “I suppose a lock not used is no good at all.”

“And,” Valor said, “it’s a wild animal. Once it smells blood, it cannot be stopped. Felicity had blood on her dress. I bet the tiger can smell it.”

That did give Felicity pause. She was all but certain that Mr. Stratton remained in Lady Albright’s house, recovering from his injuries. If the tiger did get out and prowled the house, Mr. Stratton would be in no shape to defend himself and the tiger had already a taste of his blood. It gave her a rather sick feeling.

“Think how brave Mr. Stratton was,” Serenity said.

“I believe all gentlemen are brave, when called upon,” Verity said. “That is a widely understood point.”

“You don’t know that,” Winsome said.

“I am afraid not, Verity,” Felicity said, before Verity could dig her heels in on the subject. “There were many guests out in the garden at that moment and the only people who stayed were Papa and Mr. Stratton. Oh, and whoever was the last through the door locked it behind them.”

“I am shocked that Lord Rustmont did not stay and fight the beast,” Serenity said.

Felicity was rather shocked herself. Had anyone asked her about such a circumstance ahead of time, she would have assured them that Lord Rustmont would act very brave and it would be Mr. Stratton who would run away.

“Tell us about the blood again, Felicity,” Patience said.

“I cannot bear to hear of the blood again,” Valor said. “I will go and have a confidential conversation in my room with Mrs. Wendover.”

Felicity nodded. Mrs. Wendover, the raggedy stuffed rabbit that Valor turned to in moments of worry, would be a willing listener. According to Valor, Mrs. Wendover was always full of sensible advice, most of which consisted of pulling one’s blankets over one’s head so that monsters could not see you.

Valor skipped out of the room, but before Felicity could give another detailed description of the terrible wound, the butler entered the room carrying a tea tray. One of the footmen followed behind with a tray of fairy cakes.

Though there had been so much excitement out of the house, Felicity had not forgotten her duty to Mrs. Right inside the house.

“Mr. Sykes-Wycliff,” she said with a bright smile, “how do you settle in?”

“Very well, Lady Felicity,” he said.

Though he said he was very well, he looked a deal paler and worn out than he had done when he arrived at the house.

“Rest when you can. When we are in the Dales, things are a deal more… what would you call it, Grace?”

Grace, having been talked to beforehand, as had all her sisters, nodded knowingly and said, “Fraught? Is that the word you’re thinking of?”

Felicity noted the footman press his lips together and turn away—he would be well-informed of the plan from Mrs. Right.

“Oh,” Patience said, “you mean Papa going round knocking on doors in the middle of the night and then clobbering whoever opens for him? I suppose it’s the country air that does it.”

“Actually,” Felicity said, “I was thinking of the servants’ hunt. Mr. Sykes-Wycliff, you might claim a limp on the day and just refuse to go.”

Verity nodded. “It’s meant to be great fun, you see. What with all the servants running across the moors and Papa chasing them with his fowling piece.”

“If only he had better aim,” Serenity said sadly.

At this inconvenient juncture, Valor ran back into her room with Mrs. Wendover in her arms. “It was lonely up there and then Mrs. Wendover thought she might want a biscuit.”

They had all hoped Valor would not be present for the ruse, as they did not like to give her nightmares. But there was nothing for it now—they had got started and must finish it.

“Accidents will happen, as poor Jimmy well knows,” Grace said.

At this comment, Valor quite naturally looked entirely confused. She suddenly piped up. “That’s what happened to Jimmy? He had an accident?”

Felicity nodded gravely. Jimmy, of course, had not been shot down by the duke. He’d left to become an apprentice in a town some hours away.

“You are not to worry, Valor,” Grace said. “He was only shot in the leg and he continues his recovery.”

“Though he’s been very loud about refusing to ever come back,” Patience said.

“That’s too bad,” Valor said, “I liked him.”

“He blames Papa, Valor, which is very unfair. Everybody knows our dear father cannot help it—he’s not a very good shot!”

Valor nodded sadly, though she did not know the first thing about it.

With that, they put their attention to their tea and allowed Mr. Sykes-Wycliff to stagger out of the room.