Page 22 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

22

I found Evan and Mr. Kent in the small library I had established at the back of the house. A private space with three walls of bookshelves full of my books, a desk, and a wingback chair set near the small hearth, like the one my father had in his study. The two men stood on opposite sides of the room, some heated conversation having—it would seem—just ended. Mirror images of their dislike for each other.

Now, there was a thought worth exploring.

“So now do you see, Mr. Kent?” I said, closing the door behind me.

“See what?” he asked truculently.

“That Mulholland is going to kill Lord Evan as soon as he finds him again.” I glanced at Evan, seeing him square up to that fact. “It is set to be a straight execution, Mr. Kent. I think we can all agree that my brother’s warning will have no effect and Mulholland will stay nearby. He will wait to complete his mission now that he knows Lord Evan is trapped here.”

Kent nodded, conceding the truth of it.

I crossed my arms. “As I see it, we must find a way for Lord Evan to leave this house safely.”

“We?” Kent said.

“You have just lied to a magistrate and abetted a criminal, so I think you are part of ‘we.’ Besides, I do not think you are willing to stand aside and see a man killed without due justice. Your honor would not allow it.”

Kent closed his eyes for a second. “You and your sister will be the death of me.”

“I sincerely hope not,” I said.

Kent paced across the room, clearly weighing up the situation. He knew if he agreed he was stepping over a line that could mean the end of his career, not to mention his life.

He released a long breath. “And so, it seems I becomes we.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Across the room, Evan bowed. “You have my thanks as well.”

“I am not doing it for you,” Kent said.

I considered the two bristling men in front of me. Would it work? Was it too risky?

“I have an idea,” I said.

Evan smiled. “I never doubted it.”

“Totally insane, I presume,” Mr. Kent added.

“Totally.” I looked across at Evan. “Do you agree you must go? This will be highly dangerous. You know you can hide here as long as you wish.”

“However much I would like to stay here, you are right. I put you all at risk this morning, and my presence here will continue to do so.”

I waved the men forward. “Here, then, is my idea.”

···

Duffy looked up from carving a slice of roast beef from the cold haunch before him. He sat at the head of the table, of course.

“Ah, good, you are back.” He laid a slice of the meat on a plate and passed it to Miss Grant. “Julia, will you partake too? You do not eat enough.”

“No, thank you, Duffy,” she said, seated at his left. “I am content with tea and a roll.”

She shot an anxious glance at me.

I gave a slight nod: All in hand.

Well, as in hand as it could be, considering my plan and the stakes.

I took a seat beside Julia, where I had a view through the window at the square outside.

Samuel brought over the coffeepot and poured me a cup; Weatherly was otherwise engaged, procuring the necessary props for our plan. Before me was spread one of Cook’s feasts: the cold beef Duffy was carving and a haunch of ham, crisp bacon, fresh rolls, baked eggs, caraway seed cake, toast, a wheel of cheese, and a tureen of the kedgeree. I reached for a bread roll and placed it on my plate, then speared a good slice of ham.

“I came by this morning because Harriet and I are returning to Duffield House today,” Duffy said, cutting a slice of beef. He forked it into his mouth and chewed reflectively.

“Are you going for the assizes?” Julia asked politely.

“Mm, that and other matters,” he said. “But I am here because I received a letter from Lord Deele that was somewhat surprising.”

Opposite me, Miss Grant stiffened slightly but, admirably, continued to eat her slice of seed cake.

“What did he write?” I asked, taking a nonchalant bite of bread and ham.

“He asks me to inquire whether or not you are hiding his sister, Lady Hester, and her companion, Miss Grant, in your house. Apparently Lady Hester is unwell but has absconded from an insane asylum with this woman—a bad influence, he says—and Lord Deele is worried for her safety and health.”

“How extraordinary,” Julia said, focusing upon buttering her bread. Her hand shook slightly. “Why would he think we were hiding them? We have never met Lady Hester, have we, Gus?”

I took a moment to swallow my suddenly dry mouthful. “Not that I can recall.”

“It seems someone wrote to him with a rumor and he feels obliged to follow all intelligence upon the matter,” Duffy added.

“Well, as you see, we do have a guest, Miss Dashwood, but she is hardly hiding,” I said, smiling across at Miss Grant, who managed to rally her own smile. “Perhaps that is where the mistake has been made.”

“No doubt,” Duffy said, nodding to Miss Grant. “I only check up on the matter because Deele and I are old friends. You know, Eton and Four-in-Hand club and so forth.”

“Yes, of course,” Julia murmured.

“My other purpose is to invite you to Duffield House. As you are no doubt aware, Augusta, Julia has begged me to forgive you, and, indeed, Harriet is of the opinion that it is the Christian thing to do. So I invite you both to Duffield House for Christmas and an extended stay. Miss Dashwood, as a guest of my sisters, you are most welcome, too, of course.”

Miss Dashwood gave a small bow in her chair and murmured her gratitude, but I could see the panic in Miss Grant’s eyes.

An invitation to return to Duffield House was a huge concession on Duffy’s part. Even so, it was not I who needed to be forgiven, and I did not believe for a minute that Harriet’s opinion came from any Christian impulse. By the hopeful expression on Julia’s face, I knew she desperately wanted me to accept, and usually I would do as she wished in these matters. Her happiness was my happiness. However, this was not the time to heal the breach. Quite the opposite. We needed to put as much distance as we could between us, London, and Lord Deele’s spies, one of whom, it seemed, was now our own brother.

Through the closed dining room door, I heard the muffled sound of voices in the hallway.

At last.

I looked past Duffy and his sourly expectant face to the view outside the window, but my vista of the square was too limited. I pushed back my chair and stood, crossing to the window.

“What is it, Augusta?” Duffy demanded. “Why do you go to the window?”

I ignored him.

“Augusta can go to the window if she wishes, Duffy,” Julia admonished gently.

I peered through the pane into our square. Was anyone waiting out there?

Peggy the flower seller crouched at the garden gates as usual. Farther along a well-dressed couple walked arm in arm, and a nursemaid pushed a child in a perambulator along the pavement. And a man—dun greatcoat, big build—leaned against the wall at the diagonal. Not Mulholland, but Pritchard by the heavyset shoulders and slouch.

I had hoped—gambled—that Mulholland would assume a desperate criminal would make his escape through the back of the house, not the front door, and so he and his posse would wait for their quarry in the mews. Pritchard was, in a strange way, a welcome sight: the lone sentinel stationed to ensure Mulholland was right. Still, the man was not blind nor particularly stupid. And luck, as we had grimly learned that morning, was notoriously fickle.

From my angle, I saw Weatherly open the front door and nod to Mr. Kent. The Runner returned the nod and limped down our front steps, making his way across the road at an easy pace to where Caesar stood, tied to the garden rails. His fashionable high collar and the brim of his hat obscured his chin and half his face, but there could be no mistaking the uneven but confident gait of the Runner. Would Pritchard notice that his jacket did not sit quite as well as usual over his broad shoulders, or that his Bow Street scarlet waistcoat seemed a little loose across the chest? Or, indeed, that he wore black hussars and not black riding boots?

Across the square, Pritchard straightened from his slouch and watched the Runner untie his horse. Had I misjudged his powers of observation?

I held my breath as the Runner stroked Caesar’s neck, then stepped into the stirrup and mounted with athletic ease. With a pull upon the reins, he turned the big black horse and rode, at a sedate walk, away from Pritchard’s scrutiny and toward our house. As he passed by my window, he glanced inside, and for a second I met my love’s gaze.

Farewell for now, Renegade.

I smiled: Farewell, my heart.

Then he rode beyond my sight.

Across the square, Pritchard leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and continued to watch the house. I released my breath.

“Well, Augusta?” Duffy prompted. I could hear the irritation in his voice. “Why do you stay silent? Harriet and I are willing to overlook your appalling behavior and allow you back to Duffield. Surely that demands the courtesy of a reply. And, I would add, sincere thanks.”

A knock upon the door forestalled any answer.

“Come,” I said.

Weatherly entered carrying the silver mail salver. He presented the note upon it with a bow. “My lady.”

“Thank you.” I took the note and opened it. The writing was as neat as the man.

He has departed safely. Mulholland is still out in the mews. I await the final part of the plan. Thank you for your father’s jacket and breeches; the tailoring is excellent. K.

I smiled—I knew Mr. Kent would appreciate the cut of my father’s clothes. I folded the note and reclaimed my chair.

“We cannot visit you and Harriet, Duffy,” I said. “We are promised to Lord Cholton for a house party. We leave tomorrow and expect to stay over Christmas.”

We were, of course, not invited to a house party at Bertie’s, but his seat was in the opposite direction from the Davenport estate where, I hoped, Charlotte would be able to hide Hester and Miss Grant. And if that was not possible, then we must find somewhere suitable along the road. Whatever the case, we had to leave London as soon as we could. I reached under the table and caught Julia’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

She glanced at me: Is he safe?

I gave a small nod: Safe.

A knit of her brow: And Mr. Kent?

I lifted my brows: You’ll see.

Duffy sat back in his chair. “Cholton?” He looked across at Julia. “Surely you would come to us rather than go to Bertie Cholton.”

“It is a kind invitation, Duffy, but we cannot disappoint Bertie,” Julia said. I knew it pained her to refuse our brother and the possibility of our renewed family harmony. I squeezed her hand again—this time in thanks. And in preparation.

“Frankly, Duffy,” I said, “I would rather spend Christmas in a workhouse than with you and Harriet.”

“What?” He stared at me for a second, unable to comprehend my words, then collected himself into righteous indignation. “Am I to be refused with so little civility from my own sister?” He turned to Julia. “You asked me to forgive her, and here I am—as you asked, as you begged—offering the olive branch. But she is bent upon maintaining a grudge. You must see it now. And she is dragging you into her old-woman venom. Do not think this invitation will be repeated.”

He stood, making a jerky bow to Miss Grant and Julia. “I will take my leave, Julia, and of you, Miss Dashwood.” He glared at me. “I do not take my leave of you, Augusta. You will not receive my courtesy until you behave in the manner of a gentlewoman and a sister.”

On that, he walked from the room, Samuel scrambling to open the door for him.

“Oh dear,” Julia said softly as our footman followed our brother from the room and closed the door behind their departure. “I suppose that was necessary.”

I squeezed her hand again. “I am afraid so. He is too close to Deele.”

“Are we really to go to Lord Cholton?” Miss Grant asked, frowning. “If Lord Duffield mentions it to Lord Deele—”

“No, we do not go to Lord Cholton. We go to the Countess Davenport.” I held up my hand, forestalling any further discussion to listen to the sound of Duffy in the hallway, demanding his cane and hat from Weatherly, then the front door opening as Samuel ducked out to call our brother’s coach waiting farther down the square.

I gestured to Julia to accompany me to the window. She followed with alacrity and we both looked out at the square. In a clatter of quick hooves, Duffy’s coach pulled up at our doorstep, his footman springing down from his rear seat to open the door. Our brother stalked down our front steps and into his equipage. Behind him, another man exited our door and descended our steps: tall, dark-haired, smartly dressed, leaning slightly more than usual upon a silver-tipped cane. He glanced up at our window as he crossed to our next-door neighbor’s house—a quick roguish smile directed at my sister—then quickly ascended the steps to their doorway, behind the cover of the coach.

“You persuaded him to do this for Lord Evan?” Julia asked.

“He did not do it for Lord Evan, my dear.”

As our brother’s carriage set off in a clatter of hooves, Mr. Kent descended our neighbors’ steps as if newly emerged from their front door. He turned in the opposite direction of the slouching, uninterested Pritchard and strolled across the square, a brief, jaunty lift of his cane bringing a radiant smile to Julia’s face.

For better or worse, my sister had found her heart too.

We watched Mr. Kent disappear around the corner to safety. When Mulholland worked out what had happened, he would take such a humiliating defeat personally. Evan was in more danger than ever, as was Mr Kent, and we could not hide Hester forever.

Mr. Kent had demanded evidence that proved Evan had not murdered Sanderson, and so would the courts. We had one possible pathway to that evidence—Dr. Lawrence—and Evan was now set upon finding him. I hoped the search took my love far from London, for it was not safe for him, or indeed Hester, to stay in the city.

As the Bible says, there is no rest for the wicked. I opened the dining room door and found my butler and footman in the hallway watching the escape unfold through the sliver of window at the side of the closed front door.

“Weatherly,” I called.

He turned, ready as ever. “Yes, my lady.”

“Prepare the household. We are traveling tomorrow.”