Page 23 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

23

About ten miles from the Davenport estate, our carriage slowed and Miss Grant turned in her seat beside me to peer out the rain-spattered window.

“Soldiers,” she said.

Her surprised voice seemed unnaturally loud in the cabin. Lady Hester and Julia had fallen asleep somewhere outside Manchester, and Miss Grant and I had not spoken since then in case we woke our exhausted companions.

We both looked across at them, propped in their respective corners among cushions and rugs, but they still slumbered.

I leaned over to look out of Miss Grant’s window. No wonder she had felt the need to comment. At least forty red-coated soldiers carrying bayonets had moved to the side of the road to make way for our carriage.

“They must be here for the Luddites,” I whispered, watching the soldiers’ mud-spattered faces watch us as we drove by.

A few hours ago, we had driven past an eerie blackened mill in Manchester that had, according to the post innkeeper where we changed horses, been burned down by the Luddites in March. He had implied the troubles had come to an end. Perhaps they had only come to an end in Manchester.

Miss Grant sat back, our moment of unity gone. She had, I suspected, stayed silent not only out of consideration for Hester and Julia, but also in protest. We had been on the road for three days, staying in two reasonable inns along the way, but in truth I had pushed us hard to reach Charlotte’s estate. We were all exhausted and Miss Grant held me singly responsible for Hester’s increasingly fragile state.

She had a point. Still, it was imperative that we reach Charlotte as soon as possible. Miss Grant herself had seen Mulholland’s deadly agenda in our drawing room. His invasion had finally brought home just how precarious Evan’s freedom, and indeed his life, stood, as well as their own. Although there had been some resistance from Hester, who had clung to the idea of fleeing the country, they had eventually conceded that refuge with Charlotte was the best path we could take.

Charlotte had written back to my request for refuge with a generous invitation to stay as long as we wished and an assurance that we would be her only guests for some time. Traveling to her home in Lancashire would perhaps fox Lord Deele’s search for a while, but not Mulholland’s. Although I had not seen anyone following us, I had no doubt the thieftaker would be seeking our whereabouts. We were his only link to Lord Evan, and he would not give that up easily. Thankfully, Evan was safely away, looking for a way to find Dr. Lawrence. Well, as safe as he could be with a thieftaker intent on killing him.

I thought back to my visit to Messrs. France and Banting before we left London. Since Mr. Kent had declared he could not pursue Miss Hollis’s murder, I had instructed the undertakers to retrieve her body from Reginald Drake’s dissection room immediately and ready her for her journey home. The good Mr. France, upon hearing my somewhat abridged version of the horrifying truth, had understood the need to keep our name from any connection to Miss Hollis. He had also, with his usual calm efficiency, assured me that he would himself restore her to her family to ensure discretion. It was not an entirely adequate return of the girl to her family—they would no doubt have questions that would never be answered—but considering what was at stake, it was the best I could do.

Two silent hours later, we approached the gates of Charlotte’s estate. The apprehension that had clenched my innards since London finally eased; we had found sanctuary. At least for a while.

I gently shook Julia’s shoulder. She opened her eyes, blinking away the haze of slumber.

“We have arrived,” I said. “It has finally stopped raining.”

Julia sat up and peered out the window as we passed the gray-stone Davenport estate gatehouse. The gatekeeper raised a hand in greeting to John Driver, then sounded his horn to herald our arrival. Our carriage crunched and splashed along the gravel driveway, the luggage coach lumbering behind. The old sentinel oaks on either side were still clothed in magnificent autumnal reds, and I spied the estate’s small deer herd in the distance springing away from the thud and clatter of our arrival.

“What time is it?” my sister asked, stifling a yawn.

I gathered my fob watch upon its chain and consulted it in the dwindling afternoon light. “Ten past three o’clock,” I reported.

“It feels later,” Julia said, faint irritation in her voice. She was, I think, more unwell than she wanted to admit.

“It gets dark earlier this far north,” I said. “We are just past Wales.”

Beside her, Hester stirred under Miss Grant’s gentle hand, her eyes fluttering open. She greeted the sight of her love with a smile. Lud, the sweetness of it was so like her brother’s expression.

My fear for Evan—never far from my mind or heart—surged through me. But I had been reminded over the last few days that there was no benefit in living a dread that had not yet happened. It only created exhaustion. I drew a deeper breath and focused on the immediate matter at hand.

“Remember, while we are here you are Mrs. Carter, convalescing widow, and her sister, Miss Dashwood, our dear friends from Bournemouth,” I said to them. “Only Countess Davenport knows who you truly are, and she—”

“I know,” Miss Grant said sharply. “I made a mistake before, but you do not need to keep reminding us.”

Admittedly, my coaching may have been a little too persistent during our journey, but we could not afford any more mistakes. Servants and neighbors liked to gossip, and the true names of a runaway lady and her companion might reach the ears of Lord Deele.

“Lady Augusta is merely concerned for our safety, Lizzie,” said Hester, taking Miss Grant’s hand in gentle remonstrance. She turned her Belford smile upon me. “We will remember and play our parts.”

The carriage took the curve in the driveway and the glory of Davenport Hall opened up before us. It stood at least twice the size of our family seat, Duffield House, and had been built during the first King George’s reign, in the Palladian style. The much-celebrated Davenport domed roof crowned the main building, and large wings stretched out on either side: the east for accommodation and the west housing the kitchen and service rooms. Julia and I had stayed here, happily, so many times that we each had our own bedchamber.

We pulled up outside the stone steps that led to the front portico, the luggage coach with Weatherly and our maids coming to a halt farther back, closer to the servants’ entrance.

My dear Charlotte stood at the top of the steps, dressed in burgundy and gold lace and flanked by her butler, Hanford. Unusual—the Countess Davenport did not usually come out to greet guests on arrival. Our eyes met, and a smile lit her face. Surely to be met with such warmth was one of life’s delights.

Charlotte’s footman opened the carriage door, waiting to hand us down. I descended first, taking his arm and arriving on the gravel just as Charlotte did. I curtsied, as did she, and then with a laugh she embraced me in a waft of her lily perfume and arms tight around my shoulders. Even more unusual; Charlotte was not one for displays of physical affection. Was something amiss? I returned the hard hug.

“I was not expecting you so early,” she said urgently against my ear. “Prepare yourself because—”

But she had no chance to finish her warning, for a familiar voice called from the top of the steps, “Ah, Lady Augusta, how wonderful to see you again.”

Charlotte’s arms tightened, bracing my horrified recognition. Dear God, Emelia Ellis-Brant. The Ermine. Exactly the busybody we did not need anywhere near Lady Hester and Miss Grant.

“Porty brought her and her husband from London without informing me,” Charlotte whispered against my ear.

Lord Davenport, or Porty to his intimates, was Charlotte’s husband and cousin to the Ermine’s spouse. While an affable man, Porty was also prone to impulsive and inconvenient gestures of generosity. Particularly when it came to his Ellis-Brant cousin.

I prepared my smile, then drew back from Charlotte’s embrace and looked up the steps at the pale blond woman resplendent in orange silk and a red shawl. Oddly, Charlotte kept hold of my hand; did she think I would take to my heels?

“Ah, Mrs. Ellis-Brant, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

“We came with Davenport now that His Royal Highness has finally gone to Brighton. How jolly to be here all together.”

Jolly was not the word I would have used.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. Her grip tightened. “An unexpected pleasure. And you will see that Mr. Talbot is here with us too.”

Now I understood why she had kept hold of my hand.

Evan, newly arrived at the top of the steps, stood beside the Ermine. He was dressed in the clothes of a gentleman, the first time I had seen him in his rightful garb. Fitted buff breeches that showed the strong length of leg, a pristine cravat, a blue silk waistcoat, and a jacket that seemed molded to his broad shoulders. He had shaved, too, and cut his hair in a fashionable Brutus. Here was Lord Evan Belford, and the sight brought an involuntary flush of heat to my face.

He politely offered his arm to the Ermine and they both descended the steps. She did not seem pleased by his escort—I wondered what he had done to deserve such pinched-nose censure.

By this time, Julia, Lady Hester, and Miss Grant had vacated the carriage. At the corner of my eye, I saw Julia stiffen at the sight of the Ermine, but she managed a smile of greeting. Hester visibly gasped at the sight of her brother. Lud, was she going to give us away at the first test? But no, she quickly turned the involuntary sound into a cough and busied herself with her shawl, maintaining the masquerade. Miss Grant, too, had herself in hand but stared across at me as if this, too, was my fault.

“Lady Augusta and Lady Julia, I believe you are acquainted with my cousin Mrs. Ellis-Brant,” Charlotte said. “And may I present Mr. Talbot, who is staying with us to study some of our rare books.”

Evan bowed to me and Julia.

I nodded graciously and fleetingly met his eyes: Study rare books?

A tiny lift of one shoulder: Best we could do.

What was he doing here? He was meant to be far away, safe from Mulholland and searching for the doctor who had attended the duel, if the man still lived. We needed to ascertain whether there was a link between him and the Sally Lawrence who had appeared in the wager book of the Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin. Had something happened to stop his search? Or had he decided to do as his sister demanded and take her and Miss Grant out of the country, after all?

Whatever the case, he had put himself in grave danger.

I turned to Charlotte and managed to gather myself enough to attend to the courtesies. “Countess Davenport, may I present Mrs. Carter and her sister, Miss Dashwood.” Hester and Miss Grant curtsied. “Mrs. Ellis-Brant and Mr. Talbot, our friends Mrs. Carter and Miss Dashwood.”

Bows and curtsies were exchanged once again. All very unremarkable, except for my racing heart and mind. The Ermine had been following the scandal around Lady Hester with relish. What if she put two and two together?

For a wild moment, I considered herding everyone back into the carriage and departing, posthaste, before Tully and Leonard, our maids, unloaded our trunks and boxes from the luggage carriage with the help of Weatherly. But no—it was not feasible. Such a departure would be too odd, and besides, neither my sister nor Lady Hester would be able to manage it. They were at the end of their strength.

“You are all most welcome,” Charlotte said. “Hanford will show you to your rooms. Please join us in the drawing room after you have settled in, or do rest if you prefer, Mrs. Carter. We keep country hours here, so dinner will be at six.”

I moved to walk beside Evan, but he gave a small shake of his head.

Good Lord, what was I thinking? Or not thinking—it had been more an impulse from my heart than a rational decision. I had to take my own advice and exercise more caution.

I fell back beside Julia, who took my hand, her tight grip mirroring my own strained nerves.

And so the jolly house party moved indoors.