Page 9 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

9

I carefully let down the carriage window, cushioning the usual clatter with the pads of my fingers. The intrusion of cold air brought a grunt of protest from Miss Grant, who cradled Lady Hester against her shoulder.

“We are almost there,” I said, forestalling her complaint.

“Thank goodness.” She glanced down at Lady Hester’s drawn, sleeping face. “I hope we do not have long to wait.” As we had all suspected, the journey—with all the infelicities of the road—had been hard upon Hester’s fragile state.

If I recalled correctly, we were coming up to the sweep of road—currently bordered by russet hazels—where our coach had been stopped by two highwaymen, one of whom I had accidentally shot. My future love. The beginning of it all.

A stand of trees came into view, its pattern of trunks and branches reaching into my memory. Ah, this was it. Just as I raised my hand to rap on the cabin wall, I heard John Driver call to the horses and our momentum slowed. He must have recognized the place too. After all, he had faced the same highwaymen and shot at Evan’s erstwhile partner.

“We are here,” I announced.

Miss Grant gently shook Lady Hester’s shoulder.

“Are you sure this is it?” Julia asked, evaluating the unkempt autumn woodlands on either side.

“I am certain.” I lifted my fob watch upon its chain and checked the time. Nearly noon, the appointed hour of our meeting.

Was Evan here yet? Colonel Drysan had given me a possible clue to the truth about the duel: the Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin. Could that scrap of information offer some hope of finding who wished Evan dead and a way to clear his name and save his sister?

The carriage stopped. I rose and poked my head out the window, the same action I had done when we had first stopped here. Then, it had been dusty, hot, and chaotic. Now it was wet, cold, and quiet. No sound or sight of anyone else on the road; no nicker of another horse, no shadowy figure of a man waiting in the trees. Just the muddy road stretching behind us and ahead. I drew back into the cabin and shook my head at Julia’s unspoken question.

“He will come,” she said.

I heard the muffled sound of an exchange between Weatherly and John Driver and then the carriage rocked—Weatherly alighting from his position up front, for he appeared outside the open window.

“My lady, John Driver and I believe this is the section of road.”

“Yes, I think so too,” I said.

Lady Hester finally raised her head from Miss Grant’s shoulder, eyes heavy with fatigue. “I wish to go outside,” she said.

She did not look able to stand, let alone wait outside in the cold air. “You should stay here,” I said. “We do not know how long Lord Evan will be.”

Miss Grant nodded. “Lady Augusta is right, my dear. Stay inside. At least until your brother arrives.”

Despite that plea, Lady Hester rose from her seat—albeit unsteadily—and fumbled at the door latch. Weatherly, on seeing her attempt, opened the door.

And so we all descended the steps to the roadside. Julia and I stood together beside the carriage and watched Lady Hester, supported heavily under one arm by Miss Grant, walk a little way ahead, their hems dragging through the mud.

“Her body may be healing,” Julia said softly, “but I fear the hurt to her spirit is irreparable. Did you know she refuses to pray?”

“One can live without prayer,” I said. After all, I did so every day.

Julia placed her hand upon my arm. She still grieved my apostasy. “But one cannot live without forgiveness, Gus. How does one forgive such a deep betrayal? Her own brother—charged with her care—rejecting all that she is and incarcerating her in such a place. In a hell that nearly killed her!”

I had no answer to that, for I had yet to discover a way to forgive Duffy for his lesser crime of jealous high-handedness. Perhaps that was Julia’s point. I knew she could not fathom how I could live without God. Indeed, how did one live without religious faith? It was, I suspected, the nature of humanity to place faith in something, whether it be a god or rationality or perhaps fate. But what now did I place my faith in? A question I was yet to resolve.

In silence we watched Lady Hester and Miss Grant stop where the bushes and trees were more densely packed. There was some discussion between them—or more accurately a protest from Miss Grant and a dismissal from Hester—then they tentatively forged a way through the foliage. Hester did seem to find some solace in the midst of nature. Or perhaps she was merely looking for a private place of relief. It had been a long journey.

As they disappeared from view, I heard the thud of hooves—walking, not galloping—and turned toward the sound, my heart quickening. About a hundred yards or so back along the road, a man leading a bay horse emerged from the woods, his lean silhouette as familiar to me now as my sister’s form.

“Thank God,” Julia said.

Behind us I heard Miss Grant call, “He is here, Hester! Let us return.” I looked over my shoulder to see her step back into the undergrowth to retrieve her beloved.

Julia ushered me forward. “Go, while Hester is indisposed and you have the chance to be private.”

Evan had tied his horse to one of the bushes and was striding toward us. Julia was right. Lady Hester would not wait politely while I spoke to her brother, and I had so much to say. I picked up my hems and walked swiftly to him.

What if he was not as eager to see me as I was to see him? It was quite possible I had placed too much upon one good-bye kiss. Perhaps he no longer felt as strongly as I did. Or maybe the force of emotion between us had just been within my own imagination. A chastening thought.

I drew a deep breath. My feelings, at least, had not changed.

The distance between us was almost closed, his expression as anxious as my own. And then he smiled and it was full of warm welcome and tender delight.

“Gus—I am so glad to see you.”

Lud, the way he said my name; it was as if I could lean into that soft sibilance and feel the wrap of it around me like two strong arms.

“You are here.” A stupid observation, but I could not contain my relief at his safe arrival and the sweetness of his greeting. He was alive and well, although somewhat bedraggled. Clearly, he had not shaved for some time—his dear face gaunt beneath thick stubble—and leaves and mud clung to his greatcoat.

“Of course. I will always come when you ask.”

We both stood still, caught in the hesitation of where we had left each other three weeks ago. That had been a beginning, sealed with that good-bye kiss, but certainty was not ours to claim. Not yet. And so he reached for my hand and took it to his lips, the press of his warmth against my skin blazing through my body. Ah, there it was—the matching blaze within his eyes. We stood, fingers entwined tightly, the final step into each other’s arms only a breath away.

“Evan!” Lady Hester shouted from the edge of the woods.

“Hester.” He released my hand and raised his own in greeting, but I saw his jaw clench. “Why is my sister here?” he asked under his breath. “I thought her too fragile to travel. Is she the reason for our meeting?”

“She insisted on coming to see you despite our protests. Deele is aware she has left the asylum and is taking refuge in London.”

“Well, that was inevitable.”

He moved forward to meet Hester, but I grasped his arm and halted him.

“She is not the reason why I placed the notice. I need to ask you something.”

He looked down at my tight hold. “Clearly something important. What is it?”

I released him, then took a deep breath, the words rushing out. “Did you belong to a club called the Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin? Sanderson was a member.”

He squinted. “The what?”

“The Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin. Colonel Drysan said you were a member. It was—” I paused. How best to describe it? “Along the lines of the Hellfire Club. But worse.”

“Worse?” His mouth quirked up. “You are a constant surprise, Augusta. But no, I have never belonged to such a club.”

“Are you sure?”

I was relieved that he denied any dealings with such a place, yet a part of me was disappointed too. Was my only clue about to disappear into nothing?

“I think I would remember something worse than Dashwood’s club.” He frowned, eyes fixed for a moment upon the tree line. “Wait, was it in Bedford Street, behind St. Paul’s in Covent Garden?”

“Yes. Colonel Drysan said it was near St. Paul’s.”

“I was taken to a strange club a few times by a friend from school. I was foxed a great deal in those days, so I can barely remember, but”—he grimaced—“well, it was not to my liking. Definitely along Hellfire lines. Why is it so important?”

“Colonel Drysan thought there was a link between you and Sanderson through the club. And through that link, a possible reason for Sanderson’s death other than the challenge at White’s.”

Evan shook his head. “No, the duel came out of White’s. Sanderson falsely accused me of marking the cards when he was the one who was cheating. The colonel’s hypothesis sounds a bit far-fetched. Especially since I was not a member of this Rack and Ruin club.”

“Even so, it is a link between you and Sanderson that was never considered during the trial. As far as I can tell, it has always been stated that you were strangers to each other before that card game.”

He nodded. “We were strangers—we did not move in the same circles. Besides, wouldn’t such a link consolidate my guilt rather than prove my innocence? I did catch him across the chest in the duel and he did die on the field before witnesses.”

“Yes, but you only pinked him. You said so yourself. I think there is more to it.” I hesitated—the next would infuriate him—but he needed to know. “Two days ago, I had an encounter with Mulholland. He is a violent man—”

“Good God, did he hurt you?”

“He grabbed me. I was not harmed, but his henchman beat my poor footman. He was looking for information about you and he did not fear any repercussions for the interrogation.”

“How dare he lay hands upon you!” He drew himself up. “This is all becoming far too dangerous. You must distance yourself from me.”

I looked at him in exasperation. Ridiculous, noble man. “Even if I wanted to distance myself—which I do not—we are well past that contingency. The link between us has been made.”

“Still, I cannot have you or your sister in danger.”

“Evan, you are missing the point. Mulholland does not fear any repercussion for attacking me. He expects to be protected. And he is known to kill his quarry.”

As I expected, he quickly made the connection. “You think he has been hired by someone to kill me?”

“Someone of high rank.”

“Why? I have not been in the country for twenty years. What could be the reason?”

“I think it has something to do with this club. As you say, you have been away for twenty years. You cannot have done anything to create such animosity while you were in a prison colony on the other side of the world. Therefore, it stands to reason that the motive for this attempt to kill you originates from back then too.”

He cocked his head, clearly unconvinced.

“I know it may be clutching at straws,” I conceded. “But we need to discover more and that is the only place I can think to start.”

“How, though?”

“Go to the club.”

“Does it still exist?”

“The colonel believes so.”

“It has been twenty years, Gus. What do you hope to find?”

I took his hands, as if holding them would somehow convince him I was right. “I do not know. But if we fail to even try, then everything stays the same. Do you not see? You running from Mulholland and the gallows, Hester at the mercy of Deele, and me in Grosvenor Square unable to help—”

“Brother!”

I looked over my shoulder. Lady Hester and Miss Grant had finally reached us.

“My dear girl,” Evan said as Hester shuffled forward. I was forced to let go of his hands and step aside. “How good it is to see you again.” Although he smiled, his expression held a slight rictus of shock at her condition. She indeed looked ghastly: pale lips dry and cracked, skin ashen, with a blue cast under her eyes and around her mouth. He bowed slightly. “Miss Grant, I had not expected to see you and Hester here.” His voice held a good deal of reproach.

Miss Grant was having none of it. “We have come to—” she started, but Hester leaned in close to his face.

“We must go, brother. Immediately. To the Continent or the West Indies or somewhere. Far away.”

“The Continent? There is a war on, my dear.” He took her outstretched hand. “I do not think we can travel, Hester; you are not well enough. To be frank, you look completely done in. We must wait until you are stronger.”

It was not an idle comment. He’d been the physician’s assistant at the colony prison for years and had learned a great deal of medicine. He glanced at me, the swift connection confirming what we all knew: Hester was still gravely ill.

She shook her head. “No, we must go now. Deele will come. He hates me and Lizzie, you know that. He hates us.” She dragged upon his hand. “Please, Evan. Deele will put me back into one of those places. And I cannot go back…I cannot. I will die first.”

“You will not go back, Hester,” he said, trying to soothe the throbbing mania in her voice. “I will not allow it.”

She stared at him for a second. “Not allow it,” she repeated. Her cracked lips curled back. She wrenched her hand from his grasp. “Not allow it? This is all your fault. If you had not fought that stupid duel, you would have your rightful title. You would be Lord Deele, not our brother, and Lizzie and I would be safe. It is your fault!”

Evan flinched as if she had slashed a whip across his face.

“It is all your fault!” she screamed, the words climbing into a hellish shriek.

Upon the frenzy of her despair, she collapsed, her weight caught by Miss Grant.

“Hester!” Evan sprang across and took Hester’s other arm, both of them holding her upright.

“Weatherly,” I yelled, “bring a rug and the medicine chest.”

“She is insensible,” Evan said. He glared across at Miss Grant. “Why did you allow her to come?”

“She is a Belford,” Miss Grant snapped back. “You try stopping her from doing what she wants.”

Weatherly appeared with the rug, Julia close behind me with her medicine box already open. “What does she need? Smelling salts?”

Weatherly laid the rug upon the road, and Evan and Miss Grant carefully lowered her upon it, with Miss Grant cradling her head. Julia kneeled beside them and held the small bottle under Hester’s nose. We all leaned in. No response. Hester remained unmoving, only her chest rising with each shallow breath.

“We must get her back into the carriage,” Evan said to Weatherly.

Julia sat back upon her heels. “We need to get her to a bed and a doctor.”

“Brighton is close, my lady,” Weatherly said.

Julia shook her head. “If we go to Brighton, we will have no lodgings. We cannot take Hester and Miss Grant to any of our acquaintances or risk public exposure in a hotel. It will get back to Deele.”

“We must return to London,” I said.

It did not take long for Evan and Weatherly to settle Hester back into the carriage in Miss Grant’s arms. Julia sat opposite, keeping a watchful eye upon Hester’s breathing, smelling salts at the ready.

I foresaw an anxious journey back to Grosvenor Square.

I passed Julia the rug that had been used as a pillow on the roadside, then took the few steps to Evan, waiting with his horse. We had barely seen each other, our reunion far too brief and far too crowded. And yet here we were, another farewell at a carriage door.

“Do not worry. We will take care of her,” I said.

Evan drew the reins over his horse’s head, ready to mount. “I will follow.”

“No! You cannot. You will only put yourself in danger. Mulholland has noses everywhere.”

“My sister is right,” he said, his voice low and full of self-reproach. “This is my fault and I must try to put it right.”

“That is not true—” I began, but he shook his head.

“I see now that Hester is desperate to flee our brother, and if I thought I could do so safely, I would take her on the next ship. But I cannot see her surviving an extended sea journey, or even a land journey. You have started this search for the truth, and with it, a hope for my exoneration. We must continue as swiftly as possible. I must do everything I can to take my place in my family again and save her from another five years of my brother’s rule.”

It was heartening to see him so galvanized and so set on staying in England despite the ever-growing danger. Still, I had to voice the hard fact that lay before us. “Forgive me, but even if you are exonerated, there is no guarantee it will be enough for you to claim back your title and become her guardian. I doubt your brother would give up the title without a fight.”

He gave a sober nod. “You are right, of course. But perhaps I can claim back a life within the law and offer Hester and Miss Grant some kind of haven. I am not without friends, Gus. Old friends with some influence who may be willing to assist if there is proof that may help my cause.” He looked into the distance, clearly deciding upon a plan that might bring about that outcome. “Will you meet me in Bedford Street two days hence? At dusk—these types of clubs do not open until late in the evening. We will do as you suggest. We will find this place if it still exists, and see if there is any proof to be found.”

“Of course, I will always come when you ask.” A return of his own promise. Our new certainty.

He smiled—that wonderful, warm smile. “I know.”