Almost a Princess (25 page)

His aunt rose to the challenge. “I’m the daughter of a duke,” she exclaimed. “If anyone calls me a liar, I shall refer him to the king.”

Waldo met him in the front hall. “Harper was snoring his head off,” he said, “and became quite agitated when I wakened him and told him he was hors de combat. He seems to think he’s fighting fit and doesn’t want to miss the action.”

“To which you replied?”

“I told him he was to guard Miss Mayberry with his life and not to let her out of his sight.” He cocked his head to one side, studying Case. “But there’s no danger to her now, is there, Case?”

“I shouldn’t think so.” He smiled grimly. “I believe we are entering the lull before the battle is joined.”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday, going on Friday.”

“And our reunion is on Saturday. I may sleep till then.”

“Oh, no,” said Case. “We’re not finished yet.”

He’d had a change of heart. He decided that he couldn’t leave Campbell’s and Reeve’s bodies moldering in Vauxhall until a stray vagabond or care-taker stumbled upon them. He couldn’t do it because he knew it wouldn’t sit right with Jane. He would speak to Massie, the acting head of Special Branch, and ask him to remove the bodies and inform the next of kin. Then he’d ask Massie to hold off the investigation until after Saturday. He’d give him a full report then. And Massie would do it as a favor to Richard, because it’s what Richard would do for his brother-in-law.

It helped to have relations in high places.

Waldo said gently, “Case, the day hasn’t even begun. I don’t know what you have in mind, but surely it can wait until the sun is up? Now, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to find beds, right here in Woodlands, and sleep for the next few hours.”

Case looked out the window. It was still dark. “Fine,” he said. “A few hours won’t make any difference.”

“What day is it, Joseph?” asked Piers.

“Friday. As you know very well.”

“Not long to go now. But I don’t want Saturday to arrive too quickly. I want to savor every moment of the coming victory.”

It was a bright, sunny day, and matched Piers’s mood exactly. He’d spent the morning at Angelo’s, fencing with the master himself, then he’d gone on to Gentleman Jackson’s on Bond Street where he’d mingled with amateur pugilists, men of the first rank, who had accepted him as though he were an equal. And now they were at the Clarendon Hotel, still on Bond Street, within easy walking distance of Cook’s on Dover Street, and were enjoying a superlative French meal with champagne to go with it.

Not that Joseph was enjoying the meal as much as he was. He’d chosen the Clarendon because it was the haunt of the Deveres, especially the duke, who rented a suite all year round for the convenience it offered. Twickenham wasn’t far away, but it wasn’t in the center of things. It was quite possible that His Grace or his heir would put in an appearance, which was why Joseph was keeping his head well down.

Piers put down his knife and fork. “Joseph,” he said, mouthing the words, “they don’t know us. The Deveres? They can’t possibly recognize us. Relax. Enjoy your dinner. It’s costing me a fortune.”

Joseph gave a surreptitious glance around the dining room to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “You take too many risks. What if Castleton walks in?”

Piers chuckled. “He won’t. He’ll be running himself ragged, trying to decide what to do with two bodies, not to mention acting nursemaid to one hysterical woman. Then there are all the last-minute details he’ll have to oversee for his annual old boys’ reunion. Frankly, I wish he would put in an appearance. I’d like nothing better than to look him in the eye and wish him good day.”

He suddenly frowned. “Joseph,” he said, “use your fork the English way. And straighten your spine. That’s better. Now you look as though you belong here.”

That was part of the pleasure of being here, this sense of belonging. The Clarendon was only the beginning. There were those exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in St. James’s. But money wasn’t enough to get him through those hallowed portals. He needed sponsors and a suitable background. It was something to work for, a goal to achieve.

Joseph said, “I don’t know why you don’t simply shoot him.”

He couldn’t explain his motives to Joseph, so he said simply, “What about the others? Are they to get off scot-free? No. We’ll get them all together, just as they got our brothers in St. Michel.”

“He’ll be expecting us.”

“I know. But he’ll be the one who is caught in
my
trap.”

Of course, there was always the element of chance, but that made the game all the more interesting. He was thinking of last night at Vauxhall, the stakes, the timing. He’d pulled it off perfectly, and two troublesome interlopers who could have ruined his plans for the earl were no longer in the picture.

He wondered if Castleton was rubbing his hands together, thinking he would be free now to marry Miss Mayberry. It would never happen, of course.

“And his manservant?” said Joseph in his slow way. “He’s seen my face. What are we going to do with him?”

“Why, Joseph, we’ll take care of him on Saturday, when we get to Twickenham House. I think another body turning up right now might alarm the authorities.”

Joseph nodded and smiled.

Chapter 22

It wasn’t odd, thought Jane. It was bizarre. She’d thought everyone at Woodlands would be bombarding her with questions, but it was just the opposite. They were killing her with kindness. It was as though nothing had happened. Jack had not forced his way in and caused a scene. The villains who had passed themselves off as Special Branch agents had not arrived at the house in the middle of the night and carried her off. Ruggles was not a Judas. Vauxhall might never have happened.

Not that she was going to spill her heart out or be indiscreet. Case had told her to say nothing until they’d had a chance to go over things together. That was before they left the White Horse. Now it was Saturday, and she still hadn’t seen him, nor would she before tomorrow. He was hosting that reunion for former Etonians and friends. She wondered what time it would be over. She looked at the clock. It was just going on seven. Maybe he would come to her later.

Lance was prancing at the door, asking to get out for his evening constitutional. The fresh air would do them both good. A terrible lethargy had taken hold of her. She’d slept most of yesterday or what was left of it after she got home and had wakened today feeling as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Maybe that’s why they were killing her with kindness. She was acting like an invalid, so they treated her like an invalid—turning away visitors and letting her eat her meals in her room. If she didn’t snap out of it, they’d be sending for a priest to administer last rites.

“Harper!” she called when she stepped into the corridor. She wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without him.

He appeared almost at once in the doorway across the hall. Poor Harper. He looked as doleful as she felt. What a pair they made.

“Time for Lance’s walk,” she said.

Harper nodded.

Not a word was exchanged as they descended the stairs and passed the porter who held the door for them. Outside, lanterns were lit and groundsmen were patrolling, but it seemed to Jane, not as many groundsmen as usual. She let Lance off the leash and they set off on their usual circuit along the perimeter of the property.

After a while, Jane said, “Are you feeling all right, Harper? I ask because you seem more silent than usual. If you need to see a doctor—”

“I don’t need to see a doctor! It’s just . . .”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking it’s time I resigned from the service.”

She was dumbfounded. “What brought this on?”

“It comes to us all, when we gets old and useless.”

“Useless? Harper, your exploits are legendary! What are you talking about?”

He hemmed and hawed, but she finally got it out of him. He felt he’d let them all down. The first time was outside the theater, when someone followed him into the hackney and coshed him on the head. The second was when she was attacked in Vigo Street because he’d been too slow off the mark. And the third was when Ruggles hit him with a candlestick and locked him in the closet.

“No bloody good to anyone!” he said bitterly. “Begging your pardon, Miss Mayberry.”

She tried to reason with him, pointing out that he was still recovering from his cracked ribs, and couldn’t have been expected to move with his usual agility. She reasoned in vain. His mind was made up.

They walked on. Harper broke the silence this time. “What about you, Miss Mayberry? You ain’t exactly chirping like a canary.”

She could have fobbed him off, except that he’d been frank with her, and it seemed ungracious to throw up a wall of reserve. No. There was more to it than that. This slightly battered veteran of the Spanish Campaign seemed wise and good and virtuous. If he gave up the service, he should think about taking up Holy Orders.

“I feel as if I’m lost in a fog,” she said. “Take Ruggles, for instance. I liked him, really liked him.”

“So did I,” responded Harper, “until he hit me over the head.”

“You’d hardly know it to look at you.”

“I suffered from a mild concussion, the doctor said!”

She changed the subject. “And I keep thinking about Vauxhall.”

He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “You was a very brave lady. Yes, I knows about it. Mr. Bowman told me.”

She couldn’t bring herself to talk about finding Jack’s body and the anguish she’d experienced when she’d heard those shots, but there were other things that fretted, questions she couldn’t get out of her mind.

“Did Mr. Bowman also tell you why Gideon Piers hates Lord Castleton so much?”

He said slowly, “We’ve all wondered about that, but all we can think of is the battle at St. Michel. Piers lost all his comrades. The Brothers, he called them. Now he’s out to return the favor.”

“So it’s not just Lord Castleton he hates?”

“I suppose not.”

She was persistent. “He must hate Mr. Bowman and all the other soldiers who were part of that special unit.”

“I suppose so.”

“Then why is Piers playing these games only with the earl? Why hasn’t he picked on Mr. Bowman, or any of the others who destroyed his hideout?”

“Because Major Devere was in charge of the operation.”

They walked on, but she was still fretting. Suddenly, she stopped and called Lance to heel.

“What is it?” asked Harper.

“I think there’s someone who knows the answers to my questions and I’m going to see her.”

“Who?”

“My friend, Letty Gray, you know, Gideon Piers’s sister.”

“Not without me, you don’t!”

“Good. Then we’ll go together.”

Getting past the gatekeepers at Twickenham House was as easy as picking pockets at the Frost Fair. Gideon showed his invitation and his carriage was waved on. It helped that his companion was none other than the guest of honor, Dr. Keate, and it was his carriage they were traveling in. As far as Dr. Keate knew, his companion was one of Romsey’s personal physicians, a man whose sole object was to make sure Romsey was as comfortable as possible and to be on hand in case he suffered one of his troublesome palpitations. Dr. Keate was gratified by His Grace’s thoughtfulness. To all others, if challenged, Gideon would pass himself off as a friend of a former Etonian, Lord Castleton’s friend, to be precise. He didn’t know much about Eton, but he knew all about Castleton. No one could catch him out there.

When they stepped down from the carriage, he told Dr. Keate that he would catch up to him in the gallery where the reception was to be held, then he quietly disappeared into the shadows. He looked toward the river. When the first explosion went off, that would be the signal for Joseph to bring the boat over.

The gallery was filling up nicely. There was no formal reception line. His Grace, with the guest of honor in tow, moved from one knot of gentlemen to the next, exchanging reminiscences and cracking the odd joke. His gaze, however, frequently strayed to his son.

Case was doing much the same as his father, but when Waldo entered the gallery, he excused himself and followed Waldo to a window embrasure where they could talk in private.

Waldo said, “He’s in, unless His Grace sent one of his personal physicians to attend Dr. Keate.”

“He didn’t. Did you get a description?”

“Yes. Mid-thirties, medium build, and nothing to distinguish him from half the gentlemen here.”

“How many are here now?”

“Four by our reckoning.”

“Don’t do anything to scare them off. When the fireworks go off, just keep your eye on me.”

“You’re sure he’ll come for you?”

“Waldo, I’m not sure about anything. How are Freddie and Robert bearing up?”

“They’re as nervous as kittens. But they know what to do.”

“Good.”

Case signaled the groom of the chambers, Mr. Turner, and shortly after, footmen with powdered wigs and blue and gold livery began to move among the guests, dispensing champagne.

Ruggles pulled his coat collar up and looked across the river at Twickenham House. “Looks like they’re having quite a party,” he said, glancing at Joseph.

Joseph merely grunted.

“What are we waiting for?”

“The signal,” said Joseph.

“Then what?”

“Then we take the boat across and pick up our guests.”

Ruggles looked across the Thames at the flickering lanterns that moved along the riverbank like ghostly wraiths. “We’ll get caught,” he said. “There’s a patrol on the riverbank.”

“There won’t be when we cross.”

“Why? What’s going to happen?”

“You ask too many questions.”

A long silence went by, then Ruggles said, “Look here! I’ve done my job. I wasn’t employed to do this kind of work. I want to know when I’m going to get paid.”

Joseph smiled. “Soon. Don’t worry. You’ll be paid in full.”

“I don’t want a bank draft or anything like that. I want to be paid in gold.”

“You’ll get everything that’s coming to you, Mr. Ruggles.”

The fine hairs on Ruggles’s neck began to rise.

Lady Sophy was not happy to hear that Jane was going off to visit a friend. She tried to dissuade her, but when Jane was adamant, there was nothing she could do but give in gracefully, with certain conditions attached. They were to go in Lady Rosamund’s carriage, and the coachmen were to be well armed. Then Lady Sophy returned to the game of whist she’d arranged with her friends. She couldn’t keep her mind on the game and lost every hand she played. Her partner was not amused.

On arriving at Letty’s house, Jane was shown into the front parlor. As she expected, the children were in bed, and Oliver was in his study, working on his sermon.

When Letty saw her face, she cut off the customary exchange of greetings. “Jane, what is it?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

Jane hadn’t realized just how tense she was. She’d planned to question Letty gently, knowing how defensive she felt about her brother. But something was nagging at her, a sense of urgency she couldn’t understand.

Before they had a chance to sit down, she said, “Two nights ago I was abducted and taken to Vauxhall Gardens to meet your brother. Letty, if you argue with me, I think I will hit you. It was your brother, all right. He knew too much about us, too much about me. We’re not going to have a conversation, Letty. You’re not going to tell me again how poor Gideon never had a chance. You’re going to answer two questions for me, then I’ll go. Do you understand?”

Letty swallowed and nodded.

“The first question is this. What good turn did I ever do you?”

“I don’t know.”

“
Think!
You wrote to your brother. He said your letters were full of me. He said that I was a good friend to you. That’s why he let me go. ‘One good turn deserves another,’ he said. What good turn did I ever do you? If you turn into a watering pot, I’ll scream.”

Letty blinked hard. One hand fluttered up to her throat. “There’s nothing in particular. Just little things. You made me go to lectures. We went for walks together. That sort of thing. I never had a real friend until you came to St. Bede’s.”

Jane felt strangely relieved. Gideon had lied to her. No one in his right mind would kill a man for a woman merely because she’d been kind to his sister. Case was right. Gideon had murdered Jack for his own reasons.

“Jane?”

She drew in a deep breath. “The second question is this. Why does your brother hate Lord Castleton?”

Letty shook her head.

“Letty,” said a voice from the door, Oliver’s voice, “you must tell her.”

He walked to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell Jane about the poorhouse,” he said. “Tell her how and why this hatred got started. If you don’t, I will. Shall we sit down?”

When they were all seated, Letty said tremulously, “Gideon believes that the Duke of Romsey is his father.”

When Jane entered the coach, she told the driver to wait.

“Aren’t we going home to Woodlands?” asked Harper.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Her brain was reeling from everything Letty had told her. She didn’t believe that Piers was Romsey’s son, and neither did Letty or Oliver. But it was what Piers believed that counted. All these years, he believed that he and his mother had been abandoned by the duke to live and die as paupers. His mother had told him so.

All those years growing up in the poorhouse, watching the comings and goings of the Deveres across the river! Hating them! Envying them! Despising the duke for what he thought he’d done to his mother.

She had not known until today that the poorhouse was so close to the duke’s house. She had never asked, and Letty had never told her.

She looked at Harper. “Tell me about the reunion tonight. Who will be there?”

“Just old Etonian boys and their friends.”

The same Etonian boys that Piers used to watch from the other side of the river.

“Harper, I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Now, don’t you worry none. His lordship knows what he’s doing.”

“His lordship knows what he’s doing?” She stared at him aghast. “He’s expecting Piers to strike tonight. Is that it, Harper?”

Harper shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t say that.”

Jane poked her head out of the window and yelled, “Driver, take us to Twickenham House.”

The coach did not budge.

“Now just a minute,” said Harper, his face as fierce as she had ever seen it. “I has my orders.”

She placed a hand on his sleeve, “Listen to me, Harper. Lord Castleton thinks that Piers is after
him,
but that’s only partly true. It’s the duke Piers really wants. Don’t you think we should tell his lordship tonight? Or can it wait till tomorrow?”

“You can’t know that!”

“It’s what Letty told me. I’ll tell you about it on the drive out to Twickenham.”

Harper passed a hand over his face. “Bloody hell!” he said. “What time is it?”

Jane looked at the watch pinned to her coat lapel. “Going on eight o’clock.”

Harper poked his head out the coach window. “Twickenham House!” he yelled. “And spring ’em!”

The coach lurched forward, gathered speed, and was soon charging along the Knightsbridge Road toward Twickenham.

Case was beginning to wonder if Piers had played him for a fool. It was nerve-wracking. The dinner was over, the gentlemen were lighting their cigars and cheroots, decanters of brandy and port had been set on the tables, and Dr. Keate was glowing from the tribute that had just been paid to him by one of his former pupils. The old boy rose to address the assembly amid thunderous applause. What was Piers waiting for?