Anna Jacobs (29 page)

For all his anger, Justin gave a snort of laughter.

Crispin’s chuckle echoed it.

“Well, that sounds just as good as any heroine in a novel to me,” said Eleanor approvingly. “How very brave of you, Bea!”

“It wasn’t bravery, it was desperation.” Beatrice shuddered at the memory of Smeathley’s hands on her body.

“As if I’d let you marry anyone else, whatever happened!” Justin drew her closer and kissed her cheek.

“How did you both get in there in the first place?” Crispin stared at the hut. “Since the door was locked from the outside, I gather there must have been some other person involved?”

“I didn’t see anyone else, but I did think there were two men involved. Smeathley pretended he’d been following an intruder who’d overpowered him, but Justin, I’m sure he was the one responsible for me being kidnapped, even if he didn’t do it himself.”

Justin’s eyes took on a fierce gleam. He set her gently aside and took a step toward the hut.

Beatrice grabbed his coat and dragged him back. “Please don’t hit him any more! I think he’ll have a very sore head in the morning and that’s surely enough.”

His voice was harsh with suppressed rage. “A sore head, my love, is not nearly enough punishment for trying to compel you to marry him. Or for forcing himself upon you. You must have been terrified!”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I was at first. Later I grew too angry to be afraid.”

He smiled at that. “Like the time you chased that pickpocket?”

Her answering smile shut out the rest of the group. “A little like that.” Then her smile faded. “But Justin, think for a moment! If we do anything to bring him to book, Aunt Marguerite will get to hear of it. She’ll be furious and that wouldn’t be good for her. Justin, please! Let the matter drop! For her sake!”

Crispin had come out of the hut as she was speaking. “She’s right, you know. We don’t want the old lady upset, especially now.” He grinned round at them, “However, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t leave Smeathley in there overnight to cool off. I’ve removed his bonds and we can lock the door again. I dare say one of the gardeners will find him in the morning if he shouts loudly enough.”

Eleanor broke their startled silence by gurgling with laughter. “That’s not a mundane sort of thing to do, Crispin! That’s a wonderful idea!” She gazed at him adoringly. “How very clever you are!”

Borrill coughed. “If you would trust me with the key, sir, I can ensure that Mr Smeathley will be found by someone who will not pay much attention to what he says. We have a gardener, Old Henry, who is very deaf and bad-tempered.” He gazed blandly at Crispin.

“An excellent idea!” said his future master, passing over the large, rusty key that had been in the door. “We’d be very grateful for your assistance there, Borrill. In fact, you’ve been of great help to us tonight. I shan’t forget that.”

“It’s been a pleasure, sir. We servants are, if I may say so, very fond of Miss Beatrice.” He bowed in her direction. “And you may be sure that no word of this will get out from myself or Miss Hulls.”

“I won’t say a word.” Tilly drew herself proudly upright, then saw her mistress shiver. “But I do think we ought to get Miss Beatrice back to her room now, sir. She’s cold.”

Justin nodded. “You’re perfectly right. And she doesn’t even know yet that she owes her rescue to you, Tilly.”

As everyone made approving noises, the maid stared down at her feet in pink-cheeked embarrassment.

“Thank you, Tilly,” Beatrice said with a warm smile.

Justin turned to the butler. “I’ll be down again in a minute, Borrill, if you could wait. I need to discuss a small matter with you.”

“Certainly, sir.” Borrill shot him a speculative glance.

Crispin looked from one to the other. “Need any help, Serle?”

“No, thank you. I prefer to manage this on my own - with Borrill’s assistance.” Justin began to draw Beatrice gently toward the house. As they walked, he bent closer to her to ask quietly, “Will you be all right now, my love?”

She smiled at him. “Oh, yes. I’m not the sort of person to succumb to hysterics.” She yawned. “In fact, I’m exhausted.”

“Be sure to lock your bedroom door.”

“Yes. I’ll definitely do that.” She laid her free hand on his for a moment, marvelling at how strong a man’s body could feel.

“I wish - “ he began, then closed his mouth.

“So do I,” she said softly, not needing to be told what he wished.

For a moment they stopped moving to stare into one another’s eyes, then he murmured, “You won’t keep me waiting for long, my darling, will you? We can get married very soon, can’t we?”

Her voice was slightly breathless. “As soon as you like, Justin.”

Eleanor, shamelessly eavesdropping, jabbed her elbow in Crispin’s ribs and beamed at him. Behind her she heard Tilly sigh sentimentally and when she glanced sideways, she could see that even the normally impassive Borrill had allowed himself to smile fondly.

* * * *

The next morning, Justin woke just before dawn and made his way down the back stairs very quietly. As he passed the servants’ hall, Borrill came out, carrying a lighted lamp, and the two men nodded to one another.

“I thought I’d deal with Smeathley now,” Justin said quietly, but with an edge to his voice. “It’s light enough to see what I’m doing.”

“One of the footmen has spent the night outside the potting shed, with instructions not to speak to Mr Smeathley or to allow him out until I give permission. I - um, took the liberty of warning Michael, who is a strapping young fellow, that Smeathley’s man might try to release his master, and I promised there would be a small gratuity for Michael’s trouble.”

“Excellent.” Justin raised one eyebrow. “Shall we go, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

The footman was sitting on a garden chair, with his back against the door of the potting shed and his arms folded, but he jumped to his feet when he saw them.

“No trouble, Michael?” Borrill asked.

“I have heard a few strange sounds from time to time, Mr Borrill. Sounded as if someone was shouting for help from inside the shed.” He sniggered. “But I paid ‘em no attention, just as you said. Nor I didn’t chase after the person who chucked a few stones at me, either.” He looked up at the sky and eased his shoulders.

“Thank you for your help. I’d be grateful if you’d not mention this to anyone.” Justin slipped a coin into his hand.

Michael betrayed his pleasure at this largesse with a beaming smile, then, as Borrill frowned at him, his expression became impassive again. “Thank you very much, sir. I was glad to be of use.”

Not until the footman was out of sight did Justin move towards the shed door. “Do you have the key?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I should be grateful if you’d prevent anyone from intervening. Unless there is something wrong with my hearing, we have been followed out here.”

“There is nothing at all wrong with your hearing, sir. And you can rely on me to watch your back. I am not, if I may make the claim, a weakling.” He presented the key with a distinct flourish.

Justin took it from him, but before he opened the door of the shed, he banged on it several times with one clenched fist.

There was the sound of movement from inside and a rather hoarse voice yelled, “Help! I’m locked in.”

As Justin flung the door open, Smeathley staggered out, looking drawn and dishevelled, with a huge purple bruise on his right temple. “Serle! I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you! Someone hit me over the head and locked me in the shed last night, and - “

“I know exactly what happened last night.”

Smeathley grew very still.

“And if you ever mention one word of Miss Dencey’s involvement, I shall make it my business to blight your whole future career in the church. I happen to be the godson of your Bishop - and I have certain other connections in high places who would be shocked to hear of your unconscionable actions. It is only to protect my future wife’s name that I am refraining from addressing this matter.”

“Sir, I deeply regret to tell you that you are mistaken in the lady’s character. She led me on. She - “

Not for one second did Justin doubt Beatrice’s version of the previous night’s events. Such fury sizzled through him at this lie that he drew back his right arm and punched Smeathley on the jaw, putting all his pent-up anger into the blow.

As the man staggered backwards, Justin followed up by another punch to the fellow’s soft belly with his left fist. “Only the worst sort of scoundrel would impugn a lady’s honour,” he declared in ringing tones.

With a soft “Oof,” Smeathley folded in the middle, staggering backwards in a crab-like posture and seemed to be experiencing some difficulty in breathing. He was brought short by the wall of the shed and moaned aloud as he huddled against it.

A man rushed out of the bushes, brandishing a big stick, but Borrill moved quickly forward and stuck out one leg, tripping him up and snatching the makeshift weapon from him. “Stay out of this, you, if you know what’s good for you.” He kept the stick in his hand and so fierce was his expression that the manservant crawled backwards before standing up again.

“Stand up and face me, you scoundrel!” Justin moved forward again, clenched fists raised and ready, but Augustus Smeathley made no attempt to fight back, only cowered against the shed wall.

“I am - a man of - the cloth,” he managed to plead in a hoarse voice, seeming to have difficulty breathing properly.

When Justin took another step forward, Augustus shrank away from him, holding one arm in front of his face.

“Coward!”

Smeathley turned his head away and said nothing.

Justin let his fists drop, feeling cheated. “If I ever hear that you’ve so much as mentioned Miss Dencey’s name in public, I shall find you,” he said slowly and with savage emphasis, “and make you extremely sorry. Physically sorry. Whether you fight back or not.”

“All a dreadful - mistake,” Smeathley wheezed. “Assure you - not say another word - complete misunderstanding.”

With a snort of disgust, Justin took a step backwards and beckoned Smeathley’s manservant forward. “Take yourself and your master away from Satherby Abbey as quickly as you can - and don’t ever show your faces here again.”

He stood with arms folded, his expression grim, watching the two men move slowly towards the house. His expression lightened into a slightly twisted smile as he noted that Smeathley seemed still to be having difficulty in standing upright and was, indeed, leaning rather heavily on his manservant.

“Nice pair of punches, those, if I may say so, sir,” Borrill said mildly.

Justin flexed his left hand, wincing a little.

“Are you hurt, sir?”

“Just a scratch or two. Smeathley’s damned fob watch got in the way of the second punch. I doubt it’ll ever tell the time again, though.”

Borrill exchanged comradely grins with him, then took a deep breath and transformed himself into a butler once again. “I’ll send a message to the stables to have their horses saddled and waiting.” However, he so far forgot himself as to add, “I wonder how he’ll explain the bruises?”

“Just as long as his explanations don’t include Miss Dencey.” Justin let out his breath slowly. The mere thought of what Smeathley had tried to do to Beatrice the previous night made him want to chase after the fellow and beat him to a pulp.

Thanking Borrill again for his help, he strode off to the house to get ready for what promised to be an interesting day. By the time it was over, he intended to have set a date for his marriage. And no one was going to prevent him, not even an autocratic elderly lady.

* * * *

When Crispin came down to breakfast, Eleanor poked her head out of the door of the small parlour and beckoned imperatively. Before Crispin could join her, however, Borrill moved forward to report in a low voice to his future master that the two unwanted guests had departed post-haste soon after dawn. “Mr Smeathley left a note for her ladyship, but it was delivered to her rooms before I could intercept it, I’m afraid. I hope he didn’t say anything untoward.”

Justin came down the stairs just then and Crispin turned to wait for him. With a mutter of impatience, Eleanor darted out of the parlour to tug both men inside. She then closed the door and pressed herself dramatically against it. “You’re not getting any breakfast until you’ve told us what happened this morning.”

Beatrice came to range herself beside her niece. “I agree.”

“This isn’t exactly a tale for ladies,” Justin objected. “But you can rest assured that Smeathley has departed in haste - and in some discomfort.”

“Did you hit him hard?” Eleanor asked.

Beatrice gasped and took hold of Justin’s left hand, which displayed some signs of bruising across the knuckles. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“Only a few scratches and a bit of bruising where his fob watch got in the way of my second punch. It was well worth it. He’ll be feeling rather sore today, I promise you.”

Eleanor clapped her hands together gleefully. “Oh, I wish I’d been there to see it.”

“So do I!” said Beatrice.

“Dear me,” said Crispin. “I hadn’t realized how bloodthirsty you two ladies were.”

Justin drew Beatrice to one side, his eyes searching her face. “Did you manage to get some sleep?”

“Not much. But that doesn’t matter.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “It matters to me. In fact, your welfare is my main concern in life now.”

Eleanor nudged Crispin as Beatrice stared up at Serle with what could only be described as a glowing look.

Crispin took the opportunity to put his arm round his own beloved’s shoulders and give her a quick hug.

The breakfast gong sounded a few seconds later and both pairs of lovers broke apart. Each gentleman offered his lady an arm and they strolled towards the dining room together.

There was very little conversation during the meal, though the older Smeathleys did wonder what urgent church business had called their son away so suddenly as they ate their way through plates piled high with food.

The four lovers held a conference of war in the library immediately after the meal, the problem being: how could the two gentlemen best approach the Dowager to ask for her permission to marry her niece and granddaughter?