Barbara Metzger (25 page)

“No, no, you mistake the matter. We’re just friends. How Major Howell chooses to live his life has nothing to do with me anymore, thank goodness.”

Miles simply snorted and took his plate, now heavily laden since his future was once again clear, to the other side of the room to discuss a point of law with Mr. Rosten.

Graydon took Pomeroy’s place at Daphne’s side. “Deuce take it,” he said as he accepted a cup of tea from her, “I can’t take my eyes off you for ten minutes without you getting into a scrape.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Miles and I parted on the best of terms. There was no scrape.”

“No? Then how come mealymouthed Miles left your side while there were still lemon tarts, hm? What, did he propose marriage again now that you are tied to another fortune?”

“That’s none of your business, Graydon Howell!” But her blush gave her away. And Miles hadn’t exactly brought the matter up this afternoon, she had.

He reached for a lemon tart and grinned. “Devil a bit, brat. Of course it’s my business. We’re partners in crime, don’t you know.”

“Yes, and I never thanked you properly for all you did.”

“Fustian. You know you can count on me, don’t you, Daffy?” His face had gone serious, intent, his eyes trying to read her innermost emotions. She wasn’t ready to let him see them, not sure of his feelings.

“Still, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Likely married that prig Pomeroy.”

He was right, she might have wed Miles if Graydon hadn’t returned to remind her what it meant to love someone so deeply that you were almost—almost—ready to chance being hurt again and again, rather than let him walk out of your life another time. But he hadn’t mentioned staying, now that the wedding and funeral were over. He hadn’t mentioned anything but friendship.

Lest he see the moisture in her eyes, she stared out the window. “Oh dear, it’s coming on to rain. I was afraid of that when the boys went out. Torry was still pale this morning, and it wouldn’t do for him to catch a chill. I better go fetch them back.”

But they weren’t outside. They weren’t inside either. They weren’t anywhere that Daphne looked. Miles grumbled about ill-bred brats, playing ball while their father was fresh in the grave, or the urn as the case may be. “Besides, you spoil them.” Daphne was well pleased she’d turned down his proposal.

“Breeding has nothing to do with it,” Cousin Harriet insisted when she was consulted. “It’s males. Always thinking of themselves and their own pleasure, not giving a rap for anyone else’s fretting.”

“They’re only boys, Cousin. It’s not like they’ve gone out on the town and forgotten the time. Most likely they decided to go visiting and they’re taking shelter with one of the tenants until the rain ends.” She tried not to let her worry show. They weren’t infants, but there had been criminals in the neighborhood, and she’d made them promise not to leave the grounds.

Graydon patted her shoulder. “I’ll give the scamps an hour, then I’ll go look for them. And I’ll give them a piece of my mind, too.”

Lady Seline drifted past on her way to the carriage Mr. Foggarty had sent for her. She agreed to ask the coachman to keep his eyes peeled for the boys. “That’s what comes of letting the beastly creatures away from their tutors and nannies,” she said on her way out. “That’s why they invented boarding schools.”

The hour went by and still Torry and Dart did not come home. Daphne was thinking of giving the wretches more than a piece of her mind when she got her hands on them. Why did they have to disappear today of all days, with Mr. Rosten here? What if he thought they weren’t well supervised? He had the authority to take them away entirely.

She wanted to ride out with Graydon, but he convinced her she’d do better waiting at home. “There’s no need for both of us to get wet when they’ll be straggling in any minute, needing dry clothes and hot tea.”

Miles went out, too, but with poor grace. “There’s no need to get in a fidge. Boys are always getting up to mischief.” He never had, but he wasn’t one of these wild Whiltons.

Miles and Graydon returned some time later, cold and wet, and without the boys. “We’ll change horses and ride out again,” Graydon told Daphne. “And send the stable hands out with lanterns.”

Darkness was falling. Torry and Dart should have been home ages ago, raining or not.

“Something’s happened. I know it.”

Gray didn’t try to make light of her worries, he just put his arms around her, damp clothes and all. “We’ll find them.”

Then a window shattered. Amid the broken glass was a rock, with a note tied around it, a ransom note.

“Confound it,” Miles swore. “Those Gypsies took them! I knew I should have run them off when I had the chance. Don’t worry, Miss Daphne, I’ll track them down. They can’t have gone far with those slow wagons. Are you coming, Howell?”

Graydon was studying the note, which demanded the ransom money be placed near a crossroads halfway to London. “No, I believe not. I’ll head in another direction, I think.”

“Toward a warm fire, I suppose,” Miles said with a sneer. He hadn’t missed that cozy embrace. “I’ll rouse up the sheriff and his men, miss. We’ll get your cousins back before you have to lay out a shilling.”

After he left, Daphne told Gray, “I’m going with you.”

“And where is it we are going, my love?”

This wasn’t the time to relish endearments. “After Terwent, of course. Gypsies don’t steal children.”

The major agreed. “Certainly not adolescent boys. They’re more trouble than they are worth. No, it has to be Terwent. He was angry enough to pull a fool stunt like this, and he knows you’d do anything to get the boys back.”

“Do you think he’s taken them to London, then? They’ll be hard to find.”

“I think that if he were on his way to London, we’d have received this note by messenger or post, tomorrow or later. No, I think he must be right in the neighborhood, close enough to throw the rock himself.”

“The old woodsman’s cottage? He was with us when they dug up that body there. Do you think he’d be able to find his way back?”

There was only one way to find out, so they set off on horseback, with the pistols Ohlman had primed and ready.

*

Terwent had no intention of staying anywhere near Woodhill, not with his precious cargo. But he only had an open carriage, and two trussed boys were a bit of a giveaway on the open road. And it was raining. Even worse, one of the boys, the younger, was turning green and threatening to cast up his accounts. Terwent revised his plans.

That old tumbledown cottage was deep enough in the woods to be safe for one night. Once he’d sent his message, Terwent had only to wait until daylight, then head to the delivery place by himself. Unencumbered, he could pick up the ransom money and disappear into London’s back alleys without any plaguey brats to watch over. Yes, this was a better plan.

Terwent decided he’d wait a day before sending a note telling the miserly solicitor where to find the devil’s spawn. Maybe two. If the brats had an uncomfortable time of it before someone thought to look for them, well, Terwent had suffered
enough in their father’s service.

He made the older boy get down and lead the horse into the woods. A pistol to his brother’s head bought Dart’s compliance. “And I know the way, so don’t be getting up to any tricks like your double-dealing father would pull.”

At the cottage Terwent tied the boys’ hands and feet with strips of torn shirts from his—the baron’s—luggage. He could buy new ones tomorrow. Then he secured the boys to piles of fallen roof beams. They weren’t going anywhere. The valet hefted a good-sized rock. He was.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

It was raining and they were hurt. Like whipped dogs, Sailor and Handy crawled back to the only shelter they’d known, that old hut in the woods. By the time they got close, after a few false turns, they were scratched from sticker bushes, sopping from falling into streams, and hungry.

And it was dark.

An eerie sound was coming from the area they knew the cottage to be, a moaning, crying sound.

“It’s the wind in the trees.” There wasn’t any wind.

“It’s water running off the rocks.” There were no nearby brooks.

“It’s him!” they both screamed at once, jumping into each other’s arms.

“It’s him,” Handy squeaked, “come back to haunt us for gettin’ his ashes all arsy-tarsy.”

Sailor pushed him away. “What if it ain’t that deader after all? What if it’s Jake, come back to rail at us a’cause we lost the loot?”

“I told you not to step on his grave, you lummox!”

“Well, I ain’t goin’ in there.”

“
I
ain’t goin’ in there neither.”

Sal went in. She pushed past the brothers and bounded through the cottage’s gaping door, then barked excitedly. Sailor and Handy heard someone say, “Good dog! Have you brought a search party? We’ll get you a steak if you go for help.”

Steak? Sailor and Handy went in. They saw two boys, not much younger than themselves, tied to beams. What Dart and Torry saw was much more frightening: two bloody, swollen-faced trolls come to make a meal of them. Dart screamed. Torry blubbered. Sal barked.

Sailor and Handy looked at each other and grinned. Someone was afraid of them! They started to untie the boys, using the pearl-handled knife to cut some of the knots, and asked what happened to them.

Reassured, Dart started to explain about a valet gone amok. If there was anything in this world Sailor and Handy understood, it was muck. Then the Whilton brothers wanted to know what had happened to their rescuers, to leave them in such conditions. Sailor didn’t mention the wedding gifts, only the bridle culls on the road, all fifteen of them. They all agreed the world was a dangerous place.

The heirs to Woodhill Manor and the bastards from London’s back alleys were soon fast friends. They had a lot in common: they were all orphans, and they were all hungry.

“I’m sure Daphne’ll give you a reward for helping us get back home,” Dart offered. “She’s a great gun.”

Sailor wasn’t keen on going back to the Manor.

Even looking like a cart had rolled over them, he and Handy were too identifiable.

Torry was thinking. “I’ll bet she’d pay you double if you help us catch Terwent. Otherwise he might just snabble us again for the ransom money.”

That made sense to Sailor and Handy. Double was worth the risk. And the more grateful this Miss Daphne might be, the less likely she’d be to ask questions. So they were going to catch Terwent. No problem. There were four of them, weren’t there?

But he had the gun. While the four youngsters were arguing how to plot the perfect ambush, there not being a lot of hiding places in a one-room, roofless cottage, Terwent snuck up on them and cocked his pistol.

“Which of you bastards wants to be first?”

Neither of the bastards volunteered, nor the sprigs of nobility either. No one moved while Terwent tried to decide what to do with this latest complication. No one was going to ransom these dregs of society, that was for sure. Just when he was figuring the easiest way of disposing of their bodies, Sal got tired of waiting for her steak. She went for his arm. Terwent went down. Sailor started bashing him with the silver candlestick, and Handy used the gold pickle fork on Terwent’s flailing legs. Torry and Dart dove into the battle. The gun went off, hitting one of the few remaining rafters, which collapsed around them.

That’s when Graydon and Daphne rushed into the cottage, pistols drawn, breath coming in gasps.

“What the devil is going on?” The major handed Daphne his pistol and started pulling beams away. He hauled Torry up, then Dart. Both seemed all right. Sailor was next. Graydon thought he recognized the heavyset youth from the stables under the blood and grime; Daphne was sure she recognized the candlestick. Handy crawled out from under a board, looking like the whole house had landed on him, not just one rotten log. “Who the hell…?”

“They saved us, Daffy!” Both of her cousins were jumping up and down, shouting. “And we promised them a reward. You’ll pay, won’t you, Daff? We swore, word of a Whilton. Maybe we could find them jobs.”

“I think they’ve already had jobs with us.”

Graydon had finally uncovered Terwent, unconscious and like to remain so for a while. He started to tie up the valet with strips of linen Sailor handed him. One whiff of the lad convinced Graydon this was indeed the stableboy.

Handy was backing out the door, sure the jig was up. Daphne aimed one of the pistols at him.

“But Terwent would have killed us if it weren’t for Sailor and Handy!” Torry claimed. “He said so!”

Daphne lowered the gun. What were a few candlesticks to her cousins’ lives?

Graydon put both pistols in the pocket of his greatcoat and studied the heroic twosome. “I think your brave friends deserve more than jobs. And somehow I don’t think they’d hold on to any reward money for long. No, a hot bath and a good meal, for sure, but then perhaps a change of scenery might suit them.”

“Gorblimey, you ain’t goin’ to send us to gaol, is you?”

Torry and Dart and Daphne all protested, Daphne loudest of all, the waifs looked so pitiful.

“No, I was thinking more of finding you places on one of my family’s shipping ventures. A little hard work, and then a new life in the New World. How does that sound?”

Sailor was thrilled. “I always wanted to go to sea!”

Handy wasn’t. “I always wanted to marry a rich woman,” he confessed.

Daphne couldn’t see anything to appeal to anyone under those hideous bruises, but she wasn’t going to spoil the boy’s dreams. “Anything is possible in the colonies, I hear.”

“Meantime you might like being a cabin boy. You’ll have months to decide,” Graydon told him.

Months when they couldn’t get into any trouble that affected him, thank goodness.

When they got back to the house, Dart and Torry were taken off by their tutor and Cousin Harriet, and Sailor and Handy were taken in tow by Ohlman and Mrs. Binder, after a lecture on ethics of which the brothers understood two words out of five. Once they were clean and fed and bandaged, Mr. Rosten would see to their futures, far away from Woodhill Manor.