Chance the Winds of Fortune (18 page)

“And for tonight's repast, m'lady,” Mr. Higgleton continued, spreading out his hands as if waiting for applause, “we have spitch-cocked eels and a fresh loin of pork, as well as me wife's famous jellies. No one makes them quite like her, bless her little heart. Reckon ye'll be wantin' that, eh?” He chuckled, thinking her ladyship wasn't near as haughty as he'd originally suspected. “Give ye an extra big helping of the spitch-cocked eels, I will.”

Kate smiled tightly. “How wonderful.”

“Aye, thought ye'd like that. Says to the wife, I did, now there be a woman who enjoys a well-prepared meal. Never been wrong about people and their stomachs.”

“Quite amazing,” Kate murmured as she sipped her wine, her attitude suddenly one of dismissal as she contemplated the fire.

“Well,” Mr. Higgleton said awkwardly, “s'pose I'll get the wife to work in the kitchen preparing that eel for ye.”

He was halfway to the door when Kate suddenly spoke. “I came across several young people this afternoon while out for a ride. They were named Dominick. Do you happen to know them?” she asked casually.

“Why, they be His Grace the Duke of Camareigh's children. Fine young 'uns, them,” Mr. Higgleton said knowledgeably. “Spirited they be, like the young should, but never up to no malicious mischief. Just a spot of fun now and again. Especially young Lord Robin. Little devil, he is,” the innkeeper said with an indulgent look.

“I don't believe I had the pleasure of meeting him,” Kate commented lazily, as if the whole conversation were a bit of a bore. “However, I did meet Lord Chardinall and his sister, Lady Rhea Claire.”

“Oh, aye,” Mr. Higgleton said with a nod. “His lordship is a fine young gentleman. Does His Grace proud, he does. And Lady Rhea Claire,” he sighed. “Ah, there is a true beauty, and with a heart just as pure. Takes after Her Grace, she does. A fine lady, Her Grace.”

“A close family, are they?” Kate inquired softly.

“Oh, aye, that they are. And until the little 'uns was born a while back, young Lady Rhea Claire was His Grace's only daughter, as well as being the eldest. Reckon there's always something special about firstborns,” Mr. Higgleton confided, not above enjoying a bit of gossip. “His Grace treats the young lady like a princess, he does. But then, I reckon she might as well be one, seein' how she's so pretty. Never heard a word spoken against the young lady.”

“So, Lady Rhea Claire is much beloved by His Grace, is she?” Kate murmured thoughtfully, a half smile curving her lips beneath her mask and veil. “How very interesting. Now, please, I've kept you long enough. Please forgive me,” she said. “Oh, I also met an ancient gentleman by the name of Taber, I believe.”

“Aye, ye be speakin' of the elder Mr. Taber of Stone House-on-the-Hill. Been around forever he has. Most people around here think he helped to lay the first stone of The Merry Green Dragon, and it's been here for nigh on to three hundred years now.”

“A remarkably agile and sharp-witted old man,” Kate said now, a slight worried frown crossing her brow. “Does he indeed remember everything and every person he has ever met?”

“Aye, he's a sly old fox. Never heard tell of him not remembering a face, or a happening hereabouts,” Mr. Higgleton replied with a chuckle. “Always got a mug of ale for him and a place by the fire,” he added, for he was proud to have as a fixture in his inn one of the oldest men in these parts. And it certainly didn't hurt trade to have an old gent like Mr. Taber spinning yarns every afternoon with a crowd of thirsty listeners gathering close around the fire.

“'Twas quiet at Stone House-on-the-Hill when I was there today,” Kate said. “Does he live there alone?”

“Oh, no, he's got his son and daughter-in-law,” Mr. Higgleton confided. “And plenty of grandchildren.”

“I see,” Kate said as she held her hands out to the blaze.

“But they be gone to visit her mother over toward Bath. Didn't marry no local lass,” Mr. Higgleton said with a disapproving shake of his neatly bewigged head. “Knew she'd be trouble the minute I set me eyes on her pretty face and seen her fancy airs. 'Tis no good for a farmer's wife.”

“So, Mr. Taber
is
there alone,” Kate remarked.

“Well, not exactly,” Mr. Higgleton explained. “He has his young granddaughter there with him to do the cookin' and milkin'. See to his needs. But usually the house is packed full of bodies,” he told his guest, who was obviously concerned about the old man's welfare. “Old man Taber will live another one hundred years, or my name ain't Horatio Higgleton!” He laughed. “Now, I'll be seein' about that dinner you're waitin' fer.”

For what seemed an endless minute, there was silence in the room after the door had closed on the busy figure of Mr. Horatio Higgleton. But when a log fell with a loud thud, Teddie Waltham found his tongue. His consumption of spirits had not yet rendered him insensible, and he could still voice his suspicions.

“What's this about some high-and-mighty duke?” he demanded with a belligerent tilt to his chin. “And what are all of these questions about
His Grace's
children and some old man? Back in London there was never no mention of a duke,” he told the veiled woman accusingly, whose continued silence irked him even further. “Playing tricks on a duke, of all people, was never mentioned to Teddie Waltham,” he repeated.

“Did I really neglect to inform you of that small detail?” Kate remarked casually, while her fingers tapped out a melody of growing irritation on the tabletop. “Are you quite sure I didn't? I'm sure I must have. Perhaps you were a bit fuddled that evening, as indeed you are most nights.”

“Never heard nothing about no duke,” Waltham repeated firmly. “Ye never said nothing about it 'cause ye knew I'd have nothing to do with fooling around with one of them dukes. They got powerful friends, m'lady,” Waltham said, trying to reason with his employer. “I'd take me chances in the colonies before crossing one of them fellows.”

Kate snorted in disgust at this lily-livered cur sniveling in his bottle. “A good dose of courage is what you need, Mr. Waltham, not more brandy. But you needn't work yourself up into a sweat, for I've everything planned out. Nothing shall go wrong, that I promise you.”

Waltham rolled his bloodshot eyes heavenward. “Aye, I've heard that before, and mostly from men one step short of the gallows. I went along with ye only 'cause I never thought ye'd be foolish enough to tangle with a duke, but, m'lady, ye be daft. And Teddie Waltham values his neck enough not to be sticking it out too close to the block. I've enjoyed me stay in the country, but I'm growing homesick for the soot and grime of London, so…” Waltham allowed his words to trail off as he shrugged. “I'm thinkin' of headin' back to familiar surroundings.”

Kate said something in a sharp voice, and even though Waltham couldn't understand the foreign words, he was smart enough to know he was the object of them. A moment later he found himself being held a foot off the floor by a giant hand that had snaked into his collar.

“Let me down, ye big lumbering ox!” he choked out, his face turning red as his collar tightened painfully around his stretched out, very vulnerable neck.

“Rocco responds only to me, Mr. Waltham,” Kate told him as she relaxed in the chair, enjoying the predicament Mr. Edward Waltham now found himself in. She allowed a small chuckle to escape. “My dear, dear Mr. Waltham, you are not only a coward but a fool as well. You are in this thing with me, and there is no going back to London until I say so. I've hired you to do a job for me, and I expect you to do it or,” she paused thoughtfully, a sad note entering her voice as she continued, “you might not care for the way I would exact punishment for your failure to please me.”

Waltham was kicking aimlessly, trying to connect with the big man's shin, but it was to no avail. He coughed, struggling to answer as he felt the world spinning around him. “Aye, aye. Let me down! I'll do as ye wish. Let me down before ye've got a dead body hanging up here. Then nothing will get done.”

Kate signaled Rocco, who dropped the squirming Waltham into a gasping heap on the hardwood floor. A couple of shiny coins fell with a jingle, one rolling unnervingly close to the big man's feet. Waltham sniffed, wiping a hand beneath his nose as he risked a glance upward.

“That should sweeten your stay a bit,” Kate told him in a cold voice that sent shivers up Waltham's spine. “However, as I'm not one to overstay my welcome,” she continued in a more conversational tone, “I have made plans to leave and return to London by no later than tomorrow afternoon. Does that suit you, Mr. Waltham?”

Teddie Waltham nodded, his hands soothing his sore neck where the rough material of his coat had rubbed painfully against the tender skin. Aye, he thought, it suited him just fine, and as soon as he saw the familiar cobbled streets of London, he would seek his freedom from this madwoman. He could only hope it wouldn't be too late to save his skin.

* * *

A pale crescent moon was slicing through a layer of silvered clouds as two riders entered the farmyard of Stone House-on-the-Hill. It was late. Far too late, in fact, for visitors. But these were uninvited guests, and they weren't there for a friendly visit.

Kate slid off her horse's back, her knees buckling slightly as her booted feet touched the ground. God, but she was getting old, she thought, swearing beneath her breath as she flexed her stiff fingers. She could feel in the aching of her joints every bone-jarring step that nag had taken between The Merry Green Dragon and Stone House-on-the-Hill.

Kate glanced around at the deserted yard, her eyes drawn to the pool of light pouring from a small mullioned window set deep in the stone wall of the farmhouse.

“
Silenzio
!” Kate hissed as Rocco came trudging up behind her, his feet scraping noisily against the loose stones of the path. She sighed in exasperation, wondering if this night would ever come to an end. She would gladly have left Rocco back at the inn had she thought she could do without him, but if there were difficulties, his strength would be useful. But he was certainly no horseman, and he had trailed behind her and slowed her down ever since they'd left the stables nearly an hour before. Nor had it added to the evening's success when he had been knocked from his horse's back by a low-hanging branch, leaving her to chase after his runaway mount.

Kate took a firm hold on his big arm as she made her way toward the lighted window; she preferred to know exactly where Rocco was. The gusting wind blew coldly against Kate's caped figure as she peered into the house, her veiled face looking like the disturbed shadow of a tree branch being blown by the storm.

She stepped back into the darkness and leaned against the side of the house as she stared thoughtfully around her. Inside, sitting in the warm light from the fire in the kitchen hearth, a young girl was sound asleep. In her lap, equally dead to the world, was a curled-up pup, while on the flagstone floor at her feet was a large basket holding the rest of the pups that had been rescued that afternoon. Also positioned around the girl's chair were several dogs, all of them lazily snoring away. They were obviously watchdogs that the softhearted old fool kept in on a cold night. The girl must be Mr. Taber's granddaughter, Kate guessed, then wondered where the old man was. She really would prefer not to disturb the granddaughter, but if she got in the way…

As Kate stood silently contemplating her next move, she suddenly became aware of a tuneless whistle drifting to her on the wind. She gazed toward the darker bulk of the barn on the far side of the yard; then a slow smile curved her lips as she caught sight of a sliver of light shining out beneath a poorly fitted door. With a new purposefulness in her step, Kate quickly crossed the yard, following the beam of light. A curse directed against the old man, whose meddlesome ways had forced her into taking this action, trembled on her lips as she carefully pulled open the door. Everything would be ruined if he remembered who she was and then blabbed the news to half of the valley. And talk he would, especially with a pint of ale in his hand and an inn full of gossips gathered around, and then it wouldn't be long before the news reached the attention of the Duke of Camareigh.

All would be lost if he found out too soon that she was back. She must, at all costs, protect her anonymity, she told herself as she slid into the barn, her black figure merging with the deep shadows filling the cavernous room. She paused, her eyes pinpointing the bent figure illumined by the glow of a single lantern.

“Aye, aye, I'll be along shortly, Janey,” the old man spoke over his shoulder when he felt the cold draft of air that blew in from outside. “Ye git yerself back t'house, now. 'Tis too cold fer ye out here,” he told her, his gnarled hands never stopping their careful, assured measuring of various liquids into a dark amber bottle. “I'll have this liniment for Haverstoke's prize bull finished before ye can get back to that warm fire.”

When the silence continued, with no sound of anyone leaving, Mr. Taber glanced up, peering into the shadowy darkness. A frown formed on his wrinkled face as he stared hard at the indistinct figure moving closer.

“Janey? T'ain't ye, is it now? Who be ye?” he demanded as he corked the concoction he'd been preparing for Haverstoke's prize bull. Then, wiping his hands on an oily rag, he straightened up. “Who be ye, I'm askin'?” he repeated, his hand reaching out for his knobby cane.

“'Tis only I, Mr. Taber,” Kate replied softly.

“Ah,” the old man sighed, relaxing his grip on the cane. “One of the twins.”

Kate sucked in her breath in amazement, never having really believed he would remember her—but he had! Damn him, she fumed silently.

“Aye,” the old man chuckled. “Ye didn't think I'd be rememberin' ye, did ye now? I told ye. I never forget a person. Remembered ye at supper, I did,” he told her proudly. “So
ye
be the strange woman stayin' at the Dragon? Heard about ye, I have.”