His Lady Midnight (25 page)

As soon as the woman had taken her leave, Phoebe sent Vogel to bring Tate to the parlor. The coachman had brought her home last night, because Galen had sent the coach back for her after he had collected his horse from the stable here. Although Tate was curious, he only nodded when Phoebe gave him instructions.

She went to the window to watch him walk toward Bath. He should not be gone more than an hour. By the time he arrived back with his information, Galen might have returned. Then she could ask his opinion about all of this to-do. But did it matter? She knew what he would tell her. She would be jobbernowl to seek out Charlie Gerber at the farm where she had been sending the escaped transportees two years ago.

Yet, if she did not, what was to prevent Mrs. Gerber from telling the authorities all she knew? Phoebe shivered. She should have guessed that those who might need Lady Midnight's help would share whispered confidences. No wonder, Jasper had sent this lady to her. He knew that not helping Mrs. Gerber could be more dangerous than helping her.

Not that it mattered. There was no other choice.

Seventeen

“Mrs. Gerber lives at the address you gave, my lady,” Tate said, wearing the baffled expression as he rocked from one foot to the other. “She has two children, and her husband was sentenced to be transported for poaching. He has been gone for two years.”

Phoebe did not release the curse banging against her lips. It would do her no good to own that she had hoped that Mrs. Gerber had been lying. That might have been far worse, because it would have suggested Mrs. Gerber had been sent here to trap her.

From where she sat by the window, she asked, “Has Mrs. Gerber been away from Bath recently?”

“Yes. There is talk that she went to London on some sort of business.” He scratched his head. “I wasn't sure what to believe on that. What reason would a poor woman like her have in London?”

Instead of answering Tate's question, Phoebe asked, “And is there an old woman in the house?”

He nodded. “There is one, but she is very ill. One neighbor even told me she might already be dead, but the rest told me she was still barely alive.”

“So it is true.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. How much simpler it would have been if Mrs. Gerber had been spinning a story for her in an attempt to trip her into confessing.

She should ignore the plea. Others would have tragedies and joys they could not share because they were hidden far from their families. Yet, she had never stood face-to-face with one of those who missed someone dear. The poor convicts who had been rescued from the ships were only shadows along the wharves or in the cellars on Grosvenor Square until they disappeared into darkened wagons.

But those in the shadows had discovered
her
identity. She ignored the hysterical laughter teasing the back of her throat. If she did nothing, she might endanger not only her households at Grosvenor Square and Brackenton Park, but Galen's as well. No one would believe that Galen was sucked into her crime only when he had saved her from the men chasing her. The tale he had told them when he had hidden her face against his shoulder in his carriage would now label him as guilty as she was.

She truly had no choice but to help Mrs. Gerber. Then, once Charlie Gerber had seen his dying mother and returned to where he was serving out the time of his sentence, she would find a way to make certain this did not happen again.

I want you to stop
. The memory of Galen's voice resonated through her head along with the rest of the conversation. So assuredly she had told him that she could not halt this work that she had begun with such gullibility five years before. So coolly she had told him that she had no choice but to continue. Now those words were coming back to haunt her.

You have a choice. You could stop any time you wished
. It had been simple for Galen to say that. She had tried to make him understand that she had made a pledge to save as many of these people as she could.

And you have
.

With Galen's words raging through her memory, Phoebe came to her feet. “Tate, bring the carriage.”

“Where are we bound, my lady?”

“Exmoor.”

“Phoebe?” Galen stripped off his mud-splattered coat and tossed it onto a chair by the door. Striding into the parlor, he called Phoebe's name again.

“Do you have to shout?” Carr held one hand to his head. “Without Tate in the box, I have been bounced against the roof of the carriage too many times for a man with megrims.”

“Your head would not be aching if you had not gotten yourself so in your cups that you got into another rough-and-tumble with those lads who were waiting to ambush you by that country tavern.” Pushing his wet hair back out of his eyes, Galen turned to face his brother who had collapsed into a chair. Both of Carr's cheeks bore imprints left by knuckles. “If you would heed good sense just once, you might not find yourself in predicaments like that. I shan't always be about to untangle you from your messes.”

Carr raised his eyes, revealing that one was already turning purple. “Because you are too busy playing court on Phoebe Brackenton?”

“You must own that it is a more pleasurable pastime than trying to avoid flying fists as I extract you from yet another fight.” He went to the door to the garden. Although it was past dark and the rain had turned to a thick mist, he knew that Phoebe might have sought the quiet of the garden while she waited for him and Carr to return.

“So that is how it is going to be?”

Galen looked back at his brother who was now struggling to his feet. “Carr, you are in no state to be discussing anything. Why don't you go to bed?”

“So you can find Phoebe and do the same?”

His fist struck Carr's chin before Galen had time to form a thought. As Carr reeled back, clutching his chin and bumping into a chair, Galen shook his hand. Years ago, he had learned that Carr's chin was hard.

Carr snarled a curse. Galen grasped his brother by the torn lapels as Carr added a crude insult about Phoebe.

Pushing his brother away, Galen said, “I have heard enough of this. I will accept your apology after I have spoken with Phoebe.” He strode toward the door where Mrs. Boyd and Vogel were watching with identical horror on their faces.

“Why should I apologize for the truth?” shouted Carr. “Phoebe Brackenton may have a lady's title, but she is no better than the dockside whores she cavorts with.”

“You don't know what you are talking about.”

“I know she met you just outside the Little Lost Lamb. You know it is true, although both of you have denied it.”

Galen took a deep breath. This lie had deteriorated before his brother's childish persistence in discrediting Phoebe. “Yes, it is true. But you are mistaken in your assumption. She was the lost lamb I offered to save from the wolves.” Without pausing, he asked, “Mrs. Boyd, has Phoebe retired?”

“No.” The housekeeper wrung her apron and glanced at Carr.

“Then please let her know I wish to speak to her as soon as I have washed up.” Galen picked up his coat and folded it over his arm. He scowled at his brother before walking away along the hall.

Vogel hurried after him. “My lord,” he said in a near whisper, “she is not here.”

“Not here? Where is she?” He searched his mind but could not recall any invitations they had had for this evening.

Roland rushed toward him as Mrs. Boyd hurried up from the other direction. Again the expressions on his valet and the housekeeper matched the alarm on the butler's face.

“What is it?” Galen asked.

Mrs. Boyd motioned for them to follow. “This way, please.”

Galen went into the antechamber of Phoebe's room. When he saw a bag sitting in the middle of the table, he growled an oath under his breath. He ripped it open and saw a change of clothes and a few personal items inside it. He started to ask a question, then paused when he saw the brocade box that held the ruby necklace set next to the bag.

He opened the box and lifted out a small slip of paper. Unfolding it, he read:

Dear Galen
,

I have always considered myself a woman of courage, but my courage fails me now when I must take my leave. I thank you for all you have done. I wish I could stay longer. The obligations that are mine will not allow me to remain in Bath. If you do not wish to call upon me in London, I will understand. I hope you will come to understand that my heart chooses to stay with you even though I cannot
.

Always yours,

Phoebe Brackenton

Putting it beneath his coat so it could not be read by anyone else, although he suspected the housekeeper already knew its contents, Galen turned to Mrs. Boyd who stood in the open doorway and was now dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “You said she had left.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Without her bag? Why would she return to London without her bag?”

Vogel glanced at the others, then said, “She did not go to London, my lord, although that may have been her intention.”

“Then where is she?”

When the butler quickly explained how a woman had called and her desperate plea to Phoebe to help, horror descended on Galen.

“How could Phoebe be so foolish?” he asked.

“Foolish?” Mrs. Boyd's eyes snapped with sudden fervor. “Can't you see that she went to do whatever she must do in order to protect you? I heard her say to Tate as they were leaving that no one must know where they went.”

Vogel nodded. “She told me as well that, under no circumstances, was I to receive this Mrs. Gerber again at Thistlewood Cottage. She said, ‘This should not involve Lord Townsend. It is
my
problem.'” He scowled. “If I may say so, my lord, she has done whatever it is she has done to protect you.”

“There would be no need for protecting anyone if she had not been so foolish.” He slammed one fist against his other hand. “By Jove, she has gone beyond the bounds of common sense this time. How many more times does she think I can rescue her?”

Roland cleared his throat, then said, “Mayhap she has seen the many times you have come to Mr. Townsend's assistance and believes that you will do the same for her.”

“No, Phoebe thinks I am witless for that.” Galen swore under his breath when their faces revealed that they agreed with Phoebe. “I will not play nursemaid for Carr any longer. Nor will I let her put her very life in danger with her misplaced heroics.”

“My lord?” asked Mrs. Boyd, confusion and dismay widening her eyes. “Lady Phoebe is in such a dire situation?”

“Not if I can get her out of it before she does something utterly want-witted. Where did they go?” Galen asked.

Quickly the butler repeated the directions he had heard Phoebe give to the coachman.

Galen smiled grimly. Phoebe's journey led to the near edge of Exmoor. It would not take him long to get there. Pulling on his filthy coat, he rushed out of the room and through the twisting corridors to the front door.

He shouted for the carriage to be brought.

A stableboy ran up. “My lord, Mr. Townsend just took the carriage. He said to tell you he would get more sympathy elsewhere.”

“Then bring me a sturdy horse.”

“Aye, my lord.”

As the boy raced back to the stables, Galen sighed. Let Sandra Raymond offer Carr comfort. For the gold Carr gave her, she would commiserate with him and keep Carr away while Galen did what he must. He looked to the west. Phoebe had several hours' head start, but he must catch up with her before someone else did. And he had to ensure that she never had a chance to do something like this again. He was not certain how, but he would take whatever steps he must.

In the first light of dawn, the house resembled all the others the carriage had passed on the moors. Isolated, it clung low to the hills that rolled up out of the sea. A few trees huddled around it as if the small house could protect them from the ravages of the wind that claimed these hills. Beyond it, sheep were puffs of earthbound clouds along the hillsides, vanishing into the fog that was creeping up from the water.

When Tate stopped the carriage, he jumped down and came around to open the door. Phoebe stepped out, avoiding the puddles that were left from the night's rain. She shivered, although the day was not cold. Every breath she took warned her how foolish she was being, but every heartbeat reminded her of what she would risk to have another chance to win Galen's heart. Only now did she understand that sometimes the choices were not clear.

A light breeze ruffled the grass around the buildings. The air was redolent with animal scents, and a wave of homesickness startled her. She had not guessed how much she had missed Brackenton Park.

“Are you certain this is the correct farm?” she asked, plucking at a loose thread on her gloves. She swallowed a yawn as she wished she had been able to sleep in the carriage during the trip from Bath.

Tate's face was long with distress. “I believe so, my lady.”

“We shan't be long.” She patted his arm.

“We should not be here at all.”

Phoebe stared at him. “What do you mean?”

With the toe of his boot, he drew a circle in the dirt. “Lord Town—” He glanced about guiltily. “My lord has not been able to hide his concern about your safety. I do not know why he is anxious, but I trust that the reason has something to do with why you are here.”

“Ask nothing more.” Lying would gain her nothing at this point. “Why don't you take the carriage back to that tavern we passed where we turned off the main road to come up to this farm?”

“And leave you here?”

“I will meet you there. It is not more than a mile or two to the inn.”

Tate glanced skyward. She guessed he was disappointed that he could not see a storm that would give him the perfect excuse not to agree. “As you wish, my lady. How long should I wait?”