Rogue's Honor (21 page)

Handing Flute a plate, Luke sat down to plan
while he ate.

* * *

Pausing to let Hettie slide one last pin into
the cluster of curls on top of her head, Pearl listlessly thanked
her and descended to the main parlor. Her spirits had gradually
fallen over the past week as life returned to the same dull routine
it had followed before her adventure and all that happened
afterward. Rise, dress, eat, freshen up, receive callers . . .

No news had come about Luke's antecedants
—not that she had really expected any yet. Entering the parlor, she
was both pleased to see that she had only two callers, and
irritated that those callers were two of her least favorite
people.

"I give you good morning, Lord Bellowsworth,
Lord Hardwyck," she greeted those most persistent suitors with what
she hoped was enough cordiality to conceal her feelings about them.
"Such a pleasure to see you here again."

"Lord Bellowsworth was just about to tell us
some news from his cousin, about that investigation we discussed
last week," Obelia informed her, her eyes rebuking Pearl for her
tardiness.

About the tardiness she could not care in the
least. But about the investigation—"Have they caught the Saint of
Seven Dials then, Lord Bellowsworth?" She was careful not to
display undue interest, though her insides contracted in sudden
fear.

Both gentlemen had risen at her entrance, but
now they reseated themselves, one on either side of her.

"No, but they expect to have him within the
week," Bellowsworth replied. "His henchman —the lad—was traced to
Mayfair itself, if you will believe it. He was seen by several
servants in Grosvenor Street, but their stories apparently
conflict. Just yesterday, however, he was spotted working as a
crossing sweeper near Covent Garden. One of the Runners is
shadowing him even as we speak. As soon as he returns to his
master, we'll have him!"

Lord Bellowsworth preened as though he
himself were responsible for the all-but-certain capture. Pearl
could only smile fixedly and pray that Luke —and Flute —were too
clever to be caught so easily.

"I don't know why they bother, myself,"
drawled Lord Hardwyck, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from one
pearl-gray glove. "Where's the real harm in the fellow, after all?
He merely redistributes a few trifling bits of money or jewelry
before Parliament can do so. And he gives the ladies an object of
interest to swoon over."

He sent Pearl an indulgent smile, which she
forced herself to return. Lord Hardwyck had always been
insufferably condescending, toward her and other women. Just now,
though, she preferred his viewpoint to that of Lord
Bellowsworth.

"Besides," he continued, "if the man is
caught, he'll become a martyr, I doubt not. How would ordinary
fellows like ourselves glean any attention at all from the fair sex
if he were being paraded about the city in irons?"

"You do yourselves a disservice, my lord, I
am sure," exclaimed the Duchess. "Does he not, my dear?"

Thus appealed to, Pearl was obliged to agree.
"Indeed. How could any woman of sense prefer a common thief —or
even a legendary one— over a man of rectitude and substance?"

Both men bowed, acknowledging the ladies'
compliments, but Pearl scarcely noticed. Where might her thief be
now? She yearned for him with every fiber of her being.

Just then, a cough at her elbow alerted her
to the butler's presence. His expression implied a private matter,
so she stood and followed him to the door of the parlor.

"Yes, Upwood, what is it?"

"I would not normally interrupt you, of
course, my lady, but I was told you had given very explicit
instructions. Young John Marley has completed the commission you
gave him." As were most of the Oakshire servants, the butler was
far too well-trained to betray the curiosity he undoubtedly
felt.

"Thank you, Upwood. Tell him to attend me in
my private sitting room at once."

The butler bowed and left without another
word.

Returning to the others, Pearl said, "I fear
my abigail has had a small mishap with the gown I intended to wear
to tonight's rout. I must choose another one at once, so that she
will have time to purchase matching accessories. I know you will
excuse me."

It rankled to give such a frivolous excuse,
but in her excitement to hear what John Marley might have to say,
she could think of nothing better. At once the gentlemen stood to
take their leave, protesting that they had outstayed the customary
quarter hour already. Obelia frowned, but made no objection, so
Pearl was free to hurry up to her rooms.

There she found not only John Marley, but an
elderly woman she had never seen before. Hettie was hovering
nervously in the background.

"And who might this be?" Pearl asked, then
immediately regretted her imperious tone. The old woman looked
harmless enough —even kindly.

"Milady, I—I hope you'll forgive me,"
stammered the footman, "but I thought you would want to hear Mrs.
Steadman's tale from her own lips. It's a rather remarkable
one."

Pearl turned to the woman with interest.
"Indeed? Pray, have a seat, Mrs. Steadman. I presume you have some
connection to Luke St. Clair?"

The old woman walked with halting steps to
the nearest chair and eased her narrow frame into it with a sigh.
"Aye, my lady, that I do. I were his nurse when he were a lad, and
his mother's nurse afore him, God rest her."

Eagerly, Pearl moved to the chair opposite
her and leaned forward. "Then Mrs. Steadman, you are precisely the
person I most wished to see! Surely you must know the truth about
Mr. St. Clair's background."

The woman nodded. "Aye, that I do—more than
he ever knowed himself, for his mother wished it that way. Now he's
a man grown, though, it's time he knew. It's that grateful I am
that your man here came calling, for I hadn't the faintest idea how
to go about finding the lad. You'll bring me to him, won't you, or
tell him the news yourself?"

"Tell him what? What news?" Pearl could not
quite conceal her impatience at the woman's meandering way of
coming to the subject.

"Why, that his name weren't never St. Clair
at all, though his mamma was born Sinclair. Master Luke's real last
name is Knox, and he's the rightful Earl o' Hardwyck!"

Pearl stared at the old woman for several
long heartbeats, certain she had misunderstood. "But . . . but the
Earl of Hardwyck was just here. He was downstairs not five minutes
ago. How can Luke possibly—?"

"That would be his uncle," Mrs. Steadman said
with a grimace. "Mr. Wallis Knox. He may think he's an earl now,
but he's not. Lady Dorothea meant Luke to take his rightful place
once he was grown, and I'll do all I can to help him do it."

"
Lady
Dorothea?"

The old nurse nodded. "Daughter to Earl
Sinclair, she was, a lady from birth. It were enough to make a body
weep to see her living like she did after she run away and all, but
she had Master Luke to think of."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand."
Indeed, Pearl felt the woman's rambling explanation was adding to
the mystery rather than unraveling it. "Perhaps it would be best if
you started at the beginning. Your mistress —Luke's mother— married
the Earl of Hardwyck, and Luke was their son? This can be
verified?"

"Oh, aye. It's all in the parish registry at
Knox Abbey, the marriage and Master Luke's baptism, too."

And there must be copies of those records
right here in London, Pearl realized. She could have those facts
checked this very day.

"I remember both days like they was
yesterday," Mrs. Steadman continued, her eyes growing misty with
reminiscence. "So happy my lady was! Just as well she didn't know
then what was to come."

Again, Pearl had to fight her growing
impatience to know everything at once. "And what
did
come?
Her husband died, I presume?"

"Died!" The woman turned her head as if to
spit, then recollected where she was and merely snorted. "Murdered,
I'd say. And my lady believed the same, though she couldn't prove
it. She had her proof a year later, though, when the blackguard
tried to kill both her and Master Luke. What kind of a monster
tries to do in a three-year-old child, I ask you?"

Though still not convinced of the old woman's
sanity, Pearl could not help but be horrified. "Monstrous indeed!
Who would do such a thing —and why? And how?"

The old nurse took each question in turn.
"Who? Why Mr. Wallis Knox, o' course, him what styles himself Earl
of Hardwyck now. The why is plain to see. With his brother and
Master Luke out o' the way, it all come to him—the title, the
money, and the land and all."

Pearl couldn't deny that Lord Hardwyck was
generally considered one of the richest men in England, his fortune
rivaling, perhaps even exceeding, her father's. A strong motivation
indeed! Still, it seemed so unlikely . . .

"And the how?" she prompted, as her informant
had paused, apparently to commune with her memories.

Now a tear trickled down the lined, careworn
face. "Fire. My lady couldn't bear to live in the grand mansion
after her poor husband was murdered. Even then, she was afraid of
Mr. Knox, I reckon. So she moved into the Dower House at Knox
Abbey, seeing as how it was standing empty. She said it was plenty
big for her and Master Luke, and only brought along me and one
other servant."

Fearing the woman meant to go off on another
tangent, Pearl gently brought her back to the matter that most
concerned her. "The Dower House burned, then? How can you be
certain it wasn't an accident?"

"I saw Cranley, Mr. Knox's henchman, skulking
about the grounds only an hour before the fire started. I meant to
tell my lady about it, but I forgot." Her wrinkled face crumpled
into tears. "Maybe if I had . . . "

Pearl laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"But Lady Hardwyck escaped, did she not, along with her son? Had
you prevented the fire, perhaps another attempt would have been
made—a successful one." As she spoke, she realized that she had
nearly accepted the woman's story as truth.

Drying her eyes with the corner of her apron,
the old nurse nodded. "Aye, you be right, milady. And Lady Dorothea
seized her chance with both hands, as they say, once she realized
what had happened. She bundled us all out of the house in the nick
o' time. Mary, the housemaid, was up at the big house— helping with
the brasses, I think she was. So it was just the three of us in the
Dower House. We hid in the wood a quarter mile away and watched it
burn to the ground."

Now Pearl began to understand. "So Lord . . .
er, Mr. Knox never knew you all escaped?"

"Nay, she wanted him to think we was all
dead, so's he wouldn't ever try to harm Master Luke again. She took
us to a cottager whose baby she'd helped birth when the midwife
couldn't come. They was willing enough to help us—giving us spare
clothes and baby things, and promisin' to hold their tongues."

Pearl listened, rapt, as the old nurse
related the rest of the story, of how Lady Dorothea had gone into
hiding, masquerading as a commoner, to protect her son. Finally,
she brought it up to the point where Luke went off on his own after
his mother's death and Mrs. Steadman lost track of him. By the time
she was finished, more than an hour had passed.

Turning to Hettie and John, who had been
listening as attentively as she to the astonishing story, Pearl
said, "John, I have one more task for you. I will write a letter
for you to take to Somerset House."

She would request documentation of the
transfer of title and property to the present Lord Hardwyck, as
well as all pertinent dates attending previous title holders. As he
was known to be a suitor of hers, her request would not look
particularly odd.

"And Hettie, ask the coachman to ready the
small, closed carriage —the one without the crest. I have a visit
to pay."

* * *

Luke returned from yet another discouraging
day of seeking employment to see a sumptuous, dark blue carriage
standing in the narrow street directly in front of his building. It
looked absurdly out of place, and his first thought was that some
fool merchant or gentleman had lost his way. This might be just the
opportunity he had both hoped for and dreaded.

Then he considered that it might also be a
trap. Suppose the Runners were trying to flush him out with this
strange ruse? In that case the carriage was being watched, and the
last thing he should do was approach it.

He glanced up and down the street, but saw no
one other than a pair of drunken ex-soldiers slumbering in a
doorway. Moving from shadow to shadow, he maneuvered himself into
position to glimpse the interior of the carriage without attracting
the attention of the coachman atop it. A lone figure sat within,
apparently female. His heart beginning to hammer with a hope he
could not quite admit, he crept closer.

Yes, the occupant was definitely female —but
short. Dropping back into the shadows, Luke circled around the side
of his building until he could see his own door. There she stood
—his own Pearl, the one who had haunted his dreams and daydreams
since the moment he left her.

As he watched, her shoulders slumped in
apparent dejection and she turned away from the door, her pale pink
skirts brushing the filthy balustrade as she started back down the
stairs. Now Luke stepped forward, his sudden eagerness sweeping
caution away.

He met her at the first turning, and was able
to observe her expression an instant before she saw him. He read
there wariness, frustration and suppressed excitement, which gave
way to shock, then pleasure.

"Luke! Oh, Luke, you are here after all!"

Her obvious delight sent a shaft of
exultation through him. Then, as quickly, he realized how he
looked, dressed as he was to apply for more menial labor. And how
inappropriate her presence here was.