Strange Capers (19 page)

I felt better now that my decision was made. Time was running out. Tomorrow night was quite possibly the night Aiglon meant to make his move. I could push the worry of Aiglon’s and Rachel’s treachery from my mind once I had settled with myself what I must do. To completely forget them was another matter. For five years, I had lived with Rachel, and I had become fond of her despite her thieving ways. But she really was a thoroughly dishonest woman. And only see where it landed her. From petty thievery of Aiglon’s property, she had graduated to this really serious step. What was the punishment for being a traitor? Hanging?

I closed my eyes, but the head in the noose wasn’t Rachel’s. It was Aiglon’s laughing eyes that mocked me. “You could cure me if you thought it worth your while,” he had said. But there was no curing a Howell of lying and deceit. They’d probably cheat Jack Ketch, too, the pair of them.

I don’t know how long I sat there, not dreaming exactly, but nightmaring. I was gazing at the window. In the black of night, what was to be seen was a wavy reflection of myself and my room. It was ridiculously early to retire, so I decided to answer Prissy’s letter. I reread it first, envying her placid, simple but perfectly happy existence at home. All the hopes of forming not only a suitable but perhaps even a grand attachment that had come with me to Thornbury died that night. It would be a wonderful relief to leave, and I would do so as soon as I had told Cokewell what I must. How could I go on living for one more day among such people as I lived with here?

Halfway through my letter, I tore it up and wrote to Papa instead. I couldn’t worry him with the goings-on at Thornbury, but only said that things had changed. Aiglon had come, and soon Rachel would be leaving, so I must come home. I requested that he send the carriage for me as soon as possible. As it was a brief letter, I had time before retiring to begin sorting through my things, deciding what to pack and what to leave behind. I wished I could roll up my memories and toss them in the dustbin as easily as I could my old linens. But I knew they had become permanent residents in my head. There would be no escaping the memories of what had been and the more tantalizing conjectures of what might have been.

The morning dawned fair and clear. A few lazy puffs of cotton-wool clouds drifted out to sea. It was a fine day for a drive to Folkestone to accomplish my unpleasant duty. No one would question that I wanted to go for a drive on such a day. The only problem would be to get away without company in the carriage. The best hope for that was to leave early, and I made a hasty toilette, hoping to leave before Aiglon and Retchling came down. I wasn’t too worried that Rachel would take it into her head to come with me when she had so much research to do on old stone buildings near Thornbury.

I was deeply chagrined to see not only Rachel but also Aiglon and Retchling in the breakfast room when I arrived there.

“Constance, Aiglon has had the most gorgeous notion!” Rachel exclaimed cheerfully. “We are all going to Westleigh for a little holiday.”

A holiday at Westleigh was a cherished dream of Rachel’s, and one for which she had instilled some curiosity on my own part over the years with her tales of the magnificence to be found there. How was I to refuse without arousing suspicion? I was so busy thinking about an excuse that at first it didn’t dawn on me that this was a strange time for Aiglon to be leaving Folkestone. Tonight was the night the guns were to be stolen if my information was correct.

“All
going?” I asked.

“Yes, and that’s only the half of it,” she bubbled joyfully. “We are to take a jog up to London first, just you and I. We can be there by evening if we leave soon. Aiglon and Sir Edward will meet us there tomorrow evening. We’ll spend another day in London with them and go on to Westleigh in a day or two. What do you think of that, eh?”

I expect that what I thought of that was easily read on my face, for my suspicions soared to learn that Aiglon had no intention of leaving today. No, what he was after was to get Rachel and myself out of the house, leaving him with the perfect freedom to do what he planned to do.

“It sounds lovely, Rachel, but the fact is, I have a ripping headache. I don’t feel well enough to tackle a long trip today,” I answered.

“You do look a little peaky,” she said, staring at my pale face. “Well, it’s no matter. We’ll put it off till tomorrow. It will give me a chance to pack more carefully and have a few things laundered before I go. Tomorrow will do as well, will it not, Aiglon?”

Aiglon had risen to hold my chair, and I saw the dissatisfaction in his eyes. “A trip in an open carriage might be the very thing to clear up your megrims,” he urged.

Rachel answered for me. “Pshaw, it’s clear you’ve never had one in your life, or you wouldn’t suggest that a day’s travel is the cure for it, my lad. I’ll put Constance to bed with a headache powder, and she’ll be up in time for dinner. I’ll do her packing myself this afternoon, and we’ll get an early start tomorrow morning.”

Aiglon and Retchling exchanged a questioning glance. What are we to do about them? I read in it. Retchling tried his hand at talking me into quick health.

“London is to me what daffodils are to Wordsworth,” he began. “My heart with pleasure fills when I enter a crowded ballroom and see the ladies’ feathers dancing like the daffodils by the lake. Lady Moire is having her ball tonight, is she not, Aiglon? Your mama will be going, of course, and will take her visitors with her. Do you have the opportunity to attend many balls, Miss Pethel?”

“No, not many,” I admitted, nor did I feel the least urge to attend this one.

Retchling’s persuasions had more force with Rachel, and she began to find me looking less peaky. “We could travel with the windows open, Constance, and I could wear my blue shot silk to Lady Moire’s ball,” she urged.

“Why, you’d be just in time for the great annual sale at the Pantheon Bazaar as well if you went today. It begins tomorrow morning,” Retchling outlined. “The greatest bargains are gone by noon. Everyone goes. Lady Aiglon was telling me she got kid gloves for a few pennies last year.’’

“We both need new gloves, Constance,” Rachel reminded me.

“But I really do feel unwell,” I insisted, my voice faint.

“That is a pity,” Retchling said, shaking his head. “It’s the last week for Mrs. Jordan’s latest performance at Covent Gardens, too, and Aiglon has a seat on the third tier that will be vacant.”

“Oh, no!” Rachel moaned, her heart rent to hear of such wanton waste. “Drink up your coffee, Constance. It’s very likely only hunger that ails you. Get her a plate of gammon, Retchling. I’m going to get my headache powder this instant.”

Rachel hopped up and left the room, and Retchling filled a heaping platter of food from the sideboard for me. Aiglon poured me a cup of coffee and smiled softly. “It’s your last chance, Constance,” he said. “By tomorrow, London will have sunk into the Thames, nevermore to be seen. Is your headache really severe, or is it something else that disturbs you?”

I hesitated to meet his gaze. When I did, I saw only a tender concern tinged with a question. I didn’t bother trying to answer, for I knew no words would come from my blocked throat.

Retchling set the heaped plate before me. Rachel was soon back with the powder. I took the powder, drank the coffee, and ignored the food.

When Retchling began more temptations, Aiglon shushed him up. “That’s enough nonsense, Beau. We’ll all go to London together tomorrow.”

Rachel accepted it. “I don’t know why we ever talked of anything else,” she said. “Why was it you gentlemen wished to stay behind for a day?”

“I have a few
pens
é
es
begging to be put on paper,” Retchling told her. “These
id
é
es
that come to me are as fickle as a beautiful woman. If I ignore their call, they flee me. What is required is a few hours alone in a quiet scriptorium to wrestle them onto paper.”

“You go ahead and court your
id
é
es,
Retchling. I promise no one will disturb you,” Rachel replied, unfazed by his high-blown talk. “Constance will be in bed, and I shall be packing trunks.”

“Trunks?” Aiglon inquired, his mobile brow rising. “We’re only staying for a few days. Surely one trunk will suffice.”

“I don’t suppose Lady Moire is the only lady in London who is giving a ball at the height of the Season! There will be any number of them. Then we shall require country clothes as well for the little sojourn at Westleigh. What is playing at Covent Gardens after Mrs. Jordan closes, Sir Edward? You
do
take your box for the Season, Aiglon?” Rachel asked.

Some answers were given to these and other questions she fired off to the gentlemen, but I hardly listened. I was figuring how I could get into Folkestone now that I had claimed invalid status for myself. The oft-repeated suggestion that fresh air helped might be useful. I would claim myself well enough for a short drive into Folkestone, but still too weak to tackle a whole day’s journey. I’d go to my room for an hour, then try to slip out unobserved.

Aiglon arose to pull out my chair when I said I was going abovestairs. He also accompanied me into the hallway. “You don’t seem very eager to taste the sweets of London, Constance. Are you a confirmed country girl?”

“Not at all.”

“I see. The reason I ask is that you could skip the London visit and go straight on to Westleigh today if...”

I leveled a cold stare that froze the words on his lips. I had never seen him so uncertain. He massaged his chin with his fingers, but his eyes never left mine. “You could cure me if you thought it worth your while,” he had said.

I put my hand on his and made one last effort to cure him. “Why don’t we all go to Westleigh today?” I asked softly.

For about ten seconds, I thought he was going to do it. I was fool enough to think I was curing him, that he would give up his scheme, turn his back on all the profits, and run off to Westleigh with me. Then he spoke, and the illusion evaporated.

“You know that’s impossible, Constance,” he said.

I tried to withdraw my hand, but he had placed his other hand over it and held it tightly. “Don’t worry. Everything will work out all right. I’m not in any danger.”

Such arrogance, such conceit! He thought that it was only his neck I was worried about. That I would accept him whatever he did as long as Westleigh and London were there as bribes.

“Aren’t you, Aiglon? I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

He laughed lightly. “You don’t know me very well yet. We haven’t had time to plumb the depths of each other’s nature. We’ll do that at Westleigh quite soon.”

“Quite soon,” I agreed, and proceeded abovestairs to my room.

I paced and thought and worried until one hour by the clock was up, then slipped quietly belowstairs, got my pelisse and bonnet, and went out through the kitchen to the stables. Aiglon’s curricle and grays were gone, and his groom with them. I had Jeremy hitch up the jig and accompany me into town.

Jeremy was unaware of my imaginary headache and chattered as we drove along. “Where are you going to, miss?”

“I believe the militia practices today. I’ve never seen them. I’m going there.”

“Nay, miss. We don’t practice in the morning. It’s in the evening after chores are done that we meet.’’

“Are you one of them?” I asked, startled.

“Only since last week. Jake, he’s been one forever and shamed me into joining, but I don’t get to line up as often as I should because of the distance from town.”

“You could borrow a horse or the jig, Jeremy!”

“It’s no great matter, miss. I know the procedures, and that’s what it’s all about. If the stacks were to be blazed, I’d borrow a horse fast enough and go pelting off to join Captain Cokewell. But, like I said, there’s no practice in the morning, so where do you want to go instead?”

“To the church.”

The Leas had their share of visitors on such a fine spring day. I sent Jeremy off to enjoy the view while I went around to the sacristy to speak to Captain Cokewell. He sat at a desk writing when I entered.

“Ah, good morning,” he said, arising to crush my fingers in his large hand. “It’s the little lady from Thornbury who was here with Lord Aiglon the other day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Pethel. It is Lord Aiglon I want to speak to you about, Captain.”

“Oh, aye. I had a feeling it might have been he that sent you.”

“No, no, he didn’t send me! He has no idea I’m here.”

“Is there more trouble in that quarter?” he asked, moustache twitching.

“Then you knew...” That telltale “more trouble” made my revelation easier and confirmed my worst feelings.

“I know all about it, naturally!” he answered, ready to be offended at any slur on his occult powers.

“Oh, thank God! I was half-afraid you wouldn’t believe me. Did you know it was Lord Ware’s boat that is to be used?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, shaking a finger to cut me off and looking all around, lest the walls be listening.

“How did you find out? Who told you?”

“Now, ma’am, it wouldn’t do for us to be talking out loud about things that shouldn’t even be whispered at such a time. Just rest your worries that we have everything in hand. Not one gun will old Boney get his hands on, and you have my word on it.”

Captain Cokewell had a good reputation. His military career had been quite illustrious, and I was reassured to know that he now had full responsibility for what had seemed my own private burden. I was very glad I had come and expressed some such sentiments to him. It set him to twirling his moustache gallantly as he accompanied me to the door. He stepped out into the churchyard with me and inhaled deeply.

“I don’t much care for the look of that sky!” he exclaimed, frowning at the beautiful azure-blue arc above us.

“Why, I thought you would like it! Boney will never come on a clear night, folks say. He will sneak in under a blanket of heavy fog and a calm sea.”

“But the sea’s calm enough,” he said with satisfaction.