The Gentleman and the Rogue (29 page)

Instead of lying or telling the truth, Alan simply didn't speak. He didn't need to because Lord Wilkins filled the silence with platitudes about how one never knows, how the mildest of men can have the blackest hearts.

“The servants are shocked, I can tell you,” Lord Wilkins said. “Burton, the butler, discovered the body. The one named Melvin, a local boy, fainted dead away when he saw that room for the first time. Naturally it is horrible, yet I expect they will be dining out on this horror for the rest of their days.”

Alan half listened as he wondered if he did Annie Cutler or her dead parents a disservice by allowing her identity to die. His silence meant her name would only be recalled as that of a victim in a horrific murder. The moment he walked away from here, she'd be reinvented.

“
Annie Badgeman
,” Jem had said. It might work.

He suspected she wouldn't mind the loss of her name as the price paid to put Mr. Schivvers into the past and to never return to this house. What would Alan tell her later on? The truth, because he expected Badgeman and Jem wouldn't allow him to do otherwise. Perhaps when she was old enough, they'd tell her what happened together.

For a brief moment, he saw himself and Jem in a few years. Together. He put a hand over his mouth to hide the smile.

Lord Wilkins interrupted himself to ask, “Are you well, Sir Alan?”

“Yes. It's a shocking story, my lord. And I'm sorry to hear it.”

That was the first lie he'd told because, of course, the JP's story neatly tied up every sort of loose end. Alan reminded himself that he didn't want to allow any suffering to occur as a result of his actions, so who was he to ruin a perfectly good explanation of events just because the account wasn't true?

It took some effort to hide his relief under a mask of stunned sorrow. Alan wished he'd managed acting as well as Jem did.

At last he stood and shook Wilkins's hand again and thanked him for his explanation, his condolences, and his kind words. When Burton came to show him out, Alan pressed a large tip into the butler's hand; he felt he must give something to the poor man who stumbled over the mess he'd made. “My condolences. I hope you and the others find new employment soon.”

Alan walked to his horse. It took some concentration not to burst into song.

* * *

Since the drive to his estate near Shrewsbury would take only a short day, as opposed to the grueling two-day trip to London, Alan decided to head for Shropshire. Jem should probably remain in bed a few days, but Alan was anxious to quit Sheffield before one of Schivvers's servants recalled something incriminating and the JP changed his mind about his verdict of murder-suicide.

On his way back to the inn, he purchased a suit of boy's clothes for Ann to wear. No need to tempt fate by having some shopkeeper read the news of Ann's murder and later remember the odd gentleman who'd bought a little girl's dress.

When he returned to the room, Jem was sleeping and Ann sitting on the pallet with her arms around her knees, rocking slightly. Alan was not too familiar with children but knew how to calm a frightened horse, so he crouched at the girl's side, though not too close, and spoke to her quietly.

“Mr. Schivvers is dead. Gone forever. You don't need to fear him any longer, nor do you need to fear anything from me or Jem. Do you understand?” Although they'd promised her the same thing the night before, she would need to not only hear it, but see the proof in their behavior before she would believe. He'd worked with enough badly broken horses to know how long it took to gentle the fear out of them.

The girl looked at him without blinking and nodded slightly.

“But because of how he died and how we took you from him, we will have to change your name, your identity.” Pain throbbed in his leg, folded as it was in an awkward squat. He shifted and massaged his thigh with one hand. “You can still be Annie, but from now on we'll introduce you as Mr. Badgeman's niece.”

When her eyes widened in recognition, he added, “You remember Sergeant Badgeman, don't you? I know your parents were fond of him.”

Again she nodded.

“You will be in his care as well as mine, and together we'll make certain you have everything you need.” He heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. “Now we have to leave here as soon as possible. I must get Jem prepared to travel. You know a lot about nursing. Will you help me to care for him?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl sprang to her feet.

Alan handed her the parcel with the newly purchased clothing and shoes in it. “First, here are some clothes for you to change into. Boy's attire for now, I'm afraid. When we reach my home in Shrewsbury, I'll have a seamstress come and sew a wardrobe for you.” He gestured to a corner of the room where the screen stood. “You may change behind that. I'll be over here rousing this slugabed.”

Without waiting to see if she obeyed—he knew she would whether or not it made her uncomfortable—he turned to the patient in the bed. Jem was usually a light sleeper, so the fact he'd remained unconscious during Alan's conversation with Ann was a little alarming. Alan gazed at the white bandages against the almost equally pale skin and the red lines that marred Jem's body here and there. His beautiful blue eyes were closed, and without their animated expressiveness, Jem appeared a different lad altogether—younger, more vulnerable, and far more innocent than he actually was.

Alan couldn't resist brushing a hand through the riot of light brown curls. He pressed his palm against Jem's forehead and felt heat—too much heat. The man had a fever. A wearing journey was the last thing Jem needed. Alan wished he could allow him the time to recover here at the inn, but the longer he remained in Sheffield with Ann, the more danger he put her—and all of them—in.

As his hand lingered on Jem's face, the man opened his eyes and blinked. “Morning, is it?”

“Yes. I've been back to Schivvers's house, where the authorities are examining the crime scene. Everything has turned out much better than expected. They believe the case to be a murder-suicide since Ann is missing.”

The arched brows shot even higher. “Murder? Of Ann? Well, that is some fine detecting. How did the authorities come up with that?”

“Schivvers's chamber and notebooks told much about the man's character.”

Alan recalled the notebooks in Jem's pockets and decided they'd burn those before leaving the inn. No need for anyone to find them in his possession. No need for anymore evidence of the surgeon's true character. He'd left more than enough behind.

“The logic is flawed, but before anyone figures it out, we need to be on the road to my house in Shropshire.” He rested his hand on Jem's shoulder. “How are you feeling today? I hate to have you travel, but it's unavoidable.”

“I'm feeling like someone mistook me for a fine Christmas goose and decided to carve me up. But you know how I love to travel. I'm game to go.” He started to sit up, and his face went even whiter.

Alan had to help him sit upright and piled pillows behind him. He stripped the soiled bandages, sponged the wounds clean, then replaced the bandages with new strips of torn cloth. He'd have to order new cravats and linens along with Ann's new wardrobe.

To distract Jem from the pain of daubing at the wounds, Alan told him a bit about the Shropshire estate. “It's lovely, rolling country. As soon as you're well, I'll teach you to ride, and we'll canter across the countryside. You'll love it.”

Another lift of that eloquent brow. “D'you think? I've only just grown comfortable riding behind horses. Can't imagine being atop them will suit me.”

Alan chuckled as he eased Jem's shirt onto his arms and buttoned it. “Aren't you the one always encouraging me not to fear new things? A good ride is
exactly
what you need.” He grinned and winked as he delivered the double entendre.

Jem laughed. “My word, if he hasn't discovered a sense of humor!”

Next, Alan carefully fed the notebooks into the fire before he served the breakfast which had waited all this time outside the door. It was cold by now, but both Jem and Ann gobbled it down.

Alan had already ordered the carriage prepared before coming up to the room. Now it was simply a matter of carrying down the baggage and trying to shield from prying eyes his injured valet and the sudden addition of a boy to their party. Annie's disguise included her hair braided and stuffed up under a cap. She made a presentable boy, but her fine features didn't bear too much scrutiny.

Jem walked gamely and mounted the wagon box before slumping, exhausted. Since the seat was only comfortably wide enough for two on a long journey, poor Annie rode behind, wedged in with the luggage. She didn't seem to mind and was probably happier not to have to sit hip to hip with the two men.

“One more stop, and we'll be on our way out of town,” Alan informed Jem.

He sent a message to Mrs. Crimpett, telling her he wouldn't be returning to the London house for some time. She could reduce the staff and close some of the rooms. Thinking of Jem's fondness for Dicky and Mrs. Crimpett's treatment of him, he told her to send the footman along with Badgeman to the country. Then he included a sealed message to Badgeman for him to read on his return, informing him of the developments and instructing him to go to Shrewsbury. The lady would be indignant about paying the postman almost two shillings from the household funds to be informed of something she had no wish to learn.

It was past noon before they were finally on the road from Sheffield, but Alan believed they could make it to their destination by nightfall. Unfortunately the staff there would not be expecting them. There would be no fires laid or dinner warming on the stove. The bedding and rooms would not have been aired for quite some time, and the house would be short-staffed. Unavoidable, and probably for the better. The fewer servants who witnessed his arrival with Jem and Annie in tow, the better.

The road east was not as well maintained as the highway down to London. The phaeton rattled and jolted over ruts and rocks. Alan glanced at Jem's face, noting his clenched jaw and his frown. “Are you doing all right?”

A single nod was his reply and a clear sign that Jem was
not
all right, since he was never so silent.

“Have I told you yet about my Uncle Edward?” Alan asked. “He was as wealthy as Croesus, but a singularly stingy man. During their married life, he never allowed his wife, my Aunt, uh, Abigail to spend a penny of his vast fortune on renovating their dilapidated house. The draperies were moth-eaten, the upholstery worn, and the masonry crumbling around their ears.”

Jem cast a sideways glance at him.

“On his deathbed, my uncle the miser insisted that his money be buried with him. Of course my aunt agreed with his dying request, and when the day of the funeral came, she placed a box in the coffin with Uncle Edward's body.

“After the last shovelful of dirt covered his grave and the family was walking away, I had to ask my aunt if she'd actually honored the man's request and buried his money with him.

“'Absolutely,' she replied. 'What kind of woman do you think I am that I would not honor my dying husband's request?'

“'You mean to tell me you put every ha'penny of his fortune into the casket with him?'

“'I certainly did. I wrote him a bill of exchange for the exact amount of our estate, signed it and everything. I'll be waiting for him to present it.'”

Alan waited a beat before glancing from the reins in his hands to Jem's face.

A weak smile curved the man's lips, and abruptly Alan longed to lean over and seize their softness in a hard kiss. But although the country road was empty—nothing but singing birds and thudding hooves disturbing the silence—the Major sat right behind them. He had to content himself with returning Jem's smile while letting his gaze linger on the other man's mouth. His intense look was a promise for later.

“You could work on your timing, but not a bad effort,” Jem teased.

“Come now. It was better than that.”

He shrugged. “I'm not sure. Tell me another.”

“Afraid that's the only one I know. But I can tell you a true story”—Alan paused—“about my family—my brother Jonathan and my parents.”

This was the wrong time. Jem didn't need to hear a sad tale when he was so uncomfortable and exhausted, but Alan was suddenly ready to tell him about what had happened to his family. He wanted to share everything with him.

“When Badgeman and I returned from the war, both of us wounded, it was to find that a fever had taken my brother Jonathan and both my parents. The missive informing me of their passing must have gone astray on the way to the front or passed me as I was transported home. I was out of my head with fever, and after that, addicted to laudanum. I could only bear to view my life through a haze. If it weren't for Badgeman, I'd be wandering in that fog still. But he forcibly removed the drug from me and helped me through the worst afterward.”

He thought of how sharp and hard and painful the world had been without the soft cushion of the opium to dull his senses. “After that, I did what I had to in regards to my father's estate. There were decisions to make, tenants I was responsible for, land agents and lawyers to confer with. But I haven't yet traveled to either of our country properties, hidden away as I was in London. It's long past time I visited the house near Shrewsbury.”

Alan paused and looked at Jem again. “And I have you to thank for forcing me out of my useless, brooding state. Badgeman may have helped me overcome an addiction, but you single-handedly saved my life.”

“Single-handed? That's a lot to lay on a fellow.” Jem smiled, but a frown furrowed his brow. “I don't think I did much of anything. Just provided some diversion, gave you a laugh or two and a little pleasure.”

Heedless of their silent passenger, Alan reached out and grasped Jem's hand. “No. You did much, much more than that. You've given me hope and joy and a reason to live.” Remembering Annie, he lowered his voice. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Jem's eyes caught the azure sky and reflected it in shimmering pools. Tears? He blinked them away. “Well, Sir Alan, that's a fine declaration. I'm honored. But it reminds me of a wedding proposal my sister once almost received. Would you like to hear about it?”