Fifteen
Mouse paced the small parlor for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon. Barely a week had passed since her discussion with Arthur and there’d been no word of Michael. She knew it was too early to really expect anything. Surely Arthur’s associate hadn’t had the time to gain access to Michael’s home, let alone find any new information and send a message back. Still, Mouse felt restless and fearful of what news might come. Was her husband well? Was he being fed? Or, were they filling him with laudanum and spirits and that awful broth that she’d come to loathe during her stay at Rosecliff?
Unable to embroider or settle her nerves long enough to read one of the vast tomes from her brother-in-law’s library, Mouse settled for standing in front of the large French windows that looked out over the drive. Many long afternoons she’d stood on that very spot and watched for her husband’s ill fitted, ancient carriage to come trundling down the lane.
Just as Mouse was about to give up and return to her room for an afternoon rest, something or someone rattled around the perimeter of the estate. She watched as the rose bushes, so delicately planted and cared for, jerked awkwardly around, one by one. It could have been a dog or a cat and, in fact, she was nearly certain that must be it. But the movement seemed purposeful as the mysterious visitor discreetly made its way away from the main building. Mouse suddenly felt the urge to go outside and discover the lurker, to set him or her to rights.
Pulling up her skirts, she left the parlor and made her way into the gardens. Just as she turned around a hedgerow, the shed door closed. Mouse’s curiosity piqued she quickstepped it through the last of the irises and slipped quietly into the outbuilding at the farthest corner of the property.
In the dwindling light, Mouse could make out a bent figure to one corner of the shed.
“Who’s there? Michael?” As the form stood and her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Mouse could see a shorter, more slender form.
“Tom.” Feeling both disappointed at it not being her husband and relieved that the young man was still alive, she sagged against the doorframe.
“Aye, my Lady, it’s me.” His voice was quiet, and strangely coarse.
“I can’t see you, are you all right?”
“Well enough,” he told her.
A match struck and Tom stepped forward with a lighted candle. His face was bruised and swollen, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. A large gash that was a sickly yellowish green could be seen just below the hairline on his left forehead.
“My goodness, Tom! What happened?”
“Them’s what happened. Those men hired by Lord Winningham’s cousin. They gave me a good round of their fists before they hauled me to the docks. They were going to ship me out on a merchant vessel but I managed to escape.”
“How terrible. You must come inside immediately. The Duke isn’t home right now but he’ll be here this evening. You must tell him your story.”
The younger man shrank back. “Oh, no milady, I can’t. If word got out, they’d have me arrested, or worse. His lordship’s cousin said he’d had charges brought up. My only choice was to sail or be thrown to the Runners.”
“But we know you’re innocent.”
“It makes no matter if I’m pinched before you could bring a case, I’d be hung.”
Mouse’s spirits fell. She knew that Tom was telling the truth. Even with Arthur’s intervention there was no guarantee of the man’s safety. Accidents happen in life, especially with the promise of a hefty purse.
“What can we do? I have a bit of money, perhaps we can get you out of the country.”
“Aw, your ladyship. I would feel something bad for taking your money. I doubt that Mister Kelton is going to be very generous with his lordship’s wealth.”
“I’m not worried about that right now. We must get you safe.”
“I’ll be all right, Missus. I’m more worried about Lord Winningham.”
“He’s gone back to Rosecliff. He chose to go with his cousin instead of staying with me.”
The younger man looked at her solidly. “Is that what you believe, for certain?”
Mouse hesitated. “Of course, not. But he made the statements in full view of my family. I can’t refute him in their eyes. And now with my ‘condition’, they aren’t willing to let me go after him. Unless I manage an escape more daring than the one which took us from Rosecliff in the first place, I fear I will spend my days here.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best then. Lord Winningham would not want any harm to come to you.”
Mouse shook her head disagreeing. “I’m not happy leaving his lordship to Ambray’s care, either. I’ll just have to insist that Arthur do something to get Michael released. There has got to be some way to get him away from there.”
“Never you mind, my lady,” Tom said quietly. “As soon as I get a bit of food and a night’s sleep, I’ll go back to the manse. Maybe I could convince his lordship to come back to London.”
“Maybe,” Mouse stated thoughtfully. “Just in case, I’ll speak to the Duke again. For now, you just rest. I think it would be safe for you to stay here the night, though the accommodations aren’t the best. I can have a cot brought in and some blankets.”
“Thank you, you’re my lady. Don’t worry, I’ll get the earl back here safe and sound.”
Mouse nodded absently. Before she could make her exit, she heard the sound of an approaching carriage. Peering out the door, she watched her brother-in-law step down from the cab. With a nod from him, the driver turned the carriage away and back out onto the street. Within moments the Duke entered the house. Mouse said a brief good-bye and set off after him.
~ * ~
She found the Duke in his suite of offices. The hard, polished wood gave the room a warm ambiance. A heady, lemon oil scent greeted her, mixed with the ever-present male tang of tobacco. Mouse breathed it in deeply. The atmosphere in the room very much reminded her of her scholarly father and the many nights she’d sat beside him before a stack of papers he’d been composing to send to his many colleagues.
The Duke did not stir as she approached him. He was seated at a mahogany desk; his concentration set on a stack of journals.
“Excuse me, Arthur,” Mouse began tentatively. It was true in the weeks that had passed she had gained a new respect for her sister’s husband. In fact, she was surprised at a growing fondness for him.
“Yes, dear one?” Arthur looked up from his books.
“I was wondering if you’d gotten any news of Michael?” Mouse couldn’t help but ask the question once again, as she had every day for the last two weeks.
A tinge of sadness danced upon his face. “Well, there’s been no news from Rosecliff, but…” Arthur hesitated, “I have gotten word of a different sort.”
Mouse stepped back, abruptly setting herself on the edge of the sofa. Gleaning his expression, she knew instantly that it could not have been good news. Arthur looked away from her, his gaze seeking out any one of the polished, framed paintings that adorned the study.
“What have you heard?” Mouse managed to say, her voice trembling nearly as much as her knees at that moment.
Taking in a deep breath, the Duke rose from his desk and walked to stand in front of her. Kneeling, he took both of her hands from her lap, enclosing them in his firm, protective grasp.
Despite Arthur’s kind manner, Mouse couldn’t quell the dread that rose in her. She felt a thick fog of despair wrapping itself around her, coiling like one of those python snakes she’d once read about.
“Before I share this information with you, Miranda, you must promise me two things. First, you must not tell anyone of our exchange. To do so would be the height of disaster. And, second, you must not make any judgment until we are completely certain that what I’m about to tell you has been proven as fact.”
With a curt nod, Mouse agreed. It didn’t matter. She could not have spoken otherwise, even if she’d managed to find her voice amidst the turmoil of her emotions.
Arthur slightly tightened his grip on her hands. “There have been many rumors rolling through the halls of Parliament, as there always are. Some, are founded in truth, others are more insidious. Lies, plain and simple, spread in order to defame otherwise honest and innocent men. Like any human institution, our government is not without its faults, weaknesses, and excesses. However, I have heard, on relatively reliable grounds, about a situation that has been brewing in the area of the northern coast. It’s been going on for some time, and frankly, I never gave it much credence. If we were to take seriously every threat of treachery that crosses the threshold, we’d spend all of our time chasing down rumors and none doing the important work of government.”
“These rumors are about Michael?” Mouse prompted, her impatience growing by the second.
“Not in the beginning, they weren’t. When your husband left for Spain, he was considered to be among the bravest, most valued men in service. In fact, most of his superiors considered the serious young man to be quite an asset to an already beleaguered fighting force.”
“Michael is a worthy man, Arthur. He’s just been mistreated.”
“I want very much to believe that, Miranda. However, shortly after he left for war, it was suspected that his father might have been using his estate’s coastal ************************************************************ **** to aide the French.”
“How?” Mouse asked, leaning forward until her face was a scant few inches from Arthur’s.
“There were different stories. Some stated that he’d harbored spies in the caves that line the coast. Still others allude to him financing the smuggling ships that carried goods across English blockades.”
Mouse shook her head. “But why should he do such a thing?”
“The only true reason for such abominable activities I can summon, is that of greed, pure and simple. The former Earl of Winningham was a man of considerably high taste and low pockets. He’d wasted a great deal of his family inheritance on shaky business dealings and gaming. In my own experience I barely knew the man. He was among the ton and that was a time in my youth that I was more concerned with my own status in business and family than that of my peers. However, I believe that I’d heard him often referred to as extravagant and frivolous. In fact, as I remember it, it was quite the surprise when he landed a marriage to the Canton heiress. A great riot, it was, her being of such a good family and all.”
“Michael’s mother,” Mouse muttered sadly.
“Another distressing situation,” the Duke agreed.
“Arthur, what has all this to do with Michael?”
“With the earl’s death and Michael’s ascension to the title, the rumors died down a bit. It was hoped by most of us that Michael would not succumb to his paternal lineage of suspicion and deceit and take more from his mother’s gentle upbringing.”
“Michael is very much like his mother, as I understand.”
“Except for his deplorable choice of guardians, I’d agree. I did a bit of investigation and I’ve uncovered some most disturbing news. Ambray Kelton was known quite well on the gambling circuit but not for his skill at Faro. It was said that many nights he’d robbed the innocent of their winnings by cheating. While he was called on it a few times, there had been no proof. Some even eluded that he’d gained an accomplice. A woman by the name of Haversham. She’d work on distracting unsuspecting gamers, while young Kelton would sweep the winnings clean.”
“Haversham? Elsbeth!”
“I suspect it was your late stepmother. There is a particularly disturbing story about the two of them luring Lord Dandridge’s son, Henry, from one of the gaming houses. That boy has been missing for
five years. Of course, there is no proof of duplicity. Never was a body found, and young Kelton joined the army after that and became a decorated hero, as I understand it.”
“But what has all this to do with Michael? Was he involved in Ambray’s dealings as well?”
“Not that we’re aware of. No, Michael remained at Rosecliff during most of that time, managing his father’s estates.” He hesitated. “But, after the fourth earl died, young Michael was expected to run the family affairs. As you well know, he was injured and himself under suspicion of foul play when he’d been captured in Spain.”
“It was a horrible time for Michael. If you heard him speak of it, you would know it was true.”
“I do not doubt it. Many of our brave men have suffered greatly. Since Michael’s return to Rosecliff the tongues have been wagging. There is suspicion that the French are trying to finance another war effort. And Michael, because of the ************************************************************ **** of his family estate, as well as his association with Ambray, has become suspect.”
“Michael is innocent, he’s been too sick to take part in such intrigues. Surely anyone who’s seen him these past months could attest to that.”
“I would believe so, Miranda. But given the ill climate that surrounded his father, the gray cast that was set upon him in Spain, then his first wife’s death—”
“Most would assume him guilty as charged,” Mouse finished. “They cannot hold his father’s nor his cousin’s duplicity against him.”
“While I personally believe each man should be granted his own honor until proven otherwise, most of society does not. Unfortunately for your husband, often times the sins of the fathers are rested upon the sons.”
“So, that’s it, then? Michael is to be judged guilty. What will happen to him?”
“First, there will be an inquiry. I was told that papers are being drawn up in the next few days. Some are even alluding to an arrest, though that is jumping the fence a bit. I have heard that the Crown is about to put a freeze on Winningham’s accounts, though there is nothing solid as yet. It wouldn’t surprise me if that happened sooner
rather than later. The Prince Regent has been known to dip into other men’s pockets under the guise of the law.”
“I see. Well, Michael never cared much for money. It’s his state of mind that worries me the most. He’s so solitary, except for Ambray, that is. He has no friends who could even speak to his character!”
“There is more, Miranda,” the Duke stated somberly, “Someone within the government is supporting the French activities as well. There are those that think Michael has a supporter in the House, or perhaps even in the army. It is not known, but if an association is uncovered, then it will be a scandal of massive proportion. Even now, with very little evidence of malfeasance, some are clamoring for justice.”
Mouse clutched her chest. “If Michael is found guilty of treason, they’ll hang him!”
“Dear one, do not fret just yet. As I have said, I shall myself finance an investigation and council for Winningham. I’ll not allow your husband to be carted off so easily.”
“Thank you, Arthur. I don’t know how to repay your generosity.”
“There is nothing to repay, sweet Miranda. I assure you, the two of you are Kitty’s family, and mine as well.”
~ * ~
Michael lay in a haze of pain. He knew when the morning came and when the sun descended but little else. Food and drink were brought to him sparingly, though he’d not the stomach for much of it. Other times, he was visited by Ambray, who maintained a silent vigil, just coming to stand in the darkness and glower over Michael’s condition.
No longer under the guise of his cousin’s concern, he was now being confined in one of the many cellars which sat quietly beneath Rosecliff. Michael didn’t mind so much, at least not as much as when he was prisoner in Spain. There were worse things that he could suffer. Though he lay in the corner on a straw mat with a thin blanket as covering, Michael was appreciative of what little light came in from a window that was set up on the far side of the room. The small amount of sunlight reminded him that there was yet another world beyond his wall. A world where Mouse was safe in her family’s
embrace. Where men and women lived and breathed free air and children played in the summer afternoons, oblivious to the tragedy of war and the greed of mankind.
Michael tried to move again, to find some small comfort. But he was held in a straight waistcoat, and his mobility was severely hampered. And the itching, god, the itching! The garment had not been washed in some time, and this, mixed with his own lacking hygiene and the vermin which had decided to share his bedding, added to his general discomfort.
Worse than his state of living quarters, was definitely his state of mind. Michael had been having more spells. Between the nightmares that woke him screaming at night and the memories that flooded him during the day, he was at the height of his misery. Indeed, he found himself wishing that Wexley and Ambray’s patience would soon run its course and they would dispose of him as neatly as they had suggested earlier on. For the moment, that was not to be the case.
That morning when Ambray visited, another man followed behind him. A stranger, of medium height and build, the second man had a tough look about him. His slender frame carried wiry, corded muscles. Though he could have been any member of the working class, he was clothed in a faded white shirt, with black britches and much used leather boots, the man’s appearance wore an expression of sharpness that spoke of a different vocation. A soldier, then, Michael thought. But not the usual manner of foot soldier, to be certain.
“This is his lordship,” Ambray was telling him, “make certain you take special care of him. Lord Wexley has left express orders that he is not to be harmed, though what’s to be said if he doesn’t suffer a few bruises from his own unsteadiness? Just keep him intact.”
“Aye, sir. That I shall. You can trust Timothy O’Malley to treat him like a sweet babe.”
“Whatever it takes, O’Malley. Just keep him alive. I am hoping you’ll do better than Mr. Mauler or Mr. Horn.”
Ambray turned on his heel and left them. With a thoughtful expression, the newcomer knelt down in front of Michael and carefully studied him for a moment.
In an Irish lilt he asked, “What I’m wondering is, what a man does to get himself in such a stramash?”
Michael barely breathed, looking away from his new keeper. He’d not give the man the satisfaction of knowing how frightened Ambray’s words had made him or of the depth of despair that he felt at that moment.
“Well, a talker, aren’t we? No matter. As the O’Malley clan is fond of saying, it only takes one of us to make a fête.”
Michael only kept his eyes away, not daring to answer. Before he could draw another breath, he felt a hand upon his arm. It was not the strike he’d expected, nor was it a comforting touch. It was a firm grasp, one that offered support and something else. Something he’d only felt once before, only in the presence of Mouse. Hope.
“There, Laddie,” O’Malley stated quietly, “don’t be distressed. Whether you know it or not, I come by way of a good ally. And it looks to my bonnie blue eyes, you’re in dire need of a friend.”
With that, O’Malley left the room, but not before he loosened the restraints on Michael’s wrists.
~ * ~
Mouse was beside herself with worry. She’d paced her rooms until she was certain to have worn holes in the Aubisson carpet. Worse yet, she’d not come up with a single answer to her problems. Arthur had tried to offer her words of comfort and support, and she greatly appreciated his efforts. But Michael was in terrible trouble and no amount of kind words and well intentions were going to change that. Just as she was about to retire for the evening, a slight knock came upon her door.
“Excuse me, milady,” announced an elderly man’s voice. Quickly she crossed the room, and answered the call. She opened the door to find the gardener, Raul standing nervously outside her room. She could see that he’d been hard at work in the garden, his elderly form still wearing the scent of flowers, newly cut grass, and the rich soil that he worked in.
“Yes?”
“I am sorry to be disturbing you, Missus,” he stated quietly, “But I was out trimming the bushes, when a young lad came sneaking through the roses.”
“How odd. What did he want?”
“Wouldn’t say much, but instead gave me this.” Raul held out a piece of parchment.
Quickly she took the note from him. Opening it, she read the message inside, the words written there cutting her like a knife.
Lady Winningham,
Your husband is gravely ill, though his caretaker is not the least distressed at the matter. I fear that his health will fail him before the season ends. He has been calling for you, his state of mind dwindling fast. I urge you to make the journey back north, to comfort him in what might prove to be his last hours. I have tried to befriend him the best I could, but my employ with Mr. Kelton is not secure. I am not sure how much longer I can help Lord Winningham. Please come soon, and be careful not to tell your family, for if they were to contact the Earl’s cousin, it would surely prove disastrous to us all.
Sincerely, a friend.
Clutching the note in her hands, Mouse tried to decide her best course of action. Before she could make a move, though, she realized that Raul stood looking at her, his expression questioning the *******s of the letter.
“Not bad news, I trust, my Lady?”
Mouse swallowed her fear a moment. “I’m afraid so, Raul. A friend of my father’s has taken ill and the dear old thing is requesting me to come to her bedside. Such a sweet soul she is. I can hardly refuse her. Would you be so kind as to tell the groom to ready a carriage? I shall be making a trip to the Lakes and I should like to start out first thing in the morning.”
The Mad Earl Pam Labud
210
“Aye, milady. But shouldn’t you wait until the Duke and Duchess return from the country? They should be back by tomorrow eve at the latest?”
Mouse gave her best attempt at a laugh. “There is no need. My sister will surely understand. I’ll just leave them a note and they can come and join me if they wish. Though, I doubt my sister is in condition for another trip so soon after visiting the Darrowby’s.” The couple had left that morning, shortly after Mouse’s talk with the Duke and for once she was glad of their absence. By the time her family could guess at which direction she was truly headed, she’d be halfway to Rosecliff.
“Tell the groom I wish to leave immediately.”
~ * ~
It was just after dusk when Mouse’s modest carriage arrived at the small inn. Dingy and unkempt, the building looking as did most in this part of the country. Plain from chipped paint and rotted wood, it was unlikely that many of the gentry had visited the inn recently. The eaves drooped, heavy with weight of the recent rain and the barrels beneath were full to overflowing leaving small puddles around them. Mouse was hoping that it was dry and warm on the inside, as she gathered her skirts and exited the carriage.
“Here, milady,” Tom called down to her, himself climbing down from the driver’s seat. By his stiff movements Mouse could see that he was still suffering the results of his attack. His right eye remained blackened and he guarded his left arm carefully as he walked up to her.
“Are you sure we should stop here for the night, milady?” He said, giving the well-used inn a suspicious glance.
“Tom, there’s not a place for miles and neither you nor the animals can go on much farther. You’ll collapse if you continue.” Tom looked away for a moment. Mouse could see that he’d drive the carriage to hell and back for her and Michael. She tried not to become irritated with him, but she was a creature of good sense and she knew very well the consequences if they didn’t rest sometime soon.
“Besides, if you should not be able to carry on, what would happen to me? A woman alone on the road, I’d stand a much less chance of making it to Rosecliff without you, Tom.”
The younger man’s features softened. “Aye, your ladyship. I suppose that’s true.”
“Good. Now, go take care of the horses and I’ll see about getting our lodging for the night.”
“Oh, your ladyship, please, I’ll manage in the carriage for the night. You needn’t pay for me a room as well.”
Mouse nodded, noting the practicality of it. “Just another night or two, Tom. Then I promise you we’ll get better lodgings.” She stated quietly.
Entering the small inn, Mouse noted that it was as much poorly managed on the inside as well as the outside. The walls of the common room wore many years of smoke and filth from the constant crowding of people. She also noted the pungent odor of unwashed bodies mixed with sour ale. In one corner sat a large pot of stew bubbling away on the hearth, on the other a set of rickety tables. Though each one was occupied, in the midst of the squalor a finely dressed, older gentleman sat alone. Before Mouse could turn to leave, the stranger beckoned her over to his table.
“Ah, a lady in distress!” He called out congenially. “Please, Miss, come share a table with an old man. It would make my evening pass much more pleasantly than merely being stuck with my own company.”
Mouse felt the blush rise to her cheeks and she nodded. While she was a bit shy of strangers in general, this man seemed harmless enough, and since there were no tables empty, the situation made the decision for her.
Instantly the man motioned for one of the attendants of the small inn. In moments, Mouse sat quietly listening to the older man bramble on about the weather and traveling. She watched the door constantly, waiting for Tom to appear through it at any second.
“I do hope that you will be staying on a bit. I must say, there aren’t many of the gentler nature around for a gentleman to converse with.”
“I am only staying the night, sir. I have a cousin in the north that is disparately ill and I fear the worst.”
“My condolences, Miss. It is so distressing to hear one so young encumbered by such sad circumstance. As it is, I am headed north myself. I am retired military and I’ve decided to spend my reclining years visiting my family’s country home. That and business dealings there conspire to keep me on these muddy roads.”
He winked conspiratorially and tipped his glass. “My name is Wexley, General Benton Wexley.”
“Miranda Ellerton,” Mouse nodded watching the innkeeper pour her a glass of wine. “I wish you a good journey, sir. I thank you for the conversation and the wine. But I must go check on my driver. It’s been a long journey and I’m sure he’s ready to turn in. I need to give him some instructions with my conveyance. Tom is a good man, you know, very protective of me.”
When Mouse moved to stand, Wexley reached out to her. “Have you booked a room for the night?”
Pausing, Mouse felt a catch in her chest. “I have not as yet. I need to speak with the proprietor to discuss finances. I left in such haste there wasn’t time to make the arrangements. I’m rather riding by the seat of my pantalets, you know.”
“I have it on good word that there aren’t many rooms here in decent repair and those that are, have already been rented. If you would allow me, I have a room at the back and you may rest there for the night. I find I’ve not much need for sleep these days. A malady of the elderly, I’m afraid. A delicate lady as yourself may take a chill if you persist against the elements.”
Mouse sat back, sending a worried glance to the door. “I appreciate your kindness, sir, but I don’t wish to intrude upon your good nature.”
“Ah, there’s nothing to intrude upon. My valet, Mr. Stones, feels that he must see to my every comfort, but an old war horse such as I prefers sleeping in less comfortable lodgings. To be sure, the only soft bed I require is the casket and I’m not yet ready for that.” He finished with a laugh.
“If you’re sure,” Mouse began. The truth was she was exhausted and the wine and the journey had conspired against her.
“Absolutely,” he managed with a smile. “And, do not worry about your man. I shall have Stones go after him. The two can share the stable room I’ve rented. You see, it all works for the best.”
Mouse reluctantly agreed. Within the hour she’d retired to her host’s room. Though small and well used, the tiny compartment had been cleaned and fresh linens had been placed out for her. With a sigh, she walked to the window and peered out into the night. Ten minutes before, Tom came to inform her that the carriage and horses had been settled for the night. In fact, he’d eaten himself and secured a place to sleep. With Mouse’s last responsibilities dispensed, she settled herself into the lumpy bed. Exhaustion swept over her and in a few moments, she was drifting off to sleep. At the edge of her senses, she could hear the distant sound of voices whispering. A part of her mind insisted upon new fears, that something might be terribly wrong, a niggling sense that she might be in danger. Mouse decided that it must be her own exhaustion affecting her judgments. Of course, she had never been one to beg off easily.
A new thought occurred to her. Perhaps she had cause to be concerned. After all, how fortunate was it that she should find a benefactor in so remote a place when she was in most need? Indeed, what if it was some evil plan, which somehow led back to Michael? Could she be placing herself in danger?
Mouse wanted very much to consider her new suspicions but a fog had drifted into her mind. Thinking it must be the wine, she tried to relax her thoughts and allow herself to tumble into sleep. But that small voice asked her once again, what if they’d drugged her wine? Before she could think more along the line of that idea, she heard a noise. Someone had indeed entered her room.
“Miss Ellerton! You must come quickly. Your groom has taken ill!”
An old woman’s voice shook her. Mouse roused quickly and in moments had her dressing gown wrapped around her. Stumbling across the now empty dining hall, she made her way to the door and running out to the stable yard. Inside the barn they heard the noise of
a sick man retching while other guests milled about commenting on his condition.
“Ne’re seen a body spout so much,” one of the boys noted. Pushing past the crowd, Mouse saw Tom, lying on a straw bed, curled on his side and breathing heavily.
“Tom! What’s wrong?” She asked, kneeling down beside him. “What happened?”
Before her friend could answer, another pushed through the gathering. “Here, Mr. Stone, see to the young man,” Wexley ordered. “It looks as if he’s taken the ague. That or been poisoned.”
Mouse looked up at him, “Who would do such a thing? We have no enemies here.”
“Oh, to be sure, Miss.” Wexley patted her back gently. “But a young woman traveling alone. Could be someone meant to rob you, or worse. I doubt we’ll find the culprit tonight. Let us take him into a room upstairs. I have sent Mr. Stone for a physician. We shall see to him.”
In the next few moments, Tom was carried inside to a small attic room. Mouse stayed by his side, offering him sips of water and bits of bread. After a time he settled and she left to return to her room. In the hall she met the General.
“How fares the boy, Miss?” He asked, his expression one of concern.
“He’s resting better, though I’m not sure as to what caused his malady. He tells me that he only ate a bit of stew.”
The general cleared his throat, “I couldn’t help but notice that he sports a few bruises. Could the young man have made an unfortunate acquaintance?”
Mouse shook her head. “He’d been attacked in London a few weeks ago. Terrible thing. Someone stole his horse and a sum of money, leaving him for dead. Fortunately, Tom found his way home. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” As much as she’d hated lying, Mouse couldn’t tell him the true details of their journey.
“Has he seen anyone he might have recognized from the attack?”
“No. Not that he’s mentioned.”
“Well, perhaps it is nothing but a bit of bad beef causing his problem. I didn’t eat any of the stew myself. I tend to get peptic. Not to worry, Miss. I shall have a word with the Innkeeper just in case, to see if anyone else has fallen ill.”
Mouse nodded her thanks. “I really do appreciate all of your help. I swear I don’t know what I shall do if Tom doesn’t get better soon. I am so worried about my friend.”
“Then think on it no more, Miss. I shall take you!”
“But, sir, I wouldn’t dare to impose on you. You surely have your own plans to complete. And, uh, my friend’s home is rather remote.”
“Nonsense! I would like nothing more than to accompany you. My own plans are nothing so important that they cannot be changed. In fact, I welcome the diversion.”
For a moment Mouse struggled with the decision to accept the man’s help once again.
“Well, if it wouldn’t be any trouble,” she began.
“Absolutely none. Though, not quite as pleasant as your rig, my carriage has kept an old man at ease for many miles.”
“I’m sure it will be fine, sir. When were you planning to leave?”
“I prefer to travel at night. So, you have the day to get rested and ********************************************************ed. That should give us time to see if your young friend is too seriously ill.”
“Thank you, General. I owe you a great deal for you kindness.”
“You are very welcome, my dear.”
Mouse returned to her own room, meaning only to rest a short while. But, when her head settled on the pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep. Her worry for Michael, and now Tom as well, weighed heavy on her mind, but there was nothing to be done for the moment. The chill of the night settled over her, but it came from within as well. How could she possibly care for both men?
~ * ~
A loud creaking sound shattered the night. Michael lay in darkness on the dirt floor of his prison. At times he was certain that he was merely having a nightmare. Others that he was back in Spain. If he tried hard enough he could scent the lingering smell of the grave, of a battlefield left too long unattended.
“Time to wake up, Lord Winningham,” a man’s voice roused him.
Michael opened one eye. It was the new attendant Ambray had hired, Timothy O’Malley. Not quite as tall as himself, but his length was sinewy, his frame beset with a sturdy build. Though he’d rather be left alone, Michael was relieved that it was the attendant and not his cousin. Less and less he’d seen of Ambray and for the time, it suited him well.
“Go away,” Michael muttered, though the effort to oppose his caretakers had long since died out of him.
“Nonsense, Lord Winningham. There is much to be done and you must be rid of these blue devils. I hear you have a brave lady awaiting your return. Now, be a good sort and eat for me.”
Michael came to with a start. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he gave his new keeper a wary look. “What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about your getting well enough to get back to your wife. A pretty thing, she is.” Kneeling down, O’Malley stated. He held out a small jug of water and a covered dish.
Cautiously, Michael took both from him. He’d no appetite for days and now his stomach twisted at the thought of food. It was the laudanum they’d been giving him. Half the time, he’d barely managed to keep that down.
“What do you know of my wife?”
“Only that she’s worried about you. You should have asked for help, my Lord. To take this whole business on alone is clearly foolish.”
“There is no one I could turn to. I already stand condemned by the military. I am either insane or a traitor in their eyes. Who would listen to the ramblings of the poor mad earl?” He asked, taking a small sip from the water bottle.
“There are those that have been listening for a bit. But who, I’m not able to say, just yet. The truth of it is you, sir, are at the heart of a very large intrigue. Others might be involved who stand to gain much by your complicity. There are those who stand to lose much as well.”
“And, all of it hinges on me? I find that harder to swallow than the boiled lamb. It seems as if you’ve been indulging in one of those late night stories that are so popular these days.”
“On the contrary, sir, I am nothing but a public servant.”
“Who just happens to be employed by my cousin?”
“For the time being. My situation is not of import here, sir. Yours is.”
“Are you a soldier?”
O’Malley smiled, “Of a sort, but not the kind that you were. I have a different vocation.”
“I see. If I am to be convinced that you are here to help me, then you must give me some bit of proof that I can trust you.”
“Unfortunately, I have none, save my word. I will not allow you to be beaten or starved. Beyond that, I can promise nothing.” O’Malley turned to leave. “Oh, and one other thing, I have not yet decided whether or not you stand guilty of any crimes as yet. Count it fortunate that you’ll not have to prove your innocence to me. Your actions from now on may save you. My advice is simple. You must behave yourself. Cooperate with your cousin, do what you must to stay alive until this scandal is exposed. If for no other reason, than for your wife. She’ll need you close by when this is all through.”
O’Malley nodded as he left the room. Michael had a dozen questions. At the bottom of them all was his wanting to know how Mouse fared. He’d remembered Ambray’s and Wexley’s threats. Those were questions he didn’t dare ask. He wanted very much for his captors to forget that his wife was so vulnerable. Knowing that he could deny them nothing if they threatened Mouse, Michael would truly betray his country then.
When Michael closed his eyes, he could only think of his wife. It would have been better, he knew, if he’d managed to close his heart to Mouse. So long he’d been without a kind word or a caring embrace, it was like a gentle breeze when she caressed him. Even now, with weeks since their separation his skin still tingled where she’d last touched him, her hands upon his face. He also remembered clearly the pain and question in her eyes. He’d hurt her badly this time and the crush of it would weigh upon him for eternity.
It was in those quiet moments, being visited by the thoughts of his wife, when Michael prayed. If ever he should find a way out of this hodgepodge, he asked that he be given one more chance with Mouse.
He didn’t care the consequences. But, as he spoke the litany of his loves, he knew also that a fate that had never been kind to him, would surely not give in to him now.
~ * ~
The past few days of travel left Mouse entirely exhausted. Add to the fact that her sleep had been uneven, she missed Tom’s quiet companionship and she was sick with worry about her husband, her misery was nearly complete. The General had been exceedingly nice to her. She could fault him for nothing as the day carried them closer to Rosecliff. But it was extremely difficult to be one’s polite-self every moment of the day. After a few days of being bounced upon the roadway, Mouse was at the end of her tattered nerves.
Also plaguing her was her lie. How was she to explain to Wexley about that? Of course, she’d not been planning to visit a friend. Without Tom to help her cover her deceit, she knew it would be difficult at best. At worst, she would look like a foolish female, which in its own way was not entirely a bad thing. It was just that Mouse hated appearing muddleheaded.
What made the trip even more unbearable was the constant fear for Michael. She was certain that her husband was being abused. His life was in danger and she was powerless to help him.
Neither did the weather help them. It was nearing the end of winter and the cold and dampness were vying for control over the elements. Mouse was certain that everything was conspiring against her in her flight to rescue Michael.
“Not too much farther, I hope,” the General smiled at her. Mouse returned the gesture, though it pained her greatly.
“No. Less than a day.” Mouse hedged. She knew she must breach the subject of Rosecliff, and had spent long hours deciding on how best to cover her story.
“Actually,” she began, “I need to be brought a bit farther than Darrowby.”
“Where does your friend reside?” He asked, his face never wavering. “I assure you, it will be no hindrance on our trip. I have so enjoyed having a companion, I am thinking of staying on, just so that you and I may make the return trip.”
Mouse’s breath left her. The horror of such an occurrence struck her squarely. For a moment no words came to her mouth. More lies! She knew she’d best come up with something quickly or the situation could become far worse.
“That is most generous of you, sir,” she stammered a moment more. “But, I, that is, my friend, Hattie is in the employ of the Earl of Winningham and I am most certain that they will see to my needs.”
“The earl? What a coincidence! I’d forgotten that his country estate was so near.”
Mouse swallowed, her mouth dry, making her speech even more difficult. “You know the earl?”
“Oh yes, poor boy. Served under me in Spain, both he and his cousin. Such a tragedy. Now, with his house staff ill, it is beyond the pale to think of what his family must be suffering.”
“Oh,” Mouse stated quietly, “yes, very much.” She looked out the ************************************************************ **** Already the craggy landscape of the coast began to overtake the road. Her heart fluttering in her chest, she knew that her story would not hold water and she would be caught in her duplicity the moment they rolled upon the estate lands.
~ * ~
Michael slept most of the day. The temperature of his cell had dropped. At least he was protected from the wind, but that was a small concession. Huddled against the cold, with no blanket, nor hearth to keep him warm, he had taken his refuge in slumber when he could. The mixture of sleep and cold had numbed him considerably, so it wasn’t until the noise outside his cell became so loud that it roused him.
The crashing sound was that of someone struggling, and the timber of voices shouting.
“You bastards.” came a familiar voice. “What have you done with her?”
No answer came, save the opening of the door. In the moments that followed, a body was thrust into the small enclosure. Falling to the floor instantly, it was clear his new companion had been treated badly. Clothes torn and reeking of days without proper hygiene, the
other man stumbled backwards to land in front of Michael, limbs askew. He looked much like a discarded rag doll.
“Tom?” The earl asked cautiously.
The other man spun around, searching the darkness for his new cellmate. Michael was shocked by the bruised appearance of the youth. In truth, the other man’s face was a mixture of old wounds and new. Purple skin covering old scars so that it was clear he’d been treated badly for some time.
“My lord? Is that really you?”
“I’m afraid so, Tom. I am so sorry that you’ve been dragged into all this.”
Tom shook his head stubbornly. “Oh no, my Lord. It is I who am sorry that things have turned out so badly.”
“At least you’re alive. After London, I feared the worst.”
Tom looked away for a moment. “To be honest, sir, I believe the worst has yet to visit upon us.”
A chill colder than the ocean wind in winter cut through Michael. Somehow he knew the news was not to be good. His nightmare had become real once again.
“Tom, where is my wife? Is she here as well?”
“Not yet, but soon, I fear.”
Michael sank back, his eyes closed. “Tell me, Tom. Please, tell me all.”
~ * ~
Mouse was both relieved and fearful as the sight of Michael’s estate rose in the distance. She knew that she’d no longer be able to hide the truth from her benefactor. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, and plunged into the matter. To her credit, Mouse had never been good at lying and when she’d decided to be honest with the General, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest.
Mouse quickly assessed her traveling partner. Though it was but early evening, the older man slumbered peacefully beside her. She was hesitant, not wanting to wake him, but knowing that in the next few moments it was inevitable. When the carriage stopped, he would surely arouse.
“General,” she began, speaking softly at first. “My pardon, sir, but we are nearly there.”
Wexley’s eyes fluttered open and he loosed a yawn. “Really, my dear? Please forgive my poor manners. At my age, the movement of the carriage has the effect of rocking in a cradle. I have always slept better during travel.”
“I do regret having to wake you, sir.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. Plenty of time for sleep later, if you get my meaning,” he winked at her.
Mouse nodded. “General, I am most ashamed of my actions of late and I must make some things clear to you before we reach the estates. I am afraid I have not been honest with you.”
“You’ve no need to feel such discomfort. In truth, I suspected that there might be more to your story that you were willing to disclose.”
“You have?” Mouse’s heart was beating in double time now.
“Of course! A young woman, traveling virtually alone, traversing the most dangerous roads in the country.”
“Oh. And yet, you’ve said nothing to me?”
“Of course, not. There was no need.”
Mouse nodded. “Then, I suppose I must tell you the truth of my situation—”
The older man shook his head. “I already know all that is important about you, Lady Winningham.”
16-02-07, 07:00 PM
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