A Rose Before Dying (24 page)

Her eyes flicked toward the house, again. The
corners of her mouth drooped. “If I can. I’d be happy to take your
message, but…”

“Surely he wouldn’t refuse to allow you to
return to Rye to care for your cousin?”

“I—well, truly, I don’t know. He doesn’t like
to be thwarted.”

He remembered the bruise on her cheek. “Then
don’t ask. I’ll inform Agnes that she must pack your things and
bring them to Second Sons. I’ll send you to Rye in Gaunt’s
carriage. There’s no need to risk yourself.”

“Agnes would never agree. At least, not if
Mr. Phillips disapproved. They all…” She sighed. “It’s
understandable, I suppose. They’re worried about the lack of a male
head of the household. Not that they don’t support me, but they
feel—rightly or wrongly—that I’m too young to run Rosewell and my
father’s business. And in truth, things have not gone well.
Business has fallen off. Perhaps I spend too much time in the
greenhouse…”

“Their opinions are of no concern.”

“So speaks an earl.” She smiled, taking the
sting out of her words. “Nonetheless, I can’t trust them to help me
escape. They know it’s not the proper behavior for a young lady.”
One of her familiar, nervous giggles escaped her.

The sound twisted into his heart. He could
feel the pain hiding between the notes of her laugh over her
inability to rely on anyone—including her personal maid. She was
alone and vulnerable to the bully striding through Rosewell, puffed
up with his insufferable pride of ownership.

“Wait here.” He strode toward the
entrance.

“Where are you going?”

He paused on the steps and flung a grin over
his shoulder. “The less you know about my intentions, the better.
Just wait here.”

Moving as rapidly as possible, he walked back
to the house. The cook and maids were still at work. They barely
noticed him as he strode toward the stairs Ariadne had used
earlier. As long as he appeared sure and confident, there was
little likelihood anyone would stop him with questions.

It wasn’t until he got to the second floor
that he realized he’d forgotten to ask Ariadne which room was hers.
Luck was on his side, however. A door mid-way down the hallway
opened, and Agnes stepped out with several dresses hanging over her
arm. One of the dresses was a muslin with green and pink print
flowers. He recognized it as the dress Ariadne had worn in Rye.

He backed into the open doorway of a deserted
bedroom as Agnes walked toward the servants’ stair. She walked
within three feet of him without glancing around. He held his
breath and waited until her footsteps faded away before edging out
into the hallway. There were no further sounds of movement,
although he could hear distant voices echoing up the narrow
stairwell.

He eased down the corridor and entered the
room he supposed was Ariadne’s. A quick reconnaissance revealed a
large, mahogany wardrobe that was carved into the shape of a Gothic
cathedral. A heavy mahogany bed, chest of drawers, bedside table,
and two chairs completed the furnishings. Thankfully, the pale rose
curtains and silk coverlet relieved the overall gloom cast by the
dark furniture.

Knowing his time was limited, he abandoned
all thoughts of luggage and grabbed one of the pillows. He removed
the cover and thrust the pillow back under the covers, hoping the
absence of the pillowcase would not be noticed. He flung open the
wardrobe and stuffed several light dresses into the pillowcase.

Turning around, he cursed his lack of
experience with women’s accoutrements. He had no idea what items
she might want. After a quick glance at the door, he went to the
dresser and pulled open the drawers, randomly grabbing up assorted
items. Stockings, ribbons, odd scraps of lace and gloves all went
into his makeshift bag. A silver comb, small box of powder, a
mirror, and a brush rested on top of the dresser. Without
hesitation, he cast those into the bag as well.

That was it.

He couldn’t afford to tarry any longer for
fear Agnes would return. Taking the two corners of the opening, he
tied them together, knotting it so nothing could fall out. Then he
went to the window. It overlooked the street.

He studied the ground below. A black,
wrought-iron fence separated a tiny strip of grass from the walkway
and street. The rooms below him had windows lined up beneath his.
Anyone who happened to look out would see anything falling from a
floor above. But between the tier of windows and the front door was
a wide expanse of red bricks.

Gently swinging the bag, he cast it to the
left. It fell in a slight arc along the front of the house. Several
passersby glanced up at him curiously. He waved and smiled. After
all, it was the middle of the day. He didn’t look like a thief. Or
at least he hoped not.

When he left the room, he heard the clacking
of shoes coming up the servants’ stair—his best path for escape.
Taking the risk of running into Mr. Phillips, he walked calmly to
the central staircase and descended. With each step he imagined
Phillips coming out to demand an explanation.

No one appeared until he set foot on the
marble floor of the foyer.

“Lord Castlemoor!” The butler noticed him
with surprise. “I hadn’t realized you were still here.”

“I just left Mr. Phillips. And I intended to
give my regards to Miss Wellfleet, but I can’t locate her.”

“Oh, dear. She wasn’t in the sitting room
with Mr. Phillips, my lord?”

He shook his head. “He thought she’d gone out
to the garden. Something about a garden house?”

The butler brightened. “Of course!” He bowed.
“If you’ll follow me, please?”

The stuffed pillowcase lay a few feet from
the front door. Anyone could find it, but it would be too
conspicuous to collect it, now.

“Thank you.” He meekly followed Mr. Abbott
through the greenhouse and out the rear door into the garden.

Ariadne was still waiting in the garden house
and after her initial surprise at seeing Mr. Abbott, she recovered
beautifully. Mindful of the proprieties, she insisted they all
return to the house so she wouldn’t be left alone with Charles.

While he admired her skill in maintaining the
social niceties, her actions made it difficult to rescue her from
the butler’s clutches. If they entered the house and met with
Phillips, a confrontation was inevitable. Particularly once Agnes
realized how many items were missing from Ariadne’s chamber. There
was no doubt she’d be eager to report that to Phillips.

When they reached the greenhouse door,
Ariadne touched her cheek as if in aggravation. “Oh, dear. I left a
box with some samples of new roses on the table in the gazebo. Do
go and fetch it for me, Mr. Abbott.”

The butler hesitated. Finally, he shook his
head and wandered back down the path.

“Quick!” She took his hand. “I’ll never get
another chance.” She pulled him past a boxwood topiary to a narrow
path that ran alongside the greenhouse.

“I’ve left your things next to the front
door.”

“The front door? Good heavens, anyone might
find them!”

He took the lead, dragging her faster. “Then
we’d better hurry.”

“Whatever possessed you to leave my bandbox
there?”

“It isn’t a bandbox. I didn’t know where you
kept the infernal thing.” They made it to the front corner of the
house. Charles halted and held his arm out to prevent her from
dashing past him. “Don’t hurry. Just walk normally.”

“But quickly.” She sounded breathless.

“Are you ready?”

When she touched him, her hands were freezing
despite the warm weather, but she nodded gamely enough.

He drew her hand through the crook of his arm
and pulled her out to the walkway curving around to the front door.
When they neared the door, he sprinted forward, grabbed the bag and
tucked it under his arm.

“What have you done?” she whispered before
stepping in front of him and resting a hand on the gate.

“Ungrateful wretch!” He grinned. “Everything
I could find is in that bag.”

“We’ll look ridiculous walking through London
with a pillowcase under your arm.” She glanced down the street and
flushed when she caught the curious gaze of a matron strolling with
two gangly girls in tow.

“Would you prefer I leave it?”

“No—no.” She swung open the gate and slipped
through.

The door behind them creaked.

Without glancing back, he pushed her through
the wrought iron gate. He took her hand and hurried her across the
street, narrowly missing a large coach-and-four thundering past.
When she paused, he pulled her faster until he spotted a narrow
alley. They slipped into the shadows. No one yelled in outrage, no
feet pounded in pursuit. The clanging, clattering sounds from the
busy avenue continued in the same tenor.

He could only hope the vehicle had hidden
them from the view of whoever opened the front door.

Despite Mr. Carroll’s vociferous complaints
about such a sudden return to Rye, Charles finally convinced him to
drive Ariadne in the Second Sons coach and it only cost him two
shillings in bribes. As he was handing her up the narrow steps into
the carriage, Charles realized someone was missing, mostly because
there was no Agnes staring at him with a disapproving frown.

His hand tightened on Ariadne’s. “We’ve
forgotten a maid!”

“Indeed. That’s what happens when you take
the cowardly course of running away, the proprieties must take care
of themselves.”

“Do you regret it?” His eyes searched her
face, but she appeared calm and oddly happy.

“As it’s been less than fifteen minutes since
I made that decision, I’ve hardly had time.” When he frowned, she
laughed. “I doubt even a week of serious concentration would change
my mind.”

“Nonetheless, you can’t travel with your
belongings in a pillowcase and no maid.”

“I’m sure Miss Bewforest will be more than
happy to assist me. Don’t worry so.” She touched his cheek lightly,
her hazel eyes warm and golden in the afternoon sun. “I’ll be fine.
More than fine once we find Rose.”

He smiled as a hush settled around them. She
was so close, so lovely, glowing in the shaft of light streaming
through the carriage house door.

His voice was hoarse, and he stumbled over
his words, suddenly awkward. “I didn’t want to rush you.”

“You didn’t…” Her words trailed off as her
cheeks grew rose-red. “I just—I wish, well, just be careful. And
find Rose. Please. She was so upset, and I promised her I’d come
back. We may be too late already.”

“I will.” He folded the steps before closing
the carriage door. A last minute thought made him lean through the
window. “Mr. Tunnes—do you know where I might find him? Surely,
he’s gone for the summer if he’s an actor.”

“I don’t know. But I remember we made a
delivery once to him near Rochester. Try him there. If you can find
him, you can find Rose!”

“I’ll find them both. Never fear.” The slap
of the reins made Charles step back.

Mr. Carroll nodded and pulled his forelock as
he guided the carriage into the street. At the last minute, Ariadne
stuck her head out of the window and waved at him, her lovely face
flushed with warmth.

He waved back, hoping she wouldn’t regret her
hasty decision. He should have warned her that she was likely to
lose Rosewell, depending upon the terms of the contract. And she’d
just started a batch of new seedlings. Could she truly face the
loss of her home and work with equanimity?

“Sending Miss Wellfleet back to Rye, my
lord?” Mr. Gaunt leaned his tall, black-clad frame against the
carriage house door.

“Her cousin needed her.”

“Understandable. Have you any further
information about Miss Baxter’s Borgia-like female who seems bent
on murdering the better part of London?”

“In point of fact, I do. There’s an actor who
specializes in the portrayal of women. And he may have a desire to
see my uncle suffer.”

“How extraordinary! And this fellow, in
addition to his theatrical skills, is an expert marksman, my
lord?”

The muscles in Charles’s jaw tightened but he
answered evenly, “Well enough to murder Lady Banks, I’ve no
doubt.”

Gaunt’s neutral expression gave nothing away.
“Or so it seems.”

“Are you still convinced of my uncle’s guilt?
It’s absurd. Aren’t you friends?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I must remain
impartial, despite our friendship. I can’t investigate otherwise,
and I’ve known of other such sad situations,” he replied, obliquely
referring to his own haunted past.

Charles nodded. He’d heard the rumors about
Gaunt. The inquiry agent was no stranger to false accusations. He’d
almost hung for the murder of his own father. Fortunately, he was
able to prove his impatient stepmother had tired of waiting for her
older husband to pass away and had lent fate a hand in speeding up
the process.

“Then you’ll no doubt appreciate my uncle’s
feeling in the matter,” Charles replied softly. “Despite
appearances, he’s innocent.”

“No doubt. We only lack proof.”

“Well, here’s some. We’ve received another
rose and a child is missing from Rosewell. My uncle was
incapacitated and confined to his cottage in Rye. He’s clearly
innocent.”

Mr. Gaunt studied him with a bent smile.
“Then we must proceed with all haste into an inquiry concerning Mr.
Tunnes’s activities and inform the coroner.”

“Do what you can, here. I’m on my way to his
home. Keep me informed.” Charles dismissed him with a flap of his
hand.

Mindful of the urgent need to find Rose, he
requested a horse, running through his options. If Tunnes had
kidnapped her, then Charles could save time if he located the
red-haired actor, first. Tunnes could be forced to reveal where
he’d hidden Rose. If he lived in Rochester, it was only a sight
detour on the way to Bredhurst.