Andrea Kane (9 page)

Slowly, she inched toward the door.

Harwick whirled about, shaking his fist in Daphne’s direction. “He’s insisting on a meeting now. Today. At Tragmore.”

Daphne’s terrified gaze was riveted to her father’s tightly clenched fist. Frantically, she sought the words to appease him. “Today? But surely if you told him about last night’s theft—”

“It would change nothing. That gutter rat cares for nothing but his own pocket.”

The irony of her father’s scathing description struck Daphne even through her fear. Greed was something Harwick knew much about, and usually admired. Evidently not in this case. “Who are you speaking of, Father? Who is this dreadful man?”

“That bloody Pierce Thornton, that’s who.”

“Pierce Thornton?” Daphne blinked in amazement. “The gentleman I met at Newmarket?”

“He’s no gentleman, daughter. He’s a parasite, a predatory bloodsucker who drains men of their dignity and their money.”

“But I thought you were business associates?”

“I don’t willingly associate with worthless, nameless gamblers.”

“I don’t understand.” Daphne’s head was reeling.

“Nor do you need to,” the marquis roared, advancing toward her. “Why are you wandering about the manor? Your mother said you were out walking.”

All the color drained from Daphne’s face and, inadvertently, she backed away. “I am—I mean, I’m about to. I’m leaving now.”

“Then go!”

“Yes, Father. Forgive me for disturbing you.” Spinning about, she bolted out the door and through the woods.

She didn’t stop until the manor was swallowed up by the towering oaks that surrounded it. Then, she slowed, dragging air into her lungs, trying to still her trembling.

Lord, how she loathed this feeling of helplessness. Perhaps if she were more like her mother, accepting, malleable, her plight would be bearable.

The fact was, Daphne was neither accepting nor malleable. She tolerated her incessant, oppressive fear because her choices were nil. But somewhere inside her a voice cried out that living conditions such as hers were unjust, cruel, unfair. That the same crushing tyranny perpetuating the English workhouses pervaded Tragmore as well, and always had, spawned by the blatant prejudice and hostility of its master.

The sight of the vicar chatting with a messenger in the church garden made Daphne’s sagging spirits lift instantly.

“Vicar!” She waved, picking up her pace until she was half running toward him.

Chambers turned, his face breaking into a broad smile. “Daphne! What a delightful surprise.” He pressed a few shillings into the message boy’s hand as he unfolded the note he’d just been given. “Thank you for your trouble, lad.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clutching the coins, the boy dashed off, mounted his horse, and was gone.

“Who was that?” Daphne asked, breathlessly reaching the vicar’s side.

“Hmmm?” Her friend was already immersed in his reading.

“That messenger. What news did he deliver?”

Quirking a brow, the vicar replied, “Evidently, you know the answer to that better than I.”

“ ’Tis about last night’s robbery, isn’t it?” Daphne gripped his forearm. “Isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, tell me, Vicar. How much did he leave them?”

A dry chuckle. “You are a constant source of amazement to me, Snowdrop. No fear, no disquiet, only your usual loving curiosity. One would never suspect it was your home the bandit had invaded.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

Daphne gasped. “The jewelry and silver he took weren’t worth half that amount.”

“Nevertheless, that is the sum the headmaster discovered in the tin cup on his desk. Oddly, though, there was also a written threat.”

“A threat? What kind of threat?”

The vicar glanced down, rereading the note. “According to the headmaster, the bandit demanded the money be used for the benefit of the workhouse or he’d return to ensure that it was.”

“What a heroic gesture!” Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “And perfectly understandable, given the large sum involved. Vicar—” Anxiety clouded Daphne’s face. “Are you well acquainted with the Leicester headmaster? He isn’t the type to squander funds, is he?”

“Certainly not. He’s a decent, honorable—” Abruptly, the vicar broke off. “If you already knew where the funds went, why are you questioning me?”

“I knew where they went, yes. But that’s all I know. No details have reached Tragmore yet.”

“If no details have reached Tragmore, how did you know the bandit donated your family’s funds to the Leicester workhouse?”

Daphne met her friend’s puzzled gaze. “Because he promised me he would.”

Mr. Chambers’s eyes widened with disbelief. “He? The bandit?”

“Yes.”

A sharp intake of breath. “I think we’d best go inside the church and talk.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Seated in a pew beside her friend, Daphne poured out the whole story, leaving out only her very private, very unsettling physical reaction to the apparition who’d stood in her bedchamber the night before, stirring her in ways she didn’t fully understand, but very much wanted to.

“Daphne.” Chambers leaned forward. “You’re telling me you helped the man rob your house, and that you yourself placed the tin cup containing the ruby on Harwick’s pillow?”

“I couldn’t risk Father discovering the bandit in his bedchamber. You of all people understand that. Father would not only have turned him over to the authorities, but beaten him senseless as well. Please Vicar,” Daphne’s gaze was pleading, “don’t condemn me for doing what I must.”

“I’m not condemning you, Snowdrop.” The vicar took her hands in his. “But do you understand the risk you took? Had your father awakened, that fierce beating would have been yours.”

“I would have withstood it. I’ve withstood others.”

Lines of pain tightened the vicars mouth. “How well I know that.” A pause. “Your mother—is she all right?”

“Yes. Father is so obsessed with apprehending the bandit, he has little time to vent his rage on others.” Daphne’s expression grew thoughtful. “With the exception of Pierce Thornton.”

“Pierce Thornton? The gentleman you met at Newmarket? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not certain I do either. But, if you recall, I told you that Father’s behavior around Mr. Thornton was odd, that I sensed Mr. Thornton has some kind of hold over him.”

“I remember.”

“Well, as I was leaving the manor today, Father was raving about a meeting Mr. Thornton had demanded. A meeting to take place today. At Tragmore.”

“In light of the robbery it does seem odd that Harwick would agree to such a meeting,” the vicar admitted. “Still…”

“That’s just it. Father obviously didn’t want to agree to the meeting. I think he was just afraid to refuse Mr. Thornton. He referred to Mr. Thornton in a most scathing manner, and implied that he loathed doing any business with him at all.”

“Then why does he continue to do so?”

“Coercion, evidently. Mr. Thornton’s.”

“Harwick said that?”

“He implied it, yes.”

Chambers was quiet for a long moment. “An untitled, uncelebrated colleague whom your father dislikes and distrusts, yet continues to do business with. A man you clearly found likable and trustworthy.”

“Not only likable and trustworthy, but compassionate. I shan’t forget the way he rescued me from Father’s biting tongue.” Daphne shook her head emphatically. “It makes no sense. Father describes Mr. Thornton as greedy and selfish. The man I met at Newmarket was anything but. Still, even if my assessments were wrong, greed and selfishness are qualities Father generally applauds in his colleagues. Why not now?”

“I don’t know, Snowdrop. Does it matter?” A faraway look came into Daphne’s eyes. “Yes, Vicar, it matters. My instincts tell me it matters a lot.”

T
HE FRONT DOOR AT
Tragmore—an interesting alternative to the parlor window.

Pierce stifled a sardonic grin, glancing about Tragmore’s polished hallway—the same hallway he’d crept through mere hours before, valuables tucked in his coat.

“The marquis will see you in his study,” announced the poker-faced butler.

“Will he? Very gracious of him,” Pierce replied, the essence of polished congeniality. “Lead the way.”

Moments later, he was ushered into a dimly lit, unoccupied room and abruptly left to his own devices.

I’m being shown my place,
Pierce determined with wry amusement.
Not only am I an undesirable, I’m an unwanted undesirable.

So be it.

Pondering that thought, he helped himself to a brandy, chose his chair, and waited.

“All right, Thornton, I’m here.” Tragmore strode into the study three quarters of an hour later. “I’m also harried and busy.” He broke off, gaping. “What is the meaning of this?” he exploded, when he’d found his voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hmm?” Pierce lowered the newspaper he’d been reading, peering at the marquis over his long legs, which were propped on the desk and casually crossed at the ankles. “Oh, hello Tragmore. Your timing is perfect. I’ve just finished my brandy. Would you pour me another?” He extended his empty glass.

“Why are you drinking my brandy? Sitting in my chair? At my desk. With your bloody feet up, no less.” The marquis advanced furiously toward Pierce.

Like a tiger whose claim had been challenged, Pierce shot to his feet, his eyes blazing with rage.
“Your
desk?
Your
chair?
Your
brandy? Listen to me, Tragmore, and listen well. Nothing in this house is yours. I own it all: your possessions, your businesses,
you.
But for my good nature, you’d be living in the gutter, the very place you accuse me of coming from. Bear that in mind and don’t antagonize me further. Should you or your servants—” a lethal pause,
“my
servants—ever treat me in so shabby a manner again, I might be forced to lose my temper. And my compassion. Is that clear?”

Throughout Pierce’s tirade, Tragmore’s color had gone from pink to red to green. Now, he merely nodded, gritting his teeth as he snatched Pierce’s empty glass and crossed the room to refill it. “You’ve made your point, Thornton.” He thrust the drink at his adversary, obviously struggling to check his escalating anger. “You’ll have to excuse my ill humor. I’m out of sorts today. During the night I was robbed by that contemptible Tin Cup Bandit.”

“Were you?” Pierce’s brows rose. “How intriguing. What did he take?”

“All Elizabeth’s jewelry, my silver, my cash box and notes, everything of value he could put his hands on. Why, he even took that lovely necklace of Daphne’s you and I spoke of at Newmarket.”

“The one you claimed was an inexpensive copy?”

Silence.

“Your family, are they all right?” Pierce continued after a brief pause.

“Naturally, they’re very upset. Elizabeth spent most of the day in her chambers and Daphne left hers scant hours ago to go walking.”

“Walking? Alone?”

“Only on the grounds of the estate,” Tragmore replied with a dismissive wave. “She does it often. Lord alone knows what nonsensical notions fill her head. In any case, it’s best for her not to be underfoot today. The authorities need as few distractions as possible. They are meticulously interviewing the servants, searching for clues.”

“And have they found any?”

“None. The bastard left nothing behind. Except, of course, for one ruby, which I found in a tin cup on my pillow. A ruby I’m certain he removed from the Viscountess Druige’s necklace.”

“Was Druige the bandit’s most recent victim prior to you?”

“He was.” Tragmore took out a handkerchief and mopped at his face. “As I’m sure you’ve read in the lurid newspaper accounts, the bandit’s trademark is to leave a jewel from his previous robbery at the scene of his current one. Unfortunately, that is the only clue he ever leaves. Thus far neither the constable nor the magistrate has a hint as to the scoundrel’s identity.”

“I see. Peculiar, to say the least.” Pierce shrugged, perching comfortably on the edge of the desk. “Still, that doesn’t change the fact that you and I have things to discuss.”

“What things?”

“Your debts.”

The marquis stiffened. “I was under the impression your solicitor was going to contact me to arrange a meeting away from Tragmore and at a mutually convenient time.”

“I changed my mind.” Pierce sipped appreciatively at his brandy. “I can do that, you know. I’m the one holding your notes and your future in my hands. So, let’s get right to the point, shall we?”

“What point?”

“When can I expect to be paid or when shall I toss you from your home and subject you to the public ridicule of bankruptcy?”

Tragmore’s eyes narrowed. “You heartless bastard.”

A muscle worked in Pierce’s jaw. “A bastard, yes. But heartless? Coming from you, that’s laughable.”

“What is it you want?” the marquis demanded.

“Payment.”

“No, this involves more than money, Thornton. What is it you really want from me?”

A glint of hatred darkened Pierce’s eyes to near black. “More than you could possibly offer.” He came to his feet. “Every iota of which I intend to collect in due time. For now, I’ll expect my first payment by week’s end.”

“But that’s impossible.”

“Find a way. Should I not receive your money by Friday evening, I’ll have no choice but to contact the
London Gazette
and have your name published for all to see. Then, I’ll arrange for everything in this manor to be confiscated and everyone living here to be tossed into the cold. Is that understood?”

“You filthy bast—”

“Bastard,” Pierce finished, his voice eerily devoid of emotion. “And I believe we’ve already established the accuracy of that term. Now, as I was saying, you have until Friday. Or the actions I take will make your traumatic little robbery last night seem like a minor incursion.”

“Before you carry out your sordid threat, let me issue one of my own,” Tragmore shot back, triumph blazing in his eyes. “I gathered a bit of personal data on you, just in case your strategy for buying my notes included blackmail. Should you even attempt to publicly ruin me, I will tell all the world that the wealthy, polished Pierce Thornton sprang from the womb of a workhouse whore.”