Anne Stuart (37 page)

“
Precisely,” Alistair said, drawing a finger across his throat and making a disgustingly cheerful rasping noise. “Severed it completely.”

If the room was dark before, those shadows were now closing in on her. I’m going to be sick,” she said quite firmly. “That, or faint.”

“
Might I suggest the latter?” Alistair said sweetly. “We already have quite a mess to clean up.:

It was the finishing touch. The darkness closed in completely, and Jessamine slumped to the hard-packed floor, still remembering the solid thunk as her weapon connected with living flesh.

Alistair caught her, of course. It would probably be his last chance to hold her, he thought, and he had every intention of enjoying it to the fullest. He glanced over at Brennan, who was still staring down at his fallen comrade with an expression of disgust mixed with satisfaction.

“
What are you going to do now?” he inquired.

“
I’m not sure, sir. One thing I do know—I can’t let you get away with the crown jewels.”

“
I wasn’t planning on taking them all,” he said with great reasonableness. “For one thing, they’re too heavy. I thought one big one might make my point.”

“
I’m afraid not, sir.”

“
And how do you intend to stop me? Will you kill me, Mr. Brennan? The man who saved your life? You may not be aware of it, but Clegg was just about to blast your nuts away when I threw that mace at him.”

“
You’re mighty handy with the mace, sir,” Brennan said, touching his wounded forehead. “But I appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”

“
My pleasure.”

“
Not enough, however, to let you go.”

“
Brennan, you have a headless Bow Street runner and a fainting woman on your hands. How do you intend to stop me?”

“
I’ll shoot you if I must. And I don’t have her on my hands.”

He regretted it, of course, but there was really no choice. “You do now,” he said simply. He tossed Jessamine’s semiconscious body toward Brennan, counting on the runner to drop his gun rather that a lady. A second later he knocked over the candle, plunging the room into utter darkness.

“
Sorry to leave you like this, Mr. Brennan. But I have my pride to consider.” And catching up his rough satchel, he disappeared into the darkness.

There was a moon that night. A half-moon, but a bright one, shining down over Tower Green. No one seemed to have noticed the disturbance in the old storeroom, but then, things had been lax at the Tower since Cromwell’s day. Alistair tossed the satchel over his shoulder and walked down the pathway, whistling cheerfully.

A raven swooped by, cawing a wicked note of laughter, and Alistair’s whistling came to an abrupt halt. He would have no trouble leaving the way he came, and he had the coronation crown of King George to cheer him on his way.

He paused in the middle of the walkway, momentarily distracted. The crown was heavier than he’d realized, and for the moment he wasn’t quite sure what he would do with it. Even Nicodemus might draw the line at turning one of England’s priceless treasures into ready cash, and besides, Alistair had no real need of money. The manor house in Scotland had been shored up, in better shape than it had been in centuries. London was no longer a hospitable place for the likes of him, so his house on Clarges Street could be dispensed with.

But where would he go? What would he do?

He considered his options as he strolled aimlessly through the midnight streets of London. The Continent bored him. The thought of exotic, willing foreign women bored him. The thought of pilfering diamonds from the French court bored him.

He didn’t want diamonds, he didn’t want to climb over rooftops. He didn’t want French courtesans or Italian mistresses.

He wanted Jessamine.

He looked down at the satchel, paused, and pulled the crown from its resting spot. It didn’t look much the worse for wear—a dent or two perhaps, but nothing that wouldn’t be fixed by a jeweler’s hammer.

Oliver Cromwell was out of favor even among the German Hanovers. Only one statue remained within the city limits of London, a great bronze monstrosity that had the Lord Protector glaring down at his frivolous countrymen from a public garden near the small Puritan church where Cromwell had once worshipped. “You don’t approve of me, do you, old Noll?” he said softly. “Well, I don’t approve of you. You need some livening up.”

The crown sat quite jauntily atop Cromwell’s bronzed pilgrim’s hat. Alistair stepped back to survey the effect, then
smiled. As a finishing touch it couldn’t be bettered. “Wear it in good health, milord Protector,” he said. And then he sauntered off into the moonlight, making his escape.

Jessamine took deep, cleansing gulps of the fresh night air. Her brother-in-law stood beside her, one polite, protective arm around her as she slowly regained her senses.

“
Are you feeling better?” he asked.

She glanced back at the tightly shut door of the old storehouse. She wasn’t even certain how he’d gotten her out of there. She had no idea where Alistair was. She knew only that he’d disappeared. And she told herself she was glad.

“
I suppose so,” she said. “What are you planning to do?”

“
About what?”

“
About... er... that?” she said, gesturing back toward the storeroom. “Mr. Clegg.”

“
Not a thing,” he said. “Someone will find his body soon enough, when they go to return the jewels to Martin Tower. I imagine whoever investigates it will assume there was falling out among thieves.”

“
Will you investigate it?”

“
No.”

“
What about the Cat?”

“
What about him?” Brennan said smoothly. “I imagine he’ll be one of those mysteries that never has an answer. He terrorized London society for a few months and then disappeared.”

“
He didn’t terrorize anyone!” Jessamine protested.

“
It makes a better story. And that’s all he’ll be—a whopping good story.”

“
What about the missing crown?”

“
I expect we’ll find it. It seems to me his lordship doesn’t have a truly larcenous nature. It’ll turn up sooner or later, probably when we least expect it. But it won’t be my concern.
I’ve finished my work here. I’m taking my wife back to Yorkshire with me, where all I’ll have to worry about is the weather and the price of corn.”

Jessamine took a deep breath. “She loves you to distraction, you know.”

“
I know. You don’t mind? It spoiled all your fine plans for her.”

“
They were my plans, not hers,” Jessamine said. “She has what she wants, and what she needs now, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“
There’ll always be a place for you and your mother.”

“
You haven’t met our mother,” she said wryly. “You may regret the offer. We’ll manage, never you fear. But I’ll be there in nine months’ time to welcome my new niece or nephew into the world.”

“
That’s rushing things a bit, isn’t it?” he said, startled.

“
You’ll find that Fleur can be quite determined in getting her own way.”

“
I think,” said Brennan, “I’ve already discovered that.”

“
And you need to get back to her. She’s probably worried sick about you. And poor Freddie must be frozen solid.” She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, brother,” she said, and then ran off into the nighttime shadows before he could stop her.

Freddie wasn’t quite frozen solid, but he was clearly unhappy. Being an obedient soul, he hadn’t moved from his spot in the tiny skiff where she’d left him, but he complained, a little too loudly, all the way back to Spitalfields, about her ill treatment of him.

“
You’ve been a savior,” she said, leaping down from the hired carriage before he could help her. “Alistair will thank you for it.”

Freddie looked suddenly mournful. “Do you think we’ll ever
see him again, Miss Maitland?”

It was something she wasn’t quite ready to face, but she managed a brave smile. “I doubt it, Mr. Arbuthnot. But we’ll have our memories, won’t we?”

“
Splendid ones,” Freddie said soulfully.

“
Splendid ones, indeed.”

“
Wake up, dearest.”

Jessamine pushed her face deeper into the pillow, trying to drown out the gentle voice. When Brennan had returned her to the house in Spitalfields, she had taken to her bed and refused to rise for two days. She wasn’t about to get up now.

Her sister wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Wake up, Jess,” she said in a sharper tone, yanking at the covers.

Jessamine flopped over onto her back in the large bed she’d always shared with her younger sister and glared at that evil beast. “I don’t wish to wake up,” she said firmly. “I don’t know if I ever wish to get out of bed again. And what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your husband?”

“
He’s seeing to some last-minute details, so he sent me on ahead here. He thought you would be interested in the newspaper.”

“
I find that highly unlikely,” Jessamine said, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. She knew her face would be pale and tear-streaked, but she made no effort to hide it.

“
I brought you some tea,” Fleur said, perching on the end of the bed with the ease of one who doesn’t plan to remove herself any too soon. “Someone tried to steal the crown jewels.”

“
Fascinating,” Jess said carefully. “Did they get away with it?”

“
Well, the missing crown was recovered a few miles away in a churchyard. Perched atop a statue of Oliver Cromwell.”

Jessamine hadn’t thought she’d ever be capable of laughter
again, but she was wrong. “A thief with a sense of humor,” she said.

“
Apparently. Unfortunately your friend Mr. Clegg was killed. Most unpleasantly too. Someone whacked off his head at the Tower.”

Jessamine had just taken her first sip of tea, and she spat it out noisily into the cup. “How unfortunate,” she said in a faint voice.

“
They say he died in the line of duty. He’ll have a hero’s funeral. Him and his head.”

“
Fleur!” Jessamine protested.

“
Sorry, dearling. I didn’t know you were quite so squeamish,” she said with a mischievous smile.

“
I don’t like severed body parts.”

“
I don’t imagine Mr. Clegg is any too fond of them himself.”

Jessamine lay back with a moan. “Have you seen Mother?”

“
Only briefly. She was on her way out.”

It took a moment for Fleur’s words to register. Jessamine opened one eye. “Out?”

“
She’s gone shopping for a new wardrobe. For some reason the notion of her daughter marrying an earl has cured her of her lingering illness.”

“
You aren’t marrying an earl,” Jessamine said.

“
No, dear. According to the paper, you are.”

“
What?” she shrieked, scrambling out of bed, sending the teacups flying.

“
Glenshiel must have been very busy.”

Jessamine grabbed the paper from her hand. It was already open to the social notes, and there it was in smudged print, the news of her pending marriage to the sixth Earl of Glenshiel.

“
I’ll kill him,” she said fiercely.

“
Wait till I leave for Yorkshire,” Fleur said in a tranquil voice. “As it is, Mother forgives me for my bad taste in marrying
a farmer. I’d rather you didn’t commit murder until after I’m gone. Or is it already too late?” she said with a wicked laugh.

“
Your husband,” Jessamine said sternly, “has a very ill effect on you. It’s no laughing matter.”

“
I’m more interested in seeing what effect your husband will have on you.”

Alistair MacAlpin, the sixth Earl of Glenshiel, sat in his bedroom watching the fire eat its way through the pile of black clothing. He’d doused the garments liberally with brandy, but it was still a slow process, one he watched with endless fascination. It was an old way of life, disappearing into soot and ashes. He wondered when his new way of life was going to show up at his door.

He hadn’t long to wait. It was midday, the house was empty, and he could hear her furious, pounding footsteps up his back stairs. He settled in his chair, a glass of fine brandy in one long-fingered hand, and prepared to meet his fate.

She slammed open the door, standing there like a perfect harridan, or an avenging angel. She was dressed in one of her plain dresses again, which was probably a good thing, since the rose-colored silk had gotten splashed with Clegg’s blood, and her hair was bound tightly behind her head again. It was certain to give her a headache, he thought. No wonder she looked so furious.

“
I’m going to kill you,” she announced.

He glanced around him. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of headmen’s axes, sweeting. You want to saw away at my neck with a butter knife?”

“
How dare you print such a thing in the paper?” she demanded.

He gave her his sweetest smile. It left her stonily unmoved. “It seemed like a good idea. I’ve given up thieving, and I needed
something to occupy my time.”