Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (38 page)

“Very active. Sometimes I positively despair of keeping her in one place more than a second or two.”

Without warning a young woman in sprig muslin and teal-blue ribbons appeared at the duchess’s side. “Here you are, Grandmama. I began to think you’d tired and gone out to the carriage.”

“Tired? I?” The old woman patted her granddaughter’s gloved fingers. “Not so sickly as that yet, my dear. But you must meet my friend, Miss St. Clair. She was just about to advise me on a scent for you.”

The girl studied Silver with laughing eyes that were very fine indeed. But there was something else about her, some shadow of sadness or betrayed hopes that caught at Silver’s sensitive heart. “I am afraid you must think it a dreadful impertinence.”

“Not in the least. I have no nose for scents. In fact my brother always said—” Abruptly she paused. Once again Silver saw pain darken her face.

But she laughed quickly and gave a little shrug. “Do let me hear your choice, Miss St. Clair. If your skills are even half those of that young man over there, I am certain I shall be delighted, for he has already managed to charm the Prince Regent and half of the town along with him.”

Silver swallowed. “The P-Prince?”

“But of course,” her companion answered. “Nor did he seem unhappy with the advice that
you
gave him.”

Silver felt her knees begin to shake. She had been calmly advising the Prince Regent on gifts for his sister? Did he even
have
a sister? And if not, then who—

Her face flamed. The Duchess of Cranford laughed delightedly and patted Silver’s hand. “Buying for a lady, was he? Probably told you it was for his sister. Never mind, my dear. I’m certain your choice was the most elegant one that his current object of desire will ever receive. But do go on. I am quite avid to see what selection you will make for my India.”

Silver’s eyes widened. “India?”

“An outrageous name, ain’t it?” The duchess eyed her vibrant granddaughter. “But it suits her all the same, for she’s an outrageous sort of gel.”

“You put me to the blush, Grandmama.” But the red-haired India did not look at all discomfited. “And if I am outrageous, it is only because I learned every bit of it from you.”

At this moment the store’s proprietor emerged from the rear of the shop, his arms laden with bundles. In seconds he realized that the atmosphere had changed and an air of tense expectation now gripped the elegant shop.

Instantly he bustled toward Bram, who was innocently chatting with England’s leading man of fashion. The Prince Regent waved the proprietor away with one imperious flick of his fingers.

Next the man then bore down upon the duchess and her young charge.

The regal old woman stared down at him through her lorgnette. “We are managing perfectly, Holcombe. You may leave us. We shall summon you when we have completed our selections.”

“Of course, Your Grace. But—”

“Not now, Holcombe.” The duchess looked expectantly at Silver. “Well, my dear? You were about to make a suggestion, I believe.”

Silver found herself intrigued by the keen-eyed old lady and her vibrant granddaughter, whose face wore a sadness far beyond her years. They almost seemed familiar to Silver, although that was impossible. Since her father’s death Silver had left Kingsdon Cross only rarely.

Abruptly the perfume blend came to her. “I have it! It will answer wonderfully, I think. A hint of moss like a cool summer dawn. A touch of damask rose for sweetness. A bit of clove for strength and clarity. And, yes, I think a trace of cedarwood would do well for purity. Together a blend that is sweet but still distinguished. This one will be close, I think.” She held out a small flagon and waited, breathless.

India clapped her hands in delight! “But you are a magician, Miss St. Clair! It is perfect. How can you know me so well after only a few moments?”

Silver blushed. “You are very kind. It is simply a skill I have, nothing more.”

“Bosh,” the Duchess of Cranford said flatly. “You’ve caught my granddaughter to perfection. You are a positive treasure.” Her keen eyes took on a speculative twinkle. “I presume I was correct and you are not married, my dear?”

India, by now well used to her grandmother’s matchmaking, merely smiled. Silver was left tongue tied, however. “Your Grace — that is, I hardly know how to answer.”

“Why, yes or no, my dear?”

“Er, no, I’m not, but—”

“Delightful! Then I positively
must
insist that you accompany us to tea while we consider your future more closely.” The duchess eyed Silver’s outdated riding costume and half boots thoughtfully. “From the provinces, are you, gel? No need to be ashamed of it, you know.”

Silver’s chin rose and anger glinted in her eyes. All her fierce St. Clair pride surged to the fore. “You are very kind, Your Grace, but I can hardly suppose my petty affairs to be of any interest to you.”

But the duchess merely laughed, in no way put out. “If that was meant as a setdown, you’re out of luck, my dear. I’m as thick skinned as an Egyptian crocodile, and I’ve been snubbed too many times to feel a thing.”

Silver blinked, utterly beyond knowing how to respond to such blunt good humor. She decided that her own answer should be blunt in turn. “You are right, Your Grace, it
was
meant as a snub. Though I am ‘from the provinces,’ as you put it, I am far from considering myself a country mouse. My brother and I go on quite well here. I am a woman of independence and I see no reason to have my life unsettled by marriage.”

“Capital!” the duchess exclaimed, striking the floor with her ivory-handled cane. “This grows better and better. A woman of beauty and spirit who refuses to consider marriage! It will add the most delicious challenge. Now let me see, there is Augustus Warburton. Only a baronet, of course, but he has considerable holdings in the Shires, I’m told.”

“Your Grace, you quite mistake me if you think that—”

“No? Very well, I agree completely. Warburton has an unpleasant squint, as I recall. But what of Lord Townshende? An earl, you know, and accounted to be quite handsome.” The duchess looked at her granddaughter, who was barely restraining her laughter. “What do you think, India?”

The red-haired beauty shook her head. “I think, Grandmama, that you are entirely shameless. You’ve upset Miss St. Clair with your whirlwind ways. She’ll think us all fit for Bedlam if you don’t cease.”

Indeed, Silver
did
think the old woman interfering beyond permission. But she sensed that her interference was meant with the best of intentions, and so she bit back a cutting retort.

The duchess eyed her keenly. “Is that true, gel? Do you think me blunt beyond permission?”

Silver felt a smile sneak across her lips. “Blunt? Entirely so.” An enchanting dimple peeked out at her cheek. “But not beyond permission, perhaps.”

The duchess stamped the floor in triumph. “There, you see, India? A gel of spirit and wit, just as I said. She must come with us and drink a dish of tea. We were just bound for Minton’s tearooms when—”

Suddenly Silver remembered their errand. She looked about her in dismay, fearing it was past the hour.

India saw her urgency and laid a gloved hand on her sleeve. “Perhaps Miss St. Clair is already engaged, Grandmama. We must not presume upon her time, I think. Not on such short acquaintance.”

“Oh, no, it is not like that! You are kind to invite us, but we must be somewhere by two o’clock.” Silver saw her brother deep in conversation with the Prince Regent, who was now being treated to a display of Bram’s botanical specimens, right down to the crumpled pair of eagle feathers and the stuffed dormouse.

“I’m afraid we must decline, Your Grace. My brother and I have an appointment, and we must on no account be late.” As if on cue the little ormolu clock on the counter began to chime. “Oh no, surely it cannot be two o’clock already! We must go! Thank you again but — indeed, some other time, perhaps!” Silver made a curtsy, then rushed forward and seized Bram’s hand just as he was on the point of offering up his three-legged Norfolk toad for the Prince Regent’s bemused inspection.

“A thousand pardons, Your Majesty. My brother is devoted to botany, you understand. If you will graciously excuse us, we must be on our way.”

The portly prince was disposed by some rare innocence about this bewitching young woman to be the urbane and kindly cavalier. “Cinderella at midnight, eh? Well, I’m devilish sorry to see you go. Your brother has just been offering me some valuable suggestions for my, er, sister.”

Silver felt her cheeks flame. “You are too kind.” She caught Bram’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “It is nearly two o’clock!” she hissed. “We must hurry!”

Bram’s face was flushed with unaccustomed praise when he and Silver made their way from the shop. “Sorry, Syl. That fellow was devilish hard to escape.”

“I shouldn’t wonder at it,” Silver said wryly. “That
fellow
was the Prince Regent.”

“Well, I’ll be spit.” Bram’s eyes went very wide. “I’m glad I didn’t know it at the time. I wouldn’t have been able to force a
word
out.”

They rushed into the street just as the great clock above the Guild Hall clanged out the changing of the hour. At that moment the leader of the street boys, with hair still damp and river mud clinging to his boots, came charging toward them. “There you are,” he gasped. “There’s been a change, mum. The bloke what went into the warehouse is sneaking out with a carriageful of ale barrels. Making straight this way, he was. Don’t wonder if he turns up the street any second.”

Silver gnawed at her lip. What was she to do now, trapped here in the middle of bustling Lynn with the Prince Regent and his entourage mere steps away? Carefully, she slid her pistol from her half boot and hid it in her reticule, where it would be closer at hand. “You’re sure he is coming this way?”

Her young and very muddy friend nodded enthusiastically. “No doubt about it. Only one other road and the bridge is out there.”

“Very well,” Silver said. She dropped her voice as a society matron and her giggling daughter minced past. “Did you have a close look at him? Could you see his greatcoat?”

“Sure did, miss. Hanging proper funny it was, with the pockets both full.”

Silver nodded thoughtfully. If the documents Luc was looking for were so valuable, the man would certainly carry them on his person. In the greatcoat, no doubt. “It is the things in the man’s coat we need. Will you and your friends help us? There are two extra guineas in it if you will.” She handed the boy two coins.

His young eyes glittered with excitement. “We’d go and march against that devilish Frenchman himself for two guineas, miss. Aye, we’re with you. You’re a right one, sure enough.”

Silver held out her hand. “It’s agreed, then.” After they shook, Silver looked up, shading her eyes. “He’ll come around the corner over there, I think. What we need is a diversion.”

“Just you leave
that
to me an’ my mates.”

Silver smiled wickedly. “It will make a shocking commotion, I’m afraid.”

“Not a doubt of it,” the boy agreed gamely. “The prince and his chums ain’t like to have seen nothing like it.”

~ ~ ~

So it was that half a dozen small boys were loitering about the main street when a well-filled farm dray thundered around a corner and made its way to the center of town. At their leader’s nod the boys
leapt
from their posts and raced toward their target.

Silver nodded at Bram. “Here I go,” she whispered tensely. “Wish me luck.”

Her brother caught her hand. “Why can’t I go, Syl? It’s too dangerous. What if he doesn’t stop?”

But Silver was already in the street. She wouldn’t consider letting Bram face this.

The wagon picked up speed. Two street boys were already clinging to its back and Silver saw another two run up and catch the sides.

Just as planned, her brother shouted a warning. Then he gestured wildly to the man on the wagon seat. “Rein in your horses, fool! Can’t you see that there’s a woman out there!”

But the horses thundered on, dust and gravel thrown up in smoking clouds.

Out of the corner of her eye Silver saw the Duchess of Cranford and her granddaughter move out of the select perfumer’s establishment. Beside them stood the smiling Prince Regent with a lady of fashion on either arm.

If she was going to die, at least she would do it in style, Silver thought wryly. Her death would be witnessed by the Regent and half of London society at once.

She heard the coachman curse and shout a warning, but even then he did not slow his team. The man from the boat was sitting beside him. Silver couldn’t make out his face, for it was hidden beneath a drooping hat, his greatcoat collar turned up around his cheeks.

Silver’s heart began to pound. Closer, ever closer the horses raced while she prayed that the boys remembered their agreed-upon tasks.

With a harsh crack the back of the wagon dropped open and the first of six ale barrels went crashing to the ground. They
had
remembered, Silver thought. Now the rest was up to her and Bram.

Her eyes locked on the vehicle’s single passenger. She saw him shove his hand into his pocket, fingers tense. Yes, the documents were there. They
had
to be.

Everything happened at once after that. Silver heard the duchess scream. Dimly she saw India Delamere throw up her hand in shocked warning as the Prince Regent pointed toward the racing horses.

But all this was secondary in Silver’s mind. Her main focus was on the man in the drab gray coat. She could feel him staring at her, his eyes cold and tight and angry. Turning slowly, she faced the churning wagon, one hand raised dramatically to her chest.

“Get out of the way!” the driver thundered.

His passenger leaned close and gestured. A whip cracked over the horses’ heads. In horror Silver heard the driver shout. “Can’t stop! Going to run you down if you don’t bloody get out of my way!”

Damned if you will,
Silver thought furiously. Jerking open her reticule, she pulled out her little pistol and leveled it dead at the driver’s chest.

At that moment the leader of the street boys launched himself upon the passenger’s neck. As agreed upon, he tore off the man’s hat, then went to work upon his greatcoat, tugging it down over his shoulders. Snarling, the passenger clawed at his unwelcome visitor, but to no avail. The boy only laughed and danced about him, small and agile as a monkey.

Silver saw it all dimly, as if in a trance. The wagon was thirty feet away now and closing fast.

The driver cursed, swerving to avoid a pile of rubble in the street. Silver took a step backward.

The passenger would sweep past only inches from her. She prayed she could reach his pocket in time.

Meanwhile, the urchin danced about the seat, jabbing at the passenger’s chest. Reaching deep, he tugged something from one pocket and tossed it across to Bram.

One pocket empty, Silver thought. Only one more to go. The man in the greatcoat was fighting, his chin sunk low to his chest. Silver still couldn’t get a glimpse of him.

And then it was too late.

The carriage thundered past. She leapt back only seconds before the great wooden wheels hammered over the cobbled street exactly where she had been standing.

But her sharp movement cost her dearly, for she slammed into a row of stacked wooden crates. She felt a tearing pain at her side and gasped. Before her the street swayed and then tipped dizzily to one side.

There was chaos.

Screams echoed over the crack of exploding barrels. But Silver barely heard. Gasping, she caught her side and pitched to the street, blinded by a wave of pain.

~ ~ ~

Ten miles away, Luc Delamere sat aside his prancing black gelding and scowled down at the sandy earth. “They headed south. There were just the two of them. What could they be doing in
that
direction? All they’ll find there is more heath and then the fens.”

Beside him Connor MacKinnon hid a smile. “I’m vastly sorry to contradict you, my friend, but they are headed
north.
The prints you are looking at must be at least three days old. If Silver and her brother came this way, then the prints would be fresh. Rather like these, I imagine.”

Frowning, Luc followed Connor’s fingers to a line of newly made prints in the sandy earth. His friend was right, of course.

And that only added to Luc’s bad humor. “I suppose you are right. But don’t let it go to your head, you great lumbering beast.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Connor said calmly. “It is not
your
fault your eyes aren’t working, you poor besotted fool.”

“Who’s besotted and who’s a fool?” Luc growled, glaring at his companion.

“You’ll not hear a word from me,” MacKinnon turned his horse to the north. “No, not a word. None of my business if you choose to fall in love. None at all.”