Edith Layton (20 page)

Leigh began to smile as he read the small even handwriting.

Leigh frowned to see that the word “
fair
” before the word “
sum
” had been crossed out, and the word “
gud
” written in instead, in bold, black, if uneven, lettering.

“A
gud sum
? Do you think she wrote it?” Leigh asked tersely.

“I think I can’t afford not to find out—immediately,” Alasdair said. He strode to the door of the study and shouted orders to his butler, valet and footmen, calling for his oilskin, his carpetbag, his horse, writing paper, and for a word with the messenger who’d brought the note.

As his servants scurried in all directions, Alasdair went to a safe on the wall, knelt and opened it, took a
sack of coins and a wad of banknotes, slammed the safe shut again, and rose. “A ‘
gud
’ sum,” he said with a ferocious smile, waving the banknotes in front of Leigh, “at least to show them.” He quickly stowed money in various places on his person, in his waistcoat, jacket and trouser pockets, even stuffing some into his sleeve. “Never a good idea to keep all the money in one place,” he told Leigh as he did. “This way even if you are robbed, some may remain. Ah,” he said as his valet came in with his carpet bag, “Good. Now bring the set of silver pistols. Yes, and a small sword, the one with the vermeil pommel, and the Venetian dagger, I think.”

The valet raced to do his bidding.

“But all that armory?” Leigh asked.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Alasdair said as he bent to his bag, tossing out shirts and linen. “I’m not going to a ball,” he muttered, “I need to fit this in my saddlebag.”

Paris and his valet arrived with the weapons. Alasdair immediately slid the dagger down the side of his boot, and was stowing his other weapons in his jacket when his butler brought in a small, freckled, frightened boy.

Alasdair looked at the boy, who promptly turned so white his freckles stood out like pox. He gave out a small gasp. Alasdair remembered he still held his sword in one hand. He handed it to Leigh, and dropped to one knee so he was on eye level with the boy.

“Here, no need to take fright,” he told the boy. “I’ve only a few easy questions for you. If you answer them right, you get a hot meal, some coins, and a comfortable ride back where you came. Now. Who gave you this note, lad?”

“A pretty lady,” the boy said, biting his lip to keep his fear contained.

Alasdair spoke gently but he was large and dark, and his face, whether he knew it or not, was knotted in fierce concentration. “What did she look like, this pretty lady?” Alasdair asked.

“She had skin that was ever so nice, my ma said, and her hair was nice, too,” the boy said, shaking slightly.

“Alasdair,” Leigh said quietly, “let me. Your idea of gentle is a bit skewed now.”

Alasdair stood up.

“First off,” Leigh said to the boy, “where do you come from lad, and what’s your name?”

The boy brightened. “Edward,” he said promptly, “Edward Roger Babbage, sir. I come from the Excelsior, it’s on the North Road from London, my folks own it and it’s the best inn in all England, sir.”

“Excellent,” Leigh said, “I must stop there sometime. Now, tell me, how did you come to get this note?”

“Well, see, sir, there was these two who came to the inn with a lady. A man, and a boy, like me, only he was so dirty Ma made him stand under the pump in the back before she’d let him in her kitchen. They came with this pretty lady who spoke so nice, and she asked for some paper and she wrote a note, and she asked Ma if someone could deliver it to Sir Alasdair St. Erth, in London, and get good money for doing it, too. So Ma, she said I could do it, and I could come on the Mail, ’cause I know the coachman, he’s my friend because he stops at our place sometimes—if we leave up the flag in the front. So he took me right here, and he’s a’waiting outside.” He fell still and looked at Leigh hopefully.

“What color was this lady’s hair?” Leigh asked.

“Brown,” the boy answered promptly.

“What was she wearing?”

“Nice clothes,” the boy answered.

Alasdair sighed.

Leigh tried again. “Was there anything in particular you noticed about her?”

“She was pretty,” the boy said in a more uncertain voice.

“Did she seemed distressed?” Alasdair’s voice grated. He cleared his throat when Leigh gave him a pained look, and seemed surprised at how his voice had broken.

“Don’t worry about my friend,” Leigh told the boy, who was eyeing Alasdair anxiously. “All he wants to know is if she was upset. He’s her friend, you see. Was she weeping? Or looking as though she wanted to?”

“No,” the boy said, turning big eyes on Leigh, trying to avoid Alasdair’s grim gaze altogether. “I remember, ’cause she was laughing with Sharky—that’s the boy’s name, and isn’t it a funny one? Well, see, her clothes was so pretty but her hair was a terrible mess when she came in, and when Ma and Pa looked at her strange…” He paused for breath and plunged on, “Sharky he laughed and said that was ’cause she was a right Blowsabella again, and Ma said he should mind his manners, but the lady laughed and said he was right, and Sharky said Miss Corbet don’t mind what he said neither.”

Both men let out their own held breath.

“There!” Alasdair said with a sudden grin. “The question we never thought of asking: ’What was her name?’ She’s there! She’s well! I’m going to get her, Leigh.” He threw his oilskin cape over his shoulders. “No time to talk to the Swansons. That will be your task. Return the lad home, tell everyone. I’ve no time to waste at all! I’m going to get her!” he said jubilantly, and, sweeping up his carpetbag, strode out the door.

A few minutes later, as the storm gathered intensity, Leigh watched the bay with its dark rider come galloping from the stables, out by the side alley and into the street. The wind tore at the rider’s oilskin cape, making it flap like the wings of a great swooping bird as he bent low for speed and rode off into the striking storm.

Alasdair didn’t notice the rain when it came. He was too busy wishing that his horse could fly.

A
lasdair rode through the storm. It was a late-summer thunderstorm, all rushing clouds, wind and clamor, lightning and driving rain, but in the nature of such storms it was brief. Some half hour or so and its fury would be spent—or would have been if Alasdair had stayed in one place and waited it out. But he couldn’t sit still and continued to ride north, and the storm followed him.

The storm clashed all round him as he bent his head low and kept on. He almost preferred it that way. Keeping his horse on the road kept his mind off all the terrible things he could imagine having happened to Kate. Even staying on his horse was a chore, because the animal took exception to every stab of lightning, rearing up when the sizzle of a bolt seemed too near, ears going back at each thunderclap. Sometimes they had to slow to a walk and pick their way, because the rain flooded down in torrents and Alasdair didn’t want the beast breaking a leg on the rain-slick road.
But he couldn’t stop. He knew where she was now, and he had to be there.

He rode on, the rain beating on his face and sluicing down into his cloak, the wind prying at his collar, making it chafe his skin like sandpaper, the damp finding each finger in his gloves. He rode on, trying not to think about what he’d find when he arrived at the Excelsior, and not succeeding any better than he had done when he hadn’t known where she was. The boy said she’d been laughing. He kept telling himself that, hoping it wasn’t the laughter of hysteria the lad had heard. He kept telling himself that neat prosaic little note was typical Kate, not a thing she’d have written under duress. Surely, she’d have been able to slide in a warning if it was a trap? If it was, he’d deal with it. At least he knew where to go.

Twilight darkened the sky when the last of the storm rumbled by overhead. Alasdair was wet, weary, and increasingly anxious by the time he finally saw the inn with the sign
EXCELSIOR
swinging in the diminishing gusts of the departing storm. The boy said it was a good inn. But Alasdair realized it wouldn’t matter to those who stopped there, because it was the only structure of any kind to be seen on this lonely stretch of the turnpike that wound through the heath. Highwaymen had ruled there a generation before. Bow Street had thinned their numbers, hardly any plied the trade so close to London anymore. But Alasdair kept a hand on the pistol under his cloak. There were worse things than highwaymen in the world, and some might be ahead. Kate’s life might depend on his readiness.

The setting sun glinted at the edges of hurrying clouds, showing the inn to be an old one, timbered in the Tudor style. It was small but neat and tidy, and so Alasdair thought it odd that no ostler or stableboy
came running to him as he rode into the yard. Odd and ominous. His hand on his pistol tightened. He sat his horse a moment, looking around. He saw no one and heard nothing but a few tentative birds calling to each other as the clouds blew away—that, and the steady sound of rain dripping from the inn’s eaves. He swung down from the saddle and took up his saddlebag with the other hand. Keeping his hand on his pistol under his cloak, he waited.

A short, very dirty man finally came hurrying out of the stable, and touched his cap. “Staying on, sir?” he asked, scrutinizing Alasdair through slitted eyes, from hat to boots. “Or just here for a rest-like?”

“It depends,” Alasdair said. “Keep my horse in readiness.” He flipped the man a coin and paced toward the inn.

The back of his neck prickled with the awareness of unseen eyes on him and he didn’t want to rush in case he alarmed anyone. But he couldn’t wait. He pushed the door open, ducked his head, and stepped inside.

The main room of the inn was empty. It was a whitewashed and timbered room with a low ceiling. A quick glance showed a desk by the stair that must lead to the guest quarters upstairs. The door to a room behind the desk was closed. But Alasdair’s attention was drawn to a corridor on the right that must have led to the taproom, because he could hear the murmur of voices coming from there. Gripping his pistol firmly, he softly stepped down the little hall, paused, then slowly nudged open the door with the toe of one boot.

He got a quick impression of a large taproom with sloping ceilings, a planked wooden floor, and small, thick, glass windows, a fire mumbling in the hearth opposite him. Alasdair held his breath and withdrew
the pistol, using its muzzle to nudge the door open wider. He stared.

Kate was there. He sucked in a breath and held it, suppressing the insane, dangerous desire to run to her. But she was there. She wore a peach-colored gown, a light shawl thrown negligently over her shoulders. She sat at a table with a scrawny young boy and played cards with him. She was smiling. Her smile grew to an expression of wicked delight as she looked at the cards the boy had just dealt her. Then she laughed.

Alasdair felt equal parts profound relief and rising anger. He stood dripping water from every pore, his heart racing, his fear tin to the taste on his tongue, his nerves stretched. He was half-drowned, exhausted and worried and grateful beyond belief, and she was here, snug and content, playing cards, and
laughing
?

She might have felt a draft from the open door, he might have moved, or it just might have been that the force of his presence had somehow communicated itself to her. But she glanced up—and saw him.

She dropped the cards and rose from the chair, her hand to her breast, her eyes wide and bright, filling with tears he could see by the way they gleamed and glistened in the firelight.

He didn’t realize he’d stepped forward. He hadn’t meant to. But he moved to her. A second later she was plunging across the room, knocking her chair over in her haste. A moment more and she was filling his outstretched arms. He hugged her tightly, his arms going round her until he could feel her heart thudding against his, keeping pace with his own, which was threatening to pound out of his chest.

“Kate,” he muttered, “Kate,” and buried his face in her curls. They smelled of woodsmoke and peonies.
He inhaled the scent as though it was vital to his continued survival. She was warm and soft and whole, and he’d never known such a feeling of relief.

“Oh, Alasdair!” she murmured. He could feel wetness on her cheeks and his, and knew it wasn’t rain because it was warm and welcome on his chilled skin.

He lifted his head and looked down at her. She gave him a tremulous smile. He didn’t mean to kiss her. It was a damned stupid thing to do with them maybe in danger, and him not knowing who was watching, or why. But he kissed her anyway because there was absolutely nothing else he could do.

Her mouth was warm and electric with life, and he could feel that tremulous smile on her lips before she opened them to him. And then it was sweet, dazzling beyond anything in his experience, filling him with joy, and relief, and lust. He blinked, shocked at himself. He tore his mouth from hers and stepped back, looking around, remembering what was at stake here and now.

But there was no one but the boy, looking at them with obvious disdain.

“Lor’,” the boy said in disgust, “you didn’t say you was his fancy piece, Kate. Fact, you said you
wasn’t
no blowen.”

Kate, flustered, seemed as shocked as Alasdair was at what had happened between them. She touched a hand to her mouth, then dropped it as though her lips were scalding hot. “Well, he’s not, and I’m not,” she told the boy defensively. “I was just so happy to see him.”

“Aye,” the boy jeered, “pull t’other one. You was in an inch of makin’ faces with him. That’s
happy
all right, I s’pose.”

Kate frowned. “Making faces?”

“Playin’ bread and butter,” the boy explained. “fuglin’, shaggin’, you know, havin’ a bit o’…”

“No more of that!” Alasdair said angrily, advancing on the boy as Kate’s eyes widened as she figured it out.

The lad stood his ground and put up his chin. “Well, that aint neither here nor there, I s’pose. Jabber don’t cut it, does it? Got the grease, Cap’n? That’s the point. You post the pony, pay what we needs, you can take her and do whatever you do or don’t. You ain’t got it, we keeps her, that’s the game.”

“Are you all right, Kate?” Alasdair asked, keeping her clipped close to his side while he kept his eyes and his pistol on the boy. “Have you been hurt in any way?”

“I’m well, no one hurt me. I was frightened, but I’m fine, I promise.”

“This boy abducted you?” Alasdair asked, because he felt the back of his neck prickle again.

“Nah, the lad’s good, but he ain’t that good,” a voice said from an opened door to the side of the hearth that had eased open. “Now, put down that fine pistol, Sir Alasdair, and we’ll see how fine Miss Corbet stays. And yourself. I got a barker, too,” the voice went on when Alasdair hesitated. “Ain’t so fancy, but it spits hot lead, and it’s pointed at your head.”

Alasdair nodded and slowly lowered the pistol to the floor. The boy darted forward to snatch it up, holding it gingerly and with awe, admiring it. Alasdair turned. The small, dirty man from the stable grinned at him, and motioned him to the table with his pistol.

“Have a seat Sir Alasdair, whilst we has a look in your saddlebag. I ’spect the money’s there? I hope so for your sake.”

“And if I told you it wasn’t?” Alasdair asked, as he took Kate’s hand, so they couldn’t be separated again. “And added that I’ve friends coming?”

“I’d believe the bit about your cronies, but not about the gelt,” the man said, “’cause you’re too clever
to march into a bowmen ken without the ready. Sharky, stop moonin’ over the gent’s pistol and have an ogle at the bag.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Alasdair asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Babbage be in the cellars, having tea with their maid and servin’men, and them few patrons what was unlucky enough to be on the scene. Aw, don’t worry, I only give Babbage a dunt in the head to show I meant business. The ostler and stableboy’s off to Gawd knows where, for you won’t. He’s an old friend o’ mine, and set up this ken for us before he took his money and loped off. We’ll be gone in a lamb-shake, too, if you do the right thing. We ain’t in it for nothin’ but money, and once we gets that, we’re gone.”

“Da!” Sharky said excitedly, his hands and face half in the carpetbag he’d just hauled out of the saddlebag. “There’s a heap here! What we wanted and then some!”

“Then all’s plummy,” his father said, starting to back away. “Lemme get a glim. Aye!” he said after a quick look into the bag Sharky held open wide. “That’ll do. We’ll take it and go, and sorry for your inconvenience, sir. Give you good day, Miss Corbet, it were a treat meetin’ you. You’re a lady to the bone, that I will say.”

“Wait!” Alsdair said. “How do you know I don’t have my men waiting outside?”

“They wasn’t none there, nor down the road a minute past. I looked. But it makes no never mind ’cause I got ’nother way out. ’Tis a risky business, but it be my livelihood. Now, good day.”

“One thing,” Alasdair said. “You can take the money and be damned, but one thing I must know. If you don’t tell me, I promise you I’ll track you to the four corners of the earth to find out. Who sent you to do this piece of business?”

“Close the bag, boy!’ the man said, and then shook his head as Sharky pulled the bag together. “Sorry, but that be part of my job. Can’t tell nothin’ to no one, and that’s a fact.”

“I think you had better tell me,” Alasdair said in a flat, menacing voice.

The man stared. Alasdair no longer held Kate’s hand. Instead, he had another pistol—pointed at Sharky, who froze where he was, bent over the carpetbag. Alasdair nodded. “Yes. Stay where you are, lad, don’t even breathe.”

Alasdair was a big man who loomed even larger dressed as he was in a great cloak, but he didn’t need extra bulk to make their relative positions clearer. He towered over the skinny boy, and the pistol in his big hand didn’t waver.

Alasdair glanced at the boy’s father, who stood, stricken, in place. “The money caught your eye for a second too long,” Alasdair said harshly. “You forget a man may have tricks up his sleeve. Literally.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Kate gasped. “He’s only a boy!”

“To be sure,” Alasdair agreed. “But one who helped abduct you.”

“Aw, he be but a boy,” the man repeated nervously.

“Yes, and so a good bargaining chip, you’ll agree?” Alasdair asked. “But I can shoot you, if you prefer.” He angled his wrist so the man could get a better look at the pistol, though it remained pointed at the boy. “Or I can get you both, it’s an over and under, you see, and does a neat job for one or two. You have only the one shot. Either way you won’t be getting this pistol without a fight, and it’s one I believe you’ll lose.”

The room was very still. They all could hear the boy swallow hard, but he didn’t stir.

“Now we’re at an impasse,” Alasdair said conversa
tionally. “Either way there’ll be blood shed. Or we can settle this with no fuss. Tell me who sent you and you can walk with the money, if only because you didn’t hurt Miss Corbet, and it seems she’s taken an unaccountable liking to your boy. Don’t tell me, and there’ll be death today. My affection for Miss Corbet won’t change that. I’m a man who holds grudges. Speaking of which, in case you haven’t heard, Lolly has already gone on to his reward. Rosie told me he’d seen to it.”

That startled the man. His hand shook.

“But if you say Lolly was responsible for this mess just because he’s dead and can’t argue the point, I
will
find out,” Alasdair cautioned. “And I’ll pursue you relentlessly. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. The stories you’ve heard about me are all true. So. The real story please. And fast. Was it Lolly? Or perhaps someone more highly placed? The name Scalby is not unknown to me either.”

The man backed a step, deathly pale. “Aye, so the lass mentioned. They be her relatives, she said. Listen. We ain’t mixed up with the likes of
them
! Nor would we be. They be bad business. It were a simple job o’ work for Lolly. He was that angry about your showin’ him up at the gin house, see? He sent us to nab the mort, and we was goin’ to get half the ready for it. Just to vex you, he said. That be all! We got too much sense to scrag no one. Nor to deal with the likes of the Scalbys! They’re way above our touch.”