Escaping Notice (10 page)

The coin he dug out of his pocket and flipped into the maid’s
quick hand was enough to have paid for a private room and fine
dinner. If he wanted people to think of him as a servant, he ought
to be more circumspect, she felt.

She frowned, shifting again on the wobbly chair. His masterful
handling of the two men engaged in a public brawl and the alacrity
with which the men had responded to his orders would be remembered,
too. If she hadn’t met him at an inquiry agency, she would have
assumed that he was a military man or low-ranking member of the
nobility. He seemed well used to commanding.

If anyone gave away their masquerade, it was likely to be
him.

“Were you a second son?” she blurted out, while Hugh sipped his
beer.

He gazed at her over the rim of his tankard, his brows rising in
surprise. “A second son?”

“Well, yes,” she said, trying not to blush over her foolish
question. The words echoed in her ears. The fact that the name of
the inquiry agency was Second Sons did not mean they only employed
the useless, spare sons of the aristocracy. “I did n0t mean ….”

He laughed. “I understand.
Second Sons
.”

Relieved, she smiled back and took another sip of beer. Then she
realized he hadn’t answered her question. He had simply re-phrased
it. Clever man.

“Well, are you?”

“No. I was the eldest.”

“Was?”

A shadow passed over his face, leaving his jaw hard and brows
drawn together. “I don’t have any living brothers. Or sisters.”

“I’m sorry,” Helen said, briefly touching his arm with the tips
of her fingers. “I was tactless —”

“No. You did not know.” He let out a breath before gulping down
his beer. “What about you?”

“Me?” she asked, nearly knocking her mug off the table. She
caught it at the last minute and clutched it in front of her. Why
had he asked about her family? Had someone at the agency recognized
her? Had they guessed?

Or had the curse of the Peckham Necklace been re-awakened? At
various times during the necklace’s long and not always illustrious
history, it had caught the attention of fortune hunters and newsmen
who had liked to enhance the legends more than the Archers
appreciated. Although she was positive — or at least very nearly
sure — that Hugh was trustworthy, she could not forget a few of the
more recent, unfortunate incidents. Her uncle had been beaten over
it.

Then there was the simple greed. She trusted Hugh, but she also
did not want to place him in a position where he might forget and
mention it — or worse — become interested in it. Temptation made
men into exceptionally frail creatures when it came to jewels.

“What about your family?” Hugh asked, his tone patient.

“My family?” Helen glanced at Ned, who had polished off his
supper and was eyeing the one remaining roll in the basket on the
table. She pushed the basket in his direction. He grabbed the
offering with alacrity and stuffed half of it into his mouth. At
least he wouldn’t be able to answer for her, although to be honest,
he had only met Lord and Lady Dacy once and might not even remember
their names. Most likely, Ned wouldn’t associate them with the Duke
of Peckham, either.

“I live with my sister,” she replied cautiously. “Ned and I
stayed with her last night.”

“Any other sibling?”

“A brother — an older brother.”

“A brother? Last name of Archer?” Hugh sat back, one arm hung
over the back of his chair and his face smoothing out in
thought.

“I’m sure you’ve never heard of him.”

“Archer — the name sounds very familiar.”

She laughed uneasily. “Really, we’re not at all important.
Archer is a very common name.” Her heart thumped at the lie. Well,
she
was not of any consequence. And if their cousin had
survived long enough to father children, Nathaniel, the current
Duke of Peckham, wouldn’t have been of any consequence, either.

“Do you have an uncle —”

“Everyone has uncles,” she interrupted him, racing to change the
subject. Oh,
why
had she gone to Second Sons when she knew
Uncle John used them regularly to get him out of scrapes of his own
making? Why did she have to have an uncle who was notorious for
making the most foolish wagers and then inventing outrageous
schemes to get him out of the ensuing difficulties?

She turned to Ned and smiled brightly. “What about you, young
man? What about your family?”

“Haven’t got one,” he mumbled, his cheeks stuffed as full as a
squirrel’s.

“You must have someone,” she pursued the subject doggedly. “You
must have lived somewhere before we met. You said you had a
guardian.”

Ned shrugged. After swallowing, he drank a few mouthfuls of the
half-ale, half-water Hugh had ordered for him. Ned grimaced and
studied all the plates on the table with a hungry eye.

“Don’t worry, Helen, we’ll find out where the scamp belongs.
I’ve no doubt there’s a worried female somewhere waiting for his
return.”

“There’s a
relieved
female,” Ned replied with a
sneer.

“There you are!” Helen said. “I
knew
it! You’ve run away
from home, haven’t you? Have you given any consideration to your
poor mother?”

“My mother’s dead. So’s my father.”

“Oh, Ned, I’m so sorry,” Helen squeezed Ned’s arm, although he
pulled it out of her grasp in order to check the bread basket
again. “I did not mean to bring back sad memories ….”

“Don’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hugh corrected him gently. “If it’s not your
mother, then there must be an aunt or cousin waiting for you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. No one’s waiting for me. They were
about to send me away, so I went on my own. No point in dragging it
out.”

Helen’s heart twisted. She held up the basket to catch the
maid’s eye and get it refilled. “Well, you’re with us now. And if
you don’t have any family, then you can come to live with me when
our adventure is over. How’s that?”

“I don’t want to live with anyone. I’m going to sea. Right after
I see Lord Nelson at St. Paul’s.” After that pronouncement, Ned
pushed his plate away. He crossed his arms on the table and laid
his head on them.

Helen looked at Hugh. He shrugged. At least they’d exhausted
that topic. And tomorrow they’d arrive at Ormsby, where they’d be
too busy to discuss such dangerous subjects.

Soon after that, Helen expected to be on her way back to London,
hopefully, with Ned as her chaperone.

Her first — and only — adventure would soon be over, as long as
she did not lose her nerve — or her mind.

“
Most
situations have their advantages and disadvantages.” —
The
Complete Servant

The approach to Ormsby revealed the Gothic grandeur of the
estate in its full glory. The morning sun glinted off the turrets,
and Helen had to work hard not to hang out of the window and gape.
On her last visit, she had arrived at the Earl of Monnow’s ball
after dark. She had missed the wide expanse of lawn leading up to a
sprawling castle, the battlemented parapet, the pointed windows and
the stout towers at each corner.

All she had seen were the cavernous hallway and half-glimpsed
rooms she had hurried past on her way to the ballroom. Despite the
number of guests, the vast room had appeared only half-full of
laughing, jostling people. The walls of the circular ballroom had
glimmered golden in the candlelight and rose into a spectacular
Gothic ceiling with elaborate pendentives. The rich splendor had
sent a breath of relief through her when she had realized she was
too late to meet her host. She decided that any man who lived in
such a place would be arrogant and only concerned with lavish
appearances and ostentation.

Not at all like Hugh in his plain jacket and trousers, of
course. She studied him obliquely, relieved to have the company of
such a calm gentleman as a travelling companion. His mere presence
inspired confidence.

“Quite a sight.” Hugh nodded toward the castle as he gazed out
of the window.

“Indeed,” she replied before Ned leaned over her to stare
outside. “I had not realized it was so … large.”

“It is that.” Hugh smiled. “I understand Ormsby Castle was one
of Sanderson Miller’s designs.”

“Sanderson Miller?”

He shrugged. “He designed these Gothic monstrosities during the
middle of the last century. It’s a bit rococo to my mind. If they
wanted a castle — and considering Monnow’s family name is Castle, I
suppose they thought it appropriate — they’d have been better
served with one of those Norman-looking, square-towered buildings
John Nash was so fond of.”

“You
would
prefer that sort of thing.” Helen giggled.
Someone as huge and Norman in appearance as Hugh Caswell was almost
obliged to prefer large, blockish buildings of the Norman
persuasion. “Well, I admire Ormsby. It looks like a fairy-tale
castle.”

Hugh snorted inelegantly. “Admire, maybe, but would you want to
live there?”

“Perhaps not. It is a bit, well, lavish.”

“Exactly.” As the carriage swept round around the final curve in
the road, Hugh turned to stare out of the window. The expression on
his face made Helen keep any additional comments to herself.

Perhaps he was just worried about carrying out their little
deception, she thought. Her suddenly-cold hands flew to her shabby
bonnet, straightening it. She smoothed her dark skirts, but there
were so many wrinkles that her efforts had little success.

Thankfully, their arrival did not raise any alarms. Without ado,
they were ushered into the house through the kitchen door. The
three of them stood in a cluster near the doorway, while a young
lad went for the butler, Mr. Symes. This august person walked into
the kitchen at an unhurried pace, designed to put them firmly in
their place from the start. He studied the documents Hugh handed to
him, and then motioned for them to follow him through the winding
corridors of the servants’ domain towards the family’s part of the
house.

Mr. Symes hesitated at a final doorway, straightened his
shoulders and glided inside. A thin, long-faced woman glanced up as
the butler motioned Helen, Hugh and Ned into the small room. Old
books, glass bottles of various colors and bits of pottery
cluttered the shelves around her. Stacks of paper and tottering
piles of small, leather-bound notebooks littered her desk, leaving
only a tiny square open for work.

Helen glanced around quickly, noting an open door just past the
desk. Through the doorway, she glimpsed part of a library lined
with tall shelves of books which stretched out beyond sight.

Catching the sour look on the lady’s face, Helen stepped closer
the door. Unfortunately, Hugh pushed her and Ned into the room in
front of him in an unexpectedly ruthless gesture.

“Apparently, these are the new staff, Miss Leigh,” Mr. Symes
announced.

The lady placed a hand on the ledger book she was examining and
glanced up. “Thank you, Mr. Symes.” She briefly adjusted a pair of
pince-nez clipped to a bony knot at the crest of her nose. The
round lenses magnified her brown eyes, giving her a curiously
insect-like appearance. The greenish-tinged sunlight, filtering
through the ivy which curved around the outside frame of the sole
window, enhanced this resemblance to the point where Helen had to
bite the inside of her mouth to keep from giggling.

“New staff, you say?” As Miss Leigh studied them, the expression
of distaste on her face deepened. Her mouth tightened. The murky
morning sun drew unflattering attention to the vertical lines
running from her cheekbones to her jaw.

She had sensibly positioned the desk in the corner under the
window to take advantage of the light coming through the square
panes, but the harsh light did not flatter her.

The butler nodded. “This
man
indicated they were sent by
Mr. Petre.”

“Mr. Petre? I had a letter from Mr. Petre. Delivered yesterday,
if I recall ….” Miss Leigh’s thin hands fluttered over her desk,
finally drawing out a letter still sealed with a red blob of wax.
Casting a suspicious glance at Helen, as if suspecting she might
snatch the missive out of her hands, Miss Leigh broke the seal. She
hunched over the letter. There were several sheets and she flicked
through them, tossing them one at a time onto a leaning stack of
papers immediately under the window.

When she finished, she looked at Helen, Hugh and Ned in turn.
“Mr. Petre hired you at the request of the earl?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss, em, Leigh, but yes. That is the case,”
Helen replied when she felt Hugh shift behind her. Despite the
lady’s air of impatience, she felt rather sorry for her, mostly due
to her rumpled-looking appearance. After Hugh’s insouciant replies
to the butler, Helen did not want him being impertinent to this
poor woman as well.

“You are to be
my
lady’s maid?” Miss Leigh appeared to
find this thought ludicrous. She snorted and tossed the remaining
page of the letter onto the desk.

“Yes, ma’am,” Helen replied meekly, staring down at Miss Leigh’s
worn blue kid slippers. Surely she wouldn’t fail so soon and get
dismissed during her first hour! She clenched the sides of her
dress with frozen fingers.

“I’ve never had a lady’s maid. I don’t believe I need one.”

With a concerted effort to keep her gaze locked on Miss Leigh’s
feet in a properly modest and submissive manner, Helen murmured an
apology.

I should never have left London. This is dreadful.
What made me think I could carry off this charade?

Her gaze flicked upward. Of all the ladies Helen had met, Miss
Leigh was the one most in need of a lady’s maid. A maid with a
strong will and sense of purpose. The lady had dressed in a
rust-red gown with several rows of ugly, worn lace around the
bodice and running down the front. Thick braids of red and bronze
silk looped around the hem, weighing down the skirt of her
dress.