Escaping Notice (17 page)

He did not much care for being a servant and worse, he had not
seen Miss Archer since they arrived. He had not seen much of the
inquiry agent, Mr. Caswell, either, even though they shared the
same bedroom. Mr. Caswell seemed to stay up all night, or at least
he went to bed long after Edward. And he got up well before Edward
did, too. So he left the boy to be ordered about by Mrs. Adams, who
seemed to hate young men in general and Edward in particular.

She delighted in giving him the most stupid and dullest jobs,
such as cleaning these nasty-smelling shoes. As if he could make
them look new again. He spat on a dry spot of leather and dipped
his rag in a tin of blacking, rubbing it into Mr. Symes’ left
shoe.

Why did the butler not just buy new ones? These would never look
good again, no matter how much Edward polished them. The heels were
worn down, and he could rub till his fingers fell off and still not
completely cover the worn spots on the sides and toe. They were
just plain worn out.

Throwing the completed shoe into the pile on his left, he
studied the ones still awaiting his attention, absently picking at
the black under his nails.

It would serve them all right if his fingers rotted and fell off
completely. Maybe that was why they had given him this task: the
last boy’s hands had been eaten away by the blacking, and now he
had to beg for a living, hoping someone would take pity on a boy
with stumps instead of hands.

He was probably starving, too.

That was not going to happen to Edward. He was not going to
remain here as their servant. Oh no, not him. It had been
disconcerting, certainly, to be dragged away from London just when
he had got so tantalizingly close to his goal of paying his
respects to Admiral Nelson’s grave and then joining the Navy. But
he could not seem to figure his way out of the coil. Now, he was
miles further away than before.

However, he knew Ormsby was not that far from several ports.
They were not as popular as London’s busy river, and he might not
be able to sign on as a cabin boy with the Navy as soon as he
intended, but he could certainly find some likely merchant coming
into the Bristol Channel.

Any captain would be bound to need a handy lad like Edward.

Once he went to sea, he knew he could eventually join the Navy.
They would be eager to have him and experience on a merchant vessel
might even help.

So as soon as he could slip away, he would make his way to
Newport or Cardiff. From there, the rest of the world awaited him.
The Far East, Spain, Africa ….

What was it that his aunts had said about the earl? Oh, yes, the
world was his
oyster
. Well, the world was Edward’s oyster
now. He just had to get away from the women who kept trying to hold
him back.

Grabbing a woman’s shoe, he thought wistfully about Miss Archer.
She had such nice, sparkly eyes. He certainly loved to hear her
laugh. Maybe not all women were so bad, after all. And when he got
older, he would be like the other sailors and have one in each
port; blonde ladies with a laugh and blue eyes just like hers. They
would be breathless to see him swagger in with a fistful of Far
Eastern pearls dribbling from his fingers and telling stories about
sea monsters and the wild ocean.

That was the life for him ….

“Well, Ned, have you finished those shoes?” Mrs. Adams asked.
“It’s nearly time for dinner.”

He glanced up to see her frowning, the skin stretched so tightly
over her face that it looked like a linen mask. “I’ve done nearly
half —”

“Half! That’s all? You will have to do better than that, young
man. Well, when you finish — if you finish in time — you may come
down to the servants’ hall for your dinner.”

“Yes, Mrs. Adams.”

Her sharp brown eyes roamed over the pile of polished shoes and
his stained fingers. “I’ll bring you a bun and cup of milk in the
meantime.”

Mouth hanging open, he stared at her, but before he could say a
word, she turned on her heel and marched out. He could have sworn
there was a smile on her face.

No, he must have been mistaken.

He had a great deal of experience with ladies like her. Those
experiences had not led him to expect smiles. She was only teasing
him, reminding him of food so that his stomach would growl and he
would be as uncomfortable as possible, knowing that others ate
while he sat here starving, with shoe-blacking eating his fingers
off.

Well, they would be sorry. He would run away again. It wasn’t so
hard. He had done it once, already. And this time, he would watch
out for the pretty ladies.

Then, when he was a famous Admiral, they would be really
sorry.

Very,
very
sorry, indeed.

“
Judge of your employers from your own observation ….” —
The
Complete Servant

The following day, Hugh met Gaunt in the garden as was their
arrangement. Their charades were already wearing thin. Hugh wanted
it to end, but more than that, he wanted to know who had wanted him
dead.

“I’m sorry, Lord Castle,” Gaunt said. “Your brother’s body was
discovered this morning on the beach, along with more wreckage from
the Twilight —”

“There is no doubt? It is Lionel?” Hugh interrupted, his voice
harsh. His hand twitched, again feeling the pull of Lionel’s weight
under the crushing waves and the shameful relief when he had lost
his grip and buoyed to the surface, gasping for air.

Had he been dead or just unconscious? If I had not
let go ….

“No, I’m sorry. They were able to identify Lionel from a pocket
watch inscribed to him.”

Hugh nodded once. He had given it to him on his twenty-first
birthday.

“There was enough debris from your boat to identify it; the men
who found it knew it was your vessel. I have had the wreckage
locked away,” Gaunt continued. “You were right, there was definite
evidence of tampering. Part of the mast appears to have been
partially sawn through. The clean edge was visible. And they found
the rudder where you indicated. It showed the same evidence.”

“Did the men who found the wreckage realize what had
happened?”

“Yes. The men along the coast are seasoned sailors. They know
the difference between a broken mast and deliberate sabotage. I
should warn you, some spoke of deliberate scuttling.”

“What? Why would I do such a thing?”

“Debts …?” Gaunt shrugged. “But they were in the minority and no
one took the suggestion seriously. How do you wish to proceed?”

“We will have to acknowledge my brother’s death and arrange for
his funeral.” Hugh scratched his chin. The bristles itched, and he
wished he could shave and get his life back in order. But it was
too late for that now. His life would never be the same without
Lionel.

“Whoever did this may become agitated when he learns about your
brother. Be on your guard.”

“I will. But for now, I would like to continue and at least
pretend we believe it was a tragic accident.”

“And you? What about your fate? There’s bound to be
speculation.”

“I’m still missing. Presumed dead in the same accident.”

Gaunt studied him for a moment and then glanced intently down at
one hand as if suddenly noticing a hangnail. “I apologize for
bringing this up, but we do need to discuss possible reasons for
this. Have you discovered anything?”

“Who hates me? Certainly the person who tried to kill me.”

“Have you angered anyone?”

“My butler insinuated that I do not listen as well as I ought to
—
i
f that is of any use to you.”

Gaunt studied him and then asked, “Your cousins, Lord Ashley and
his wife, are still in residence at Ormsby, are they not?”

“Yes. What of it? They came for the ball. I find it hard to
believe Richard would be dabbling in murder and certainly not by
sabotaging the Twilight. He’s not much of a sailor.”

“He wouldn’t have to be. And he would benefit from your
death.”

“Only if — well, yes. He would only benefit if both Lionel and I
died.”

“Which could have happened.”

“He could not have known that Lionel was with me. Richard has no
expectations of inheriting the earldom, not with both Lionel and me
in the way. In fact, he had every expectation that I would announce
my engagement at the ball.”

“Perhaps when that engagement did not materialize, he seized the
opportunity to ensure you did not find another bride and produce an
heir.”

“No.” Hugh laughed. The thought was absurd. “Richard is too ….”
Complacent? Was that the best description? Perhaps lacking in any
ambition except the pursuit of his own comfort was the most
accurate, but he could hardly say that. “No. He just wouldn’t.”

Despite his belief in his cousin, Gaunt’s words made Hugh feel
cold and tired. He was making no headway, except perhaps in
organizing the household accounts and paying a few tradesmen who
had been waiting, not so patiently, for reimbursement.

“Then who would? Someone attempted it.”

“You don’t have to remind me. Do you have any other news?
Information?”

“Yes. A stranger in a blue coat was seen at the docks, the night
before you took the Twilight out. He was near your boat. It is
possible that this man tampered with it.”

“Who was he?”

“No one recognized him. Is there anyone who might have had a
reason to check on your boat?”

“No.” A man in a blue coat? It could be anyone, even an innocent
fisherman on his way home. Hugh scratched his chin again, his
muscles aching with tiredness.

“Are you sure? Who else was at the ball?”

“Hundreds — I gave you the list the last time you came.”

“Who remained at Ormsby?” Gaunt glanced away, his face
impassive. Hugh was beginning to realize that his emotionless
expression meant the inquiry agent was aware he had asked an
uncomfortable question.

He obviously thought the murderer would remain to be sure of his
handiwork.

He had to be wrong.

“My cousin, Mr. Stonebridge, Lord and Lady Hereford, Lady Warder
and her daughter … a few others.”

“Did you argue with any of them?”

“Not that I recall. If you think someone tried to kill me
because of an argument, then it could be anyone on the guest list —
o
r living in the neighborhood for that
matter.”

“Do you make it a habit to argue with everyone?”

“No.” Hugh chuckled, though not with amusement. “But I’ve been
told I have an odd sense of humor. Who knows what someone may have
taken the wrong way?”

“I see.” Gaunt’s face became even more unreadable. “What about
your ex-fiancée?”

“What about her?”

“It’s possible …?”

“Why would Miss Peyton, or her lover, Lord Greeley, try to kill
me? They certainly cannot claim I stood in their way. If anything,
I should have killed
them
, but frankly, it was a relief to
see the last of them.”

“And maybe that is at the root of it, my lord.”

“No one has ever been murdered for being a bloody bore. You’ll
have to find another reason, Mr. Gaunt. Keep looking.”

“
Endeavour to serve with such good will ….” —
The Complete
Servant

Getting up before the sun rose, Helen dressed hurriedly in the
light from a sputtering, rank-smelling tallow candle. She cast
worried glances into Miss Leigh’s room, hoping the older lady would
keep to the schedule she had set over the last few days. She rose
precisely at seven and kept Helen busy for the rest of the day.

Now was her only chance.

It was difficult to judge time in the dark closet where she
slept, but these days she rested so poorly that it was not much of
a challenge to rise well before the sun.

The mice scrabbling beneath the floorboards made more noise than
Helen as she crept through the door, holding her hand in front of
the guttering flame. The smell of the cheap candle followed her.
Miss Leigh snorted in her sleep. Her thin nose twitched. Poised on
tiptoe, Helen stopped, her gaze flicking between Miss Leigh and the
chest of drawers where she suspected her employer had hidden the
necklace. She held her breath, trying to keep the candle from
shaking in her hand.

Miss Leigh rolled over and went back to sleep with a heavy
sigh.

This adventure was not turning out at all well. Helen put down
the candle and absently touched her bruised cheek with one cool
hand before she quietly opened the top drawer. Despite her tension,
her thoughts wandered, filling with doubts.

Could she truly bring this adventure to a successful conclusion?
It took
élan
and boldness, two qualities she knew she
lacked.

However, something in Mr. Caswell’s eyes had encouraged her to
try and so here she was, hoping she wouldn’t disappoint him. Not
that she was concerned about disappointing him, she hurriedly
corrected herself.

She sagged against the chest and pushed a few handkerchiefs
around. What was wrong with her? She had been completely resistant
to – if not completely repelled by — the few peers who had glanced
her way. But her family counted on her to marry well. At least they
had, before Oriana had married Lord Dacy. That happy occurrence did
not free Helen, however, to marry someone beneath her, and there
was no doubt that an inquiry agent was very much beneath her.

Not that she was considering anything of the sort, even if he
were to ask her, which he undoubtedly would not.

The bed creaked.

“Helen?” Miss Leigh sat up. “What are you doing?”

Helen turned, leaning back against the open drawer to shut it
with her back. “I was off to fetch your hot chocolate, Miss Leigh.”
Then she noticed a length of lace had caught on one of her jagged
nails. She hastily balled it in her fist.