Fenella J Miller (5 page)

The sound of horses approaching
attracted her attention. She stared down the drive that led from the front of
the house to the gates which were at least a mile away. The avenue of trees
made it impossible to see who was arriving, but there was a glimpse of scarlet
and gold between the leaves.

Yes! She was correct, the militia
were arriving. But why did they feel the need to come at speed? Could they have
apprehended the villains so soon or were they bringing bad news of another
sort?

Chapter
Five

Ned also heard the arrival of the
militia and strode across the greensward to arrive at the turning circle as
Captain Smith dismounted. The soldier was a man of around his own age but a
good head shorter.

‘Good afternoon, my lord. I’m
glad you’re here to greet us. I’ve pressing news for you.’ The captain tossed
his reins to his sergeant. ‘Is there somewhere private we can talk, Lord
Weston?’

‘Inside.
My study’s the best place; nobody would have the audacity to disturb us there.’
He led the way across the echoing hall and down the wide, wooden floored
passageway to his sanctuary. Footmen leapt to open doors, but he was so used to
the attention he didn’t notice. ‘In here, Captain Smith.’ He gestured to the
servant, poised to close the door behind them. ‘Have refreshments sent.’

The door closed behind him. Ned
took the seat behind his polished desk and pointed to a straight-backed wooden
chair. ‘Bring that closer, Captain. Seated here, we’re sufficiently far from
the door not to be overheard.’

If Captain Smith was surprised a
member of Weston’s own staff might eavesdrop on their conversation, he was wise
enough not to comment. When they were settled, Ned placed his elbows on the
desk and rested his chin on his
steepled
fingers.

‘Well, sir, what is it that
caused you to arrive at my door in such a hurry?’ The captain ran his finger
around his close fitting black stock as if it was unaccountably shrinking. He
cleared his throat noisily.

‘It’s like this, my lord. We
searched the lane but found no sign of any fallen tree blocking the way.
Neither was there any sign of their having been assailants hidden in the hedge.
The only hoof prints we could find were those of the three riders who jumped
out.’

 
Whatever he had expected the man to say it had
not been this. ‘Let me understand you,
Captain
 
Smith
. You’re suggesting, are you not,
that Miss Coombs and her two grooms imagined the whole incident?’ His voice was
even. Years of dissembling meant, when necessary, he was able to disguise his
feelings.

‘I own I’m puzzled by the whole
situation, my lord. Those three riders were so scared they risked breaking
their necks by jumping over that hedge. Something spooked them, but I’m not
sure it was anything more than a couple of poachers.’

‘That doesn’t explain the fallen
log. I can see no reason why poachers should place it there or wish to remove
it after Miss Coombs had gone. Do you have an explanation for this?’

Captain Smith shook his head. ‘I
don’t, sir. Did all three of them see the tree, or was it just the young lady?’

‘I have no idea. I can see where
your mind is going on this. You think it could have been a trick of the light,
no more than a dark shadow across the lane. If the groom heard the poachers and
called out a warning it’s very possible Miss Coombs, in her fear, was
mistaken.’

The light tap on the door
heralded the arrival of the footman bearing a tray laden with coffee, tea and
freshly made lemonade. The young man deftly placed it on the desk, bowed, and
hurried away.

‘Well, thank you for being
discreet, Captain Smith. I wouldn’t like Miss Coombs to be embarrassed in any
way.’ Ned raised his eyebrows slightly, waiting for a response.

‘Of course not,
my lord.
I shall mention possible rioters and disaffected labourers in
my report.’

‘Good man. Now, what can I get
you? I’ve an excellent brandy on the side table, if you would prefer it.’

Ten minutes later Captain Smith
departed under the mistaken impression that his host was well satisfied with
the outcome of his investigation.

Ned prowled the room deep in
thought. He had accepted the explanation without comment. Now was not the time
to voice his suspicions. This was something far more sinister than poachers and
imaginary logs. If it had been any other young woman of his acquaintance, he
might have accepted what Captain Smith had told him, but Miss Coombs was the
last person to mistake a shadow for something as substantial as a tree.

God’s teeth! He remembered now
that one of the grooms had dismounted and attempted to move the obstruction
from the path. He had obviously neglected to pass this fact on to the militia.
Frowning, he returned to his desk and kicked back his chair. Was there more to
all this than he had at first thought? Would a chancer, an opportunist hoping
to snatch an heiress, be so meticulous in covering his tracks?

He poured himself a second glass
of brandy. He smiled wryly, Miss Coombs had only been back in his life for
twenty-four hours and already he was being driven to strong drink. He now had
two conundrums to solve. He had to unmask the traitor, if there was one,
masquerading as a labourer with the balloon party, or possibly it was the
elegant
émigré
, Count Everex that he
should be studying more closely.

Penny paused long enough to
admire the red coated soldiers as they thundered past but didn’t stay to watch
Weston greet them. No doubt when she met him before dinner he would tell her
what the soldiers had discovered. Obviously the fact that they were back so
quickly meant no one had been apprehended.

She shivered as she recalled the
shadowy shapes in the darkness of the lane and the very real fear she had
experienced. Whoever it had been could try again and she was glad t she had the
protection of Lord Weston, however temporary that might be. A young lady
without a male protector was far more vulnerable to predatory
males
intent on securing themselves a wealthy wife than a
girl with a father or brother to take care of her.

The impressive front door was
open to allow a cooling breeze to blow through the
house,
she was relieved no vigilant footman leapt out of the gloom to offer to conduct
her to her chambers. She was unused to having so many servants around; at
Nettleford
House they managed very well with six inside
staff and six outside. Goodness knows how many Weston employed - it must be
over one hundred.

She ran lightly across the marble
hall, her walking boots clicking rhythmically. She ran up the curving
staircase, but was forced to pause to consider her direction when she reached
the second floor. She closed her eyes for a moment trying to recall how many
doors down the corridor her own rooms were situated.

No. This was no good, she would
have to retrace her steps and find a servant to help her. She was about to
descend to the hall when she heard male voices and instinctively hid herself in
the shadows. She watched Lord Weston stride across the empty space followed
half a pace behind by a very anxious looking red-coated captain.

As soon as they had vanished
towards the rear of the house she continued her journey. Where
was Will when one
wanted him? She hesitated, marooned in the
centre of the sea of black and white tiles, her rose pink dimity gown a
dramatic contrast to the starkness of the floor.

‘Miss Coombs,
how delightful, to meet you a second time in one afternoon.
Can I be of
assistance?’

‘You can, Mr Weston. I’m afraid
that I misremember the exact location of my apartment. And neither can I find a
bell-strap to tug in order to summon someone to take me there.’

Mr Weston smiled and she couldn’t
fail to notice t he was an attractive man and so much more obliging than his
cousin.

‘Your apartment I cannot find,
but I know where there is a bell-pull. Allow me to show you where it’s hidden.’
He walked over to the mantel shelf and reached into an alcove hidden in the
wall. ‘It’s here, Miss Coombs. I’ve summoned help for you.’

He bowed politely. ‘If you’ll
excuse me, I’m expected elsewhere. I only returned to the house to collect a
book from the library my mother particularly wished to read.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’m certain
someone will come at any moment to direct me.’

Mary was waiting anxiously when
she finally arrived in her apartment. ‘There you are, miss, I was that worried
you weren’t going to leave yourself time to change. It’s almost four o’clock
now.’

‘We have plenty of time. I’m
surprised no one downstairs told you they don’t keep country hours here. Dinner
isn’t served until seven. However Lord Weston has asked me to come down at six;
he has something he wishes to say to me in private.’

Her maid would draw her own
conclusions about the meeting. It wouldn’t hurt for the staff to be half
expecting the erroneous announcement which was coming that evening. ‘I still
have time to rest for an hour, Mary. I’ll wear my new evening gown, the one in
eau-de-nil silk. I would like the turquoise jewellery set out for me as well.’

Her maid bobbed a curtsey; her
narrow features alight with pleasure.
‘An excellent choice,
Miss Coombs.
I’m sure you want to look you’re very best to night.’

The bedchamber was pleasantly
cool after the heat of the garden. Mary had had the foresight to draw the
curtains and close the shutters across the two massive windows. As she
disrobed, Penny could sense the excitement in her companion, but Mary was far
too well-trained to ask that particular question.

‘There, miss, you pop into your
bed and rest. I’ll call you in an hour. It’s a good thing we’ve been given
chambers at the back of the house. It must be like an oven at the front.’

‘Being south facing makes
Headingly
a light house. I think these rooms must be dark
and cold in the winter.’

Mary twitched
the cotton coverlet across. ‘Well, I reckon
you’ve
been given the best rooms.’

Much as she loved the middle-aged
woman who had looked after her since her mother had died ten years ago, Penny
sometimes found Mary too quick to spy a possible slight and the maid was
overprotective wherever they went. She had been a sore trial during Penny’s
season in London where every gentleman was scrutinized and any pieces of
adverse gossip immediately relayed to her mistress.

She settled back amongst the feather
pillows a slight smile curving her lips. Her garrulous maid had never a bad
word to say about Weston when he had appeared in her drawing-room. She closed
her eyes, letting her thoughts drift. Her mind filled with the image of a tall,
auburn-haired gentleman but she wasn’t sure whether the vision was of the
charming Mr Weston or his more formidable cousin.

At precisely five minutes to six
o’clock Penny was ready to descend. She stood in front of the full-length
mirror and stared at herself critically. The neckline of her gown was discreet.
The closely fitting, beaded bodice cleverly emphasizing her small breasts.

‘The turquoise necklace and ear
bobs are perfect with this dress. And I love the way you have arranged my hair,
Mary. Weaving spare beads through was a stroke of genius.’

‘Thank you, miss. That gown is as
fine as any you might find in London. You look like a princess tonight. Stand
still for a moment longer whilst I check the hang of the overskirt.’

Penny held out her hand
obediently and her
abigail
slipped the loop of ribbon,
from the demi-train, over her wrist. ‘When Madame showed me a sample I knew it
would be perfect. I couldn’t have worn something as sophisticated at my come
out, but I’m one and twenty now and can wear whatever I please.’

She turned and
the sarcenet overdress sparkled in the evening sunlight revealing her matching
silk slippers their toes embroidered with pretty eau-de-nil glass beads. ‘Mary,
I own I’m feeling a trifle nervous this evening. Do you realize this is the
first opportunity I’ve had to attend a formal dinner since Papa died?’

‘He would be proud of you
tonight. Both he and your dear mother will be looking out for you. Downstairs
there’s word there are more guests expected tomorrow. I don’t believe you’ve
attended such a grand house party before.’

Penny didn’t need to be reminded.
Attending a ball or soirée and then returning to the privacy of your own home
was one thing, but quite another to be on display almost twenty-four hours of
the day. She had become unused to company since her return from London on the
death of her father.

She trembled, inexplicably cold,
as if something malignant had brushed her cheek. ‘Mary, I’ll need the wrap
after all. It can turn chilly when it gets dark.’

With the gossamer stole around her
shoulders, the ribbons from her reticule and demi-train attached securely to
her wrist, she was finally ready to descend. She had not rung for assistance.
She preferred to make her curtsy to Lord Weston without a circle of curious
footmen.

She floated along the carpeted
corridors and down the first flight of stairs. She paused to stare out across
the park. The wide stone steps that led to the ornamental lake glowed golden as
the sun began its nightly journey. Headingly was so beautiful.

She was about to turn away when a
flash of movement caught her eye. Was she mistaken? No, there was someone
lurking in the trees that bordered the expanse of green in front of the house.
All legitimate guests should now be in their rooms preparing for dinner. So who
was it? She pressed closer trying to distinguish the identity of the distant
figure.

That he was a gentleman was
certain for his garments were not that of a servant or labourer. There was
something vaguely familiar about the man, but before she could identify him he
vanished beneath the canopy of leaves.

Her brow furrowed as she
considered the possible implications of her discovery. Had this morning’s
assailants an accomplice already resident here? She had to discuss her findings
with Lord Weston.
Immediately.
How fortuitous she was
to meet him before the other guests gathered for sherry wine in the
drawing-room.