Maggie MacKeever (26 page)

A carriage stood near one corner of the square. Ceddie had paid this vehicle little heed, other than to think that it was an oddly antiquated sort of vehicle to find at a fashionable address; but now he watched with some surprise as Lady Tess made straight for it. Her follower appeared to be equally startled; he called out her name in some distress. The countess glanced over her shoulder and hastened her pace, reached the carriage, and scrambled inside. The man raced after her, and actually had a hand on the carriage door, when the coachman, with a heavy cudgel, struck him down. The carriage rattled away. Without a moment’s hesitation, and with nary a thought for the body which lay senseless in the street, Ceddie set out in cautious pursuit.

Nor did Tess spare a thought for poor Pertwee, which is not surprising, since she’d no idea he’d been stricken down in her service; indeed, she had not even remarked his identity. If anything, she assumed her follower had been one of the diamond thieves, foiled in making another attempt to regain the gems. This was not precisely logical of the countess, but she was not in a very sensible frame of mind.

Tess was surprised that she should view the coming confrontation with such dismay, for she had always known that the day would dawn when she must bid the Wicked Baronet a final
adieu,
and disappointed that he was not waiting for her in the coach. It did not occur to Tess that a mistake had been made; in his note, Sir Morgan had told her that his carriage would be waiting for her at that place and time; she could only assume that he was far more familiar with the protocol of assignations than was she. The carriage seemed a little shabby to belong to a man who was allegedly a top sawyer with four-in-hand, but it seemed reasonable that he should make an attempt at anonymity.

She glanced out the carriage window. Bright moonlight lent pale stone houses a ghostly majesty, softened the contours of the elegant restraints through whose windows she saw soft velvet cushions, red and gold rooms. Tess only half-noticed them, paying little attention even to the lively oyster houses and the wide footpaths of the Haymarket. She was engaged in reviewing the progress of her acquaintance with a rake.

How much time she passed in this melancholy pursuit, Tess did not know; but it suddenly occurred to her that it was taking an uncommonly long time to reach Vauxhall. Again she peered out the window, her senses alert. There was no sign of arches and pillars hung with colored lamps and garlands of flowers, no exotic Turkish minarets, no Arabian columned ways. There was only open countryside.

Tess called to the coachman, pounded with her cane on the carriage roof, to no avail. The carriage picked up more speed, and she feared they would be overturned. With an unhappy foreboding, the countess affected certain adjustments to her person, took firm hold of the cane, and settled back to wait.

It seemed that the journey lasted an eternity, more than ample time for Tess to reflect upon Sir Morgan’s perfidy. How easy she had made it for him! She had played right into his hands, delivering herself alone and unprotected to the enemy. The countess did not delude herself that someone else might be responsible for her dilemma: Sir Morgan had made the plans himself. The Wicked Baronet indeed! she thought bitterly, and took little consolation from the fact that he had inadvertently cooked his own goose. She had set out on this expedition with every intention of giving him the diamonds, but he had shown himself devious and untrustworthy, and she had changed her mind.

Had he lied to her all along? Was he set on reclaiming the diamonds for a one-time inamorata, or had Sir Morgan himself stolen them? Tess supposed she would eventually find out. One thing was certain: the necklace was hidden safely away, and Sir Morgan would not set hands on it without doing her bodily harm. Tess wished she’d thought to bring her gun along. Dare he manhandle her? Foolish question! There was obviously very little that the Wicked Baronet would not dare.

In this manner the journey was accomplished, the old carriage rattling through the moonlit countryside, and the countess wracking her brain for an avenue of escape. When at last the coach jolted to a stop, Lady Tess was in a towering rage.

“What, if I may inquire,” she demanded in her iciest tones when the carriage door was yanked open, “is the meaning of this outrage?” She had expected no answer, and none was given; but the countess made such a good accounting of herself that it took six burly men to subdue her, none of whom were spared contact with the cane.

Tess recognized her surroundings immediately, though this time she was not privileged to view the inn’s taproom or the huge fireplace, or conducted to the little bedchamber at the rear. Instead she was bundled around the back of the building by the stables, down a narrow flight of stairs, and into a small, filthy room.

The door slammed; Tess was alone. She repaired as best she could the damage done during the scuffle, though there was little she could do without the aid of mirror, brush, and comb. At least they had left her a candle and her cane. She moved to inspect the dusty bottles that lined the walls.

The countess was not long left in solitude. Rough voices sounded outside the door and a venerable ancient, rheumy of eye and overpowering of stench, stepped into the room. Tess, who had expected to confront Sir Morgan, stared. So did the ancient, who had
not
expected to find the prisoner perched upon a shelf and sampling a bottle of Old Constantia. With one wary eye fixed on her cane, he straddled the room’s sole wooden chair.

“Well, my fine lady!” he exclaimed, with ominous joviality. “I reckon you know why you’re here. Just hand over the sparklers and we’ll get along right famous, and no harm done.”

“I see you are under the delusion,” retorted Lady Tess, “that I am a cabbage-head. You dare not let me go lest I immediately acquaint the authorities with the nature of this place.” She contemplated the bottle. “Smuggled, I conjecture. Whoever would have thought that I, the Countess of Lansbury, would consort with free-traders and thieves?” Her thoughtful gaze moved to the old man. “I suppose you are aware of the consequences that will fall upon you when my body is found? One does not go blithely murdering gentlewomen without fear of reprisals, my man! Are the rewards so great that you will risk your neck for them? Not that the lot of you wouldn’t be the better of a good stretching of your necks!”

The ancient regarded her mournfully. His sight might be less than it once was, but he’d no more than clapped his eyes on this delicately nurtured lady than he knew she’d be a rare handful. “Nay!” he replied. “I don’t aim to get my neck cricked. I’m only wishful of getting my dabbers onto those sparklers, and then you’ll be free as a bird.”

The countess was not so easily deceived. “Indeed!” said she, with curling lip. “I suppose now you will tell me that I have only to promise to say nothing and you will set me free! After I return the diamonds to you, of course.”

“Aye,” the ancient replied hopefully. “Give me your word that you’ll keep dubber mum’d.”

“Preposterous!” announced Tess. “You dare not take the chance of releasing me, lest I go straight to Bow Street.”

The old man blanched at this mention of those august representatives of the law, known more commonly to his ilk as “hornies” and other terms less repeatable. “Give me the necklace!” he growled. “Happen you’d best deal with me, lady, than the gentlemen upstairs.
They’d
as soon cut out your gizzard as look at you!”

Sir Morgan, reflected Tess, was decidedly a man not to be trusted. That he should callously place her in such a dire predicament weighed heavily on her heart. None of this, however, showed on her face. “Surely,” she responded sternly, “you cannot think I have them with me!” The ancient gaped at her. “Really,” said Tess, “this thing has been handled as badly as possible from beginning to end! You have set about solving this business in entirely the wrong way. Your first error was to place the necklace in my portmanteau, and your second was to try and use me as a cat’s-paw. Why did you, by the way?”

Somehow, thought the old man, this inquisition had gotten sadly out of hand. So authoritative was the countess that her words would have caused even the bravest, which he was not, to quail. “There was a Runner come after the sparklers,” he replied humbly. “He wouldn’t bother
you.
We knew where you was going, your woman having said so, and we reckoned it’d be easy enough to pinch the sparklers from you with no one the wiser.”

“How incredibly stupid!” declared Tess, and proceeded to read her captor a stern lecture on the evils of lawlessness, and the appalling consequences thereof.

“Begod!” spat the ancient, left all of a muck of sweat by the suggestion that he himself would dangle from the nubbing cheat. “Stop this gabble and tell me where the sparklers are hid!” He leered. “Or it’ll go the worse for you, my pretty one!”

“I daresay it’ll go the worse for me anyway,” replied Tess, with a shrug. “You might bear in mind that you will never find the necklace without my help.” She eyed him. “You might save yourself, if you let me go.”

“Nay, that won’t wash!” The old man spat on the dirt floor. He had, Tess noted, remarkably few teeth, which perhaps partially accounted for his eccentricities of speech.

“Even,” she offered handsomely, “if I promise
not
to go to Bow Street? Think, man! Do you
wish
to hang?”

The ancient definitely did not, nor did he wish to come afoul of the cutthroat gang abovestairs. “You vow not to snitch on us?” he inquired slyly.

“I do,” asserted Tess. “You need have no fear that I will not keep my word.” She paused as he ruminated. “You can trust me.”

“No more than pigs can fly!” snapped the old man and rose menacingly.

“I must remind you,” said Tess, with a great deal more courage than she felt, “that it is to your benefit to keep me alive. Only
I
know where the necklace is.”

“Aye, and dead men tell no tales,” responded the ancient in a most chilling manner. He jerked his head toward the ceiling. “You’ll talk right enough before
they’re
through with you! Happen it’d be easier on you if you’d told me.” He cackled as she blanched. “Think on it, lady! I’ll give you some time. Happen I’ll come again; happen
they
will.” And then—” He grimaced evilly.

Tess watched in gloomy silence as he walked to the door. Things couldn’t be in a worse case, she thought. She was incorrect in that assumption, as the ancient quickly proved. He turned to peer malignantly at her. “It’s a brave lass you are!” he announced and shook his head. “It’s mortal afraid I’d be to stay here. Rats, you know! Poisonous little beasts! They’ll get in your pretty hair and nibble at your toes.” With a last cackle, he went out the door. Tess heard a key turn in the lock.

She also heard, in the thick silence, ominous rustlings that proved she truly did share her little cellar with various members of the rodent family. The countess was not at all fond of such creatures. She drew her feet up beneath her and gloomily contemplated the candle, which was burning low. When it went out, the room would be dark as the pit.

Despite her brave words, Tess was aware that her situation was extremely perilous. She could hardly hope to escape so many determined ruffians, though she supposed she might temporarily delay her fate by breaking bottles over their heads as they entered her cell, a feat made all the more difficult by the dim light. She was not fleet of foot; she could hardly hope to outrun them. And, due to her folly in entrusting herself to Sir Morgan, she could hardly hope for rescue. If only she’d told someone where she’d planned to go! That would have availed little, she realized, since her destination was supposed to have been Vauxhall.

Disillusioned as she was, Tess had to concede that the Wicked Baronet was an extremely clever man. He would not get away with it, of course; both Clio and Delphine would raise a terrible outcry when her disappearance was discovered, and neither would fail to point the finger of suspicion at him. Doubtless he would have a ready explanation, Tess thought queasily, and would profess himself all undone when her lifeless body came to light. Perhaps it was as well. Despite his vicious ill-treatment of herself, she found she did not wish him to hang. Rather, she would prefer to dole out punishment herself, not that the opportunity would be granted her. Tess knew full well that she was slated for death. The villains might be spared the trouble, she reflected grimly; she would certainly be driven mad when the candle burned its last and the rats came.

As it happened, darkness had not yet descended when she heard a shuffling at the door, though the candle was definitely guttering. She leapt to her feet, cursing as she grasped the cane. Fool! she thought, to be spending her last moments pondering the character of a man who could in one moment embrace her passionately and in the next condemn her to a particularly nasty end. And a fool himself to have provided her with a sword-stick. She drew the rapier and positioned herself by the door. The noble Lansburys always fought to the end.

It was not much of a struggle; the brigand had obviously been unprepared for resistance and was further hampered by the lack of light, Tess having thoughtfully placed the dying candle as far away as possible. She withdrew her sword from the man’s side and stood looking down at him with an expression not of triumph but of dawning dismay. That familiar slender figure was not clad in the rough attire of her captors. Hastily she grasped the candle and brought it closer. “Good God!” she gasped, as the light fell on his waxen face. “Ceddie!”

Chapter 21

Bellamy House was in an uproar, Delphine having, in a conciliatory mood, gone to make her peace with her mistress only to find Tess’s room ransacked and the countess gone. A quick inspection of the remainder of the house further revealed that Tess was not on the premises, and that no one had seen her depart. One other person was unaccounted for: the Duke of Bellamy’s personal servant. Since Daffy could hardly think that Lady Tess had gone out accompanied by that very superior valet, she very much suspected that mischief was afoot.