Regency Masquerade (22 page)

She
snorted, “Over my dead body!”

“In
that case, the only advice I can give you is to continue to deny her claims and
stretch the settlement of the inheritance out as long as you can.” 

Lady
Murray dismissed him and sat considering, there must be something else she could
do.

Unbeknownst
to her, the Comte Duverne was scheming along similar lines.  After his
unsuccessful attempt to injure the youth he had known as Louis Caron, he had
sent his manservant to the Pelican the following day to find out what was
happening and  he had been regaled with a highly coloured account of the attack
and the subsequent departure of “Peter Francis” to somewhere in the country. “Peter
Francis” had then dropped out of sight.

The
Comte had other business to occupy him in London, but his desire for revenge
kept simmering in the background.  He did not fully understand why he had taken
such insult at this particular incident but there was something about the boy
that aggravated him intensely.  He remembered the name of the man the boy had
accompanied to the opera, and kept an occasional eye on his comings and
goings.  Eventually his patience paid off, and his informant had seen Lord
Carleton leaving for his country estate with the boy’s servant driving his
coach, surely the boy must be somewhere at hand.  A few days later he followed
discreetly and took rooms in nearby Guildford, declaring that he was seeking to
buy a small property in the area.  He sent his manservant out daily to observe
Carleton and his household, with orders to report back immediately if he caught
sight of a young man in his company.  He was just starting to attract unwanted
attention for his lengthy stay in the neighbourhood, when his servant reported
he had seen a young man out riding with Carleton that very morning on their way
to the village.  The Comte dressed in his plainest clothes and rode off to
Chatswood himself, leaving his servant at the inn, he wanted no witnesses to
his revenge.

He
had familiarised himself with the locality the first day he had arrived in the
area and lost no time in making his way to the woods overlooking the pathway
between Chatswood and Selby.  If only they had not already returned.  His hopes
were based on the supposition that the two men would have stopped and spent
some time on errands or business in the village.  He tethered his horse out of
sight and then walked until he found a vantage point where he could see a good
way down the path but stay unseen himself behind the hedgerows.   He checked
his pistol and waited impatiently.

Frances
had ventured forth for the first time, dressed in Peters clothes, accompanied
by Carleton to pay a visit to the village, she considered it time to live up to
her growing reputation as an Original.  Unsurprisingly, she had received a
mixed reception, although once the word got around that she had lived most of
her life abroad, many just shrugged knowingly.  That would explain it!  They
would wait and see how she conducted herself, before making up their minds
about her.  The fact that she was happy to put in a standing order for both
food and household items from the village shop keepers was a point in her
favour, seemed like her new Ladyship was a right ‘un, not too high in the
instep to buy honest local goods instead of sending to London. 

They
were returning home, well content with the expedition, letting the horses amble
along as they chatted to each other, when Carleton, who was looking forward to
see how much further they had to go, caught sight of a gun muzzle protruding
from the bushes and flung himself towards Frances shouting “Look out!” Almost
simultaneously there was a loud report.  Carleton slumped against her, a patch
of red blossoming on his shoulder as Frances grabbed hold of him with her left
arm and drew her pistol in one fast motion with her right.  She brought it up
in an automatic reflex and fired at the spot where the shooter had been hiding
in less than a second.  “Richard! Are you alright?”  She knew it was a foolish
question as soon as the words left her lips, he had swooned against her, blood
running down his arm. Her first instinct was to keep riding in case there were
any more assailants, but then she realised she would have to try and stop the
bleeding first.  She slid hastily off her horse, still trying to hang on to
Richard and break his fall to the ground.  She laid him on his back and pulled
open his coat and shirt, it looked as if the bullet was still lodged in his
shoulder though she didn’t think it was near any vital organs, but it was
bleeding profusely. 

She
loosened her own clothes and drew out the piece of cloth she had used to bind
her breasts and used it to make a pad for the wound.  Then for the first time
she drew breath and looked around.  The two horses were still standing
obediently where she had left them and she tied Diabolo’s reins around his neck
so he wouldn’t trip and gave him a slap on the rump to send him trotting off
home.  The she did the same with her roan.  That should bring help faster than
anything else she could think of.   She had heard nothing apart from Richard’s
slow breathing and the pounding of her own heart since the shot, she could only
hope that either she had hit the assailant or he had fled.  She was not about
to leave Richard and go and see.   Now that the action was over, her whole body
began to shake and she sat down in the dirt and put Richards head on her lap,
who on earth would want to kill him?   Where was John when she needed him?

John
Hopgood was outside the stables blowing a cloud with Toby, Carleton’s groom,
when the two riderless horses trotted in to the stable yard and knew instantly
that something was badly wrong.  “I’ll take the roan back along the path. Toby,
you get the gig out and follow me in case one of them is badly injured,” he
ordered, leaping into the saddle as he spoke.  Not waiting to see if Toby was
obeying he galloped down the path to the village, his heart in his mouth.  He
had a moment of guilty relief, ruthlessly suppressed, when he saw that it was
Lord Carleton on the ground and not Frances.

“He’s
been shot!” called out Frances, “Someone shot at us from those bushes!” 
Hopgood felt his jaw drop.  Hastily he dismounted and went to check on
Carleton, saw that Frances was shaking and spoke soothingly. “He’ll be fine, everything
will be alright, you’ll see. Toby is coming with the gig,” he advised, expertly
running his hands over the bandage.  “You’ve done a good job with this.   When
Toby gets here, I’ll drive the gig back with you and send him to fetch the
doctor, he’ll find him faster than I would.  I am just going over to have a
look behind the hedgerow, see if I can find anything to show us who did this. 
You’ll be right?”

Frances
nodded and John left her to investigate.  He peered cautiously behind the hedge
and gasped audibly.  There was a dead man on the ground, at least, he bent over
and took a closer look, yes that was definitely a bullet hole, right in the
middle of his chest and his eyes were wide open, staring at the sky.  What was
more he knew him.  It was the Comte Duverne.  So the chances were very high
that Carleton had taken the bullet meant for Frances.  Slowly he stood up and
walked back to them.

Frances
looked at him questioningly.  “It was the Comte,” John told her reluctantly. 
“You shot him?”

“Yes,”
replied Frances, “At least, I fired at the place the shot came from.  Did I hit
him then?”

“Well,
not to make a meal of it, you hit him right in the chest. Killed him stone
dead!” Hopgood waited rather uneasily for her reaction.  It was not quite what
he had expected.

“Good!”
said Frances rather savagely. “That will teach him to shoot Richard!”

“We’ll
have to report this to the authorities. Who is the local magistrate do you
know?”

“Squire
Herbert I imagine,” she answered after a moment’s thought.

They
both froze at the sound of a horse coming towards them but it was merely Toby
with the gig.

 “I
don’t think you should tell anyone how you met the Comte in France,” suggested
John in a low voice before Toby should overhear them, “Let everyone think he
was after Lord Carleton.”

She
nodded and climbed into the gig. The two servants lifted Carleton, mercifully
still unconscious, up into her arms and John sent Toby off to find the doctor
and the Squire.  He drove as carefully as he could back to the house, but his
passengers were still jolted uncomfortably, and Frances was vastly relieved
when at last they drew up in front of the steps.  Fanshaw and Williams were
both there already, waiting anxiously. Fanshaw jumped towards them but the
elderly butler paled as he saw his master sprawled in the gig, his jaw working.

“It’s
all right, he is not dead, just wounded,” reassured Frances hastily.  “He needs
your aid,” she added, rightly guessing this would best help them regain their
composure.  Fanshaw came forward to help John lift Carleton out of the gig and
carry him into the house.  Williams went ahead to organise the other servants
into fetching Mrs Pearson, along with hot water and old sheets for bandages,
then led the rescue party into the front parlour, where they laid their master
on a couch.

“Toby
has gone for the doctor,” Frances told the group of worried servants gathered
around, while carefully checking that her bandage was still in place.  “I don’t
think we can do any more until he has seen him, I don’t want to start the
bleeding again by trying to clean the wound.”

“What
happened my lady?” asked Fanshaw in alarm.

“He
was shot.  A man was hiding in the hedgerow and waylaid us as we rode by,” was
the calm answer.

“Shot!
A poacher?” queried a horrified Fanshaw.

“I
do not think so, it seems hardly likely a poacher would mistake us for game. 
It is not as if we were in the forest either, we were riding on a public road,
he must have seen us quite clearly before firing.”  Frances replied
thoughtfully.  “Toby has gone to ask Squire Herbert if he can come and look
into this.  There is the matter of the body, too, that will need to be
removed.”

“Body?”
gasped the butler.

“I
am a good shot,” replied Frances in a satisfied voice, oblivious of the various
looks of horrified respect cast upon her.

“Oh
well done my lady!” enthused Fanshaw.  He, for one, had no doubts this had been
the right thing to do, any misgivings he had felt that she had gulled his
lordship into the marriage were swept away instantly.

Mrs
Pearson arrived then from the dairy, where she had been watching the maid churn
butter, and soon had the staff dispatched about their business while Frances
told her what had occurred. 

“I
hope Lady Murray did not have a hand in this,” the thought popped into her head
unspoken.

A
short time later the doctor bustled into the room ushered in by Williams.  “Gunshot
is it?” he asked, “My word, what is the world coming to?”  In a few moments he
had everyone out apart from Fanshaw to hold down the patient in case he woke, and
Frances to assist him while he extracted the bullet.  “Ah, there it is!” he
said triumphantly, and soon had the wound cleaned and bandaged.  “Now keep him
still and quiet for a few days, no wine or heavy food, and he should be as
right as a trivet in no time.”   Squire Herbert came in silently as he was
speaking, and stood watching, holding back his questions until the doctor had
finished.

“Ah,
a sorry business Squire, when a man cannot even ride safely in broad
daylight!”  The doctor exclaimed, packing up his bag.  “Lord Carleton has a
bullet wound to the left shoulder. He is very lucky it was not any lower, but
as it is, it should not cause him too much trouble, as long as he is careful
while it heals.  Well unless you have any questions for me I will be off.”  
Williams escorted the doctor out while Frances invited the Squire to be
seated.  He sat down reluctantly, made a little uncomfortable by the fact that
she was in breeches and kept his eyes on her face.  “What can you tell me Lady
Carleton?”

“I
am certain you wish to be off to examine the scene so I will not keep you
long.  Richard and I were riding back along the public path from Selby, when
someone shot at him from the hedgerows.  I fired back immediately and John
tells me now I hit the man and killed him.”  Frances summarised succinctly.

“Did
you see anything suspicious beforehand?” he enquired, taking this in his
stride.

“No,
nothing ... but Richard may have.  I remember he called out a warning to me
just before he was shot.”

“And
the assailant? Do you have any idea who he was?”

“I
never saw him,” she replied honestly. “I stayed with Richard.  It was John, my
manservant, who went to investigate when he arrived to help us, but I can tell
you one more thing.  I am certain it was no accident, well, you will see for
yourself Squire.  If you do not mind, I will stay here.  John will take you to
the body if that is agreeable to you?”  

Squire
Herbert acquiesced, and Hopgood was sent for to accompany him back to the scene
of the crime.  They rode the couple of miles, John slowing as they neared the
scene.  “It was about here,” said John dismounting.  “Look there is some blood
on the road, that must be where Lord Carleton was lying.”  He turned back the
way they had come, “The body ought to be over there.  Would you like me to show
you sir?”