Sally MacKenzie Bundle (209 page)

Jane frowned. “Do you think Mrs. Hornsley doesn’t feed him?” The boy had looked perfectly fit, but appearances could be deceiving. Mrs. Hornsley was quite elderly; perhaps she wasn’t aware of a young boy’s needs.

“I imagine she or the estimable Mrs. Argle is quite aware of how much a boy his age can eat. Have you forgotten what enthusiastic trenchermen your brothers were when they were young?”

She laughed. “Yes, you are right—and they can still eat me under the table; especially Nicholas, who is only twenty. Now that they are so much bigger than I am, I don’t think it remarkable, but when they were boys…I did wonder where they managed to put all the food they stuffed in their gullets. They never gained an ounce, of course.”

“Of course.” He looked over at Jem. “Will you be all right? I don’t like leaving you alone.”

Jane frowned. Why did Lord Motton sound so concerned? They were standing in Hyde Park in the middle of the day. Surely he didn’t expect brigands or highwaymen or some other nefarious individuals to accost Jem? Why would they? They might make off with the horses, but Jem was a servant. He had nothing of his own to tempt them.

“I’ll be fine, my lord.” Jem shrugged. “Should anything odd happen, well, I’ll not play the hero.”

Good heavens, did Jem also think there was danger here? What was the matter with them both? Perhaps they’d gotten their heads knocked when the carriage had crashed. She examined them more carefully. They both looked unharmed.

“Good.” Lord Motton clapped Jem on the back. “I know I can rely on you. Miss Parker-Roth?” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

They walked down the lawn. “You don’t believe what just happened was an accident, do you?”

Lord Motton gave her a long, considered look and then shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it was an accident.”

“Why?” Jane heard the strident note in her voice and took a deep breath to try again, more calmly this time. “Bad things happen, my lord. It is regrettable, but true. You can’t be seeing bogeymen behind every bush.” She shrugged. “It’s a wonder, with all the noise and hubbub of London, that more horses don’t bolt.”

“A London horse grows immune to noisy crowds and large, unpredictable mobs, Miss Parker-Roth. My team is very well behaved under normal circumstances.”

Oh, dear. She certainly hadn’t meant to insult his horses or his handling of them. “But what about that upended vegetable cart? Or those dogs? You can’t say it’s a regular occurrence for horses to have to dash through wayward vegetables pursued by vicious animals.”

“No, indeed. It’s very unusual”—he looked ahead to where Mrs. Hornsley awaited them in her barouche—“but not unusual enough to raise suspicions.”

She let out a short, impatient breath. “Now what do you mean by that mysterious remark?”

He looked back at her. “It’s not mysterious at all. If we’d been injured or even killed just now, everyone would have thought the accident merely a tragic sequence of events—a twist of fate—bad luck. No one would have suspected it was planned—the vegetable woman placed just so, the dogs let go at precisely the right moment.”

“Don’t be absurd. How could that all have been planned?” She shook her head and tried to shake off the chill Lord Motton’s words sent skittering down her spine. He must be wrong, because if he was right…how could someone have that much power and be capable of such careful, evil plotting?

“Satan has his fingers everywhere, Miss Parker-Roth. He has eyes and ears at every street corner and every social gathering, be it in Seven Dials or Mayfair. I think it’s clear he wants us to stop looking for the pieces to Clarence’s puzzle.” His face hardened. “Or he wants us to stop, period. I assure you he would not have shed a tear if we hadn’t survived our little adventure just now.”

Jane kept herself—just barely—from looking over her shoulder. Soon she’d be imagining the trees and bushes had eyes. Lord Motton was wrong—he had to be. “I still think you are jousting at shadows.”

He stopped, so she had to stop as well. “Do not take this lightly. I’ve dealt with Satan’s handiwork for years. He is very clever and very dangerous. I’d wager he was behind all the problems we encountered going to and from the gallery—the reckless drivers, the toppled carts, our final crash—as well as the near collision with the dandy-horse yesterday.”

“Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that? Panic was settling into her chest. The viscount must be wrong. This was London, not the wilds of America. Certainly there was crime, but not such organized lawlessness. But he looked so dead serious. She glanced away—and saw Mrs. Hornsley waving from the barouche.

“I think Mrs. Hornsley is becoming impatient, my lord.”

“What? Ah, I see.” He waved back. “We should not keep her waiting.”

“Yes, I would prefer not to walk back to Motton House.”

Lord Motton snorted. “You might arrive sooner if you did, and with less aggravation.”

“What? You don’t find Mrs. Hornsley congenial company?”

Lord Motton gave her a look and paused just out of the woman’s hearing. “I’m serious about the danger, Miss Parker-Roth. Do not take the risk lightly.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll be able to, with you throwing the long shadow of doom over me.”

“Lord Motton, Miss Parker-Roth, do come along,” Mrs. Hornsley called. “Lady Snuggles wants her tea.”

“Her tea?”

Jane choked back a giggle. “Mrs. Hornsley drinks the tea; the dog eats the cakes—off the good china.”

“Good God.” Lord Motton smiled at the elderly woman when they reached the carriage. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hornsley.”

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Dear heavens, the woman was batting her eyelashes at the viscount. “I hope you don’t mind letting yourself in. Usually my page would do the honor”—she frowned—“but he’s gone missing.”

“I’m afraid we borrowed him, ma’am. I needed a good, quick lad to take the message to Motton House that my tiger needs help with my horses. I hope you don’t mind terribly.” He gave her a blinding smile and opened the door to the carriage, folding down the stairs and helping Jane in. “I offer myself as his replacement until you can collect him at my home.”

“Oh, well, I suppose we can make due.” Mrs. Hornsley fluttered her eyelashes so furiously, Jane was sure she felt a breeze. “What do you think, Snuggy?”

Lady Snuggles barked what Jane assumed was her agreement as the viscount vaulted into the barouche and shut the door. The carriage lurched into motion.

“You know, my lord, you were driving far too quickly just now.” Mrs. Hornsley tapped Lord Motton playfully with her fan. “You gave my poor coachman quite the start.”

“My abject apologies, Lady Hornsley. I certainly did not mean to startle anyone.”

Mrs. Hornsley shook her head, setting the assortment of plumes in her rather garish bonnet swaying. It looked as if she were hosting an ostrich soiree on her head. It was a very good thing the woman had a dog and not a cat, Jane thought, or she’d have a feline amongst the feathers. And few cats would let themselves be forced into the ridiculous outfit Lady Snuggles was wearing—a pistachio coat and tiny bonnet to match her mistress’s.

“You young men, always showing off with your fast carriages!” Mrs. Hornsley tittered. “Why, even my dear departed husband was known to ‘spring ’em’ on occasion.”

Mrs. Hornsley was fond of attributing all sorts of interesting behavior to her deceased spouse, and since the man had shuffled off this mortal coil close to fifty years earlier, few members of the
ton
could dispute her. Frankly, more than one person doubted the gentleman had ever existed.

“Lord Motton did not intentionally drive so recklessly, Mrs. Hornsley,” Jane said. “His team was chased by two large, vicious dogs.”

“Really?” Mrs. Hornsley blinked at her, smiled vaguely, and then returned her attention to the viscount. “Your valet will not be very pleased with you, sir.” She tapped him again with her fan. “Your coat is much the worse for wear.”

“Yes, well, my curricle did end up in pieces.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Mr. Hornsley was so unhappy if one of his carriages got even the smallest scratch. You must be in a terrible fit of the dismals.” She patted him on his knee. “How can we cheer up Lord Motton, Snuggy?”

Well! Jane glanced at Edmund; he was being remarkably stoic about Mrs. Hornsley’s attentions, though she thought he did look slightly nauseated. She might have been a seat cushion for all the notice Mrs. Hornsley paid her.

She turned to Lady Snuggles. The stupid poodle pulled back her lips, showed her teeth, and then turned away, giving Jane the cold shoulder like her mistress.

All right. She could take a hint. She would observe the people passing on the walkway. The damn carriage was moving so slowly, she could have a conversation with any one of them if she so desired.

Hmm. That man with the large nose. Hadn’t she seen him outside the gallery today? And the fellow with the hideous waistcoat…wasn’t he the driver of that high-perch phaeton that had almost hit them pulling out of Brook Street? She should ask Lord Motton.

She turned to get his attention, but he was too busy listening to Mrs. Hornsley. And when she turned back, the men were gone.

She was letting her imagination run away with her. The curricle crash had shaken her, that was all, and then Lord Motton had done his best to frighten her with his tales of Satan. She would have a nice bracing cup of tea when she got back to Motton House and all would be well.

“Here we are. So nice to have had the chance to visit with you, my lord.” Mrs. Hornsley waved her fan in front of her face instead of using it to hit Lord Motton as the barouche rocked to a stop. “Quite takes me back to my salad days, having a handsome young man to converse with.”

“It was a pleasure, ma’am.” Lord Motton let himself out of the carriage and extended his hand to assist Jane. “Thank you again for conveying us home.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Mrs. Hornsley shifted back and forth so Jane’s departure wouldn’t block her view of the viscount. “Any time—though of course I hope you don’t find yourself in such a situation again.”

Jane reached the pavement and turned to try to bid farewell to Mrs. Hornsley. “I add my thanks to Lord Motton’s, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hornsley smiled vaguely in her direction. “Yes, well…” She turned back to the viscount. “We will have to chat again, my lord. Oh, and Lady Snuggles wishes to say adieu as well.” She picked up the poodle’s paw and made the stupid dog wave.

Lord Motton nodded and took Jane’s arm as Luke came bounding out of Motton House. “Ah, and here is your valiant page. I hope Cook treated you well, Luke?”

“Aye, she did, my lord. Thankee.” He hopped up on his perch, grinning.

“Good day, then.” The viscount stepped back so the coachman could put the barouche in motion.

As the carriage pulled away, Lady Snuggles, her ridiculous bonnet askew, looked back over Mrs. Hornsley’s shoulder. Jane couldn’t resist. She wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth—and caused Lady Snuggles to so forget herself as to bark and lunge.

Lord Motton raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t that a little childish, Miss Parker-Roth?”

“Yes, it was, and I don’t regret it. You probably didn’t notice, but Mrs. Hornsley ignored me completely.”

“Believe me, I noticed and thought you very fortunate. I’m sure I’ll have a bruise on my knee from her blasted fan.”

Someone cleared his throat and they looked over to see Williams standing in the open doorway.

“Yes, Williams? What is it?”

Mr. Williams stepped aside as Motton led Jane into the house. “My lord, the ladies are anxiously awaiting your and Miss Parker-Roth’s arrival in the drawing room. They were quite distressed when the Young Person arrived to say there had been an Accident.”

“Williams, I don’t want to be fussed over by the aunts.”

“They have been waiting most impatiently, my lord”—Williams looked at Jane—“as has Mrs. Parker-Roth.”

“Then I imagine there’s no escaping?”

“I think not, my lord.”

The question was moot. The drawing room door flew open, and Aunt Winifred and Jane’s mother came rushing toward them.

“What ’appened to you, matey?” Theo, perched as usual on Winifred’s shoulder, examined Motton from one eye and then the other.

“You look a complete mess,” Aunt Winifred said.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Parker-Roth looked worriedly from him to her daughter.

Aunt Winifred and Theo had given him the perfect excuse to avoid the aunts. “We had a slight accident with my curricle. We are both perfectly fine, but, as you can see, our raiment is in serious disrepair, certainly not appropriate for the drawing room. If you’ll excuse us?”

“Absolutely not.” Winifred stood solidly in front of the stairs.

“Jane, you have scratches on your face.” Mrs. Parker-Roth stepped closer to her daughter. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes, Mama. They are only scratches, truly.”

“Brandy, that’s wot they needs.” Theo bobbed emphatically up and down. “Whisky. Blue ruin.”

“How about a nice cup of tea,” Aunt Winifred said, “and a few biscuits and cakes?”

“Biscuits?” Theo stretched to his full height. “Theo likes biscuits.”

“And I’m sure Cook has plenty, though not as many as she had before Luke came by.”

“You met Luke?” Motton asked. Why would the ladies have encountered Mrs. Hornsley’s page? He should have gone straight to the kitchens.

“Indeed we did. Cecilia and I were going for a little stroll when we saw him run up.”

“I see.” Why the hell were Aunt Winifred and Mrs. Parker-Roth going out for a stroll together? Planning his wedding to Jane, no doubt.

“He was clearly a boy with an important errand,” Mrs. Parker-Roth said. “So we helped him find Mr. Williams and deliver his message; then we sat with him in the kitchen while he recovered his energy.”

“Cecilia was very good at drawing the boy out, you know.”

“Well, Winifred, I do have six children.” Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled. “Boys can be a little harder than girls to pry information from—I mean, to talk to—but if you go about it the right way, you can usually discover what you need to know.”

Poor Luke. Motton had had no idea what a trial he’d sent the boy to. But perhaps the lad hadn’t minded. He must have made serious inroads on Cook’s sweets.