The Ice Captain's Daughter (4 page)

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Jones. How is Miss Roring?”

“Let me assure you, Mr. Logan, she will suffer no lasting ill effects from her injury.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. The highwayman who attacked her also shot the carriage driver. The driver’s gone missing, I’m afraid. Did you happen to treat him?”

“Can’t say I did. The last gunshot wound I saw in Cirencester was two years ago, when Lord Lansing’s gamekeeper accidentally discharged a hunting rifle at a large boulder. The ricocheting buckshot pierced his right buttock.” The surgeon shook his head and chuckled. “His wife never let him forget that.”

Logan was puzzled. The road past his estate led directly through Cirencester. Wouldn’t Miss Roring’s driver have sought medical assistance there—if indeed he’d been shot?

Logan escorted Mr. Jones to his gig parked in the courtyard, and then headed inside to ring the constable. Mrs. Lyman waylaid him en route to his study.

“If I might have a word with you, sir?”

“Why, of course.”

Although the housekeeper had never been an effervescent soul, Logan noticed her tone was more clipped than usual. He followed her into his study and shut the door. Never one to mince words, Mrs. Lyman unbridled her tongue immediately.

“I cannot countenance your bringing a trollop into this house.”

Logan’s mouth fell open in shock, but Mrs. Lyman scarcely drew breath.

“Your mother and father would roll over in their graves if they knew Idunn Court had been so besmirched.”

“A trollop? Surely you cannot be referring to Miss Roring!”

The housekeeper’s nostrils flared. “Indeed I am.”

Logan had difficulty keeping his countenance.

“Mrs. Lyman, let me set your mind at ease. Miss Roring is a gentlewoman of good breeding and the highest morals. She was traveling to the train station yesterday afternoon when a highwayman accosted her very near my hunting cottage. A bullet grazed her leg and I rendered her assistance.”

Mrs. Lyman’s lips narrowed into a harsh line. “That is my point, exactly. She spent last night with you in the cottage, without a chaperone.”

“For mercy’s sake, it was not her choice, nor mine! The lightning storm forced us to seek shelter.”

Not at all mollified, Mrs. Lyman sucked in her cheeks and folded her arms across her chest. Logan sighed.

“Her aunt will collect her this afternoon,” he said. “Can you bear with me until then?”

“The sooner she is gone, the better.”

In a swirl of self-righteousness, Mrs. Lyman strode over to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared down the hall.

Jillian stirred awake when Mary brought in her traveling suit. The entrance and exit holes made by the bullet had been sewn shut, but not invisibly so. In addition, a faint brown streak remained on her petticoat and skirt—a stark reminder of her injury. Jillian lamented the ruination of a brand new suit, but was grateful she’d emerged from the misadventure so lightly.

The maid helped her dress and then brushed out her long locks.

“I’ve never seen hair this color before. It’s near like snow,” she said, awed.

“Oh, thank you. It’s the same as my father’s. He’s Norwegian.”

Mary arranged the hair into simple but elegant French twist. As the maid worked in the pins, Jillian examined her reflection in the mirror. Would The Upper Ten consider her pale coloring attractive? Mama used to tell her all the time how pretty she was…but that was when she was a little girl. Although her Aunt Letty had assured her she would have no lack of suitors, because of her dowry, she wanted to marry for love. When her father used to look at her mother, the expression around his eyes would become softer and more vulnerable. Jillian vowed never to marry unless her suitor gazed at her like that.

A tap on the door interrupted her reverie.

“Come in,” she said.

A rawboned young man stuck his head inside the room. “Excuse me, miss. My name is Tom, and I’m to take you to the library. The constable is here to speak with you.”

“Oh, good.” Jillian rose.

At her request, Tom set her down just inside the doorway of the library. The constable and Logan turned to meet her. A shock went down Jillian’s spine at Logan’s altered appearance.
Why, he’s far younger than I had imagined.
The full beard was gone, revealing a very handsome face. His thick chestnut hair had been tamed, and he wore a black cutaway jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders. Jillian felt her cheeks grow warm and her heart beat faster. When Constable Bridges began to ask his questions, Logan moved out of her direct line of vision. Jillian was relieved.
Now I won’t stammer my way through the interview
.

While Jillian conversed with the constable, Logan sat listening off to one side. As she spoke, he studied her face, mannerisms, and tone of address.
Mrs. Lyman is entirely mistaken to label the girl a trollop.
Jillian’s conversation was cultivated, refined, and engaging. He’d thought her pretty from the moment he saw her, but now he fully appreciated how stunning she was. The girl’s skin was poured cream and her cheeks bloomed with vitality.
She really is exquisite.
Logan caught himself staring at her lips and the slight cleft in her chin before tearing his gaze away. Those sorts of thoughts and feelings had been his undoing before, and he refused to entertain them now or in the future.
Neither Miss Roring nor her lips are of any consequence to me whatsoever.

“Anyway, I’m horribly worried about my maid Betsy and her brother, George,” Jillian was saying. “George suffered a gunshot wound and Betsy was terrified out of her wits. When the carriage stopped, she guessed immediately it was a highwayman.”

“That’s odd,” interjected Logan. “Why would she be concerned about highwaymen? They aren’t especially common anymore.”

“I don’t know, but she grew up in East End,” Jillian said. “Perhaps she’s more fearful of the criminal element than would ordinarily be the case.”

“Miss Roring, were you carrying any valuables with you?” the constable asked.

“My handbag held several pound notes and coins, to pay our travel expenses, and my trunk was packed with clothes, footwear, and jewelry,” she replied. “There was also the hatpin I used to defend myself. It was a gift from my father, Captain Roring, and I’m very sorry to lose it.”

“Captain Lars Roring?” Logan asked, taken aback. “The Ice Captain?”

“The very same.”

Constable Bridges’s eyebrows rose. “Ice? Is he the one who imports Wenham Lake Ice from America? They say you can read a newspaper through a block of Wenham Lake Ice, but I’ve never tried it myself.”

Jillian’s blue eyes crinkled with merriment. “Most ice in Britain is imported from Norway these days. My father was born in Oslo.”

“Is the good captain in England now?” the constable asked.

“His ship should be arriving at Regent’s Canal Dock early in May, with his cargo.”

The constable’s notebook snapped closed and he stood. “I think I have enough to go on for the moment. If you’ll excuse me, I have an investigation to conduct.”

Jillian frowned. “I hope the brougham isn’t in a ditch somewhere. The pistol shot startled the horses and George might not have been able to control them with one arm.”

“Let me set your mind at ease. I assure you, there were no roadside accidents to be seen on my journey here today from Cirencester.”

Constable Bridges bowed to Jillian and moved toward the door.

“I’ll see you out, Constable,” Logan said. “Excuse me, Miss Roring. I shall be back shortly. I believe Cook is prepared to serve lunch.”

Jillian and Logan dined on artichoke soup, chicken pie, fried broccoli, potatoes, and boiled beetroot. As the meal progressed, Logan’s broody and reserved demeanor gave way to a far more relaxed attitude. He even exhibited a modicum of mischievous humor.
Under different circumstances, those Gypsy eyes of his would be a girl’s undoing
, Jillian thought.

“What are your plans while you’re in town, Miss Roring?”

“I’m to reside with my widowed aunt, Mrs. Leticia Marsh, in Eaton Square. That is, at least until the end of the Season.”

“Of course.”

“And you, sir? Will you be traveling to town?”

His spine stiffened and his expression turned hard. “No. I have no business in London, nor am I likely to in the future.”

Although she was hurt by his abrupt response, Jillian pretended otherwise. She forced a smile to her lips. “You have such a beautiful home I can well understand your reluctance to leave it.”

Had it been some dreadful occurrence in London that had changed him? Was that the awful news to which Aunt Letty had alluded?
Surely it’s not gossip to wonder about the gentleman who rescued me?

As soon as Logan spoke, he instantly regretted it. Miss Roring covered it well, but he could see a guarded look had appeared in her eyes.
Could you not have been more circumspect?
He cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“Were you born in England, Miss Roring?”

“Indeed, I was. My mother is originally from Nottingham. She met my father as a London debutante about twenty years ago. He was a dashing young Norwegian sea captain who’d made friends at the palace with the quality of his ice. Queen Victoria herself welcomed him to St. James.”