The Rebel (35 page)

“An act of charity, I have no doubt,” Sir
Thomas explained with a dismissive wave. “But tell me…this
woman…where is she now?”

“My understanding is that she was taken to
the village of Ballyclough.”

“Ballyclough?” the older man growled. “How
do you know that?”

“It appears Doctor Forrest was sent for by
Parson Adams to see after an ailing Irish boy. The doctor has
indicated that the mother…this woman Rita…now does indeed reside in
the parsonage.”

“And you truly believe this woman can
identify Egan?”

“I do, sir,” the magistrate asserted. “The
issue of who exactly gave the money to the woman is insignificant
compared with the fact that the two
must
have met. Otherwise
the Shanavests would not go to the trouble of removing the other
woman…the blind widow…from the cottage.”

“Very astute, sir. But you have been
unsuccessful in gaining Rita’s cooperation before. What changes
now?”

“I plan to be more…persuasive. We shall
arrange for her children to be brought in, as well, when we arrest
her.” A grim smirk thinned the man’s lips. “I have heard she has a
small daughter. If need be, we shall give the little chit over to
one of our jailors and let the mother watch. The woman will be
telling us more than what we need to know.”

“I insist that you leave the children out of
it,” Sir Thomas snapped, rising to his feet. Wrestling with his
temper, he turned and walked to the window. “You err in arresting
the mother while she is staying at the parsonage, as well. Henry
Adams will not take kindly to having people dragged out from
beneath his own roof, and we do not want our own people rising
against us.”

“As magistrate, sir, I have the right
to…”

“Keep peace!” the older man roared. “Your
job is to maintain at least the appearance of peace and justice in
the King’s name. You let that woman go once. You cannot take her
out of the care of Reverend Adams without having a damned good
reason.”

“She is my strongest connection with Egan
right now.”

“That does not say much for your efforts,
does it, Sir Robert?”

Musgrave was red in the face when he bolted
to his feet. “If your purpose in inviting me here today was to
insult me, sir, then…”

“Blast your thin skin, Sir Robert, and get
hold of yourself.:

“I say…!”

“Focus, man! Put aside all this wasted
effort that will surely come to naught.” Sir Thomas clasped his
hands behind his back and walked toward Musgrave. To catch these
foxes, we must make bigger plans. My suggestion is this…” He
stopped, frowning at the man. “But perhaps you are not interested
in succeeding.”

“Of course I wish to succeed!” Musgrave
sputtered.

“Then this is our plan. Carry out a punitive
raid on one of the larger villages. You have the authority to do
so. But before the attack, make certain…in a discreet way…that word
of the raid leaks out. Meanwhile have your men keep watch. Lay a
trap. The Shanavests
will
show up.”

“But there is no guarantee that any of their
leaders will be there.”

“There is no guarantee that you won’t be
buggered in your sleep tonight by the man in the moon, either!” Sir
Thomas glared disapprovingly at the magistrate. “I will tell you
the secret to succeeding here. You must plan carefully and then
execute those plans quickly. Today is Wednesday. Plan the raid for
tomorrow night. The word should get out no sooner than tomorrow at
noon and only after some of your own people have been placed in
strategic places in and around the village. This will not give the
Whiteboys much time to react. One of their leaders…if not
more…
will
show up to assist with the villagers.”

“As far as these people that you say I
should place in the village.” Musgrave tugged on an ear. “I have no
one who I could put there…without raising suspicions.”

“That is why I wanted us to plan this
together.” Sir Thomas smiled. “I can be of help.”

***

The night air was heavy with the feel of an
upcoming storm. The two men standing in the paddock were the only
ones outside.

“I was in the forge with the smith when she
left. I didn’t even see the lass go.” The trainer leaned a wide
shoulder against a post and made a great show of poking at the
tobacco in his pipe.

Nicholas was receiving the same answers from
Paul that he’d heard from everyone else. He was being stonewalled
everywhere he’d turned with his questions. Each person seemed to
have been prepared. Each said the same thing. They didn’t know
where Jane had gone.

Nicholas wasn’t convinced, though, and the
way they all spoke to him triggered a feeling of anxiety in him
that he could not shake off.

When he’d seen no sign of her by
mid-morning, he’d stormed down to the stables and found Queen Mab
gone. Deciding that she must be at Ballyclough, he had saddled his
horse and raced across the Irish countryside after her. Though
Parson Adams was not at home, the housekeeper had assured him that
Miss Jane had not come visiting the parsonage that morning. But, of
course, he was welcome to stay and speak with Reverend Adams when
he returned. Nicholas had not bothered, and had rushed back to
Woodfield House instead, thinking she might be back.

In any other family or household, he would
have had some success in questioning the parents as to their
daughter’s whereabouts. But Lady Purefoy’s breezy response, ‘I long
ago gave up keeping account of Jane’s coming and going,’ had been a
dark reminder of how
little
she was cared for by this
family. Sir Thomas appeared to have even less interest than his
wife, and questioning Clara had only managed to sharpen his ongoing
suspicion that something had gone terribly wrong. Rather than
answering him, the young woman had simply extended her previous
invitation of acting as his guide, if Jane was unavailable. When he
had declined, she’d done her best to try to engage him in a
conversation regarding horses and racing.

He had struggled, but somehow managed not to
be rude.

And Paul was being equally unhelpful. “’Tis
hardly amiss, sir, for herself to be off like this for a day or
so.”

Nicholas forced away the dark thoughts in
his mind and watched the wreath of smoke around Paul’s head. He
tried to remind himself that it was completely within reason that
she may have received a message after he’d left her this morning.
But the anxiety wouldn’t ease up…for he was certain she would have
left him some word. “How long does her family wait before they grow
curious about where she is?”

The arching of the stable master’s bristled
eyebrow gave Nicholas his answer.

“How long before
you
become
concerned?”

Paul turned his attention to his pipe again,
giving Nicholas his answer to that, as well. The man knew where
Jane was, and he wasn’t concerned.

“I’ve spent the better part of that lassie’s
life worrying about her,” he said evasively.

“At least tell me that she is in no danger,”
Nicholas pressed doggedly.

“I wisht that I could, sir. But the truth of
the matter is, Sir Nicholas, ye might just resign yerself to what
ye be feeling today. Miss Jane is not like any other lass. For a
long while now, she’s answered to no man—nor woman, neither. She’s
been given her own head for so long that I don’t think she even
remembers the feel of the bit between her teeth or the lash about
the flanks, either. She’s fierce in her independence, and that’s
all there is to it. So if ye be set to care for her, ye might also
set yerself that you’ll be having no peace of mind this side of the
grave. ’Tis good for ye to be this facing now.”

Paul’s gaze was thoughtful when it met
Nicholas’s.

“Now, sir…if ye be looking for
something…someone safe, then ye should be looking up that hill, for
it appears as Miss Clara’s giving up waiting on ye.”

Nicholas glanced in the direction of the
house, annoyed at the sight of Clara, candle in hand, making her
way down the hill. As he turned back to Paul, he found the man
already half way to the stable door, doffing his cap to the young
woman as he went.

“I should have known that your love of
horses would draw you here. My guess is you could probably spend
endless hours with my father’s trainer. He is quite knowledgeable
on the topic.” Clara smiled brightly as she reached him. “But after
everything I have heard of your own involvement and interest, Sir
Nicholas, you cannot possibly be lacking anything.”

He found the false adoring tone repellent,
but he kept his views to himself. “Were you looking for someone
down here, Miss Clara? If it was Paul with whom you wished to
speak, I can still call him before he gets away.”

“No. I had no wish to speak to Paul.” She
ran her free hand up and down her bare arm. “I should have brought
a wrap. The night is far colder than I thought.”

But then again, he thought grimly, a wrap
would have defeated the purpose behind the fashionably revealing
dresses Clara was beginning to wear. Be fair, he chided himself.
All his frustration over Jane’s absence was getting the best of
him. He knew he had to get away.

“If you will excuse me, miss, I was just on
my way back to the house.”

He did not wait for a response from her
before starting toward the paddock gate.

“Do you mind if I walk with you?” she asked
a bit breathlessly, catching up to him. “We haven’t had much time
alone together since you’ve arrived, and I have been missing…”

“Do not do this, Clara,” Nicholas barked,
stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “I find this to be a
very deceitful game…and entirely unworthy of you.”

“But what do you mean?”

“Do not pretend that there is something
romantic between us—or that there ever could be.” Her eyes were
large and innocent looking, and they glistened in the lamplight.
But Nicholas felt no pity. “I have no doubt that your father has
already passed on the gist of our conversation. And regardless of
what your mother may be planning, I am
not
interested in
you, Clara, and I cannot express my feelings more clearly than
that.”

Her chin trembled, but she held her head
high. “But that is now, sir. If you gave us a chance…”

“No.” Impatient, he took a step away, but
then turned around again, facing her. “I know you are young, but
you must try to understand that giving ‘a chance’ to two people as
different as we are will not change things. I do not want you for
my wife. And in spite of whatever foolishness is going through your
head at this moment, I know that you don’t want me, either. But
this does not mean that my rejection should be the end of it all
for you. You are a beautiful and intelligent young woman. You have
great promise. And you should be doing your own choosing, rather
than allowing yourself to be guided by the whims of your
parents.”

Tears stood out in her blue eyes, and
Nicholas gentled his voice.

“There are many men out there, far more
deserving than I. In time, you will meet someone who will be your
perfect match. Until then, do not throw away your pride by settling
for someone whom you can never love.”

“There are many kinds of love, Sir
Nicholas.”

“There is only one kind of love fit for a
husband and wife,” he responded roughly. “And I, for one, intend to
have it.”

Clara turned away, and Nicholas frowned at
his harsh tone.

“You deserve better, Clara,” he said as
gently as he could. “Do not settle for anything less than the right
man.”

Without another word, Nicholas strode up the
path. When he reached the house, he turned to look at her. She had
blown out the light in her lamp, and he could just make out the
hooped expanse of her skirts’ light material where she stood
motionless in the dark.

What he could not see were the
uncontrollable sobs that were wracking her body as she wept.

***

Two full days had passed, and Jane still was
not back.

Alexandra sat on the bed and ran her fingers
over the delicate cloth of the gown that Fey had carried into her
room only minutes earlier. The workmanship was excellent. The
design was exactly as she’d desired. But what good would this
garment be, if the one it had been made for was nowhere to be
found?

Ah, but where could she be?

Here, tomorrow night was the ball, and still
no one seemed to care where the older Purefoy sister had gone…or
when she was to return. And if that were not distressing enough,
Alexandra had been faced with having to find excuses for Nicholas’s
empty chair at dinner.

Oh, she knew he was at Woodfield House…when
he wasn’t out combing the countryside. He, too, was looking for
Jane. She was sure of it. His features had been set in an
expressionless mask, showing nothing of what she knew he must be
feeling inside. His words gave away even less.

In recent years, when she’d thought about
Nicholas settling down and marrying, she’d never considered the
situation might also entail any of this pain that he was going
through now. Women, in general, had been plentiful in Nicholas’s
life. Foolishly, she’d assumed that taking the next step would be
as simple as picking one from the flock of eligible heiresses. She
had been so wrong.

Alexandra left her bedroom and went directly
to Jane’s attic studio. When she’d run into Nicholas before dinner,
she had seen him going in that direction.

The quiet of the upper floors pressed on her
ears like January cold. Every servant in the household was
apparently downstairs, bustling about under the sharp eye of Lady
Purefoy as the house was prepared for tomorrow night’s ball.

She knocked on the door before opening it.
Nicholas appeared at the top of the stairs, his face hopeful for a
moment before seeing who it was. He was wearing no jacket or tie.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the white shirt lacked
the crispness with which he always presented himself.