The Stolen Princess (20 page)

T
hey were to leave for London immediately after breakfast. Callie and Tibby had packed their meager belongings and their cases were waiting in the hall. Kitty-cat yowled angrily from a strong wicker basket, one ginger paw swiping furiously at anyone rash enough to pass close enough. Juno sat nearby, sniffing occasionally at the basket and watching interestedly as the ginger paw swatted at her in vain.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Mrs. Barrow had done them proud, with mounds of bacon, eggs, deviled kidneys, and smoked kippers, lashings of toast, and hot, fragrant coffee, but nobody seemed to have much of an appetite except for Gabriel.

“Mr. Gabe!” Mrs. Barrow burst into the room. “Sir Walter Tinknell is coming down the front drive with a couple of his men, and there's other soldiers with them—half a dozen—foreigners, I reckon, and all on horseback.”

They all hurried to the window to look. Sure enough, a small cavalcade was coming down the driveway. Two men rode at the head. One was red-faced, elderly, and fat, dressed in a tight blue coat with large gold buttons and riding a smart bay hunter. The other was beautiful, blond, and elegant: a picture of masculine perfection. Slender, lithe, yet with a sleek power, he rode a magnificent black stallion as if born on horseback. A thin golden mustache lined his upper lip. His uniform set off his fair good looks, being black and heavily frogged in gold. He wore a bell-topped shako with a gold coat of arms and a curled feather.

Callie felt her insides freeze. “It's Count Anton!”

“I
haven't seen so much gold braid since the last time the prince regent inspected the troops,” Gabe murmured. “And what a magnificent horse!”

“I wish he'd fall off and break his neck! Nicky!” Callie looked around. “Where is Nicky? He's not outside, is he? If Count Anton sees—”

“He and Jim are in the kitchen, having breakfast,” Mrs. Barrow assured her.

“Fetch him here to me at once! We must leave, immediately!”

Gabe held her by the arm. “Callie, you can't run from him now. If you did, he would only ride you down on that big horse of his.” He glanced at Mrs. Barrow. “But fetch both boys here.”

Callie tried to pull out of his grip. “But if he finds us, he'll take us back and then he'll—”

“I won't let him take you anywhere,” Gabe reassured her. She didn't look very reassured. He held her hands tightly, stroking them with his thumbs, and added, “He can hardly kidnap you when the local magistrate is looking on.”

She frowned. “Why has he brought a magistrate? He must think it gives him some advantage.” She looked at him with misgiving. “I don't like it.”

“Neither do I.” He glanced out of the window. “A magistrate implies some legal maneuver.”

“Nicky! He wants legal custody of Nicky.”

Gabe wasn't convinced. “How could he gain legal custody of your son before you?”

“Because Zindarian law is Gothic, that's why. A female has no status in law. If the male heir is a child, the oldest adult male becomes the head of the family until the child becomes an adult. Currently the head of the family is Uncle Otto, but if he died—and he is an old man—Count Anton would become the head of the family until Nicky turns eighteen.”

She clutched his forearms. “What if Uncle Otto is dead? Anton will have free rein.”

Gabe stared at her somberly. “It's a bluff. He must
suspect
you are here, but he cannot
know
it. Take Nicky upstairs and hide there. I'll get rid of Count Anton and his magistrate.”

“Give me a gun, just in case. Those dueling pistols.”

He squeezed her hand. “No time, they're out in the curricle. Besides, what's needed here is strategy, not force.”

Mrs. Barrow and the boys arrived, and swiftly Gabe explained their roles. They all looked stunned.

“It'll never work,” Callie muttered.

“Trust me,” he said softly. “I'll keep you and Nicky safe. Now go!” As he spoke, the front doorbell jangled imperiously. She glanced at it and fled with Nicky up the stairs.

Jim's eyes lit with excitement. “Are we foolin' the preventives, Mr. Gabe?”

“Something like that,” Gabe told him.

Everyone disappeared to take their places. Mrs. Barrow eyed him. “They're never the preventives, Mr. Gabe.”

“No, but the man with the magistrate is responsible for burning down Miss Tibthorpe's cottage. He's in pursuit of the princess and Nicky and he means them harm.”

Mrs. Barrow bristled. “The villain. Will you have him arrested then, sir?”

Gabe shook his head. “We have no proof. And I have no doubt he has diplomatic papers to ensure he cannot be touched by English law.”

The doorbell jangled again. “Shall I admit this cockroach, then?”

“Yes. Tell him I am unavailable.” Gabe raced back up the stairs as Mrs. Barrow marched to the front door. He waited on the landing and listened as Mrs. Barrow answered the door and explained that the master of the house was unavailable.

“Unavailable! How extremely convenient,” a smooth voice with a faint foreign accent said. Gabe recognized the voice. Last time he'd met it it had been attached to a pair of boots that were kicking him.

“I really must insist,” the magistrate declared. “Count Anton, the prince regent of Zindaria, has laid very serious claims against Captain Renfrew.”

Prince regent, Gabe thought. Uncle Otto must indeed be dead.

“Serious indeed to disturb the son of an English earl in His Own Home!” Mrs. Barrow countered in a belligerent manner.

The magistrate cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Count Anton claims that the young crown prince of his country has been kidnapped and, er—”

“What?”

“He claims the crown prince is being held here.”

“Here?” Mrs. Barrow repeated in loud surprise. There was a pause, then she raised her voice. “Oy, Barrow, the squire here reckons we've got a crown prince hidden away here somewhere. Have you seen one?”

“Nope, not in the kitchen,” Barrow's voice floated back.

Gabe grinned.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Count Anton pushed his way past Mrs. Barrow. “We will search ze house!”

“You will do no such thing!' Mrs. Barrow told him. “Sir Walter, are you going to let this foreigner shove his way into an English gentleman's home? And you lot—get back!” she added to the entourage.

Gabe decided it was time to make his entrance. He sauntered down the stairs. “What the devil is all this commotion about?” he drawled. “Mrs. Barrow, I told you I did not wish to be disturbed.”

Seeing the magistrate, he cut across her apologies, saying, “Ah, Sir Walter, excellent. Have you apprehended the culprits?”

Sir Walter looked surprised. “Culprits?” he repeated cautiously. “What culprits?”

“The ones who terrorized Miss Tibthorpe and burned down her cottage.”

The squire's eyebrows flew up in surprise and Gabe nodded. “Appalling, isn't it? Whatever is the country coming to when a lone woman is terrorized by thugs and her cottage burned down.” He glanced disdainfully at Count Anton and added, “Who is your friend, Sir Walter? I don't recognize the uniform. Not English, I hope. Surely not even Prinny would design such a ridicul—such a uniform.”

The count regarded him with an expression of haughty contempt. He was indeed a handsome devil, thought Gabe, but it was a beauty that repelled. His eyes were strange, as if they had no color. They flickered and he gave Gabe a severe, military bow. “I, sir, am Count Anton, prince regent of Zindaria, and I demand you release ze princess of Zindaria and her son, Crown Prince Nikolai.”

Gabe stared at him for a long moment and then turned to the squire. “Do you have
any
idea what he's talking about?”

The squire's ruddy face turned even redder. “Captain Renfrew, sir,” he began in embarrassment. “The count insists these people are being held here. He carries letters of authority from his government—”

“I
am
the government of my country,” Count Anton snapped. He stared narrowly at the marks of Gabe's injuries and glanced at the hand with the mark of his boot heel.

“Perhaps, but this is England. You have no authority here.” Gabe gave him a cold smile.

The count's lips thinnned. “I demand you—”

“Your demands mean nothing here!” Gabe's voice cut across him like a whiplash. “And I don't take to posturing bullyboys marching into my house and issuing demands.”

Sir Walter made placatory gestures. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, I am sure there is no need for this hostility. Count Anton, Captain Renfrew is a gentleman known to me, the son of the earl of Alverleigh and a fine officer, mentioned several times in dispatches. As I assured you earlier, he cannot possibly have anything to do with the kidnapping of your crown prince.” He gave a look of appeal to Gabe. “Captain Renfrew, all this could be cleared up in a moment if you'd just allow us to search the house…”

Gabe fixed him with the sort of look that could make a troop of hardened soldiers hang their heads.
“Search my house?”

The squire looked uncomfortable, but held his ground. “It's a grave accusation, sir, and one with government implications. I'm sure it's a mistake, but it would be better all round if we just cleared the air.”

The man was embarrassed, Gabe saw. He was already half convinced he'd come on a fool's errand.

Gabe gave a curt nod. “Very well, explain.” He folded his arms and waited.

“We're wasting time,” the count began.

Gabe shot him a hard look. “I could always just throw you out on your arse.”

“Captain Renfrew, Count, if you please,” Sir Walter said. “The count has received reports that in the last two days you have had a strange woman and a small boy living here.”

“He has, has he?” Gabe said. “What the devil business is it of his who I have here?”

“You have! Admit it!” the count snarled.

Gabe gave him a frigid stare.

“Captain Renfrew, please,” the squire begged.

Gabe shrugged. “There is a lady and a boy staying here, Sir Walter, though if that boy is a crown prince of anywhere I'd be astonished. Still, I suppose he could have been stolen by gypsies at birth…”

“He was stolen by you!”

Gabe unfolded his arms. “You are becoming excessively tedious, my man. You need a good thrashing and a lesson in manners.”

The squire stepped in between them. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. Captain Renfrew, if I could just meet this lady, all this could be sorted out.”

Gabe considered it. “Very well, but you—” He stabbed a finger at the count. “—behave yourself. I would not have any lady exposed to your uncouth behavior.”

He led them to the drawing room, opened the door, and said, “You see, Sir Walter? No stolen prince or princess.”

Count Anton shoved past them. “Aha!” he exclaimed in triumph and pointed to the woman sitting in front of the fire with her back to them. “There she is!”

Tibby turned with raised eyebrows. “I beg your pardon,” she said with frosty disapproval. She glanced from Gabe, to Sir Walter, to the count. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

Gabe turned to the squire. “This is Miss Tibthorpe, whose house was burned down yesterday. I have offered her refuge here, indefinitely.”

The squire bowed. “Miss Tibthorpe, may I offer my sincere condolences on your loss. It was a shocking thing—”

“A shocking thing indeed when one's house is burned under one.” Tibby stared fiercely at the count. “My sole comfort is the sure and certain knowledge that the perpetrator will burn in hell!”

The count prowled toward her in a threatening manner. Gabe stepped in between them. “One more step…” he said in an icy voice.

Ethan moved in to stand beside Miss Tibthorpe. He said nothing, but his stance made it clear he'd heard the exchange.

The count snarled at Tibby, “Where is she? Where is ze princess?”

“Which princess do you mean?” Tibby said calmly. “I am acquainted with several.”

The count gave a growl of frustration and glanced suspiciously around the room. Spotting a pair of small shoes behind a curtain he pounced. “Aha!” He dragged back the curtain and pulled out a small boy.

“Oy, watcher doin'? Lemme go, ya big ape!” Jim pulled free with a string of bad language that in normal circumstances would have had Mrs. Barrow reaching for a bar of soap to scrub out his mouth with. She beamed proudly at him from the doorway.

“The stolen crown prince, I believe,” Gabe said to Sir Walter. “He learned that language from the gypsies, no doubt.”

“Pah, he is nothing but a beggar boy!”

“Who are you callin' a beggar—” Jim began before he was hushed by Mrs. Barrow.

The count stabbed an accusing finger at Tibby. “This woman knows Princess Caroline!”

Sir Walter pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Do you, madam?” he asked.

Tibby gave him a cool look. “Princess Caroline of Zindaria? Yes, of course I know her. She was one of my most distinguished pupils. I also had the honor of instructing the current countess of Morey, and Lady Hunter-Stanley as well as the Honorable Mrs. Charles Sandford.” She smiled graciously at Sir Walter.

“Then where is she?” The count ground out.

Tibby looked down her nose at him. “Princess Caroline left my care when she was fifteen years old.”

“You have exchanged correspondence,” the count alleged.

Tibby raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. I correspond regularly with all my girls.”

The count snapped his whip against his boot. “She was coming here, to you! She said so in her letters.”

Tibby raised both eyebrows. “Reading other people's letters? How very dishonorable.”

“Pah! Do not evade ze question. She made arrangements to come here with the boy.”

Tibby gave a faint smirk. “Did she? Really?”

Count Anton frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tibby smoothed her skirts placidly. The mouse teasing the tiger. Gabe bit his lip. She was enjoying this, he saw. Getting even for a little of what she had suffered at his hands. Count Anton snapped his whip against his boot, harder and harder, his temper mounting, his pale eyes boring into her.