Corey McFadden (33 page)

Giles came into the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He stared at her for a moment, willing himself not to walk forward, not to take her in his hands and shake her like a rag doll, not to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life out of her. How could he have been so blind as to assume she would go quietly, that she would allow herself to be displaced, pushed out of her cozy nest?

“Where is Hawton?” he asked, forcing himself to be calm. He badly needed this information out of her.

“He’s gone to try to fetch them back, Giles! Everyone is doing everything possible to see that the children come to no harm, that she is brought to justice for her evil, scheming....”

“Enough!” he roared, taking several long strides to bring himself directly over her. “Hawton tried to have me killed last night in Dufton, and you well know it, you slut! Now, where has he taken them? So help me God, woman, if either of you has harmed so much as a hair on one of their heads, I shall strangle you with my bare hands!”

“I know nothing, I tell you! Nothing!” she shrieked, trying to slip off of the seat, only to find his hands clapped around her arms like steel bands.

“I will let you hang, you know,” he said, his voice deadly cold.

Eleanor stared into his furious eyes, gasping, silent, weighing her options. He knew too much already. Hawton had fouled up everything. After repeatedly berating her and nagging her about making sure she could handle her part, he had failed at the most important part of the plan. Not only was Giles alive, he knew Hawton had set up the attempt on his life. But Giles couldn’t be certain of her part, could he? He thought perhaps she knew of it, true, but he had not quite accused her of the act. And threatening her with hanging! Since when did a peeress ever hang? He would never have the nerve to drag the family through the seamy criminal courts!

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Take your hands off me. I know nothing, I tell you,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm.

He stared into her eyes, then slowly released her, letting her drop back onto the chaise longue. “You told the household preposterous lies about Joanna. There was no quarrel between myself and my wife, therefore you are lying. And you must have some reason to lie.” His voice was deceptively soft. His body cast a hulking shadow over her from the light of the lamp that burned behind him. He stepped slightly to one side so that he could watch her face while she spoke.

Calmly, taking her time, Eleanor arranged the folds of her dressing gown, smoothing the material over her legs. She hoped she appeared relaxed while her mind chased in circles, creating stories, discarding them, creating another, anything to buy time, to get herself off the hook. She must deny any knowledge of the attempted murder, but perhaps if she implicated herself in a more minor way, he would believe her.

“I really know nothing of any plot to kill you, Giles,” she began, watching his face carefully to see his reaction to her words. “I do not doubt your word,” she continued hurriedly as she saw his eyes narrow at her denial, “but I would never have agreed to anything so stupid. I am guilty of envy, nothing more. I made the remarks about the quarrel to make sure the staff understood what we are dealing with here. After all, the woman has fled with the children. There must be some reason....”

She stopped as he took a menacing step toward her.

She allowed herself a plaintive look in his direction. “Don’t you see? That woman has taken everything from me! You are besotted by the conniving little witch. For God’s sake, for the governess to scheme to marry the master of the house is the oldest trick known to servants!”

“You disgust me, Eleanor,” he spat out through clenched teeth. “You care for no one but yourself. You’d see the whole world go to hell if it meant more for you. Where has he taken them?”

“I—I know nothing about it. Only what I read in his note. Carlisle, wasn’t it?” She plucked distractedly at her gown, unaware that her eyes rested covetously on the brandy decanter across the room.

“If you weren’t so evil, you’d be pathetic, Eleanor. Go on, have yourself a swill,” he said. “And so help me God, you’d better hope I find my wife and the children safe in Carlisle.” With that he turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Eleanor waited, listening to his footsteps retreating down the hall. When she could hear them no more, she rose and went to the decanter, pouring herself a liberal tot in the oversized snifter she kept on the tray. Her hands shook as she brought the snifter to her lips, downing the entire contents in one practiced gulp.

She poured herself another and went over to the door, locking it. She dropped heavily onto the chaise and sat staring at nothing. He would get to Carlisle tonight. He would spend the better part of tomorrow chasing a wild goose. Then he would be back, late tomorrow night at the earliest. And he might surmise that she had lied to him.

Well, she would be gone by the time he returned. She’d get herself to Philippa’s where, at last report, a rather raucous gathering was scandalizing the provincials. She’d need to get word to Hawton as soon as possible, to head him off from returning here. And she would need to work out a plan to kill Giles. Something foolproof. Something that looked like an accident perhaps—none of this messy murder business with inquiries being made. Indeed, he would be distraught at his failure to find his little tart. Yes. Perhaps Sir Giles Chapman was soon to be a suicide....

* * * *

Carlisle. North of here, a few hours’ hard run. He could make it before nightfall if he went like the wind. Again he damned himself for laming Red Devil, his best horse.

“How does he travel?” Giles asked Jims in the stables. “Did he take our coach or horses?”

“That’s a mystery, sir,” replied Jims. “There’s no horse nor conveyance missing.”

“Then he must have a confederate. The man seems to have quite a network of cutthroats at his beck and call.”

Issuing orders in clipped tones, leaving his groom scurrying faster than he had in years, Giles returned to the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Davies, then left her scrambling to produce a substantial packet of food fit for a journey. Upstairs again, he read the note from Hawton, then, stuffing it in his pocket, threw some clothing into his travel bag. He was back in the stables within minutes, where Jims had two horses saddled and ready and was himself standing by with a small bag packed and a well-wrapped package from the kitchen. Without so much as a word to each other, they mounted and rode out into the early afternoon sun, heading north for Carlisle.

* * * *

Joanna stared with unseeing eyes out of the window flap that she had dared to unhook when Hawton had drifted off to sleep. He had finally told her they were going to London, but would not say for what purpose. She had to force herself to care for the sake of the children. It barely seemed to matter now what he had planned for her.

The air coming in was fresh and cool and she breathed it in great gulps. Everyone was sleeping now except her. It was unnatural the way the girls slept and Joanna suspected they were drugged. Hawton had insisted that the girls each take a spoonful of some foul-smelling liquid, claiming it was medicine to keep them from getting sick inside the carriage, but Joanna had refused to allow him to give it to Emma or Tom and had taken none herself. She noted that Hawton did not avail himself of the ‘medicine’ either.

They had stopped just before dawn, having pulled way off the road, behind a large stand of trees. All had been ordered out to relieve themselves, with the dire warning from one of the drivers that this would be the last stop for many hours. Back in the fetid carriage a few minutes later, they were given chunks of bread and cheese to eat, washed down with cold tea. Joanna’s stomach was rebelling now, and she fought to keep the foul stuff down.

In the light of early afternoon she studied her fellow captives. She had ascertained that they were Irish from their muted speech, but so far none had been awake long enough to offer to converse with her. Indeed, she was not sure Hawton would allow her to talk directly to these girls, and she was under the impression from their docile demeanor and the lack of any sort of restraints that they were willing, if perhaps ignorant, passengers. The littlest one, the one who had run away on the beach, had been barely roused to take care of her needs and had fallen back into a deep sleep without eating anything. Joanna noticed that the deep cut on her forehead had been cleaned up, but she wondered whether the child’s sleeping had more to do with the blow to the head than with Hawton’s dosing.

She studied the passing scene, aware that Hawton would insist that the flap be closed when he awoke. It was no use—she recognized nothing. She had been so ill on the way up from London, and crammed into the middle of the seat by the other passengers, that she was unlikely to recognize any landmark. They had traveled through a small town a few minutes ago, and Joanna had briefly cherished a mad plan to scream for help. But she had seen no one, and the carriage was traveling too fast for her to think of hurling herself from it. Penniless and attired as she was in a cloak over a dressing gown, she rather feared she would be going from bad to worse, and she bit her lip in frustration.

Hawton had told her that she would be bound and gagged again whenever they stopped to change the horses. And there would be no stops other than brief convenience stops in wooded areas. If only she knew what to expect. If only she had some hope that Giles was on his way to rescue them....

Chapter Seventeen

Giles sagged in the saddle as he saw Queen’s Hall looming in the rainy dark. Beside him rode Jims, a silent, loyal, wet presence.

Between the two of them they had scoured Carlisle. No matter how high a bribe was offered, no sign was found of Joanna, the children, or Hawton.

Eleanor had lied to him. It was that simple. She must know more than she had told him. He had been fooled once again by her protestations and tears. God help her if she was home. God help him if she was not.

They finally reached the stables, the rains running in cold rivulets from their greatcloaks. Without a word he slid from the back of his horse and handed the reins to Jims who had just dismounted himself. They had not slept at all, and the old man’s eyes were rimmed red with fatigue.

“Get one of the boys to take care of the horses, Jims. You need to get some sleep. I’ll call you when I’m ready to ride again.” He turned away into the dark toward the house, missing the look of pity on Jims’ face as he watched his young master trudge dispiritedly through the mud of the yard.

Giles let himself in, noting with relief that the kitchen staff had retired for the night. He would need to rouse Mrs. Davies and get a report from her in case there was any news, but for now he would tackle Eleanor.

Removing his streaming greatcloak and dropping it on a chair, he made for the rear stairs. He paused in front of Eleanor’s door but did not bother to knock. He had never in his life done violence to a woman, but was not at all sure he’d be able to say the same an hour from now. He opened the door and blinked in the darkness.

“Eleanor?” he growled, sensing that the room was unoccupied. With an oath he took a candle from the sconce across the hall and held it high in the room. Empty. The bed not slept in. Damn. Had the bitch flown?

Carrying the candle, he made his way to the servants’ floor, pausing at the door he knew to be Mrs. Davies’s. This time he did knock, softly so as not to awaken the entire staff. In less than a minute, Mrs. Davies opened the door, blinking the sleep from her eyes and knotting the dressing gown about her ample form.

“Sir Giles!” she began, confusion and distress plain in her face. “If I had known....”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Davies, I’m sure we were not expected. Any news of Lady Chapman and the children?” The desperate longing in his voice made the woman want to weep.

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Come down to the kitchen with me and let me brew you some tea. You look cold and wet, sir.” Indeed, the man looked like a bedraggled dog. Mrs. Davies had fallen asleep listening to the relentless rain, and it looked as if the poor man had not so much as bothered to pull the hood up over his head.

In silence they made their way down to the kitchen, Giles lighting the way with his candle.

“Where is Lady Eleanor?” he finally asked when he had seated himself at the great kitchen table. Mrs. Davies bustled about, pulling the kettle off the hob and pouring steaming cups of tea.

“She went off yesterday evening to one of her friends. She did not say where she was going or when she would return.” Mrs. Davies was too tired and upset to mask the contempt in her voice. There was no doubt how she felt about Lady Eleanor’s pastimes.

“Has anything turned up that would give us any further information, Mrs. Davies?” he asked. Again the edge of desperation in his voice made her want to sit down and cry.

“We had the grounds searched as you asked, sir. Charles and Will checked around the outside as you suggested, them being familiar with horses and all. It seems there was a carriage at Hawton’s door sometime recently. There were wheel marks there, which is unusual, given how far it is from the main road. There was nothing odd about the cottage itself. I searched it thoroughly myself and found nothing of interest. A cautious man, that Mr. Hawton. I confess myself completely taken in by him.”

“As were we all, Mrs. Davies. No point in fretting about that now. Any idea which way the carriage went?”

“Well, as to that, yes, sir. With all the rain we’ve had recently we traced the wheel ruts out to the main road and then could make out that the carriage turned down the road toward Penrith and Dufton. It seemed from the depth of the ruts to be a large, rather heavy thing, according to Charles and Will. It’s a wonder you didn’t pass them that night yourself, you walking Red Devil home on the same road.”

“Damnation!” he roared, causing her to slosh her tea down the front of her gown. “I did pass the bloody thing! How can I have been such an imbecile? I passed a dark carriage soon after Red Devil was lamed. I paid it no mind because it was nondescript, no markings, nothing about it to attract interest. It was drawn by four horses, two men on the box. Oh, God, what a fool I have been! And how much time have I lost?” He stood abruptly. “Would you be so kind as to pack me a few changes of clean clothing, Mrs. Davies, and a bit of food as well? I plan to leave within the hour. I’ll not take Jims with me—the man is exhausted—but I’ll take Will, so we can trade off sleeping and only stop to change horses. I’ll speak to him now, and then I intend to search my stepsister’s room. I’ve been fool enough to overlook clues in front of my very nose and I hope I won’t be so stupid again.”