“
It may be the custom for a servant to treat his employers as equals in Milford, Miss Oakleigh. In London, it is not the thing.
”
“
Sykes is not the usual sort of servant. He worked as a secretary for Lord Egremont, so he must be educated. He seems quite gentlemanly.
”
Salverton made no claims to mind reading, but he knew instinctively it was not any gentlemanly quality on the counter jumper
’
s part that had caught Samantha
’
s interest. It was his bold, handsome face and flirtatious manner.
“
He
’
s a forward fellow. Give him an inch and he
’
ll take a mile. He
’
ll be asking if he may call on you if you go on treating him as an equal.
”
“
I doubt he would drive all the way to Milford to call on me. Sykes is the sort who would have a string of girls in Brighton. Oh! There is the sea now, just as he said. How beautiful it is.
”
Salverton was not the romantic sort who had ever taken much aesthetic interest in the sea. When he was a boy, he wanted to be a pirate. As a grown man, his interest in the sea was limited to storms that might ravage shipping or troops on their way to Spain. He looked at the sea now, and was struck at its beauty. The fat white moon cast a net of sparkling ripples on the black surface. He wouldn
’
t have been much surprised to see a mermaid emerge and flaunt her long tresses at the moon. One lone ship was scudding toward Brighton. Its white sails looked ghostly in the moonlight.
“
Wouldn
’
t you love to be on that ship,
”
Samantha said in a softly yearning voice.
He looked at her, and saw the air of enchantment she wore.
“
I know a romantic lady when I see one,
”
Sykes had said. How had Salverton not sensed that streak in her? He had looked and seen only a provincial greenhead who was too outspoken for propriety. He hadn
’
t seen the provincial whose one trip to London had been spoiled by a foolish brother. If she had come to him when she arrived, he could have given her a romantic visit to remember for a lifetime.
When he asked her why she hadn
’
t come to him sooner, she had said she came to have fun, so she hadn
’
t bothered him. There was a facer! Was that how his relatives saw him
—
an object of overweening ambition, too busy to enjoy life? Worse
—
were they right? He usually spent a few weeks in Brighton every summer, but he had never before stopped to admire the moonlight on the water.
He suddenly wanted to talk to Samantha, to tell her he was not so averse to fun as she thought. But it was clear she was in no mood for conversation. She just sat gazing at that moon with such a wistful expression on her pretty face. It couldn
’
t be just the moon and the water. Only a love affair could cause that rapturous look. Who was she picturing on the boat with her? She said she didn
’
t have a beau.
After a mile of silence, the carriage drew to a stop at a gatepost.
“
The Laurels
”
was written in wrought iron in an arch spanning the stone gateposts. In the near distance behind the gate, a few lights could be seen between the swaying branches of trees that lined either side of the drive.
Sykes dismounted and decided to open the carriage door for the young lady.
“
Is the lad likely to do a flit if he hears us coming?
”
he asked Salverton.
“
He might if he thinks it is Sir Geoffrey,
”
Samantha said to Salverton.
“
I
’
ll draw the rig under the trees and we
’
ll go ahead on foot,
”
Sykes said.
“
You may remain with the carriage, Sykes,
”
Salverton said.
“
You come with me, Samantha.
”
He offered her his arm. He hadn
’
t meant to call her Samantha. It was Sykes
’
s forward behavior that caused this need to display his closer relationship with her. Was he really sunk to competing with that jackanapes?
She linked her arm through his, smiled at Sykes, and she and Salverton began the walk up the roadway to The Laurels. Dark trees whispered on either side as the wind breathed quietly. In the distance, the lapping of water on the shingle beach echoed softly. The tang of salt and seaweed hung on the air. Salverton noticed none of this romantic atmosphere.
“
When did you tell Sykes why we
’
re here?
”
he asked.
“
At Winkler
’
s. Why? Should I not have done so?
”
“
I had some hope we might keep this excursion quiet.
”
“
Oh, is that all you
’
re worried about? I told Mr. Sykes it was a private matter. He won
’
t tell anyone,
”
she said unconcernedly.
“
You put a deal of faith in a perfect stranger.
”
She just shook her head at his jaundiced view of mankind.
As Sykes had said, the house was a little thatched cottage, done in the half-timbered style of the Tudors, and appeared to be of that ancient age. The place had a derelict air. Dust dulled the windows and the grass had grown long. Climbing roses had lost their grip and tumbled to the ground, where roses bloomed in profusion, filling the night with their cloying sweetness. No lights showed below stairs, but on the top floor two curtained windows emitted a dull glow.
“
At least they
’
re sleeping in separate bedrooms,
”
Samantha said.
Salverton made no reply to this. He thought Darren an even greater fool if he was not even enjoying the woman
’
s favors after all his scampering about on her behalf.
“
We'll frighten them to death if we knock on the door at this hour,
”
Samantha said.
“
What are you suggesting
—
that we break in, or go away after coming so far?
”
“
No, we cannot leave.
”
She stepped up to the door and tapped timidly. The door knocker had been removed to prevent theft.
Salverton reached over her shoulder and delivered a much harder knock. They waited and repeated the knocking three more times.
“
By God, I
’
ll kick the door in,
”
Salverton said, his ire rising at this shabby treatment.
“
Allow me,
”
a voice at his shoulder said. It was Sykes.
“
I told you to stay with the carriage,
”
Salverton barked.
“
It
’
s safe as a babe in its mama
’
s arms. I drew into the roadway, just inside the gate. I thought you might need a strong arm.
”
Salverton considered his own arm, or more probably his foot, quite capable of battering down the door.
“
I
’
ll just open the door for you,
”
Sykes said, and drew out a ring of keys. He fingered them a moment while examining the lock. Then he selected one and inserted it. After a couple of jiggles the door opened.
“
After you, Miss Oakleigh,
”
he said, ushering her in.
“
The fellow
’
s a ken smasher,
”
Salverton said in a low voice to Samantha as he followed her in.
Sykes overheard and replied.
“
No such a thing, milord. I only use my
passe-partout
in cases of necessity.
”
They all went into the dark hallway. Samantha called up the stairs,
“
Darren! It
’
s Samantha. Come down.
”
Salverton took one step after her and immediately received a blow on the head from a poker. It was administered by a servant in his nightshirt. It didn
’
t fell Salverton, but it hurt like the devil. A shower of red stars danced before his eyes. A string of expletives flew unbidden from his lips.
Before he could retaliate for the blow, a small, gray-haired gentleman in a silk dressing gown stepped out from the shadow, leveling a pistol at him. To complete the welcoming party, an elderly lady with an ordinary blue pelisse thrown over her nightgown and with her hair done up in papers advanced, wielding a riding crop.
“
Send to Rottingdean for a constable, Gratton,
”
the man said to his footman.
“
Martha, get some ropes to tie them up. What is the world coming to, gangs of thieves and thugs breaking into a gentleman
’
s house!
”
Visions of court, a scandal, losing his promotion and his bride reeled in Salverton
’
s head. He had never in his life been involved in anything so d
é
class
é
, and for it to happen at this time seemed extraordinarily perverse of fate. He was determined to keep his identity a secret at all costs. He
’
d pay the fine and hopefully escape with his reputation intact.
Martha lit a candle, the better to see the intruders.
“
I'm so very sorry!
”
Samantha said, advancing to the gentleman.
“
This is a dreadful mistake. We thought my brother was here.
”
The lady of the house mistrusted that fond smile that seized her husband
’
s face when he beheld Samantha.
“
A doxie!
”
she said in disgust.
“
You should be ashamed of yourself, miss.
”
Sykes shouldered his way to the front of the group.
“
See here, my good lady, this is Lord Salverton and his friend what you
’
re deeneegrating.
”
Martha held the lamp in Salverton
’
s direction and gasped.
“
Good God! So it is. Harold, this is Lord Salverton! Milord, I
’
m so sorry. But what are you doing here?
”
Salverton recognized the woman then. She looked quite different with her hair screwed up in papers. He was more accustomed to seeing her in a feathered bonnet in assorted saloons. It was Mrs. Abercrombie, a bishop
’
s niece who had a precarious foothold in the homes of the great. Salverton cast a look of loathing on Jonathon Sykes.
“
Mrs. Abercrombie,
”
he said, and bowed punctiliously while he rifled his mind for an acceptable excuse for breaking into her house in the middle of the night.
Mrs. Abercrombie subjected Samantha to a hard stare that concentrated on her bonnet.
“
Who is your friend, Lord Salverton?
”
she asked.
“
My cousin,
”
he said without giving a name.
Samantha, eager to ingratiate herself, stepped forward and curtsied.
“
Miss Oakleigh, from Drumquin, near Bath,
”
she said.
Mrs. Abercrombie made a careful note of the accent
—
provincial but decidedly ladylike. But then, no lady would be caught dead in that bonnet.
“
And are you on your way to London, Miss Oakleigh?
”
she asked.
“
To Bath, from London,
”
Salverton replied.
“
A death in the family. Miss Oakleigh
’
s aunt passed away.
”
“
Who would that be, milord? Surely not your aunt, Lady Edith Blythe? I hadn
’
t heard she was ill.
”
“
Not
my
aunt, Mrs. Abercrombie. My
cousin
’
s.
I doubt you would know her.
”
“
But Brighton is hardly on the way from London to Bath.
”
“
I had planned only to deliver Miss Oakleigh to her
—
godfather,
”
he said, clutching at straws.
“
Harold, pour his lordship a glass of wine while I slip upstairs and put something on,
”
Mrs. Abercrombie said. She was thrilled to death to have Salverton at her mercy, and determined to discover all the interesting details of this nocturnal visit.
Salverton was equally determined to thwart her. To forestall further questioning as to why he had chosen this cottage, he said,
“
You are too kind, ma
’
am, but we wouldn
’
t dream of disturbing you further. We were under the misapprehension that this was Sir Geoffrey Bayne
’
s cottage.
”
“
It is! We hired it from him for the summer. Our son, Peter, made the arrangement for us. The place has gone to rack and ruin. The gardens
—
but it
’
s impossible to hire a decent place in Brighton. I insisted I must get away from London. This is the best we could do. So Sir Geoffrey is Miss Oakleigh
’
s godfather, you say. I had no idea he was a friend of yours, Lord Salverton.
”
“
We are not close, as you may have guessed from my thinking he was holidaying here.
”
“
Is Miss Oakleigh actually related to Sir Geoffrey?
”
the lady persisted.