Authors: Raven McAllan
The kitchen was empty, but the kettle sung gently on
the back of the hob. The aroma of a rich game stew filled the air, and Maggie
sniffed with appreciation. Andre's way with game was renowned throughout the
hunting fraternity and as Nash believed firmly that everyone in the manor ate
alike, Maggie knew they were in for a treat.
She unlocked the tea chest, and began her
preparations. It took scant minutes to assemble a tea tray and find the sticky parkin,
a type of gingerbread made with oats and treacle that Nash was partial to. It
took somewhat longer before Agar accepted he wasn't going to accompany her
upstairs, and agreed to settle down on one of her shawls in front of the fire. The
reproachful look he sent her in her direction ought to be enough to melt even
the hardest heart, and Maggie gave him a scratch behind the ears. "Not
now, but later we'll go for a walk eh? And I will ask the carpenter to build
you a run in the garden." He gave what could only be called a dog-sigh and
rested his head on his paws. Maggie grinned as she shut her bedchamber door. She'd
missed not having a dog of her own. It seemed it hadn't gone noticed that Agar
tended to find her whenever he could, and shunned his brothers and sisters, and
he now had his reward.
Nash and Felicity ran a happy and relatively
unstructured household, with the minimum number of staff necessary for their
comfort. Instead of a plethora of servants, they relied on extra help from the
village when it was their turn to host hunt.
It was a rule of the house, gladly upheld by all,
that between the hours of one and four, all staff were free to follow their own
pursuits. Maggie had no intention of spoiling that. She was certainly able to
make tea. Well within Felicity's suggested ten minutes Maggie entered the
upstairs study. She pushed the ajar door further open, and giggled as Nash
hastily removed his hands from his wife's derriere.
"Don't mind me," she said dryly, as Nash
took the tray from her and set it on a convenient table. "It serves to
remind me what I hope to feel before I shrivel up from lack of action."
She'd long got into the habit of speaking her mind with her cousin and husband.
Theirs was no employer-employee relationship. Maggie was as well born as either
of them. In fact, she remembered, when she first arrived, Nash had been in the
dark as to why he employed such a well-bred housekeeper. It took several weeks
before Perry appeared and explained who she was, and even more before Nash became
privy to her and Perry's relationship. Felicity possessed that tidbit well
before Nash, much to his disgust.
"I remember your face when you were told just
who I am," she said as Nash handed her a cup of tea and took his seat
behind his desk. "For some reason I just had that thought. They told it wouldn't
be for long, and I thought, how long is long?"
"Several months and counting eh?" Nash
said wryly. "I assumed I acquired a temporary housekeeper whilst Mrs.
Dagwood nursed her mother. I wonder just how much Perry paid to keep her
away?"
Maggie laughed. "I never asked." She
sobered as she remembered why she was there. "Now, before I go mad and end
up locked in the attic, please tell me what's going on?"
Chapter
Three
Dye's face was worthy of any pugilist and Peregrine
swayed as he took in the state his friend was in. "What on earth?"
One eye appeared almost closed, and an ugly bruise
of orange and purple spread across Dye's puffy cheek. His swollen lip bled
profusely; across his right hand three long angry looking red welts stood out and
his knuckles were scraped.
"You should see the other men," Dye said
and winced. His lip split open once more, and Bacon tutted as he dabbed at it
with a cloth.
"Men? Plural?" Peregrine asked, as Bacon
replaced the soiled cloth with a clean one. He tried to keep his voice level
and uninterested and he was certain he didn't succeed. Bacon gave him a sharp
look, which belied the slightly unintelligent attitude he portrayed so well.
"Footpads I reckon my lord," Bacon said,
annoyance in his voice. "Or highwayman. Nasty goings on, and in broad
daylight as well. Something needs to be done. It's not good when law-abiding
citizens can't go about their business without fear for their lives. If Mr.
Paget here hadn't been so handy who knows what might have happened? Do we call
the magistrates or someone?"
"Indeed." Perry noticed the brief
narrowing of Dye's eyes. "It is not to be thought of. Footpads," he
added. "And as for a magistrate? No need. I will bring it to the notice of
the appropriate authorities. If Mr. Paget is attended to, perhaps we may go to
our parlor, and have refreshments?"
The landlord bowed, relief in every movement, and
Perry took hold of Dye's arm to help him into the room. Scarcely had the
landlord withdrawn to arrange for "Victuals and ale my lord," than Dye
sat on a settle with a groan.
"Bastards. A wire over the lane. Doughty will
be scarred. I've left him with the head ostler who is poulticing the shins.
This—" He indicated his face. "—Was done by a woman. She wore a half
mask, but took no care to cover her clothing. French silks and exquisite
linens, that were from Madam Lenore I'll be bound. And jewels that I know were
of the finest water. Damn, Perry, I swear I should know who it was. Two men grabbed
me, but it was the woman who used my face as a boot scraper. Plus she wielded a
mean crop. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her temper too often. And
fists, I swear she's been to Jackson's Salon for lessons. Bested by a woman, by
god." He spat into the fire. "I tell you Perry, there is something
more than evil still afoot. There were five of them. And she said something
very cryptic." He broke off as Bacon reappeared with mugs of ale and his
wife followed him with a tray full of pastries and meats.
For several minutes they were fussed over, until at
last they were the only occupants of the room.
"Go, on." Perry handed a plate of food to
Dye and began filling one for himself. The rich aroma of cooked fowl scented
the room, and his stomach rumbled. It had been a long while since breakfast.
"Who do we know with emeralds set in a rope of diamonds
and a large ruby ring, big enough to score skin with?" Dye asked as he
nodded his thanks, and picked up a pie. The steam from it surrounded his face
like a mist. "Ostentatious and well, vulgar." He rolled up the sleeve
of his jacket to show a large welt.
"Gussie Gravesend?" Perry gnawed on a
chicken leg. "That monstrosity that she wore at the masquerade. It sounds
like it, and I'm certain it is she who is leading some sort of group now
Mortimer is no longer of this earth, thank goodness." He contemplated the
bone and satisfied he'd eaten all the meat, threw it into the fire. "There
were rumors that Gravesend rather liked to be on the receiving end of her
ministrations, temper or not. So it could have been her?"
Dye swallowed his pie with care, and washed it down
with a long swallow of ale. It looked as if every mouthful caused him pain. "I
don't know; it’s a long while since I've met the lady. I missed the masquerade,
I was otherwise occupied. But she said, and I quote as best I can here, 'Tell
Corby to desist or his lady will suffer more than he ever will. And stay away
from', now," he hesitated, "this is where it gets confusing, as at
that point she stood on me. I think she said stay away from Yorkshire, but I
could be wrong. I wasn't in full control of my faculties. How would she know we
were going there? The only persons who knew were Nelson and…" He broke
off. "Ahh."
"Yes, ahh," Perry said in a grim voice.
And as I do not believe for one moment Aitken would talk about my whereabouts
we must assume the message did
not
come from him. Grief, Maggie." There were no secrets between Perry and
Dye. "She needs to be warned to be on her guard as does Nash."
Dye tried to nod his head and swore. "Perry, go
on without me, and beware. I would be a hindrance not a help at the moment.
When I'm able to sit on a horse and not fall off I’ll go straight to Marsh
Hall—well, via a circuitous, safe route—and warn Aitken of malice afoot."
Peregrine looked at him closely. Under the dried blood
and bruises Dye's face appeared etched in pain. He nodded. "Very well, but
not to Marsh Hall without a night's sleep. We'll meet up at the Pike as before.
Dye, take care, you can be impetuous. Take no risks."
Dye half laughed, or as much as his swollen mouth
would let him. "Pot, kettle and black, my lord." He sketched a mock
bow, and winced once more. “I'm going to have a head as if I've imbibed
inferior brandy I reckon. Sad to say, I think I will perhaps stop here for a
while, just until I can see one settle and one mantle not several. Bacon is to
bring me a concoction he swears by, and says it will set me up in a trice. God
knows what a trice is, but people always use it to signify something will work
in your favor in…" He half laughed. "In a trice. Ignore me, I'm
rambling. Hell my head hurts, I swear if I ever get the chance for revenge I'll
take it, woman or not. After this little lot," he touched his head,
"she doesn't deserve the consideration I'd normally give to a lady. Because
lady she isn't."
Perry laughed with him, even though his mind whirled
with these new developments. Within the hour Perry left Dye sipping a foul
looking liquid, and set off on the next leg of his journey. He wasn't worried
that Dye wouldn't recover. On more than one occasion in the past he and his
hard head encountered much worse.
It was true, Perry mused as he once more took the
Great North Road, neither of them put their safety above that of their country
or friends. More than once they watched—and saved—each other's backs, and more
than once taken a strike meant for the other.
The day was well advanced and he'd be hard pushed to
reach The Pike before darkness. Even though this stretch of the road was
supposed to be comparatively safe, Perry didn't want to take any chances. He
urged his horse into a steady gallop. Dye he didn't expect to see that night,
whatever he said, and Perry encouraged Bacon to try and persuade Dye to rest
until the following day. Bacon, who understood more of their comings and goings
than he'd ever divulge immediately agreed, and set aside a bedchamber for Dye.
Bacon in a stubborn mood was well able to subdue the hardest drunkard, and in
his less than perfect state Dye would be no match for him.
Putting Dye out of his mind Perry began to think of
other things. He had a lot to mull over; not least how to make sure that Maggie
wasn't threatened any more. He missed her and needed her. His cock would have
forgotten how to work soon, if he didn't have the chance to bury it inside
Maggie's warm and welcoming body, and hear the soft mewls and sighs she gave as
her climax approached. Even just thinking about how it had been, and how he
hoped it would be again very soon, Perry felt his body tighten and his
breathing quicken. He shifted in the saddle. All of a sudden the leather was
hard under him, and he twisted the reins in his hands. His horse protested and
skittered to one side at the unusual and conflicting messages the new hold on
the reins gave him.
Perry brought his thoughts back to the present, and
relaxed his grip.
"Sorry, boy." He soothed his horse and
looked around to get an idea of his surroundings. Daydreaming was perhaps not
the best idea with so much harassment around.
He was somewhat horrified to discover he'd managed
several miles riding without being aware of it, and he was no more than an hour
from The Pike. As he glanced at the gathering shadows, Perry decided he'd
better get a move on. Otherwise he'd arrive in darkness, and out on the road
wasn't the best place to be once daylight disappeared. He cursed himself for
being so lax with security, but thankfully it seemed not to have caused him any
problems. Nevertheless he vowed not to let his thoughts take over, but to
remain vigilant.
The last few miles to the snug posting inn, situated
in a tiny village alongside the road, were accomplished in record time, and as
the last light left the sky, Perry turned into the Inn's stable yard. Inside of
thirty minutes he washed the grime of the journey away in the comfortable
bedchamber he knew to be the landlord's pride and joy. Being the heir to an
Earldom did have some benefits. Perry dried his torso on the remarkably soft
towel the landlord provided and glared at the bootjack. With a shrug he used it
to remove his boots and put on a pair of soft house shoes instead. His valet
would roll his eyes, but he'd known Peregrine for long enough to know that when
he wasn't required on a trip, Perry employed a very much make do mindset. Asher
might tut-tut over the scratches and jack marks, but as ever he'd work wonders
and present Peregrine with an almost pristine pair of leather boots once more.
For now though, Perry would have to suffer the
marks. He could only hope Nash's valet would take pity on him the following
day. Until then the boot boy in the Inn would do his best. Perry set the boots
outside the door, and made his way downstairs to his private parlor, where the
landlord promised a meal would be waiting.
As he turned the corner of the stairs, the
landlord's voice floated up to him. Something in the tone made Perry stop and listen,
rather than continue downward.