Miranda’s throat hurt. She was sore and bruised. However, the marquess appeared to be in even worse shape. “I should go for help before he wakens. He
is
going to waken, isn’t he?”
Grimacing, Benedict got to his feet. “Set your fears at rest. The cur is very much alive.” He eyed the parapet, from which an intruder might easily plummet to his death. The logistics of the thing would have been much simpler if only he had back his full strength.
Jem burst through the doorway, a lantern held before him; skidded to a halt. “Criminey! A secret passage. You wasn’t meant to leave your room, guv. If I hadn’t opened the door to take a look—” He noticed the crumpled body. “Who’s that?”
“Damned if I know. Maybe it’s time we find out.” Benedict snatched Jem’s lantern, rolled over the unconscious body, shone the light on its face.
Miranda peered over his shoulder. Brown hair, a face that would have been pleasant if not marred with bloody scratches— “Why, it’s Mr. Hazelett!” she gasped.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chaos reigned in the abbey kitchens, where the servants had gathered to marvel over recent events. The circumstance that no one knew the exact nature of those events deterred them not one whit. One footman claimed that Lord Baird had surprised an intruder and promptly cracked his napper; another that a ghost had tried to pitch Miss Russell off the battlements. Both agreed that Lord Baird and Miss Russell had for whatever reason been on the topmost level of the abbey, along with the cat Chimlin, who was so annoyed by the entire business that he was exercising his teeth and claws on anyone who came within range. Cook was forced to quell an imminent attack of hysterics by dashing a glass of water in the butler’s face.
Lord Baird, and his houseguests, had gathered in his study. Though his footsteps were not entirely steady, the marquess was pacing the perimeter. Lady Darby kept a sharp eye on him from her seat behind the desk. On top of that same desk, Chimlin dozed, exhausted by all his recent unaccustomed exercise. Sir Kenrick stood beside the fireplace, wrapped in an exotic banyan and clutching a brandy glass.
They were alone in the room. Lord Chalmondly had not yet come back from the Pig and Thistle. Miss Russell had been, despite her protests, dosed with syrup of poppy and sent back to her bed. Miss Blanchet was charged with ensuring she remained there.
A knock came at the door. Lord Baird called, “Enter.” Two sturdy grooms dragged Paul Hazelett into the room and deposited him in a carved wooden chair. His hands were bound behind his back. He looked considerably the worse for wear.
The grooms departed. Jem lingered just inside the door, quiet as a mouse lest the guv’nor recall his presence and send him away.
Lady Darby squinted at the villain through her quizzing glass. “God strike me blind! Devries.”
“Who?” inquired Lord Baird.
“Devries!” Odette repeated, the glass still to her eye. “Your heir. Did you make off with Chimlin’s collar, knave?”
“Chimlin? Collar?” Paul Hazelett – Devries – scowled at the cat. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
Benedict could hardly be expected to recognize his heir, since he had never met the man. He might have been expected, however, to recall the man’s name. And what was this about a missing collar? Had they a thief in their midst?
He studied the prisoner. “Why?” he asked.
The man sneered. “You’ve never had to maneuver the Apostles, have you, my lord? To live on the charity of others, and rob Peter to pay Paul?”
“You wanted to be wealthy,” translated Benedict. “And so you tried to dispose of me. But why harm Miss Russell?”
“Why not?” In an excellently villainous fashion, Devries curled his lip. “I kissed Miss Russell in your gardens. I don’t expect she told you that.” Sir Kenrick flinched at this further evidence of his failure to instill virtue in his niece.
A man of Benedict’s reputation could hardly quibble about a stolen kiss. “It didn’t suit your plans to have me marry,” he said.
Odette broke off a bit of digestive biscuit and offered it to Chimlin. “How did you know about the secret passages?”
Devries elevated an elegant, albeit tattered, shoulder. “This old pile holds great fascination for a student of architecture such as myself.”
Lies, lies and buggery. The only study this knave had made was how to feather his own nest. “And my other nephew?” Odette persisted, as Chimlin inspected the biscuit crumb, and batted it aside. “The previous marquess?”
“That was no doing of mine.”
The varlet wasn’t like to admit it. “You’ve no remorse, have you?”
“One becomes accustomed to a certain way of life.”
“One may still take a tumble off the parapet.” Benedict stepped toward the chair.
Jem broke in. “You’ve sent for the hornies, guv. This cully’s bound to hang. Or maybe his head will be chopped off, like is done in France. His body will be sold and carved into pieces to see what made him tick. Or hung at a crossroads where the crows will pick his bones. And if there’s any question, I’ll own up as he’s the jimmy fellow who hired Freddy and me to crack open your skull.”
Devries stared at Jem. “I never saw you before in all my life.”
Jem snickered. “Cleaned up good, ain’t I? Ripe for the plucking, you said the guv’nor was. But since he wasn’t like to come down with the derbies as easy as pissing the bed, we was first to smash his head.”
Odette regarded the rapscallion whom Benedict had rescued from the streets. Bravery came in some surprising forms. “A clever tale, my lad, but you may keep it to yourself. Tonight’s work is more than enough to see Devries hanged. We’ll lock him in the dungeons until the, ah, hornies arrive to fetch him. He’ll find no secret passages there. He
will
discover rats.”
Dungeons! Jem fair quivered with excitement. He had no fear of rats, four-footed or otherwise, having had a close acquaintance with vermin from a tender age. Devries, conversely, blanched.
Benedict gestured. Jem opened the door into the hall. The two grooms removed the prisoner from his chair and dragged him, protesting, from the room.
Jem could not bypass an opportunity to set eyes on a real dungeon. He trailed the grooms to the cellars and saw Devries safely locked away, then took himself off to meet little Mary, who gave him a hero’s reward.
* * * *
All was quiet in the study, save for the crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. Sir Kenrick took advantage of the moment to try and determine how he felt about his niece marrying into a family prone to such excursions and alarms. Before he arrived at a conclusion, voices in the hallway heralded the arrival of Lord Chalmondly. Phineas entered the room, with Lady Cecilia on his arm.
Lady Cecilia crossed to Odette. “I believe this belongs to you.” Diamonds glittered on her palm.
Chimlin still wore his collar of blue gems. Odette draped the diamonds also around the cat’s neck. Chimlin twitched his tail. He looked immensely regal and equally cross.
Gracefully, Lady Cecilia seated herself. Lord Chalmondly took up a position beside her chair.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. She drew in a deep breath. “Percy had the collar. I grew suspicious when I noticed how badly his hands were scratched. I had coveted the rubies myself.”
She faltered. Lord Chalmondly gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Coveting is one thing, and theft is quite another. You shan’t be held responsible for your cousin’s sins.” He met his host’s gaze. “There have been a great many of those sins. Pettigrew was compelled to confess.”
Compelled how? Benedict didn’t care enough to ask.
Ceci, too, addressed the marquess. “He hated you. I can’t guess when it all began, but he told me that Elizabeth—” She bit her lip. “The babe wasn’t yours.”
Benedict would have preferred his ex-mistress hadn’t made so public an announcement. “Pettigrew?” he inquired.
“I believe so,” said Ceci. “And that Elizabeth’s death was what inspired the later events.”
“Pettigrew didn’t admit to causing the carriage accident that took your brother, but we may assume he did,” put in Phineas. “When he explored your family lineage, he discovered Devries. They have had an association for several years. Things started going wrong for Pettigrew when Devries began acting on his own.”
“Percy was furious when he realized that you’d been poisoned,” Ceci added. “He meant your death to seem an accident. Devries would have inherited, and Percy would have blackmailed him for the rest of his life.”
Odette blew out a breath. “The twiddlepoop must have needed money badly,” she said.
Benedict needed badly to do bodily injury. “Where is Percy now?”
Lord Chalmondly said, gently, “Gone. None of us needed further scandal. You needn’t fear that he’ll return.”
Benedict assumed Phineas meant Percy was gone from England, not that he had shuffled altogether off this mortal coil. “You’ll understand if I do not thank you for your foresight. At the same time I am aware that we are in your debt.”
“Speaking of debts.” Lady Cecilia smoothed her gloves. “With Phin’s backing, I am going to open a discreet gaming hell.”
Phin?
thought Benedict. “How discreet?” inquired Odette, relishing Lord Wexton’s probable reaction to this piece of news.
“Very discreet,” said Ceci. “I look forward to your patronage. Since I have already observed that you play your cards very well.”
After another brief bit of conversation, Lady Cecilia and Lord Chalmondly took their leave. They were departing for London at first light. En route to the Pig and Thistle they made a wager between them as to whether or not Lord Baird and Miss Russell would make it to the altar, and alternately as to how long Miss Russell’s maidenhood might remain intact.
The hour was growing late, announced Sir Kenrick. It was past time he retired to his bed. He took leave of his companions and stepped out into the hall.
For once, no footmen hovered. Kenrick encountered no one as he ascended the stair. The upper hallway was a different matter. Antoinette was lurking outside his bedroom door.
Kenrick tried not to notice that she was wearing a very attractive nightdress. “Everything is fixed up right and tight,” he said.
“It isn’t that – I mean, of course I’m glad to hear it. But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.” Nonie’s resolution faltered. “Perhaps this isn’t a good time.”
“I also wished to speak with you.” Sir Kenrick noticed that Antoinette’s amber eyes were quite lovely when she gazed straight at a fellow rather than at the ground. “We will soon return to London. Once Miranda is safely wed, your services will no longer be required. I will be happy to provide you with excellent references. Or perhaps Mr. Atchison—”
Nonie had been doing a great deal of worrying, and a great deal of reading, and her good nature had grown a great deal strained as a result. “Oh, bother Mr. Atchison!” she snapped.
Kenrick agreed that Mr. Atchison was a bit of a bother. He was pleased to see Antoinette display her usual good sense. But still—
“Dowlin, then?” he asked. “Burton’s well enough, I suppose, but— The thing is, Antoinette, I’d like to see you comfortably settled.”
As would Nonie. She felt so dreadfully unsettled in this particular moment that she took firm hold of the lapels of her employer’s coat.
“What are you doing?” inquired Sir Kenrick. Never before had he observed so resolute an expression on Antoinette’s pretty face.
Nonie’s recent reading had left her convinced that one should not shilly-shally in these matters. “I am going to kiss you,” she replied.
Kenrick placed his hands atop hers, and gave them a little squeeze. “Are you, by Jove?”
* * * *
Silence had again descended upon the study, broken only by Chimlin’s snores. Lady Darby stroked the snoozing cat and watched her nephew stride toward the door. “It is true that Elizabeth played you false?”
Benedict paused. “I played her false first. She sought her revenge. Unless I repudiated her publicly, which she was certain I would not, the babe would have been my heir.”
Odette muttered a strong expletive. “You are going to get some rest, I hope,” she said.
Benedict turned to face her. “I am going to prepare a posset for Miranda. Wood Clary. Assafoetida. Orchis root. Or maybe I will feed her parsley and peaches and artichokes. You won’t say that I may not have her now.”
“Saints grant me patience!” sighed Odette. “Why, after all the other travails we have suffered this night, must you try and melt butter in a wig? Of course you may have the child. I like her very well.”
The marquess raised an eyebrow. “I am old enough to be her father. A fact that I distinctly recall you pointing out.”
“Well and what of it?” retorted Odette. “You are also old enough to keep her in hand. It’s apparent that someone must.”
Benedict lowered the brow that he had elevated, as well as its mate. “You made mention of her mama and her grandmama.”
“I liked them.” Odette gave Chimlin’s belly a fond scratch. “Miranda’s grandmama was my dearest friend. I was well-acquainted with the great-grandmama who trod the boards. But had I told you I approved, you were bound to take Miranda in dislike.”
Much as he would have liked to argue with this statement, Benedict could not. Still, there was no denying that his grandaunt had been scheming against him. “You said I would make Miranda unhappy,” he perversely remarked.
“So you would!” Odette retorted. “Did you live up to your reputation. And you ain’t yet persuaded her to marry you yet.”
“She’ll marry me if I have to carry her to the altar bundled in a burlap sack.” Benedict strode from the room. Meggs slipped in through the open door. She moved to the sideboard, and poured brandy into a glass.
Odette flicked open her snuffbox and silently congratulated herself on several weeks’ good work. Benedict had gone to seduce, or be seduced by, Miranda. Nonie would have Sir Kenrick, or Odette didn’t know about these things. Phineas was snuggled up to Lady Cecilia at the Pig and Thistle. Devries would be made to atone for his sins.