The Fugitive Heiress (21 page)

“I suppose not. Thank you, Fowler.” She lapsed into a brown study, staring at the mantlepiece, and hardly noticed Fowler’s departure. The other two remained silent. Her gaze rested unseeing upon the comical Godin of Paris clock, but for once, the little men failed to make her smile. Her gray eyes focused at last upon the dial. It was nearly six o’clock. Her reverie was interrupted when the drawing room door suddenly opened and Paulson entered, shaken out of his usual calm. “My lady,” he announced abruptly, “we have located my lord, but he is unable to return!”

“Nonsense, Paulson!” Tiffany cried before the countess could reply. “Your messenger must have got things mixed or failed to explain the matter properly. There is nothing so important that it would keep him away at a time like this!”

“My lady, Mr. Perceval has been assassinated!”

“Merciful heavens!” The countess reached for her salts.

“The Prime Minister! But how? When?” Catheryn passed a hand across her brow, trying to digest Paulson’s news.

“I haven’t had details yet, Miss Catheryn,” he apologized. “The tragedy occurred less than half an hour ago at the Commons. In the lobby, I believe. The assassin has been caught and his lordship, my lord Stanthorpe, and Captain Varling are at the scene. A messenger had been sent to Stanthorpe House, and they were about to send to us when young Michael arrived.”

“Michael!” Tiffany spoke caustically, and the butler replied with as near a grimace as he ever allowed himself.

“Just so, my lady. I have spoken with him. He will not make the error again. But I knew you would wish to know that his lordship is detained.”

“Thank you, Paulson,” the countess said, dismissing him. She turned to Catheryn, her salts still gripped in her hand but forgotten. “He has a wife and twelve children!”

“I’m sure they will be provided for,” Catheryn reassured her. “But have you thought what this means?”

“Well, I hope it does not mean we shall be expected to put on black gloves,” Tiffany declared with asperity. “We don’t … didn’t even know the man, after all, and if this means the masquerade will be canceled….”

“Tiffany!” Catheryn exclaimed, truly shocked, but the countess looked thoughtful and then spoke to the point.

“You know, my dear, I don’t think it will come to that, for the Regent didn’t like Mr. Perceval. And where he does not mourn, no one else will either, except poor Mr. Perceval’s family, of course. Twelve children! But it is not as though he were a member of the royal family,” she added comfortably.

“Excuse me, Aunt Elizabeth,” Catheryn interrupted with a glance at the clock. “I was not thinking of the masquerade but of Teddy. Someone ought to go down at once, and since Dambroke may be detained some hours—”

“Hours! It may be days, Catheryn! If he was actually on the scene, as Paulson seems to think, then he will be called to give evidence. There’s no telling how long he will be detained. I shall just have to go myself.”

“Mama!”

“Hush, Tiffany!” Catheryn ordered sharply. “Aunt Elizabeth, it will cause much less upheaval if I go. I am a tolerably good nurse and Teddy likes me.”

“Oh, Catheryn, the very thing!”

“Absolutely not!” the countess exclaimed flatly at the same time. “No, hush, Tiffany. I cannot allow it. You have done far too much for us already, my dear. Besides, what would Sir Horace and Lady Caston say to such an odd arrangement? Not to mention Dambroke!”

Catheryn had expected initial resistance and was not at all cast down. “I am of age, ma’am, so my aunt and uncle have nothing at all to do with the matter,” she answered calmly, thinking it best not to mention that Sir Horace and his lady had been invited to Clairdon Court and would, no doubt, arrive within the week. “Nor does his lordship, for that matter,” she added, “since I would be doing this as a favor to you and to spare you unnecessary exertion. It would be much more awkward for you to leave London. Not only would Tiffany have to go with you, but I could not remain here either. It is much more sensible for me to go.” The countess began to look thoughtful, and Catheryn went on firmly, “Bert Ditchling will drive me with Ben Fincham to show the way and Mary for propriety’s sake. If I think it necessary, I can always send for you or his lordship. Now, what do you think, Aunt Elizabeth?”

Tiffany held her breath and the countess smiled ruefully. “I don’t know what we have done to deserve you, Catheryn. You leave me nothing to say. I doubt that Richard will approve, but you may go to Teddy with my blessing and my gratitude. You must travel post, however,” she added more briskly, “else you will be all night on the road. You may take Bert and Mary, of course, but you must not be dependent upon that dreadful Ben.”

“Then that’s settled. Will you be comfortable now, if Tiffany comes to help me pack? That is,” she added with a twinkle, “if she doesn’t mind.”

“Mind! I guess I don’t!” exclaimed that young lady. The countess assured them that she would do nicely, thank you, now that she knew Teddy would be in capable hands. “More capable than if she went herself, I promise you,” Tiffany confided with a giggle as they were climbing the stairs a moment later. “Mama always retires to her sofa with hartshorn and salts when one of us is ill.” Catheryn smiled vaguely, her mind occupied with a mental list of things to be done. She had no desire to be caught by darkness on the road, and Dambroke Park was nearly thirty miles away. To be leaving at half past six would be cutting it very fine. Tiffany paused on the step, biting her lip, and Catheryn turned impatiently to see what kept her. “I ought not to have said that about Mama,” Tiffany said in a small voice. “It was unkind, just as my behavior in the drawing room was childish. Richard is right. I shall never learn.”

“Nonsense,” was the crisp reply. “You simply want to learn to think before you act instead of afterward. I was angry before because you were making a bad situation worse. As to what you said just now about your mother, I am afraid I wasn’t attending. No, no, I beg you won’t repeat it. It is enough that you think I shall disapprove. If you think it, you are very likely right. Now, come along, do!”

As soon as they reached Catheryn’s room she rang for Mary and a footman. The latter, an abashed and profoundly apologetic Michael, was sent to give the order for the chaise and to alert the postillions and Ditchling. Tiffany informed Catheryn that Dambroke kept his own teams stabled along the Great North Road. “He usually only changes twice,” she said, “at Barnet and Welwyn, but he keeps horses in two or three other places as well, so he can travel more rapidly if need be. I’m not certain where, but the boys will know. Just tell them you wish to make all speed. It usually takes two and a half to three hours. You’ll never make it before dark, Catheryn.”

She feared Tiffany was right. Although she moved as quickly as possible and spurred the others to similar activity, it was twenty minutes to seven before Catheryn and Mary were tucked into the chaise under fur rugs. Nestled at their feet was a woven basket sent by Jean-Pierre, for even in the flurry of packing, Catheryn had not forgotten to send word requesting something with which to ward off starvation.

Ditchling and young Ben were waiting, and Catheryn’s eyes widened when she realized Bert was riding her own Psyche. He caught the look and grinned, begging her pardon for the presumption but pointing out that she plight like to have the nag along in case she had time, to indulge in her favorite form of exercise. Laughing, she agreed it was an excellent notion, and moments later, the team of matched grays leaped forward.

They rolled along over the cobbled streets to the Holloway Road, then through Islington Spa and across Finchley Common to the Great North Road. Two miles later, they drew into Barnet and pulled up at the small inn where the earl kept his team. Although the kitchen basket had been opened before they reached the Great North Road, there was plenty left, and Catheryn passed bread, meat, and fruit out to Ditchling and the young groom, while they waited for the change. The postillions had supped before leaving. So had Ben, but he confessed to hunger pangs, and Catheryn, recognizing a kindred spirit, was generous.

By the time they completed the second stage, splashes of crimson, apricot, and lavender had spread across the western sky; and by the time they reached Welwyn, it was dusk. Catheryn leaned out long enough to order the post boys to relax the pace a bit as it grew darker. It wouldn’t do to lose a wheel or have a horse step in a chuckhole. But no such mishap occurred, and before she realized how much time had passed, Ditchling was leaning down to shout that they were nearly there.

Dambroke Park was located southwest of Stevenage and some two or three miles off the Great North Road. The chaise turned into a private road just after passing a wayside inn, proclaimed by a torchlit sign to be the Running Bull. From the noise issuing from the taproom when they passed, Catheryn deduced it to be a popular gathering place for the local country folk. She could still hear faint echoes of revelry when the chaise slowed for the turn. A short time later, by the light of a rising full moon, she saw the large gates of the Park swing open. One of the postillions called out a cheerful greeting to the lodgekeeper, and she soon caught a glimpse of that worthy himself, plump and smiling, his lantern casting a warm glow across his ruddy cheeks.

It was still some distance to the house. The drive was lined on both sides with trees and thick shrubs; and, had it not been for the moonlight trickling and dancing on the branches and leaves, it would have seemed almost as though they traveled through a tunnel. The drive widened, and the trees broke away in a line that would eventually encircle the house and gardens. The house itself was now visible, and it was evident that they were expected. Light blazed from nearly every window of the massive central block and spilled out the front door. Catheryn just had time to take in the immense size of the place before the chaise swung between two stone lions on pedestals and onto a circular drive. Moments later, it rolled to a stop. She heard Mary let out a long breath.

“My, miss, but the place is huge!”

“Have you not been here before, Mary?” They had spoken occasionally on the journey, but the dust from the road and the constant noise of the horses and chaise made lengthy conversation difficult, and the subject had not arisen.

“No, miss,” Mary replied, peering out with wonder in her eyes. “I’m a Londoner, I am.” The door to the chaise was jerked open, and Catheryn found herself looking into the surprised face of a strange footman. She allowed him to help her alight and, with Mary right behind her, proceeded up the broad steps and into the great hall.

Twin fireplaces blazed merrily at either end, and chandeliers glowed with hundreds of little flames. Catheryn paid little heed to the splendor of the huge room, however, as she introduced herself to Carlson, the underbutler, and asked to see Miss Felmersham or, if she had retired, Mr. Ashley. She rather hoped it would be Mr. Ashley, since both the footman and Carlson had looked at her rather oddly. There was the unquestionable crest on the chaise door, however, as well as the familiar post boys, and now she seemed to have mentioned magic names. Carlson smiled, seeming at once more approachable.

“Miss Lucy was expecting his lordship, Miss Westering. She keeps early hours but left orders to be called when my lord arrived. I sent to advise her when we heard the chaise.”

Catheryn could restrain herself no longer. “How is Master Teddy, Carlson?”

“He’s fair knocked up, miss, but not in danger. Miss Lucy will tell you. Mr. Ashley is with him now. He won’t have heard the chaise, but I can send for him if you like.”

A moment before she would have accepted the offer with gratitude, but Carlson’s friendliness restored her courage. “No, thank you,” she replied. “I shall want to go up to him myself after I’ve spoken to Miss Felmersham. But perhaps someone could show Mary where I am to sleep, so that she can get settled.” Carlson immediately began to give instructions to the young footman but broke off when a door to the left of the entry was flung open. An elderly woman emerged, fastening a gray wool dressing gown that had seen better days.

“Richard!” she exclaimed without looking up. “So you are here at last, my lord. I expect I ought to beg your pardon for barging through your study, but it is the quickest way, you know. Dear me!” She stopped short and adjusted her spectacles with a rather bewildered look on her face. “Who are you and where is Dambroke?”

Miss Felmersham wore her serviceable dressing gown over a high-necked nightdress and quite obviously had been roused from her sleep. Her nightcap was not exactly askew, but strands of gray hair had escaped its confines, and her pale blue eyes were bleary behind the wire-rimmed spectacles. She was not much taller than Catheryn and weighed a great deal less, so it was more than a little disconcerting when she thrust her head forward to peer at her, rather, thought Catheryn, like some strange bird ready to peck out the eyes of an intruder to her nest. Hastily introducing herself, Catheryn extracted a note written by the countess from her reticule and handed it to her.

“Indeed,” said Miss Felmersham testily, unfolding the note, “but where is Dambroke?” Catheryn explained and, while the old lady grunted and began to scan the note, reviewed what she had heard about her. Miss Lucy Felmersham had more than sixty years in her dish and had supposedly decided long since that she had no need to please anyone but herself. Criticized by an elder brother for not making a push to nab a husband who would support her in his place, she had applied to her cousin, Elizabeth, recently married to the sixth Earl of Dambroke. Elizabeth had welcomed her as companion and friend. In the course of years and differing interests, the two drifted apart but, by that time, Miss Felmersham was so much a fixture at the Park that it occurred to no one to wonder why she did not leave. She pursued her own interests and made herself useful by managing things when the family was in town. She folded the note and pushed her spectacles higher on her nose.

“So, you’ve come to tend the boy. Well, you’re welcome, of course, though I can’t imagine why Dambroke should waste his time over a man known only for wars and riots when his own kin have need of him. However, that’s neither here nor there. May as well go on up, I expect.” Without waiting for a response, she turned away, clearly expecting Catheryn to follow. “Young Ashley will be glad to see you, no doubt. Insisted on sitting with Edward himself, though there’s no need for it, I’m thinking. Still, Peter always was a stubborn lad, from the cradle.”