Beguiled (4 page)

“Brian! The men are criminals,” Camille said.

“Yes, they are,” Brian said firmly, staring at Ally.

“I'm sorry, my lord. I can't even tell you their height or hair color. I'm sorry.”

“When this fellow took you off…what happened?” Brian demanded.

“I was angry. We walked and talked in circles until I gave him my name.”

“And then?” Brian demanded.

“He returned me to Shelby, and we drove straight here,” she said.

The earl nodded and headed toward the door as Camille took her by the arm. “Come along, your bath will grow cold.”

 

“T
HERE
'
S
F
LORENCE
,” P
ATRICK
said cheerfully as they entered the smoky miasma of O'Flannery's Pub.

Florence Carter, the barmaid, was busy at work behind the taps. She was in her mid-thirties, a woman who had fallen on hard times but found her calling at O'Flannery's. Here she worked very hard for hours a day, but never found herself reduced to prostitution, a common fate for poor and uneducated women in the East End. She was attractive, with red hair and bright green eyes, and a fierce attitude that warned her customers to have fun but behave. Robert O'Flannery, the big Irishman who owned the place, knew that he had found a gem in Flo. She could move like lightning and easily handle the university students who habituated the pub after classes. Florence could tease, she could jest—but she could also stop a brawl before it ever got started, though she was slim and appeared somewhat delicate. She was possessed of a fierce and wiry strength that had taken many a man by surprise.

“What will it be, boys? A pint apiece?” she called out to them.

“Aye, Flo,” Mark called. “And have you seen—”

“Your partners in crime are in the booth,” she teased back lightly, pointing.

“A bit too close to home, eh?” Patrick murmured.

“Not at all. She merely jests,” Mark said.

The pub was crowded, with most men grouped around the bar. Mark and Patrick wove their way through people—workers, fresh from their jobs in the city; students, some laden with books; soldiers; and a few young members of society, sons who would one day claim their fathers' titles—and found Geoff and Thomas.

“Any problems?” Geoff asked.

“Not a one,” Mark said, waving at Flo, who was already on her way over, balancing a tray of pints. She dropped off a few en route, easily avoiding the pats that would have fallen upon her posterior, and came to their booth. As she set their pints down, Mark said, “Did you hear? We passed a fellow on the road who heard that the highwayman has been busy again. Apparently he had the audacity to hold up a carriage belonging to the Earl of Carlyle. Luckily, he let the lass within it go her way, unscathed and unrobbed.”

“I heard,” Patrick said, leaning closer, “that he isn't usually so merciful.”

“The newspapers downplay his exploits. The people are up in arms as it is,” Geoff whispered.

“They can downplay it all they like,” Flo said, whispering as well. “But I've heard he's murdered a victim or two and hidden the bodies, weighted down with bricks, in the lakes and streams.”

“Yes, I've heard that, too,” Mark said. “If the people in the carriages give him no trouble, he robs them and sends them on their way. But if they protest, fight back…It must be true. You've heard it…we've heard it. He is savage in response to those who fight back. Flo, you must take care.”

“Well, now, O'Flannery can be a hard taskmaster, but I have the room above the taproom, you know.” Flo shivered. “I need not travel the roads.”

“You should be drinking up and heading home,” Patrick reminded Mark. “Don't you have a soiree to attend this evening?”

“I do,” Mark murmured. “But with Flo here, I've no desire to be heading anywhere.”

“You're a flatterer, Sir Mark Farrow, you are. And an earl you'll be one day. You'll be having your way all the time, so it's a good thing for you to be learning a bit of humility now. So, you'll be attending the gala at the Earl of Carlyle's castle, then, will you?”

He smiled and pressed a sizable coin into Flo's hand. “It is where I'm supposed to be. But, Flo, be careful, with that highwayman on the loose. Make sure you travel safely. And warn your fellows at the bar.”

“You're a kind man,” she told him, fingers closing around the coin. “You'll make a fine earl one day. And yes,” she said, changing her tone, “I will warn them all.”

As she started to turn away, a man burst through the entry. “Murder!” he roared. “There's been another murder!”

“Who?” someone shouted from the bar area.

“Giles Brandon. The police just found the body. Word is just out on the street. Throat slit, just like the others.”

A roar arose in the room, one voice trying to out-shout another.

Finally the newcomer's voice rose above the rest. “He had it in his hand, he did. His last fine bit of writing. A blast aimed at the monarchy.”

“It will still make the papers,” someone predicted.

“Aye, words covered in blood,” shouted another man.

“A pox upon Queen Victoria” came another hoarse cry.

Mark started to rise in anger.

Patrick set a hand on his arm. “Let me. I'm a commoner through and through, remember?” he said quietly.

Mark fought to control his temper, lowered his head and nodded.

Patrick rose. “God bless Victoria. The queen will find out who is at this wickedness.”

There was silence. Then someone said from the bar, “She'd have no part in this, God save her.”

And with that the cry of “God save the queen” went up, and the grumbling turned to whispers….

Mark rose then, looking at the others. “It doesn't appear as if I will be attending that gala this evening after all, gents. We'll talk soon,” he said.

The others nodded.

With some men grumbling about the murders and others defending Queen Victoria, the pub was alive with conversation as Mark hurried for the door.

 

A
LLY WAS GRATEFUL FOR THE
hot bath, in which she spent all the time she could, indulging herself in the warmth—and privacy. At last she emerged, wrapped herself in the soft linen towel Lucy had left for her and stepped back into the bedroom. A large figure of Isis sat on one side of the dressing table, a canopic jar on the other. In between was a set of silver combs and brushes. Reliefs and statues decorated the room, and papyrusi lined the walls, handsomely framed. It was her room; it had always been so, as long as she could remember. Like the rest of the castle, it was stunningly decorated with both ancient and modern Egyptian art and artifacts. The earl's parents had been explorers, beginning the family fascination, and he had met a passionate proponent in Camille. He knew that the treasures of a poor country could too easily be spirited away by foreigners, and he was a firm proponent of leaving the most valuable in their native land. He was willing, however, to take some of the less valuable pieces for his own pleasure, but he always paid handsomely for his finds. He had told Ally once that for every ancient treasure he purchased, he also looked to the present, hiring artists and artisans to create new pieces for his collection. She remembered when she had been here with the daughter of Lord Wittburg, now a princess in Eastern Europe. Poor Lucinda had been terrified of the mummy cases, and at first Ally had teased her. She had actually hidden in one and jumped out, then been horrified to see how she had frightened the girl. It had taken her hours to calm her down, and she'd been worried that she was going to be barred from the castle forever if her prank was discovered. But Lucinda was kind at heart and never told on her. The episode had made Ally realize that perhaps she was the one who was a bit odd, but she'd grown up around the mummy cases and other artifacts and thought nothing of them. She even knew that in Egypt, mummies were so common they were used for kindling at times, and many people there used the massive stone sarcophagi for planters. Still, she was aware that a passion for all things Egyptian was definitely an acquired taste.

She realized she was feeling a sudden sense of loss, of nostalgia, as if something were about to change forever, but she didn't know what.

She slipped quickly into a silk shift, bloomers and stockings. She was still only half dressed when there came a knock at the door. It was Molly, one of the upstairs maids, and she had come to help Ally complete her ensemble for the evening.

“Have you seen the gown?” Molly asked, her blue eyes bright.

Ally's attention was drawn to the dress that had been laid out on the big four-poster bed. It was an elegant shade of yellow, almost gold, and it was glorious with subtle nips and tucks to emphasize her youthful figure. The embroidered handwork was exquisite.

“The aunties made this?” she asked softly.

Molly nodded. “They giggled like girls when they brought it.”

Ally touched the fabric, shaking her head. “And still they would not come tonight,” she said sadly.

“Ah, you can't change them,” Molly told her.

“I pleaded,” Ally said. “You know, if there is such an occasion here again, I will tell them that I will not come if they don't. I know that the earl and his wife argued and wheedled, as well, but those old dears are so stubborn. Still, I swear, next time I will out-stubborn them.”

Molly sighed. “Well, there will not be a next time such as this,” she said softly, carefully lifting the gown to slip it over Ally's head.

At first Ally couldn't reply—she was muffled by the elegant length of the dress going over her head. When at last she could speak, she demanded, “Molly, just what
is
this occasion? Why was I summoned here tonight?”

Molly flushed, then shrugged. “That is for your godparents to explain.”

“Molly…”

“Come, come, they will be here any minute,” Molly said, twirling her around to tie her into the gown. “You know, of course, that it was Lady Maggie, one of your own dear grandmothers, who came up with the design, and she took the aunties shopping for the fabric. Of course, there was never any question of hiring a designer for this. Lady Maggie has the most exquisite taste in clothing, and she said there were no finer seamstresses in the land than the aunties.”

Ally smiled, proud of her dear aunties in their little cottage in the woods. They loved their simple life. She knew that they could have done very well, out in the world of high fashion. Instead, they chose to remain as they were, living their quiet and happy lives. “Lady Kat's sister is gaining quite a name in the fashion industry. She had a showing in Paris, you know, and even she comes to the aunties for her most important work.”

“I know.”

“Molly,” Ally tried again, thinking to take the woman off guard, “what is going on tonight? Is it an early birthday celebration?”

“You could say so, I suppose. Now, sit and let me fix your hair.”

Ally sat, ready to try again, taking another tack.

“The kitchen is overflowing with caterers,” she said.

“When Lord Stirling decides to throw a private party,” Molly said with pride, “there's no one who would not toss all other offers, business and pleasure, to the wind in order to attend. Of course there are caterers everywhere. Now, sit still. People are beginning to arrive. We need to get you ready.”

Another tap sounded at the door, and Lady Camille looked in. She was dressed for the evening in a midnight-blue gown that hugged her body and sported a very small bustle that made it look as if she were gliding when she walked. As always, she was stunningly beautiful and regal. Camille had been born to poverty, then rescued from the streets, and in Ally's mind, she was proof that nobility lived with the heart and soul, and did not spring from a title. She was truly the perfect mate for the earl, since both were strong-willed and also compassionate to the extreme.

“Oh,” Camille said, standing by Molly and surveying Ally. “It is perfect. I am so angry at the aunties. They should be here this evening. But I have to commend Maggie the minute she arrives—she chose the color and the fabric. Ally, your eyes look golden and your hair, just a shade darker. My dear girl, you have grown up.”

“Thank you,” Ally said. “Camille, is this a birthday celebration? Or is there something more going on tonight? I thank God that I am important in your eyes, but—”

The older woman was silent for a moment, then said, “Brian has returned and is downstairs already. He's in quite a state. He and Shelby retraced the carriage route, and he tried a dozen forest trails but was unable to find any sign of that wretched highwayman. Still, we must get on with the evening. And Theodore is feeding the inspector from the Metropolitan Police in the kitchen. We must speak with him at some point. And Angus Cunningham will be here later, so he must be informed about this new development.”

“One last touch,” Molly said, setting a studded pin into place in Ally's hair. She stepped back and clasped her hands. “Like a princess!” she exclaimed.

Ally kissed Molly's cheeks. “Not a princess, a commoner, Molly, and one who loves you and thanks you.”

Molly sniffed suddenly and reached into her pocket for a handkerchief.

“Molly, stop that,” Ally said. “I'll stay up here with you, shall I?”

“Nonsense, you're going downstairs,” Camille said, laughing. “Come along, lass.”

There it was again. That word.
Lass.
She would probably remain a lass in the eyes of those who had helped raise her until she dropped dead of old age.

“There's something I must speak to you about this evening, as well,” Ally told the duchess.

“Is there?”

“Yes. I should tell you all at once, I suppose,” Ally said. “Because you'll all be here tonight, all of you who have been so kind, taking me in almost as your own child. Sir Hunter and Lady Kat, Lord James and Lady Maggie, and you and Lord Stirling.”