Change of Address (6 page)

“Lock it,” she ordered, breathing heavily as she leaned
against the door.

“I will.” Calmly, her mother bent to pick up the key.

“Hurry up!” she insisted. “Lock the door!”

“That is what I’m trying to do. But first I need this.” Her
mother held up the key.

“Don’t explain—just lock it. Lock it, lock it, lock it!”
Shivers of frustration coursed through her body. At any moment she expected to
feel his weight on the other side of the door.

The lock clicked and her mother carefully removed the key
and deposited it with great deliberation into the pocket of her dressing gown.
“It is done. Now, compose yourself, daughter.”

Amanda stormed away.
Oh, it is easy for you to be calm.
You were not almost…almost…almost what?
Suffocated with bad breath? The
stench of gin and tobacco and rotten teeth assailed her memory. But she feared
more than that. He could have hit her as he had the girl, he could have,
well…could he have done more? Her mother was right there and she wouldn’t have
let…but who knew?

Still shivering, she went over to the settee where a girl
younger than her sister sat crying quietly.

“S-so s-sorry to put you to such trouble, m-m-miss,” the
girl stammered in a small voice.

Amanda collapsed next to her on the sofa, hugged her close,
and let loose with tears of her own as the man outside pounded on the door and
demanded entry.

* * * * *

“Sorry to wake you, sir, but there’s been a summons from the
dower house.”

“Huh?” Slowly the words penetrated Charlie’s sleep-fogged
mind.
Sorry to wake you.
Standing next to his bed with a candlestick in
his hand, Jameson had awakened him while it was still dark, so probably
sometime in the middle of the night.
There’s been a summons.
Somebody
needed help in the middle of the night.
From the dower house.
Miss
Castling and her family needed help!

He immediately sat up. “What is the matter?”

“Miss Honoria Castling arrived a few moments ago, sir, and
said they require assistance with an unknown gentleman who is besieging a tree
in their back yard.”

“What?”

The footman at the door took a step into the room and bowed.
“Miss Honoria said there’s a drunken man assaulting a girl in the yard, sir.
And she’s gone ‘round collecting the fireplace pokers.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Charlie couldn’t help
but chuckle. “She’s stockpiling weapons,” he explained to the men frowning at
him. He reached for his breeches.

Jameson nodded his understanding. “Mr. Hilliar says he will
join you in the stable presently.”

Charlie stopped. “You told Papa?”

“But of course, sir.”

“Do you think it wise to wake him for an errand such as
this?”

The butler’s face was difficult to read in the flickering
candlelight. “Possibly not, sir. But it was my duty.”

Charlie sighed. “Yes, I understand.” Though his father might
fall into irrational fits of rage and throw rolls at the dinner table, he was
still very much head of the household.

When Charlie reached the stable, his father was examining a
pair of dueling pistols nested in a velvet-lined case. “Surely we will not need
those!” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps not,” his father mused as he checked the sight line
of a piece, “but I think it best to be prepared.”

“Very well, but let Oliver carry them so that we may ride
with greater speed,” Charlie suggested. “I believe there is enough light for us
to cross the fields.”

Reluctantly, his father replaced the pistol, closed the case
and handed it to the footman.

“Miss Honoria is to follow us in the coach, I understand,”
Charlie said as he stepped into the stirrup the groom held for him.

“Ah, yes. She said to be sure to give you this.” His father
waved to Oliver, who produced the fireplace poker.

“Yes, well, I rather thought this would give me a little
greater range.” Charlie nodded toward the whip he had picked up on his way in.
“Though I daresay our presence alone should be sufficient to frighten the
blackguard away. I am afraid the disturbants are very likely our Mr. Puckett
and his daughter.”

His father grimaced as he climbed the block and hoisted
himself into the saddle. “The thought had crossed my mind as well. Such a
disappointment he turned out to be. Drove his father to an early grave.”

“And now he’s driven us from our beds on Christmas eve.”
Charlie nodded for his father to proceed him out. “Shall we?”

After the leather, horse and manure smells confined in the
closeness of the stable, the clear cold of the night air sucked the breath from
Charlie’s lungs. Overhead, stars stretched far and wide in an open panoply
surrounding the rounded jewel of a moon.

Though he hoped his father would maintain a more cautious
pace, Charlie started downhill across the fields as fast as his horse could
manage. Puckett was not a devious man, but he was a fool and often that proved
to be more dangerous.

He slowed as he drew within fifty paces of the house.

No lights shone through the casement windows and the front
door was closed fast. Neither Puckett nor anyone else was in view. Charlie
stopped his horse for a moment to listen, but before too long the approach of
his father drowned out all other sounds.

“Do you suppose he’s left?” his father asked as he drew up
and looked around.

Charlie shook his head, not wanting to make more noise than
was necessary. He nudged his horse slowly around to the back of the house. At
first he could see nothing out of the ordinary. Then he noticed the open stable
door hanging limply from its hinges. It was too dark to tell from outside
whether Puckett was within. In the house itself, all the back windows were
shuttered dark. A clump of cherry trees stretched their bare branches silently
upward in the sky. As he turned the corner and came up the far end of the
house, he could see that one of the downstairs windows was broken, though it,
too, was shuttered closed from inside. And below it, slumped against the
foundation, lay the figure of a man of about the right size to be their former
tenant.

He rode back to his father. “I believe I’ve found our
miscreant.”

“A quiet one, then.” his father said with surprise as they
both started around to the side of the house.

“Jug-bitten, I’d guess. He does not appear to be very
conscious of his surroundings at the moment.” In only a few more paces, Charlie
was able to point him out.

He roused at the sound of their approach, shivering with the
cold as he sat up. “Wot ye ‘bout there, squire? ‘Ave a spare scrap o’ blanket
about ye anywheres?”

“Bartholomew Puckett.” His father spat out the words. “It is
we should be asking why you are here.”

Puckett rubbed his nose with the heel of his grimy hand.
“Just came to fetch my girl, who’d run off on me. ‘S dangerous to be out
alone.”

“If she ran away from you, I’ve not a doubt but that was
with good reason,” Charlie opined. Fury began to build within him as he noticed
the broken rake handle on the ground next to Puckett. “Did you threaten her?
Hurt her?” He plucked the whip from the saddle as he dismounted.

Puckett scrambled to his feet. “Naw, I’d never hurt m’dear
Mary. She’s all I got left. But she’s run away and taken up with the strumpet
wot lives here now.”

“What did you say?” Charlie felt the heat inside blast into
a rage of fury. How dare Puckett say anything to slander the name of the
Castling ladies? He advanced toward him but threw the whip to the side,
preferring to throttle or pummel the man with his bare hands.

“The tenants here now are ladies of quality, so you will
amend your remark immediately, Puckett,” his father warned as he dismounted.
“Or face the consequences.”

“Ladies of quality my arse.”

Charlie landed a blow that left Puckett sitting on his.

Puckett scooted away from him and addressed his next remarks
to his father. “Your boy may be dangling after the light-skirt in there, but
she aren’ no lady, an’ that is for certain.”

“Stand up,” Charlie demanded as he kicked the toe of
Puckett’s boot, “so I can hit you properly.”

Instead Puckett slid further away on his bottom. “Came out
half dressed, swilling gin, she did. Showed everythin’ God’d given ‘er.”

The thought of Miss Castling in a state of undress was
enough to leave him speechless as incredulity, jealousy and outrage fought for
expression in his head.

His father put a warning hand on his arm. “Steady now,
Charlie,” he said in a low voice. “He’s probably referring to Miss Honoria. She
did come to us in her nightshift, you remember.”

His anger cooled just enough to allow him to think again.
“Take back your words,” he said slowly, “and swear to never set foot on this
property again.”

Puckett sniffed. “Never again? Set foot on the land of my
birth? All fer showin’ up a bit o’ muslin for wot she were? Seems a bit—”

Charlie bent down, pulled the man to his feet and hit him so
hard his knuckles felt as if they’d been forced through the back of his hand.

“You will take back your words,” his father insisted, “you
jackanapes, or I must demand satisfaction.”

“I think, Papa, you will find it very satisfying if you just
let me beat him to death.” After shaking his hand for a moment to regain
sensation in his fingers, Charlie stepped forward to grab Puckett by his lapel
again.

The man screamed like a girl and covered his face with his
hands. Just as Charlie was about to hit him again, they were all startled by
the sound of the shutters cracking open behind them.

They turned to see Miss Castling peering out the broken
window. “What under heaven is happening out here?”

“There’s the strumpet.” Puckett wriggled free from Charlie’s
grasp and rolled away. He pointed to the window.

“Take back your words,” Charlie demanded as he stalked over
to him, “or I swear I will kill you.”

“What?” Miss Castling’s voice rang with confusion, and
horror. “No!”

“Not that way, my boy.” His father pushed in front of him.
“Now, Puckett, you retract what you’ve said, every false word of it, or I must
demand satisfaction.”

“We can satisfy everyone right now,” Charlie insisted as he
moved around his father to face Puckett again.

“What? You wouldn’t! Stop it, all of you,” Miss Castling
pleaded. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, indeed we do. You’ve no idea the half of what this
fellow has said.” Charlie waved her away. “You’d do well to close the shutter
now and leave this matter to us.”

“I will do no such thing,” Miss Castling leaned forward as
if she would climb out the window at any moment. “This is ludicrous. If you
insist on punishing this man, do it for the harm he’s caused to his daughter,
not for anything he’s said about me.”

“It wasn’t just you,” his father explained. “He slandered
your mother and sister as well,”

She waved his objection aside. “The words of a drunk ape
cannot harm us.”

“If he’s harmed Mary, then I have two reasons to kill him.”
Charlie took off his coat and began to roll up his sleeves.

“Please listen to me, Mr. Hilliar.” She was glaring at him.
“This is not one of those situations where you are permitted to act before
thinking. None of us is in danger at the moment. Except for that man on the
ground there covered in blood.”

“It’s only a broken nose.”

“I do not care. I will not let you beat a man to death in my
yard simply because he called me a…whatever it was he called me. We should let
the man make his exodus in peace.”

“Exodus?” Charlie turned to see that while they discussed
his fate, Puckett had taken the opportunity to crawl away on his hands and
knees.

“Stop, you coward!” his father demanded as he ran after him.
“You are a disgrace to your father’s good name.”

Puckett sat back on his heels. “Ye call me a disgrace an‘ ye
call me a liar for tellin’ ye what I know I saw. Seems should be me demandin’
the satisfaction.”

“Be my guest,” his father said with a great mocking bow.

“Papa, no,” Charlie growled as he caught up to them. “This
cannot be treated as an affair of honor.”

“The honor of the ladies is at stake.”

“But this fellow is not honorable.”

His father turned his back to Charlie and stared down at
Puckett.

“Ver’ well.” Puckett dragged himself to his feet and
ceremonially cleared his throat. “Ye take back what ye said ‘bout me bein’ a
liar an’ a disgrace or I demand satisfaction.” He fished around in his coat
pocket. “Do either of ye have a glove a can borrow?”

“It is not necessary, his father said gruffly. “I understand
your meaning and I stand by what I’ve said. Choose your second, and I shall
meet you at first light at the bottom of the lower field.”

Charlie pulled his father aside. “You cannot do this.”

“The man must be taught a lesson.”

“Not at the possible expense of your life.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure the man has no shot at all.”

“It is not worth the risk.”

His father shook off Charlie’s arm. “I will decide what is
worth the risk and what is not. And I declare that a lady’s honor, or in this
case, the honor of three ladies, is worth the miniscule risk I take.”

“I cannot hear what you say out there,” Miss Castling called
out from the window. “I hope you are not taking action without thought.”

Charlie turned to his father. “Would you care to answer
that?”

Chapter Four

To Amanda, the ride to the manor house in the Hilliar coach
seemed to take much longer than it should have. Since no one was quite certain
where the disruptive Mr. Puckett might wander during the course of the night,
the Hilliars had insisted that Amanda, her sister and mother, and of course
young Mary Puckett, should spend the remainder of the night at their house for
safety.

Honoria had fallen asleep before they even started moving,
her head turned sideways and face pressed into the squabs. Mary Puckett curled
up in a corner and pretended to sleep and Mrs. Castling lay back and closed her
eyes, inviting no conversation. So inside the carriage was dark and quiet
except for the steady clop of the horses hooves and the rattle of the equipage
as they bumped along the rough road.

Amanda had heard Charles Hilliar offer to take the Puckett
man back to his lodgings, but he had refused, saying he did not want to miss
his morning appointment in the field. Was there some sort of outdoor Christmas
worship service? She could not imagine the man attending worship of any sort,
but she also could not imagine what other sort of appointment he might have on
Christmas morning. As soon as they reached the manor house, she meant to ask.

There was every chance, of course, that she would receive
little or no answer. Whether it was the late hour or something preying on his
mind, Charles Hilliar had lost his usual boyish eagerness. She had not realized
how much he smiled until he stopped doing so. A crease of worry appeared in his
forehead. She hoped he was merely drained from the events of the evening. His
father had smiled when he invited them to spend the night, but he, too, had
lost the jovial aspect to which she had unwittingly grown accustomed.

When they finally stopped, Miss Hilliar met them outside and
ushered them into a parlor with a roaring fire and a tureen of hot mulled wine.
The sweetness and warmth of the drink soothed Amanda while at the same time the
spices tingled her nose and banished the sleepiness that had begun to steal
over her during the ride.

Miss Hilliar was eager to learn what had transpired with her
father when the men had moved out of earshot. But no one else seemed inclined
to talk.

“Thank you, my dear,” Mr. Hilliar said as he kissed his
daughter on the cheek and prepared to quit the room. “I shall sleep quite well
after that draught.” He turned to bow to the rest of the company. “If you all
will be so good as to excuse me, I fear I must retire.”

“No apologies are necessary, sir,” her mother said with a
curtsy. “We are most grateful for your help and hospitality, but the hour is so
late we must dispense with niceties and gain what rest we can before the
morning.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the room.

“We must be ready at an early hour,” her mother said as she
rose from her seat on the sofa.

The younger Mr. Hilliar flashed a look of alarm to his
father.

“I understand,” she continued, “that the rector begins his
services promptly at eleven.”

Another look passed between the two men. Their concern for
an early hour of rising had little to do with the parish rector, Amanda was
sure.

Her mother patted Honoria on the arm. “Come, child. I would
rather you sleep in a bed than on the arm of the sofa.”

“Wasn’ sleeping,” she insisted through a yawn. But she
allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and steered toward the door.

“Amanda?” her mother asked.

“I will join you shortly.” She held up her glass of mulled
wine, covering it with her hand so her mother could not see that it was empty.
“As soon as I’ve finished.”

Her mother nodded and the two of them soon left the room.
Mr. Hilliar started to leave also but his son hurried after him.

“Papa, a word if you please,” he said in a voice of
surprising desperation.

His father shook his head. “No, it is too late for that
now.”

She expected him to say that whatever the matter was they
could discuss it in the morning. However, he said nothing further but only
clasped his son’s hands in his own for a moment before turning to leave.

Miss Hilliar came toward her with a gracious smile. “Would
you care for more wine, Miss Castling?”

Amanda looked down at her empty glass and realized she’d
already given it several wistful glances and her hostess had noticed and must
think she was desperate for wine. Propriety dictated that she decline and
retire as her mother had done. Instead, she held out her glass. “Yes, please.
And I do hope you will call me Amanda. It seems we are to become closely
acquainted rather sooner than later.”

Miss Hilliar smiled. “Very well, if you will call me Isabel.
I cannot speak for my brother, of course. He may prefer formality.”

From the way she smiled and glanced at her brother, as if
waiting for a reaction, Amanda was certain that Isabel was making a joke. But
her brother seemed not to hear.

“I suppose you’d better continue to address him as ‘Mr.
Charles’ then,” Isabel said with a laugh as she walked over to the tureen on
the side table.

“I’m sorry, what?” He looked up, confused.

“Our neighbor,” Isabel nodded toward Amanda before tipping a
ladleful of wine into her glass, “has wisely proposed that since we are
conversing at midnight on Christmas eve that we might dispense with formalities
and address one another by our Christian names as friends are wont to do.”

“Oh yes, yes, that’s fine.” As soon as his sister had moved
away, he stepped over to the table and ladled wine into an empty glass. “Does
anyone…” His voice drifted off as he noticed that both his sister and Amanda
held full glasses.

“You haven’t paid the least bit of attention, Charlie,”
Isabel admonished, “and that is not like you where either wine or women are
concerned. What is on your mind?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, far too quickly to be
believable. He took a long swallow.

“Perhaps he’s concerned for Miss Puckett,” Amanda said
softly.

“Mrs. Curtis said the poor girl’s legs are quite bruised but
she thinks no lasting harm has been done.” Isabel sighed. “I only hope she can
convince Mary to come into service here. Every time we’ve asked before she
hasn’t wanted to leave her father.”

“I hope now her opinion may be different.”

“As do we all.” Isabel set down her glass resolutely. “In
fact, I think I shall tell Mrs. Curtis to reiterate our offer right now, while
the girl is still in mind of the pain and ignominy she has suffered as the
hands of her father. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course,” Amanda murmured as Isabel stepped out of the
room, leaving her alone with Charlie, who was staring at the low flames of the
fire.

“I would offer her a place myself,” Amanda said wistfully.
“We desperately need a girl at the moment. But I think she would be safer
here.”

“What?” Charlie gave her a blank look.

She sighed into her wine as she took a sip. “Never mind.”
The fire caught her gaze and like Charlie, she stared at it in silence,
wondering if he was thinking the same thing she was. Why on earth had she not
gone to bed? “Morning will come before we know it,” she muttered.

“Oh,” Charlie groaned, rubbing his hands through his hair,
“do not remind me.” There was an anguished tone to his voice that far
outweighed the minor inconvenience of rising for church.

“Something troubles you,” Amanda observed. “About the
morning.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No. There is nothing for any of
you to be concerned about. You should go to sleep.”

She looked at him closely. “I did not say that I was
concerned, I said that
you
seemed to be. But now I think there is indeed
a matter that should concern everyone.”

With a sigh, he raked his hands through his hair again. “I
suppose I may as well tell you, since you will all learn of it soon enough.” He
glanced toward the door. “But you must not tell Isabel.”

“She may learn of it before I would have a chance to tell
her. She seems to have a very ready understanding.”

“I hope she will be asleep. As you should be.”

“And you as well.”

“I do not expect to sleep tonight.”

“Why not?”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it again without
speaking. Instead he stood, paced several steps away and then turned back. “Our
former tenant challenged my father to a duel,” he said at last.

Amanda started to laugh, but the look of sorrow in his eyes
made the sound die in her throat. “He did not—he
could
not have
accepted?”

“He did.” Charlie’s voice was so tight with emotion it
scarcely sounded like his.

“But—but a matter of honor? With a man who has none?”

“Papa believes it to be a matter of honor, whether the
challenger is worthy or no.”

“But it’s…” Amanda shook her head as she struggled to find
words adequate for the occasion. “It’s ridiculous. And it’s
Christmas
.
He can’t fight a duel on Christmas morning. That must be illegal or immoral. It’s
just not…right.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “It is illegal no matter the
day.
And
immoral, in my opinion at least. And it would be ridiculous if
my father were not so damned stubborn.” He drained his glass. “Excuse my
language.”

Amanda shook her head again. “But why—how?”

“I don’t know.” Slowly he began to walk back toward the sofa
where she was seated. “I’ve been replaying the evening over and over in my
mind. Too much port after dinner is all I can guess. The effects stay with
you.”

“Do they? I’ve never had port.”

“It is stronger than claret.”

“Oh.” She looked at the glass in her hand before taking a
sip. It seemed strange to be discussing wine so matter-of-factly when a man’s
life was at stake, but then it seemed strange to be discussing much of anything.

He stepped over to the sideboard, ladled more wine into his
glass and then held it up with a sardonic smile. “A mistake, I know. If I have
the chance to step in for him, I’ll have no aim at all.”

She jumped to her feet. “You wouldn’t—not you, as well.” A
sigh of exasperation exploded from her mouth. “Are you all mad?” Then she
cringed and wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth. She barely knew the
Hilliar family and now she’d insulted both head of household and heir on their
second visit.

He, however, did not take offense. “Yes,” he sighed as he
walked toward her, “we probably are.”

To her great surprise, he then began to cry. “He is a fool
sometimes and I often want to kill him myself but I don’t want anyone else to.
I love Papa.”

Closing the distance between them, she flung her arms around
this man she barely knew and pulled him close. In his distress, he seemed more
like a child in need of comfort than a gentleman with whom she needed to
observe proprieties. “It won’t happen,” she murmured into his shoulder. “We
won’t let it happen.”

“Ahem.” The sound came from the edge of the room. “Becoming
better acquainted with our new neighbor?” Isabel called out. “I must confess I
did not expect the familiarity to progress so rapidly.”

“She must not know,” Charlie hissed as he pulled away from
the embrace.

“I think she could help,” Amanda whispered, holding on to
him.

“How?” he whispered back.

“I don’t know. But she is clever and may figure out some way
to prevent this duel that we could not think of without her.”

“But Papa doesn’t want her to know.”

“Yes, and your Papa also wants to let a scoundrel take a
shot at him at first light. If the second idea makes no sense, then the first
idea probably does not either.”

“This is doing nothing for either of your reputations,”
Isabel pointed out as she helped herself to more wine. “But I know it is no
simple clandestine meeting of lovers because Jameson is sobbing under the
stairs and half the staff are awake polishing cutlery. What on earth happened
while you were down at the dower house?”

Charlie looked at Amanda and then looked away.

“I already know,” Isabel continued after she took a sip of
her wine, “that our esteemed former tenant Mr. Puckett chased Mary to the house
because she wouldn’t tell him what she’d done with his spirits and Miss
Castling lured him away with a bottle of gin so Mary could escape.”

“She did?” Charlie looked thoroughly taken aback.

“It was just an empty bottle,” Amanda explained.

Isabel stepped over toward them. “Mary told me your mother
was quite proud of you for thinking up such an appropriate scheme.”

“Oh.” Amanda was not sure how to respond to the unexpected
praise. It may have been the only thing she’d ever done to make her mother
proud—appearing scantily clad in front of a man and swilling a bottle purported
to contain gin. There had to be irony there somewhere.

“That explains a great deal,” Charlie said slowly as he
looked carefully at her. “What were you wearing?”

“I-I don’t remember,” she stammered, heat rising to her
cheeks. For a moment it seemed that Charlie could envision her in her open
dressing gown and translucent shift and the thought was unexpectedly thrilling.

“Puckett said something about a…woman and gin.”

A sudden horrible thought occurred to her. “That was not the
matter that led to the challenge, was it?” If Puckett had implied that she was
a drunkard or a woman of loose morals, he could not really be faulted since
that was the impression she’d labored to give him.

“Challenge?” Isabel asked sharply. “What challenge?”

Charlie ignored her and kept his gaze focused on Amanda.
“No. Not exactly.”

“If he said something about…me, something of an insulting
nature, you must excuse him.” Amanda stopped, suddenly confused. “But it was
Puckett who challenged your father, wasn’t it? Why?”

“Mr. Puckett challenged Papa?” Isabel asked in a squeak of
disbelief.