Corey McFadden (29 page)

“Who is this other one?” He gestured down to Eddie who lay next to Maude, a slow moan issuing from his lips.

“Eddie,” she barely whispered. “My friend, Eddie. I told you about him.” She looked into his cold eyes, searching for a sign of warmth and, finding none, looked away.

“Cover yourself.”

His voice was as cold as his eyes. Red with shame and humiliation, Maude reached down and pulled the torn edges of her breeches together. She tucked them into her belt and pulled her tunic shirt down to hide the torn area.

“What did this Eddie see? Does he know about you?” His words were like shards of ice whipping at her.

“No, I don’t think so. He was knocked out before...before...” she finished lamely.

“Good. That makes it easier.”

“What will we do?” she asked, desperate to make him talk to her. “About him, I mean, when he comes to?” She gestured toward Tom, now unable to bring her eyes back to the place where the man lay, a pool of blood coagulating under his head. Tom looked so unnatural, so blue and ghastly in the dim light. His eyes were open. She wished he’d close them.

“He isn’t going to come to. He’s dead,” Radford answered, his voice flat, emotionless.

She caught her breath in a sob. “Thank God,” she whispered. It didn’t matter that a corpse lay only a few feet from her. All that mattered was that this evil man would not rise to hurt either of them again. She wanted to reach out to Radford, to hold up her arms and crawl into his, but his wrath was like a wall of ice between them.

Radford knelt before Eddie, gently shaking the boy, who moaned and opened his eyes. “Eddie! Eddie! Wake up.”

The boy moaned again and focused on the earl, his eyes clearing as his comprehension returned.

“Are you awake enough to think, Eddie?”

The earl’s voice was kind, kinder than it had been to Maude, she noted.

“Yes, yes, sir. I...I can think now...I think.” Eddie sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Good. There’s been some trouble. I think you must have seen a part of it. His Grace’s manservant attacked my valet, unprovoked.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Eddie, realizing now who this gentleman was. “I thought he would if I couldn’t stop him.”

“The man slipped and hit his head on the shovel. He’s dead.” Radford waited for the news to penetrate and was rewarded when a grin of pure relief spread over the boy’s face.

“Cor, dead, you say. Thank God for that,” he echoed Maude without knowing it.

“I think you understand the difficulties here, Eddie. This Tom was in the employ of His Grace, the Duke of Sommesby, was he not? As his footman, I believe?” Radford waited patiently while the boy nodded.

“And I’m sure you’ll appreciate that neither the duke nor I wish to be embroiled in a seamy public investigation of this matter. In fact, I believe His Grace would be very angry indeed to have this matter discussed at all, under any circumstances. Are you following me?”

“Yes, my lord,” Eddie spoke quietly. He was no fool, and he knew the ring of authority when he heard it. “But ’Is Grace is away, my lord. ’E left at first light for France.”

If the earl was relieved at this news it did not show. “Then the best course will be for you to tell your head butler that you found Tom like this, that he obviously slipped and hit his head on the shovel. It’s a perfectly understandable accident. In fact, that is what happened, although we needn’t say that there was a fight involving my valet, need we? I am sure His Grace would be even angrier to be called back to London over this matter.”

Eddie’s eyes lit upon Mike in a silent plea for assistance. This was obviously Mike’s employer, but was he friend or foe? At a barely perceptible nod from Mike, Eddie turned his glance back to the earl. “I understand, my lord. I’ll do just as you say. And your lordship needn’t worry none about Tom. ’E was plain bad, all the way through. There won’t be no one round ’ere who mourns ’im none, nor cares to ask too many questions neither. Good riddance, I say.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with you, Eddie. However, if there is any trouble about the matter, come to me. Do you know how to hold your tongue, boy?”

“Aye, my lord. I’ve no wish to come up against the police, nor ’Is Grace neither, for that matter.”

“Good. I shall leave you then.”

He tossed a few coins at Eddie, then casting a cold eye on Maude, Radford turned to go, leaving her to follow in his wake. Though only a few blocks, it was a long, silent walk home.

Chapter Sixteen

Maude was back up in the small attic room that belonged to Mike. She was quarantined, or that was how he had put it in the few terse sentences his lordship had deigned to speak to her on their return. A prisoner was more like it, she reflected bitterly, considering that her door was locked from the outside.

After the earl had left her, Mrs. Formby had arrived, tight-lipped and disapproving, with two maids carrying a luncheon tray and bath water. They had pulled the copper tub shared by all the servants from a storage closet at the end of the hallway and brought it to her room. What a welcome sight! Maude had scarcely been able to wait to wash the filth of Tom’s touch from her body. Thank God the man had not had the chance to do more than paw at her.

Mrs. Formby had dismissed the maids, then had tersely helped Maude to undress. The woman had carefully removed Maude’s bandage, remarking with relief almost to herself that there was no fresh blood and no sign of infection. She had rebandaged the wound with clean linen, then bade Maude to bathe, leaving the room.

Maude now sat in the water, careful not to wet the bandage, luxuriating in the warmth and the soft, lilac-scented soap that had arrived inexplicably with the bath. She laughed to herself as she lathered it onto her washing cloth. Mike had used the unscented lye soap provided for the servants which could bloody well take the skin off if one rubbed too hard. Mrs. Formby couldn’t be that angry with her to furnish her with such a treat.

The luncheon tray with a covered dish was on the dresser, a tantalizing aroma wafting toward her. Her clothes had been taken away, and no fresh ones had been provided. One of her nightshirts was draped over the back of the chair. She supposed she was expected to put that on and wait until his lord high majesty decided what was to be done with her.

Oh, he was angry, there was no doubt about that. But now she was angry, too. Yes, she had gone against his wishes in going to the duke’s home, but if the man couldn’t see that she had done it for his own good then he was a fool. Of course it had turned out badly for her; he had been right about that. But hadn’t he been in as much danger as she? There would have been nothing to prevent Tom from killing Radford. The footman could have done it in the house and moved the body with nobody the wiser, making it look like a robbery in the street. Obviously, the duke wanted Radford dead; he had proven that much last night. And Radford would have made such an easy target, arriving by the front door, demanding imperiously to see the duke. No, she had been right to try the back-alley approach first. It was just bad luck that Tom had come into the stable and found her talking to Eddie. Oh, why couldn’t the man see that she had only been trying to help?

The water grew cool and she stepped out reluctantly. There was a dull ache in her side, but the pain was not as severe as it had been. The warm steam from the water had done her wound some good, but it had not soothed her temper. She pulled the clean nightshirt over her head and sat down on the bed with the tray on her lap. The beef stew was warm and delicious, but she tasted nothing save her anger.

* * * *

Radford rode home in a black whirlwind of emotions. He was still in a rage. He could not block from his mind the image of that offal of a man slapping at his beautiful Molly, rearing over her, enjoying her cries, ramming his knee at her below. That the man would die, there, in that minute, had been a foregone conclusion. But why had she defied him? What idiotic impulse had led her to forsake his protection and the safety of his room and expose herself to the rape and slaughter that surely would have resulted had he lingered over his breakfast? It was unfathomable.

And yet, through his rage, he rode a crest of joy at the thought of the nest he had planned for the two of them: the lovely hideaway that he would fill with pretty treasures to delight her heart, the dresses and flimsy things he would dangle in front of her to make her smile. Surely she could be made to behave herself, to curb that willfulness that drove her to second guess his judgment, to prefer her rationales to his. They could have such a fine time together, if she would just behave like the beautiful young woman that she was. It must be a function of her servant-class status, he reasoned to himself. No well-bred young lady would venture forth without an army of chaperones and male servants for protection. Well, he smiled to himself, willing to forgive her in her ignorance, he would teach her the ways of the gentry. She would have no need to rely on her own poor resources in the future.

It niggled in the back of his mind that she was pretty good at that, surviving on her own under adverse circumstances. But he thrust the thought down. Her days of masquerade and scavenging were over. His solicitors were making the arrangements even now. She had found her protector.

Smiling benignly to himself, he stepped from his coach at the front entrance to his townhouse. “Have Mrs. Formby join me in the library, please, Martin,” he said to his head footman, who was still doing double duty as butler, since Farnsworth had been ordered to the country for a long recuperation. In fact, the elderly retainer had not regained his strength, and the earl doubted that he would be able to return at all.

Radford had kept up the pretense of a recuperation because Farnsworth would not hear of retiring. He had housed the man in a cottage on the vast country estate. It was away from the main house, since the Radford butler, who was nearly as old and imperious as Farnsworth, would brook no interference, implied or direct, with the running of his domain. The earl understood through the servants’ grapevine that the two sparred continually, although they were thick as thieves in the evenings, playing chess by the cottage fire until the wee hours.

He walked into the library and was followed almost immediately by Mrs. Formby, who shut the door behind her.

“Well, how is our young lady, Mrs. Formby? Has she strung her bed sheets out of her attic window and shinnied down?”

Mrs. Formby was slightly alarmed for a moment. Such a feat might indeed be a possibility where this Molly was concerned. “When I last looked in on her, my lord, she was sitting quietly in her bed. She ate a good luncheon and she does not complain of any difficulty from her wound.”

“That’s good. Perhaps she can sit still long enough for me to spirit her away. I won’t breathe easily about this matter until she’s gone. The staff is too fond of Mike to let a small matter of contagion keep them away from him for long.”

“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Formby agreed. “The kitchen staff is already planning special treats to take him to ease his recovery. I had to be very firm that he was to have no visitors at all. Doctor’s orders.”

“Indeed”—the earl laughed—“the ‘doctor’ has ordered ‘Mike’ into the country for a few weeks rest. I hope to have the girl out of here by tonight, after everyone has gone to bed. I’ve settled on a place for her to stay until we can make permanent arrangements.” He paused, unwilling to let Mrs. Formby guess anything near to the truth.

“If I may be so impertinent, my lord, have you learned anything about the child’s background, how this garish masquerade came to be?”

“Enough to satisfy me, Mrs. Formby. It seems she was badly abused in her former household and she fled as a boy in order to be safe on the road. That I ran her down in my carriage was, of course, an unexpected event and trapped her here in the guise of a boy. She made the best of it, and, you must admit, did a good job at that. I am comfortable with the girl’s story and she has given us no other reason to doubt her good intentions. In fact,” he went on, seeing her dubious stare, “you will remember that she had charge of my cufflinks and studs and such, all solid gold and quite valuable on the thieves’ market, and I certainly have never missed anything.”

The earl’s tone brooked no contradiction, not that the woman would have dared anyway. She only hoped he was not the dupe of a clever schemer in the person of this Molly. Mrs. Formby hardly knew what to think anymore. Boys turned into girls before her very eyes and the ninth Earl of Radford spent hours dealing personally with the fate of a serving girl picked out of a ditch. The man was too kindhearted by half, and she dearly hoped this Molly would not further abuse his trust. Still, he was right that the girl had proven herself trustworthy regarding the household affairs. Why, she had virtually had the run of the place during the epidemic, and nothing untoward had occurred.

“Can you find something suitable for her to wear this evening?” he asked. “Nothing fancy. She’ll be provided for once she gets there. I just want her to arrive at her destination dressed as a respectable female for once.”

“Certainly, my lord. I’ll provide her with a dress from the servants’ wardrobe,” Mrs. Formby answered, adding, almost to herself, “I hope she’ll agree to put it on.”

“Oh, she’ll put it on all right, unless she wants me to do it for her...” he stopped, at once confused by the images which chased through his thoughts and the taken-aback look on Mrs. Formby’s face. Best not to pursue that line of conversation further. “And a bonnet, too, I think,” he continued coolly. “She’ll look peculiar without one, won’t she?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Mrs. Formby’s lips barely twitched but there was a hint of a smile about her eyes which relieved the earl. “Very well then. Tell Martin to expect word from my solicitors sometime today. In the meantime, I shall be out for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve a few things to take care of. I will take the girl away myself late this evening. Have Martin pack an overnight bag for me. And I will not dine here this evening.” I shall return quite late.