Drake's Lair (14 page)

Rosen’s cryptic warning kept bouncing around in her brain:
You have an enemy… someone who doesn’t seem so
… and she took a chill that moved her visibly in the flimsy, clinging nightdress. They
both
seemed like enemies to her then, and she wasn’t about to open the door to find out which one’s grip was turning that handle. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed watching dust motes ride the moonbeam, which had thrown a puddle of incandescent light at her feet, until long after the rattling ceased.

*

“They’ve gone beyond the pale this time,” Mrs. Laity muttered, waddling along the corridor, “—upsetting the whole house. It’s the outside of enough is what it is,” she mumbled on, wagging her head ruefully, almost colliding with Melly as she stepped off the landing on her way to breakfast.

“Whatever is the matter, Mrs. Laity?” she called out, hurrying to catch up with her as she careened past on her way to the servants’ wing.

“Oh, miss,” the housekeeper replied, “we’re all in sixes and sevens this morning. The master come home in the wee hours last night like a whirlwind. He couldn’t have slept, because he turned right around and made straight for the stable again just before sunup, Mr. Ellery with him—britches afire, the pair o’ them. They went one way in the brougham, and Griggs went the other on horseback, and come back not half-an-hour later with the smith from St. Kevern; they’re locked in the study—
locked in
, mind. They’re in there banging and stomping—not a word to anyone—doing the good Lord alone knows what. Now there’s nobody for breakfast except yourself, after Cook made enough creamed eggs and caraway bread for Wellington’s army, expecting the three of you.”

“What time did you say his lordship returned?”

“Prowse said he come in sometime after midnight.”

“He took Mr. Ellery with him this morning you say?”

“That he did, miss, all out straight.”

“And you don’t know where they’ve gone?”

“No, miss Melly, nobody does.”

The phantom again
! Her heart sank. It could well have been the earl at her chamber doors.

“Mr. Ellery was out for dinner last night,” she said guardedly. “Would you happen to know what time he came in?”

“No, miss, that I would not. Why?”

“Did you have occasion to come up to my rooms after Zoe and I retired last night by any chance, Mrs. Laity?” Melly inquired, avoiding the question. She had to be certain.

“
Me
, miss? Why, no. I was tucked into bed at half-past nine.”

“Someone tried to enter my chamber,” Melly said, low-voiced.

“You’re twigging me now,” the housekeeper shrilled, giving a lurch. “Who would do such a thing? Why?”

“Shhhh. I’m going in to breakfast,” she returned evasively. “I haven’t much of an appetite, but I shall try my best to do Cook’s fare justice, so it shan’t go to waste. Afterward I shall come and find you. We need to talk.”

Eleven

Drake hadn’t gone to the vineyards after all. He’d come straight on from the Downs. The trip to Porthallow, on the pretext of bringing back a selection of wine from his three crofts there, would give Griggs ample time to see to the valuables chest—a day at the least. He might even be able to parlay it into two, if he could coerce the steward to accompany him on to Gilian stables to look over stud horses. Jealousy hatched that plan. Even though Demelza Ahern had obviously made her choice in Jim Ellery, the thought of them alone together at the house—
his
house, was more than he could countenance.

He didn’t need to make an open inspection at the vineyards. He’d made a mental note of the areas under scrutiny, and it would be easy enough to assess them without suspicion. Besides, he didn’t need any more proof. The misappropriations he and Griggs had already uncovered among the southern and western crofts were more than enough for Bradshaw and Mills to act.

Observing the steward, Drake wondered if taking him to the vineyards was a prudent choice after all. He was obviously still jug-bit after a night of elbow bending, by the look of him, leaning—eyes closed—against the plush leather squabs, the telltale, sickening-sweet odor of stale wine drifting from his pores. In the close quarters of the coach the smell was suffocating.

“You might show a little enthusiasm,” he said, bringing the steward’s eyes open a crack. “This is a pleasure jaunt after all.”

“Then why did you have to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn?” Ellery groused. “Your timing is faulty. I’m not up for a pleasure jaunt just now.”

“I thought we might rekindle something of the old days,” Drake returned. “We used to enjoy prowling about, if you remember… or have you gotten old and stodgy in my absence?”

“Hardly.”

“What then? Can’t you bear to drag yourself away from the gel for a mere day or two?”

“Stubble that,” said the steward, his eyes hooded now with something other than blear.

Drake studied the expression thoroughly. He couldn’t blame him. If the situation was reversed and he had been torn from the arms of Demelza Ahern, he wouldn’t exactly be in a congenial temper either.

“After the vineyards, I thought we might go up to Gilian to have a look at the studs. Then, if you’re game, we might go on to Frenchman’s Creek for a turn at the tables. The hells are still there, I presume?”

“That they are,” the steward said, brightening. “You’ll have to stake me, though, old boy, I’m dipped.”

“Yes, well, some things never change,” Drake said, aiming for buoyancy, though his voice was edged, and his words clipped in the delivery. That Ellery could nonchalantly solicit more blunt after extorting thousands had triggered a tick in his jaw, and caused his hands to work themselves into fists. He gripped the seat instead, under the umbrella of a shift in position. “Wine, women, and wagers always did roll you up as I recall, old boy,” he observed.

“Speaking of wine,” the steward returned, “why all the rush to inspect the vineyards? You never used to run off to the crofts after every flaw.”

“You forget how long it’s been since I’ve seen them. Besides, I told you, I want to bring back some wine.”

“We’ve got plenty of wine. The cellar is bursting, Drake.”

“Ahhhh, but not with
my
wine. I want to see what my vineyards have been producing in my absence. I’m thinking to export. I’ve a contact in Spain. I brought back several bottles of their finest in my trunks. If ours is good enough to compete, I could turn a neat profit providing the flaw hasn’t done me in. I won’t know where we stand on that ‘till I first inspect the crops, and then make a comparison.”

“The plantings are too close to the coast, and it’s too soon to harvest. They’ve probably lost the lot.”

“Not if they’ve netted them and the grapes are still green enough to hold onto the vines.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not me, and I never do—get my hopes up, that is. That’s why I’m never disappointed. Spain leads in the wine market just now. I’m looking to break in if I can, but my life hardly depends upon it. And in the meanwhile, we’ll look upon my little venture as the perfect excuse to take a little holiday.”

Ellery grunted in reply, and closed his hooded eyes again. Drake was relieved. He wanted no more idle conversation with the steward than was absolutely necessary. Controlling his temper was too taxing. He’d accomplished his main objective—removing Ellery so that Griggs could carry out his orders. He’d done it without arousing suspicion, but he didn’t know how long he could keep up the pretense, and he was almost sorry he’d suggested Frenchman’s Creek; it was going to cost him.

Ellery slept through the rest of the journey to the first vineyard. After they assessed the storm damage and found it to be moderate, the steward took himself off to sample some wine, giving Drake time to scrutinize the machinery and repairs in question privately. It was as he expected. No such upgrades had been made, and the buildings were falling to ruin. It was the same at the next croft, but the third had legitimate repairs. The steward had been clever, making random renovations here and there among the crofts. However, Drake noted, they were consistently minor.

He had, indeed, been away too long. Had he not come home from Spain when he did, he would likely be in the suds. He would have to confront the steward, but not yet. Not until he knew where Demelza fit into the picture. That had to be determined post haste. He was finding it harder and harder to keep control.

*

The weather held at Drake’s Lair for the next two days. Balmier breezes and clear skies prevailed. Perfect for herb gathering, and Melly took advantage of the earl and Ellery’s absence to explore the thus far off limits territory on the eastern fringes of the estate.

On the first day, she gleaned in the eastern fields, finding the honey-scented knapweed, its blue button heads dancing in the breeze. She found the sorrel, and ragwort she needed for her skin salves, cowslip for her headache tinctures, eyebright for lotions, its tiny white flowers faintly tinged with purple, and made the unexpected discovery of wild strawberries, which were a welcome treat in Cook’s trifle for dinner that evening.

The following morning, she set out for the eastern fringes that bordered the woodland in that quadrant, secure in the fact that his lordship could root out herbs to his heart’s content, but he would never find—much less identify—all the specimens that bordered the wood. Most being flowering botanicals, they were innocently deceiving. Among them, peony, hydrangea, periwinkle, and the coveted foxglove and honeysuckle to make tonics for the heart. There were black currant bushes, sweet basil, peppermint, and witch hazel. The yield was spectacular. Never before had she come upon so many different species of herb growing in one place. Drake’s Lair was burgeoning with them—all manner of them—particularly now, after the flaw.

Once she had nearly filled her basket, she set about making a wreath of the blossoms for her hair, and
tussie-mussies
for Zoe and Mrs. Laity, of golden lady’s mantle and periwinkle, entwined with Peppermint, basil, and currant leaves, which she bound together nosegay-fashion with sweet grass spears. That done, she crowned herself with the wreath, and unpacked the nuncheon Mrs. Laity had tucked into her basket.

*

When Drake’s brougham tooled into the circular drive just before the noon hour and rolled to a stop, he and Ellery climbed down at the front steps. Drake told the coachman to drive around to the servants’ entrance and instruct the footmen to take the three crates of wine they’d brought back from the vineyards to the wine cellar, adding that they needn’t bother putting the bottles away. He would see to that himself.

Ellery, out of sorts from too much wine and too many losses at Frenchman’s Creek, quickly disappeared, and Drake went in search of Griggs. He found him in the kitchen just finishing nuncheon with the staff, and called him into the servants’ hall for a private consultation.

“Have you done as I asked?” he queried.

“Yes, my lord,” said the valet. He handed him a sealed envelope. “The keys to the new lock on the study door, and the new padlock on the valuables chest,” he explained.

“You’re a good man, Griggs. Thank you.”

“The study door is locked,” the valet went on. “I thought it best not to put the spare key in the scullery with the other spares. You might want to hold onto both, considering.”

“Yes, of course. You’ve done well. “Was there much of a brouhaha over it?”

“Not at all, my lord. Curiosity, of course, but when I explained that I was acting on your orders, they quieted down.”

“All right, then. Mr. Ellery parted from me the minute we came through the doors. I suspect he’s gone up to his rooms. He’s tired and out of sorts. Has his new valet arrived?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Where is he, then?”

“At nuncheon, my lord.”

“Good. I will want to interview him before he attends Mr. Ellery. Pass that along to the man if you will.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“First, I want to put the wine I’ve just brought from the vineyards away. The footmen are taking it down to the cellar as we speak.”

“Let someone else do that, my lord,” the valet said bristling. “It’s hardly your chore.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree with you, old boy, but I need to keep this wine separate, and out of Mr. Ellery’s way, if you take my meaning. I won’t be able to compare it to the bottles I brought from Spain if he’s drunk it all. If the servants don’t know where it is, they can’t tell
him
.”

“I see, my lord.” Said the valet, his nonplussed expression betraying him.

“Never mind, I’ll explain all that later,” Drake said with a wave of his hand. “We’ve much to discuss, but not now.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Where is Lady Ahern?”

“I don’t know, my lord. Nuncheon wasn’t set out for her in the dining hall today.”

“All right, leave that mystery for now. Once you’ve finished your meal, prowl about upstairs and keep an eye on Mr. Ellery until I’ve finished below. Then, I’ll spell you so you can draw me a bath before dinner.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With no more said, the valet went on his way, and Drake sprinted along the corridor and trotted down the back stairs to the wine cellar, where the footmen had lit two branches of candles, and stacked the wine crates just inside the door.

“Lazy lot,” he muttered aloud, almost tripping over the crates as he entered. He hefted the one at the top of the stack and carried it to the rear of the cellar, where the empty wine racks stood only to pull up short before them, not yawning empty as he expected, but rather hung with bunches of herbs left there to dry. There were dozens of them.

He set the crate down none too gently, and stalked back for one of the candlesticks. Holding it high, he returned to the alcove staring in disbelief at what had blossomed into a professional herbarium in the two short days he’d been absent from Drakes Lair. The shelves at the back were already stocked with unctions and balms, keeping well in the cool of the cellar, and a parade of jars in odd assorted shapes stood at attention on the table awaiting the drying herbs that would fill them. Some were already labeled. The mortar and pestle still held traces of some herb or another, and he raised the pestle to his nose. He couldn’t identify it.