Games of Pleasure (36 page)

Manchester was still half asleep under watery blue skies. The scent of baking mingled with the smell of coal smoke and horses. A few tradesmen were already about, carrying goods and opening up businesses.

“The respectable gentry are still snugly abed,” Ryder said. “Since your brother counts himself as one of them these days, we'll try his home first.”

They turned onto a street of fine new houses, and the horses dropped to a walk. Ryder reached over and clasped Miracle's hand. She had almost stopped breathing.

“It's been years,” she said. “I've not seen Dillard in years. I've never met his wife, nor seen his children.”

“He's your brother. He'll be thrilled to see you.”

“Yes, of course!” She choked down the growing panic and excitement. “Oh! That's it!”

The green-painted railings were as familiar as if she had known them all her life. The symmetrical ranking of tall windows. The fan-light over the door. The brass knocker, shaped like a boot. Her heart pounded, as if she were running. Her only brother! All she had left of her family. The only person in the world who would always love her, no matter what.

Ryder pulled up the horses and swung down. The street was empty, except for a boy with a broom. His dung barrow stood near the railings. Without asking, the boy ran up to hold the horses' heads.

Miracle sat in the curricle and waited in a haze of nervous anticipation as Ryder rapped at the door.

No one answered.

“The knocker's up, so they can't be away.” He stepped back to stare up at the facade. “You're sure this is the right house?”

She nodded, gulping down agitation before she could speak. “Perhaps Dillard's already gone to the shop?”

“And taken his staff and family with him?”

Ryder pounded with more force. A baby started crying.

“Go away!” a man's voice shouted from inside. “Go away!”

“Someone's home. You said Dillard keeps his own carriage. There's a mews at the back?”

Miracle nodded. Fists of indiscriminate fear clenched in her gut. She fought to remain calm, staring at Ryder's thick hair and long legs, as if just the sight of him could prevent her falling apart.

The boy scratched at a flea. “Tha'll ta'e nowt f'r a' thy axing, f'r a' tha's mebbe a lord.”

Ryder raised a brow.

Miracle swallowed hard. “He says that we'll get nothing, however much we ask, even if you are a lord.”

“Perceptive lad!” Ryder reached into a pocket. “Here's a penny for you, sir. However, you must swear to tell no one we were here, or I'll return to take the hide off your backside.”

A grubby fist snatched the coin from the air. The boy crossed himself in a solemn promise. Then he grabbed up his broom and ran back to his barrow. Lifting the handles with an effort, he trundled it away down the street.

Ryder swung back into the curricle and whipped up the horses.

“It's all right,” he said with quiet determination. “We'll get to the bottom of this soon enough.”

He tooled the curricle around the end of the row and into the alley. The stalls behind Dillard's house stood empty. Ryder tied the horses and swung Miracle down onto the cobbles. He led her up to the back door and hammered at it with the butt of his whip.

There was no answer. He tried the latch. The door was locked, but a faint scuffling echoed from the other side.

Ryder knocked again, more softly this time. “Is someone there?”

“I'm not to open the door,” a child's voice answered. “Pa says no one's to come in,'less he says so. Not even the baker, though he hasn't brought us any bread for days and days.”

Miracle exchanged one glance with Ryder before she bent close to the keyhole. She kept her voice calm, though stark fear froze her bones.

“Is that Amanda? We've never met, but I'm your aunt Miracle, and you have four little brothers and sisters. I sent you a little muff last Christmas. Do you remember?”

Silence.

“The muff was white fur. It had a little border of silver braid and a pocket for a handkerchief. I sent it to you all the way from London. Now I've come to see you myself. Won't you let me come in?”

“I'm not to,” the child whispered. “Papa said so.”

Ryder pulled out a coin. Sunlight glanced off the copper.

“Would you like a penny to put into the pocket, as well?” Miracle asked. “I have one here. A bright new penny.”

“Can I buy a bun with it?”

“You can buy as many buns as you like.”

A chain rattled. Bolts clunked. The door swung open to reveal a little girl. She peered up at the visitors from a tear-streaked face.

Miracle crouched down to the child's level and made herself smile as reassuringly as possible. “Thank you, Amanda. You're my eldest niece and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance. Here's your penny! You're six years old, aren't you?”

The girl grabbed the coin, then thrust a forefinger into her mouth. She stared up at Ryder with eyes like dinner plates.

“This is my friend,” Miracle said. “Where's your mother? We thought we heard a baby crying.”

“Mama's upstairs,” the child said. “She's crying, too.”

“Is there a maid with her?”

“Just Simon and Freddy and George and the baby. Perky's left.”

“Your governess, Miss Perkins? She left? Is your mama sick?”

Amanda shook her head.

“Is there a footman, or a scullery maid? Where's your cook?”

“Everybody left. And Papa's locked in his study and he won't come out.”

“Your papa is my brother, as Simon and Freddy and George are your brothers. May we come in?”

The child nodded and ran ahead into a long hallway.

Ryder closed the back door behind them. “This kitchen's a shambles,” he whispered in Miracle's ear. “I think she's been fending for herself.”

They reached the foot of the staircase. Amanda started up.

A door in the hall banged open. “Who the devil are you?” a dark-haired man shouted. “What the hell are you doing sneaking about in my house? And it
is
my house, I tell you! Still my house!”

Ryder spun about. The man's bones were a masculine version of Miracle's. His hair was the same glossy black, though it stood up in wild tufts on the top of his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, as if he had been up all night.

“Mr. Dillard Heather?” He bowed when his offered handshake was ignored. “Ryderbourne. At your service, sir. This is your sister, Miracle. I trust you'll welcome your own flesh and blood?”

Dillard stared in a stupefied silence. His breath reeked of brandy. “Miracle?”

She clung to the banister and tried to smile. “It's really me, Dillard!”

Her brother seemed torn between hope and panic, like a dog that longs for a bone but fears to be beaten. “You heard the news, eh? Came to help the crows pick over my carcass?”

“What's wrong, Dillard? Where are your servants? Why are Mary and the children hiding upstairs?”

His face crumpled. Dillard started to weep into both hands. Terrible, racking sobs.

Ryder looked away. Distress hammered in his blood that this should be Miracle's homecoming. Nevertheless, he stepped back and allowed her to go to her brother. She put her arms about his shoulders.

“It's all right, Dill,” she said. “What's happened?”

Dillard hugged her, then set her back to examine her face, as if he thought she might vanish at any moment. “You're an angel, Mirry, really an angel. Been drinking, that's all. Glad you could come. You've grown as pretty as a picture.”

He turned to stumble back into his study. Tears spilled down Amanda's white cheeks as she watched her father disappear. Miracle took a deep breath, then turned to the little girl and smiled with stunning equanimity.

“Let me take you upstairs, Amanda. Your papa isn't very well, but I'd like to get acquainted with your mama and the rest of my nephews and nieces. Then we'll see about getting those buns, shall we?”

The child nodded and took Miracle's hand.

“I'll take care of your brother,” Ryder whispered as she stepped past him. “But it will be dangerous to stay here very long. Hanley may already be searching Manchester for families named Heather.”

She gave him a valiant grin, though he thought that her heart had simply snapped in two. “I'm aware of that. It's just a risk we're going to have to take.”

“You're all right?”

“I'm only concerned that the rest of the children are hungry, too. Nothing else matters much compared to that, does it?”

With the child's trusting fingers locked in hers, Miracle disappeared up the stairs.

Ryder looked after her for a moment. Any other young lady of his acquaintance would probably have dissolved into hysterical tears, and demanded he forget everything except her personal misery. Instead, Miracle had instantly seen that the child's distress was more important than her own.

Yet the clock was ticking. Hanley knew that she was fleeing north. Unless they could recover the bag and learn why the earl wanted it, her life was still in danger.

Dillard had already poured himself another brandy. Other than the tray holding the decanter and glasses, every surface in the study—desk, chairs, shelves, most of the carpet—was covered with a confusion of papers.

He looked up as Ryder strode in. “Friend of Mirry's, eh? Have a drink, sir!”

Ryder took the glass from the man's hand and set it back on the tray. “You've had enough, Mr. Heather.”

Dillard fell back into a chair, crushing letters and bills as he did so.

“What is it?” Ryder asked. “Bankruptcy?”

“How the devil did you know that?” Dillard stared up as if he saw ghosts. “Did the bailiffs send you?”

“No one sent me. I merely escorted your sister here.”

“Then, for God's sake, take her away again, Mr. Ryderbourne.”

“Lord Ryderbourne.” Ryder pushed aside a jumble of account books and propped his hip on the desk.

The handsome mouth compressed, as if the man choked back dismay. “Mirry's latest protector, eh? No need for pretense, m'lord. I know what my sister does for a living. It's my shame as much as hers.”

Ryder refrained from punching the man's jaw. “Stand up, sir!”

Dillard staggered to his feet. “If I'd had the courage to do it, I'd have blown my brains out, so be damned to you and your damned judgmental airs, Your Lordship!”

“You have a wife and five children, sir. And you're not in jail yet.”

Miracle's brother clutched the edge of the desk. “Creditors'll turn us out, bag and baggage, and put the whole lot up for sale. My bairns'll be turned out to starve and I'll see the inside of a debtor's cell, whatever you say.”

“I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean, Mr. Heather. Put your arm about my neck and come with me!”

As if someone else pulled his strings, Miracle's brother did exactly as he was told. Ryder supported his weight and dragged him into the kitchen, then bent the man's head over the sink. Dillard stood helplessly, staring down into the mess of dirty dishes, as Ryder worked the pump. Even when the sudden rush of water poured over his hair, he still stood passively, turning his face slowly from side to side.

“Sober yet?” Ryder asked.

Dillard gasped for breath. “Nay.'Appen it'll ta'e more than that.”

Ryder cranked the handle again. More water cascaded. “Is that enough?”

He shook his head, flinging droplets like a dog fresh out of a pond, then shuddered.

“'Appen so!”

Ryder grabbed a towel from a hook beside the range. “Sit down in that chair and dry your hair. I'll get a fire going.”

Dillard sat down. Water trickled into his collar and cravat. “Y'r Lordship nedna fix th' fire. Ah'll do it.”

“Speak in plain English, sir, if you please.”

The man shivered and closed his eyes, before pulling himself together with a visible effort. “I'm not much of a man, am I?”

Ryder built a fire, then filled the kettle and hung it over the flames. “That's up to you. Brandy rarely offers a very sound path out of trouble.”

“It wasn't exactly a conscious decision,” Dillard said with a little flash of wry humor. “You could say that one thing led to another.”

Ryder crossed his arms and stared down at him. “You had some success in your business. You borrowed. Expansion brought more profits. You borrowed some more. As your business grew, you made investments. Some of the ventures seemed a little risky, but you took delight in those unearned returns. After all, you'd had to work so damned hard for everything else, and it was the only way to really make your money grow fast enough.”

Dillard rubbed the towel around his neck. “Perceptive, an't you? It worked for a while.”

“And it might have kept on working, except that your lifestyle became ever more extravagant. You bought this house and kept a carriage, long before you could afford it. You hired a full staff and a governess for your children. You even took lessons in how to speak as a gentleman—hired a superior valet, probably. Meanwhile, your family was never denied any luxury.”

“Had to project the right image. All successful business is built on bluff, Lord Ryderbourne.”

Ryder glanced around the untidy kitchen. He was coldly determined that Miracle must never know the worst of this.

“No doubt. Yet too many of those investments turned rotten. Capital started hemorrhaging. When you couldn't pay your servants, they left. In the end everything imploded like a house of cards. Now your creditors are dunning you and threatening to call in your mortgages. So you had a quick drink to calm your nerves—then another. Is that about the size of it?”