Prelude to Love (7 page)

"I certainly will," Landon answered with good humor. "My problem at the moment is how to get into town."

"There won't be anyone at the municipal office at this hour. Go tomorrow morning."

"Yes, but where shall I stable my team and myself tonight?"

"You might as well stay here. Everyone else is. No one will come from the stables for you at this hour of the night. No one is willing to put himself out, even to make money. The world is going to ruin."

"It is the drink that causes it," Landon said after taking careful note of the teacups scattered about the room.

"You've hit it right on the head, lad! And where does the drink come from? From
France,
that is where. The wine, at least. It is Bonaparte who is at the bottom of it."

"You're absolutely right," Landon said firmly.

Nessa knew she was not imagining the fleeting smile of triumph that flickered over Landon's face. When he cast a swift look at her, her heart sank. He went into the hall with Mr. Rafferty. Before long—not more than ten minutes had passed—they were back. He had actually worked Rafferty up to a smile. She listened with keen interest to learn how he had worked this miracle. Even his wife was staring in disbelief.

It was the war they were discussing, expressing every revulsion with Bonaparte, but Landon made no claims to being a soldier. What he appeared to have become was a government inspector of supplies for the Army. He had gauged his host's temper, and was inveighing against corruption in the business—shoddy goods delivered at inflated prices. The world was not only going to ruin, but gone. There wasn't an honest man between Land's End and Dover, with the exception of themselves.

"Even my own son—I hate to admit it—takes his bottle of wine a day," Rafferty said, the smile fast fading at this profligacy.

"Three is more like it," Carlisle said in a low voice.

Mrs. Rafferty belonged to that numerous company of ladies who take their views from their husbands. When she saw John approved of Mr. Kiley, she sent off for a fresh pot of tea. After it was brought in, the two earlier guests were invited to join the other circle around the cold grate. Mr. Kiley was presented to them. He put on a polite face and said to Vanessa, "How do you do? I believe I am acquainted with your father, ma'am. Colonel Bradford, is it not?"

"Yes," she said sharply, and added not another word. As the tea was slowly drunk, Carlisle joined the conversation. The hosts were more sociable now, perhaps because the third and last nuisance had been visited upon them. It gave Kiley a moment to speak to Vanessa.

"That was an ill-advised move on your part, bolting from the inn," he told her.

"How did you know? Did you follow me?"

"Not immediately. I don't mind traveling on an empty stomach, but after twelve hours' fast, a man must eat something. As your aunt was kind enough to leave directions to her destination at the desk, there was no difficulty in finding you."

"She didn't! Oh, the foolish ..."

"Folly on both your parts. Don't be too hasty in sloughing off the blame. I have discovered by now which of you is in command of the operation. Where is the letter? Does your aunt have it abovestairs?"

She lifted her chin and glared at him, without answering. He continued on, oblivious to her snubs. "Don't leave it with her. She is even more shatter-brained than yourself. Leaving your direction at the inn, my God! Anyone would have easy work of the pair of you. Have you got it on you now?"

She could never become accustomed to those bold, dark eyes, examining her anatomy with the closest scrutiny. She remained rigidly silent, but he spoke on, with an occasional glance toward the other group, as though he were half listening to it. "Actually, coming here was not a bad idea, had you told me first and brought me along."

"We only came to get away from
you."

"That gives me some idea of the high regard in which I am held. Did you not know any friendly undertakers or tooth drawers you might have gone to instead? How on earth do you come to be acquainted with such gothic characters?"

"One has, unfortunately, not always a choice in one's acquaintances," she said.

"Touché. Was the callow Carlisle also foisted on you against your will? Who is he? Was he here when you arrived?"

"No, he was not, and I don't know who he is."

"How long after you came did he show up?"

"Half an hour, more or less. Why do you ask?"

"That makes the time about right. What excuse did he give for coming?"

"He is a friend of the family; he is
not
a French spy, and don't bother hinting that he is."

"Not all who spy for France are of French origin."

"I know that! Neither do they all read French newspapers. Only the more careless amongst them leave such obvious clues."

"I left it behind, did I? I was wondering where I had dropped it. I hold
you
to blame." She looked up questioningly at this speech. "Yes, your father told me only that you were a vain, silly girl, you see. He did not mention what good reason you have for your vanity. I did not picture you a fragile blonde at all. You must favor your mama in appearance, as well as—er, character?" he said, with a quizzing smile.

"I am not
silly
enough to overlook the French newspaper in any case," she answered curtly. "And if my father thought so, he would not have sent me ..." She came to an angry silence, while a sly smile spread over Landon's harsh features.

"Certainly he would not have given you the letter had he thought so. At last you admit that he
did."

"I did not!"

"If it is the French paper that troubles you, let me explain. It is hardly incriminating, you know. We are all interested to discover what stories Boney is propagating to the common folks back in France. I personally pick one up whenever I can find it. If I were a French spy, I would not be caught dead with one. But enough of polite conversation. Let us get to bed before more of that dreadful, weak tea is foisted on us. We shall want an early start in the morning.''

"You—are—not—coming—with—us,"
she said, weighting every word with heavy emphasis.

"How much do you want to wager?" he asked in a light tone. It was not hard to imagine even that he was laughing at her.

"Why did you change your name and pretend not to know me, if you are innocent?" she demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed a good idea at the time. Your father thought it a wise precaution that I change into mufti to detract attention from myself. The scarlet tunics are a trifle garish, you must own. As I was wearing civvies, I claimed a new job and name to go with them. Kiley struck me as having a good Methodist ring to it. I wish you had run to someone other than a Methodist. A glass of wine would go well before retiring."

"I was not running
to
anyone, but
from
a gentleman even less amusing than Rafferty."

"I can be tolerably amusing, under the proper conditions. There is not the least need for this journey to be so unpleasant.
I
have outgrown my love of hare and hounds quite a few years ago. In fact, as I
did
accidentally crack the axle of my carriage in that demmed hole in the road, I shall have to join you and your aunt in yours instead. We shall leave at seven. It is difficult to get out of a polite household earlier, or even an impolite one, such as this," he added with a considering look around him. "Be ready," he told her.

It was a command, no less. She took a deep breath, ready to tell him her feelings in the matter. He lifted a hand and out-talked her. "Miss Bradford, pray do not make it necessary for me to steal Mr. Carlisle's carriage and undertake any more journeys this night.
You
had the advantage of sitting at ease in your carriage;
I
have been driving all day."

"We were not
at ease,
but bounced around mercilessly!"

"Poor child. Is
that
what has put you in such an almighty pucker? One really feels for the sufferings that are endured on the home front—the higher taxes, the occasional shortage of silk or brandy. Sometimes I feel we soldiers have the better of the bargain, only having to dodge bullets and occasionally go without food or bed. But I shall shed a tear for you another time. Having the luxury of a bed awaiting me tonight, I would like to get a few hours' use from it. I would sleep better if you would tell me where you have put the letter."

"You can quit staring at my—
me,
sir. You must know by now I do not carry it on me. You didn't find it when you searched me, did you?"

He set his cup down with a clatter. "What?" he asked, in a voice loud enough to draw attention from the corner.

"What's that you say, Mr. Kiley?" Mrs. Rafferty asked.

"Miss Bradford was just speaking of some doings at the garrison at Hastings," he improvised smoothly. "It appears there is a ball going forth this minute."

"That's how they waste our money," Rafferty said, delighted to launch into another tirade. "There'll be drinking and dancing and carousing."

"You were wise to leave," Mrs. Rafferty told Vanessa. "You would not want to get mixed up with
officers."

"I am trying my best to avoid it," she replied, with an innocent stare at Landon.

"Your own father is a colonel!" Rafferty reminded her.

"Retired," Landon mentioned in an exculpating way.

She could take no more. She arose and said her good evenings to the party. She directed a pleading look in Carlisle's direction, trying to signify she wished private words with him. He inclined his head slightly to tell her he understood. From the crevice of his eye, Landon observed the silent exchange, and was obliged to stifle the lively curse that rose to his lips.

Vanessa found her aunt, the insomniac, sleeping soundly, with light snores issuing from her open lips. She remained fully dressed till she heard the others mount the stairs to go to their rooms. With her ear to the closed door, she smiled with relief to hear Rafferty and Landon (or possibly Kiley) proceed well past her room, down toward the end of the hallway.

"Shocking bad manners, and her father a colonel," were the last words she could make out. It was Mr. Rafferty who spoke. Landon's reply was indistinguishable, but the tone was supportive.

Chapter Seven

Mr. Kiley was not the only one who wanted a few hours of sleep. Vanessa too found it very hard to keep her eyes open, as she sat yawning, watching her candle grow shorter and wondering at what hour she could expect Mr. Carlisle to come to her. She was still in her dress, not wanting to allow him into her chamber at all, but determined to lend any propriety she could to the affair. At last he came. There was a gentle tap at the door. Carlisle had also remained fully dressed. She opened the door a crack to determine that it was indeed Carlisle, and not Mr. Kiley come to harangue her again.

"Shall we slip down to the saloon to talk?" he whispered. What a civil, gentlemanly suggestion. Had it been Kiley, he would have had his toe in the door and forced his way in. His commanding manner angered her greatly.
Be ready!
How dare he? She opened me door wider to go with him, along the dark hallway, down the stairs into the saloon.

"We'll risk one light," he said, groping in the dark for the tinder box.

While he did this, she considered exactly what she should tell him, for as she now realized the importance of what she carried, she did not plan to reveal the secret to anyone. She would invent some other ruse to gain his escort. He sat beside her on the sofa at a decent distance, obviously planning to behave himself. "Miss Bradford, I can see you are in some sort of a muddle, and assume it involves Mr. Kiley. Is he harassing you with his attentions?"

This sounded plausible, but hardly of sufficient import to request his company to Ipswich, when she had her aunt along as chaperone. "It is not a matter of romance," she said, turning to regard him closely in the poorly lit room. Really he had a very kind, open face. There was a strong urge to tell all, but she desisted. The thing was, he looked
too
kind, too innocent to handle Kiley. Still, he was the only likely candidate for the job.

"No, the fact is, I carry with me an item of some considerable value which I believe he means to steal from me."

"I see," he nodded. "Jewelry or money?"

"Jewelry," she answered at once, as it sounded smaller than a box of gold. "A diamond necklace, belonging to my late mama. I am taking it ..." Oh, dear! Where could one sensibly be taking a valuable diamond necklace? "... to have a copy made," she said, desperate for some reason, "in Ipswich."

"In
Ipswich?"
he asked with a little frown. Not disbelieving quite, but obviously thinking it a foolish arrangement for a young lady to be jaunting about the countryside carrying such a valuable item.

"The copy will be made in London, actually, but the friends I am visiting will arrange that. Papa decided to have it done while I was visiting close to London, you see."

"But Ipswich is as far from London as Hastings is," he pointed out.

"It will be done on my way home," she improvised quickly.

"I see. You have got it stored in a safe place?"

"Yes. Yes, I have, but Kiley is a desperate man. He would do anything to get it. He—he has made one attempt already. I cannot imagine how he discovered I am carrying it."

"He mentioned knowing your family. Probably bribed a servant at your home."

"Very likely," she agreed, thankful for his help in her fabrication.

"Why do you not report him to a constable?" he asked. "You said he had made an attempt on it ..."

She floundered helplessly. “I—I cannot prove it, you see. There is no evidence, but I
know
it was he who made the attempt."

"If you are quite certain about the danger, then I shall accompany you to Ipswich," he offered gallantly. "It is not likely Edward will come at all, and even if he does, we had planned on no more than amusing ourselves. I am at your disposal entirely, Miss Bradford. Only tell me in what way I can be of help."