Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (19 page)

The servants at the edges of the room grumbled with growing agitation. The words
kidnapped
and
stolen
and
two thousand guineas
shot through the angst-ridden air.

“I need everyone to remain on the grounds,” Nick announced, eyeing the assembly. “Danger lurks. I do not want anyone to leave the grounds unless they have my permission.”

The noise in the room thickened into a chorus of distress.

Nick sent a curt nod to Lillian and strode with Hogan out the door.

Lillian whispered a parting prayer of good luck as she watched his broad back recede.

Feeling impotent, Lillian turned, seeing where she might be useful.

Mr. Glen was sitting up, and someone had brought him a glass of water. He tried lifting the glass to his lips but grimaced with pain.

Lillian stepped near. “Are you all right, Mr. Glen?”

“Kidnappers stealing poor Lancy! The blackguards! What will happen now?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Glen. I suppose that Mr. Redford will help figure it out.”

“Will they pay? Will we ever see Lancy again?”

“Two thousand guineas?” Wilson scoffed, then shrugged sheepishly. “I mean, it’s a lot of blunt for a dog.”

“This is Lancelot we’re talking about.” Glen shook his head. “Her Majesty’s favorite. Oh, if only I’d have been closer. If only I’d have taken better care….”

“You did what you could, Mr. Glen.” Wilson nodded sagely. He turned to Lillian. “Mr. Glen ran him
self ragged looking for Lancelot. Cut himself up but good in the bushes, bloodied his best uniform. But he would not give up. No, ma’am.”

“You serve your queen well, Mr. Glen.”

“We all try to do our jobs, my lady,” he muttered, his pallid cheeks flushing pink.

Seeing that the man was recovered, Lillian faced the lad. “Wilson, would you be so kind as to take me to see your charges?”

Wilson looked to Glen, who nodded.

The lad beamed. “Certainly, my lady. They’ve been locked up since this morning and would be glad for the company.”

So would Lillian, for she suspected that it would be many hours before she would be making her way back home. She just hoped that it would be with good tidings.

A
breeze drifted in through the open bedchamber windows, carrying with it the faint scent of honeysuckle. Staring out at the moonless night, Lillian sighed and leaned back in the gilded beech chair. She knew that she would not be able to sleep this night, no matter how comfortable the chambers that Hogan had procured for her. She was in one of the many stately bedrooms in Windsor Castle, and she could not quite believe that she was residing under the same roof as royalty, if only for one night.

King George of England was somewhere in this great building, sight unseen but very present. Had he finally learned about this abominable affair? If he’d been told, what had he understood? Rumors abounded about his madness. Lillian could not imagine how his family dealt with the grief of watching him drift into lunacy.

She stared out the window and bemoaned the black sky, nary even a star appearing on this moonless night. Poor Lancelot was out there somewhere, and so were his hopeful rescuers. She leaned forward and, yes, she could still see the golden torches bobbing up and down as people continued the search. Thus far, the hunt seemed only to have confirmed that Lancelot was indeed gone, his whereabouts unknown.

“The depraved blackguards,” she muttered, wondering at humankind’s capacity for evil. Recently, she had encountered a scheming murderer, and now fiends who kidnapped beloved pets. Was the entire world turning into another Sodom?

The queen must be beside herself with worry being the target of such malicious sport.

“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’” she quoted her favorite bard. Could even Shakespeare have invented such devilry?

She worried for the poor staff, who would suffer for their failings in this travesty. Likewise, she agonized over Nick’s future and that of his burgeoning agency of enquiry. She was beginning to comprehend what this enterprise meant to him. He lived for the puzzle and for the chase. He lived for justice and seeing evil punished. He had found his raison d’être and it fit him to a tee. But unless he came up with some answers for the queen, and soon, his business would be routed by a death blow from which it might not recover.

And all the while Dillon was in prison for a crime he did not commit, and the clock ticked toward his doom. The only thing keeping her chin up was her confidence in Nick. If anyone could see through this madness, it would be he.

Someone tapped gently on her door.

Pulling the borrowed wrapper closer around her, she stood and tiptoed to the rosewood-paneled entry. “Yes?”

“It’s Nick, open up.”

She bit her lip, apprehensive about allowing him into her bedroom, at Windsor Castle, of all places. But she was desperate for information.

“Oh, botheration,” she muttered, turning the brass key in the lock.

Nick swiftly slipped into the room.

Lillian took one glance down the empty hallway, sent off a prayer that this wasn’t pure folly and closed the door with a firm thud.

He looked wretchedly tired. His clothes were disheveled, dark fuzz grazed his jaw and his cocoa eyes were red rimmed and shadowed. His hat was in his hand, and his tousled black hair looked as if he had been raking his fingers through it all day. He probably had.

“What news?” she begged.

Mutely, he shook his head.

Her spirits sank even further. “Why are you not out there?” she asked, gesturing to the open window.

“What’s the point?” he asked bitterly, tossing his hat onto a chair. “Colonel Thompson is here.”

“Who?

“From Horseguards. Claims this is a matter for the army.”

“A kidnapped pet requires an army?” she cried, aghast.

“It does when it’s the queen’s dog.” His tone was sardonic.

“It’s a damnable power shuffle.”

He crossed his arms and fell back against the
wall, sulking. “I know, and there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it.”

“Don’t say that.”

His face was partially shadowed in the glow of the single candle by her bedside, but his features were a mask of defeat. “But it’s true. There’s naught I can do.”

“You can catch the dastards who kidnapped Lancelot and send Thompson back to Horseguards with his tail between his legs.”

Their eyes met and he smiled, just barely.

She suddenly realized her inadvertent pun on canines. “You know what I meant,” she added, feeling absurd.

“They’re going to pay the ransom.”

Her hands clenched. “Is there nothing we can do?”

Pushing away from the wall, he swept past her and stood before the tall open windows. “Did you not hear me? I’m off. Dismissed. If it weren’t for Hogan worrying about rousing you in the middle of the night, they would have me gone by now.”

“We can look for more clues, follow the money. The kidnappers must come to retrieve it—”

“It’s to be placed in a basket and sent downstream,” he interrupted. “Thompson plans to follow it and catch the buggers then.”

“But you can go as well…” she offered hopefully.

“You seem to think that I have a choice in the matter.” Running his hand through his mussed hair, he sighed. “It’s for the best, anyway. We have just over a week until Beaumont’s trial. If I can’t help here, I might as well go back to London and do some good there.”

Lillian felt torn by her loyalties. She believed that Nick could help the queen. And the future of his en
quiry business might be in jeopardy. But Dillon needed him too; Dagwood and Lord Langham were pressing hard for prosecution.

She chewed her lip. “Do you think the queen could get us a postponement on Dillon’s trial?”

“You were the one who seemed intent on her not knowing that I was working for Beaumont.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Nobility do not like sharing. The queen would not have been happy if she’d felt that your allegiance and efforts were divided.”

“And now?”

She pressed her hands to her eyes. “I do not believe that we have a choice. Dillon needs you. But so does our queen. I know that you can catch these kidnappers.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Lillian. But a dog, royal or no, does not equate to a man’s life.”

“Do you think Thompson will capture them?”

“The stream forks in many places. It’ll be impossible to watch every access to the water. These men are probably locals and know every nook and cranny of that river.”

“I hate to see those fiends win,” she grumbled, fisting her hands.

His face softened. “Watch out, Lillian. You might just grow a righteous streak.”

“I cannot stomach all the villainy. It makes me wonder about mankind’s future.”

“Dunn always said not to let a few bad apples turn you against cider.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, knowing he was right but feeling gloomy nonetheless. “We’ve been dealing with a murderer, and now this. How can you be so optimistic?”

He walked over to the window and stared out at
the black night. The wind drifted in, gently lifting a coil of dark hair off his forehead. “I’ve felt the pain man can inflict,” he said, his tone bleak. “Yet I’ve experienced great kindness as well. It’s a mixed batch, but not all bad.”

“How…how have you experienced pain?” she asked haltingly. She was curious about his past, so different from her own. For all of her troubles with Kane, Lillian had always had a home, loving grandparents, food on the table. She could not imagine the world that Nick grew up in.

“Dunn was not always the headmaster of Andersen Hall.”

Funereal silence filled the chamber. She waited for more, afraid to press, yet afraid not to ask. “Can you tell me?”

He shrugged, staring off into the dark night. “Festus had been a sergeant major in the army. He believed that the same principles that applied to infantrymen would work just as well with small children.”

She swallowed. “You mean discipline?”

“Discipline, duties, marching. Lord, how we marched. Some days, morning, noon and night. In the rain, in the snow. Heaven help us if we faltered, if we…cried.”

“Why would he insist on such harsh training? You were children, for heaven’s sake.”

“If we were occupied, then we could not get into mischief. Festus liked order.” Nick’s jaw clenched. “Children by nature are not exactly an orderly lot.”

“Didn’t anyone know of this foul treatment?”

“We were orphans,” he scoffed. “Most people were just thankful that we weren’t picking their pockets or stealing their produce. Luckily for me, I
was in the nursery for most of his tenure. Others were not as fortunate.”

Chills raised the hairs on her skin. “What happened?”

“Timothy Dobbins was not one for taking orders. He pushed Festus as far as he could, in every way that he could manage. At the end of his rope, Festus decided to teach Timmy a lesson. Flogging and thirteen-year-old boys don’t mix.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Timmy died, and the trustees of the orphanage finally stepped in.”

“They retained Dunn?”

“The trustees made a couple more mistakes before finally bringing Dunn on board. It took us some time to realize how different things were going to be for us.”

“And matters improved?”

“Worlds better. But it was too late for many. Too late for Timmy Dobbins.”

A quiver rippled through her, and she marveled that he’d managed to come out as whole as he was.

His body was stiff with tension, his face haggard with anguish. He seemed so bleak, so alone. Her heart went out to him.

She walked over and slipped her hand into his. He did not look her way or say anything, but his fingers curled around hers, cupping her hand in warmth.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

“There’s no point in being sorry. Just in facing forward, moving on and making things better. That’s why I cannot let Dunn’s legacy die. We cannot let Andersen Hall close.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“So they tell me…. Perhaps I am not meant to run an enquiry agency, Lillian? Perhaps this is a sign.”

“I have never seen someone so perfectly suited to their profession.”

“But what if I am meant to do more worthwhile, nobler things?”

“Saving an innocent man from the hangman’s noose is not noble? Punishing Lady Langham’s killer is not righteous? Helping protect the queen from villainy is not worthwhile?” Resting her cheek on his arm, she added, “I do not think that Dunn would have you give up so easily.”

He sighed. “He would have liked you.”

“But would he have agreed with me?”

He seemed to consider it a long moment. “Yes, I believe he would. Dunn always said to follow your heart, but be certain your skills were the ones needed to do it.”

“Wise man.”

The breeze drifted in, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle. The gentle sounds of the night filled the chamber and brought a modicum of peace.

She did not know how long they stood there, side by side, giving comfort with a touch. His nearness brought the titillating warmth that he stirred inside her, but it was tinged with tenderness. He was in pain, and she felt his grief as if it were her own. For the moment, the connection between them was less about passion than compassion.

Slowly he released her hand and ran his hand through his hair. “I should not have come to your bedroom, I just…”

“I’m glad you came,” she soothed. “I wanted to know what was happening.”

“I wish I had better news.”

“You must be exhausted. Have you had any dinner?”

He shook his head.

She gently propelled him over to the small table and urged him into a chair. Pushing the tray toward him, she poured a goblet of wine.

“That’s your dinner,” he argued halfheartedly.

“They gave me enough for an army—but I will not share it with the overambitious Colonel Thompson, only you.”

“I feel honored,” he rejoined with teasing sincerity. She was glad to see the tightness in his face lighten a bit.

“Try the veal, it is delicious,” she added, handing him the goblet of wine.

She sat on the chair across from him and watched as he dug into the food. His movements as he ate were labored, but they soon quickened. He finished one plate and then another, his face growing more animated with each serving. The hunch slowly disappeared from his shoulders, and his features lost some of their tautness.

Sipping from his glass, he sighed. “Thank you, Lillian. I did not know how hungry I was. Tell me something good,” he asked, inclining in the chair. “How have you occupied yourself this afternoon?”

“Wilson took me to visit the dogs.”

“Not Mr. Glen?”

“Mr. Glen was in a sorry state. He injured himself while looking for Lancelot, and he was understandably upset.”

Nick tilted his head. “What kind of injury?”

“He hurt his hands in the bushes searching for the dog. Bloodied his uniform badly.”

“Really,” he remarked, leaning forward. His dark gaze glittered with interest. “Did you see the wound?”

“No, he wore gloves.”

His eyes narrowed, and he appeared thoughtful.

“What is so remarkable about Mr. Glen’s injury?” she asked. Images of a small bloodied dog flashed in her mind. “Do you think that Lancelot was hurt in the same manner and that the kidnappers are simply trying to take advantage? That they do not have Lancelot at all?”

“We have combed the area thoroughly and would have found Lancelot even if he could not come to us. There was no blood found. Which makes me believe that Lancelot was taken.”

“And is alive?”

“Yes.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

After a moment, he stood, his energies apparently restored. “I must go.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I want to check on a thing or two.”

“About Lancelot?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, Lillian, about Lancelot.”

She jumped up. “I knew that you wouldn’t give up!”

“I will endeavor to satisfy your confidence in me.” His tone was teasing.

“All you needed was a moment’s rest and some fortification.”

“Sincerely, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve such faith, but I will not let you down.”

“You mean the queen.”

“Her too.”

She beamed, feeling an unexpected rush of pride. “What changed your mind?”