The Hourglass (36 page)

“You have not been to London?”

Fernell looked up from trying to brush some of the mud off his breeches. “I say, I apologize for not being here to welcome you, Cuz, but that’s not a crime, is it, that I should be facing the Inquisition?” He tried to laugh, which was hard with large, strong fingers around his throat.

“Were you in London,” Ardeth asked again, “at Hampstead Heath, say, a short while ago?”

Mr. Spotford clutched at Ardeth’s hand, trying to loosen his grip on Fernell. “You cannot be thinking my son had anything to do with that duel, can you?”

“There was no duel,” Ardeth said, staring into Fernell’s eyes before letting go, “only a coward, firing from behind.”

Fernell coughed, then held up his hands. “I ain’t no good with firearms, everyone can tell you. Just ask old Wally.”

“What about your valet?”

“Snell? He ain’t invited to go out shooting with the gentlemen. Bad form, don’t you know.”

“Where is he now?”

“How should I know? I ain’t been up to the house. Ask Aunt Frieda. Her maid and Snell are thick as inkle weavers.”

“He has not come forward.”

“You mean he ain’t here?” Fernell looked to his brother for confirmation. “Demme, did my baggage get lost? I had a brand-new waistcoat I was going to wear tomorrow with dragonflies embroidered on it. All the crack, don’t you know.” He eyed Ardeth’s white shirt, with no waistcoat at all. “I suppose not.”

Richard answered, “Your bags arrived with your valet. He has become least in sight since then.”

“Blast. Who is going to help me off with my clothes and see to my wardrobe tomorrow? And the man had a way with boots. Used twenty ingredients for his special formula to polish ’em.”

Ardeth saw Spotford and Richard look at each other, disturbed that their relative’s valet was so familiar with apothecaries and chemists.

Ardeth said, “My man will assist you. He might be looking for another job anyway.”

Fernell looked at Ardeth’s own haphazard dress and wrinkled his nose. “Not up to my standards. The Beau of the Valley, don’t you know.”

Ardeth turned away in disgust.

“Where do you think Snell is now?” Spotford asked his son. “There’s been a bit of trouble and his absence is suspicious.”

“How the deuce should I know where valets go when they leave? I’d have thought he’d stick around until I could ask you for an advance on next quarter’s allowance, so I could pay him.”

Spotford shook his head. “You’re already three-quarters overspent.”

“Chap’s got to put up the right appearance, eh? That takes a lot of blunt. Which reminds me, I better go check my luggage, see he did not carry off my snuffboxes or something to pawn.”

He stood, but Ardeth pushed him back down. “Why would you want to harm my wife?”

“Harm the woman? I don’t even know her. Thought I’d wear my new waistcoat to meet her tomorrow.”

Ardeth made a sound like a growl, but managed to keep his hands from the fribble’s throat. “Someone must have told the valet to act. Servants do not go around poisoning their mistresses for no reason.”

“Poison, you say?”

“In her milk.”

“Never touch the stuff myself.”

“Why?” Ardeth demanded, as loud as the thunder outside.

“It’s catlap.”

“Damn you, why would your valet try to poison my wife?”

Now Fernell picked straw from his sleeve. “S’pose I might have mentioned how the purse strings could tighten with you and the countess in residence. No bringing the chaps home for a game of dice, either. She’ll be turning the place into a nursery. Building schools, they say. Faugh. Maybe he thought to frighten her off, that’s all.”

Ardeth was not convinced. Nor was he completely convinced of Fernell’s sincerity. The man spoke too clearly for a drunk, and his eyes, shifting from Ardeth to his father and brother, focused too well. Besides, he never
asked if the poison had succeeded. No, he was more worried about having his neckcloth properly starched than having a healthy countess.

“Asides,” Fernell asked now, “who says Snell committed the deed?”

“Someone saw him.”

“Could be someone else trying to shift the blame, eh? Seems to me Snell is too downy a cove to do something havey-cavey in front of witnesses.”

“Olive saw him.”

Fernell’s face lit up. “A new maid?”

“A crow.”

The grin faded. “That old, eh? Too bad.”

His father said, “No, Olive is Cousin Ardeth’s tame bird.”

Now Fernell’s eyes grew round. “A bird accused my valet?”

“Not just any crow. Very intelligent. Talks a blue streak.”

“Great gods, you’ve tried, convicted, and hanged my man on the word of a carrion eater?”

“No,” Ardeth said quietly. “We have not hanged him because we have not found him. Yet.”

“I s’pose you’re going to banish me to the village inn, eh?” He looked toward his father. “I’ll need a bit of the ready to set myself to rights.”

Ardeth held up his hand. “You are not going anywhere until we find your man. I want you where I can see you. Do you understand?”

“Glad not to be going out into the night. Thank you, Cuz.”

“And your Wally Wintercross had better confirm your whereabouts.”

“Oh, Wally’s on his way to Scotland. You’ll never find him.”

“How convenient.”

“Well, I don’t see what the pother is about. The countess didn’t die, did she?” He looked to see his father shaking his head no. “And Snell is gone. All’s well that ends well, eh?”

“Until the next time someone tries to kill me or my wife. Spotford, take this sorry knave out of my sight before I am pushed too far.”

Fernell called after him, “I say, I hear you can cure sickness. I’m bound to have the devil’s own headache in the morning. Can you do something for that?”

“Yes, I can let you suffer.”

*

Fernell was not going anywhere that night, not with one of Campbell’s soldiers on guard outside his door. Ardeth went back to Genie’s room and told Miss Hadley and Marie to go to bed; he would sit up with his wife while she slept. He built up the fire—damn, would they let the poor woman freeze?—and pulled a chair closer to her bedside, staring across at her by a single candle’s glow and the fire in the hearth. Her hair had been smoothed and braided, the bedclothes changed, all signs and scents of illness taken away. She looked like a pale sleeping angel.

He rested his chin on his fingertips, wondering if he could ever forgive himself for putting her in danger. He should have seen the peril and found her somewhere safe. Instead he’d kept her with him, for his own pleasure. What had he been doing but playing God with the female, rescuing her, rearranging her life like some kind of Pygmalion? She was no statue, though, but flesh and blood, far more than he. What right did he have to decide what was best for her?

He’d taken her in because her plight appealed to him. He’d thought feeling protective was an important component of an honorable man. He had helped Imogene Macklin for his own sake, to meet the terms of his own wager. He’d made her a pawn.

He deserved to rot in Hades for the rest of eternity…except.

Except he did care about her, more than he thought himself capable of doing. He remembered his fury at the thought of someone hurting her, not because she was his wife, his possession, but because she was Genie and she was precious in her own right, precious to him. He took the ring out of his pocket, the ruby that gleamed like the red in her hair, and placed it on her finger, knowing that Genie herself was the real treasure.

It fit. She fit in his life.

She woke briefly, and he tried to explain why she should stay abed while she sipped a soothing tisane he’d mixed himself. He did not want her to hear of the poison from her maid or Miss Hadley, but she had to know that someone was in the kitchen watching everything being prepared, carried to her room, and put into Marie’s hands. She must not be afraid; he would find the man responsible.

“Of course you will,” she murmured, holding his hand next to her cheek. She went back to sleep.

*

Campbell reported that they had searched the Keep from top to bottom—half the night it had taken, too, and all the outbuildings, the villages, and the farms. No one had seen Snell. Spotford’s reclusive sister and her maid
were fast asleep, and Miss Frieda Spotford had screamed at the men through the door for waking her. She might have thrown a hairbrush, they thought, or a footstool.

Ardeth had Campbell send riders farther afield. Near daylight a messenger came back saying that a drover had seen a man fitting Snell’s description at an inn in Upper Rutley, near where Fernell mentioned stopping for a cockfight. Was Snell out looking for the errant Fernell, or had their meeting been prearranged? Ardeth was going to find out, and he was going to drag young Spotford with him, rather than leave him behind anywhere near Genie. Richard volunteered to go with them, half to protect his brother and half to show Ardeth the countryside while they rode.

Campbell wanted to go along, not trusting either brother. Ardeth needed him more at the Keep, guarding Genie.

“But two of the Spotfords together, sir, they could overpower the strongest man.”

“I doubt they are stupid enough to do me harm when everyone knows we are together. At least Richard seems to have more betwixt his ears than snuff and shoe blacking.”

“Accidents happen.”

“Olive will be on the watch.”

Campbell’s scowl showed his opinion of the crow as guardian.

Ardeth did not give Fernell time for breakfast, but let his own man get the varlet dressed. Ardeth’s man was delighted to be of use to someone who truly appreciated his efforts. He was as eager to dress the young gentleman in
his embroidered finery as Fernell was to strut around in
his unpaid-for apparel.

As they rode, Richard pointed out landmarks and boundaries, fields that needed draining, an empty cottage that might be suitable for the schoolteacher, a plot of land where a school could be. Fernell pouted and nursed his sore head, with help from a silver flask.

They found the inn at Upper Rutley. They found Snell, but they found no answers. The man was dead, killed in an attempt by another scoundrel to steal the heavy purse he’d been toting. Richard went white, Fernell puked, and Ardeth cursed.

*

When Genie had finally slept away her exhaustion, she awoke to see both Miss Hadley and Marie sitting alongside her bed, one sewing, one reading. Remembering why they were there, she shut her eyes again, taking the time to order her thoughts. She recalled Ardeth kissing her forehead good-bye, telling her he was going with Richard and Fernell Spotford to find the answers to his questions.

Richard was such a pleasant gentleman, she could not harbor suspicions about him. Everyone laughed when they spoke of Fernell, affectionately calling him a charming rogue. He was always under the hatches and always flirting, they said, but no one disliked the man. And she refused to believe that Cousin Spotford had raised a coldblooded killer. Still, she did not want her husband going off with the two brothers. Ardeth had sworn he would be safe and promised to be back by nightfall with the solution to the mystery. Then they could start their married life all over again. He’d shown her the new ring, a token of his affection.

He had not said he loved her, she thought with disappointment She was even more disappointed that she would have to refuse him tonight. She still felt drained. Her throat was sore, her stomach was cramping, her back ached.

Then she saw the blood.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Genie’s screams brought Campbell rushing into the room without knocking, a wicked dagger in one hand, a pistol in the other. What he saw had him fleeing back out so fast he almost cut off his own ear.

“Get Mrs. Newberry,” Miss Hadley shouted. The vicar’s wife had borne three girls; she ought to know what to do far better than a spinster.

“Send for the midwife,” Marie yelled in French.

“Get Ardeth,” Genie ordered. “I do not want anyone else. Wherever he is, bring him back. Now!”

But Campbell had promised Lord Ardeth not to leave the countess unprotected. His lordship had not mentioned emergencies like this. Thankfully, Mr. Spotford said he would go. He knew the area and knew where the men were headed. Besides, he did not want to be in the house at such a time, either.

Spotford found his sons and the earl halfway home from Upper Rutley, with Richard praising the Newberry girls’ charms, and Fernell sulking because Ardeth had threatened to make him sing soprano if he so much as looked at any one of them.

Spotford gave his message, explaining the “female troubles” as best an ignorant male could. He offered to trade his fresher horse with Ardeth’s, so his lordship could make better time. Ardeth refused. Black Butch had plenty of stamina left, too much for Cousin Spotford to handle. He did not want another life on his hands. And Spotford’s mount was not fast enough. The winds of a cyclone would not be fast enough, but the black would have to do.

The stallion was blowing hard when they reached the front of the Keep, enough that Ardeth dropped the reins where he was without waiting for a groom to come. He raced up the stairs two at a time, three at a time. He burst into Genie’s room, which appeared filled with weeping, hand-wringing women, and his wife on the bed, pale as the sheets.