The Master Of Strathburn (39 page)

‘Well, it hardly matters about the timing,’ scoffed Lady Strathburn. ‘Lord Lochrose has clearly broken the terms of his probation by challenging his brother to a duel. Duels are against the law are they not? He should be arrested.’

Lord Strathburn stepped forward. ‘That is not the case. Robert has forfeited the duel, therefore no crime has been committed. But
you,
madam, and Simon, seem to have been party to a conspiracy against both Robert and Miss Munroe. I should have the good captain here arrest you for the crimes of conspiracy and incitement to commit violence. You instigated, aided and abetted Simon’s attack on Miss Munroe, a scheme that was clearly designed to provoke Robert into committing a crime of passion for which he would be arrested. You disgust me, madam.’

His father turned to Captain McBryde. ‘What do you think, Captain?’

McBryde’ frowned. ‘There is certainly enough evidence to warrant further investigation into both Mr Grant’s an’ Lady Strathburn’s involvement in the attack upon Miss Munroe. There definitely appears to be an element of premeditation on both their parts. Would you like me to refer the matter onto the Lord Advocate’s office, Lord Strathburn?’

Ignoring the horrified gasp of his wife, Lord Strathburn looked to Robert and Jessie. ‘How would you feel about this being taken further? Especially you, my dear Miss Munroe.’

Jessie’s brow furrowed slightly as she considered the question. ‘I rather think tha’ you an’ Robert have had to deal with enough scrutiny an’ hardship, milord. I dinna feel the need to take things any further.’

Robert reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Are you certain, my love?’

Jessie nodded, a faint flush brightening her cheeks. ‘You and I are safe. That’s all that matters to me,’ she said softly, her eyes glowing.

Robert tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and addressed McBryde. ‘As much as I would personally enjoy seeing my stepmother and half-brother charged for their crimes, it would seem my wife-to-be and I have no wish to add to the infamy already associated with our family’s name.’ He glanced at his stepmother; her face was now a sickly shade of green. ‘And by the looks of
Lady
Strathburn, perhaps the threat of prosecution has been punishment enough for the time being. Wouldn’t you agree, Father?’

His father’s gaze was decidedly cool as it came to rest upon his wife. ‘Perhaps. I will think on it. At this point in time, I will say that I’m decidedly less inclined to be as magnanimous as I have been when it comes to the allowance I bestow upon her. As for our younger son, I have a mind to disown him completely.’

Lady Strathburn’s jaw dropped. ‘You’ve already banished Simon from this house,’ she gasped. ‘Surely you wouldn’t cut off his only source of income. He would be ruined. Think of the scandal, William.’

‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you and Simon both embarked on this foul scheme to ruin Robert and Miss Munroe,’ snapped the earl. ‘And I’ve had quite enough of your carping presence for one morning. I suggest you retire to your room.’

Lady Strathburn rose unsteadily to her feet and turned to leave. However by the time she reached the door, she had managed to dredge up enough bravado to fling one final barb Robert’s way. ‘You play the innocent, but I don’t trust you at all,’ she hissed. ‘You wouldn’t let Simon get away with this,’ she challenged. ‘There must be a reason he didn’t arrive for the duel. What have you done to my son?’

Robert kept his expression perfectly neutral. ‘Absolutely nothing, my lady. I have no idea where Simon is. If he isn’t passed out drunk in his room at the White Horse Inn, he’s probably holed up in a house of ill repute somewhere. And you know as well as I that the rain would be enough to put him off setting foot outside. I’m sure he’ll turn up.’

When Robert descended into the hold of
The Phoenix
with Drummond an hour later, it was to find Simon shackled in irons in the stronghold below the cargo deck. In the wavering light of the cargo lanterns, he could see that his brother’s eyes were closed—whether he was asleep, unconscious or just plain foxing, he couldn’t be certain. Although he derived some grim satisfaction from the sight, he knew that it was not nearly enough to appease his thirst for retribution. Simon needed to pay for what he had done to Jessie.

Justice would be served one way or another.

‘As soon as he knew I had a pistol, he fainted dead away,’ explained Drummond with a chuckle. ‘He knocked his head on the handle of the carriage door on the way down. There’s only a wee bump mind. Would you like me to call Tobias to fetch a bucket of bilge water to throw over him? Tha’ should startle him out of wha’ever fug he’s in.’

Robert peered down at Simon through the latticed bars. ‘Time to wake up,’ he called. ‘You’ve languished down there long enough.’

Simon cracked an eyelid and groaned. ‘You bastard. You won’t get away with this.’

Robert smiled. ‘Oh, I think I will, especially after you write your mother a farewell letter. How are your dictation skills?’

‘Go to hell.’

‘From where I stand, I rather think that’s where you are, dear brother.’

The bosun’s mate and Tobias were summoned and within a few minutes, they had hauled a still shackled Simon out of the stronghold and up to Drummond’s cabin where he was unceremoniously deposited onto a chair before the captain’s desk. Tobias and the bosun’s mate took up positions by the door whilst Drummond slouched negligently in his own seat, a darkly amused expression on his bearded face; he played the role of an hirsute, menacing pirate very well.

Robert leaned against the desk, his arms folded across his chest, staring down at his brother. In the grey light filtering through the cabin’s windows he noticed that beneath the various cuts, scratches and bruises, Simon’s face had also developed the greenish pallor of one who was decidedly seasick. He smiled inwardly at the thought.

‘You can’t do this,’ Simon ground out, resting his forehead in his hands. Below his brother’s grubby lace cuffs, Robert could see that the shackles had already left raw, reddened areas on his wrists. ‘It’s kidnapping.’

Sardonic amusement twisted Robert’s mouth. ‘Oh, but I can. And I think kidnapping is too harsh a word. Think of it more as … gainful employment. You’re about to discover what it’s like to be an able seaman. Once the ship’s underway, you’ll be expected to work like anyone else on board.’

Simon dropped his hands and shot Robert a look of pure hatred. ‘Over my dead body.’

All trace of humour left Robert’s expression. ‘Believe me. That can easily be arranged.’

Simon snorted. ‘You don’t have the guts. You didn’t even show for the duel.’

Drummond stood abruptly and leaned forward over the desk. ‘I’d take him at his word, laddie,’ he growled. ‘Yer brother used to be a mercenary, ye ken. There’s verra little he wouldna do.’

Simon suddenly paled. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

Drummond sighed heavily and nodded at the bosun’s mate. ‘Och, give the puling pup a bucket.’ By the time Simon had finished emptying the contents of his stomach, Robert had a quill, ink and parchment at the ready.

Simon wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘I’m not going to write a bloody thing,’ he muttered with less conviction than before.

Robert sighed. ‘I thought you might say that.’ However, he doubted that he would need to actually administer any type of physical coercion. Like most bullying cowards, Simon would likely accede to his demands at the mere hint of anything that was even remotely painful.

Making a show of it, he shrugged off his greatcoat and riding jacket and began to roll up his shirtsleeves, flexing the taut muscles of his forearms. He glanced back at Simon and noticed him licking his lips. He was nervous.

Good.

‘Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way, Simon. It’s entirely up to you,’ Robert continued smoothly. He turned to Drummond. ‘What do you think we should start with as motivation?’

Drummond narrowed his dark eyes on Simon and scratched his beard, playing along. ‘I personally think a nice hot branding iron applied to the nether regions works verra well. But you canna really go past a good flaying. Shall I send Mr Kennedy, the bosun’s mate here, to fetch his cat o’nine tails, milord? It’s been a long time since he’s had the chance to administer a decent flogging.’

Robert considered his brother’s pasty face. He was already looking decidedly green around the gills again. It wouldn’t be long until he gave in. ‘Hmm, tempting. But I was thinking of something more immediate and if you’ll pardon the pun, ready to hand. Do you still have that set of thumbscrews?’

Drummond grinned. ‘A verra good idea, milord,’ he said reaching for one of his desk drawers. ‘I have them right here—’

Simon lifted his chin in a last ditch attempt at bravado. ‘You wouldn’t dare—’

Robert gripped his brother’s shoulder and said in a voice imbued with soft, barely controlled menace, ‘Oh yes, I would. You can’t even imagine what I’d do to hold you to account for what you did last night. Do you really want to push me to find out?’

Simon leaned back in his chair. ‘All right,’ he croaked. He was pale and sweating. ‘I’ll write the bloody letter.’

‘Excellent. I knew you’d see it my way.’ Robert smiled and pushed the writing implements toward Simon. ‘You can release his hands from the irons, Mr Kennedy.’

With shaking fingers, Simon reached out and picked up the quill. He was about to dip the nib into the ink when he paused, the quill suspended over the pot. His pale grey eyes lifted to Robert. ‘Exactly just how long will my
penance
last?’ he asked in an uncharacteristically subdued tone.

Robert’s lips thinned. ‘That entirely depends upon you, Simon, and how well you fulfil your duties aboard this ship. I shall leave Drummond to attend to the details of your day-to-day duties on board. But suffice it to say, all going well—including a demonstration of sufficient contrition—I envisage your tenure will end after a year and day—much as my probation will.’

Simon’s face was the colour of whey, but he nodded and bent to his task.

Robert rubbed his chin. ‘Now, how shall you begin?
Dearest Mother
…’

* * *

Dearest Mother,

After much soul-searching I realise that because of my transgressions against my family, and in particular Miss Munroe, I am not fit to remain within the sphere of polite society. I have brought untold dishonour to our family’s name, and for that I am sincerely sorry. Please convey my heartfelt apologies to all I have wronged, especially Miss Munroe.

However, as it is clear to me that I will never be able to adequately atone for my misdeeds, I believe that the only reasonable course of action for me to take is to remove myself from the family fold. I have decided to look upon this as an opportunity to explore new horizons and look for new purpose in life.

Robert has been very supportive and is assisting me with my quest for self-improvement. Never fear, I shall write to you periodically about my adventures,

Your devoted son,

Simon

Lady Strathburn threw the letter down in front of her husband as he finished his tea and scones. ‘What utter rubbish, William. You know as well as I that Robert has forced him into this. Simon would never leave of his own accord.’

The letter that had been addressed to her had been delivered only a little after ten o’clock by a young street urchin.

Lord Strathburn sighed and picked up the paper. He perused it briefly. ‘Caroline, I think it would be best for all concerned if you let this drop. I think it is about time our son got to experience more of life than this sheltered corner of the world has to offer. And if Robert is prepared to support him in that endeavour, who am I to interfere?’

Lady Strathburn glared at her husband. ‘What rot. Our son has been kidnapped, I’m certain of it, and yet you won’t lift a finger to help him. Unless …’ her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You know exactly where Simon is right now don’t you? I’d wager my soul that you and Robert have planned his abduction together.’

Lord Strathburn stood and coolly met her gaze. ‘All you need to know is that Simon is learning a life lesson. One that is long overdue.’

‘Aaargh.’ Lady Strathburn snatched the letter back. ‘I’ll find out where he’s gone and get him back. And then there’ll be hell to pay, mark my words.’

She stormed over to the bell-pull and rang for Gordon, who responded almost immediately. She suspected that he’d probably been listening outside the door but she couldn’t afford the time to berate him. ‘Tell my maid to fetch my cloak and have my sedan chair brought round. And make sure you hire some decent chairmen. I’m in a hurry,’ she ordered.

The butler bowed. ‘Yes, milady. But I think I should warn you tha’ it is still raining.’

Lord Strathburn frowned. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you used the carriage, Caroline.’

‘I don’t have time to wait for it,’ she retorted as she snatched a cloak of black bombazine from her maid, who had been hovering in the vestibule. She threw it over her day gown of rich purple silk and shot her husband another furious look. ‘If anything has happened to Simon, I’ll hold not only Robert, but you to account as well.’

The sedan chair arrived promptly and within a short space of time Lady Strathburn was hammering on the door to Simon’s room at the White Horse Inn.

Baird, his valet, cracked the door open, but on seeing whom it was, swept it wide and bowed. ‘Milady?’

She pushed past him into the stale, empty room. ‘Where is your master?’ she demanded.

Baird, a tall, sallow skinned man of middle age, stared at the floor. ‘I’m verra sorry, milady. I dinna ken … I havena seen him since early this morning …’

Quelling a wave of rising panic, Lady Strathburn glanced about the room. As far as she could see there were no signs of foul play here. ‘Tell me what happened. Did he prepare for the duel? And where is his second?’

Baird swallowed and looked up at her, as if lost for words. She noticed for the first time that the valet was looking decidedly worse for wear himself. In fact, he looked like he’d been dragged through a filthy puddle.