Authors: Barbara Metzger
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Victorian, #Regency, #Historical Romance
A Loyal Companion (15 page)
The dog never heard the thud of a walking stick hitting the back of Sonia's head, nor her scream as a blanket was thrown over her.
Only half-aware from the blow, Sonia struggled as hard as she could when she felt herself being lifted and shoved onto a cushioned seat. A door slammed and a familiar voice called: "Drive on, Jeppers, but not so fast as to arouse suspicion."
"You'll never get away with this," Sonia gasped through the blanket's folds.
"Why not? Who's going to tell, the dog? By the time they find you, you'll be committed to me, in deed, my dear, if nothing else. I think I'll enjoy that part. And all the money, of course, when you have to marry me."
"Never," Sonia vowed as she slipped into unconsciousness, the cloying scent of Berke's cologne the last memory she had.
Never have I regretted my mixed blood more.
B
on chien chasse de race. Breeding tells. Miss Sonia was behind me when I sped to the children. Nurse was on the ground, moaning. Baby was shrieking and turning purple. Gen was screaming, and even quiet Benice was sobbing and trembling, staring at the blood on Miss Inwood's temple. I dashed back to see what was keeping Miss Sonia. Help! I barked. Help! Hurry! Only she was not there. One whiff of the carriage trundling down the roadway told the story: My mistress was kidnapped.
Great Dog Star, what was I to do? My mother's blood raced through my veins with every quickened beat of my heart. The chase, the chase! View Halloo and never let go! Never lose the quarry, even if your heart bursts in your chest. My nose had the scent. My eyes had the sight. My feet itched to be off.
But my father's spirit also suffused my mind. Stand and defend the innocent. Protect the vulnerable, the valuable. Stay with the lambs you were given to guard, no matter that keeping them from harm means giving up your life. I ran back to the crying, frightened children. Nurse was still on the grass. I ran forward to the path. The coach was rounding a bend. I ran back; I ran forth. There was no answer. So I did the only thing I could do. Tossing aside generations of breeding, I reached inside to my visceral ancestors. I sat down, threw my head back, and howled. Aw-woo. Aw-woo.
"What in the blazes is that ungodly noise?" Darius asked Robb, seated beside him in the curricle. "It sounds like all the hounds of hell are baying at the moon at once."
Hugh called over from where he rode his chestnut alongside the carriage: "Get used to it. That's m'father's favorite sound. In fact, reminds me of his old hound Belle. No other dog ever had a voice like that except—"
"Gads, Fitz!"
Curricle and horse raced down the carriageway, sending strollers fleeing like ninepins.
Ian and Maisie were returning with the Atterbury vehicle at the same time, from the opposite direction. They had, in fact, passed Berke's coach.
They all met in the clearing near the bench and poured onto the greensward, leaving the blowing horses for Robb to tie. Maisie quickly took charge of Miss Inwood, holding her own apron to a bleeding head wound while Ian half carried the nursemaid to the carriage.
Darius knelt by the nearly hysterical children, gathering them all close as he tried to soothe them and find out what happened. Hugh stood by helplessly while Fitz kept up a continuous keening howl.
"Dash it, Hugh, at least get Sonia to shut up the blasted dog!" Hugh looked around at the same moment it occurred to Darius that Sonia was missing. "Hell and damnation!" Darius tried harder to make sense of the children's garbled tale of circus tricks and runaway hoops.
"Please hush, Gen. Whatever happened could not possibly be your fault. Benice, sweetheart, I am counting on you to be your own levelheaded, sensible self and tell me where Sunny went."
Benice didn't know. Between sobs that turned to hiccups under her uncle's steady confidence, she managed to tell him how Miss Sonia went for a walk, that way, after a man talked to her, some time after Cousin Preston and Lady Rosellen were in the park. "And they said awful things to Sunny, and Fitz growled at them, so they left. Then the other man came."
"Did you know the other man, Benice?"
"I think it was the same mean man we saw at Miss Sonia's house the day we brought Fitz there. Miss Sunny went off with him and got mad. We could tell. But he went away, and Miss Inwood was reading. Then another man came, a bigger man I never saw before, and hit Miss Inwood and then ran into the bushes. We screamed and Gen tried to kick him, but he got away. We yelled and Fitz came, but not Sunny." She started to weep again.
"Don't worry, Benice, we'll find her. And you were very brave, Gen. Now, do you remember anything at all about the man who hit Miss Inwood?"
"No, but the first man had a walking stick. He tried to hit Fitz with it."
"And he had a waistcoat with big green dragonflies on it."
"And he smelled funny."
Darius cursed under his breath. "Berke. It has to be him, and his henchman or such."
"I'll kill him," Hugh swore, but Darius answered first: "You won't find enough pieces of him left." Then he became the complete army officer, organizing his campaign, deploying
his troops, giving his orders.
"Ian, you take Maisie, Miss Inwood, and the children to Ware House. The staff can look after Nurse and send for a doctor if needed. Gen, Benice, I am counting on you to be brave and look out for Tina for me so I can go after Sunny.''
"I want to go with you, Uncle Darius."
"I know, Gen, but I need you to guard the home front. Do you understand? Robb, you go with Ian to Ware House and get my pistols. Saddle up and go—Deuce take it, I don't know where!" He ran his hands through his hair. "Hugh, where is Berke's country place? We could go haring off in every direction and lose each other and the trail."
"I think his seat is in Oxfordshire, but that's crazy. Surely he'll go north to Gretna, so we just have to follow the pike."
"That's if he means to marry her."
Hugh started cursing, softly, for the children's sake.
"No," Darius thought out loud. "He must want to wed her, but she will not be willing. Now, there's an understatement if I know Sonia. He'll have a battle on his hands the whole way to Scotland, so I bet he'll just get her out of town, into a rented lodging or a wayside inn, and keep her there until she agrees."
"That miserable—"
"Yes, but there are a lot of roads out of London, and a lot of inns. We'll have to figure he took his own coach, at least, so he wouldn't need strangers along for the abduction. Someone's bound to remember seeing the markings."
The dog's howling had turned to yelps as Fitz dashed to and fro along the carriageway. Darius studied his movements. "We'll start this way, out of the park. Fitz seems sure. At the gate, you go north, Hugh, in case I am wrong and he is headed for Gretna Green after all. You can go faster on horseback. I'll follow Fitz. Whoever picks up a trail sends a messenger back to Ware House for Ian and Robb. Make sure you leave messages along the way, and I'll do the same. Robb, if you haven't heard from either of us by dusk, go to the Runners. Ian, wait as long as you can before alerting Lady
Atterbury."
When the others nodded their agreement, Darius sent the carriage off and watched Hugh use his heels on the chestnut. He climbed into the curricle. Fitz jumped up beside him, whining.
"Yes, I know, old boy. We'll never let her out of our sight again. Now, hang on, Fitz, you're in for the ride of your life."
Sonia awoke to a fierce headache and the rumbling of a carriage. The blanket was on her lap, thank goodness, no longer over her head. Her hands and her legs were tied, and the window shades were drawn on the carriage. Ansel Berke was seated across from her in the gloom with a smug smile on his powdered face, so either she was having the most detailed nightmare of her life, or the pompous ass really was abducting her for her dowry. After he stole her virtue.
She tested the bonds on her wrists under cover of the blanket. The carriage was traveling slowly enough that she could hope to survive a jump from the coach if she could only get her hands free. Sonia thought they must still be in the city, from the lack of speed and the traffic noises she heard, so she ought to be able to find help, once on the street. With the curtains drawn, she had no way of discerning direction or destination. She just knew the sooner she was away from this bedlamite, the better. Unfortunately, although the bonds were not painfully tight, she could not undo the knots.
Sonia decided to try reasoning with the baron again. She did not bother appealing to his sense of honor, justice, or fair play. Sonia never spent her coin on lost causes. Berke had already proved his dearth of scruples by the kidnapping, so her only hope lay in convincing the thatch-gallows that his scheme was doomed to failure.
"It won't work, you know," she told him. "No matter what you do, I'll never be your wife. I'll refuse to make the vows."
"As I said, you'll have no choice, my dear. Your family will insist on the marriage."
"My family will accept my decision no matter what happens."
He cackled. "You truly are an innocent. Lady Atterbury will welcome a leper to Grosvenor Square before a ruined woman. Unless I open them, every door will be closed to you."
"Not my father's," Sonia insisted.
"From what I hear, he doesn't remember having a daughter. Do you really think his new young wife wants a tarnished spinster under her roof? I knew Jennifer Corwith during her season. Grasping chit, her dowry was too paltry to put up with her puling. Nevertheless, your brother's wife ain't about to want scandal touching her new position, precarious as it is, with the squire taking her own neglected stepsister to wife. As for your sister in Bath, why, Backhurst is as proud as he can stare. He most likely won't let Catherine even correspond with a fallen woman."
Sonia set her mouth in a determined scowl, especially after she was forced to acknowledge the truth of his arguments, so far. "George's wife and Catherine's husband might place public opinion above family. My papa never will. He'll take care of me, so you'll never get a groat of my portion."
Berke leaned toward her and laughed again, an unpleasant, humorless sound. Even his breath was foul, unconcealed by his stagnating scent. "Your papa will take care of you?" he sniped. "The way he took care of you all your life, letting you run wild about the countryside? Oh yes, my dear, I know all about you and your delightful family. You suit me to a cow's thumb, you see, so I made the effort. The ton is already half-convinced you are no better than you should be. A night or two at a posting house should turn the tide."
"I repeat, never."
No longer amused at her resistance, Berke leaned back on the seat opposite hers. "Your opposition is gallant, my dear, and I do appreciate not being treated to tears and the vapors. However, you waste your breath. You'll marry me if I have to find a Newgate friar. If I have to drug you or knock you senseless. Your consent is not required, Miss Randolph, so save your strength for tonight."
Now, Squire Randolph may have held a loose rein over his youngest daughter, but he never sent her unprotected on her rambles. He made sure she had her dog—and a dirty trick or two. He taught her to use reason first, but when that failed, foul play.
Sonia felt she'd tried being reasonable, without getting through to Berke's self-interest, if nothing else. Now she brought her hobbled legs up to seat level and kicked her booted feet forward, right where they were certain to get the baron's undivided attention.
"This way, eh, Fitz?" Darius was regretting Robb's absence. Every time he wanted to get down from the curricle to seek information, he had to find an urchin or an ostler to hold the fractious bays. His leg was starting to ache, and his mood was growing blacker and blacker as the traffic moved slower and slower. His only consolation was knowing that Berke was making no better time through the congested streets. Some blasted victory celebration, Darius cursed.
When they did come to a halt behind a water wagon or whatever, or when they reached a crossroads, Fitz leaped down and sniffed around as often as the major. The dog whined and circled, then jumped back up, barking. Soon Darius took to watching the dog as much as the horses and the other vehicles. Fitz seemed to know what he was doing, and the major's instincts told him to follow the animal. Those same instincts had kept Darius alive for years, so he aimed his cattle where the mongrel's nose pointed.
"I hope you're right, old boy, but I don't know how you can be so sure. They have a good lead on us. Do you think you can find Berke's coach in this mess, huh, Fitz?"
Of course I can. I peed on it, didn't I?
S
ome wag once said that fleas are good for a dog. They keep him from brooding about being a dog. Dogs don't brood. Hens brood. Do you know how little it takes to make a dog happy? A full belly, a soft bed, a kind word are usually enough. Why should we brood?
It's not dogs who are unhappy with their lot. We're not the ones who always want more than we have, more than we need. It's man who is top dog at greed.
Like the baron. Talk about brooding! He should have had so many fleas, he'd have time for nothing but scratching. That might have kept him from wanting more and more and my mistress! He had a title and a tidy competence. They were not enough. Gambling did not increase his wealth, so he tried to steal Miss
Sonia's portion, especially, I think, because she was to be Conover's mate. Greed.
Napoleon is greedy. He gambles with whole armies and he kidnaps entire countries. Do complete nations of men share their avarice? No, that's foolish beyond belief, even for such flea-brains.
Besides, I have to pay more attention now.
The streets are crowded. Many carriages, horses, and pedestrians have passed this way. The noise of a military band a few blocks over saturates my senses, so it is harder to concentrate. Still, I know we are on the right course. If only we could hurry some.
Then the major went off the scent, no matter how I told him different. He told me to hush, that he's cutting through back alleys and side streets to gain back some of Berke's lead. If the baron was on the road ahead, which I knew he was, we might come out ahead of him. A fine military maneuver, if successful. Otherwise we could be dodging through narrow lanes and cluttered alleys, chasing our own tails.
I was ready to jump down. I could make better time on my own, ducking between carriages. Then we intersected the main road at a corner where a sweep was working. The major tossed a coin to a peg-legged man in a tattered uniform. "Can you hold the horses, soldier?" he asked.
The veteran took a bite of the coin in his hand and vowed he'd treat 'em like high-priced whores. Now, that should make Caesar and Jupiter relax. I yipped at them as I dashed past. They'd stay put.
Other horses and their drivers cursed at me as I ran between hooves, under carriage beds, circling. Was Berke still ahead of us, getting away, or was he just coming toward the intersection? A night-soil collector had just gone by. I couldn't smell a thing!
The major was standing up on the curricle seat—good thing I told those nags to stand still—looking in both directions. "There he is!" he shouted, vaulting down and running ahead. I was right at his side.
The major stopped by the sweep, threw another coin, and snatched up the lad's broom. The man has gone queer as Dick's hatband, I thought. I ran ahead, closing in. Then the broom sailed over my head, javelin-style. All that practice paid off. The broom finally slowed and flipped end over end, right in front of a crested coach-and-four. Those were four horses who suddenly believed in sorcery. They started bucking and rearing in the traces, looking for the witch and screaming about being turned into Americans or something. The driver had all he could do to keep them from bolting through a dress shop window. Soon every horse on the street was making noise and mayhem, horses being as excitable and subject to suggestion as adolescent girls. The drivers were shouting, nothing was moving on the street. People were pouring out of stores and a corner tavern.
We ran in for the kill. The major pulled the carriage door open, reached inside, dragged Ansel Berke out by his collar. I was his comrade in arms. I was brave. I was brutal. I gave no quarter. My growls rolled across the street like the mighty lion's roar stretched across the great savannah, as I went for Berke's throat.…
"Get back, you overgrown dust mop, I knocked him out with the first punch." Darius threw the limp baron to the street like soiled laundry. Fitz immediately jumped onto Berke's chest, slavering into his face. Berke wasn't going anywhere. The major drew the rapier from his cane and brandished it for the sake of the driver. "Don't think of coming to his aid. Don't think of driving off."
"No, guv'nor. I ain't gonna think at all, if you say so. Never liked this job anyways. 'E promised me back wages if I went along, is all."
Darius wasn't listening. He was climbing back inside the carriage for Sonia. He used his sword to cut the bonds at her ankles and wrists, cursing the entire time. "Are you all right, Sonia? Did he hurt you? I'll kill him, by George, if he so much as touched a hair on your head."
When her hands were free, Sonia reached up to feel the back of her skull. She winced.
"He's dead. I don't care if I hang." Darius started to get out of the chaise, murder in his eyes.
"No, Darius. I am fine, truly. I do believe Ansel was coming to see the error of his ways anyway. He suffered much worse than I did, I assure you."
Darius took her in his arms then, right there in the closed carriage, telling Sonia that she was brave and clever, and Berke never stood a chance. His relieved outpourings were lovely, but Sonia began to fear her bones might break from his squeezing so hard. And the noise… She managed to loosen his grip enough to raise the curtain over the carriage window. A mob of people were standing around the coach, some angrily knocking on its side.
"Darius, please."
He released his hold on her, but only long enough to slip his arms under her legs and behind her back. He swung her out of the carriage. Some of the spectators applauded when he set Sonia on her feet.
"Coo, it's just loike a fairy tale, ain't it?" a young maid with a serving tray in her hand sighed. "Ain't 'e the 'andsome 'ero an' all."
Sonia winked at Darius and nodded her agreement to the girl.
A burly individual in a leather apron pushed his way to the front. " 'Ere, 'ere, wot's this about some toff runnin' off wit' a gentry mort? Oi'll give 'im a taste a home-brewed, oi will."
Another man in the circle guffawed. "An' that be just like you, you great lummox,
t' come on like a bloody Crusader after the war be won. It's the dog wot has the skirter. There be naught for you
t' do wit' yer great bloomin' muscles 'cept flex 'em for Polly 'ere."
Some of the other men laughed. The aproned fellow stepped forward angrily, but Darius held his hand up.
"Thank you all, good people," he said, "for coming to our aid. We still have need of your services to restore the lady." He pulled out his purse. "Might someone take a hackney to Ware House in Grosvenor Square to inform my household?"
Darius selected a messenger from the eager volunteers while the serving girl Polly blotted her eyes on a dingy apron. "A real nobleman, 'e be. I cain't wait
t' tell me ma."
Darius passed a few more shillings around. "For your help in clearing the street and getting these wagons moving." Angry draymen cheered and returned to their carts and loads. Darius handed a coin to the girl with the tray. "Perhaps I can impose on you to provide some tea for the lady, Miss, ah, Polly? And you"—with a handful of guineas to the aproned bruiser—"if I am not mistaken, own that tavern yonder. Serve a round on me to everyone who has been inconvenienced." Another cheer went up.
"But wot about 'im?" one of the men asked, jerking his head toward where Berke still lay in the gutter, the dog on his chest snarling if Berke made the least move.
"Him?" Darius asked casually, snapping his fingers and whistling the dog away. "Why, he's mine. All mine."
Berke cringed, but maintained enough self-esteem—or stupidity—to get to his feet. He looked down on the muddy pawprints on his fawn breeches, the pulled threads on his dragonfly-embroidered waistcoat, the dog drool on his limpened neckcloth. He sat back down on the cobbles, all confidence and bravery gone together.
Darius was beyond caring whether he had a fair fight or not. Grabbing Berke by the frills of his shirtfront, he dragged the baron to his feet.
"Why, you bastard? Why have you done everything you could to ruin my life? What did I ever do to you?" A fist to Berke's middle punctuated the questions, but did not elicit any answers, so the major tried shaking the smaller man. "Tell me why, if you hope to live until tomorrow."
"L-l-love M-M-Miss R-Randolph," issued forth.
Darius did not like that answer. "You loved her enough to clobber her and kidnap her, and try to force her against her will? Whatever that is, it sure as Hades ain't love. You wanted her money. But you've been snapping at my heels before you ever set eyes on Miss Randolph and her dowry." He shook Berke again, harder. The sawdust calf pads sank to Berke's ankles. "For the last time, why?"
"M-m-my s-sister."
"Gammon. And still not good enough. You know I didn't touch the girl, just like you know I never cheated at cards." He gave another shake. Berke's corset snapped with a loud crack. Then the nipped-in waist of his superfine coat wasn't quite so nipped, buttons popping onto the street.
Berke groaned. "My other sister. Rosellen."
"Ah, finally something of interest." Darius allowed Berke's feet to touch the ground, but he kept hold of the baron's shirt. "Do go on."
"Rosellen wanted to be countess. She tried to bring Milo up to scratch, but he wouldn't have her. He chose Suzannah instead, but Rosellen never forgot. You were just a second son, a soldier, so she wed Preston. Then she found out about him and Hermione."
"So you did know all along."
Berke closed his eyes. "Rosellen couldn't expose her own husband without looking the fool. And she already hated the Warebournes."
"And you went along with her out of brotherly love?"
"Rosellen paid me. My debts."
"And when I came home from the war, she saw her way clear to winning the title after all." Darius was revolted, not shocked.
"No, that was Preston's idea. He controls the purse strings."
"I'm surprised you dance to his tune. Seems to me you could have played the piper, with your lack of ethics."
Berke mumbled something Darius couldn't quite catch. Neither could the few spectators still standing around them on the side of the road. They moved closer. The tavern wench had fetched Sonia a chair, along with some lemonade, and stood next to it, mouth agape. "Coo, it's better'n a play at Drury Lane. Maybe 'e was too nice to blackmail the other gent. 'E looks too pretty to be so mean."
Sonia rubbed her chafed wrists. "I do not think he's too nice for anything!"
"Nor do I," Darius agreed. He took a firmer hold on Berke's collar. "Preston wanted the title, and Rosellen—well, her motives are best left unsaid. But yours? You were on the lookout for an heiress. Everyone knew that. You could have lined your pockets without challenging me. In fact, you could have sold your information to Milo, then me. I think there's more to this than you have mentioned."
"Preston… knew something about me." Berke licked his lips. He looked at Sonia, then away. "A youthful indiscretion, nothing more. But he threatened to go to the authorities, or the scandal sheets." He looked at Warebourne in desperation. "I'd have been thrown out of my clubs!"
Darius shook him one last time for satisfaction, then shoved him away. "So you were content to save your reputation by ruining mine. What was it, the usual hanging offense?"
Berke sank to the ground, staring blankly at his scuffed boots. He merely nodded, gulping back sobs.
"One more question." Darius spoke softly. "Milo and Suzannah's carriage accident?"
"I swear I know nothing about it," Berke babbled. "If Preston did, he never let on. There was no inquiry. But I didn't, I swear. I wouldn't. Please." He raised his hands in supplication.
"Zeus, you disgust me. The world would be a better place without you in it."
The baron's shoulders started shaking on their own. Darius turned his back on the sorry sight to greet Ian and Robb. The reinforcements had arrived, along with six servants in Ware House black and gold livery, on horseback, brandishing pistols.
"Good grief, man," Darius shouted at Robb. "You've armed the underfootmen! Can they shoot?"
"Nary a bit. The guns ain't loaded, except for mine, a course. You thinkin' I should aim it at this muckworm here?"
While Darius was still bemusedly observing his new recruits, Robb chuckled. "Right, sir. Gettin'
'em on horseback was the harder part. But I had to send two of the stable lads
out for the lieutenant, and leave another couple of riders behind for carryin' messages. Someone responsible had to stay back with the young 'uns. This is what was left."
"Robb, you deserve a promotion. For now, though, I am afraid you and your troops will have to do escort duty. Baron Berke is leaving the country. You and your stalwarts will make sure he reaches his ship—any ship—safely. First, however, I believe yon innkeep will provide ink and paper. I am also certain Baron Berke will accommodate me by writing down his little tale. His passport, don't you know." He turned to the nobleman. "One-way passport. Is that understood?"
Berke moved his head up and down a fraction.
"But what about Preston and Rosellen?" Sonia wanted to know. "Those two blackhearts can't get away with all they've done to you!" Sonia was so angry, she looked as if she'd take on the miscreants herself.
"Oh, I think we can be forgiving of our cousins… from Jamaica. Preston has holdings there. He'll go." Darius waved an arm at the ring of watchers. "He'll never dare show his face in London again."
" 'Ere, 'ere," echoed from the crowd. "Exile's too good for the likes o' him."
"Yer lettin' this 'un off easy, guv." The circle of spectators was growing larger again, and they did not want a peaceable ending at all. They wanted blood.
Darius was pleased to oblige. He picked the baron up once more, drew back a steel-driven fist, and completed Berke's disarrangement by repositioning the baron's nose. Then he lifted him bodily and tossed him into the coach. The mob cheered as the carriage drove off with Robb and Ian and its resplendent if reluctant mounted escort. Most of the onlookers dispersed, thinking the show was over.
Darius turned to Sonia, who had been applauding as loudly as the most eager street urchin. "Bloodthirsty wench, aren't you?" he asked.
