Almost a Princess (7 page)

If anything, Jane’s face went a bit paler, but she kept her spine straight and her shoulders squared.

Case shook his head. “Jane, Jane,” he said. “Why is it I have the suspicion that I’m about to become involved in something nasty? You should have confided in me, you know.”

“You’re
not
involved,” she said. “I didn’t ask you to come here. I’m perfectly capable of handling this.”

“As you wish,” he murmured.

He draped his coat over one chair and draped himself over another, deliberately leaving Jane to handle her own problems. This wasn’t pique on his part. Or maybe there was a
pinch
of pique involved, but he didn’t really believe there could be anything she couldn’t fix herself. After all, how much trouble could a reclusive bluestocking get into in Highgate?

The door to the taproom opened and the landlord appeared with a gentleman whom Case recognized as one of London’s most unsavory roués, Lord Francis Reeve. Not that he and Reeve were acquainted. They’d never been introduced, and that’s the way Case wanted to keep it.

Lord Reeve was closer to fifty than forty, thin, with a face that might have been considered handsome once, but was now showing signs of dissipation, the natural consequence of his mode of living. He also had an ungovernable temper, especially when he’d been drinking, and Case didn’t think that his lordship had spent the last hour or two in the taproom sipping tea.

Case yawned behind his hand, but his eyes were watchful.

Lord Reeve hardly spared him a glance. His gaze fastened on Jane. “Miss Mayberry, I presume?” he said angrily coming up to her. “I didn’t believe Emily. I thought there must be a man involved, but there isn’t, is there, Miss Mayberry?”

“The only man involved is you,” said Jane, “but that won’t be for much longer, not if Emily has her way. Now where is she? What have you done with her?”

If Reeve was angry before, now he was furious. “You bitch! You’re the one who put these ideas in her head! She was never defiant before this. She was always a biddable girl until you poisoned her mind against me.”

“You did that yourself by bullying her! She’s afraid of you! You’re not interested in Emily, only in her fortune. And your own conscience should tell you that you’re the wrong man for Emily, or any woman, for that matter.”

These were fighting words! Case rose, went to the counter, and leaned negligently against it. But Jane and Reeve were intent only on each other.

Spittle was beginning to form at the corners of Reeve’s mouth. “Do you know what your problem is, Miss Mayberry?” His eyes made an insulting appraisal. “You’re a dried up old maid! Look at you! What man would want you? You’re jealous because Emily is young and pretty, and has made a brilliant match.”

Things were going from bad to worse. Before Jane could add kindling to the blaze, Case put in mildly, “That’s no way to speak to a lady. Mind your manners, sir, or I’ll mind them for you.”

Reeve’s gaze shifted to Case. “Who the devil are you?”

“Oh, just an interested bystander.”

“Then I’d advise you to mind your own business.”

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Reeve ignored him. “And this is my advice to you, Miss Mayberry. Stay away from Emily. No more private tête-à-têtes at the opera. If you defy me, I’ll make you sorry you were born.”

Jane cried, “If you’ve hurt her—”

“Don’t be stupid!” Reeve snapped. “Would I hurt the woman I’m going to marry? If I hurt anyone, it was that boy of yours. I hope I broke every bone in his body—the impudent upstart!”

The little color she had washed out of her face. “Where is he?” she cried.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

She stammered something, and that was enough for Case. He launched himself at the older man, and with a hand on the back of Reeve’s neck, wrestled him to his knees.

Fear for the boy fueled his anger. “Miss Mayberry asked you a question,” he said. “Where is the boy?”

“I don’t know!” Reeve struggled to free himself. “He’s only a servant, for God’s sake! He was impertinent. He deserved to be beaten.”

Case now had Lord Reeve’s arm twisted behind his back. “I’ll ask you again,” he said, “and if I don’t like the answer, I’m going to break your arm. Where is the boy?”

“He took off in his gig, going toward Highgate Hill. That’s all I know.”

“And Emily?” asked Jane.

“She went back to town with her brother.”

Case looked at Jane. “Let him go,” she said. “If anyone can find Ben, Lance will.” Then to Reeve. “You’d better pray that my boy is all right, or I’ll find you and have my dog rip out your throat.” On that savagely delivered threat, she turned and made for the door to the stable block.

Case got to his feet and stared at Jane’s retreating back. Not a word of thanks for his timely intervention. In her usual pigheaded fashion, she was off again, sailing into the Lord only knew what danger.

This woman really needed a keeper.

At least things were beginning to make sense. It seemed to him that there must be some truth to all those rumors about Lady Octavia and her volunteers helping women in distress. They meant well, he supposed, but he couldn’t help thinking that all Jane had achieved was to stir up a hornets’ nest.

Shaking his head, he snatched up his coat and went after her.

When the door closed behind Case, Lord Reeve pulled himself to his feet. As he tried to even his breathing, he rubbed the arm Case had almost wrenched from its socket. Then his eye fell on the landlord who was again standing behind the counter.

“You saw him attack me,” Reeve said furiously. “Why didn’t you send for the constable?”

“I would have if I hadn’t heard you say you was betrothed to that young woman. I thought you was her father. And I don’t take to bullies who beat boys either. Seems to me you got off lightly.”

Reeve’s hand fisted and unfisted at his side. He wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into the landlord’s beefy face. But the man was built like an ox. It wasn’t a fight he could be sure of winning.

It was all Emily’s fault, but it was Jane Mayberry who had put her subversive ideas in Emily’s head. It was because of them that he’d been humiliated like this, and it was not to be borne.

One way or another, they would pay for it. He would make them all pay.

There were people standing around staring at him. He shoved them out of his way and pushed into the taproom.

Chapter 7

It was a relief to find that she hadn’t taken off without him. As he mounted up, he said, “I think you’re expecting too much of your dog. He’ll never find Ben’s scent, not after this fall of snow.”

“He’s a sheepdog,” she replied. “He’s used to finding sheep that have become lost in a snowstorm. And it’s not Ben’s scent he will follow but Razor’s.”

“Razor’s?”

“The pony that’s harnessed to the buggy. He’s a wanderer, if he gets the chance. Lance is used to tracking him and bringing him home.”

“Ah. So what are we waiting for?”

“You,” she said, and just when he was feeling flattered by her courtesy, she added, “I have enough on my hands looking for Ben without having to worry about you wandering off by yourself.”

He might have told her that he’d learned the skill of tracking as a boy at his father’s hunting lodge in Shropshire, a skill he had honed to an art in his years in Spain. He stifled the impulse, swallowed his smile, and meekly trotted after her as she and Lance led the way through the archway into High Street.

Here, they reined in. They’d been sheltered in the stable block, but out here there was nothing to stop the wind whipping itself into a fury as it swept down Highgate Hill, funneled through the red brick houses on either side of High Street, and spent itself on the open fields at the edge of the village. He was tempted to tell Jane to return to the inn and let him take over the search for Ben, but he knew that it wouldn’t do a bit of good. Whatever else Jane Mayberry was, she was no hothouse flower.

When there was a sudden lull in the wind, Jane pulled her cap down over her ears, then mistress and dog started forward. Case held onto his hat. They kept their mounts to a walk as they traveled the length of Highgate’s main street. Lance disappeared for minutes at a time, but he always returned as though to make sure they were still following him. They were the only travelers on the road, and the few pedestrians they saw were either making for the Gatehouse or hurrying to get in from the cold.

“He’s caught the scent,” cried Jane.

Just as well, thought Case, because in spite of keeping his eyes peeled, he hadn’t noticed one sign or track in the snow that would give him a clue as to which way the buggy had taken. So much for all his years in Spain as a scout in the cavalry! But he wouldn’t be scouting in these conditions. It was hard to tell whether it was snowing or not, because the wind was whipping up a fine spray that soon obliterated every track. The dusk had settled into an unremitting gloom and there were no stars to guide their way, only the lanterns that winked from every other porch.

He didn’t put much faith in Lance. The hounds at Castle Devere would bay and bark excitedly when they caught the scent of a fox. This dog was silent.

Halfway up Highgate Hill, Jane came to a stop.

“What is it?” asked Case, coming abreast of her.

When Jane dismounted, so did he. Lance was running in circles, whining.

“He’s lost the scent,” said Jane. “It’s too windy. It’s all right boy.” She went down on her knees and hugged her dog. “You did your best.” She looked up at Case. “I suppose we could ask the local constable to organize a search. What do you think?”

She’d asked for his advice! If he hadn’t been standing on the ground he might have fallen off his horse. It was nice to be consulted. A woman could be too competent.

Both girl and dog were looking up at him, waiting for his answer. He’d been on the point of agreeing with her, that they should approach the constable, but that trusting look stayed his words. He knew that the constable wouldn’t exert himself, not for a servant boy, and certainly not in this kind of weather. He wasn’t convinced, himself, that anything bad had happened to Ben. Adolescent boys were notoriously unpredictable.

He couldn’t bring himself to disappoint Jane Mayberry or her dog. He looked up Highgate Hill, then looked back the way they’d come. “Let’s try something else before we call in the constable,” he said.

Jane got up. “What?” she asked, her voice half hopeful, half desperate.

Case caught her with one arm around her shoulders when a sudden gust of wind blew the snow into a mad dervish around them. When she moved closer for protection, both his arms tightened around her. Lance edged closer too, and buried his head in the folds of Case’s coat.

When the wind died away, she lost no time in shrugging out of his clasp. He was surprised to realize how reluctant he was to let her go.

Her voice was as erratic as the breeze. “What else can we do?”

The answer that flashed into his mind made him grin. But this wasn’t the time or place for banter.

He brought his mind around to the problem of Ben. “I don’t think Ben got this far. We’re almost at the end of the village, and if he came this far, I think Reeve would have caught up to him. I’m betting that Ben turned off somewhere to hide, maybe along one of those country lanes we passed. Maybe he found an empty barn . . . what is it, Jane?”

Her gloved hand clutched his sleeve. “The road past Lauderdale House turns into a track. It’s a long way round, but eventually it passes the back of my house and comes out on the north road. Only drovers ever use it to drive their animals to market. Do you think Ben might have taken it to get home?”

“Let’s find out.”

“It’s not wide enough for a buggy, leastways, I would never attempt it. But if Ben were frightened, really frightened . . .” She turned her horse. “It’s worth a try.”

She had reverted to her usual self—capable and in command of the situation. “Lead on, Miss Mayberry,” Case cried, and he followed her down the hill again.

They stopped when they came to the end of the grounds of Lauderdale House. If the drovers’ track had not been marked by hedgerows on either side, they wouldn’t have known it was there.

Jane said, “Lance has caught the scent again.”

“How can you tell?”

“He’s impatient. He wants us to hurry.”

As if on cue, Lance came racing up to them, nuzzled Jane’s hand, then went tearing away again.

“This is hopeless,” said Jane, peering into the gloom. “We won’t get far without a lantern.”

Case nodded. “Don’t move till I get back.” He mounted up and rode back the way they’d come.

She watched him go in some alarm. What if he lost his way? Then she grew impatient with herself. Of course he wouldn’t lose his way. He was a soldier. He was competent. He was probably in his element, while she felt out of her depth in more ways than one.

It was stupid to feel so awkward around him.

She didn’t fret for long because the earl wasn’t gone for more than a minute or two. “I borrowed it from the front gate of Lauderdale House,” he said, holding up the lantern.

It was ridiculous to feel so happy to see him again. “Give me the lantern,” she said gruffly, “and I’ll lead the way.”

He dismounted, but held onto the lantern. “No. Let’s go together,” he said.

“We’ll walk the horses.”

He didn’t mind giving her the last word.

A mile along the drovers’ road, they came upon the buggy tilted perilously to one side, but still intact. There was no sign of Ben or Razor.

“This is crazy,” said Jane, her voice beginning to crack. “What could have happened to them?”

Case was examining the tracks around the buggy, almost obliterated now by blowing snow. “Either Ben or someone else unhitched your pony. They’ll be around here somewhere.” He looked up at her. “Don’t worry, Jane. With luck, we’ll find young Ben safely ensconced in some farm wife’s kitchen or, as I said before, sheltering in some farmer’s barn.”

They found him, or rather Lance found him, huddled at the foot of a haystack. He was sleeping, but wakened when Lance began to lick his face. Jane quickly knelt beside him. Without thinking, she began to brush the snow from his clothes. She could see that he’d been beaten. His lip was split; one eye was completely closed and there were scratches on his face.

“I knew you’d find me,” were the first words out of his mouth.

She kept her voice steady. “I should hope you would!”

“Did you find Razor? When the buggy got stuck, I unhitched him but he ran off before I could get up on his back.”

“If I know Razor, he’ll be home and warm and dry by now.” Then, as Case knelt down beside her, “This is Lord Castleton, Ben. I wish you had seen how he stood up to Lord Reeve. He grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shook him till his teeth rattled. I thought all his teeth would fall out.”

Ben’s laugh faded to a moan of pain. “I didn’t tell him nothing,” he said, rallying a little. “I didn’t tell him your name. Miss Drake did that.”

“Hush now,” said Jane, “we’ll talk later.”

Case said. “We have to get you up and out of here, Ben. Do you think you can manage if I help you?”

Ben nodded, but as Case tried to ease him up, he whimpered in pain.

“Where does it hurt?” asked Case.

“My arm. I can’t move it.”

“Hold the light for me, Jane.”

As Jane held up the lantern, Case began to test for broken bones. Ben bore it stoically until Case tried to lift his right arm. Then he let out a howl.

Case said to Jane, “I don’t think it’s serious, but we have to get him to someplace warm and dry so I can see what I’m doing.”

It was dark now, and outside the pool of light from the lantern, there was nothing to be seen, no lights winking at them from cottages or outside lanterns. And to make matters worse, it had started to snow again.

“We might as well make for home,” Jane said, sounding confident for Ben’s sake. “It can’t be that far and Lance can show us the way.”

Case removed his coat. “Hold my horse steady,” he said.

Talking soothingly all the while, he wrapped his coat around Ben and hoisted him into the saddle, then mounted up behind him. Ben’s piteous moans and groans had Jane gritting her teeth.

Case looked at her set face and said harshly, “There’s no other way. And there’s more to worry about than his injured arm. He’s been out in the cold too long. His skin feels like ice. So, let’s move. Walk your horse and hold up the lantern so that I can follow you.”

He’d got the wrong idea. She wasn’t finding fault with him. She was well aware that she couldn’t have managed Ben on her own. She’d thank him later, but first they had to get Ben home.

She called Lance. “Home,” she said, then the little caravan moved off with Lance in the lead.

It was a journey Jane hoped she never had to repeat. In spite of the lantern, they were walking blind and had it not been for Lance, who kept them together like sheep in a little flock, they would have had to stop.

The lights of home had never looked more welcoming. “Home!” she shouted, or tried to shout, but her voice was hoarse from the cold and she couldn’t be sure that she was heard.

When the front door was thrown open and the housekeeper was silhouetted against the light, Jane’s eyes welled with tears of relief. They soon dried when the earl came abreast of her and started issuing orders.

“Take care of the horses, Miss Mayberry, while I see to Ben.”

At mention of Ben, Mrs. Trent descended the steps. “You found him? Thank God! Come this way, your lordship, come this way.”

A moment later, the front door closed, leaving Jane, Lance, and the horses out in the cold. She looked at the weary beasts and her pique melted. They looked to be in worse shape than she felt. “We couldn’t have managed without you,” she told them, and murmuring nonsense interspersed with endearments, she led them to the stable.

Anxiety for Ben made her hurry through her chores. She’d been right about Razor. He was in his stall, munching his head off. If she hadn’t loved animals and abhorred their ill treatment, she would have whacked him on the nose for leaving Ben in the lurch. In any crisis, or if there was work to be done, Razor could be counted on to look out for himself.

She was drooping with weariness when she climbed the incline to the house. Her shoulders hurt, her legs hurt, her fingers were numb with cold. She was beginning to feel sorry for herself when a piercing shriek from inside the house stopped her in her tracks.

Ben!

All her aches and pains were forgotten. She picked up her skirts, raced up the incline, and burst into the entrance hall. All she could hear now was the low murmur of voices coming from the back of the house. Lance led the way to the kitchen.

A makeshift bed was drawn close to the fire with Ben in it, naked to the waist and propped up with pillows. His complexion was parchment white, and tears stood on the tips of his lashes. Lord Caspar was holding a cup to his lips and pressing him to drink from it. She detected the aroma of Mrs. Trent’s “marmalade tea,” a medicinal brew, made with equal parts of Scotch whiskey and boiling water, sweetened with marmalade to mask, Jane supposed, the awful taste of the whiskey.

“There you are, lass!” exclaimed Mrs. Trent.

She was at the oven, removing hot bricks with a long paddle, then wrapping them in towels. Obviously they were meant for Ben, to keep him warm.

“Did you find Razor?” asked Mrs. Trent. “I was that worried when he came trotting into the yard, with no buggy and no Ben. I couldna imagine what had happened, but I knew you would all be chilled to the bone when you got back, so I put bricks in to heat and made marmalade tea.” She went on cheerfully. “There’s marmalade tea for you, too. On the table.”

Jane sagged against the door. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she burst into the kitchen, but not this scene of cozy domesticity. She felt suddenly overwhelmed by the heat. The fire in the grate was blazing like a blacksmith’s furnace, as was the fire under the oven. The room was quite small, and someone had closed the window. She couldn’t breathe.

“Jane.”

She turned her head slowly and met the steady, reassuring gaze of the earl. He saw the strain on her face and quickly got up. “Mrs. Trent,” he said, “see that Ben drinks this.”

“What?” The housekeeper followed his gaze, noted her mistress’s expression, and hastened to obey.

On seeing Jane, Ben cried, “I tried to stop them taking Miss Drake away, honest I did, but they hurt my arm, and Miss Drake said she
wanted
to go home.”