Barbara Metzger (14 page)

“Borrow? By heaven, she’s not a jar of snuff to be passed around and sampled. She’s a person, a woman with a mind of her own who makes her own choices and picks her own friends. And I say she’s not going. In fact, I’d better stop in on her now, see if she’s over that, ah, headache she had earlier.”

“Jar of snuff can’t pick winners,” Woody mumbled as Lord Chase paid his shot and left.

Algie just shook his head. “You know a fellow has it bad for a chit when he starts believing his doxy is a duchess. Nice gal and all, happy he’s found a female who suits, but she ain’t any Adelina Marlowe.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

So they did, but after a few more rounds and a few more pig races, which they lost, they were still blue-deviled that Courtney was too selfish to let them take Miss Kitty to Epsom.

So they decided to kidnap her.

* * * *

“I tell you, Ursula, the Runner’s flunky didn’t find nothin’ up north. Quigley an’ me heard him tell the old gaffer in the park. ‘Sides, I seen him diggin’ around, callin’ again on the old besom what put out the reward, the one what misplaced her jewels, kind of.”

“Well, the girl ain’t got the diamonds.”

Sean wasn’t convinced. He was cold, tired, hungry, and mad that Ursula wouldn’t let him and Quigley stay at her place, where they could keep an eye more on the wily widow and less on the wildlife. “How can you be sure, Ursie, just ‘cause she wasn’t wearin’ ‘em last night?”

“ ‘Cause I asked, you looby. Described them to her, and she never batted an eye. ‘Sides, do you think any female’d be needing a protector if she had Harry’s horde? She could open her own house if she was so inclined. But that ain’t Kitty’s style, no more’n it’s her name from on the waybill. Missy was too high in the instep to dance with strangers; she ain’t going to be taking them home. It’s a gold ring a female like that wants. Her viscount might be a pretty fellow, but he ain’t going to marry her, no matter how he doesn’t take his blue eyes off her.”

“Not even if she’s got a fortune in jewels?” Quigley didn’t think any man could be that stupid.

Ursula knew better. “Nob like that don’t marry his mistress. He can be a regular hell-raker, but his wife’s got to be snow white. No, if she had the rocks, Kitty’d set herself up somewheres as a respectable widow and find herself a husband. She sure as hell wouldn’t keep working on her back, I can vouch for that.”

Sean didn’t want to give up. He didn’t want to go back picking pockets, either. “Maybe she ain’t had a chance to go get the sparklers yet.”

“Trust me, if the Gypsy knew where the gems were, she’d grow wings.”

“So what are we goin’ to do?” Quigley scratched his head in thought. Then he scratched his arm, his back, and his leg. “We ain’t got the jewels, ain’t got no money, and you ain’t got the brains to plan another burglary. Why’d you have to go and kill old Harry, Sean?” He cuffed the shorter man on the ear, killing a flea or two.

“ ‘Cause he was cuttin’ out on us, without cuttin’ up the loot. We wouldn’t of been no better off.”

But Ursula would have been, with Harry or with the reward money. She was finding the high life harder now that her breasts were lower and her belly was softer. Only wait till that hoity-toity Gypsy saw a few more birthdays, Ursula thought, a few more lines, a few more pounds. There wouldn’t be any blond Adonis hovering over her then, no broad-shouldered nabob like the one who wouldn’t even look at Ursula at the ball.

“It’s all that female’s fault, and Harry’s for dying in her arms. There’s got to be a way to make some money off her.”

“But how’ll we find her, Ursula? You were too busy with that tall, skinny cove to notice where she went.”

“That tall, skinny cove is a lordship, you bacon-brain, and he’s that viscount’s friend. He’s heading for Epsom tomorrow, and I just might invite myself along. He’ll tell me everything we need to know. You two worthless wantwits can keep an eye on the Runners in the meantime, and the park, in case Chase takes his fancy piece out for an airing.”

“Then what?”

“Then either we shake the jewels out of her or we find out how hard that pretty nobleman will come down to get her back. He looked top over tails to me. That ought to be worth a penny or two.”

“Nob ain’t goin’ to ransom no trull. He can get any woman he wants for a song. Why should he empty his pockets for this one? You said yourself he was too proud.”

“And I said he was moonstruck, too. Fellow in love just might put the dibs in tune. If not, we sell her to one of the flash houses, and I’ll get to comfort the viscount when his Gypsy don’t come home.”

So they decided to kidnap her.

* * * *

In the north of England, Manchester to be exact, another woman was making plans for Kathlyn’s future. Madorra, Lady Bellamy, had discounted the Runner’s reports that her niece was in London. The dunderhead couldn’t find her jewels; what was he doing finding something she hadn’t lost? Then she received an express from one of her bosom bows, saying that a female the spit and image of her estranged sister Gwyneth was seen in Town, at the Opera, the Royal Academy, and the museum, with a prominent bachelor, sans chaperone.

Lady Bellamy had to resort to her smelling salts—and she hadn’t even heard about the Cyprians’ Ball. That would have called for burnt feathers. A whole down pillow full.

It had to be Gwyneth’s daughter her friend had seen. Who else would be so headstrong and hey-go-mad, like her mother, who had run off to marry a penniless tutor instead of the fine match their father had arranged, bringing disgrace to them all. Why, Lord Bellamy had almost cried off from allying his name—and fortune—to such a scandal. Now Gwyneth’s daughter was going to shame them all worse, for she wasn’t marrying beneath her, she wasn’t marrying at all! And here Lady Bellamy had two daughters to bring out this season who would be tarred by the same brush.         Vinaigrette wasn’t enough; Madorra needed her lordship’s cognac.

What to do, what to do. She obviously had to get the girl out of London before the Season began. Ladies might turn their backs and pretend that such females did not exist, but one was always tripping over them in the park, at the theater or the modistes’. And if rumor was correct that this Kathlyn was half as beautiful as her mother, she’d be noticed. And recognized.

She could have taken the girl in with them after Part-land died, made her an unpaid companion of sorts, but what did Madorra want with a chit prettier than her own lambs? Especially with Bellamy as randy as a goat. Lady Bellamy would have had all the expense and bother of finding her niece some clerk or tenant farmer to wed. Worse, she’d have had her at home, underfoot, for an entire year of mourning for that ne’er-do-well who hadn’t bothered to arrange his daughter’s future before sticking his spoon in the wall. The gel was one and twenty, by heaven. If he’d ever taken his beaky nose out of a book, Partland could have found someone to take the girl off his hands even without a dowry, if she was the beauty the rumor mill reported.

Well, Gwyneth’s brat had to be got out of the way before she landed them all in the scandalbroth. Since he wasn’t having to pay out the reward for her stolen diamonds, Bellamy might be willing to buy the chit passage to the Americas. Yes, that’s what she’d do, even if she had to kidnap the girl.

* * * *

When Kathlyn finally went to sleep, her dreams were troubled. A whole pack of rats was chasing after her. No, they were vultures, maybe spiders, things with claws and fangs and little beady eyes that glowed in the dark. They were calling her name and reaching out for her, closer, closer. If she could get to Lord Chase, she’d be safe, she knew, but he kept walking away, despite her cries. Then he heard her and turned. There was a big hole where his heart should have been.

Kathlyn woke up in a sweat, as though she’d been running. The day was as gray as her thoughts, but it didn’t look like rain or snow, so she went early to take Nanny’s grandchildren for a walk before their lessons. She needed to let their sweetness wash away the nightmare, and their innocence wash away the heartbreak, before she was lost indeed. It didn’t take any Gypsy soothsayer to interpret that dream or predict her future. No, she couldn’t stay on in London. But where was she going to go?

Chapter Fifteen

“Ice? You had a carriage accident on the ice and Lord Chase reinjured his leg? Oh dear.”

Kathlyn had been walking back from Mrs. Dawson’s daughter’s house when a closed carriage pulled alongside her. She was hailed by the two men on the driver’s seat, who turned out to be Lord Algernon Lowe and Sir Vernon Woodbury, looking battered themselves.

Algie and Woody had found their quarry by accident, Courtney’s footman having refused to divulge her address even for a bribe, and his driver not buying their story about returning a lost fan to his lordship’s companion of the night before. The viscount’s friends knew he had a place in Kensington, though—everyone knew that—and Kensington wasn’t all that big, they decided. So they drove up and down the streets, hoping to spot someone to ask the whereabouts of a raven-haired dazzler with black-rimmed blue eyes. Any lad who’d seen her was bound to take note of her direction.

They did better, the would-be abductors, finding Kitty walking by herself. Nanny had done her marketing this morning, Meg’s, too, and the maid Lizzie was home with a sore throat. By chance, Kathlyn was alone.

“See? Didn’t I tell you, Algie? If she’s not a fortune-teller, at least she’s good luck.” And they proceeded to convince her to go with them to Courtney’s aid.

“But surely Mrs. Dawson would be a better choice.” Kathlyn pointed back toward Meg’s house.

“What, he’s got another female on the line?” Algie asked his cohort too low for Kathlyn’s hearing. “Then old Court had no call to be so possessive of this one.”

“Right, won’t miss her at all.”

Algie climbed down to assist Kathlyn into the carriage while moon-faced Woody held the ribbons. “But it’s you he’s calling for, ma’am. The surgeon said to set his mind at rest, so here we are.”

“He’ll be all right?”

“If we keep him quiet. Miss Parke, otherwise all that thrashing about ...” Algie shrugged his thin shoulders. “Who knows?”

As Kathlyn stepped up, he asked which house was hers. “For you might want to pack a few personal items, don’t you know, in case you’re at Choate House a few days.”

Kathlyn stepped back, aghast. “Days? I cannot stay at his house overnight!”

Misinterpreting, Algie told her, “Of course you can. His mama ain’t in residence.”

“But my rep—” No, she had none, in his friends’ eyes. “Surely his lordship has a valet, a butler, or factotum at least, some servant who could sit up with him.”

“Needs a woman’s touch, he does. Bound to get delirious come midnight, don’t you know. Nothing more calming than a woman’s voice.”

Kathlyn made one last try. “His housekeeper?”

“But it’s you he keeps crying out for. Piteous, it is, too, him in that much pain. Says he won’t take the laudanum until you get there. Stubborn chap, old Courtney.”

“Mutton-headed mule, more like,” she muttered, getting in and giving directions to Nanny’s house.

Kathlyn tossed a shawl into her carpetbag, her comb and brush, night robe, and a change of undergarments. The coins from her Gypsy palm-reading went into her reticule, her book into a cloak pocket when Kathlyn remembered the long hours at her father’s bedside trying to stay awake in case he needed a cool drink or his medication. She didn’t stay to pack anything else or write a note; Algie said it would be faster to send a messenger back from Choate House, and time was of the essence.

She did hear noises from the rear of the house, though. Perhaps Nanny was returned, or Lizzie felt better, she thought, racing to the kitchen with her hair flying and her satchel bouncing at her side and Algie hurrying to keep her from getting away.

The only ones in the kitchen, however, were Wolfie the dog and Little George, who was, of course, deaf and dumb. So Kathlyn pointed at herself and Algie, who was sidling back down the hall at sight of Little George’s bulk and the old dog’s gums. Then she started limping, to indicate that she was going to the viscount’s. George nodded and went back to splitting kindling. Wolfie went back to sleep.

Kathlyn didn’t notice the trunks strapped to the back of the carriage, nor the hamper of food placed inside. She didn’t even think it odd that Algie rejoined Sir Vernon on the box rather than keeping her company in the coach. They must be too upset for their friend to fret over the niceties, too. Oh, that poor man, how he must be suffering. Well, Kathlyn certainly couldn’t leave London now.

An hour later she realized she had, indeed, left London. Choate House in Mayfair couldn’t be nearly so far, nor were they traveling at a rate of speed suitable for the city. She started banging on the roof with her book of sonnets, the only thing she could find.

“Don’t worry, Miss Kitty,” one of the nodcocks shouted back. “It’s merely an adventure.”

Oh, dear. Those two rattles had stolen her away as a prank to tease Lord Chase. No, it must have been a wager, knowing Algie and Woody. They’d never see reason, she knew, at least not until they stopped to change horses and she could give them a piece of her mind. With nothing else to do, Kathlyn curled up on the velvet seats and tried to catch up on last night’s lost sleep, now that she didn’t have to worry about his lordship.

* * * *

“I declare, I cannot imagine what his lordship is going to say, officers with warrants in his house.” Nanny was beside herself. She didn’t even offer the Runners tea, to Inspector Dimm’s regret, especially when he smelled gingerbread cooking in this cozy little place that was neat as a pin. His hadn’t been so tidy since his sister-in-law who kept house for him up and remarried. Hadn’t had gingerbread since the last young’un moved out either.

At least this Mrs. Dawson wasn’t keeping him and Ripken standing out on the stoop. Dimm had been waiting for Ripken at the comer, where it was so cold, his spectacles kept getting too foggy for him to see, and his joints were freezing him into a demmed statue. If he solved this case and earned the reward, b’gad, he was going to emigrate to Jamaica. Of course, if he didn’t solve this case, he just might be exiled to Antarctica. His nibs hadn’t been happy with their serving a warrant at a viscount’s house. He was going to be less happy. The viscount was not there; neither was the girl.