Beguiled (19 page)

“Will you, lad?”

The boy kept his composure, but his eyes shone with relief. “Aye, Father. I insist on doing the proper thing.”

Lord Edward stepped out and motioned for Hannah to follow him. “Will you come with me, Button?”

Squealing, she nearly flew from the carriage and lunged into his arms. Her whistle clipped his chin.

What mischief was he about? Agnes learned the answer a short time later, when he strolled from the establishment with Hannah perched on his hip. The girl clutched a package in her hands.

Christopher was just finishing his explanation of how his mother had died at sea.

Opening the door, Edward whispered something to Hannah.

“ 'Twill?” she piped.

He put her on the seat beside Agnes. “I'm completely certain of it, Button.”

The girl looked at Agnes, smiled, and handed her the package. “ 'S'for you.”

He was lower than a badger's belly to use these children to his own selfish ends. But they were innocent and deserved the best that Agnes had to give. She untied the string and opened the package. Folded neatly inside were two lengths of blue silk in a shade suspiciously close to that of her petticoat.

As if it were a revelation, Hannah turned up her hands and lifted her shoulders. “ 'S'one for you. One for me.”

His lordship was obviously trying to make amends for his boldness in the music room. It was beautiful cloth, and she had played a role in letting the kiss get out of control. But the feelings he inspired went beyond her experience, and their situation defied convention.

Hannah leaned over and put her face very close to Agnes's. “ 'S'pretty?”

“Aye, and 'tis very thoughtful of you both.” As she kissed Hannah's forehead, she stole a glance at Lord Edward. Giving her a challenging look, he touched his finger to his cheek.

Ignoring him, she gave Hannah the smaller length of cloth. “What shall we make of these, bows for our hair?”

“A sling for both of you,” said Lord Edward, taking the smaller of the cloths from Hannah. To Agnes, he said, “You forgot yours.”

Keeping her temper in check, Agnes watched him deftly tie a knot to fashion the sling, then slip it over Hannah's head. The girl cooed and squirmed with pleasure, which his lordship encouraged with quips about how well the girl behaved and how pretty she was.

“Button,” he said, tucking Hannah's whistle into the sling. “Tell Lady Agnes what the shopkeeper said to you.”

Hannah concentrated so hard, she grimaced. “I remember! Romance's afoot at our house.”

Now that he'd finished pretending to minister to his daughter, he turned to Agnes. “Allow me.”

Giving him a fake smile, she stayed where she was. When he'd knotted the cloth, Hannah put another good spell on Agnes's injury. Agnes returned the favor.

Christopher leaned forward. “My lady, you could carry one of your knives in that sling.”

“Knives will cut me,” Hannah said, admiring her own sling.

Agnes did carry a weapon, a deadly stiletto she'd found in Spain. But that was her secret. “Enough about knives.” Leaning forward, she curled her finger, and Lord Edward moved close. “You're shameless,” she said.

In a deep and sensual murmur, he said, “Wrapping your legs around me and kissing me hungrily with your tongue was not?”

She gasped, and heat rushed up her face.

Hannah grumbled, “Whispering's polite.”

“
Im
polite,” her brother corrected, but he'd turned his attention to the passing scenery.

Agnes marshaled herself. “What if we were planning a surprise for you, Button?”

As perky as could be, Hannah squealed. “Like Papa 'n' me did for you?”

The promise of retribution inspired Agnes. “Oh, my surprise for your father will be very different.”

Christopher joined in. “Can we guess what 'twill be?”

“Guess! Guess! Guess!”

A game ensued, occupying the children during the ride across Glasgow. The visit to Saint Vincent's Church proved a waste of time, except to hear a confirmation from Bishop Brimston that no Mrs. Borrowfield attended services there.

“But we drove her here in our carriage every Sunday morning,” Lord Edward said.

The bishop, a fellow as old as the tales of Toom Tabbard, squinted up at his noble visitor. “What time did she arrive at service, my lord?”

“Our services at Saint Stephen's Church begin at ten o'clock, so we would have left her here at half past nine.”

“Odd, my lord.” The bishop scratched his head. “I begin promptly at nine, and my congregation's not so large as my brethren at Saint Stephen's. I would have noticed her coming in so late.”

There must be more, Agnes thought. “How did Mrs. Borrowfield get home to Napier House after the service? Did you fetch her?”

“Nay. She said she enjoyed the walk.”

“What did she look like?” the bishop asked.

Lord Edward described an older woman with graying hair and a healthy frame. But his description was too general and mannerly to suit Agnes.

She searched her memory for the image of the woman who'd held Hannah in Saint Margaret's Church in Edinburgh. She said, “Mrs. Borrowfield's chin was weak and dimpled, and her lips very thin. My lord, what color was her cloak?”

His gaze went out of focus. “Very dark brown, as I recall, with a black ribbon tie at the hood. 'Twas lined with . . .”

“With what color?” She willed him to see it.

“I have it!” he exclaimed. “ 'Twas yellow.”

Shaking his head in apology, the bishop said, “Yellow or black, I cannot help you, my lord. No woman of that likeness attends my service. But should
you
ever wish to join us, I'd consider it an honor.”

As they returned to the carriage, Agnes thought of other ways to locate the elusive Mrs. Borrowfield. She was still considering the possibilities when they arrived at the mill and Lord Edward handed her down from the carriage.

His hands lingered far too long at her waist. When Agnes protested, he whispered, “I heard no cry of foul play when you were panting in my arms this morning.”

“No, 'tis only the lingering effects that are foul.”

F
UMING
, A
GNES STARED AT THE
passing traffic while Lord Edward helped the children from the carriage. A wagon stocked with barrels rumbled past and veered onto a side road that led to the larger buildings in the rear.

Hannah complained that her sling needed attention, which her father patiently gave. Christopher grumbled.

According to the lad, the mill occupied three square furlongs of land, and Agnes believed him. The structures stood at the crossroads of Cathcart Avenue and the west wagonway, the best route to the Port of Glasgow. At Napier House the oldest structure, the tower, was shielded by the newer buildings. Here at the mill, the opposite was true. The first building, a stone rectangle built in the thirteenth century, fronted the massive structures housing the looms and spinners.

Lord Edward motioned to the driver. “Take the carriage 'round to the side, Jamie. Wait for us there.”

Inside the old structure the walls served as a chronicle of the Napiers' contributions to the design and manufacture of cloth. Centuries' worth of progress marched along the walls, beginning with the seal of office of the Napier first charged with the care of the royal napery. With surprise, Agnes noted that the family had not kept the most valuable remembrances for the gallery at Napier House; rather they displayed them here.

In the far corner of the room an iron gate barred entrance to a downward spiraling staircase. The grill-work depicted the Napier shield, a hand holding a crescent.

Lord Edward joined her. “Did I lie, my lady?”

His seduction was getting out of hand. Ignoring him posed her best option. “No. The mill prospers, and you're from a very illustrious family.”

A knowing grin gave him a rakish air, which was perfectly fitting. But how could she have known that the scholarly earl possessed the heart of a rogue? She couldn't have.

Christopher stepped to the fore. “The Napiers are weavers, inventors, and mathematicians. One of our ancestors invented the logarithm.” He pointed to a state portrait of Queen Charlotte holding one of her many children. “We made the christening gown.”

“Are you eager to carry on the family tradition?”

“Aye.” With more enthusiasm, he said, “But I'd also like to build a ship that will sail to India in a week.”

“A week's time?” said his father. “That's very ambitious.”

Stubbornly, the boy held his ground. “I'll try all the same, if you'll let me.”

The earl of Cathcart grew pensive, and Agnes wondered if he was thinking about the assassin. The mood fled as quickly as it had come. He ruffled his son's hair. “I predict a lively discussion or two on the subject.”

Footfalls sounded in the circular staircase. Agnes tensed. Lord Edward had turned his attention to Hannah, who had reverted to gibberish. Keeping her touch casual, Agnes rested her hand on Christopher's shoulder. If trouble were coming up those stairs, she'd push the lad to the floor and reach for her dagger.

She was certain that the approaching man was not the assassin; he moved quietly, but she'd take nothing for granted.

Through the iron grillwork she saw a portly man emerge. Dressed in the clothing of a gentleman, he wore a ready smile. He carried a heavy ring of keys. As he moved into the room, the iron hinges on the gate squealed like a frightened gull.

“Mr. Peel!” shouted Christopher.

Singling out an iron key that bore a Celtic knot, the man locked the gate. Over his shoulder, he said, “Good afternoon, my lord.” He nodded to the children. “Christopher, and Miss Hannah.”

Edward extended his hand. “Afternoon, Peel. Lady Agnes MacKenzie, may I present the fine superintendent of this mill, Avery Peel.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Peel.”

His gaze strayed to the sling on her arm. “My lady, welcome to the mills of Napier. I had heard that you were in Glasgow. May I say that I had the pleasure of meeting your father once.” To Edward, he said, “Best man o' the Highlands, 'tis said of the duke of Ross.”

Rather than offer her left hand, Agnes acknowledged Peel with a friendly smile. “He is indeed, Mr. Peel. And he speaks fondly of your city until the conversation comes 'round to the time he brought my sisters and me here about a decade ago.”

“You would have been in Boston at the time, my lord,” Peel said to Edward, but his attention wandered to the matching sling that Hannah wore. “To this day, the ladies of town go on about that Harvest Ball.”

Interest sparkled in Edward's eyes. “Did the MacKenzie lassies behave dreadfully, Peel?”

The superintendent moved closer to Hannah. “I wouldn't be knowing the gospel truth of it, my lord. Gossips have their own way of stitching up the event.” Peel squatted before Hannah. “Have you hurt yourself, lassie?”

Swaying from side to side, she held up her arm. “ 'S'fashion.”

“And quite well done, young lady,” he said with enthusiasm.

Edward rested his hand on her head. “Lady Agnes met with an accident, and Button couldn't let her suffer alone.”

“Of course she couldn't, my lord. Hannah's got a big heart.” Peel stood and addressed both children. “There's sweet buns left in the kitchen, and luncheon aplenty.”

Christopher discarded his heir-to-the-family-business demeanor and chuckled with glee. “May we, Papa?”

Turning to Agnes, Edward tucked his hat under his arm. “You were rather hungry earlier, were you not, my lady?”

The innocuous remark, delivered in an overly concerned tone, held a world of meaning to Agnes. He was thinking of the intimacies they'd shared in the music room, the hunger that had raged between them. The charlatan. “I've had my fill and more, Lord Edward. Are you still hungry?”

She watched him deliberate over how to reply. At length he said, “For some delicacies, I am always hungry.”

He deserved a slap in the face, but she would not lower herself.

Into the stilted silence Mr. Peel said, “My lord, you might want to visit Dunbar. I believe he has made some progress. Rather boisterous about it, he was.”

At the mention of the name, Edward grew attentive. “Splendid.”

Hannah and Christopher led the way down a corridor of rooms where hundreds of swatches of cloth and samples of thread were displayed. The hum of machines grew louder with every step. Agnes wondered why Edward had stopped at the dressmaker's shop when there was cloth aplenty here. She asked him.

The question caught him unprepared, for he stared at her in surprise. “The children need warmer sleeping gowns. The tower rooms hold a chill, even in summer. The modiste was convenient, and you had forgotten your sling.”

Consideration for others had been his motive, and Agnes felt a twinge of shame. She touched his arm. “Have you told anyone here about . . . ?”

“Nay, and the constable will not have spread the tale, since he cannot solve anything above common thievery or a romance gone bad.”

“Then you're left with me.”

“A very interesting alternative, I must say.”

“You needn't say anything about that.”

“About how you whimpered—”

She pressed her gloved hand to his mouth.
“Haud yer wheesht!”
she hissed.

When the scoundrel winked at her, she stepped in front of him and continued down the hallway.

In a larger chamber, a bevy of clerks and accountants worked at desks made in the distinctive style made popular at the turn of the century by Queen Anne. As they traveled farther into the buildings, the sound increased to a muffled roar. Christopher opened another door, and the noise grew so loud it seemed to move the air.