Jo Goodman (12 page)

His first knock brought no response. That was unusual because Aubrey was well aware he didn't have a light touch. With a broad face, bull neck, and fists like mallets, everything about Aubrey Jones was big. He hammered on the door again, laughing heartily this time, thinking to himself that perhaps Molly's brief appearance in Colin's room had worn his commander out. Or better, perhaps it was the captain's other late-night visitor, the one Molly described as a skinny wench of no consequence.

When Aubrey was met by the echo of his own laughter a second time, he decided he'd had enough. Although a large man, he was blessed with a surprisingly gentle and good-natured temperament. It did not give him any particular pleasure to push through the door with a swift kick and the thrust of his shoulder.

The door flew open, swinging crookedly on broken hinges. Aubrey stood just inside the threshold and surveyed the scene. His strong, square jaw dropped a fraction as he shook his head. He whistled softly and grinned as crookedly at the door. "I'll be damned."

Colin Thorne was lying on his side on the floor, trussed like a calf for the slaughter. His wrists had been pulled behind him, bound, then bound to his ankles. Even though his knees were bent to accommodate the position, the effect was to bend him awkwardly in the middle. He had obviously been wrestling with his bonds for some time. Above and below where the stockings secured him, his skin was burned from his struggles. It didn't look as if he'd made any headway.

Aubrey felt the full force of his captain's glare but it didn't make him move any more quickly. First he glanced around to make certain he wasn't going to become a victim of the same assailant that had laid Colin low. A brief survey of the room, including under the bed, assured him there was no one hiding.

Picking up Colin's knife, Aubrey used it to slice through the gag.

"It took you long enough," Colin said thickly. His mouth was dry, and getting the words out was like trying to cough up gravel. "Did you really think someone was hiding under the bed?"

"No, I did that just to irritate you." One could never be certain just how serious Aubrey was about some things, and he liked it that way. "Don't make me regret removing your gag first." He cut through the stocking that held Colin's ankles and wrists together, then the bonds that secured them separately. "Quite a job that was done on you," he said. "I never heard anything. How many were there?"

"One less than was keeping you occupied and deaf to my troubles," Colin said.

Aubrey sat back on his heels. "One man did this to you?"

Groaning softly, Colin slowly unfolded himself. His arms and legs began to tingle as circulation was restored. "Almost right," he said. "One woman."

The possibility had never occurred to Aubrey. "You mean the skinny wench of no consequence?" he asked. He caught Colin's sharp look and shrugged. "Molly's description, not mine. I didn't think her story was worth investigating."

"It wasn't," Colin said. "At least not the first time." Sitting up, he rubbed his wrists carefully, then his ankles. The return of feeling to his limbs was prickly and painful.

"What do you mean, not the first time?" Aubrey asked, studying the stockings. "Are these hers?"

"They're sure as hell not mine," Colin muttered. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to be up and moving if we're going to make it to Weybourne Park." He stood and pulled Colin to his feet. "What do you mean, not the first time?" he asked again.

Colin's fingertips were engaged in the ginger exploration of his left temple. "Later," he said, steadying himself against the end of the bed.

Aubrey held up three fingers directly in front of Colin's aquiline nose. "How many?"

Colin pushed them aside. "Not now. Get my clothes out while I wash. I don't believe the earl's expecting us any longer. All the more reason not to be late."

Bemusement sat comically on Aubrey's broad masculine features. His dark red brows were raised a notch, furrowing his forehead, and his green eyes widened but remained slightly vacant. In the end, rather than ask another question which would be summarily dismissed, Aubrey shrugged philosophically. He lifted Colin's valise to the bed and began to remove his captain's clothing. "You have a bit of blood on your face," he said.

Colin turned away from the basin. "What?"

Aubrey tapped his temple. "Here," he said. "Blood."

"Oh." Colin dampened a wash cloth and began to scrub. "Better?"

"Well, the blood's gone."

It was the best Colin thought he could hope for. He lifted the small hand mirror and examined the injury. The corner of the drawer had struck him hard. A stitch or two wouldn't come amiss. "Damn her," he said softly.

"What's that?" Aubrey asked.

"Nothing." Colin set the mirror aside and finished washing. He shaved with less care than he normally used, adding another drop of blood to his chin. Cursing, he stopped the bleeding with a bit of alum while Aubrey chuckled. "Check the weapons," Colin said.

"Any particular reason?" Aubrey asked as he removed the lacquered box.

"She might have tampered with them."

Aubrey examined the outside of the box first:. "Does she have dainty hands?"

Colin was studying the wound on his shoulder where Mercedes had tried to plunge her knife. She might have done serious damage had she been able to drive it deeper. "I don't know that I'd call them dainty," he said, stripping out of his shirt. "Capable, perhaps. Certainly strong." He recalled those hands on his chest and shoulders and arms. She'd had a light touch. Gentle but insistent. Colin grabbed a clean shirt. "What sort of question is that anyway?"

"You're missing my point," said Aubrey. He held the box up to the light coming from the bedside lamp. As he turned it this way and that the lacquered surface could be seen to be smudged with prints from careless handling. "I polished this box before I packed your bags. There was nary a fingerprint on the lacquer when I was through. These prints are too small to be yours, so I'd say they belong to Molly or your other guest."

"They're not Molly's."

"Then Miss-Dainty-Hands was all over it."

Colin fastened his shirt, slipped on clean trousers, and sat on the bed to put on his socks. He glanced toward the foot of the bed where Aubrey was carefully going over the weapons. "Miss-Dainty-Hands has a name," he said.

Aubrey didn't pause in his inspection. "I'm sure she does," he said. "I wonder if you'll get around to telling me what it is." He took out the second flintlock pistol and gave it the same examination as the first, checking the barrel and trigger mechanism.

Colin reached for his boots, tugged them on, and began tossing articles into his opened valise. "Mercedes Leyden," he said. "Any part of that familiar to you?"

Aubrey closed the pistol case and tucked it under his arm. "Leyden," he said softly, thinking. His mouth screwed up to one side and his eyes widened as realization seemed to hammer him in the face. "Isn't that the earl's name?"

"Wallace Leyden," Colin said.

"His daughter?" asked Aubrey.

"She says she's his niece."

Aubrey considered that. "You believe her?"

Colin glanced around the room looking for anything he might be leaving behind. He noticed that except for the stockings Mercedes had bound him with there was no hard evidence of her having been in the room. Her dagger was gone as were all her clothes—even the strips he had torn off her petticoat to stem the bleeding in his shoulder had disappeared. "Half of what she says is lies," he told Aubrey. "The other half is mostly fiction."

Aubrey laughed. It seemed to him that Colin Thorne had a talent for finding those wenches.

Colin shot him a quelling glance. "You have something to say, Mr. Jones?"

Aubrey made a show of clearing his throat. "Not a thing, sir."

"That's what I thought." He didn't need Aubrey Jones to remind him of the last woman to spin him a web of lies, or the woman before that. Colin had already decided he was much better off with women like Molly or her sister, who offered pleasure honestly, than those with a pedigree who invariably wanted something from him. "Let's go," Colin said. "You arranged for horses?"

"Last night. They should be waiting for us in the stable."

* * *

Everyone at Weybourne Park was up earlier than usual. On her way to the breakfast room Mercedes said good morning to Mr. Hennepin, Janie Madison, Emma Leeds, and Ben Fitch. It was not odd to see Mr. Hennepin up and about. Maintaining the grounds of Weybourne Park had been his position since he first arrived. In the beginning it meant caring for the expansive gardens and bordering hedgerows. Now, with the reduced staff, he made repairs to the exterior of the manor and all the outbuildings. On this morning he was headed for the north turret, ostensibly to patch the roof. Mercedes knew Mr. Hennepin had another motive. If the fog lifted, the north turret roof would give the best view of the duel.

The Earl of Weybourne's morning assignation was the reason most everyone was busy. Janie Madison had been rung by either Chloe or Sylvia to assist them in dressing. Emma was carrying freshly baked bread from the kitchen when Mercedes saw her, and Ben Fitch tipped his hat on his way to the stable.

No one mentioned the reason for all the early morning activity. It was the pretense of normalcy that was seeing them all through. Not one among them was willing to think on how their lives or their livelihood might be different if the Earl of Weybourne did not return from the meadow.

Mercedes was greeted in the breakfast room by the twins. They were sitting on opposite sides of the walnut table, swinging their legs energetically to see who could kick whom first. As soon as Mercedes walked in they made an effort to stop, and she pretended not to see the fidgeting as one of them finally connected with the other.

"You're both up very early," she said as she drew back the heavy drapes. On a clear, cloudless morning the room would have been filled with sunshine. Mrs. Hennepin would have complained that Mercedes's penchant for sunlight was fading the carpets and closed the drapes as soon as the room was vacated. Mercedes doubted that it would be the housekeeper's concern today. She fastened the drapes open even though the only light filtering into the room was gray and misty. Turning back to the boys, she said, "I thought you'd both welcome a chance to sleep in. I haven't prepared any lessons for you. I suppose, since you're both up, I shall."

The twin looks of pleasure and secretive, knowing glances faded into something between consternation and horror. Under the table the playful battle stopped completely.

Mercedes was hard pressed not to laugh as the boys put forth their objections in unison. She held up her hand, stemming the flow. "We'll see," she said. "Let's wait to hear what plans Chloe and Sylvia might have."

Britton and Brendan settled back, appeased for the time being. With the hope that school lessons might be put aside, they regained their good humor. Brendan even scooted off his chair to hold Mercedes's out for her.

"How are you feeling, Britton?" Mercedes asked. She unfolded her napkin on her lap and began lifting the lids to the dishes Mrs. Leeds had already set on the table. She had little appetite for the sausages and tomatoes, but mindful of the boys' presence, Mercedes took a soft-cooked egg and the heel from the warm bread. "Are you quite certain you should be out of bed?"

"It depends," he said frankly. "If we're going to do lessons I suspect I'll be feeling quite poorly. If not, I believe a picnic later today would be just the thing."

"Well, I can't fault you for your honesty," said Mercedes. She placed a helping of everything on Britton's place, then did the same for Brendan. It was a treat to have the twins in the breakfast room. Normally, when the earl was in residence, they were strictly forbidden to take their meals anywhere but their own chambers or the schoolroom. Today they were willing to risk his censure. Mercedes didn't think it had occurred to the boys that their father may arrive home in just as foul a mood as always. He would have the pretense to maintain, that of being slighted by Colin Thorne a second time for not showing up for the duel.

Mercedes encouraged the boys to eat. The more she thought on it, the more she didn't want them around when the earl returned.

* * *

"This is the place," Aubrey said, pulling up his mount along the side of the road. "There's the grove of trees. The pond. And we're at the edge of the meadow." He looked around to see if there was another location with similar features. There was nothing like it on the other side of the lane. Aubrey shrugged and looked to Colin. "This is Weybourne Road. It appears everything's here except the earl."

The thickest layer of fog had finally lifted. Although the sky remained overcast there was no difficulty in taking in the lay of the land. Colin could even make out the yellow underbelly of a finch that had alighted on a pine bough some thirty yards away. Further in the distance was the gray slate roof of Weybourne Manor itself. The turrets at either end of the massive stone house were still only partly visible through the lowest layer of mist. In another half-hour that shroud would be peeled back and the gray stone mansion would rise unencumbered, a formidable presence on the landscape.

Colin dismounted and began leading his horse through the meadow. Aubrey followed suit. They walked to the edge of the grove where Colin secured both horses while Aubrey collected the lacquered pistol case and consulted his pocket watch.