Joan Smith (25 page)

“You can’t go alone.”

“Of course I can. No one knows us here. Meet me outside the Pump Room in half an hour.” She pulled the check string and hopped out.

Most of the shops and offices were on the Pantiles Parade, and at the third real estate office, she discovered what she wished to know. Her cheeks were bright pink when she presented herself as Miss Barten and inquired if this was the place where a cottage had been hired in her name by Mr. Mandeville.

“Ah, Miss Barten,” the clerk said, running his eyes over  her in an assessing way. “Your patron is impatient for your arrival. He is already in residence. He took the key with him when he hired the place. I noticed yesterday as I drove by that he has moved in. The windows were open, and there was a groom out back at the stable.”

“Oh, good.” She blushed. “He managed to get away earlier than he thought possible. Could you just tell me exactly which cottage it is? My friend only told me it is on the park. A Queen Anne cottage, I believe he said?”

She was told the precise location. There was a bad moment when the clerk explained about her patron having taken the key when he rented the place, but it was impossible Luten had come back. It had to be O’Kelly. He had broken in, since he wouldn’t know what name Luten had used when he leased the cottage.

She thanked the clerk and walked briskly to the southwest end of the parade, to wait for Norman at the Pump Room. He had the carriage and told her that he had hired two rooms at a famous bargain at Bishop’s Down.

“O’Kelly is at the cottage. We might as well go and speak to him now, before dinner,” she suggested.

“I am very hungry,” Norman said. “It’s nearly six o’clock, Trudie. O’Kelly would be out for his dinner at this time. I’d prefer to confront him on a full stomach.”

She knew very well her brother would prefer not to have to confront him at all, but as she was far from eager herself, she agreed to dinner first. They went back to Bishop’s Down and made a fresh toilette before ordering dinner, in Trudie’s room, to save the price of a private parlor. They both drank a little more wine than usual, to give them courage. When they were finished, Norman stood up briskly and said, “We’ll stop at the constable’s office, and bring him along with us.”

“Yes,” she agreed, but her knees were already beginning to tremble.

The clerk at the inn gave them directions to the constable’s office, where another barrier was encountered.

A sly-looking constable peered at them over a counter while Norman outlined the situation. At the end of the story, he gave a shake of his head and his decision. “That’s all fine and dandy, sir, but I’ll need some evidence before I go arresting a citizen. This ain’t France, where they throw folks into jail for no reason. What evidence have you got?”

“He stole our friend’s colt, and two hundred guineas!” Trudie exclaimed.

“And his watch—a Breguet,” Norman added.

“The way your story sounds to me, he didn’t steal nothing. He may have diddled the lad somewhat. A sharp operator, he sounds like, but as to stealing—no.” He shook his head slowly, and smiled his sly smile. “It was a bargain between gentlemen, with no coercion. What you’ll have to do if your friend wants his blunt back is get out a warrant against this O’Kelly person. Bring me a warrant, and I’ll be happy to tag along and arrest him for you. Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“He’s trespassing!” Trudie remembered. “He’s occupying Mr. Mandeville’s premises without his permission.”

“Then let Mr. Mandeville come forward and lodge a complaint. I don’t see that it’s up to you to do it, miss.”

She could not say, in front of Norman, that the cottage was in her name, so she gave vent to her frustration by insulting the officer of the law. “I should like to know what we pay your wages for, if you refuse to help innocent people!”

“Injured parties is who we help,” he riposted, and turned back to his paperwork.

Norman took her arm and they went out into the street. “All this trip for nothing,” Norman said, shaking his head. “We shall get a good night’s sleep, and go on to Walbeck Park first thing tomorrow morning. At least Auntie will be none the wiser.”

“Norman!” she gasped. “You don’t mean you are afraid to confront O’Kelly without a constable to protect you!”

“Of course not, but what would you have me do? We have no evidence against him. We can’t have him arrested. He has got Fandango’s papers, and in the end it is we who would end up in the roundhouse. It was stupid, our coming here without Nick and Peter. It’s not up to us to lay charges against O’Kelly. At least I shall write Peter and let him know where he can find O’Kelly.”

“But it’s all my fault! We are the ones who must settle the affair ourselves. You heard what Luten said. He goaded me for not paying up like a sportsman.”

“I would like to see his face when we walked home with Fandango, and Peter’s blunt.” He smiled.

“We’ll sneak upon O’Kelly,” she said. “We don’t need a pistol. A cane or a piece of wood will do as well. And your groom will come with us.” She hurried him toward the carriage as she spoke, before the encouraging effect of the wine wore off.

“We’ll do it, by Jove. We’ll see who is soft.”

They drove at a hot pace to the little Queen Anne cottage by the park and decided to have their groom take the carriage into the park and tether it to a tree, to allow them to sneak up quietly. John Groom had orders to join them at the house as soon as possible. There were lights blazing in several rooms downstairs, and they crept forward quietly.

“Let’s peek in the windows and see if he’s there,” Trudie whispered. They edged forward, and there was O’Kelly, lounging at his ease before a warm fire, reading, with a bottle of wine beside him. He seemed to be alone, which was excellent. So far as they knew, O’Kelly had no servant except his groom. He had removed his jacket and sat revealed in a pair of shoulders much diminished from formerly, though the jacket hanging on the back of another chair was quite as large as ever, with shoulders that set out all by themselves.

“His figure was all padding!” Norman scoffed. “I think
I
could take him without any help!”

“Go and look in the stable—see if Fandango is there, and the groom too,” Trudie whispered back.

She waited while Norman darted to the stable and came back. “Fandango’s there, right enough, and he’s alone. We could lead him off right this minute.”

“No, we want the two hundred guineas as well, and we need Fandango’s papers too. We’ll just wait for the groom before tackling O’Kelly.”

When their groom—a large, burly fellow called Bullas— arrived, Norman told him to arm himself with a stout branch. When this was done, Norman got a good grip on his own crop, stepped up to the door and banged the knocker. They heard the sound of footsteps advancing, and suppressed the urge to run into the shadows. The door opened, and O’Kelly stared at them in astonishment.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded rudely.

It was Trudie who gave him an answer. “We might ask the same of you, sir. Lord Luten didn’t give you permission to move into his house!”

O’Kelly counted the heads, measured the size of the groom’s shoulders, and reached for the door to slam it in their faces. Trudie pushed him back and rushed in, her cohorts behind her. There was no entrance hallway. They stood in the little saloon, modestly furnished.

“Well, what of it?” O’Kelly asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, but it wasn’t his old conning smile of yore. It was the disparaging smile of one who felt himself infinitely superior to the company in which he found himself. He hadn’t shaved since leaving Newmarket, for he had every intention of lying very low. His soiled and rumpled shirt was open at the neck, He looked like what he was—a blackleg.

“I shouldn’t think Luten sent you,” O’Kelly said, and laughed. “Hardly the way a gentleman would treat his fiancée, Miss Barten—or have you managed to bring him up to scratch yet?”

“That has nothing to do with it!” she said boldly. “We are here to get Fandango and Lord Clappet’s money, and you’ll hand them over without an argument if you know what’s good for you.”

“A bargain’s a bargain. I don’t hear young Clappet bawling.”

“Now see here, O’Kelly,” Norman exclaimed, and put a hand on his opponent’s chest to push him back, “you know perfectly well you conned Lord Clappet, and you ain’t going to get away with it.”

O’Kelly glanced through his saloon doorway to the dining room behind, then adopted a conciliating mood. “Perhaps you’re right,” He smiled, and while the Bartens were silently congratulating themselves on his easy capitulation, he swiftly raised his fist and drove it with all his force into the pit of Norman’s stomach. Norman grunted and fell to the ground. Trudie made a rush at O’Kelly to claw his eyes out. She looked to the groom for help and screamed. Advancing silently behind Bullas was O’Kelly’s groom, with a poker in his hand. She watched in mortal terror while the metal rod was raised and came crashing down on the groom’s head. He too fell to the floor in a heap.

O’Kelly smiled an oily smile at his man. “Good work, lad. Haul that pair off to the stables and tie them up. Miss Barten and I have a little unfinished business. Now, you were saying, my dear,” he said, reaching out to grab her hands.

Norman groaned to consciousness and tried to get up. O’Kelly’s man lifted his poker and brought it down again. It made a terribly hard sound as it hit Norman’s head. Trudie tried to go to her brother, but O’Kelly held her hands fast.

“I’m flattered that you came running after me, my little love,” he laughed. “If I’d known you were that fond of me, I’d have brought you along. It occurred to me, but the dot was a bit on the slim side. Five thousand wouldn’t last me long. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves, now you’re here.”

He watched as his man dragged first Norman, then the Bartens’ groom, out of the room. Trudie tried to free herself from his grasp, but his fingers were like stone, immovable. And to make her position worse, she actually felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t know whether it was fear or hatred of that viciously smiling face above her that caused it.

As though she were about to die, the past weeks ran vividly around in her mind. The trip to London, when any wonderful thing seemed possible; the advent into their lives of Lord Luten; the awful catastrophe of O’Kelly and Sheba; and, most regrettable of all, how close she had come to attaching Luten. How had she ended up here, with this dyed-in-the-wool villain who would do anything he wanted with her? What would such a wicked creature as this want? And Norman—if he ever survived that blow on the head, he’d be lucky not to end up a moonling. She had brought herself to this pass by her own rashness, and if she were to escape, that must be done by herself as well. There was no hope of rescue. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going—more folly, sneaking behind Aunt Gertrude’s back.

At last the groom was gone, and O’Kelly pulled her toward the sofa. “You’d better not molest me, or you’ll have to deal with the law,” she warned, but her voice was weak.

“We’re old opponents, the law and I,” he said softly. Such a menacing softness. “If they ever catch me, I’m done for, so I might as well take what I can get. I’ll just tame you down a peg for Lord Luten.”

She swallowed convulsively, trying to hide her terror. He pushed her past the sofa table, laughing at her efforts to free herself. From the corner of her eye, she saw that the paper he had been reading was Fandango’s breeding certificate. Even that detail he had arranged. What hope had she against such a clever enemy? She dug in her heels and tried to resist, to stall for time in hope that Norman or the groom might revive and come to help her. She looked around for a weapon as well, but the room was empty of small objects. Just the tables and chairs and sofa that came with the hired house were there—and the poker that had been used on Norman and his groom!

Her eyes widened when she spotted it. O’Kelly noticed where she was looking. Still holding her by one hand, he picked it up and stuck it into the middle of the blazing fire. “Now don’t make me put my brand on you, my little love,” he said, and threw her onto the sofa. The air caught in her lungs as she looked into his awful, smiling eyes. She didn’t doubt for an instant that he’d use the hot poker on her, and with pleasure.

Lord Luten’s temper had caused him difficulties before without jeopardizing the fulfillment of his wishes. He disliked apologizing but knew he must make the first overture if he were ever to see Miss Barten again. Allowing Peter and Sir Charles to go to Northfield was a step designed to appease the lady. He had some hope that Peter’s account of the merciful treatment he had received might further soften her.

But still, when he remembered those flashing eyes, whose shade changed with every gown, he thought it wise not to approach her till another day had passed. By the time he called at Northfield, he was told by a very disapproving Mrs. Harrington that she was very happy to tell him the Bartens had left on a little trip that morning and would soon be gone for good. She did not inform him of their destination, but he already knew from his nephew that they intended to leave Northfield soon.

“They are coming back?” he asked, aware of the alarm in his tone and unhappy with it.

“As to that, I really couldn’t say,” she said, and closed the door in his face. She knew very well they were returning but was accustomed to misleading Luten, and even took some pleasure from it.

Luten darted back to Sable Lodge to quiz his nephew.

“No, I didn’t expect them to leave for a few days, Uncle,” Peter said. “They wouldn’t have flown off home in such a pelter—we were all supposed to meet again before they left.”

“Where else could they have gone—to London, do you think?”

“With Norman’s pockets to let? I shouldn’t think so.”

“Dammit, they must have said
something,
given some clue.
Think
—what did you talk about yesterday?”

“About you,” Peter admitted, “and O’Kelly, and how it was a shame he got clean away. Trudie thought we ought to go after him.”