Lessons in French (18 page)

of her acquaintance, falling from horses within the same few hours. Perhaps they had

collided with one another.

"Ah, I'm charged with a message from Colonel Davenport to you, sir," the major said in

a slurred voice to Lord Shelford. "That bull of yours has got loose from its paddock. He

asks you to keep a lookout. He thinks it may have an idea of wandering home."

"Hubert, do you mean?" Callie looked up. "Hubert is loose?"

"I don't know how he's called," the major said. "The bullock that Davenport won from

his lordship in a wager, as I understand."

"Oh yes," Lord Shelford said uncomfortably. "That bullock. He's wandered off? Dear

me. I suppose he will come here, yes. Nothing more likely." He cast a nervous glance at

Callie.

"How long has he been out?" she asked sharply, standing up.

"Only since last night." The major turned toward her, keeping his neck stiff. "The lad

fed him in the evening and found the fence broke right through when he went out at

dawn. Davenport's put out several of his men to search. He's a little apprehensive, since

he had an inquiry from some low fellow the other day to purchase the animal. He turned

it down f lat, of course, but the man was offering an enormous sum."

"A low fellow?" Callie frowned. "What sort of fellow?"

Major Sturgeon cleared his throat. "I don't know if you are aware, Lady Callista, of the

men they call sharpers. The colonel is slightly concerned, since he's had word that some

celebrated fighting dog has come into the county in the past week. It's unlikely, of course,

but with the sort of sum the fellow claimed to be offering, undoubtedly he had some idea

of arranging a match for the betting crowd."

"A match?" Callie exclaimed. "Dear God, do you mean a baiting?"

"Nothing of the sort," the new earl cried. "Nonsense! Davenport's the magistrate; he

won't allow any of that sort of thing hereabouts. Calm yourself, my dear. Oh please, don't

look so frightened!"

"I am frightened!" Callie started for the door. "We must discover him. John, never mind

that." She passed the footman carrying a tray of coffee. "Leave it here; my horse is to be

readied instantly. I'll be down in five minutes."

"You're going to search, my lady?" Major Sturgeon was a step behind her. "May I have

the honor of aiding you?"

"Yes, yes, of course," she said distractedly. "The more eyes the better. Are you

mounted?"

"The groom is walking my horse."

"I hope it doesn't throw you again," she said. "If it does, I must leave you. We've lost

hours already."

"You may abandon me bleeding on the road," he said. "I can see that this bull is of the

foremost importance."

"He's my finest calf!" she said, leaving him in the corridor as she mounted the stairs.

"And my best friend too. I should never have let him be taken off, never! Stupid wagers.

Stupid gentlemen!" She hiked her skirt and pounded up the steps, wrinkling her nose. "I

detest the whole lot of you!"

Nine

"A NEAT BANDAGE, SIR," JOCK SAID, GLANCING DOWN AT Trev's swollen

fingertips. "Poleaxed him, I'll wager?"

"Went down like a dead tree." Trev leaned behind the door of the small stable at Dove

House, brushing straw off his coat. "How is my mother?"

"Asking for you this morning," Jock said. "I said you was sleepin' late, havin' been out

all hours conducting yourself ungentlemanly. Made her laugh. She wouldn't be bled, 'less

you approved it."

Trev wiped his good hand over his face, trying to order his thoughts in the aftermath of

too much ale and too little sleep. "Well, I don't approve it. Why put her through that, if

there's no hope?"

Jock shrugged. "Doctors," he said, in comprehensive disgust.

Trev closed his eyes and opened them. "The constable hasn't been here yet, then?"

His manservant gave him a long, interested stare. "The constable. Should we be

expecting the constable, sir?"

"I seem to have picked a fight with a local magistrate."

Jock drew his big body up straight. "Lordy," he said. "You knocked down a judge?"

"Most likely. It was a little… confusing. I know I punched his friend, the major of

dragoons."

"That ain't a good thing, sir."

"No. In point of fact, it's a consummate disaster."

Jock nodded slowly. "Aye."

Trev leaned heavily against the rough wood. "I can't get snagged now. If I'm discovered

in England, it'll be the gallows."

"You sure they'll send the constable? Was it self defense? What can they take you up

for?"

"Disturbing the peace, assault—we did some considerable damage to the Bluebell

tavern."

"Nobody weren't killed, was they?"

"No." Trev scowled. "At least… not while I was there." He rolled his head back, resting

it against the wall. "Mother of God, I hope not."

"You certain this magistrate'd recognize you, sir? It's a country place here. Maybe he

don't know who you are."

"He may not. But his friend the major does. Called me a French blackguard. Or—"

Trev hesitated. He turned his head, frowning, trying to recall their alcoholic brangling.

"I'd swear he said blackmail."

"Damme," Jock said, squaring his enormous shoulders. "That's an insult!"

"I suppose I could blackmail him after all, if I cared to," Trev muttered. "But it was

hellish more fun to hit him instead."

"You don't blackmail nobody, and you don't forge nothin'," Jock said fiercely. "When

you was Monsieur LeBlanc, you always paid out fair and square. That's why I've stuck

with you, sir, and that's why they still wants you back so bad to operate the fights. Ain't

nobody we trust as much as you, and them judges can say what they like. We all know

you didn't forge that bond note, and we know why you took the blame."

Trev gave his manservant a crooked smirk. "A touching encomium to my honesty. I

could have used it when I was on trial."

"The Rooster knows why you did it." Jock gave a thrust of his chin toward heaven. "He

knows. Mrs. Fowler's tucked up all safe and sound with her little boy, ain't she? Though

she don't deserve a bit of it. You're too good a man for her, and so was Jem Fowler."

Trev shrugged. "It's the boy I cared for. And Jem. But the king won't pardon me a

second time. Hell's bells, he can't. It would all come out if somebody recognized the Duc

de Monceaux as the same man as Thibaut LeBlanc while I'm standing in the dock. And

even if they didn't, Christ, just think about it—I'm hauled before the bench while my

mother's on her deathbed. What an edifying prospect for her last moments."

Jock grunted assent. He crossed his arms, his great muscles flexing. "This officer you

decked knows you's LeBlanc, sir?"

Trev shook his head. "No, thank the Lord. We've a little history of another kind. But

he'll be sure to lodge a charge against me and prosecute it all the way. Nothing more

certain, with his friend being the justice of the peace. At best I'll be sitting in the gaol till

Epiphany if I let them catch me, and fortunate if I don't rot there until the Easter assizes."

A hen clucked from somewhere in the shadows of the single stall. Jock turned his head,

alert to any odd noise. But aside from a faint scratching in the straw, there was no more

sound.

"Chicken pox!" Trev said, suddenly inspired. "You can tell the duchesse that I've

broken out in spots, and the doctor said I must keep a distance until the contagion is

past."

The manservant gave a skeptical grunt. "Chicken pox? You don't think she's such a

greenhead as that, sir. Up to every rig, Madame is."

"Hmm," Trev said. He scratched his chin with the bandage. "No, you're right. Chicken

pox—I think I've had it. I can't remember."

"Yer mama will. They all do."

"You'll think of something. I'd advise spots of some sort. Something that would keep

me away for a fortnight or so."

"A fortnight?" Jock lifted his thick brows. "Didn't the doctor say—"

"I know what he said! It's burned between my ears. But I can't stay, Jock. For God's

sake, how can I stay?"

They both stood silent. He didn't need to explain more of the consequences to Jock. If

he wanted his mother to go to her final rest knowing her only living son was a criminal

condemned to hang, all he had to do was get himself arrested. Thibaut LeBlanc had been

given a rare royal pardon from his capital conviction for forgery, but it was provisional,

based on his obligation to leave the country and not return. If LeBlanc broke his exile, the

pardon was revoked.

"You'd surely better not get yourself snabbled," Jock said at length. "But it might blow

over, eh? If they find out about yer mama being so ill, they might think twice about

taking you up for a little disagreement between gentlemen."

"I can't chance it. I can't stay here openly."

"Aye. But if you was to go off for a few days, sir. Let tempers cool. If they come here, I

can make 'em feel pretty ashamed for persecutin' of a poor lady who hadn't got long on

this earth. You could come in at night to see her."

Trev squinted into the musty corner of the stable. He chewed his lip in thought. "It's

risky." He nodded slowly. "But it might do. If I had a safe house."

"Lemme ask round for—"

A sharp, trilling whistle interrupted him. They both startled at the sound—familiar

enough, but so close overhead that Trev had to crane his neck to see into the loft.

"Barton!" he muttered in disgust. "What the deuce are you doing up there?"

His former accomplice showed his face between the rough-hewn beams, a straw of hay

dangling from behind one ear. "I've got him, sir!" he hissed. "Tied up right out behind the

shed."

Trev had a sudden nightmarish vision of Sturgeon—or worse, his friend the

magistrate—bound and gagged behind the shed. "Who's tied up?" he exclaimed, taking a

step. "Barton, I swear, if—"

"The bull, sir," Barton said. He scrambled round, causing hay and dust to drift down

through the planks. He dangled from a beam by his hands, dropped, and recovered

himself, dusting vigorously at his trousers.

"The bull?" Trev scowled at him a moment and then remembered. "Oh right—the bull,"

he said with a strong sense of relief. He watched Barton try to dig a straw from inside his

neck cloth. His hand was dirty— completely black about the fingernails, and his clothes

were marked with grimy dark streaks. "Well done, then. Well done, old fellow. At least

something's gone right. Have you been sleeping in some bog? Clean yourself up at the

pump and take the animal over to the Shelford home farm. Say it's to be presented to

Lady Callista Taillefaire, with my compliments."

It was something he could do for her, anyway. He thought of how pleased she would

be, and wished that he could see her face light up when she saw the creature, as he knew

it would. "Try to get the manure out of your ears first," he added.

Barton fidgeted. He'd been grinning like a gargoyle at the praise, but his smile faded at

this. "Present it to a lady?" he said. "I dunno if that's a good idea, sir."

"She'll be excessively pleased, I assure you. She's no common lady. How loud did you

have to squeal for Davenport?"

Jock looked up sharply. Barton's glance slid side ways, an avoidance that caused a

familiar drop in the pit of Trev's stomach.

"Davenport, did you say, sir?" Jock asked. "A Colonel Davenport?"

Trev glanced at his servant. "Aye, do you know of him?"

"Sir, he's the one give me the name of that London doctor. The Antlers sent me over to

his place at Bromyard, thinkin' he'd know somebody in town. A very kind gentleman,

took some of his time out to write me an introduction to the medical man." Jock's voice

held an anxious note. "Sir… sir, he had law books in his study. And a lot of notebooks

and proceedings. I think he might be a justice of the peace."

"A justice?" Trev gazed at him, slowly comprehending. "My justice?"

"Stocky gentleman, sir, with a red complexion and a mole beside his nose?"

Trev groaned. "Oh God. Let that be a lesson to me—first inquire if a fellow's done me

any favors before I punch him in the bread-box. How much did you pay him for the bull,

Barton?" he repeated. "I hope it was a fortune."

"Well, sir," Barton said brightly, "y'know how chancy my luck can be now and then!

That fellow Davenport wouldn't take no price. He weren't kind to
me
, oh nossir. Had me f

lung out the door. He got all heated, he did, sayin' I couldn't pay nothin' he'd take." He

giggled. "And I didn't have to pay nothin', as it happens."

"Barton! Damn you, tell me you didn't—"

"No, sir! Oh no, sir! I didn't steal him. I swear I didn't." He stuffed his hands in his

pockets and leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. "Ol' Tobe an' me just found him on

the road."

Trev closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall. But he had only a

moment to consider whether he would strangle Barton or drown the man. A brusque

halloo came from the direction of the garden gate, a stranger's voice with an edge of

resolve in it.

All three of them looked at one another. Barton lifted his thumb and forefinger in a

familiar sign, pointing toward the hayloft. Trev glanced at Jock and jerked his chin

toward the gate. The manservant gave a curt nod. Without a word, they split company—