Peregrine's Prize (3 page)

"Then I'll make arrangements for you,"
Martin said and left the room. "By the way, we still have no further
notice of who sent the letters that threatened you and your…" He hesitated.
"The other person." Why in the confines of the study Martin felt he
needed to be so circumspect Peregrine wasn’t sure, but as the saying walls have
ears was one oft repeated in the Home Office, Perry couldn't fault the man's
care. Nor for the first time he thanked the urge he gave into. To confide in
Martin when the worrying epistle arrived. Short and stark it said only five
words. 'You, her, the cottage, beware'.

Perry nodded his thanks because he knew Martin would
check that all was as well organized and as safe as possible. Now, with Harry
and Martin in Scotland the immediate threat to them disappeared; nevertheless it
wasn't over. Not until they caught the ringleader.

If a visit to Marsh Hall
helps in that quest, it will be a worthy visit, especially if I can combine it
with a chance to break my self-inflicted dry spell.
Perry vowed he would remain celibate,
until he lived with Maggie again. Just the thought of her made his cock perk up
and his body tingle. He could only hope he wouldn't go off prematurely when he
finally feasted on her body. The thought spurred him on.

****

However even as he set his horse toward the Great North
Road, he still discerned a niggle of doubt in his mind. In theory everything
appeared well. Harry and Martin had been sent to Scotland for their safety, and
Perry himself thought closer the unmasking of the mastermind who sold secrets
to the French than ever before. So why did he have an uncomfortable itch
between his shoulder blades? In his job he learned never to ignore that itch.

"Dye?" he turned to the man who rode
alongside him. "I have the itch."

 
Dye's eyes
widened. Perry knew Dye believed in things like 'the itch' could, and had saved
many a life. "You want me to scout?"

"I think we both keep our eyes and ears open.
There is no reason to believe anything untoward should happen, but…"

Dyson Paget nodded. "Aye, but. I'll drop back a
while and we'll meet up at The Drovers for food? Then onto The Pike? I have two
rooms made ready for us to spend the night there. We'll get to Nash's mid
afternoon tomorrow then."

"Good idea."

Dye served on the continent before he moved to the
secret side of Peregrine's work and became not only his—to all intents and
other people's purposes—groom.
 
Perry
preferred to call Dye his other set of senses. Dye, younger son of a noble
family, hated his father and stepmother, and embraced Peregrine and his ideals
as any honorable man would. On more than one occasion he proved invaluable in
ensuring Peregrine's safe welfare, and was probably the only person who knew
where Perry's affections lay. Perry thought for a moment.

 
"I'll go
via the heath and check the cottage. It won't add but a mile or two, and I
haven't been out for a while." In many ways it was too painful to revisit
the place where he had been able to relax, and be with the one person
guaranteed to help him do just that. He considered his statement. "The itch
doesn't suggest I should not." It was strange how this aberration worked
but he and Dye trusted it implicitly.

Now Dye wheeled his horse away, and went back on the
direction from where they started their journey. Perry ran over their journey
in his head. Dye could take a different route and not increase the length of
his journey by much. With one eye on the road, and the rest of his attention on
the surrounding countryside Peregrine cantered on. Any attack wasn't liable to
occur here, even though the heath could be dangerous. Peregrine knew too much
about the area to be taken in. His own cottage wasn't too far away. The one he
realized with a jolt, he had no opportunity to use for many a month. In fact
the last people to occupy it were Harold and Martin, before their stupidity made
it necessary to remove from the area and make their way northward.

Even after he'd called in at Victory Cottage, and
checked all appeared well, if not a little dusty, the itch remained, annoying
him and keeping him on edge, but not showing anything imminent. It reassured
him how the intensity changed with the degree of danger. Perry had no idea if
this was normal, but was ever thankful for the way it seemed to work.

For the next few hours until he turned into the yard
of a coaching inn in the pretty market town of St Albans, he kept half an eye
on the road and the rest of his mind on how and when he could plunge inside
Maggie and stay there.

There was no sign of Dye and he wondered if maybe it
had been foolish to separate? For if an ambush had been forthcoming who knew if
they would have been close enough to watch each other's backs? Somehow he
thought they would have been, but....
However Dye wasn't likely to be far away, just unseen. Peregrine decided he'd
wait for Dye here, at The Drovers, break his fast, and decide what to do next.

As the ostlers came out to attend to his horse, they
were followed by Bacon, the Innkeeper. Rotund, jolly, and not at all living up
to his nickname of Streak, he knew Peregrine from his frequent visits over the years,
and his propensity for using his eyes and ears to aid and abet his country.

"My Lord Corby." He bowed. "It's good
to see you. I have a parlor waiting." He stared and Peregrine saw a
message in the expression.

Perry held his hand out to shake that of the
Innkeeper and palmed the paper passed to him. "Good to see you as well,
Bacon. I'm famished. I hope Mrs. Bacon has some of her turkey and ham
pie." He walked inside the long whitewashed building and let the Innkeeper
follow him toward the parlor he usually bespoke. "Mr. Paget isn't far
behind me."

"Mr. Paget is here," a weak voice said
from within the parlor. "Bowed, bloodied but not beaten. Well, not in the
battle sense of the word."

Chapter
Two

Margaret Whittering hummed under her breath as she
finished checking off the linens. Nash Gretton was an easy master to work for; indeed
he, along with his wife,
were
perhaps the only two
people, apart from his eldest brother, who knew why she worked as a housekeeper
in the rural domesticity of Rutland. It took all her powers of persuasion to get
Perry to agree to let Nash and Felicity know the whole story of why she was
there. Felicity was her cousin, and Nash Perry's brother, so as far as Maggie
was concerned if they weren't to be trusted who could she have faith in?
Eventually, Perry acquiesced. Even so, the vicar wasn't privy to the necessary information
to enable him to understand why Maggie begged for his help to procure her the
position. If you asked him, he would say he got Maggie the job as she'd fallen
on hard times. She spared a moment's thought for Frederick Lennon, her distant cousin,
and vicar to the parish. No relation to Felicity, thankfully, the poor man still
had no idea just how they duped him into helping Maggie. It had been imperative
to move her from their home before she could be used as a lever against her
lover, and to be Nash's housekeeper seemed the perfect disguise. If Frederick
had not been complaisant who knows what Peregrine would have done. Replaced him
with one of his men? Maggie was glad it hadn't been necessary.

"Hidden in plain sight," Perry said.
"Even if someone thought they recognized you they would think you merely similar
to Margaret Lowther. It is the perfect hideaway."

As everyone now knew her as Whittering, Maggie hoped
he was correct.

 
Maggie chuckled
as she looked at the piles of clean and fresh smelling linens, locked the cupboard,
and made her way to the room set aside for the housekeeper. Whoever would have
thought the sight of shelf upon shelf of sheets, tablecloths and serviettes, all
with the scent of lavender upon them could be so satisfying. Perhaps she desired
to be a homemaker at heart.

When she entered her own domain, Maggie looked
around her with a happy sigh. If she couldn't be with Perry in their own home,
this surely became the next best thing? Nash gave her a spacious and pleasant
room, with elegant furnishings, and an adjacent bathing chamber. What made her even
happier was that Mrs. Dagwood, his previous housekeeper, lived in the lodge
with her husband, the head groundsman, and therefore there hadn't been a precedent
for where the housekeeper should be housed. Once she was ensconced, no member
of Nash's household felt the need to comment. He was after all a generous
employer, and none occupied tiny or uncomfortable lodgings.

Her room looked out onto a tiny walled garden, where
she had been pleased to see autumn roses and herbs mingling with cabbages and a
few straggly runner beans. That was many months ago. None of them thought her sojourn
would have been half as long. Sadly, as Nash recounted to her the previous
week, Peregrine was no nearer to finding out who orchestrated the passing of
secrets, than when Mortimer Gravesend had been killed months before.

Maggie glanced out of her window at the damp muddy
early spring garden. It looked sad and neglected as only a garden could, after
a long miserable winter. Joe the gardener said only the day before, he expected
a fair few more frosts before any veg could be planted. Maggie wondered if she'd
see Peregrine before that date. Her toys, lovingly given to her by him, were in
danger of wearing out due to over use.

A tap on her door broke her reverie, and she turned
her back on the sad looking garden to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Maggie, it's Nash. May I come in?" Nash
was the last person she expected to hear. In answer she opened the door to see
her temporary employer leaning on the door jamb. His face was somber. The look
made her heart stop, and her throat closed up in a convulsive movement that
made her feel sick.

"What? Oh no not Perry, has something happened
to him?" In her agitation, Maggie grasped Nash's shoulder and shook him. She
didn't even notice, but stared at his face. Her heart began to beat again,
albeit erratically, and a sharp stab of fear raced up her spine.

"No, no, nothing like that, Maggie. Lord, I'm
sorry. Felicity warned me you'd think that." His face creased with concern
as he made haste to reassure her.

 
"And he,
in his all male I know best posture ignored me." Felicity, Nash's wife,
and Maggie's cousin walked swiftly into the room. "Heavens, Nash,"
she said fond exasperation evident in her voice, "did I not ask you to wait
for me? I was detained but one second by your blighted puppies standing on my
gown, and in that short time you managed to alarm her." One of the puppies
slid across the wooden floor outside the open door and rolled over to land at
Maggie's feet. She picked him up, and held him close to get comfort from his
warm wriggling body, and rough tongue as it licked her cheek.

"Stop that Agar," Felicity held her arms
out for him, but Maggie shook her head. "He's fine, is Perry?"

Felicity rolled her eyes. "That pup is
spoiled." She hugged Maggie as best she could, with the excited puppy
between them. "Be calm, Perry is fine. But we do have news and alarming as
some of it may be, I rather think the solution we have come up with for one of
our problems will appeal to you."

If anything Maggie felt more confused than ever. The
shiver that hit her wasn't exactly one of fear, but neither was it one of
excitement. Felicity raised an eyebrow at the movement.

"A goose walked over my grave. Not very
pleasant, but nothing too alarming." Maggie explained.

Felicity nodded. "Horrid though."

"Ring for tea in the upper study, and we'll
explain." Nash suggested. "Ladies, if you spoil that pup any more it
won't be any use for anything. In fact it probably isn't now. Do you not think
I haven't noticed how he sneaks in here at every opportunity?"

Maggie laughed and nuzzled the dog. "He helps
me stay sane." She ignored the sympathetic look that passed between
husband and wife.

"Then he's yours. He's been inside so much
because he's no interest or inclination to follow the scent. Now shall we
adjourn?" Nash said, as he ignored her gasp of thanks. "It will be
comfortable, and conventional. There may be a lot of leeway in this house, but
perhaps not to the extent of the three of us sitting in your bedchamber taking
tea, Agar as a chaperone or not. And, pretty though your sitting room is, I'd
feel happier in the study."

Maggie nodded. "You two go up, I'll bring the
tea." The servants all seemed to accept she was slightly different, but
Maggie decided she preferred not to look, or act above such things. Nash opened
his mouth as if he was about to protest, but Felicity elbowed him, nodded and
drew her husband through the door.

"Five minutes." Nash warned, with a narrow
eyed look.

"Ten," Felicity said with a smile. "Let
Maggie settle Agar, and give the tea time to steep, and find some of the parkin
you so like." She winked at Maggie as she led Nash away.

Maggie smiled at their retreating backs. They truly
kept her from screaming on many an occasion. The Manor household was a friendly
happy place. The love between Nash and Felicity was evident for all to see, and
the lack of formality around them made each and every servant glad to be in
their employ. Even, Maggie thought with a grin, Andre the very temperamental chef.
He finally seemed to accept he was not going to be lucky in love with Harold,
Nash's brother, and returned to cooking superb food. Whilst in the throes of
his unrequited love, the inedible meals he produced caused Nash to eventually
make an arrangement with the local Inn. To supply three meals a day to the manor.