Quiet Meg (28 page)

“Then who would protect you, Miss Meg? In any case you
would wish to be with Chas. I cannot order you, ma’am, if
you are determined. But I do wish you would take my recommendation. If you cannot bear to stay in town here with
Grandmere, you must consider removing to Braughton. Or
go home”

“Home? Do you mean to Brookslea?”

Hayden looked as though he might smile.

“I must tell that to Chas. He will rally instantly. But
no-I meant to Selbourne, with your brother, as you had
originally intended. I understand that was your plan only
yesterday, so your preparations must be advanced. Is that
not so?”

Meg nodded, while looking down.

“Chas asked me to keep you away,” Hayden repeated.
“‘Twas his wish.”
“

At that she looked straight into those sharp blue eyes.

I must know the nature of this threat my lord. You suggest that Mulmgren might attempt … to make further mischief. Will you not tell me why?”

“I will not be indiscreet, Miss Meg. You are your father’s
daughter.”

“But I am not a barrister,” she countered softly, holding
his gaze. “And I am your cousin’s wife.”

She noticed when his gaze conceded the claim. His sigh
was resigned.

“Chas does not yet know this,” he said. “We have not told
him. But David and I were convinced Sutcliffe and Mulmgren were not to be trusted. On the way to Wimbledon, as
Chas was sleeping, we primed and loaded David’s pistol. He
was to act a bit foxed, but be prepared to shoot should anything untoward occur. Unfortunately-though my brother
is a competent actor, Miss Meg-he could not disguise his
sidearm, and Sutcliffe objected. I had to take it. We tried
to dissemble, to feign an oversight, such that they would
believe I had no thought to fire it. Mulmgren must have
forgotten watchin’ me deal left-handed at whist .. ” Hay den looked as though the inattention puzzled him. “Sutcliffe fired before times as, no doubt, you and Sir Eustace
suspect. He hit Chas in the shoulder. When Chas took his
turn at Sutcliffe, Mulmgren was raising his pistol. And he
and I fired at the same time.”

“Then you-did not fire at Sutcliffe?”

He shook his head.

“No. Chas’s ball killed Sutcliffe. Unmistakably. I fired
only to stop Mulmgren.” He shrugged. “‘Tis always possible Chas’s aim was off, that without Mulmgren’s interference Chas would have missed. If so,” and Hayden smiled
coldly, “Sutcliffe managed to defeat himself.”

“But Mulmgren?” Meg asked.

“I know I struck him, but I cannot know the extent. I
should have done better.” Meg suspected Hayden rarely
came so close to an apology. “Naturally enough, Chas had
all our attention-Mulmgren’s shot knocked him to the
ground. And Mulmgren’s carriage quickly left the field.
We rushed Chas to the doctor’s and I returned here at once
to see you. But now I must try to locate Mulmgren. I fear an
injury will only encourage him. He is most unsound, Miss
Meg. We have heard tell of practices on the Continent that
would strike no one as civilized.”

The comment caused her to shiver. And she knew it was
in the nature of a warning. But she had every intention of
avoiding Mulmgren.

“Cabot, is he ..

“As I described. And heavily dosed with laudanum.
Were you to travel to see him, you would not even find him
awake. Or if so, he would insist that you leave. He was
most adamant. It is a great testament to his strength, Miss Meg, that he would sacrifice your presence. Will you not
draw some confidence from that?”

Meg swallowed.

“I shouldn’t wish to create a greater difficulty, than
you-and he-must confront already.” She could feel his
detachment, and strove to sway him. “I will wait, because
you ask it, because he wishes it, though it is certainly not
what I choose. But you should know-” She stopped, then
said urgently, “My lord, I have lived with threats from Sutcliffe and Mulmgren for some time. You and the major
should be aware that I believe Mulmgren will choose to
come for me and for Bertie, whether we are here in town or
out at Selbourne. I cannot explain why I think it. It is as
though he has been trained to the scent. Like the vicious
hound that he is. You see how he has acted so far. With his
master dead, he will be ruthless in his spite. What you say
convinces me-that Cabot would be in more danger were I
to go to him.”

Hayden frowned.

“If this is true, I am miscalculating.”

Meg shook her head.

“‘Tis but a feeling after all, an instinct. If you hunt for
Mulmgren, he will be robbed of time to plan. And ‘tis clear
that the major is best capable of seeing to Cabot’s needsin this-difficult situation.” It was hard for her to admit.

“Perhaps,” Hayden said abruptly, “I must contrive something else.”

“My lord, if Mulmgren is injured, he will not be pursuing us just yet. We shall let him believe us still in town, but
Bertie and I will leave for Selbourne by dawn tomorrow.
And then, should he try us-oh, woe unto him!” The strain of the past day, of being parted from Cabot, and in such uncertain circumstances, seemed strange reward for what he
had accomplished. Her heart still wished to go to him.

“I shall tell Chas and David what you’ve told me,” Hayden said. “Clearly you must take care, wherever you are. I
shall be in touch with your brother. But be assured I shall
make every effort to locate and keep Mulmgren on leash.”

“I-I thank you, my lord.” She could sense then his desire to leave; she was conscious of noises from the street
beyond the door and the sound of conversation from the
breakfast room behind them. But rather than permitting
him to go, Meg held him back a moment longer. He was
her last tie to his cousin, perhaps for some time, perhaps
forever. She raised damp eyes to his direct gaze. “If you
would-please tell him that I love him,” she said simply.
And the Marquis of Hayden bowed deeply as she turned
back into the hall.

The late June day had been too hot. As a lowering sun
baked every surface-soil, silk and skin, Meg sat in shaded
stillness, contemplating Selbourne’s stone and lofty chimneys, shimmering in the distant heat haze. Atop the knoll
that she would now forever consider Cabot’s, she remained
motionless-like a small basking creature that had no
thought to move again. Paloma, cropping the grass nearby,
objected to the attentions of a fly with the toss of her head
and mane and the metallic jingle of her bridle.

After a survey of the park with Meg, Bertie had ridden
across to speak briefly with the Wemblys, who had opened
up Havingsham Hall just the week before. But since returning home, Meg had been disinclined to pay calls on
their neighbors. She had begged off visiting that afternoon, telling Bertie that she would not go socializing in
her riding breeches. In truth she was embarrassed to have
so little word of her new husband, which was what kindly Mr. Wembly would solicit. And the subject of her precipitous marriage made Walter too obviously unhappy.

Mimicking Paloma, Meg plucked out a long blade of
grass and nibbled one end.

At least on this Sunday Selbourne was blessedly quiet.
The few workmen remaining for the summer had the day to
themselves. Most of the major projects had been completed; the foreman had taken himself off to provide some
guidance to Cabot’s other commitments. But Cabot …

The latest note from Lord Hayden to Bertie had claimed
Cabot was mending rapidly, daily. Through Hayden, Cabot
had conveyed his concern for her, but she had nothing in
his hand. She longed for a word, for the most meager acknowledgment. She feared Cabot had not believed her
message-and each day of silence increased her fear to repeat it. Perhaps she had mistaken his commitment. Yet he
had ventured all. He had shown her. Indeed, she felt she
now owed him the greater effort at fond expression.

Hayden anticipated Cabot’s removal to town shortly. For
days Meg had lived in a state of readiness, prepared to
travel swiftly at Hayden’s notice. The rest of the world, she
thought with some envy, had been descending on London,
celebrating Bonaparte’s abdication. Why should she not
join the jubilant throng? Her father and Lucy had remained
at Aunt Pru’s, sampling the festivities of the peace, expecting her arrival any day. Meg had hoped she might hear that
very morning, but no, nothing had come, except the sunlight and oppressive heat.

At least Lucy was happy these days, since her father and
the Wemblys had consented to an understanding. In open
adoration, Lucy was convinced “her” Harry would become a bishop-as indeed everyone else was convinced Harry
would become a bishop. But first poor Harry had to finish
his studies, and then, perhaps, next June …

Meg fingered Cabot’s wedding ring. She would like to
be a bride herself-someday. She had spent too many
weeks thankful not to be a widow.

She and Bertie had seen nothing of Mulmgren or any
other strangers, though men had been posted to watch regularly about Selbourne. They had wondered whether Hayden’s shot had injured the baron more than supposed. Only
once had Hayden referred to Mulmgren, claiming that
he was known to be in town, but Hayden had made no further mention of Mulmgren’s injury, nor of the necessity to
find him.

Meg’s gaze strayed idly toward the river. A coach moved
along the road in the distance, and slowed at the end of Selbourne’s drive. On any given Sunday people took outings
along the river-they would often stop to view the splendid beeches beyond the gates. Just that morning at church,
one of Bertie’s acquaintances had commented that Selbourne was looking “prime”, and hadn’t they had a great
deal done to the place? Bertie had enthused over Cabot,
while Meg had stood glumly by.

Perhaps she would have to leave for Aunt Pru’s that
week; she could not bear to stay so distressingly safe here
in the country.

She impatiently dismissed contemplation of the coach
and its imagined, gawking occupants. Her attention focused closer to the knoll. There was movement in the trees
at the bottom of the slope. Even as she watched, a horse and rider appeared from the shadows, and started to climb
slowly up the path.

Meg had thought at first it was Bertie, taking the easier
route uphill to join her. But closer consideration proved her
wrong. Though the horse was dark, it was not Bertie’s Sam.
And the shape-she knew the shape of the rider.

She stiffened and glanced toward Paloma. Mulmgren
must have spotted and recognized the mare from below.
Meg doubted he could have seen her as well, not where she
was sitting hidden in the shade. But he would know she was
there.

At once she was on her feet, debating her route as she
walked casually toward Paloma. She could not flee straight
down toward Mulmgren, no matter the element of surprise,
for she suspected he would be armed. And jumping the
hedges toward the Wemblys would only risk leading Mulmgren straight to Bertie. Mulmgren would gleefully shoot
her brother on sight.

That left the remaining choice, the only choice, which
was to head down the wooded slope behind her toward the
lake. This afternoon she was luckily riding astride. As Meg
caught up the reins, she made an effort to appear unaware of
Mulmgren’s presence. Yet even in her tension she thought it
ironic, that Mulmgren should trouble to follow Cabot’s path
to the knoll, when he might have come directly up to intercept her. Now she would not give him the chance.

Turning the mare she headed north at a walk, just to the
point that she knew Mulmgren, still below grade, could no
longer see her. Then she kneed Paloma to a startled charge
directly downhill.

They did not follow Cabot’s woodland trail, but crashed
through the thickets of rhododendron and laurel. Meg was
grateful for Paloma’s trust, glad that the mare did not hesitate to careen at such a breakneck pace, down a hazardous
incline and through the obscuring foliage.

Meg hoped Mulmgren would be too late to note her
path, or that he would hesitate to set upon the steep slope to
reach her. If he tore along on the trail he would be behind
her by a half a minute or so-and that, she reasoned, was
all she would need.

She had almost reached the bottom of the hill when
she heard Mulmgren’s horse neigh furiously from above.
Mulmgren must have attempted, unsuccessfully, to goad his
mount down the direct descent. Even as Meg turned Paloma
to the left, out of the woods and toward open ground and the
house, the rapid drumming of hooves on the trail echoed behind her.

“Precious Paloma,” Meg called to the mare, “You must
trust me once more.” And if it were possible Paloma ran
faster.

Between the knoll and the long rise to the house, Cabot’s
team and the estate gardeners had worked for months on
what Cabot termed the “terracing” Central to these efforts,
and running at least half a mile in front of the knoll and the
lawns at the perimeter of the house, the ha-ha had served as
a sunken road for the heavy dredging carts during the expansion and improvements to the lake. The trench could
now be crossed at either end on turf-topped bridges, but for
most of its length it posed a barrier to man and beast alike.
The ha-ha had been masterfully designed, for it served its
purpose admirably-keeping the lawns from the less culti vated pasture of rough grasses near the lake and knoll without breaking the sweeping view from the house. Indeed,
the trough was essential to the illusion of open space and
distance Cabot had attained on the whole eastern side of
the property.