Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4) (27 page)

Pablo gasped, in his shock opening his fist slightly. With a jolt, Victoria pulled away.

“Brutus, take him to the front door.” Inexorably, Brutus tugged at Pablo’s breeches whilst Ponzi jumped up and down nipping at the man’s chest.

“You haven’t heard the last from me, Victoria. We are family, you and I. You should meet my son. We could all be very happy together. I’ve left you a wedding present on the desk—”

Pablo ended in a scream as Ponzi managed to take hold with her sharp teeth at a piece of flesh on his thigh. As Brutus dragged him through the doorway, Pablo knocked his head against the doorframe, knocking off his large top hat.

“My hat!” screamed the hapless man. “Give me back my hat.”

Victoria made no move to retrieve it. “I’ve already met your son.” Victoria said dully. “He does a fantastic impersonation of you. You look most alike. Especially when he is stealing young girls from pauper farms.” It all seemed so clear now.

“My son?”

But Victoria didn’t hear the answer. It seemed that most of her body had shut down. A pool of blackness started to coat her vision. She was never going to be rid of it. Bill would never marry her now. She no longer possessed what he wanted, the wealth, the title. Marriage shouldn’t be built on a lie. She’d thought the same when Rosa Fanthorpe had outlined her plan to trap Mr. Cryne. She would not be party to that herself.

Victoria let the beast come. It had no eyes. Hot on its tail came a swarm of others. She screamed as the world closed in.

CHAPTER 26

Freddie narrowed his eyes and put a hand to his side as he let out a howl of laughter.

“I don’t believe it. What is that in your hair? And your skin? You’re browner than a nut and glistening, man. What have you been up to? Where have you been for the last few weeks?”

Bill gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time for Freddie’s histrionics. “I’ve been undercover.”

“Undercover? More like over-baked. Who persuaded you that this was a good look? I mean, I know that you were looking for your place in society but the whole—” Freddie waved his hand up and down—“gypsy look is a new thing even for you.” He twitched at his brocade waist coat and smoothed down his coat of bath superfine.

“Look, move aside, Freddie. I need you to get me my men from Brambridge. I need their help again. And I need a bath.”

“I’ll say.”

“Oh shut up. Pedro Moreno is here, in London, along with his father. They are both up to something.”

“Anglethorpe’s been asking after you, you know.”

Bill swallowed. That was all he needed. “And?”

“As no one’s heard from you in a while they are wondering what you are doing with regards to Pedro. Anglethorpe was a little bit agitated that he had found his sister attending a travelling fair act in the center of London with his wife.”

“Good God. Did he follow them there?”

“No. He was already there to keep an eye out in case Pedro turned up. No one knew where you had gone.”

This was diabolical. Now both Pablo and Pedro would know that there were people watching them. Despite Anglethorpe’s great skills, Pablo Moreno had already rumbled Bill. He couldn’t go back. But he had to find out what Pedro was doing with the girls. He had to protect them and grab the documents Lord Granwich wanted.

“Have you ever heard of the Heracles Club, Freddie?” Bill looked pointedly at Freddie’s feet. He hadn’t even made it in through the door yet. “Come on, let me in, Freddie.”

“You’ll have to go around the back.”

“But I’m your friend.”

“I don’t care if you are my friend. You look sufficiently suspicious that Willson didn’t even recognize you. If people and the staff see an enormous gypsy coming in through the front door then my reputation will be ruined.”

“Good grief.” Bill stomped down the front steps and set off to the coach house at the back of the mansion. In the coach yard, Willson waited with a large towel and a pile of clothing.

“Lord Lassiter wondered if you might like to bathe here, sir?”

“What the?” Bill had been looking forward to hot water and an iron tub complete with scrubbing brush and sponge. “What am I meant to use?”

“I believe that Lord Lassiter suggested that the horse trough was the best place to start. He is a little worried that sir might rub off on some of his antique furniture.”

“His obsession with old junk is becoming ridiculous.”

Willson gave a humph in reply, but stood silently waiting with the towel in his hand. With a roar, Bill dunked his head in the trough. Willson handed him some strongly scented soap.

“I believe that Lord Lassiter requested that you have a thorough wash.”

“For goodness sake.” Bill stripped and, pulling a bucket from the wall, filled and sloshed the contents over his naked body. If only he had been able to do that when Victoria had suggested she kissed him. He would never have done so. His body would have been as cold as ice instead of hotter than the sun.

Scrubbing hard with the soap, he removed all of the oil from his body and hair. Still, even after Willson had handed him the towel and he dried himself, the soft material was stained with a sticky brown.

Willson handed him a shirt and plucked the towel up from the ground with a finger and thumb and dropped it on the rubbish heap.

“Will sir be coming in for some food?” Willson enquired.

“No. I need to go and see someone. Please see to it that messengers are sent to Brambridge Manor at once to get my men to come here please, Willson. It is a matter of life or death.”

“Of course.”

Bill had left Raven back amongst the huddle of tents. He cursed his lack of foresight. He needed a horse now, and Raven would have been ideal. Still, given the time of day, walking the short distance to Upper Brook Street seemed a viable option too.

Carruthers let him into the house but seemed nonplussed as to what to do when Bill requested to see Victoria.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Carruthers said hesitantly. “But she’s not available now.”

“You mean she’s gone out?”

“No, not as such sir. She is just indisposed.”

Bill wanted to jump up and down on the man’s immaculate shoes. “What do you mean indisposed?”

“She won’t see anyone.”

“Tell her Bill is here.”

“I will try, sir.” Slowly Carruthers turned and stomped heavily up the stone stairs. Bill shook his head as the butler slowly turned on the landing and disappeared into the upper hall. He wondered idly where Brutus was. Had Victoria got rid of the dog without telling him? It seemed unlikely. A deep woof at the top of the stairs confirmed that the wolfhound was still in residence. The tip of a big nose appeared, but in a flash disappeared again with the sound of clipping paws.

Bill frowned. Brutus was his dog. He’d had him from when he was a puppy. Surely he would have greeted Bill for a stroke at the very least. Something very fishy was going on. Bill hurried up the steps after the butler, only to collide into him in the hallway.

“Sir, might I ask you to come downstairs again. Lady Colchester has said that she doesn’t want to see you.”

This was no time for the silly girl to play games. Didn’t she know that she was in danger? “Tell her I’ve come with her list.”

Carruthers wrung his hands. “I’m not sure, sir…”

“Just tell her, dammit.”

Carruthers turned on his heel and entered a door down the hall, muttering, “Oh dear, oh dear,” as he walked.

Brutus bounded out of the room as Carruthers opened the door. He put his nose in Bill’s hand and paused momentarily before giving a short woof and bounding back to where he had come from. He paused and glanced back as if to ask Bill to follow him. Bill shrugged his shoulders and walked down the hallway. Carruthers slid out through the door before he had managed three paces.

“This time sir, she said that she doesn’t need to see you anymore.”

“She doesn’t
need
to see me?”

“She was quite clear about her wording.”

“Did you know that I asked her to marry me, Carruthers?”

Carruthers smiled delightedly. “Oh congratulations, sir.” His face fell and he glanced back at the door. “But she…”

Bill nodded grimly. “She asked me to write a list with reasons as to why she should marry me.”

“And this list?”

“Is the one I just referred to. And she’s saying she doesn’t need to see me. So either the answer is a flat no, or she doesn’t need a list any more with which to say yes.”

Both men turned to contemplate the closed door.

“Pardon me if I speak out of turn, Mr. Standish, but on the whole the latter solution does not seem as plausible.” Carruthers wrung his hands again. “Oh dear. Were you perchance meant to return with this list a while ago?”

“Yes, but you know how it is,” Bill let his voice trail off. “She wanted thirteen reasons. I barely managed four.”

“So long as the main reason was on there.” Carruthers nodded, inviting Bill to nod with him. “My young lady says that nothing else matters.”

“Main reason?”

Carruthers had a dreamy look on his face. “Although Isabelle says that sometimes a little bit of passion goes a long way too.”

“Isabelle?”

“My young lady. You ought to know as you might marry Lady Colchester. Isabelle acts as the front for the Colangle Investigation Agency.”

“Colangle Investigation Agency?”

“Mmm yes. Lady Colchester came up with the name. Mixture of Colchester and Anglethorpe. She started it a short while after Lord Colchester died. She has had a number of successes, most notably the Armistead affair.” Carruthers’ voice trailed off as Bill stared at him. “You don’t know of the Armistead affair?” he repeated.

“Everyone knows of the Armistead affair,” Bill said, swallowing. “Lord Armistead faced financial ruin at the hands of an anonymous blackmailer who threatened to give false information to the ton that contained such a minute seed of truth that they would have been believed. Armistead secretly employed someone to find out who it was… it turned out to be his daughter’s fiancé. Armistead has been singing the praises of the investigator high and wide for the last year but won’t reveal who it was he engaged…”

“Hmm. It’s all part of the bargain Lady Colchester strikes with her clients. Secrecy and fees in donations to the poor.” Horror dawned on Carruthers’ face. “You didn’t know about the investigation agency, did you?”

Good God. And Bill had accused her of an empty life and needing a husband. “No,” he said tersely.

Carruthers rubbed his face absently, and examined Bill’s face in great detail. Seeming to make up his mind, he began to talk quickly. “In fact, you ought to know, Mr. Standish, that Lady Colchester had a visit from a Pablo Moreno that has upset her greatly. He is otherwise known as Mr. Durnish or Paul Butterworth. I tried to protect her, but had to remain unobtrusive so I didn’t hear what was said, but Lady Colchester ended up throwing out Mr. Butterworth with Brutus attached to his trousers.”

Moreno had already been here? He mustn’t have bought what Bill had said. Gods but Victoria was in greater danger than he thought.

“Carruthers, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to step round you and see Victoria, whether she doesn’t want or need to see me is another matter.”

“But sir.”

Bill was already walking away. He had told Carruthers a while ago to look after Victoria and it seemed that whilst he had done so to the best of his ability, it wasn’t enough. Opening the door that Brutus had disappeared into, he stopped as the heat and blackness hit him.

A wet nose poked into his hand again. Bill caressed Brutus’ head and blinked as his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light. Glancing round the room, he took in the heavy drapes on the walls, the fire stoked up even though it was a bright summer’s day, and the supine figure on the bed attended to by a small lady he recognized as Chantelle, the French lady’s maid.

“She eez gone again, Carruthers,” the maid said, not looking in his direction. “It’s worse than when Colchester died. She is conscious for less time—at least, she wants to be conscious for less time.”

Bill let go of Brutus and followed him as he padded back to the side of the bed. Brutus laid his head on the coverlet and woofed mournfully.

“What are we going to—Ah! What are you… Mr. Standish?”

“What’s going on, Chantelle? Why is Victoria lying like a corpse on the bed?”

Chantelle shrugged her shoulders. “It’s what she wants.”

“It’s what she wants? It’s hotter than the devil’s forge in here. Is she ill?”

Bill could just see Chantelle’s frown in the darkness. “In some ways yes, in some ways no,” the maid said uncertainly. “It started after that visit from Pablo Moreno.”

“She caught a cold from him?”

“No, sir, this is no cold.”

“Who’s there?” Victoria sat upright on the bed, startling Bill and Chantelle. Her eyes gazed like two beacons in the darkness.

“It’s me,” Bill said soothingly. “I’m here, everything is going to be alright.”

“It can’t be. It won’t be. Never again. The blackness will come. It will take me. I don’t want to see him, I can’t. It’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible, Victoria?” Bill moved to take her hand but Chantelle stopped him with a gentle tap.

“I can’t marry him. He, he, he—” Victoria began to weep, long stuttering sobs. “Chantelle, tell him to go away. I won’t have him see me like this.”

Bill shook his head. “This is not right. There is something else going on here and it is not just me. I know it.” He clenched his fist. Moving swiftly to the windows, he pulled hard at the drapes, ripping them from the rails with swift strokes. Sunlight streamed into the room. He hauled at the sash windows, pushing them upwards so that they let in the maximum amount of air.

He turned to see Chantelle standing, her mouth agape, at the foot of the bed. “Don’t just stand there. Put the fire out. It’s a summer’s day. The silly woman is cooking herself. God knows where she got the idea that this would make her feel better. What she needs is a cool breeze and a dose of common sense.”

Chantelle nodded and pulled the logs in the fire apart, separating the flames. Bill stalked back to the bed and eyed the thin form lying against the pillows.