Some Enchanted Waltz (47 page)

“Sheriff Burke.” Tara closed her eyes. That one brought nothing good with him.

Dan patted her on the back and took Tara’s elbow, guiding her toward the stairs. “Too late for second thoughts and regrets. The show’s about to start.”

After exchanged pleasantries, Burke took the brandy Dan offered him and settled down to business. “And how is our Lord Dillon faring? I heard the news as soon as I arrived in Dublin. I must say I was surprised, and a trifle confused.”

Tara forced a smile. “Why would his being shot by a rebel confuse you?”

“I find it hard to believe his co-conspirators would choose to assassinate him, as was the story given in the papers. We both know better than that.”

“Do we?” Tara was careful to keep her tone light.  “I was present at the shooting. I heard what Mr. O’Reilly said to my husband before he shot him. Does that clarify things for you?”

“You are his wife. It’s expected that you would protect him, lie for him if need be.”

Tara gave him a scandalized look. “Really, Sheriff. I’m shocked. Adrian considers you a personal friend, and yet you would slander him so openly?”

“
Friend.
” The Sheriff sneered. “What kind of friend breaks off his engagement to a friend’s daughter by marrying another in secret then presenting her to society as Lady Dillon? He was to marry my Elmira, before you appeared on the scene.”

“I met your daughter at Lord Bantry’s Ball. She was quite amiable toward me, Sheriff, offering her best wishes on my recent marriage, not at all angry or spiteful, as one would expect a woman to behave when first laying eyes on the bride of the man who jilted her. I also had the pleasure of meeting a certain Lieutenant who fancies Elmira. I danced with him and he informed me of their mutual affection, of their plans to marry and of your continual refusal to give them your blessing.”

As she hoped, the mention of Elmira’s choice in a mate stilled his devious tongue.

Tara sighed, turned the handkerchief in her lap over thoughtfully before continuing. “It would appear, sir, your desire for Elmira to marry my husband was mere conjecture. After speaking with Elmira it was made clear to me; neither Lord Dillon nor your daughter had any intention of entering into a marriage agreement. Both had their hearts secured elsewhere. It was solely your desire for my husband and Elmira to become engaged, a desire, I might remind you, was never agreed to or made official.”

“Damnation.” The Sheriff spat, spraying himself with the quaff of brandy he had just taken. Dan offered him a handkerchief while Tara tried to hide her amusement. He wiped his face and his hands, and then gave Tara a menacing look. “’Tis a fine thing to throw that up in my face. The girl was so crushed by Dillon’s shabby treatment of her she ran off with that idiot Lieutenant. And worse for it, your husband is the one who gave her a dowry and money for a new start in America. See, it’s all right here.” He waved a folded parchment quickly about, not pausing long enough for them to actually read it. “She left this note for me. A fine way to show her gratitude to a father who wanted only the best for her. Just good-bye--no forwarding address--nothing.”

Tara and Dan exchanged a worried glance. It was clear Burke wanted to avenge himself upon the Dillon family, blaming them for his own misfortunes.

“Another brandy, Burke, you look to need it.” Dan offered, filling his glass.

The squat man inhaled a generous portion, cradling it in his hands as he looked at Tara with sharp, assessing eyes. “Now, I’ll make this simple. I want five thousand pounds, and the name of the ship Lord Dillon placed my daughter on and its destination, or I go to the authorities with the news that Dillon is none other than Captain Midnight.”

“Who would believe you?”  Dan returned. “Dillon is a member of the peerage, a loyal subject. His cousin’s subversive activities are not his concern.”

“Lord Edward Fitzgerald is a member of the peerage. You don’t see his family influence protecting him, do you? And just for the record, Quentin Hardwicke is well and truly dead these past three years. And his ghost lives on, in the form of his cousin, Lord Dillon. Oh, I’ve watched your husband, my lady, since the mantle of leadership fell to him after Hardwicke’s unfortunate demise.”

“No one knows for sure if Quentin is really dead, even Lady Fiona, Quentin’s aunt, is uncertain.” Tara rose, her face hot. “Now get out, you bloodsucking leech.”

“I’m certain, Madame. Who do you suppose poisoned the bastard?”

Tara gasped and stared at him with horror.

“Aye. ‘T’was me, my lady.” Burke admitted with pride. “I gave him the poison and watched him die.”

Burke left them to digest that disturbing morsel. He promised to return within five days time to collect his payment. As Tara sat in stunned silence, Dan threw the brandy decanter into the fireplace.

“We have one option.” Dan informed her. “I’ll kill the weasel when he returns.”

“No, there has to be another way.” Tara protested. Murder, cold blooded, premeditated murder--even in this circumstance--was out of the question.

“I’ll hide, you distract him, I’ll bonk him over the head and we’ll put him in a bag I’ll throw him in the river. Done deal.” Dan said in a chillingly calm tone.

“No. That’s disgusting. Burke wants to find his daughter. He clearly intends to leave Ireland in search of her. Why else would he want so much money?”

“I pity the girl. We’d be doing her a good turn. Besides, where are you and I going to come up with five thousand pounds? It’s not like we can just walk into the bank and withdraw all of Adrian’s funds, if he even has that much ready cash.” Dan sat down beside her with defeat and frustration on his features. “I got the impression his assets were tied up, in sheep.”

“I’m sure he has money in the bank. He owns a Castle and all the land surrounding it from the sea as far inland as Glengarriff. He owns a townhouse in Cork as well as this one in Dublin. Who knows what other properties he has? We should be able to come up with something--Oh, God.” Tara gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “I forgot about Edward. He’s still in the pantry.”

“Get rid of him, now. We can’t afford to harbor him here.”

“I have an idea!” Tara’s heart lightened, just a tiny bit. She smiled in spite of herself, unable to prevent it. “
The Birdcage
!”

“What?” Dan thundered, looking at her as if she’d just gone round the bend.  

“It’s simple. Edward can shave his sideburns and Lady Fiona should have something that would fit him. Widow’s weeds are very concealing. We can smuggle him out of here just like Robin Williams and Nathan Lane did the Senator in
The Birdcage
.”

Dan nearly choked on his brandy. “You mean to dress him in drag?”

Chapter Thirty Five

Lord Edward’s reaction to Tara’s plan had been more volatile than she expected.

Tara demanded that if he were to stay under her roof he would become the Honorable Mrs. Lane, Tara’s widowed aunt who was visiting her from England, or be tossed out on his ass in the street to fend for himself.

Tara had given him instruction in how to simper and look helpless. She apologized for not knowing all the intricate meanings of the fan, a lady’s essential accessory for important social outings as it conveyed secret meanings with every flap and shake. Edward merely smiled and assured her he knew the language of the fan very well. Dan helped by sternly making the man practice being a woman in his presence until it became second nature for Edward to move and speak as a woman. He became adept at flirting, having practiced in recent days on Dan, Dr. Magnus and the unwitting Constable O’Rourke. It worked like magic, creating an aura of feminine mystique on the men around them just as it did for Nathan Lane in the late twentieth century.

Thus, a very attractive looking Lord Edward was ensconced in the parlor on Merrion Square when Burke returned. Edward’s face was clean shaven, powdered and rouged. His short, dark hair had been curled in the latest fashion beneath the stylish lace cap and his big hands were concealed by lace fingerless gloves and bejeweled with rings so as to make them appear more feminine. Lady Fiona’s black mourning weeds with the high neckline and a thick woolen shawl about Edward’s shoulders did the trick nicely, transforming his masculine form into layers of feminine taffeta and lace.

As it turned out, their student was a natural born actor. Nathan Lane would be proud. Sheriff Burke seemed to have taken a fancy to the tall, large boned woman sitting demurely in the Dillon’s parlor.

“Mrs. Lane. I was sailing to America to visit my daughter within the next week.” Burke preened before him, oozing charm at Edward. “Still, I could be persuaded to delay my voyage for a few days so we might further our acquaintance, my dear lady.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, Sir.” Edward demurred in a falsetto voice as he gave Burke a sultry gaze from above his fan. “You make my poor little heart flutter like a butterfly against the windowpane. Why Tara, here, has been after me to shed my mourning garb and re-emerge into society this past age.” Edward made cow eyes at Burke and worked the fan in his hand like said insect. “I must say, today I’m sorely tempted to shed my sad cocoon and don the gay colors of springtime again. Lavender, rose . . .” He sighed dramatically and gazed off into the distance with an aura of deep longing.

Burke was entranced. “Er--yes--Rose would suit your dark hair very well.” He coughed into his hand. “How long has Mr. Lane been passed on, my dear?”

“Ten years, this winter.” Edward exclaimed in his high pitched falsetto voice. “It was most tragic . . . a hunting accident.” He even managed a gleam of tears in his eyes and a warble in his throat as he pressed his palm to his chest. “Christmas Eve  . . . ‘tis ruined the holiday for me forever.”

“He was hunting at night?” Burke asked, surprised.

“Heaven’s no.” Edward responded, not skipping a beat. “It was during the day, we had guests at the Hall, and he and the men were out hunting . . . Oh!” He gasped with high pitched feminine emotion. “It was horrible, they brought him to me, covered in blood . . .”

“Now, Aunt Lane.” Tara chided. “You shouldn’t work yourself up so. Uncle Nathan wouldn’t want you to torment yourself so.”

Dan kept the brandy flowing free during Burke’s visit. The sheriff was too cautious to make further demands on them in the company of Mrs. Lane, so Edward’s presence served to deflect the sheriff’s threats of blackmail for a time.

“Yes, yes, your niece is correct. Don’t trouble yourself over such foul memories, dear lady. You must pursue happier ones. And where might I call on you, Mrs. Lane?” The wily Sheriff took Edward’s gloved hand in his own, lifting it to his lips with a decadent smile. It was obvious he believed he had met another prospect in his all consuming quest for wealth, a rich, lonely widow.

“Number Twenty-four Pembrooke Street, Sir.” Edward giggled. He snapped the fan shut and tapped Burke lightly on the hand. “The rose, truly?” Edward asked with just the right amount of feminine vulnerability and uncertainty. “Do you think rose suits me?”

“I do. I look forward to seeing you in colors again. Well, look at the time. I must be taking my leave, Mrs. Lane, Madame,” Burke nodded to Lady Fiona, who ignored the gathering by giving her attentions to her needlework with a tight-lipped scowl.

“And My Lady Dillon.” Burke continued. “I realize you may need more time to recover the information I requested, with Lord Dillon so ill. I will return at the same time next week. Good Day.”  His eyes turned brutal as he held Tara’s gaze. “I would be devastated if my old friend should slip into a decline. I have great expectations for him.”

As the grasping man made his retreat, Lord Edward fidgeted with his lace glove. When Burke was gone, Lady Fiona threw her handiwork to the floor with a potent hiss. “I should like it very much if you took yourself off now. Seven days of harboring a fugitive, seeing him make a fool of himself with this ridiculous ruse is more than I can stomach.”

“You are most gracious, Lady Fiona.” Edward replied, in his normal voice. “I intend to leave tonight, after midnight. I must say, Tara, your idea is clever. They'll never be looking for a lord beneath a widow’s skirts.”

“
Lord
?  Lord of what? Don’t toss that counterfeit title at me, young man, you’ve endangered us more than enough. Everyone knows a younger brother to a duke is given the title of lord as a courtesy, nothing more.” With that, Lady Fiona left them.

A knock on the front door brought them all up short. Within moments, the indomitable Chatham stepped in to announce the Duke of Leinster, Lord Edward’s older brother had come to call. A sharp intake of breath came from the corner of the room while the drag queen Edward snatched up the newspaper and turned his back to the door and their impending visitor.

“Lady Fiona. I was not aware you were also in residence at Merrion Square.” The Duke bowed to his younger brother, mistaking him for Fiona Dillon as he wore her mourning clothing and had his face hidden by the newspaper. A short huff was Edward’s only acknowledgment of his brother’s greeting.

“Excuse her, your grace, she’s quite distraught over my husband’s injury.” Tara distracted the duke. “To what might we consider ourselves so favored by your visit?”

“Two errands, Lady Dillon. First, the business of my younger brother, Edward. I beg you, Madame, if you have any contact with him or know of his place of residence, that you give him a message from me.”