The Man in the Green Coat (21 page)

Flooded with remorse, he saw the red mark on her forehead, already beginning to swell. He jumped to his feet and strode towards her.

“Come and sit down! You are pale as a ghost!”

“So are you,” she responded with an attempt at a smile. Then she caught sight of the blossoming red on his shoulder. “Oh, you are hurt! I thought he had missed you. Luke, it is you that must sit down!”

She got him to a chair just as he swooned again.

Baxter was first on the scene. He found Gabrielle trying to staunch the bleeding with a strip torn off her nightdress.

“Cut his coat off,” he said with his usual taciturnity. He produced a wicked-looking knife from his pocket and sliced away Luke’s ruined jacket and shirt.

The wound, surrounded by a purpling bruise, was small and neat but still bleeding. Gabrielle pressed the cloth against it, recalling the agony of having the bullet dug out of her in the inn at Dover.

“Go fetch the doctor,” she ordered Baxter.

“Miss.”

The little man stepped aside at the door as Lord Everett appeared, followed by a footman and the butler. Magnificent in his Chinese silk robe, he took one glance at his bloody son and seemed to age ten years.

“Miss Darcy?”

“Someone has shot Luke. I do not think the bullet has touched any vital part, but there is no exit wound and it will have to be extracted. Baxter is going for the doctor.”

He did not ask what she was doing in his house, in his study, at midnight. He seemed stunned. “First Rolf and now Luke!” he murmured unbelieving.

Luke opened his eyes and saw his father.

“Sorry, sir,” he said with a faint smile. “Hazard of the business. Beg you will go and reassure Lady Cecilia.”

The baron crossed to him and squeezed his uninjured shoulder briefly. “My dear boy!” he said helplessly. “My dear boy!”

Lady Cecilia entered the room and, after asking Gabrielle a few quiet questions, took charge. She sent the butler to tell Cook to heat water and the housekeeper to bring linen; the footman, who was busily lighting candles, was to stay, to keep out the other servants and help in any way he could; her husband she persuaded to leave by telling him Rolf was agitated and asking for him.

“Let me take your place, Miss Darcy,” she offered.

Gabrielle shook her head. “Thank you, ma’am, I can manage quite well now. There is nothing to be done until the doctor comes.”

“Then I shall go and see to the children. You will send for me at once if you need me.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” No more than Lord Everett had questioned her presence did she wonder why Lady Cecilia was willing to give over Luke’s care into her hands. Everything seemed to be taking place in a dream, and one does not ask a dream for motives.

Baxter came back in, after a brief altercation with the footman, who took his duties seriously.

“Sent a groom,” he explained.

“Baxter!” Luke’s voice was weak but urgent. “Look on the desk.”

His bald head gleaming in the candlelight, he obeyed.

“Nothing, sir.”

Luke tried to sit up straight, but Gabrielle firmly held him down. “The report!” he exclaimed.

“Pen. Ink. Penknife.” Baxter was forced into near loquacity. “Broken lamp. Box on floor, full of papers, lamp oil, glass.”

“He’s taken my report!”

“Keep still! You will start bleeding again.”

“Baxter!”

The many-talented servant nodded as if he had received full instructions, slipped out of the French windows, and disappeared into the dark.

The doctor came before Baxter returned. Luke had swallowed a bumper of brandy and was lying on a sofa swathed with old sheets. He turned his blurry gaze on his manservant, who shook his head.

“Both safe abed,” said Luke thickly, then he noticed Gabrielle. “No place for a woman. Messy business.”

“You helped me in like circumstances.”

“Not same ‘t all. Go ‘way.”

Her lips tightened. “Don’t you tell me what to do, Luke Everett, even if you are drunk as a wheelbarrow. I’m staying.”

“Jus’ li’l bosky,” he protested, and passed out.

Chapter 19

After two days in bed, Luke was allowed to descend to the morning room. Gabrielle, who had refrained from visiting him, now found him there, flipping impatiently through the Gazette.

“At least they do not seem to have discovered Sir Oswald’s stay here,” he said, throwing it aside. “Good morning, Gabrielle. How did you enjoy the operation from the other side?”

“It was almost as bad,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “They told you Sir Oswald decamped before breakfast the next day?”

“Yes. It certainly looks suspicious, but I still think it much more likely that it was de Vignard. I take it you could not identify my assailant?”

“And mine! I still have the bruise to prove it. No, you know how moonlight distorts things, and I was at a distance. In the study, though, I received the impression that it was a large man, and though Alain is tall he is not heavily built.”

“Sir Oswald certainly is! Devil take the man, he has muddied the waters! I must see him, and soon.”

“Not until you are perfectly recovered. I have had such a time keeping Gerard off his feet. He insisted on coming up today to see Rolf. I think he would have walked, but Lady Cecilia sent the gig. What an exceptionally kind person she is!”

“Don ‘t change the subject. I must see Sir Oswald. I seem to remember a certain someone who went about with a bullet in her side for four and twenty hours, had it extracted, and was off to London by the stage within five days. I shall take a leaf from her book, and go confront Hubble on Thursday.”

Gabrielle’s protests were seconded by Lady Cecilia.

Beyond promising that he would take every care of his health, Luke paid them no heed.

He was closeted with his father in the study for over an hour, and when they came out Lord Everett’s arm was about his shoulders, as Dorothea reported to Gabrielle. They had shaken hands heartily but wordlessly. She had no idea what they had been discussing.

On Thursday morning Luke departed for London, taking one of the Wrotham grooms to drive him and leaving Baxter behind. He went first to his office, where Davis was much shocked to see his arm in a sling and hear the story of the assault.

“How can you be sure it was not the young lady as did it, sir?” he asked. “She could have made up the whole story, couldn’t she?”

“She had every opportunity to finish the job,” pointed out Mr Everett curtly, “or to disappear into the night. Besides, she was hit on the head.”

“Could have done that herself. Say she hit her head on the doorpost going out, and then you lit the candle so she knew she’d been seen, and she didn’t have time to reload the pistol...”

“Gammon! Besides, the report disappeared, and she certainly had no time to hide it.”

“Ah, but you were unconscious, weren’t you, sir, for quite long enough for her to hide it about her person. I don’t suppose you searched her after! You’d be surprised the places a female finds to hide what she wants to hide.”

“I will not believe it, Davis! It was Harrison or de Vignard. Since I must in any case see Sir Oswald about Lady Harrison’s jointure, I shall investigate that possibility first. I am going to Lincoln’s Inn to see the lawyer. If he knows his dishonesty is discovered, he will cease to aid the baronet.”

“You’ll take one of the men with you, sir.”

“Surely you do not think I shall come to harm at Lincoln's Inn?”

“Better safe than sorry, sir.” Davis went to the door and called down the corridor, “Billy!”

Elephantine footsteps announced the approach of a huge man dressed in sober fustian. His face bore a bovine expression, but his deepset, currant-black eyes were shrewd. Though cleaner and altogether more respectable in appearance, in size he reminded Mr Everett of the coal merchant from whom he had rescued Gabrielle.

“Yes, guv?” he enquired.

“This is the chief,” said Davis. “Take care of him.”

“Right, guv. How do, sir?” He touched his forehead in salute and fixed a critical stare on Mr Everett’s sling. “’Ad a bit o’ trouble, ‘as you? We won’t ‘ave no more o’ that. Got me pops ‘andy.” He patted his pockets with a significant nod.

“Hold your tongue, Billy,” ordered Davis. “He’s a bit of a chatterer, sir, but never been known to let slip anything as ought to be kept quiet.”

“Mum’s the word, guv,” said the giant amiably.

As they drove through the sultry streets towards the Law Courts, Luke wiped his forehead and wished he was back at Wrotham. His shoulder both itched and ached miserably. There had been no rain for over a week; the hot, humid air was full of dust stirred up by carriage wheels, and noisome odours floated from every alley.

Lincoln’s Inn was pleasant in comparison. The narrow streets and quiet courtyards were clean, if no cooler, and an occasional tree or plot of close-mown grass provided a contrast to the tall brick buildings.

The groom enquired the way of a hurrying errand-boy, and they pulled up before a door announcing “Hubble, Blayne and Hubble, Attorneys-at-Law.”

Last seen by lamplight, thought Luke. What a night that had been!

Billy helped him down solicitously, and followed no more than eighteen inches behind as he stepped up to the door.

“You need not come in with me,” he said. “Wait here.”

“Not bloody likely, sir! The guv’d ‘ave me guts for garters if I was to let you go in there alone.”

The obstinate look in his eye suggested that it would be useless to argue. Mr Everett pushed open the door, crossed the lobby, strode past gaping clerks without a word, and entered the inner office with his watchdog at his heels.

“Good afternoon, Mr Hubble,” he said, tossing his hat on the desk and taking a seat.

The lawyer was a small man with thin lips and shifty eyes. Although visibly startled by Mr Everett’s entrance, he made a swift recover. He picked up a pair of dusty, gold-rimmed pince-nez from the desk and settled them on his nose, effectively hiding his thoughts.

“To what do I owe the honour, Mr . . . ?” he asked smoothly.

“To Sir Cosmo Harrison’s will.” Mr Everett fixed his piercing gaze on the man’s face. If Mr Hubble paled, it was invisible in the murky office.

“Harrison . . . ah yes, Sir Cosmo. I recall it distinctly. A simple will, uncontested, passed probate in no time.”

“How odd then that you remember it so distinctly. Perhaps some subsequent happening drew it to your attention? Such as the discovery that the terms were not being strictly observed by the chief beneficiary?”

“Impossible, Mr . . . er,” snapped the lawyer coldly. He glanced up at the impassive Billy, the first sign he had given of having noticed his presence. “Might I enquire as to your interest in the matter?”

“You may not. I shall inform you, however, that I have seen evidence to that effect, implicating you in a scheme to defraud the Dowager Lady Harrison of a considerable part of her income.”

“You do not, I assume, have such evidence in your possession.”

“No, but I can get it.” said Mr Everett, his voice grim. “Immediately and, I believe, without much difficulty.” He looked meaningfully at the cupboard door behind Hubble, then up at Billy.

The lawyer was betrayed in a quick peek behind him. “It is possible,” he admitted grudgingly, “that Sir Oswald Harrison has been so ill-advised as to embezzle certain funds to which he is not entitled. Entirely without my knowledge, you understand.”

“You are fortunate, Mr Hubble, that my principal does not wish for a scandal. If this peculation ceases forthwith and restitution is made, there will be no prosecution.”

“I am a poor man, sir! And I cannot answer for Sir Oswald!”

“You may leave Sir Oswald to me. As for your poverty, I believe you exaggerate.” Again Mr Everett looked significantly at the cupboard, though hard put to avoid smiling at the recollection of his tame burglar’s efforts to pocket a share of the gold within.

Billy took it into his head to step forward at this point.

“A bank draft!” gabbled the lawyer. “At once! Let me call one of my clerks to prepare it.”

“Very well." The clerks had all looked half starved, certainly no match for his bodyguard. “But I also require a letter in your own hand, against future need. I will dictate.”

An hour later, tired but satisfied, Luke walked up the steps of his London house. In his pocket were a bank draft for a considerable sum, payable to Lady Harrison, and a full confession from Hubble, which he had promised not to use as long as her ladyship received regularly the entire amount of her quarterly allowance.

The next day, accompanied by Billy, he drove beneath lowering thunderclouds down to Sir Oswald Harrison’s estate. They stopped at an inn in Goudhurst, the nearest village, and he took off his sling. If it had indeed been the baronet who had attacked him, he did not want to give the man the satisfaction of seeing that he was still suffering.

While the groom asked directions, Billy went into the tap for a mug of ale. When Luke called for him, he was deep in conversation with a man as tall as he was but lean as a rake. He introduced this beanpole as Albert.

“’E’s bin keeping ‘is eye on this ‘Arrison,” he explained.  “There’s another couple o’ the boys around, but Albert’ll do. 'E don’t look much, but ‘e’s ‘andy wiv a shiv.”

Albert silently produced a gleaming knife and as silently hid it away again. If Billy looked like a respectable tradesman, then his colleague had more the air of a peddler. Mr Everett wondered what on earth the Harrison household would think of his companions, but by now he knew better than to try to persuade them to stay behind. Billy had slept on a pallet at his feet all night, snoring horrendously, and Albert was doubtless equally dedicated to his duty.

The butler regretted that Sir Oswald was not at home.

Billy and Albert exchanged glances.

“Ho, ain’t ‘e!” said Billy. “I ‘ave hinformation to the contrary, my good man. Just foller Albert, sir. Knows ‘is every move, ‘e do.” Brushing aside the butler along with his objections, Billy ushered Mr Everett in Albert’s wake into a room hung with hunting trophies, barely visible in the gloom.