The Nobody: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (19 page)

“For whatever Serena may be willing to risk in this preposterous escapade, she must not risk her reputation!” pronounced Elizabeth. Captain Talgarth honored her for this noble sentiment, until he realized that Lady Elizabeth’s resolve stemmed largely from her belief that Emily’s inferior social standing rendered her chaperonage inadequate. He instantly took umbrage at this offensive notion. Serena, half wild at any delay, and Emily, anxious to escape the necessity of leaving her aunt alone, managed to soothe the captain’s irritation before much time was wasted in a fruitless attempt to convince Lady Elizabeth of her error.

Emily was soon safely despatched back to Half Moon Street, Mr. Montague and Captain Talgarth were adequately mounted, Lady Serena and Lady Elizabeth were handed into Serena’s phaeton, and the party set off in search of Lord Kilverton.

Chapter XXII

L
ord Kilverton was struggling with a difficult decision: whether or not to open his eyes. He was lying on an extremely hard and uncomfortable surface, and a pounding sensation at the base of his skull interfered with his ability to think clearly. He reluctantly concluded that he was, in fact, awake. He reached this conclusion several times, each time forgetting that he had pondered the question before. His thoughts flew away like startled sparrows whenever he reached for them.

Something had happened; that much was clear. Something odd. Something bad. It seemed important to recall what it was, but his memory, like his wits, floated above his grasp. A vague feeling of dread seized him through the fog. Perhaps it would be better to clutch the remaining shreds of unconsciousness round him and slip back into oblivion. He slept.

When he drifted back into consciousness the pounding in his skull had lessened, but his body felt stiff and sore. He tried to stretch his limbs and discovered they were bound. Startled, his eyes flew open. As the light stabbed into them he groaned, and thus discovered he had been gagged. A rough cloth was stuffed into his mouth, and apparently tied round the back of his aching head. Somehow this infuriated him more than the tying of his hands and feet. He struggled and kicked impotently for a few seconds, trying to loosen the restraints enough to get his hands to his mouth and remove the gag. It soon became apparent that any exertion would cause him to pant, and panting was an uncomfortable proposition with his mouth tied up. He lay still again, and forced himself to think.

He was lying on the floor of a very small, and exceedingly dusty, room. It had every appearance of belonging to an abandoned cottage. How he had come there was beyond his ken. He was completely alone. The fireplace looked as if it had not been used for months, possibly years, and there was no furniture of any kind. The dimness of the light filtering through a dusty casement in the stone walls indicated that the cottage’s exterior must be overgrown with some kind of foliage. Certainly no one lived here.

He recalled that he had been on his way to visit his maternal grandmother, to ask her advice on how one might gracefully extricate oneself from an unwanted betrothal. He reflected wryly that there was nothing like having one’s hands tied literally, to make figurative snarls seem trivial.

He remembered now that a man—or was it two men?—had ridden up behind him and that something had then struck him a tremendous blow. It did not require a powerful leap of intellect to deduce that whoever had ridden up behind him had struck the blow. He strained to recall the face he had just glimpsed over his shoulder before turning back to his horses. Certainly a stranger. He could recall nothing of his appearance except that he had worn a brown coat, and had a muffler round his neck. Not a very useful description.

His mind was still moving too sluggishly to make sense of it all. He ceased to ponder the whys and wherefores, and bent his mind to the more immediate task of freeing his hands. He rolled rather painfully onto his side. This caused his head to swim sickeningly for a moment, but he lay quietly and waited for the sensation to pass. He could now discern footprints in the dust, and a clean swath cut from the door to where he lay. This indicated he had been tied by the door and then dragged to the center of the room. He promised himself that he would contemplate the implications of this in a moment. It might be important. Meanwhile, he would close his eyes.

Time passed. He might have slept again. When he opened his eyes once more, it seemed the light had subtly altered. It occurred to him to wonder if it was still Monday. His thoughts were sharper now, but his discomfort had increased. A raging thirst consumed him. He burned to rid himself of the gag. Now that his wits were returning, it occurred to him that whoever had brought him here, and for whatever purpose, he must free himself before he (or they) returned to finish their business. Richard stared at the marks on the floor with new concentration. Why had he been dragged to the center of the room?

The walls of the cottage were very rough. Light showed dimly through chinks between the stones. Was it possible the villains who had tied him thought he might sever the ropes by sawing them against a sharp stone? Was that why they did not leave him against the wall? He would test that hypothesis. He began to inch himself across the floor, back along the trail where he had been dragged.

It proved to be extremely difficult to move across the filthy floor to the wall. Not only were his feet and hands bound, but the separate loops round his feet and hands had been connected with a third rope, neatly trussing him like a Christmas goose. Urgency drove him. He half rolled, half squirmed, his head pounding, dust filling his nostrils and gritting in his eyes. He eventually reached the wall and tried to catch his breath. Sure enough, several of the stones close to the floor had sharp protrusions. Working his way up to a sitting posture seemed impossible, so he felt along the base of the wall behind him until he found a likely edge, and began sawing against it with grim determination.

It was exhausting work. He did not have much play in the ropes, and could only guess at where the knot must be. The muscles in his forearms began to cramp and he still could not gauge if his efforts were having any effect whatsoever. Then he suddenly felt something snap, and heart flowed back into him. He rubbed and sawed with renewed persistence, and soon felt the bonds give way. Rejoicing, Kilverton eased his stiff and cramping arms up and untied his gag, working his jaw and groaning with relief. He had just finished untying his legs and was trying to massage some life back into his limbs when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone approaching on horseback.

Cold fury gripped him. Quick as thought, he grabbed his bonds and repositioned himself in the center of the room, looping the ropes back around his feet and reluctantly replacing the hated gag. He put his hands behind him and lay on the floor. The daylight still seemed strong outside, and he hoped whoever entered the dim cottage would be dazzled enough to not immediately perceive the telltale marks on the floor or any change in the way he was tied. He feigned unconsciousness, but lay facing the door, his eyes not quite closed.

Appearing helpless, but with every sense on the alert, Lord Kilverton awaited developments.

The door opened, flooding the room with blinding daylight. Kilverton’s eyes closed in earnest for a moment. Someone was pausing on the threshold. He cautiously opened his eyes just a slit.

With a strange sense of inevitability, and an utter lack of surprise, Richard recognized his Uncle Oswald. It is terrible, he thought, to discover such a monstrous thing and feel no amazement. Sadness mixed with his anger. But Richard did not move, and his slack expression did not change.

He watched his uncle’s elegantly shod feet take a few cautious steps toward him. Still he did not move. Oswald paused again, then advanced and bent over him. Instantly, Richard sprang up with a snarl and knocked Oswald Kilverton to the floor. His loosened bonds and gag went flying. Oswald gave a startled cry as he hit the floor, and Richard sent a crashing right to his jaw.

“Let’s give you a taste of your own medicine, you conscienceless bastard, and see how you like it!” Richard gasped, ripping the starched cravat from his uncle’s throat and stuffing it into Oswald’s mouth. Oswald’s eyes widened in pain and fury, but in his white-hot rage Richard paid no heed. He gagged his uncle quite thoroughly. As Oswald struggled, his eyes burning with hate over the folds of the gag, Richard tied him with his own discarded bonds and finally sank back, panting, to regard his handiwork.

“Well, that’s turned the tables rather neatly,” he remarked, wiping the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. “I’ll think what to do with you in a moment. Faugh! I’m as weak as a kitten.” Richard leaned against the sharp stone walls and closed his eyes against the light pouring through the door, fighting to regain his breath. Through the haze of fatigue that gripped him he was dimly aware of the sound of carriage wheels. To his considerable astonishment, it was his cousin Egbert’s voice he heard raised in anxious query as this equipage pulled to a halt outside the cottage.

Sir Egbert’s “Holloa!” was followed by a great sound of creaking and puffing as he obviously clambered down from the carriage unassisted and hastened across the yard. Richard turned his head against the wall and regarded the opened doorway in bemused weariness. In due time, Sir Egbert’s portly form appeared in it. An almost comical amazement was writ large across his features.

“I say!” exclaimed Sir Egbert. “What’s toward? Richard, by Jove! Is everything all right?” His eyes traveled to where his father lay, and nearly popped from his head in dismay. Richard laughed faintly, partly at the picture of Egbert goggling at the scene, and partly with relief.

“Well, Egbert, I don’t know when I’ve been more glad to see anyone,” said Richard gratefully. “Give a fellow a hand up, won’t you?”

Egbert, turning to stare in bewilderment at his cousin, perceived his disheveled state and at once crossed to help him stand. “Yes, but—how comes it that you are here? And with my father! God bless my soul! What can this mean?”

“I should like to know that myself,” replied Richard as Egbert, striving for respectability even in this extremity, dusted his cousin ineffectually with a handkerchief.

“But have you been set upon by thieves? Were you kidnapped? For God’s sake, let us untie my poor father!”

“No!” said Richard sharply, reaching out to stay Egbert’s hand. “I feel rather safer with him bound, thank you.”

Egbert’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. He stared first at his father, then at his cousin. “Never tell me my father has offered you a mischief!” he finally uttered, wringing his hands. “Oh, I feared it! I feared it! But I never thought—oh, surely this is impossible! It cannot be!”

“Apparently it is possible, and it can be. Come, help me think! We must extricate ourselves from this tangle with a minimum of scandal. What lucky chance brought you here? I must say, it’s a stroke of good fortune. Who better than Oswald’s son to tell me how I can render Oswald powerless without causing irreparable harm—either to his person, or our family?”

Sir Egbert was not much given to the exercise of swift thought, however, and his character was neither decisive nor masterly. He had turned quite pale with horror and perplexity, and stood in the center of the room, uttering disjointed exclamations for several minutes. His confusion was so evident, Richard took pity on him.

“I fancy we need not decide immediately what is best to be done. Let us take my uncle up in your coach and convey him to Hatley End. My grandmother Colhurst will look after all three of us while we talk the matter over like civilized beings.”

But Egbert shook his head, distressed. “No, Richard, dear old boy. I fear our only course is to take my father directly to Bow Street, or the nearest roundhouse, or—or somewhere where he might be incarcerated. It is very dreadful, but how much more dreadful if he should escape us somehow! A dashed clever fellow, my father. We must give him no opportunity. I have no more wish for a scandal than you, coz, but we must do what is right. My father must repent of his actions. He must suffer for his designs. He must pay the price of his iniquity. He must—”

“Yes, yes, I daresay!” interrupted Richard. “But not, I think, immediately! Here, assist me. I cannot lift him alone. Let us get him into your carriage, where we may argue about our next step in comfort.”

Richard bent over his uncle’s prostrate body, Egbert still clucking and muttering behind him. Just then there was a tremendous crash and a shout from the casement. A small body hurtled through the open door. Richard turned and straightened in surprise, just in time to see his tiger, Jamie, leap onto Sir Egbert’s back with a bloodcurdling whoop. Egbert staggered, overbalanced, and went down with a startled “Oof!”

“What the—” Richard began, but got no further. The Honorable Edward Montague and Captain Philip Talgarth burst ferociously into the room, effectively robbing him of speech. Lord Kilverton blinked at these unexpected arrivals in the liveliest astonishment.

Jamie, in the meantime, had jumped off the prostrate Egbert. He sprang to one side with his fists purposefully clenched, but Sir Egbert did not rise. “That’s done ’im, then!” he exclaimed shrilly.

“Good work, lad,” pronounced Captain Talgarth. “You may safely leave him to our devices.”

It dawned upon Richard that his friends were brandishing pistols in a manner that struck him as theatrical in the extreme. He was seized with an overwhelming longing for his quizzing glass. Lacking this necessary article, it was difficult to properly express his emotions upon this occasion. His lips twitched.

“Er—I beg your pardons but is this a rescue party?” inquired Lord Kilverton politely. “How very much obliged to you I am! Really, one does not know quite what to say. I had hoped you might arrive a little sooner, of course—prior to my disposing of the danger myself—but after all, it is the thought that counts.”

Mr. Montague, much moved, strode forward and clapped Lord Kilverton on the back so heartily that Kilverton winced. “Aye, you wouldn’t believe me, would you? But I wasn’t far wrong.”

“My dear Ned, you were not wrong at all—hit the nail squarely on the head, in fact.”

“No, no—for I thought your uncle was behind all these attempts on your life!”

Kilverton’s brows lifted. “And so he was. At least—one assumes, naturally—” He glanced round the room in surprise, and took in the meaning of the scene for the first time. Captain Talgarth’s pistol was leveled not at Oswald, but at Sir Egbert, who was still lying facedown upon the floor.

Kilverton pressed a hand to his brow. “I see,” he said slowly. “I think—yes, I really think I had better sit down for a moment.” He waved a hand faintly toward Oswald. “And perhaps someone should untie my good uncle.”