The Rebel (29 page)

“Spencer be damned!” Musgrave muttered to
himself. There must have been someone else…someone from that
damnable gang of thugs…who had been in touch with her. He was
determined to find out who.

Rita, though, had been as stubborn as a mule
in answering any of his questions. But he’d thought time was his
ally. A few days in the hole with his lonely dragoons to keep her
company, and the woman would be singing like a lark.

How he was beginning to hate Sir Nicholas
Spencer! The arrogant bastard had shown up, threatening him with
the serious displeasure of the Lord Lieutenant, who just
happened
to be a dear family friend of the blackguard.

As he’d lay abed last night, the situation
had run through his head over and over. He knew he had released the
widow too hastily, but one couldn’t be too careful with the
influence of
dear family friends
. But something else kept
nagging at him. So many times in his mind’s eye, he had kept seeing
the tattered shawl Jane had been wearing around her neck the day
before. She always dressed in black—but never in rags. But why
would she even have such a thing in her possession, unless it were
a gift from some papist woman. It must have come from the widow’s
wife. Sir Nicholas had not mentioned it, but who else but Rita
would have given it to her. And why Rita give it to Jane, rather
than Sir Nicholas himself, unless she was extremely grateful for
something other than a few coins?

He turned on Wallis, who was studying his
thumbs closely.

“Did you learn anything else, Captain?”

“Aye, Sir Robert. We did confirm that Sir
Nicholas and Miss Purefoy were the ones who took the widow’s
children yesterday.”

The magistrate turned sharply to his
captain. “And where did they take them?”

“We…er, we have not ascertained that as yet,
sir.”

“Are you telling me that you did not have
someone follow Spencer and the widow yesterday? I am certain he
would have taken the woman to where her children are.”

A dark shade of red crept up the officer’s
thick neck. “I beg your pardon, Sir Robert, it never occurred to me
that you…”

“Must I do
all
of your thinking for
you, Captain Wallis?” Musgrave clamped his hands with disgust
behind his back and walked toward the embarrassed officer. “Is it
absolutely necessary for me to give you minute-by-minute orders?
Your leadership, Captain, is a reflection not just on you, but on
me, as well. And it is a reflection on your family, sir. Do I make
myself clear?”

“My apologies, sir,” the man said quickly.
“I assumed…mistakenly, it appears…that you were satisfied with your
meeting with the baronet and…and I clearly erred in not having them
followed. But I was quite wrong, Sir Robert. I shall never make
such an assumption again.”

Musgrave’s pique called for more haranguing
of his subordinate, but his common sense reminded him that there
was always more to be considered than just the immediate
situation.

“There is another matter—a related
matter—that I want you to attend to, Captain.”

“Indeed, Sir Robert,” the officer replied,
standing up. “I shall not fail you.”

“I’m sure,” Musgrave said, nodding solemnly.
“This matter is of the utmost importance, and I want you to be
certain your men do not miss anything. And I want
you
to
conduct the questioning personally.”

The dragoon captain waited attentively.

“Yes…questioning. I want everyone who has
ever
come in contact with the rebel, Egan, to be brought
here and questioned. By everyone, I mean your own dragoons, as
well, who might have caught a glimpse of him. I mean the area
clergy. The landlords and their tenants. Even Sir Thomas’s
guest.”

“What about the bishop, Sir Robert?”

“I shall handle the bishop…but I want you to
talk to that fat clerk of his.” Musgrave looked steadily into the
eye of his man. “The questioning, this time, will be different.
Instead of what happened and how many and all those other useless
things we usually try to find out, I want your full attention to be
given to this Egan. I want his description. His build. The color of
his hair. The color of his eyes. His weight and height. I want to
know everything we can learn about him. I also want to know details
about the horse he rides. Is it always the same one or does he ride
a number of different steeds? Does he ever travel on foot? What
language does he speak normally? Does he speak English with an
accent? Do you understand what I am after, Captain?”

“Perfectly, Sir Robert. You want to learn
the identity of the cur.”

“I want that blackguard’s head,
Captain.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Then get your men moving. I want
results…and I want them now.”

***

To Jane’s great disappointment, all the
members of her family were still at breakfast when she walked into
the Morning Room. She uttered a quiet greeting to Lady Spencer and
Frances, ignored Sir Thomas’s suspicious glare, and sat in a chair
by her surprised mother.

“What a delightful surprise to see you this
morning, Jane,” the young Miss Spencer blurted out excitedly. “We
were just told by Lady Purefoy that you were visiting some people
in Ballyclough, and no one knew when you would return.”

“I see. Well, I decided I would return last
night...late.” Jane nodded gratefully to the young serving girl who
poured her some tea. “There was no way for anyone to know.”

“And how was good Parson Adams?” Lady
Spencer asked interestedly.

“Very well, I think. Both Mrs. Brown and
Parson Adams send their regards.” She hid her face behind the cup
and let her gaze drift to Clara, who was sitting by the visitors. A
distinctly petulant thinning of her sister’s lips made Jane wonder
what had Clara so riled this morning.

“I hope you do not mind my persistence,
Jane,” Lady Spencer continued. “But I was hoping to steal a little
of your time for the selfish reason of the two of us just chatting
about...”

“Clara
loves
to chat.” Lady Purefoy
interrupted.

“Indeed, Lady Purefoy,” the guest replied
breezily. “However, I find that Jane and I have quite a few
interests in common, and I was hoping to spend some time in
her
company.”

Their guest’s emphasis on the word ‘her’
immediately silenced Catherine. But Jane actually felt sorry for
her mother momentarily. If she only knew how much damage she
inflicted on Clara’s chances each time she pushed her forward so
brazenly.

“Thank you, Lady Spencer. I…I should love to
spend some time with you,” she responded quietly. “But I promised
to return to Ballyclough this morning to check on a sick friend.
Perhaps…perhaps this afternoon when I get back.”

“As you wish, dear. I…”

The appearance of Nicholas in the doorway
threw the entire room into chaos. Lady Purefoy immediately sprang
to her feet, ordering the servants back to the kitchen for hot
platters of everything. Clara, too, was on her feet. Frances made
some teasing remarks about her older brother sleeping the morning
away, and if it weren’t for Lady Spencer’s interference, the young
woman would have relayed a related story about her brother that was
obviously not too flattering. Sir Thomas even made some casual
remark about Nicholas’s solitary excursion yesterday being a sure
sign that he must be feeling quite at home in Ireland.

Her sister’s reaction, however, was the most
disturbing one for Jane. Unlike the first night, this morning
Clara’s attention was focused completely on Spencer. And her mood
of a minute earlier had altered considerably.

Jane watched her sister bring him a cup and
saucer, taking the tea from the servant and pouring it herself
before sitting down near him. Amazed, she looked on as Clara made
some private comment that brought a smile to his lips. When her
sister reached out, however, and touched his sleeve, laughing in a
charming way at his vague answer about what he’d had for dinner
last night, Jane sat back, stunned.

Clara was interested.

The resentment that cut sharply through Jane
appalled her. She refused the offer of food by one of the servants
and tried to hide her flushed face behind a cup of tea while lively
conversations ensued around her. As she regained control of her
feelings of anger, though, she wondered with horror if perhaps she
had guessed wrong about Clara’s true interest. The realization that
she herself might be having an illicit affair with her sister’s
future husband only compounded her dismay.

Watching them, though, Jane knew that she
could live with shame, but she didn’t think she could endure the
ripping pain in her heart that jealousy was causing at this
moment.

“You have been here less than a week, sir,
and you are already better acquainted with the countryside than
most who have been here for years.”

“Only with the inns, Sir Thomas,” Nicholas
corrected in a humorous tone. “I believe that to know the land, you
need to get to know its inhabitants. Now, what better place to meet
them than where they gather to eat, drink, and…the rest of it.”

“But that is one of the reasons that we are
having the ball on Friday, Sir Nicholas,” Lady Purefoy offered
enthusiastically. “This will be a perfect opportunity for you to
meet everyone who is anyone.”

“But they will hardly be the ones who are
one with this land, madam.”

Jane didn’t have to look up to know that
Nicholas’s gaze was on her with every sentence that he uttered.

“Why should I leave London if my interests
lay only with the gentry?”

“Well said.” Clara spoke softly from her
chair. Jane looked up and found her sister’s admiring gaze on
Nicholas’s face. “But as important as it is for someone like you to
get a feel for the people and their lives, it is critical that you
also get a proper view of the land. There are some very fine views
that surround Woodfield House. And now that I know the depth of
your interest, I am assigning myself to be your guide. We can take
a carriage or we can ride, whichever you prefer. And—starting this
morning—I guarantee that you shall be totally enchanted by
everything that I show you.”

“You are very kind, Miss Clara, but I regret
that I must refuse your offer.”

Nicholas’s words stunned those listening
into a shocked silence. Jane felt her own hand trembling as she put
down her saucer of tea and hid her hands on her lap.

“I fear I have a previous engagement for
today. But perhaps some other time.”

“When?” Lady Purefoy chimed in immediately.
“When? Outings such as this should certainly be planned in
advance.”

“If you will excuse me,” Jane murmured as
she rose to her feet. “As I mentioned before, I am expected at
Ballyclough this morning.”

Avoiding the looks of everyone in the room,
she started for the door. She didn’t wait. She didn’t even pause.
Positive that the lump in her throat would surely choke her, she
rushed from the house and ran blindly toward the stables.

His excuses about the day slipping by
sounded about as hollow as a ale cask after May Day. His responses
to the queries about his ‘previous engagement’ were vague and
brusque. Nicholas had only one thing in his mind, though, and that
was going after Jane. And he didn’t give a damn about what everyone
thought of his hurried exit.

If it was too obvious that he was going
after her, then so be it.

“Where is Miss Jane, Paul?” Nicholas asked,
catching sight of the trainer in the paddock. One of the grooms was
just leading Queen Mab out into the pasture in the back. Her black
coat was gleaming in the sunlight. “I was to ride with her to
Ballyclough this morning. Has she left?”

The stable master shook his head and nodded
toward a building beyond the stables. “Ye’ll find herself in the
carriage house, sir. Miss Jane has a load of clothes and blankets
and things that Fey packed for the widow and her wee ones. Ye might
go right through the stable there.”

As Nicholas started past the man, Paul laid
a hand on his arm.

“A word of warning, sir. ‘Twas no happy lass
what passed through here few moments ago. So don’t ye be telling
her I sent you that way, for she told me in no uncertain terms that
she wishes to go on to Ballyclough alone today. No groom for the
carriage…and no Sir Nicholas, either.”

“I shan’t get you in trouble with her,
Paul,” Nicholas assured him before striding quickly in that
direction.

With high ceilings and partitioned stalls
for ten carriages of various types, he could see that the carriage
house was obviously a new addition to the stables of Woodfield
House. One carriage was missing, and Nicholas found it on the drive
beside the building. The two-horse phaeton, modern and handsome
with its oversized wheels and shock absorbing springs, was already
loaded and ready for Jane.

One of the stable boys stood holding the
horses heads.

“The kitchens, sir,” he replied to
Nicholas’s question of Miss Purefoy’s whereabouts.

Starting quickly toward the house, he found
her coming out of the kitchen door with a large basket of food in
her hands. He had the advantage of studying her for the moment
before she saw him, so he saw the red-rimmed eyes and the sadness
that showed so clearly in the set of her shoulders. He immediately
moved to her and reached for the basket.

“Can I help you with this?”

She seemed startled for an instant before
jerking the basket away. “I can handle it myself. Thank you.”

Her tone wasn’t sharp or angry, just tired
and defeated. He fell in beside her. “Would you like me to ride my
horse and pretend I am heading south? I could catch up to you on
the road to Ballyclough later.”

“I wish to go alone today.”

“But you told me…”