Damsel in Disguise (17 page)

“They? Who was she arguing with?”

“A gentleman—I don’t know. I couldn’t hear what they said.”

“And the fire?”

“That I did see. Two men. They threw something burning up into the window. They were trying to kill you!”

He glanced up. From where they stood, the blackened window frame was easily visible. There were three other windows on this side of the building, but only one showed signs of fire. Clearly it was no accident those torches had landed in his room.

Now his gaze returned to her. She felt oddly self-conscious. What was he thinking? He stared at her intently, yet his face showed no emotion.

“Too bad you didn’t find our missing Sophie, Julia,” he began. “But how fortunate you were out here safe and sound when someone was trying to burn me to death—in your bed.”

Now his expression made her take a step backward. She had a sinking feeling she knew what was running through his head. Oddly enough, she really couldn’t blame him. He believed her capable of terrible things; why should murder not be one of them?

“Lucky they knew exactly which bed I’d be in, Julia,” he went on. “Considering I gave up my room after everyone else had gone to sleep. Unless perhaps you’d like to convince me those flames were meant for you.”

She stared back at him and forced herself to blink back tears. By God, she would not cry for him, no matter what he accused her of. And certainly she’d never propose that she had been the arson’s target tonight. She knew as well as he that very few people on the planet cared whether she lived or died.

 

 

RASTMOOR HAD TO WALK AWAY FROM HER. HE’D BLATANTLY accused her of wanting him dead, and she’d said nothing. She’d batted her eyes at him and stood there, cold as stone—beautiful under the shapeless men’s clothing and the layers of soot—but heartless and dispassionate as marble.

Damn. She’d enslaved him again, hadn’t she? She’d wrapped herself around his soul, and there was nothing he could do about it except lash out with harsh words then turn his back on her and hope to forget her for a moment or two. God, all he really wanted was to hold her against his chest and feel her heart beating.

He’d been nearly insane when he’d awakened in that smoky, smothering room. In his sleep-befuddled state, he simply could not comprehend that she was not with him, that she was not somehow trapped there, tangled in the fiery bedding, suffering and dying. He’d made a complete fool of himself, hadn’t he?

He always did when Julia was involved.

“Sir!” A dirty little scullery maid came scurrying up to him. “They say you was looking for a woman?”

Blast. Now even the kitchen help labeled him desperate. “No, thank you.”

The girl dropped her hoarse voice low. “ ’Cause if you was looking for a woman—for a particular woman—I might know something about her.”

“What?”

She leaned closer, and her words came out in a whisper. “A certain woman might have just left here a little bit ago.”

“Left here?”

He quickly glanced over to where he’d left Julia. She looked every bit a ragged hand at this point and was busy helping tend to some of the mild injuries several servants had suffered in the battle. She was paying no mind to Rastmoor, and it irked him, despite the fact that he shouldn’t have cared.

But the maid before him was happy to continue her story. She nodded up at him, her eyes bright with conspiracy. “She left in a carriage, sir.”

“A carriage?” Well, that would be an odd thing at this hour. He certainly hadn’t noticed any carriage waiting in the yard, although he had to admit he’d been rather preoccupied surviving a fire and holding himself back from throttling Julia for endangering herself. Whatever could the little wench be talking about?

“What woman? Which way did she go?”

The girl shook her head, and the dingy cap she wore wobbled atop sooty hair. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see her myself; I just heard about it.”

“From whom?”

The girl pursed her lips and took a step back. “Oh, don’t make me tell you, sir. I don’t want him getting in trouble. He’s a good boy, sir, and he never meant to be helping no criminals!”

“Blast it, what criminals? Tell me what you know. Who set this fire?”

The girl’s eyes were wide, and she nearly shook the cap right off her head. “Oh, sir, I don’t know anything about that; I swear! My Jeb was just doing what he was told, he was—”

“Jeb? The one who’s been gone all flipping day on some errand or other?”

“Yes, sir. He just got back a little while ago. Brought up that pretty carriage he’d been sent after down in Geydon.”

“He went to Geydon to bring back a carriage?”

She nodded and grinned as if her beau had done something truly remarkable. “Yes, sir! He brought back the finest carriage you can imagine. A phaeton, and he drove it himself!”

By God, it couldn’t be, could it? This Jeb had been sent to bring Lindley’s carriage up here? That could only mean Lindley was around, and was expecting to be here at some point tonight or tomorrow to retrieve the thing! Hellfire, had Rastmoor been scouring the whole bloody countryside while Lindley was hiding Sophie someplace right here under his nose?

Could Julia have been right about hearing their voices?

“If those people who left in that phaeton had anything to do with this fire, sir, you can be sure my Jeb didn’t know anything about it. He was too busy getting things ready for the gentleman and his woman. Honest, it never crossed his mind the pair of them might be up to no good.”

“Who are they?”

“By faith, I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, what did they look like, for God’s sake?”

“I didn’t see them, sir,” the girl replied quickly, and her lip was trembling now so he could barely understand her words. “I only heard them, sir. The gentleman comes in to call for his carriage, and he tells my Jeb he needs it right away. Then he goes out to the yard, and we hear him arguing with this woman.”

“What woman?”

“I don’t know, sir. Likely the one what left in the carriage.”

“Did they leave before the fire started?”

“No, sir. It was after; I’m sure of it.”

“So you believe they started it?”

“They must have, sir. Wasn’t nobody else around. We thought they left, though, ’cause it got really quiet out here, until there was yelling about a fire, and all.”

“So you didn’t actually see them start the fire.”

“No, sir! Else we would have called the mistress and master straightaway!”

“But you did hear a man and a woman arguing in the yard.”

“Yes, sir, that was for certain.”

Well, that seemed to match up with Julia’s story, didn’t it? Of course, that could mean nothing. Julia herself could have been arguing with someone and simply told the story of hearing it to provide a nice tidy alibi for herself. Or perhaps she simply paid this hapless wench to corroborate her version of things. Just because he was an idiot and wanted desperately to believe that Julia was an innocent bystander in all this didn’t mean he was about to take a stranger’s word. He’d done that before, and look where it got him.

“What were they arguing about?” he asked the girl.

“I don’t know, sir. They was trying to be hush about it, I think. But I could tell from the tone they wasn’t getting along well.”

“And you didn’t bother to come out and see what was going on? Are women accosted here so often you tend to ignore it?”

The girl actually looked indignant. “Oh, no sir, it wasn’t any sort of argument like that. No, that woman wasn’t arguing ’cause she was in trouble or nothing. She just didn’t like something the gentleman said, I figure. That’s how it sounded to me, sir.”

“But you didn’t at least look out here just to be sure?”

“My Jeb and me, we know enough to keep our noses out of affairs of the quality, we do. And anyone could know from the way that gentleman used his words, he was quality. If he and his woman want to stand out in the yard and have a spat, my Jeb and I won’t tell them they can’t.”

“Very noble—and convenient. So you didn’t actually see this argumentative woman?”

“No, sir.”

“Nor him, the gentleman of quality?”

“No, sir.”

“Yet you heard his voice clearly enough to form an opinion of his heritage?”

“I did, sir. I was . . . well, I was in the stable there, and I heard him talking to my Jeb when he came in to call for the carriage.”

“But you didn’t get a look at him?”

She twisted her sooty apron in her hands. “See, sir, the master’s kind of funny about us kitchen girls coming out here to the stable. But my Jeb and me, well, we didn’t figure it would be so very bad if I come out here to visit him every once in a while. Just once in a while, mind you, and we never let it interfere with our duties, I promise!”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. But naturally when that gentleman came in, you figured it might be best if he didn’t catch you.”

Her cheeks flushed deeply under the ash and grime. “I wasn’t exactly in a right state to be greeting the patrons, sir, if you understand.”

“Yes, I grasp the situation. Tell me, though, how much time passed between when you heard the arguing and when the alarm was raised for the fire?”

More blushes. The girl couldn’t quite give him a definite answer. Apparently she and her darling Jeb had been otherwise engaged during that time. Hellfire, it was a wonder the couple bothered to surface at all despite the raging inferno in their employer’s establishment. The girl’s story gave him none of the answers he needed right now.

“And what of the woman?” he forged on. Unlikely he’d get any solid information at this point, but he might as well ask. “You said she left. What do you mean?”

She brightened. “Oh! She left. In the carriage, sir.”

“So you’ve said.”

“With the gentleman. My Jeb got it all ready for him right quick, just like he said. He’s an honest man, sir, and if he’d have known he was getting it ready for some scapegrace fire starters . . . well, he wouldn’t have done it. But they must have come in and took the carriage while we was all out fighting the fire.”

“Then you saw them leave?”

“My Jeb did, sir. He noticed them just as they turned the corner out of the lane. He said it looked as if they was in a hurry—the woman’s yellow hair was hanging out from under her shawl and the man was driving the horses for all they was worth.”

At last, something solid. “She was blond?”

“It’s what my Jeb says, sir. Do you think that might be the self-same woman you was looking for?”

“I believe it was,” he replied, surprised by his own truthfulness. Sophie was blond. Perhaps Julia had been right; perhaps the girl had been arguing with a man in the yard just before that damned fire.

God, he hoped so. He’d really much rather have been nearly assassinated by Sophie and Fitzgelder’s flunky than by the woman he loved.

Used to love,
he corrected.

He fumbled in a pocket for some coin to reward the girl.

She shuffled nervously but accepted the offering. “I suppose you’ll have me tell the master now, wouldn’t you, sir?”

“Tell him?”

“How I come by knowing who might have set this fire. Then the magistrate can be called and someone sent out to find your lady friend and that gentleman. They wasn’t just trying to warm up your sleeping room, after all.”

“No, they weren’t. I’m sure your master would very much like to get his hands on them for all this damage.”

He wouldn’t mind getting them to answer a few questions for him, either. But what would that accomplish? If this really was Sophie, and her companion really was Lindley or even if the instigator was one of Fitzgelder’s minions, they could simply deny their involvement. Surely Fitzgelder had enough money or friends in low places that could easily protect him from conviction. Any accusations Rastmoor might make—unfounded since he himself had seen no trace of anything that might formally tie his cousin into this—would only serve to drive Fitzgelder to more drastic measures. And that could mean more than just Rastmoor’s life was in danger.

No, at this point he’d prefer to keep the magistrate out of it. This was between him and Fitzgelder. No one would gain anything by dragging family skeletons out into daylight. He’d deal with things his own way.

“No, I don’t think your master needs to know,” he told the girl with a forced lightness. “The damage inflicted here was aimed at me, so I’ll be responsible for the repairs. That should ease your master’s worries. I see no need to burden him with tales of kitchen maids and stable boys in the night.”

Her eyes lit, and she smiled. She was almost pretty. “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you and bless you!”

“But tell me,” he asked. “Which direction did your Jeb see them go?”

“That way, sir,” she replied, pointing to the south.

London, of course. Damn. Fitzgelder would get that locket and have the proof he needed to set his schemes in motion. Things would not go well for Rastmoor’s mother and sister. For their sake, he had to get that locket back before it reached its destination. Which meant, of course, he’d be heading south, right into the lion’s jaws.

He’d have to hurry, though, if he hoped to overtake them before Fitzgelder could get his filthy hands on the locket. And there was something more, too. Something far more dangerous would be traveling with them to Fitzgelder. Sophie carried the truth of Julia’s identity!

God, that meant Fitzgelder would know, too. If any part of Julia’s story was true, and she really was on the run from Fitzgelder, she could be in even graver danger than Rastmoor. He simply stood to be murdered by his cousin; there was no telling what fate the hateful man might have planned for a wayward wife.

Rastmoor glanced over to where Julia carefully poured cold water on the arm of a slightly singed servant. She must be forgetting she was playing a part just now; her actions were gentle and feminine, not those of the man whose clothing she wore. Perhaps she was not such a fine actress, after all. Perhaps she really was just a woman who’d been another victim of the bastard, Cedrick Fitzgelder.