Damsel in Disguise (30 page)

Would it be too late for Papa? No, not if she found a way to warn him. But how? She doubted she could very well convince Dashford’s footmen to take her with them. Then again, she could probably send them with a note. Indeed, that should be easy enough. It was worth a try. She’d have to be quick, though, if she hoped to get it to them before they left. And she’d have to be careful if she didn’t want Dashford or Rastmoor to find her out of her room, sneaking notes out with footmen.

Padding as softly as she could, she found writing paper and ink on a desk and dashed off a note for Papa. There was the worry that someone might intercept it and learn her true identity, so she was careful not to include her name. Papa would know her writing. To be extra careful, she wrote in French, hoping that any nosy footman or prying servant might not know that language. For an additional caution, she took pains to refer to Fitzgelder not by his name, but as “the troublesome gentleman from London.” She instructed Papa to “meet his favorite young lady at the usual place.”

There. Should the note somehow fall into the wrong hands, no one could link it to her or identify Papa by it. Hopefully, Papa would understand her meaning and leave for Gloucester at once. When she could finally get away from here, she would meet him there. With luck, by then this business of Fitzgelder and that locket might be sorted out. Sophie might turn up safe and sound, and Rastmoor would be saved. Penelope, too. No matter what the gullible girl may have already done with Fitzgelder, she certainly did not deserve a lifetime shackled to him.

Making certain the hallway was still empty, Julia tiptoed her way out and toward the servants’ stairs. She didn’t dare run the risk of bumping into Rastmoor or Fitzgelder down in the main part of the house. It would be better to stay hidden until she could find those footmen and present them with her note—addressed to Giuseppe, of course—without any disapproving audience.

She made her way down to the ground floor without running into anyone who might question her unorthodox presence and quietly wound her way toward where she thought she’d heard Dashford’s voice disappear. She’d done well; just as she rounded a corner, she saw two footmen coming out of the room she recognized as the front drawing room. One of them carefully tucked a note into his livery and waited as Dashford’s voice carried out of the room behind them. Julia ducked into a doorway to listen.

“Make sure they understand; two grooms carry that note. No one travels alone. And tell them to keep their eyes open.”

“Yes, sir,” the footmen replied.

“And then I need you back in here. I’ll set a few others on watch outside, but as long as Mr. Fitzgelder is in this house, no one gets any rest, unfortunately.”

His men didn’t seem to complain. It appeared they would not be the ones carrying the letter, but they would take it to the stables and grooms would be dispatched. That was good. She was wondering how she was supposed to explain things to these footmen when they’d been told she was mute. The grooms out in the stables, however, would not likely have been given that information. If she made her way out there and gave her orders directly to the ones assigned to travel to Loveland, they would not be likely to think anything amiss. How convenient for her. All she needed to do was follow the footmen to find the way to the stables.

She tucked herself tightly up against the wall just inside the doorway where she’d taken refuge as she heard the footmen passing by. Dashford’s footfalls went off the other way. She hoped he was going to check on Rastmoor. Julia did not much approve the idea of him meeting alone with the cousin who wanted to see him dead.

She would simply have to force herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. As soon as the corridor around her was silent again she went off after the footmen, the cryptic note for Papa clutched in her hand. She hoped he got it in time.

 

 

“I’VE ASKED HER TO MARRY ME,” FITZGELDER WAS saying with an awkward grin that Rastmoor could only assume aimed to make the man appear besotted. Its actual result was to make the bastard look something more akin to demonic.

“And she has given me proof that she would love nothing better,” the demon added.

“I know what she gave you, damn it,” Rastmoor said, though the sound came out with rather a low hiss.

“Then you understand that things have progressed to the point where a marriage is necessary.”

“Hell. I understand she gave you the locket. She’s admitted to nothing else.”

“Oh. Then I will forgo mentioning anything else.”

You’d damn well better.
“That locket was not hers to give. It is part of the estate. I’ll take it back now, Fitzgelder, if you please.”

“I’m terribly sorry, dear Cousin, but I’m afraid I cannot help you there. It seems I’ve managed to, er, misplace it.”

“Well, that’s rather careless of you, considering it was a love token from the woman you’ve planned to make your wife. One would think you’d keep better track of such things.”

“Oh, I’ve been keeping track of it,” Fitzgelder assured him. “I have a very good notion where I might find the thing, as a matter of fact.”

“Do you now?”

“I would start by asking your friend Clemmons what he’s done with his charming little wife.”

Rastmoor felt his blood chill. Was Fitzgelder baiting him? Why mention Clemmons if he didn’t know the truth behind Julia’s false identity? The old suspicion raised its ugly head, but only for a moment. Julia was not in league with this man. His soul knew it indisputably. But if Fitzgelder was aware of Julia’s presence here, she was in danger. He’d best play the game until he knew exactly how much Fitzgelder understood—and just what he planned to do about it.

“Who?”

“Come, come, Cousin. There’s no need for silly playacting. I know you’ve been traveling with him. What’s his game? Blackmail, perhaps?”

Blackmail?
At that, Rastmoor couldn’t help but laugh. Was it possible Fitzgelder really did not know who he’d been following? Could he possibly be in the dark about Julia’s ruse? It was almost too good to believe.

His reaction must have shown on his face. Fortunately, Fitzgelder seemed to misinterpret that, too. Clearly Rastmoor had been giving the man’s intellect entirely too much credit lately.

Fitzgelder’s grin slipped into a menacing sneer. “Ah, it seems I’ve hit on something, haven’t I? You’re concerned about Clemmons. What’s his hold on you, Cousin? Did he send his little wife off with the locket until you give him what he wants?”

Rastmoor wasn’t sure how to answer that. A part of him wondered if he ought to just let Fitzgelder continue on with his confusion, but that could lead to the fool seeking out a confrontation with Julia. That might not go so well. If only he had Julia’s talent for creative explanation! He needed a good one—fast—and was coming up blank.

“So that’s why you’re here,” Fitzgelder said, apparently coming up with his own creative explanation for things. “Clemmons wants the treasure.”

“The
what
?”

“Oh, don’t act stupid. I know all about the treasure. Your father and his bloody French allies hid it well, didn’t they? I just can’t figure how Clemmons plays into this. Does he hold part of the code, or something?”

“Code?”

“Damn it, Rastmoor! Don’t treat me like I’m ignorant! I know all about the code. Your simpleminded sister should have been a little more cautious about handing me the code.”

“The code was in the locket?” Rastmoor asked.

Funny, all along he’d thought the locket contained information of a more personal nature. After all, the papers he’d found tucked away with the locket had contained information about a certain payment that was being made every month to an anonymous account—and everything was written in French. At best, his father must have been supporting a French mistress. At worst, he was involved with the enemy during war times. This latter is what Fitzgelder had always implied. It didn’t seem possible, but it would ruin his family should proof of such treason be produced.

But even after obtaining the locket, Fitzgelder had not produced that proof. A code, therefore, made perfect sense. If the locket merely contained damning evidence, why would Father have kept it lying around, leaving it for Mother when he died? No, if that were all it was, he would have destroyed it, and the thing would hold no value to Fitzgelder now. Indeed, Rastmoor should have realized there was more to it than they’d thought.

But if Fitzgelder already had the code, why was he still interested in the locket? What the hell sort of “treasure” had the man been talking about? It sounded just short of rubbish to him, yet Julia had been convinced Fitzgelder was willing to murder Sophie to get his hands on it again. Was he? Or was Sophie, in fact, a part of his scheme? Not likely, he supposed, if Fitzgelder still believed her married to a nonexistent man named Clemmons. Unless he was lying about that in an attempt to lure Rastmoor into supplying further details about the locket and its supposed code.

But Rastmoor had none. How did Fitzgelder come to know anything about this when Rastmoor had not? What made him so certain Penelope would be able to get it for him in the first place? Indeed, Rastmoor had a thousand questions, but they would have to wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making certain Julia and Penelope were safe from whatever treachery Fitzgelder might have planned.

“So, I take it since Penelope gave you the locket you’ve puzzled out the code already,” he said. “You don’t need Clemmons or his runaway wife.”

“Unfortunately, the locket wasn’t in my possession long enough for me to give it the attention it was due,” Fitzgelder grumbled. “Clemmons’s damn hussy took off with it. So, Cousin, it appears you and I have something in common.”

“Oh, I very highly doubt that.”

Fitzgelder sneered bigger. “How it must pain you to be reduced to an equal position with me. But truly, you and I are both at the mercy of this bastard Clemmons. So tell me, what are his demands?”

Botheration. This line of discourse could only draw Julia into a dangerous situation. “I’m afraid you’ve made some hasty conclusions. Clemmons and I are here together only by chance. He was seeking his wife, and I thought to help him. I’m afraid I don’t fully understand what you say is his involvement with the locket Penelope offered to you.”

Fitzgelder slammed his hand on the nearest table. The sputtering lamp standing on it rattled and shook precariously. “Like hell! Clemmons and his wife took the locket then headed out to meet you. Now here you are—together—just a stone’s throw away from the treasure, and you claim it’s coincidence? I’m not simpleton enough to buy that. What is Clemmons’s business with you? Tell me!”

“The man’s wife is gone. He’s distraught. I took pity on the poor bastard, and there’s nothing more to the story.”

“I’ll bet I could get something more out of Clemmons. Perhaps I should just go find the fellow and discuss this with him?”

“No! He doesn’t know anything more than I’ve told you.”

“You seem rather sure of that.”

“I am sure of that. It’s his wife. She’s the one who wants the treasure. She was only using him to get it.”

Fitzgelder seemed to pause long enough to consider this. “She doesn’t seem the type. She’s nothing but a dirty whore I pulled out of a brothel and let her work in my home because she amused me. She doesn’t have the brains to comprehend what that locket is or just what it could mean for her.”

“And Clemmons believed her a respectable servant. That just goes to show, no one can trust a pretty face. She duped you both.”

“Let’s go see this Clemmons and find out just who’s the one who’s been duped around here.”

“I think we’ve done enough talking for one night, Fitzgelder. The locket is gone, and there is no treasure. I’m never giving my consent to your marriage to Penelope, and this is just a waste of our time here tonight. You should leave.”

“Sending me away, are you? Shouldn’t that be Dashford’s prerogative?”

“I’m sure he’d approve. You were, after all, not exactly invited.”

Fitzgelder was getting red in the face, and Rastmoor fully expected more table pounding. The knock at the study door interrupted them, however. The butler appeared.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he began in his steady tone. “Your mother has asked me to bring you word. Something rather urgent, I believe.”

He wasn’t eager to receive urgent word from his mother right here in front of Fitzgelder, so he rose and went to meet the butler in the doorway. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“There is a problem, sir.”

The evening air was thick with moisture, and the heavy clouds blocked out what was left of the sunset. Julia had no trouble keeping herself concealed as she followed the footmen out into the yard where they made their way toward the stables. Dashford’s luxurious estate had no shortage of hedges and garden foliage sending shadows every which way. Certainly all manner of secret undertakings could go on out here under cover of moonlight. She only hoped she would not lose the men as they carried out their master’s orders.