Pistols at Dawn (8 page)

The look that lit his nephew's face caused Marcus to feel as if a fist had been planted in his gut.

Hell's Teeth, it was just another painful reminder of how blind he had been. No, he corrected himself. Blind implied that he was not able to see. What he had been was self-centered, not blind. And damnably selfish to boot.

He took a long sip of his brandy to hide his unsettled feelings. Suddenly, he felt woefully unqualified to offer advice of any sort, but at the same time he realized that silence would only be worse.

"Sometimes a simple gesture is more eloquent than any carefully planned speech," he answered.

Lucien appeared to be considering the words from all angles as his head tilted slowly from side to side. "I hadn't thought of it like that," he finally said. "But what you say makes a great deal of sense." He added a shy smile. "Thank you, sir."

The young man's grateful expression did much to assuage the dull ache in the pit of his stomach.

"With your reputation of nerve and daring," he went on haltingly, "I don't imagine you ever made a cake of yourself."

Marcus thought about the stack of ledgers on his desk and decided they could wait. What was happening here was worth infinitely more than any of the pounds and pence contained within their covers.

He settled down more comfortably into soft leather of the armchair and stretched his legs out toward the fire. "Oh, as to that..."

* * *

The visitor carefully scraped the mud and chaff from his boots before stepping into the freshly swept entrance hall. "Is Mrs. Kirtland feeling any better today, Eliza?" he inquired, remembering at the last minute to remove his wool cap.

"Yes, she appears a good deal stronger, though my sister is still a bit concerned about the inflammation in her lungs." Eliza brushed a limp curl from her cheek and forced a smile. "It is kind of you to stop and ask, Ned."

"Well, I doubt that there is a fancy medical man in all of London who would be better able to care for her than Meredith," replied her neighbor.

By the momentary flicker of his gaze, Eliza saw that her pinched features and subdued tone did not escape his notice. However, when he cleared his throat, it was only to offer her s small burlap sack. "I brought you an extra dozen eggs and a pint of fresh milk in case you might like Mrs. Derwood to fix a custard for your mother's supper."

"How thoughtful." Eliza took the package without further comment, hoping to discourage him from lingering at their door. She had no wish for company, especially his. Despite his roughcut appearance, her neighbor had proven himself to be a sharp, observant man.

At the moment, however, he appeared oblivious to her hint. Instead of taking his leave, he merely shuffled his weight from foot to foot. Short of being suspiciously rude, she had little choice but to answer his hospitality. With an inward sigh, she gestured toward the little parlor. "Would you care to come in for a cup of tea?"

"Aye, that would be right nice."

"Why don't you have a seat? I shall just be a minute in taking these back to the kitchen."

When she returned, her neighbor was perched precariously on one of the ladderback chairs, which looked in danger of collapsing from the weight of his solid bulk. A wisp of a smile crossed her lips. "I think that you might be a touch more comfortable on the sofa, Ned."

The farmer gave a baleful glance at his wrinkled trousers and worn jacket, the evidence of a day spent plowing the fields still clinging to the homespun cloth. "Oh, but Eliza, I wouldn't want to go sitting on your proper furniture in such a state."

Her smile became more pronounced as she surveyed the faded chintz and lopsided frame. "I think it has survived far worse than any assault by your person. Do move, else I shan't have a moment's peace wondering whether I shall have to summon Meredith to treat a broken leg. And I mean yours, not the chair's."

He got up reluctantly and settled himself on the edge of the sofa cushions while she took a seat in the facing chair. His massive hands, which looked more like those of a pugilist than a farmer, twisted at his cap as he fixed her with a probing gaze.

"If you don't mind me saying so, you are looking quite peaked, Eliza, which isn't at all like you."

Eliza
did
mind. But instead of making any retort, she dropped her eyes to her apron and began to smooth at the creases. "My mother's illness has naturally been of great concern to me of late."

"Naturally." There was an awkward pause as he shifted his position. "I have missed seeing Meredith out on her usual walks to collect plants. I hope she isn't feeling poorly as well?"

There was a veiled urgency to his question that caused her own hands to fist in her lap. "You know Merry is never ill," she replied lightly, trying to appear unconcerned.

The arrival of the housekeeper with the tea tray gave her an excuse for saying no more than that. Trying hard to disguise her sense of relief, she thanked the woman and began to busy herself with pouring the brew and cutting a generous wedge of the warm apple cake.

Ned Laskin, however, refused to be put off. "Aye, it's true she never seems to suffer from any fever or cough, but 'tis a nasty bruise she is sporting on her face."

Eliza's hand gave a jerk, nearly spilling the cup she was passing to him.

"Happens I caught sight of her out back as I came in from the fields," he went on in a low voice. "Is anything amiss here, Eliza? I would hope you would consider me a close enough friend to confide any... trouble."

"Merry slipped and took a bad fall on the rocks down by the abandoned mill," she said quickly, hoping to put an end to such questions.

The waggle of his brows conveyed quite clearly what he thought of her explanation. His reply, however, was a bit more oblique. "Hmmph. Never known Meredith to be clumsy, either."

"Accidents do happen, Ned, no matter how careful one is." Her voice was rather more shrill than she intended, and she sought to temper the tone with another forced smile. "Living on a farm, you know that as well as anyone."

"Aye." He took a moment to add several spoonfuls of sugar and a slosh of cream to his tea. "It's odd, that's all, that the vicinity of Chertwell is proving more than a mite dangerous to pretty young females of late," he murmured.

Eliza felt the blood drain from her face. "Whatever do you mean?"

Ned's cup hovered in front of his lips. "Will Yount's daughter was attacked last night as she was returning from tending a sick lamb in his upper pasture. Whoever it was roughed her up pretty bad when she tried to resist." His voice became edged with a sharp anger. "And that ain't the worst of it, Eliza, though perhaps I ought not be speaking of such things, you being unmarried and all."

"Nonsense," she responded. "I'm certainly old enough not to be shocked by the ways of the world. Of course you can speak of such realities without fearing I shall fall into a fit of vapors." Her mouth compressed in a tight line. "Poor Mary. Do Will or his neighbors have any idea of who might have done such a horrible thing?"

"No." He took a long swallow of his tea, then fixed her with a searching look. "But you may rest assured that if anyone has any information on who the cowardly dastard is, he'll be dealt with sure enough."

Eliza bit her lip, trying to decide just how to reply. On one hand, she wished to protect her sister. The attack itself had been terrible enough without having Meredith's reputation being bandied about by the local wags. Yet such circumspection warred with the desire to see justice done.

Or was it vengeance?
She couldn't help but hear the echo of the earl's words as she pondered her decision. A part of her acknowledged that perhaps justice was best left to the proper authorities. Toying with her spoon, she countered the admission by recalling the bitter truth of the Marcus's other words—a title and money had more to do with the magistrate's brand of justice than the right and wrong.

No, this was not about vengeance, she assured herself. It was about stopping a vile monster before he harmed yet another young girl. Good Lord, it appeared he had already struck again, perhaps in part because of her very silence.

To quell any further debate with her conscience, she also reminded herself that Ned Laskin was a man of solid character, and well-respected within the village. Surely there was no harm in letting drop certain information, so that someone else might help in deciding what ought to be done.

A bit of the cake crumbled in her fingers. Then, mind made up, she finally spoke. "Did anyone note whether the Earl of Killingworth's nephew was seen in the area?"

Ned's eyes narrowed. "You think I should inquire?" he asked slowly.

Eliza chose her words carefully. "I believe there is an old saying in one of my father's books that goes something like this—the apple rarely falls far from the tree. Are you familiar with it?"

"Aye. I've heard that one, too." He took his time in finishing off the last of his tea. "Well, I had best be on my way." As his hands carefully folded the cotton napkin into a neat square, Eliza couldn't help but notice that his knuckles were hard and fissured as chunks of granite. "There are things that need attending to."

"Ned—"

"Thank you for the tea, Eliza. And for making the meaning of some of them old riddles more... clear to a simple man like me." He rose and tucked his cap under his arm, not before fixing her with a steady look. "You know, I have always thought you were a female of uncommon good sense."

Chapter 6

Meredith lifted her skirts and started to climb over the low stile. The snap of a twig caused her flinch, but as a grouse broke from a nearby thicket, she forced a rueful smile at her own skittishness and cleared the last step. Just as she had figured, a scattering of mushrooms were poking up within the copse of trees fringing the pasture. Despite the deep shadows playing beneath the overhanging limbs, their speckled caps, still damp from an early afternoon shower, were faintly visible among the thick roots.

The breeze ruffled her hair as she drew in a deep breath. She found herself savoring the cool touch of it on her cheeks and the wafting scent of wet leaves and sunlight, rich with the earthy promise of spring growth. Happy to have made the first steps at recovering her confidence, Meredith moved slowly toward the secluded glade. Heedless of the raindrops still clinging to the bed of moss, she knelt and began to dig out the pale stems.

Another sound, this one considerably louder than the whirring of a bird's wings, suddenly echoed through the woods, followed by a flurry of thrashing steps. Meredith grabbed for her basket, but before she could scramble to her feet, a large shape burst from the tangle of brambles.

"Ohhh!" she cried in some alarm. Then any further words of dismay dissolved into a burble of laughter as the tongue of a shaggy grey hound slobbered a kiss across her nose.

"Down, boy," she murmured, burying her hands deep into the animal's thick ruff to ward off another wet embrace. "I assure you, I have already washed behind my ears this morning."

In answer, the hound wagged its plumed tail and gave a delighted bark.

"Ajax!"

The hairy paws dropped from her chest, not before leaving two muddy prints across the sprigged muslin.

"You needn't be afraid. He's really quite harmless—" Lucien's words caught in his throat on seeing who it was. It took a moment to dislodge the rest of them. "T-that is, he's hardly more than a pup," he stammered. "And, well, he's very friendly."

Meredith was already standing, her fingers still wound in the hound's silky fur. She shrank back behind a small elm as the young man took a step toward her.

He fell back as well, a faint flush stealing to his face. "I-I only meant to stop him from doing any more damage to your gown."

As if on command, the animal wiggled out of her grasp and took the end her sash in his jaws, giving it a playful tug. Struggling to keep her balance, she couldn't help smile at the hound's antics.

"It's nothing beyond repair," said Meredith softly, her eyes straying down from her streaked bodice to the bits of moss and leaves clinging to her skirts, then finally to her muddy hem and the waterlogged half boots. "And besides, I'm afraid my appearance was ruined way before the arrival of Ajax."