Playing with Fire (26 page)

“They came to destroy the letter you had in the statue,” Martin said, “and from all accounts they succeeded.”

Sir Julian went pale and stepped quickly to look in the secret compartment. Sure enough, it was empty. He closed his eyes, thoughts running one after another through his head. Even if he still had the letter, would he want to expose anything now? Such an action would not only ruin Randal, but Amanda as well, and much as he disliked Franklyn’s daughter, could he bring himself to make the wicked past a thing of public discussion at her expense? She was, and always would be, his own brother’s child. Nothing could ever change that.

Hermione went anxiously to him. “Julian? Are you feeling unwell, my dear?”

Tansy and Martin exchanged glances at the easy way she addressed him by his first name.

Sir Julian shook his head. “I’m quite all right, Hermione. Just a little shaken by all this.” Shaken? The word seemed hardly adequate for the way he felt right now. After all the years of keeping Felice’s secret, suddenly he had to face the fact that it was no longer in his power to do anything. Oh, he could trumpet the truth across the country, but who would believe a bitter old man who had such a very well-known ax to grind where the name Sanderby was concerned? He would become more of a laughingstock than he was now; indeed, he would be reviled! And all for nothing, because without proof of any kind at all, Randal Fenworth would remain firm and cozy in his ill-gotten gains. So Sir Julian knew it was out his hands now. The only thing on God’s own earth that would prompt him to confront the ridicule, would be the sudden appearance of Marguerite Kenny’s son—the real Earl of Sanderby….

Ozzy and Cleo were seated in front of the library fire, and they watched Sir Julian’s face in such a way that Tansy felt they knew what he was thinking. Then they got up to go to Martin, around whose legs they wove like two furry shuttles. But other than Tansy, who didn’t understand what they were trying to say, no one else noticed, and as Sir Julian didn’t say what he knew, no one even guessed who was right there in the library with them.

Tansy looked from the cats to her uncle. “I’m so sorry about the letter, Uncle Julian, but there was nothing I could have done. The moment the gentleman found the letter, he ripped it into pieces and threw them on the fire.”

Sir Julian tried to pull himself together. “But how did he know about the secret place? Answer me that.” He paused. “Can you describe him, my dear?”

Tansy did as he asked, and his eyes cleared. “Randal Fenworth!”

Hermione looked at him curiously. “But why on earth would Lord Sanderby wish to enter the house in the dead of night to destroy your letter?”

“Well you might ask,” Sir Julian replied wryly.

“And how did he know where to look for it?” Martin added.

“I don’t think we need go further than Amanda for the answer to that,” Sir Julian replied, his thoughts running on. Was the scheming little minx in full possession of the facts? How far would she go in order to become a countess? The answer was starkly obvious—any length. Any length at all….

Hermione sighed. “I suppose Amanda
is
the obvious source. After all, no one else here has had any contact with Lord Sanderby since I so foolishly revealed the hiding place. Except that reprobate James, of course, but he wasn’t present when I opened the secret compartment.”

Sir Julian went to draw her palm to his lips. “Don’t blame yourself, Hermione, for you weren’t to know.”

“I think there is rather a lot I—we—don’t know, Julian. To begin with, you still haven’t said why the letter would be of importance to Lord Sanderby. Or is it something you prefer not to discuss?”

“Well, I—” Sir Julian broke off in astonishment as there came from the atrium such a torrent of bad language from a raised female voice, that Tansy and Hermione went quite pink with embarrassment. Sir Julian was incensed. “What in the name of perdition is going on out there?” he breathed as he strode out to investigate. The others followed, and found two footmen struggling with a redheaded woman whose supply of expletives seemed quite endless.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Sir Julian, in a tone that brought instant silence.

Liza shook herself free and confronted him. “Are you Sir Julian Richardson?”

“I am. And who, pray, are you?”

“Liza Lawrence. I’m Lord Sanderby’s—”

“Inamorata? Yes, your name is now known to me,” Sir Julian interrupted, for the cook at Bothenbury hadn’t minced her words to his men about Randal’s
belle de nuit.

“Well, I don’t know being an inamorata, but I was his whore, right enough,” Liza admitted candidly. Then her glance happened upon the console table. “My best Russian chattie!” she cried, and pounced upon it. “Oh, I have missed this!”

Ozzy and Cleo, observing from the library door, eyed her with complete disgust.

Sir Julian was taken aback. “The scarf is yours?”

“Oh, yes,” Liza confirmed, as she wrapped it around her throat and patted it neatly into place. It was a little damp, but not much, and it didn’t seem to have come to any harm for being benighted in the woods.

“What were you doing in my woods?” Sir Julian asked her.

“Eh? Oh, Lord High-and-Mighty Sanderby used to bring me along when he came here. He’d wait down in the woods for a signal, then come up to be let in the house. He was searching for something.”

“I know that too,” Sir Julian replied heavily, thinking that the damned mongrel had eventually found it!

“Look, I don’t know much about all this,” Liza went on, “but I do know sufficient. And I don’t half want to get my own back on the miserable excuse for a gentleman who hauled me all the way down here to the sticks, used me, then chucked me aside like an old stocking!”

“So you are here on an errand of revenge?”

“I am.”

Sir Julian exhaled slowly. “I fear you are too late.”

“Too late?” Liza looked at him. “Oh, you mean because he and your niece have run off to Wareham?”

Martin stepped forward. “Wareham?” he repeated.

“That’s right. Their carriage passed me in the lane. They’ve gone off to Wareham, where his lordship has bribed a vicar to do the honors. St. Winifred’s church, I think.”

Martin held her gaze. “Are you quite sure about this?”

“Yes, of course I am. Lord High-and-Mighty used to brag to me about how clever he was. When he decided to throw me out, he’d have done well to remember how much he’d blabbed. She’ll be his bride before nightfall, unless someone goes to stop it. You’ll know his carriage if you see it, for it has a torch badge on its door.”

“I know his badge well enough,” Sir Julian said, then ordered the footmen to have his own vehicle made ready as quickly as possible.

But as the men hastened away, Martin intervened. “Do you intend to go after her, sir?”

“Yes, for it is my duty.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think it would be better if I went instead.”

“You? But, Lieutenant, you are hardly a well man,” Sir Julian became puzzled. “Although, I admit you do seem to have undergone a remarkable recovery.”

Martin smiled. “Put it down to Egyptian magic, sir. Oh, it is quite a story, and I will explain when I return, hopefully having rescued your other niece.”

Tansy took off Martin’s coat and returned it to him; then she caught up her skirts to hurry to the staircase. “I’m going to go with you, Martin!”

Hermione was appalled. “You? My dear, you have just undergone another ordeal, so I think I should be the one to go. Besides, there is propriety to consider!”

“Oh, but—”

Sir Julian was adamant. “No, Tansy, my dear. I will not hear of it. To have one niece rushing around the countryside alone in a carriage with a gentleman is bad enough, but to have
two
…. You stay here. And you too, Hermione, for I do not trust Sanderby one inch further than I could throw him. He has no scruples, and would as soon strike a woman as a man. I will see that some of my men accompany the lieutenant.”

Martin shook his head. “It is better if I go alone, sir. It will attract attention if I take men with me. The chance of scandal may yet be avoided if I can quietly persuade Amanda to come back with me.”

Hermione’s lips twitched. Quietly persuade that uppity miss to come back? Chance would indeed be a fine thing!

Sir Julian thought the same, but gave in nevertheless. “As you wish, Lieutenant. And thank you for this. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Indeed, it seems to me that I am continually in your debt where my nieces are concerned.”

Tansy had remained where she was while this went on, but now she continued up the staircase anyway. “I’ll just go to my room to change into a day dress,” she called back over her shoulder, but as she rushed to her wardrobe, it was her warmest cloak she took out. Moments later, after scribbling a swift note of explanation, she slipped stealthily onto the landing again, still carrying the comforting bronze figurine. The atrium was deserted, everyone having adjourned to the library, including Liza. No one was there to see as Tansy slipped outside into the continuing wind, and hurried along the drive to a convenient clump of bushes. But as she parted the swaying branches to watch the house, she became aware of not being alone. Ozzy and Cleo were with her, their ears back in discomfort as the wind blew their fur the wrong way. Tansy knew without being told that they expected to accompany her in the carriage. How she knew it she could not have said, but the knowledge was there.

Within a minute or so Lysons brought the carriage to the door, and Martin hurried out to climb in. But as the vehicle set off toward her, she stepped into its path, obliging Lysons to haul upon the brakes. “Are you mad, Miss Tansy!” he cried, knowing how close he had come to running her down.

Martin lowered the glass and looked impatiently out. “What’s happened?”

Tansy ran to the carriage, Ozzy and Cleo at her heels. “It’s me, Martin. I’m coming with you, whether Uncle Julian likes it or not.”

“Tansy—”

“If you do not let me in, Martin Ballard, I shall tell Uncle Julian of the liberties you took at the pyramid.”

Martin saw the steely glint in her eyes and gave in. Opening the door, he reached down to pull her swiftly inside. He made no move to prevent the cats from leaping in as well; then he slammed the door, and Lysons urged the team on.

As Martin and Tansy drove off at speed for Wareham, Sir Julian, Hermione, and Liza were in the library at Chelworth. Liza was eating a piece of toast that Sir Julian had offered her. “I do hope your lieutenant gets there in time,” she said, then winked at Hermione. “A proper tasty morsel he is, eh? Just about the tastiest naval officer I’ve ever clapped eyes on.”

Hermione shifted. “Well, I…er, suppose he is handsome, yes,” she replied.

Sir Julian regarded Liza. “Since you have imparted some important information concerning my niece’s whereabouts, you will not go unrewarded.”

“I don’t want anything,” Liza answered. “Besides, I haven’t finished yet. I’ve brought you this.” She searched inside her cloak and drew out the note she’d found in Randal’s pocket lining. “I think you’ll find it very interesting. It’s from a man who was working for Lord High-and-Mighty, investigating about someone’s first wife. His lordship pretended it was on behalf of some friend or other, who was worried about his legitimacy, but it was really Lord High-and-Mighty himself who was worried. And rightly so, if you read what the note says.”

Sir Julian almost grabbed the note, but when he’d finished he was unsure of whether to be hopeful or not. Liza watched his face. “What’s the matter? It’s clear enough, isn’t it? Lord High-and-Mighty’s father was still married when he took his second wife. Bigamy they call it, don’t they?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Bigamy?” she repeated. “Lord Sanderby’s father committed
bigamy?”

“Yes, my dear, he most certainly did,” Sir Julian answered, then returned his attention to Liza. “Miss, er….”

“Lawrence.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Lawrence. I fear that although I know this note tells the truth about Lord Sanderby, in the absence of any names….”

“You mean, it isn’t any use after all?” Liza’s face fell almost comically. “And I was so hoping that I’d get my own back….”

“Never mind, my dear. You did your utmost.”

Hermione was unable to bear the suspense a moment longer. “Will someone
please
tell me what all this is about?”

“Yes, yes, my dear. I promise you shall know all in a moment. First I must attend to this young woman.” Sir Julian went to his deck, took out the leather purse he kept there, and gave it to Liza.

Her eyes widened. “The whole purse?” she gasped.

“Certainly, for I think you have earned it. Where are you bound now?”

“Well, London. Back to Mother Clancy’s bawdy house. Begging your pardon, madam,” Liza added quickly, glancing at Hermione.

Sir Julian beckoned to her and went to the door to address the footman who waited by the statue. “See that Miss Lawrence is given a proper meal in the kitchens; then have the pony and trap made ready to take her to Weymouth. An inside ticket is to be purchased for her on the next stagecoach to London.”

“Yes, sir.” The footman led Liza away.

Sir Julian immediately returned to Hermione and handed her the copied pages. “The late Lord Sanderby did indeed commit an act of bigamy some thirty or so years ago, with the result that Randal Fenworth has no right whatsoever to his title or fortune.”

“Good heavens!” Hermione gasped.

“The time has come for me to unburden myself to someone, and with your permission, my dear, I would like that someone to be you.”

“Of course, Julian, and you may be sure that not a word will pass my lips.”

“I know that, my dear.” Sir Julian began to tell her the whole story of his heartbreaking love affair with Randal’s wronged mother.

* * * *

Amanda had played with fire once too often and was already Randal’s wife. In the little Norman church of St. Winifred’s, on the edge of Wareham, the false Lord Sanderby slipped the ring on his bride’s finger. It wasn’t a proper wedding band, just his heavy signet ring, but it was on the correct finger. The vows had been taken, the final words uttered, and she was Countess of Sanderby at last! Well, almost, for there remained the consummation. The irregularities that accompanied the ceremony were not of any real consequence, for the entry was in the register, and the clergyman was clearly genuine. The special license would be later rather than sooner, but a rider had already been sent to Lambeth Palace for the necessary paperwork to be done. Within a day or so the records of the marriage would be as solid and safe as if it had taken place in St. George’s, Hanover Square, in front of all Mayfair!