The Runaway McBride (16 page)

He gave the invitation a cursory glance and studied the photograph of her mother. The face that stared out at him was remarkably like Faith’s, but Madeline’s features lacked the soft, feminine contours of her daughter’s. It was possible, of course, he told himself, that he was allowing the tales Faith had related of this fearless lady to shape his thinking. He admired women like Madeline Maynard tremendously, but he preferred to do it from afar.

“It’s not a very good photograph,” he said, and he flipped it over to read the inscription on the back.

“No. Well, it was taken ten years ago. There have been amazing improvements in photography since then.” She gave him the second photograph. “This was taken on my mother’s last visit to Cairo. A few days later, she was dead.”

He scrutinized the faces in the photograph and found Madeline in the front row. “Where are these people now? ”

“Some of them are members of the Egyptology Society. Lady Cowdray said she would introduce me to them at their next meeting. A few of them, to use Lady Cowdray’s expression, are no longer with us.”

“They’re dead? ”

She nodded. “Or they’ve moved away.”

“I’d like to borrow this photograph if I may.”

Her reply was lost when their carriage rattled and bucked as it shot over a bridge. The sandwiches and savories on her plate did a wild dervish, then just as suddenly stopped when their carriage righted itself. A hoot from the engine had James grinning.

Faith said faintly, “I think the engineer is enjoying himself.”

He slipped the photograph into his coat pocket. “I bet half the men on this train wish they were up there with him.”

She smiled weakly, but the smile soon faded. “I still can’t believe that I’m at the center of some devious conspiracy.”

“Not a conspiracy,” he corrected. “Leastways I don’t think so. I’m putting my money on one villain who thought he’d got away with a capital crime—murder or something like it—and got the shock of his life when you turned up and started asking questions about Madeline Maynard.” He swallowed the dregs of his wine and looked at her over the rim of his glass. “You see what this means? ”

“It means that the first thing I do is buy myself a gun and learn to use it. No. The first thing I do is get out of London! Lily is expecting me, anyway.”

“And where is Lily? ”

“In Brighton with her brother and his family. We go there every year.”

He shook his head. “I’m not keen on your running off to Brighton, and the same goes for St. Winnifred’s. These thugs will be looking for you, and those are the first places they’ll look. In a few days, when no one breaks down their doors and hauls them off to prison, they’ll think they’re safe. I want you where I can keep a close eye on you.”

She was remembering the man with the cultured voice who had pointed his gun straight at her, and she swallowed.

“Faith? ”

She looked up at him. He was on his feet, returning the basket to the rack above the banquette. She watched the muscles bunch on his arms and across his broad shoulders. His hands were square and strong, strong enough to break a few heads. He was built like a wrestler. Though she was loath to admit it after the shabby way he had rejected her, she was more than willing to let him keep a close eye on her.

He sat down beside her. “Look on the bright side,” he said. “With a bit of luck, we may know in a few hours who is behind the plot to harm you. All you need do is transcribe your mother’s diary.”

“I told you. It’s not going to be that easy. It’s in code.”

He shrugged. “Fine. But however long it takes, I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

She shot him a glance and decided there was no hidden threat in his words. Of course, he wasn’t thinking of seducing her in some dingy hotel. He had made his sentiments as clear as crystal.

“If I can’t stay at the school or join Lily in Brighton,” she said, “where am I going to go? ”

“My aunt, I know, would be more than happy to have you as her guest. You remember my aunt? You met her on Speech Day. Her house is in Berkeley Square.”

“What’s to stop those villains coming after me at your aunt’s house to get Madeline’s diary? I don’t think two women on their own would be much of a match for them.”

His mouth quirked. “I’m not so sure about that. I think you and my aunt would be a match for anyone. However, you won’t be alone. I intend to move in with you. Hopefully, it won’t be for long.”

“Won’t it look odd? Your coming to live with your aunt? ”

“I’ll say that I’m getting my house refurbished. Come to think of it, that will surprise no one. It hasn’t been decorated in years, and most of the rooms are empty. No. No more questions. I need time to think about how we are going to proceed.”

She exhaled a spurt of breath. He was doing it again, taking charge, as though he were the company chairman and she were one of the serfs. “Don’t I have any say in this? ”

He stretched one arm along the back of the banquette and gave her a sleepy grin. “Of course. I’m all ears. How do you think we should proceed? ”

She chewed on her bottom lip and gazed out the window. “I need time to think about it.”

“Fine.” He looked at his watch. “There’s at least an hour to go before we reach London. I’m going to catch forty winks.”

It was dark when they reached the house in Berkeley Square,
and by the time they alighted from the hansom cab, Faith was beginning to have second thoughts. She felt like an intruder and was convinced that his aunt would be put out. James’s softly spoken directive to let him do all the talking only added to her sense of awkwardness. What kept her back straight and her feet moving was the outline of her mother’s diary clutched close to her bosom. Though she was out of practice, she knew how to read her father’s code. That was her obsession now: to transcribe her mother’s diary in hopes of finding out why someone would go to such lengths to suppress it.

Her inner reflections came to an abrupt halt when the door was opened by what appeared to be a blacksmith in livery. His blue jacket fairly molded itself to muscles as hard as boulders. He couldn’t have been much older than James.

“Ah, Butcher,” said James, “be kind enough to tell my aunt I’m here.”

Butcher beamed. “Come in, come in. A pleasure to see you again, sir. I thought you knew. Your aunt left to visit friends in Henley, oh, on Thursday last, and on Friday, your family arrived.”

“My family?” said James, and Faith detected a slight tightening of his smile.

The butler nodded. “They are in the dining room. Shall I—”

“James? Is that you?” The dining room door swung open, and a man in his late fifties emerged. He walked with the aid of a cane, and though his dark hair was turning to gray, there was no doubt in Faith’s mind that she was looking at an older version of James.

“Father!” said James. “I thought you were fixed in Scotland.”

They shook hands, but their greeting lacked warmth in Faith’s opinion.

Others emerged from the dining room, a youngish woman in her mid-forties whose smile of welcome held a trace of anxiety, a dark-haired girl of eleven or twelve and, finally, a young man of no more than eighteen or nineteen. He was very handsome and looked as though he knew it.

James caught her hand and brought her forward. “Faith,” he said, “come and meet my family.” To his family, with the same strained smile, he went on, “This is Miss Faith McBride.”

Before the introductions could be completed, the handsome youth straightened and took a step forward. “Faith McBride?” He chuckled. “The runaway McBride? The girl who left you standing at the altar, Brother? Well, this should make for an interesting family get-together. And here I thought it was going to be dull.”

“Roderick!” interjected his father sternly, “that will do.”

Faith acknowledged each person with a smile and a slight inclination of her head. The woman with the anxious eyes was Margaret Burnett, evidently James’s stepmother. The handsome youth was Roderick, a half brother, and the eleven-year-old girl, Harriet, had to be his half sister.

James had a family.
The thought bounced around inside her head like a ricocheting bullet. She knew that he had a father and that there was a crumbling castle near Aberdeen. She knew his mother had died when he was only twelve. She could not say that he hadn’t mentioned his family but, as far as she remembered, he’d been referring to his cousins.
James had a family.
She’d once been engaged to the man. She had made the trip to Scotland and met the woman he had eventually married. No one had mentioned a stepmother or younger siblings to her.

James’s voice cut across her thoughts. “Things are never dull when you are around, Roddy. What is it this time? Gaming debts? Woman trouble? Or have you been sent down from St. Andrews yet again? ”

“All three,” replied Roderick airily. “We can’t all be like you, Jamie, with our noses to the grindstone.”

Margaret Burnett gave a nervous laugh. Ignoring this contentious byplay, she grasped Faith’s free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching Madeline’s diary in a death grip. “Are you hungry? Have you dined? Shall I ask Butcher to bring you something to eat? ”

Faith warmed to the woman at once. She wasn’t polished or elegant like most women of her class. In fact, she seemed almost shabby, and Faith wondered whether it was because she wasn’t interested in clothes or whether her husband kept a tight grip on the purse strings.

James’s voice cut off Faith’s reply. “The most damnable thing has occurred,” he said, and he went on to tell his family what he’d told the stationmaster at Chalbourne, how Faith was attacked by ruffians when she left Lady Cowdray’s place, and how he, by sheer chance, had business in the same area and had managed to spirit her away. He made no mention of the diary.

When he came to the end of his story, Mr. Burnett clapped James on the shoulder. “All’s well that ends well, eh, lad? ”

Roderick made a loud, derisory sound, which everyone ignored.

James went on, “As you may imagine, Faith, Miss McBride, doesn’t wish to return home until the police have got to the bottom of the attack on her. I gave them this address, hoping that Aunt Mariah would put us up. My place is in a shambles. Besides, it wouldn’t be fitting for Faith to take up residence in a bachelor establishment. If I’d known you had taken over Aunt Mariah’s house, I would have settled Faith in a hotel.”

Margaret said, “A hotel? I wouldn’t dream of allowing Miss McBride to go to a hotel. There is plenty of space here. I’ll get the maid to make up rooms for you both.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said James. “A hotel will do fine.”

Faith saw Margaret wince, and she hastened to smooth things over. Shooting James a scorching look, she said, “What James means is that we don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. We’d like you to stay, wouldn’t we, Colin? ”

James’s father nodded. “That goes without saying.” He turned aside to have a word with the butler.

James looked at Faith and, more pointedly, at the parcel she clutched, and the message she received was that he wanted them to start decoding her mother’s diary as soon as possible, not socialize with his family.

The silent message that she sent back was that they would get to the diary when she was ready and not a moment before.

Smiling warmly at Margaret, she said, “I was supposed to catch the train for Brighton, but James wouldn’t hear of it. The trouble is, my traveling case with all my clothes went on ahead of me. As for being hungry, I’m famished. Sandwiches with a pot of tea to go with them will do very well, thank you.”

The smile returned to Margaret’s eyes. “Did you get that, Butcher? And we’ll be in the drawing room.”

“I did, ma’am. Sandwiches and tea in the drawing room, and the upstairs maid is to get two rooms ready, one for Miss McBride and the other for Mr. James.”

Margaret looked from James to Faith, as though she expected them to make their excuses and leave. When that didn’t happen, she released a pent-up breath then led the way to the stairs.

Faith had taken only a fleeting impression of the house. Now she looked about her with interest. Though it was Georgian and typical of other Mayfair town houses with its beautiful proportions and cantilevered staircase, it was not decorated in the current mode. The paintings on the walls were anything but sentimental and depicted scenes of the blood and gore of long-ago battles.

James’s father kept her informed as they climbed the stairs. “Stirling Bridge,” he pointed out as though Faith would recognize its significance. His voice changed, softened, as he pointed to another. “Culloden,” he intoned. “It should never have happened.”

James’s voice carried to her. “My aunt’s late husband and my father are—were—passionate about Scottish history. Wait till you see the dining room.”