The Runaway McBride (21 page)

Her voice was equally pleasant. “I believe he is Mrs. Hughes’s nephew or second cousin. Shall we take our places? The lecture is about to begin.”

He wasn’t satisfied with her answer but wasn’t given the chance to probe, because Faith launched into an account of some of the people she had met.

“I’ve managed to place faces with the initials in my mother’s diary. The lady with the bright red hair? That is Jayne Coltrane, and the gentleman with her is her brother, Laurence Coltrane. According to Lady Cowdray, my mother and Jayne had a falling-out over something or other, but that was long before they went on that last expedition to Egypt.”

“I wonder what they quarreled about? ”

“Either no one knows, or they are being circumspect.”

“Circumspect? ” He raised one brow. “This mob would not thank you for calling them circumspect. They like to think they are eccentric. No, they’re not circumspect, they’re egotists, and I got that by listening into their conversations as I wandered around.”

The annoyance in Faith’s expression died away, and she sighed. “There is something in what you say, but that is not why they are unwilling to take outsiders into their confidence. And that’s what we are, James, outsiders.”

They found places at the edge of the back row and sat down. “Well,” he said finally, “did you find out what happened to your mother’s box? ”

“No one seemed to think it was important. According to Lady Cowdray, boxes go missing all the time. They are left behind or left on docks and stolen. And after so many years, no one can remember who lost what or where.”

He said grimly, “I’d wager that someone remembers but isn’t telling. Someone here, perhaps.”

Faith looked at him skeptically. “What makes you think so? ”

“Have you forgotten what happened in Chalbourne? Don’t let your guard down, Faith. Not for one moment.”

“Hush!” A lady in a bonnet with a robin bobbing on it glared at them over her shoulder. “Can’t you see that Professor Marsh is waiting for silence before he begins? ”

Conversation died away, and after clearing his throat, the professor began to speak. James was prepared to be bored out of his mind, but the opposite happened. Buried beneath a mound of anecdotes was the central idea of Marsh’s address, that somewhere near Luxor, in the Valley of the Kings, there were pharaohs’ tombs in the cliffs waiting to be discovered. Another expedition was planned for November, if local conditions were favorable, which meant, as James understood it, if British forces kept the area clear of troublesome tribesmen.

A hum of conversation swept the audience then died away when the professor held up his hand for silence. Only one thing remained, he said, before the expedition could get under way, and that was to raise funds so that excavators who were too poor to pay their own way would have their way paid for them.

At this point, James’s zeal for the project suffered a set-back. He frowned down at Faith. “This is a fund-raising event, isn’t it?”

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I have no idea. Lady Cowdray didn’t mention anything about funding the expedition when she invited me to the lecture. I’m sure no one expects you to make a donation. You’re not a member of the society.”

James glanced around at the other members of the audience. Necks were craned as people turned to stare at him. There was no doubt in his mind that word had gotten out that the man who had brought Madeline Maynard’s daughter to the lecture had deep pockets. Bloody hell! They must think he was here to support the cause.

There was a round of applause when their host replaced the professor at the lectern.

Resigned to his fate, James folded his arms across his chest and regarded his host with a grudging respect.

Hughes was all jokes and geniality as he introduced, one by one, patrons who were leaders in their various fields and were now in a position to give back to the community in this worthwhile endeavor. As each person was named, he or she stood and was given a round of applause.

Hughes wasn’t finished yet. “As you know, everyone is encouraged to donate to the cause. My steward will be on hand to receive contributions, however small. John? ”

The steward was not dressed in livery but like every other gentleman who was there. He looked about fifty, but a distinguished fifty, as though he were a former soldier.

James murmured, “Diabolical! Who would dare refuse that stony-faced general anything? Hughes is scaring money out of this captive audience.”

“Well, he doesn’t scare me!”

“And I know,” Hughes went on, “that we can count on the support of our newest, honorary member, the man who is engaged to Miss Faith McBride, whom you know better as Madeline Maynard’s daughter. I mean, of course, the railway magnate, Mr. James Burnett.”

“What? ” blurted Faith, glaring at James.

“Don’t look at me! I didn’t tell anyone we were engaged.”

“Then who did?”

“Didn’t Harriet tell Mr. Danvers? These things have a way of getting around.”

“Harriet told Robert? ”

“In the Burlington Arcade. What did you tell him?”

She pressed her hand to her mouth. “Nothing.”

Their conversation was interrupted by thunderous applause.

James knew when he’d been outmaneuvered and gave his host a salute, which made Hughes beam at him.

Faith whispered, “I didn’t know you were an honorary member.”

“Neither did I.”

Her expression hardened, and she lifted her chin. “The nerve of that man! You’re not the least bit interested in Egyptian antiquities! What are you going to do?”

Hughes had left the lectern and was approaching James.

James stood up. “I see I’m being invited to join the other saps in Mr. Hughes’s library.” He loved the fiery glint in her eyes. “Don’t take on so, my pet. It’s only money.”

She watched him saunter toward Hughes with a nonchalant smile.

Not long after that, the doors to the garden room were opened,
and guests cooed and gasped at the sight that met their eyes. It was dark outside now, but the garden room was lit up with Chinese lanterns hanging from every tree branch. There were tables and chairs set out informally for guests who wished to eat, and the usual complement of liveried footmen dispensing glasses of champagne and lemonade from silver trays.

Faith wasn’t interested in food. She hung back and searched the sea of faces for the young man with the red hair. She still could not get over the shock of seeing him after all these years. Alastair Dobbin was the young man who had escorted her to Scotland when she’d hoped to surprise James and instead had been surprised by a visit from the girl he eventually married. Mr. Dobbin had known nothing of her troubles, though he’d known she was engaged to James.

They’d said good-bye in Edinburgh’s station, and while the train had taken him on to his home in Aberdeen, she had put up at a nearby hotel.

They’d hardly done more than greet each other tonight when James had come bearing down on them. Startled, disconcerted, she’d managed a garbled plea that Alastair should meet her on the terrace when the lecture was over, then she’d quickly intercepted James, drawing him away before he discovered her secret.

Deep down, she was aware that she was making too much of that long-ago trip to Edinburgh. At the same time, it was nobody’s business but her own. She’d suffered a private humiliation.
Private.
And that was how she wanted to keep it.

There was no sign of Alastair in the garden room, so she pushed through the glass doors leading onto the terrace. One or two gentlemen were already there, trying to light their cigars. A lone woman stood out like a sore thumb. The thought prompted her to slip into the shadows then strike out along the path that meandered down to the river. When she felt she was out of sight and out of earshot, she turned aside and concealed herself in a clump of rhododendron bushes. From this vantage point, she had a good view of the terrace.

A minute went by, then another, and Faith began to wonder whether Mr. Dobbin had understood her odd request. Had she asked him to meet her on the terrace or in the gardens? The terrace was brightly lit, and it was evident to her that Alastair was not there. She looked over her shoulder. The path to the river was not so well lit.

Which way should she go? Her mind was made up when she heard the tread of leather on the path ahead. Picking up her skirts, she slipped out of the cover of the bushes and followed the sound.

“Alastair?” she whispered, then a little louder, “Alastair?”

The sound of someone moving ahead of her stopped. She stopped, too. She had a flash of recall: Chalboume and the desperate race to escape from the villains who wanted her mother’s diary.

What a fool she was to come out here alone like this! Her heart was racing, her breathing was quick and shallow. Without conscious thought, she stepped off the path and took shelter under a laburnum tree.

Eyes and ears straining, she remained frozen in place. There was little to see in front of her. Some of the lanterns had been blown out by the breeze, and though she knew that there would be boats on the river, the mist was thick at that point, and no friendly lights winked at her.

Off to her left, a twig snapped, and she stifled a panicked moan. Someone was out there, someone who was trying to conceal his movements.

Or it could be a groundsman sent to light the lanterns that the wind had blown out.

Or it could be someone from the house who had a secret tryst with a lady.

Or it could be a vagrant on the prowl for food and shelter.

Or it could be the villains who had lain in wait for her in Chalbourne.

Without making a sound, she opened her reticule and retrieved the revolver James had given her. Holding it loosely in the folds of her gown, she waited. If worse came to worst, she could let off several shots. Surely someone up at the house would hear them.

Though she had been expecting to meet up with Mr. Dobbin, she gave a start when she heard his voice.

“Miss McBride,” he said, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought we were to meet on the terrace.”

She gave a light laugh and unobtrusively slipped her revolver into her reticule. “Too many gentlemen smoking cigars.”

By tacit consent, they followed the path that led to the river. Faith was racking her brain, trying to find the words to express herself without turning the Edinburgh episode into a melodrama.

She stopped under one of the lanterns and came straight to the point.

“Mr. Dobbin,” she said. “Alastair, I have never told James that I was ever in Edinburgh, or Scotland, for that matter. That trip turned out to be”—she gave an artificial laugh as she searched for words—“an unmitigated disaster.”

“I understand,” he said, though his expression told her that he didn’t understand at all.

She shrugged helplessly. “I had a change of heart at the last moment and took the next train back to London.” It was the truth, or as near the truth as made no difference, so she was able to look him straight in the eye. “I was too young to marry, a silly girl of nineteen, too young to know my own mind.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “And now you’re older and wiser? ”

“Something like that.” She had no wish to embark on an involved explanation of her present circumstances and went on quickly, “I ran away,” she said, “not only from James but from my life and friends in London. The thing is . . .”

“Yes? ”

She kept her voice easy. “I don’t want him to know that I was ever in Edinburgh, for reasons I cannot share with you. You’re the only one who can betray my little secret. May I count on you to keep it to yourself? ”

His grin faded, and his voice was oddly grave. “I won’t say a word to him—”

“Thank you!”

“—but I can’t promise that he won’t hear of it. I mentioned it to my aunt, seeing no harm in it, and I know she told Lady Cowdray.” He was eyeing her curiously.

She felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach, but she managed to summon a smile. “You’re right. What harm can there be in that? Please forget I ever mentioned it.”

To her intense relief, she was spared the embarrassment of answering any questions he might have raised when great drops of rain began to fall.

“The boathouse is close by,” Mr. Dobbin said. “We’ll be high and dry there.”

The boathouse? How far had they come? Faith looked back toward the house. The lanterns in the grounds were going out one by one, doused by the rain, but she could see the lights of the house. They seemed a long way away, and the great drops of rain were turning into a deluge.

A hand gripped her arm, and Mr. Dobbin said fiercely, “The boathouse is our best chance of getting out of this storm. Come along, Faith.”

Blinded by the rain, she let him lead the way. They didn’t have far to go. Mr. Dobbin opened the door, and Faith stumbled inside, tripped over something on the floor, and went sprawling. It was so dark in that small interior that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.