Wedding Night Revenge (27 page)

Thus Joseph didn't quite know how to tell this lovely, soft-eyed woman that it seemed she'd been stood up because the Earl of Devane was too drunk to remember he'd invited her or her friends to call. Hastily he reminded himself that dealing with such trials and tribulations as the Quality felt entitled to wreak was part and parcel of the duties of any butler worth his salt. With an air of confidence, he reassured her, 'I'm persuaded he might soon return...' In his mind, Joseph already had volunteered one of the footmen to scour the likeliest haunts for sight of his master's unmistakable equipage gracing a seedy kerb.

'Might I wait?' Rachel indicated the hallway chair where she had sat before.

That occasion seemed aeons ago, so much had occurred in the interim.

'But of course! Come along to the rose salon and find a comfortable chair,'

Joseph told her solicitously. 'That pretty room is a favourite with Lady Davenport,' he politely imparted on leading her to a door along the echoing corridor. 'When Mr and Mrs Saunders arrive I shall have them join you. I'll fetch some tea...'

'No! Please don't trouble yourself, Joseph,' Rachel cried quickly. 'I have not long ago dined,' she sweetly added in mitigation to her blunt refusal of refreshment. If her scheme was to have a chance of success, she needed to be left alone, not have him rejoin her after an unknown interval.

With a polite bow Joseph was again by the door. As it closed after his retreating figure, Rachel gripped at the pink-cushioned, gilt-framed chair behind and stiffly lowered herself into it. For a moment nothing registered other than dazed relief at actually having got inside on such a flimsy pretext.

She had done it! 'Please don't ever let Joseph get into bad trouble for admitting me,' was the next thought that emerged prayer-like through her quivering lips.

Her fingers clenched on the golden chair arms, sliding damply. Obliquely she realised just how much in shock she was. Her heart was hammering so fast and hard beneath her ribs that she was amazed the butler hadn't noticed her quaking and become suspicious enough to expose her straight away as a fraud. She put a hand against the satin-covered spot beneath a rounded breast, pressed it as though to forcibly constrain the vibration rocking her fingers. She breathed deeply to calm herself.

Encouragingly she reminded herself that she might have been economical with the facts, but not once had she actually told a lie to Joseph to gain admittance. His master
did
desire her company, the lustful brute, and she had only enquired whether the Saunders had arrived, not that she expected them to do so.

Thank goodness poor Joseph had been too flummoxed by it all to directly ask whether she was invited. On the periphery of her nervous exhilaration, contentment registered: Joseph had unequivocally accepted her right to be here. Lord Devane's interest in her, his patronage,
were
common knowledge.

Suddenly her environment intruded on her thoughts. She took a swift, encompassing look about the perfectly proportioned square room. It was indeed pretty...feminine...with its dusky-pink drapes and furnishings and the thick creamy rug that spilled over the floorboards, stopping short of the wainscoting so that a narrow perimeter of polished wood was displayed. The furniture was fashioned from rich red mahogany: dainty long-legged pieces that complemented the room's elegance. That was the most admiration she lavished on her sumptuous surroundings.

All her intelligence was then devoted to preparing for the work in hand. She would wait a few more minutes; give Joseph Walsh time to go about his duties before she dared put a foot back into the corridor. She must perfectly time her sortie for there would be one chance only to achieve what she'd set out to do.

She had chosen her clothing carefully. Her gown was of a sombre night-blue sarsenet, her stole, black lace. She hoped the sun would soon fully set, for the duskier it became the less likely she was to be spotted darting along the corridors. Not that she wanted it dim enough for the servants to be scurrying about lighting tapers. Should she be discovered roaming the house, her audacious escapade must be aborted and her store of excuses delved into.

She shied away from such a predicament, determined to remain positive and optimistic. She looked at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes past eight. It was still quite light outside although the last sunbeams had disappeared. In fact, it was a beautiful early summer evening. Through the open fanlights she could hear a chorus of blackbirds piping in the dusk, sense a balmy air soft on her skin. For a moment the mesmerising movement of billowing pink velvet held her attention.

Sharply rallying her thoughts, she quickly darted out of the chair and gained the door on noiseless feet. She pressed an ear close to the panels. There was no sound but the fast pump of her own blood deafening her. One small hand slid clammily about the massive brass knob and noiselessly eased open the door an inch...then another... then another, until she had a clear view of the vestibule and was confident it was vacant.

On the point of slipping through the aperture, she suddenly heard footsteps and male voices. Hastily she* shrank back and pushed the door into the frame until just a gap of an inch or two remained.

Joseph Walsh and a liveried footman were walking in the direction of the great doorway as though having emerged from the bowels of the house. The footman appeared to be listening to Joseph's explicit instructions then, with a final nod, he was on his way out of the house. Suddenly Rachel knew why.

Of course! The butler, confused by his master's odd absence when he had guests, would try and find him to alert him to the oversight and bring him home.

Rachel screwed up her lovely face in alarm and exasperation. Closing the door fully, she leaned back against it, thinking...thinking...

Logically, it would be some little while before Lord Devane's whereabouts was located. There was still time. She must simply act without delay.

Having waited, heart in mouth, the few minutes she calculated it would take Joseph to disappear towards the kitchens, Rachel again opened the door a Crack.

She was wrong! Joseph hadn't disappeared at all. This time the sight that greeted her drained the colour from her face and a sharp indrawn breath grazed her throat. She watched, stunned, through the minute opening as the butler pushed the great door closed having just admitted a new arrival.

Joseph would, of course, know this man, for a short while ago they had been work colleagues...

Sam Smith and Joseph Walsh were conversing amiably as they strolled in the direction of the rose salon and thus missed the moment the door clicked fully shut.

Rachel waited tensely, straining to anticipate the moment those cracking footsteps would stop and the door would open. The uneven tattoo drumming on marble came closer...closer...then passed, faded away. She remained perched on the edge of the gilt chair, her fingers clenched on its brocade seat. She sat statue-like for some minutes, barely breathing or thinking; just expecting to hear the beating feet again as the men returned to confront her.

After several minutes of echoing silence, the first anxiety that burrowed into her numb mind was that Sam Smith might be here to alert her to some disaster or other that had occurred in her absence at Beaulieu Gardens. As her logic stirred, she dismissed it. If that were the case they would have entered the room. And, anyway, none of her servants knew she was here.

She had deemed it prudent to keep this visit to Lord Devane's residence strictly to herself. The fewer people involved in this night's work, the better it must be. A hackney cab had brought her here and she intended returning with her booty in the same manner.

Why should Sam Smith not visit his old colleagues? He had made it clear he enjoyed his time working at this house. He and Joseph looked quite gregarious, as though they enjoyed a chat. He was on the staff at Beaulieu Gardens now, but once Sam's chores were' done for the day, what remained of his time was his own to spend where and with whom he would. It was just a bizarre coincidence that tonight of all nights he should choose to pay a visit to the house his new mistress was intending to rob.

Rachel's eyes darted to the mahogany clock in the corner. The time was approaching fifteen minutes to nine. She must make a move; revive her courage and carry out her mission, or take the coward's way and slink away home.

Determinedly, she again approached the door and opened it a crack. She placed a foot outside, then, muttering in frustration, withdrew it almost immediately as she heard indistinct male voices shouting from somewhere in the depths of the house. Was she never to be out of this accursed room!

Through the small gap Rachel frowned despairingly at the hallway, but could see nothing although the commotion seemed to be increasing in volume. Other voices were joining the babble, both male and female, until the whole house seemed a swelling cacophony.

Rachel stood petrified to the spot, a mixture of hysteria and curiosity racing through her as she watched liveried servants converging on the hallway from all directions. A pair of whispering maidservants sped past her fractionally open door, sending a draught to cool her feverish skin. In amongst the voices shouting loudest she recognised both Joseph Walsh's faint Irish intonation and Sam Smith's abrasive cockney.

And then she realised why she could hear her own servant's protestations above so many of the others. He was under arrest! She could see him quite clearly now, held by two burly footmen with Joseph apparently giving him a good scolding. The middle-aged butler's arms were waving about, then one of his hands suddenly formed a fist that was shaken menacingly close to Sam's face.

Rachel opened the door wider, placed a foot outside. Quickly she slipped through the aperture, shut the door silently behind her, cutting off her retreat.

Why on earth were they setting about Sam? was the first thought to penetrate her daze. Why was nothing ever simple? was the second. The third had her taking a circumspect look about. Whatever it was Sam had done, he had quite spectacularly created a diversion that could only help her...if she chose to make use of it.

With a deep, inspiriting breath, and one last glance at the mass of black uniforms milling in the hallway, she flew in the opposite direction.

'Miss Meredith! I've been searching for you!'

Rachel swiftly stepped back from the open drawer, just curbing a guilty impulse to slam it shut. Instinctively she concealed the gun by gripping it in both hands behind her. On legs that felt boneless, she walked away from the massive mahogany desk to demurely face Joseph Walsh.

Joseph shook his head in regret. 'You have heard the awful commotion and come to investigate. It is a strange coincidence indeed that I've discovered you here, where it started.'

'I...I certainly heard a commotion. It started in
this
room?' Rachel managed to casually converse, even though her mind was racing now as fast as her heart.

Joseph strode closer to her, an assiduous look softening his frown. 'Little wonder you were alarmed enough to go exploring. The chaos the rogue has caused! He tried to escape. But now Weekes and Crewe—two of my strongest, fittest footmen—have him safely apprehended. You need not fret that we still have a criminal on the loose beneath our roof.' Suddenly Joseph's expression was utter dismay. 'Heavens! Was it not yourself, Miss Meredith, who was good enough to employ Samuel Smith and his sister when they left here? And I furnished them with such glowing characters to take with them! Lord Devane will be furious, knowing he has introduced to a friend such felons. Although I can't too hastily besmirch the girl's character.

She
might be honest.'

'What do you mean
...felons!'
Rachel whispered, although a horrifying inkling was already in her brain as her eyes darted unbidden to the empty drawer she had so vainly rifled. When she had surreptitiously slipped into the room she had realised straight away that something was amiss. The drawer was already unlocked and pulled out a little way, the key still in the escutcheon, and all that reposed within was the fancy pistol she had stupidly removed to facilitate her fingers searching the rear of the receptacle. Now she had the weapon still clutched behind her back and no chance of replacing it without arousing Joseph's suspicion.

'Samuel Smith has repaid his lordship's kindness, his generosity in giving him and his sister honest employment, by returning to rob him! He wheedled his way in by saying he wanted to collect a forgotten item of clothing for his sister. I have to say I was suspicious. We had not come across even one stocking of Annie's left behind. I thought I'd give him rope enough to hang himself. I let him go alone to fetch what he wanted while carefully observing him. I caught him slipping from the scene of the crime concealing his lordship's possessions.'

Miss Meredith visibly winced and blanched at that news, inducing the butler to sympathetically say, 'Alas, I can see how that has affected you, ma'am, and no surprise. You're fretting that perhaps your own home is no longer secure. Even as we speak the sister might be filching your own valuables.'

'What did he take?'

The sharp query sounded like impertinence but the accompanying sob-like breath from the lady stirred Joseph's pity. Miss Meredith was obviously in shock, and, with one of the iniquitous brood beneath her own roof, entitled to know what sort of swag might interest a family of thieves. 'Smith had in his pocket legal documents and a gem. A magnificent ring, taken from right there!' A finger shot out to indicate the empty drawer. While his eyes were trained dramatically on the spot too, Rachel hastily turned aside, relieving her cramped, aching hands of the gun by slinging it into her reticule.