The Scandals Of An Innocent

CHAPTER TWELVE

IT WAS SNOWING AGAIN by the time that Miles reached the Granby-big white flakes this time that obscured the view and would, he knew, already have covered over any evidence of footprints on Fortune Row. In the private parlor he found Nat Waterhouse and Dexter Anstruther encamped before a roaring fire.

“Not looking quite your usual immaculate self, old chap,” Dexter said by way of greeting. “Nat’s filled me in on what has happened. You’re unhurt?”

“Completely,” Miles said. He stripped off his gloves and crossed to the fire to warm his hands.

“And Miss Lister?” Nat asked. “That looked like a nasty scratch on her arm.”

“She was cold and shaken but she refused to see a doctor,” Miles said. “She’s a most remarkable woman.” He saw Nat and Dexter exchange a glance. “What?” he demanded testily.

“Nothing at all,” Dexter said smoothly. “Do you need a drink?”

“Just coffee,” Miles said. “Strong.”

He took a cup and sank into one of the armchairs with a deep sigh. He had faced many situations in his career that were far more dangerous than the one that he and Alice had been in and yet in some obscure way the incident had shaken him far more than it ought to have done. Alice’s tense white face was before his eyes; he could see the blood seeping from between her gloved fingers as she had tried to stem the flow from the bullet wound. She had been terrified and yet so calm, when many women would have succumbed to the vapors or worse. He had been right in thinking her valiant.

Would I had the right to protect her…

When he had seen that she had been shot, terror had grabbed him by the throat in a way he had never experienced before. He had known fear many times in his life. Only a fool or a madman would deny that they were afraid in battle or when they were on the wrong end of a gun. But the fear he had felt for Alice had been different. It had been a dread of losing something he had barely found, a horror that something immeasurably important was about to be snatched from him before he had even had chance to grasp it properly. It was probably a dread of losing Alice’s money, he told himself, but nevertheless a feeling stirred within him that was strange and unfamiliar. He cleared his throat abruptly and put down his cup with a sharp snap.

“Did you have a chance to discover any evidence on the Row before the snow came down again?” he asked Nat.

Nat nodded. “There were footprints in the snow around Seven Acre Covert. I took some measurements. He was a big man with a firm tread. There had been a horse there, as well. The distance from where your carriage was situated was about two hundred yards.”

“No great distance for an accurate marksman,” Dexter observed.

“He wasn’t very accurate,” Miles said. “He missed three times.” He turned to Nat. “Would you have missed at that distance?”

Nat shook his head slowly. “No. Most trained riflemen would hit the target at that range.”

“As would plenty of countrymen accustomed to shooting game,” Miles said. “A farmer, say.”

Dexter’s blue eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?” he said softly.

“I’m thinking of Lowell Lister,” Miles said. “Whoever our assailant was, he was aiming at Miss Lister, not at me. I am sure of it. Who would inherit her fortune if she died?”

“Her mother, I imagine,” Nat said. “But surely you cannot imagine Mrs. Lister running around on Fortune Row with a rifle?”

Miles shrugged. “One forgets that Mrs. Lister was once a farmer’s wife. She can probably shoot.” He eased his shoulders back in the chair. “But no, I do not think she would be taking potshots at her daughter. But Lowell…” He sighed. “He stands to gain if Alice dies and Mrs. Lister inherits, and he does not want Alice to marry me…”

There was a short silence. “Lowell Lister always seems very fond of his sister,” Nat ventured. “Not that that proves anything, but-” he frowned “-you are certain the marksman was aiming at Miss Lister, Miles?”

“Well,” Miles said dryly, “he did wound her even if it was not fatally. That suggests she was his target.”

“How close were you to her at the time?” Dexter questioned.

“A proper distance.” Miles gave him an old-fashioned look. “What are you suggesting, Dexter?”

“Merely that if Miss Lister was in your arms it might have been easier to confuse the two targets,” Dexter said smoothly.

“Well, she was not,” Miles said, with a ferocious glare. He remembered the shaking in Alice’s body as she lay beneath him in the snow and the momentary flash of terror in her eyes. The thought of someone threatening her life made the anger seethe within him.

“Entertain for a moment the idea that you were the target instead,” Nat said.

Miles shrugged again, a little irritably. “I’ve already thought about it and it makes no sense. None of my family want me dead. On the contrary they all want me to stay alive so that the Curse of Drum does not fall on Philip. As for the curse itself-” he paused, reaching for the coffeepot “-well, you know that I give that no credence.”

“Tom Fortune?” Nat suggested.

Miles shook his head. “Why kill me? Why kill any of the Guardians? He knows that if he removes all three of us the Home Secretary will only send someone else to recapture him.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully over the rim of his cup. “It makes more sense, in fact-if it is Fortune-that it should be Miss Lister he was shooting at.”

“Because?” Dexter prompted.

“Because Miss Lister and Lady Elizabeth-” Miles glanced at Nat “-have worked out that Tom has escaped. Miss Lister asked me about it this morning. I suspect that Tom has contacted Miss Cole and if he thought that Miss Lister was telling me about it…” He spread his hands wide. “Well, you have a possible motive, I suppose.”

“No one saw a man fitting Tom Fortune’s description in the vicinity of the village this morning,” Nat said.

“I doubt anyone saw anything,” Miles countered. “Few people were out in the snow.”

“Lady Elizabeth and I saw no one,” Nat agreed.

Dexter swung around to look at him. “You were out riding with Lady Elizabeth Scarlet when this happened?”

“I was on my way back from escorting her to Spring House when I saw Miles and Miss Lister,” Nat said. “Miss Minchin does not ride,” he added, a shade of defensiveness in his tone as he caught the look Dexter gave Miles.

“Then she must be relieved that you have Lady Elizabeth to accompany you on your outings instead,” Miles drawled, taking pleasure from his friend’s obvious discomfiture.

“Leave it, Miles,” Nat snapped, “before I dissect your feelings for Miss Lister, which are nowhere near as straightforward as you appear to think.”

“Gentlemen,” Dexter said, a smile lurking in his eyes, “before you come to blows, did either of you see anyone else out riding this morning?”

“Miss Lister and I saw one other horseman,” Miles said. “A gentleman riding a black hunter.”

“Not exactly a detailed description,” Nat said. “There are half a dozen of those in Fortune’s Folly and Dexter is one of them.”

“I had Miss Lister in the carriage with me,” Miles said, glaring at him. “Do you think I was concentrating on anyone else?” He turned to Dexter. “I sent Chester to the livery stables to inquire if anyone had hired a hack like that this morning.”

“Good,” Dexter said. He seemed to be trying hard not to laugh at the overt aggression between his colleagues. “I think we need to interview Miss Cole and see if it is true Tom Fortune has tried to contact her.” He rubbed a hand over his brow. “I know she will be reluctant but perhaps she can be persuaded to speak to Laura. They are cousins, after all, and Laura has always had a kindness for her.”

Nat nodded. “A good idea, Dexter.”

“Meanwhile you need to discuss with Miss Lister who would benefit from her death,” Dexter said to Miles, “and see if there is any other reason why anyone might try to kill her.”

Miles stood up, driving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t care for this,” he said. “If it is Tom Fortune who is behind this then all those women are in danger-Miss Lister, Miss Cole and Lady Elizabeth. There is no one with them at Spring House other than servants. One of us should be there to protect them.”

“You think that one of us should move in there?” Dexter raised his brows. “That would be highly irregular.”

“This is a highly irregular situation,” Miles pointed out.

“It would be better to move them all to a place of safety,” Nat said, “if we can get them to agree.” He looked at Dexter. “Could they stay with you and Laura at the Old Palace?”

“They could,” Dexter said. “There certainly is room, but I suspect you would have the devil of a job persuading Miss Lister of the need for it, and it’s hardly a place of safety. Spring House is more secure.” He turned to Miles. “I agree that it would be better if you can persuade Miss Lister to allow you to stay there, I think.”

“Oh, I will persuade her,” Miles said. He felt a little easier to think that he would be on hand to protect Alice if anything happened. He turned to Dexter, slight color creeping up under his skin.

“I never thanked you and Laura for giving Mama and Celia and Philip refuge at the Old Palace,” he said gruffly. “Truth is that I never wanted them to stay but I am glad now that they are not out at Drum.”

“Don’t give it another thought, old fellow,” Dexter said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Laura’s blue-deviled that she is currently too sick with her pregnancy to go out much. She is enjoying the company.”

“The story of the shooting is bound to have traveled around the village by now,” Nat said thoughtfully. “How do we play it? As a bit of wayward target practice by some of the local youths?”

“That sounds ideal,” Miles said. “Let us dampen down the speculation. Now all I have to do is persuade Miss Lister of the opposite and that her life is in danger.” He saw Nat and Dexter exchange a look and raised his brows sharply. “What is it that you aren’t saying to me?”

“We did wonder,” Dexter said after a moment, “whether there was one other possibility that we have not already discussed.”

“Well?” Miles said interrogatively.

“You told me a while ago that you are blackmailing Miss Lister into marriage, Miles,” Nat said slowly. “People are notoriously dangerous when put under pressure in that way. You don’t need me to tell you that. Would Miss Lister dislike you enough and resent your hold over her sufficiently to kill you?”

“No.” Miles was shocked at how deeply and instinctively he repudiated the suggestion. He took a careful breath and tried to think dispassionately. “I suppose that she has good enough reason,” he admitted. He ran a hand over his hair. “I cannot imagine that she would do it,” he said. “She is too good a person-”

“Are you sure?” Dexter probed. “If you are pushing her too hard…”

“No,” Miles said again. Agitated, he stood up abruptly and paced across the room. The thought of Alice betraying him in such a sickening way appalled him. “No,” he repeated. “God knows, I deserve it, but I still maintain that Miss Lister herself is the target, not I.”

“She could have paid someone else,” Nat pointed out. “Or it could be the work of Miss Lister and her brother together, perhaps.”

“No!” Miles almost shouted. He grabbed his coat, which was steaming gently by the fire, and shrugged it on. “I am going back to Spring House,” he said abruptly. “I will see you both later.”

There was a short silence after he had gone out. Then Dexter raised his brows at Nat Waterhouse and Nat smiled.

“I saw his face when he realized that Miss Lister was injured,” Nat said. “He’s in a devil of a mess.”

“He certainly is,” Dexter agreed, pouring more coffee.

CELIA VICKERY WAS TAKEN aback to recognize the gentleman who held open the door of the Fortune’s Folly Post Office for her with such exemplary courtesy.

“Mr. Gaines,” she said, “I did not expect to see you this morning. So few people venture out when it is snowing. Silly of them, of course, for what harm can a few flakes do, but even so…”

She was chattering. She was aware of it. She, who was known for a glacial froideur when confronting the opposite sex, she who could reduce young men to stammers and then pitiful silence, was stuttering herself. Remembering the ball the previous night and the way in which she had importuned Frank Gaines for four dances, she felt an uncharacteristic mortification wash over her. He must imagine that she had taken too much rum punch-or that she was so desperate to engage the interest of a man that she would throw herself at his head. And now for him to find her here! Had he arrived a minute sooner she would still have been in the process of dispatching her parcel and that would have been very hard to explain. Had he seen the address, he might guess…

“Lady Celia.” Gaines bowed. “May I escort you anywhere? The Pump Rooms, perhaps?”

“Gracious, no!” Celia exclaimed. “I am not so feeble as to require spa water to bolster my constitution.”

“I am sure you are not,” Frank Gaines said, falling into step beside her. She became aware once again of how very tall and powerfully built he was. His broad shoulders practically blocked out the light. “In that case,” he said, “I wonder whether I might beg a word with you, Lady Celia? In private?”

Celia looked at him. He looked directly back. Her heart missed a beat. The trouble with lawyers like Frank Gaines, she thought, was that they were very shrewd. Gaines would, she was sure, have been digging into Miles’s past to discover anything that might be to his discredit and might ruin the match with Alice Lister. It was his job, after all. But the danger was that in the process he would discover other secrets…

“Of course,” she murmured, “although I am not sure what you could possibly wish to say to me.”

“We shall leave that for a moment, if we may,” Frank Gaines said blandly. His bright, perceptive gaze seemed to see through her and see all the things she was hiding.

Oh dear, Celia thought helplessly. He knows.

“It is too inclement to sit outside today,” Gaines continued. “Would you be so good as to join me in a cup of tea at the spa?”

“Very well,” Celia said, bowing to the inevitable.

In very short order she found herself installed on a charming wrought-iron bench in the tiled tearooms. Gaines seated himself beside her and summoned a maid with no more than a slight inclination of his head. When the girl had taken their order he turned to Celia, a thoughtful look in his eyes. She was very aware of the way in which his hand rested along the back of the seat, almost, but not quite, touching her shoulder.

“You know, don’t you!” she burst out, wishing that she did not sound quite so gauche but somehow feeling that fifteen years of town bronze had deserted her in an instant.

“Yes,” Gaines said slowly. “I do.”

“I had to do it.” Celia met his eyes. “We need the money and Mama has no idea how to economize. Not really. Oh, she thinks she is frightfully good at saving a little here and there but there is never enough to meet the bills and so…” Her voice trailed away. “I know no one could possibly approve-”

“Approve?” Gaines said. There was a spark of laughter deep in his gray eyes. “I should rather think not, Lady Celia. You are a bishop’s daughter.”

Celia spread her hands appealingly. “But don’t you see that I had no choice? I had to think of something for which I had a talent-”

“And you came up with this?” There was unflattering surprise in Frank Gaines’s tone and it stiffened Celia’s spine.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I did. You may think it surprising, Mr. Gaines, but I assure you I am very good at it!”

“I do not doubt that.” Frank Gaines sounded unruffled. “My inquiries show me that you make a good income, but what puzzles me…” He paused, a slight frown on his brow as he looked at her. Celia’s heart was beating very fast. She did not quite understand why it was important to have this man’s respect, and yet it had been from the first. She had met so many men over the long years of the London Season. She was not a heiress, nor was she especially good-looking, and she had always had decided opinions, so she had never found a particular gentleman who was her match, and perversely it would have to be Frank Gaines who had engaged her regard. She sighed in exasperation. She and her brother Miles, both so determined not to love…They had more in common than Miles had ever realized.

“What puzzles you…” she prompted, as Frank Gaines seemed in no hurry to expand on his thoughts but merely sat pinning her in that observant gray gaze, like a butterfly spread wide beneath his inquiring eyes.

“Is where you get your ideas from,” Gaines said. “I have read some of your work, Lady Celia. Indeed, I went specially to purchase your books when I discovered your secret. They were very-” a smile curved his lips “-very engrossing indeed.”

“I have some experience,” Celia snapped, blushing, “and I have observation and imagination.”

“Indeed, you must have.”

The tea arrived. Neither of them seemed inclined to drink any of it. There was a silence between them. Celia fidgeted with her spoon and with her gloves and with the edge of her cloak. Eventually she looked up to see that Gaines was still watching her with that unfathomable look. He seemed to have moved infinitesimally closer to her along the bench. His hand was touching her shoulder now in the lightest and most casual of gestures.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she snapped, “I need to know if you are going to tell anyone!”

Gaines stretched a little. He looked like a lazy cat, all sleek muscle and with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“I see no reason why I should,” he said slowly. “After all, it is not relevant to the inquiries I am making on behalf of Miss Lister.”

Celia felt weak with relief. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“But,” Gaines continued, “I confess I would like something in return.”

Celia’s gaze snapped up to his and saw the amusement in his face. Her heart started to thud again, long slow beats that made her whole body quiver.

“Are you seeking to blackmail me?” she demanded.

“Of course not.” His voice was soothing. “Nothing could be further from my mind. I merely thought that I might…help you? Provide some inspiration, perhaps?”

Celia swallowed convulsively. “I do not believe I need to trouble you on that.”

His hand brushed her sleeve. Celia shivered. “It would be no trouble.”

Celia sat there, frozen, her tea cooling on the table in front of her. Could she do it? She was astonished to realize quite how tempted she was. To learn, to explore…She bit her lip. Frank Gaines said nothing to either persuade her or hurry her, but there was something in his bright gaze that captured her and made her heart race.

“Very well,” she whispered, feeling the excitement make her blood sing even as she marveled at her own audacity, “but where can we do it? No one must guess…”

He shifted a little. “Trust me. I know somewhere.” He rose to his feet and proffered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

Celia stared at him. “Now?”

“Why not?” He smiled at her. “You did not want that tea, did you?”

“No, I…” Celia paused, light-headed at the speed at which everything had happened. “Very well,” she repeated. She took his arm. Her fingers shook slightly as they rested on his sleeve. He covered them with his hand in a gesture that half reassured, half disturbed her.

“You are nervous?”

“Of course.”

He laughed. “Surely you need not be. As you have said, you have some experience and I hope to add greatly to your store.” He raised her hand to his lips. “My very dear Lady Celia…Or perhaps I should call you Celia, since we are to become so much better acquainted?”

She did not correct him. They went out into the snow and soon the whirling flakes had covered their tracks.