Laurie Brown - What Would Jane Austen Do?

“What are you going to do with those dispatches?”

“Return them to the sender.”

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?”

“No.”

“I can guess. Digby is wearing traveling clothes. The hidden wall cabinet is standing open. The portmanteau he used during the play is packed with his clothes, jewelry cases, and I assume those dispatches were in there. Only one shot was fired. And a government agent is found standing over his body.”

While Alanbrooke talked, Shermont put the jewelry cases back in the secret cabinet, locked it, pocketed the key to give to Huxley later, and replaced the wainscoting. Although he was impressed by the other man’s observations, he kept his face impassive.

“I’d say you were tracking Digby for some reason,” Alanbrooke concluded. “He was probably selling information to Napoleon. You caught him trying to escape and shot him.”

“I didn’t shoot him.”

Alanbrooke nodded and headed toward the door. He stopped and turned at the sound of Shermont’s voice.

“If you ever decide to try a different career, contact Scovell. I’ll write you a recommendation.”

Alanbrooke raised an eyebrow. “I think not. I wear my country’s colors proudly. I’ve no respect for agents who skulk in dark corners buying and selling military information like loaves of bread.”

“Actually, I agree. What would you say about those tasked with catching those same agents?”

“I’ll have to think on that.”

“That’s all I ask. By the way, what did you say to Rockingham?”

Alanbrooke smiled. “He’s always had a fondness for rum, and I reminded him that I had half a bottle stashed in my room.” He turned on his heel and left.

“Just tell us,” Deirdre said, a bit of exasperation sneaking into her tone. “Whatever it is, we’ll …” Her voice faded as the music stopped mid-song on a discordant note. She cocked her head. “What is that?” She started to stand.

But Eleanor couldn’t let her leave to investigate. She quickly pulled a footstool to a position in front of the girls and took their hands between hers. “There’s been a terrible accident,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

A scratching on the door preceded Twilla’s entrance with a large tray. Nothing else could be said while the servant was in the room. Eleanor hoped it would take the maid a long time to serve the tea, but Deirdre curtailed any fussing.

“Just leave the tray on the table,” she said. “That will be all.” As soon as Twilla left, Deirdre turned to Eleanor. “Just tell us.” This time her tone was gentler, but wary.

Mina added her other hand to the rest. “I’m scared.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you,” Eleanor started, but a knock on the door interrupted her. “Enter.” She hoped it was Huxley. She glanced over her shoulder. The poor man looked as if he’d aged a decade in the last hour.

Shermont wrapped the dispatches in one of Digby’s shirts, so he could carry them to his room with no one recognizing them for what they were. He hid the portmanteau under the desk where Huxley would find it when he sat there to go through Digby’s papers.

Carl entered from outside. “Patience wasn’t at the oak tree. They must have had a different prearranged meeting place for the escape, but no horses are missing from the stable.”

“She may have decided to make her own way, so she wouldn’t have to explain his absence. Check any stage stops within a two-mile radius. I don’t expect she got any farther than that without a horse.”

“There’s only one stop in a five-mile radius. The mail coach stops daily at nine o’clock in the morning. That’s it. I checked the inns, and they promised to let me know if anyone answering her description appears looking for a room.”

Shermont wrapped the pistol that had been fired in another shirt and moved Digby’s weapon to a spot a few inches from his hand. He used a penknife to scratch the outside of the lock on the tradesmen’s door.

“What are you doing?”

“The official story is that Digby was fatally shot during a robbery attempt. I’m helping the constable come to the desired conclusion.” He gave his valet the shirt-wrapped packages. “Please drop these off in my room.”

“What’s in the other one?”

“Diplomatic dispatches.”

Carl raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I’ll explain later. One of us will have to take them back to the Prince Regent tomorrow. Where are you going to search next?”

“I’m thinking she might be hiding on the estate, waiting for daylight to travel cross-country to the coast. I’m going to check the outbuildings and then the neighbors.”

“As long as you’re going upstairs, look in her room for clues first. Letters from friends might point to a possible escape route or hiding place.”

Carl nodded and started to exit by the door to the hall.

“You’ll have to use the tradesmen’s door again,” Shermont said. “Tuttle and Digby’s valet are guarding that door until the constable arrives. I recommended they allow an officer of the law to view the scene of the crime. They didn’t appear to agree, but couldn’t argue with me.”

“Who is guarding the other door?”

Shermont grinned. “I am.”

The session with the constable went as Shermont expected. The country lawman was more used to dealing with stolen pigs and taproom brawls than murder. Shermont’s title gave him an advantage. The obsequious constable accepted everything he said unchallenged. The investigation took only minutes, and the body was released to the servants for preparation to be laid out in the front parlor.

Shermont left, intending to go directly to his room. He passed servants stopping clocks and draping mirrors as he approached Eleanor’s door instead.

Eleanor backed out the door to the girls’ bedroom and pulled it gently shut. When she turned around, Shermont waited inside the door to the sitting room. She walked directly into his arms.

“I had to see you,” he whispered.

“I wanted to see you, too.” Eleanor needed to touch him and know he was alive. So very alive.

“Huxley was here?”

“Yes. He … he really loves those girls and was so gentle and considerate.”

“But he told them the truth?”

She sighed. “Yes. Everything. He left about ten minutes ago to see to the arrangements.”

“How did the girls take it?”

“Pretty much as one would expect. No matter which way you look at it, they lost a beloved brother tonight.” They’d all shed more than a few tears, not for the thief and traitor, but for the boy he’d once been and for their expected future that now would never be. “They finally fell asleep, emotionally exhausted. Huxley insisted they drink a special herbal tea for strength, but I think it had a mild sedative effect.”

Shermont tightened his embrace. “And you? How are you holding up?”

“Better now,” she said, snuggling against his chest. How could something so hard be so comfortable and so comforting?

“I should go,” he said. “I need to help Carl search for Patience. She seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

“Not yet,” she said, holding onto him as if she would never let him go.

He tipped her face up for a kiss. Pleasure ignited an explosion of passion.

Eleanor grabbed his hand and dragged him into her bedroom. They started stripping off their clothes before the door latch clicked shut. The dim moonlight coming from the window gave just enough illumination to see. She untied the ribbon belt below her breasts, unhooked the wrap front, and shrugged off her dress as easily as he shed his coat.

Next came the demi-corset she’d designed with the lacing in the front. She could manage it herself, but when she pulled on the bow it tangled. The more she tried to loosen it, the more it knotted. “Damn it.”

“Wait.” He reached behind the nape of his neck and pulled out a long thin knife from the sheath strapped to his back.

She took a step back. “No wonder you weren’t afraid of Teddy.”

He shook his head. “Only an idiot isn’t afraid of a pistol pointed at his head. A knife isn’t faster than a bullet, but it does come in handy sometimes, especially up close.”

“I assume you know how to use that thing.”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” she answered without hesitation.

When he stepped forward, she stood still, arms locked to her sides. He inserted the tip of the knife under the bottom edge of the corset and slit the laces straight up the middle. She felt only a slight pressure almost like a shiver, and her corset fell away. Her chemise dropped off her shoulders and gaped over her breasts because he had cut the ribbon that gathered the neckline. She grabbed at the thin material and held it in place.

He flipped the stiletto over his shoulder, and it stuck in the door with a soft thud. Without breaking eye contact, he kicked off his shoes, removed his vest and tie, and unbuttoned his high stiff collar.

Even though she enjoyed the show, the banked fire deep in her belly blazed to life, hotter than the July sun on Santa Monica Beach. “Too slow.” She reached for him. Her chemise fell to her elbows. He ripped off his shirt. “Better,” she said with a smile.

She dropped her arms and her chemise slid to the floor, leaving her clad only in her white silk stockings with red ribbon garters and her delicate dancing shoes.

He undid the buttons of his trousers, and the flap fell open. His penis sprang forward, but try as he might the tight trousers resisted his efforts to pull them past his thighs. “Bloody newfangled styles.”