CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mr. Ratley’s face went rigid as he stared intently at Mr. Merrick. Felicity held her breath, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
“No, Lady Blackstone,” Mr. Merrick answered. He looked very convincing, so earnest and upright. “I am committed to our cause, and I would not betray Mr. Ratley in such a way. Besides that, there is a girl I have been pledged to marry since we were children, a Miss Geiger from my home county, a friend of the family.”
Was that true? Did he have a sweetheart at home? She felt her heart plummet.
Mr. Ratley glanced at Felicity, and she gave him a tiny shrug and shake of her head.
“Well, one may be ‘pledged to marry but plan to dally.’ Is that your philosophy, Mr. Merrick?”
“No, it is not, Lady Blackstone. I intend to be completely faithful to my wife. Even Miss Hannah More could not fault my marital philosophies.” Mr. Merrick twisted his lips in a wry smile.
Felicity’s heart fluttered at the thought that he admired Hannah More as much as she did. But he could be lying about that as well.
“Well, one does not have to take it quite as far as Miss Hannah More, after all. It depends on the circumstances and the understanding one has with one’s spouse.”
Mr. Merrick cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot agree with you there.”
Mr. Ratley stepped toward them. “Lady Blackstone, Miss Mayson wishes to help me search for the key upstairs.”
“Mr. Ratley, Mr. Merrick here has decided he must go and say good-bye to his poor mother, who is deathly sick. But I am uncertain we should let him go. What do you think?” Lady Blackstone had that same narrow-eyed look of suspicion she had given Felicity earlier.
“Oh well . . . saying good-bye to one’s dying mother . . .”
“But we are so close to setting our plan into motion. I suppose it will all be well.” Lady Blackstone suddenly turned away from Ratley and faced Mr. Merrick. “You will not object to our examination of your things before you go, will you?”
“Examination?”
“Yes, to make certain you are not taking anything with you that you might use against us, to have us arrested.”
The silence that ensued was so thick it seemed to roar inside Felicity’s head.
Finally, Mr. Merrick said, “You may search my things, but I don’t know what I might have done to make you think—”
Suddenly, Lady Blackstone said, “No. I cannot let you leave.” She was staring Mr. Merrick in the eye, and he was staring back. “We need you too much. You have a task to do. We are all counting on you.”
“I would come back in time to—”
“Would you? Would you come back in time? No, we cannot risk it. There is too much at stake. Sometimes, Mr. Merrick, we must think of the greater good. We must let the dead bury their own dead and carry on with what we know is right and necessary. We need you here, Mr. Merrick. Do you not understand that?”
“Of course, my lady. I do understand. But I would only be gone for one week.”
“Your family would not understand. They would try to prevent you from leaving them and coming back here.” Lady Blackstone’s eyes were flashing with a strange light.
“Perhaps you are right.” Mr. Merrick bowed to her. “I was selfish to pursue it. They might even become suspicious, and that is the last thing we need—suspicions to destroy all our plans. Perhaps I will be able to see her after the revolution is over.”
“I am pleased that you are being so reasonable, Mr. Merrick.”
Mr. Merrick sighed. “Perhaps it is best this way. I was never her favorite, and now they can be peaceful without me there. I will see her in heaven.”
“Yes, yes, that is just the way I see it too,” Lady Blackstone said briskly. “You would not wish to see her sick and wasting away. Better to remember her as she was when she was healthy. And they will not need you there. Much better to let them see that you had important business to be about, once the revolution is well underway.”
She turned to Mr. Ratley and Felicity. “What are you two doing skulking there?”
“My lady,” Mr. Ratley said, “as I was trying to tell you a few moments ago, we are on our way up the stairs to look for the misplaced key.”
“You would not happen to know where the key is, would you, Felicity?”
“No, my lady.”
“And you, Mr. Merrick? Have you seen a key lying around?”
“No, my lady. Is someone missing a key?”
“Yes, Mr. Ratley has lost a key of mine. Would you care to help us look for it?”
“I’d be happy to help.”
They all started up the stairs. Mr. Merrick needed to get the papers he had copied to the Home Office. All would be lost if Lady Blackstone found them in his room.
He had trusted Felicity to return the original papers, but she had not yet had a chance to tell him that she had been successful. She would reassure him with a smile.
They walked slowly up the stairs. She kept trying to catch Mr. Merrick’s eye, but he did not look at her. He probably was too afraid of exciting suspicion, and Lady Blackstone did keep looking over her shoulder at them.
Once they reached the top, Felicity said, “Mr. Ratley says he had the key near here.”
“I had it at Lady Blackstone’s room,” Mr. Ratley said. “I locked her door after returning something for her. I should have put the key in my pocket, but I don’t remember exactly what I did with it. I walked away with Miss Mayson.”
They were all looking around the floor. Would it be too suspicious if Felicity looked on the table and pulled out the key from behind the vase? Mr. Merrick certainly couldn’t risk it, not with the papers somewhere in his possession. God, please let someone look behind the vase.
“Perhaps one of the servants found it and didn’t mention it to you,” Felicity suggested as she bent and stared at the floor, inching along, looking from one side of the corridor to the other.
“I have already questioned the servants,” Lady Blackstone said.
“It must be somewhere.” Felicity peeked through her lashes and saw Mr. Merrick also examining the floor. He suddenly glanced up at her, and she winked. Then she kept her head down and her eyes on the floor, not daring to glance at him again.
Mr. Merrick gradually moved toward the little table with the vase.
She hadn’t intended for him to reveal the hiding place of the key. She’d only meant to put him at ease that she had taken care of the papers. But he kept moving toward the table.
Meanwhile, Lady Blackstone seemed to look more at Felicity and Mr. Merrick than she did at the floor.
“Perhaps Mr. Ratley dropped it in his room,” Felicity said.
“I have been over every inch of my room and haven’t found it.”
Mr. Merrick stooped and used his hand to feel all around the floor at the base of the table that held the vase.
Felicity looked away from him, forcing herself not to stare. She bent even lower as she moved farther away from the light. She heard the slight scrape of metal on wood. Then Mr. Merrick’s voice said, “Is this your key?”
Felicity straightened and turned toward the others. Mr. Merrick was holding up the key.
Mr. Ratley stepped toward him and took it in his hand. “I believe it is.”
“Let me see it.” Lady Blackstone took it from him. “Where did you find it?”
“It was on the table there, behind the vase.”
Lady Blackstone said, “I have another key, but now at least I won’t be worried about the spare. Thank you, Mr. Merrick.” But her eyes were full of suspicion as she stared at him.
“I am glad to be of service.” Mr. Merrick smiled and gave her a slight bow.
“Truly, thank you,” Mr. Ratley said, looking very humble as he clasped Mr. Merrick’s hand. “I must have dropped it somehow, and it landed on this table.”
“Or someone could have found it on the floor,” Felicity said, “and put it on the table.”
“That is probably exactly what happened,” Mr. Ratley said. “I’m just so in love with my fiancée, Miss Mayson, that I lose my head sometimes. I’m sure that is what happened in this instance.”
He stepped over to Felicity and put his arm around her, pulling her to his side. She forced her cringe into a stiff smile.
Mr. Merrick said, “When I am with my fiancée, I am the same way.”
Why did those words feel like a knife to her heart? Foolish.
“Oliver,” Lady Blackstone said, her voice sharp, “stop crushing the poor girl.”
Mr. Ratley let go of Felicity. He laughed. “She doesn’t mind.”
There wasn’t much Felicity could say to that, so she forced the smile to stay on her face. But her heart sank as Mr. Merrick avoided looking at her and excused himself.
“Thank you again,” Mr. Ratley called after him.
When he was gone, Lady Blackstone hissed, “Do you really think you could have dropped the key and have it end up on that table?”
“Yes, I think so.” Mr. Ratley’s expression was slack. “After I locked your door, Felicity and I . . . well, we kissed while standing here. I probably just forgot to put it in my pocket, was distracted by our kissing, and dropped it. Then one of the servants—or one of the guests—saw it on the floor, picked it up, and put it on the table.”
But Lady Blackstone still did not look satisfied with Mr. Ratley’s explanation.
Felicity’s cheeks flamed, and her stomach twisted at the memory of kissing Mr. Ratley simply to get the key from his pocket. She had done it for Mr. Merrick, and he would not condemn her for it.
But he also might not respect her. And she could hardly blame him.
The next morning, Aunt Agnes insisted on sitting downstairs with everyone else. “I can eavesdrop,” she whispered while they were still in their room. “No one pays any attention to me.”
Strangely, Felicity realized she had not seen Aunt Agnes plucking her sleeves lately.
So they went downstairs and sat in the parlor with Lady Blackstone, who was serving tea. Nearly everyone was there, and Mr. Ratley perched on the sofa next to Felicity. Mrs. Cartwright ignored Felicity and talked with her husband in the corner of the room.
“It is a rather fine day,” Lady Blackstone remarked, glancing out the window. Then her face scrunched in a scowl. “It’s the rector, Mr. Birtwistle, coming to call on us.”
A man, rather short and dressed in black, was walking toward the front door. Soon, the servant came to Lady Blackstone and announced, “Mr. Birtwistle to see you.”
“Show him in.” Then she muttered under her breath, “Might as well see him now as later.”
The balding rector entered the room with a rather solemn expression. He bowed to Lady Blackstone.
“Come in, Mr. Birtwistle. It is so good of you to visit.” She was all smiles as she showed him to a seat near her. “Everyone, say good afternoon to Mr. Birtwistle, the parish rector.”
Several people nodded to him, and he nodded and said, “Good afternoon to you all.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and stuffed it back into his waistcoat. “It is rather warm out.”
“What brings you to see us today? Is everything all right with the church? No one is sick that I should know about, I trust?”
“No, everyone is well. That is, everyone who was formerly well is still well, that I know of. Mrs. Carter of Shrewsbury Lane has been in a decline for several months and is not expected to recover, and Mr. Loudon, as you probably know, is not at all well. But I came to look in on you, as I did not see you or any of your party at church the past two Sundays.”
“That is very astute of you, Mr. Birtwistle, for, to own the truth, we were not there.” She laughed a short, merry laugh. “We are enjoying each other’s company so very much. Let me pour you some tea.”
Lady Blackstone proceeded to serve Mr. Birtwistle tea and cake.
“Thank you, Lady Blackstone. Very kind.” Mr. Birtwistle made eye contact with Aunt Agnes, as they were sitting very near each other. Aunt Agnes actually gave him a smile.
“Have you met my guests Miss Felicity Mayson and her aunt, Miss Appleby?”
“I don’t believe I have. How do you do?” He smiled first at Felicity, then at Aunt Agnes. He seemed to notice the book in Aunt Agnes’s hands. “Are you a great reader, Miss Appleby?”
Mr. Birtwistle looked to be about the same age as Aunt Agnes, who was thirty-five. Was the man married? By the look of his rumpled coat, crooked neckcloth, and the way the sides of his hair grew rather long over his ears, Felicity guessed that he was not.
Auntie blushed. “I do like to read, very much.”
“She is very well read, Mr. Birtwistle,” Felicity said. “She has read every book in my father’s library.”
“Do you reside with Miss Mayson, then?”
“Yes. Her mother is my sister.”
“And have you been a guest of Lady Blackstone for long, Miss Appleby?”
“Nearly three weeks, I believe. And how long have you lived in Margate, sir?”
“I have been here these ten years, first as a curate, then as a rector.”
“And you like being so near the sea?”
“I admit I rarely go near the water, but I have seen a sunrise or two over the ocean that was simply spectacular.”
“Oh.”
Felicity chimed in occasionally to praise her aunt’s taste in music or how much she was beloved by various great-nieces and great-nephews—the children of Felicity’s siblings—but mostly she listened, enthralled with how well her shy and reclusive aunt was able to converse and hold the rector’s attention.
Fortunately, Mr. Ratley was talking with Mr. Smallwood about the various types of pheasant and grouse in the area and the best ways to shoot them, the best guns to use, et cetera.
“Lady Blackstone,” Mr. Ratley said, suddenly standing, looking quite jovial. “Since it is not the season to be shooting but the weather is so dry and warm, may we all ride to the seashore soon, if the weather is still fine?”
Lady Blackstone smiled. “I don’t see why not. Mr. Birtwistle, are you fond of riding?”
“No indeed, my lady. I am more of a man of letters myself. I prefer a carriage to horseback riding.” He stood to take his leave as the room suddenly became more lively with discussions of their upcoming outing to the sea.
While everyone else—everyone except Felicity—was otherwise occupied with their separate conversations, Mr. Birtwistle bent toward Aunt Agnes and said quietly, “I should like to call on you again tomorrow, if that is all right with you, Miss Appleby.”
“Oh.” Aunt Agnes’s eyes went wide, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times. Finally, she said, “I would like that. Thank you.”
He smiled and gave her a quick bow before turning to Felicity. “Good day, Miss Mayson.”
“Good day, Mr. Birtwistle.”
As soon as he was gone, Felicity squeezed her aunt’s arm. “Oh, Auntie,” she whispered. “You have made a conquest!”
“Do you really think so?” Aunt Agnes plucked at her sleeves, her usual sign of nervousness, but something she had not done once while Mr. Birtwistle had been there.
“He said he wished to call on you—on you—tomorrow, did he not?”
“It is so very strange.” Auntie chuckled. “No one has ever . . . Hmm. Mr. Birtwistle. Well. I never.” She shook her head.
The next day, Mr. Birtwistle did come, and he brought a book for Aunt Agnes.
Aunt Agnes examined the book, then looked up at him. “You wrote it?”
“It is only a little novel, a morality tale of sorts, not too different from Miss Hannah More’s allegorical works.”
“Oh, how impressive! You simply must allow me to read it.”
“But of course, Miss Appleby.”
“It is such an honor to meet a published author.”
Mr. Birtwistle grinned as Aunt Agnes gushed and made much of the fact that he had written a novel.
“I have two others. I can bring those later if you enjoy this one. I also have compiled all my sermons, but as of yet, I have not published those.”
Felicity couldn’t help smiling at the enthusiastic conversation between these two people who seemed to get on so well, having only just met the day before.
She only hoped her aunt would not end up in the type of situation in which Felicity presently found herself, engaged to a man who turned out to be involved in something nefarious. But how nefarious could a rector who spent his spare time writing moral allegories be?
Mr. Birtwistle ended his short visit by saying, “I understand that you are going on your seaside ride tomorrow, and I have some business at the parsonage that I must attend to, but I shall visit you the day after tomorrow? May I?”
“Yes, of course.” Aunt Agnes smiled. She certainly seemed to know the appropriate amount of encouragement to offer an eligible gentleman.
Felicity was also glad to make Mr. Birtwistle’s acquaintance, as his friendship might prove helpful to them, should they become desperate enough to risk telling the rector that the people at this house were plotting to overthrow the government. Besides the guests who had been present for the ball, the rector had been the only outside person Lady Blackstone had allowed in the house.
Philip stuffed the papers he had copied into the special pocket sewn into the inside of his shirt the next morning as he dressed for their ride to the seashore. In case he managed to slip away and escape the group, he wanted those all-important papers on his person.
The weather turned out to be fine again, with plenty of blue sky to accentuate the white clouds overhead. It was a rather big to-do to saddle all the horses for such a large group. Only Miss Appleby and two of the married women stayed behind with the house servants.
Miss Mayson, Philip noticed, was dressed in a pretty green riding habit and matching hat that brought out the vivid color in her eyes. He got close enough to her to tell her good morning before walking away to avoid more suspicion. Thanks to Mrs. Cartwright, Lady Blackstone now had her eye on them, and he often caught her looking at either him or Miss Mayson.
Miss Mayson was soon mounted on a rather skittish brown mare. He supposed Ratley had chosen this mount because she was thought to be gentle, and Miss Mayson was not very confident around horses.
Philip examined his horse’s girth and bridle and assured himself all was in good order before mounting up. Soon they were all headed onto the trail that would lead them to the seashore.
Miss Mayson’s horse kept wandering off the trail. She pulled on the reins, but the horse was not cooperating. Her dolt of a fiancé should have helped her, but he was too busy talking to one of the men to even notice what was happening. Philip clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to go over and take the reins and get her horse back in line.
Finally, she managed the task herself, and they all rode past the garden.
Miss Mayson’s shoulders remained stiff the entire ride. Philip tried not to stare, but he was determined to keep an eye on her.
In half an hour, they had reached the sandy beach at the water’s edge.
Mr. Ratley helped Miss Mayson down from her horse. Philip dismounted as well and took in the sight of the vast ocean and its crashing waves. He’d always liked the seaside, but now was not the time to enjoy it.
The men were passing around a few flasks of brandy. He wished Lady Blackstone would insist they put them away, especially with the ladies present. But he was also glad, because if they were all drunk, it might help him slip away unnoticed on the ride home, if he could manage to remain at the rear of the group.
Philip was careful not to attract attention to himself as they all sat on blankets to enjoy a small repast before heading back. Miss Mayson sat beside Mr. Ratley, although that man seemed to pay her little attention. And by the time they’d had their picnic and were preparing to get back on their horses, many of the men were laughing raucously and even stumbling about.
Miss Mayson’s brows were drawn together.
The sooner they all returned to Doverton Hall, the better.
Finally, they were preparing to leave. Philip had to help two men onto their horses, as they were too inebriated to manage on their own.
Then Lady Blackstone said, “Let us take a more scenic route home. We shall see the cliffs to the south.”
South was not his preferred direction, but he should still be able to slip away. He hoped.
Miss Mayson’s horse was between Mr. Ratley’s and Lady Blackstone’s as they set out. At least that seemed to keep the skittish horse in line and moving in the right direction. Philip let several people go in front of him, and he and a couple of the drunkest fellows took up the rear.
They were going along at a slow pace. It was soon clear that Mr. Ratley was nearly as drunk as the worst of them. He kept reaching out and touching Miss Mayson’s neck. She kept leaning away from him. Meanwhile, Ratley’s black stallion, which he was inordinately proud of, kept nudging Miss Mayson’s mare’s neck, as if mimicking his master.
Their trail was winding rather near the edge of a white chalk cliff overlooking the ocean. Other riders kept moving in front of him and causing him to lose sight of Miss Mayson and her horse.
Suddenly, Miss Mayson’s horse reared, screaming as if in pain. Ratley’s horse danced and leapt, sending Ratley out of the saddle and onto the ground on the seat of his breeches. His stallion showed his teeth and bit Miss Mayson’s horse in the rump.
Miss Mayson’s mare screamed again and bolted, racing ahead.
“Go after her!” Lady Blackstone yelled at a groom.
Philip had already kicked his horse forward, sending him into a gallop. His horse surged past the others.
Miss Mayson was leaning forward, trying to hold on and stay in her sidesaddle. And what was worse, she appeared to have dropped the bridle. Her horse careened close to the edge of the cliff.
Philip never took his eyes off Miss Mayson. His heart pounded with the thundering of his horse’s hooves as he drove him to reach her before she went off the edge.