Chapter Eighteen
Flynn rode beside Althea in her appealing blue velvet habit trimmed with swan’s-down, through country lanes bordered by alders, ash, and pine, the fields brown and fallow under the pale winter sky. They drew rein when the road forked into two. One way led up a steep hill while the other meandered along to a bridge over a fast running stream.
The pine-laden breeze ruffled Althea’s curls as she turned to point into the distance. “Hazelton’s property lies on the other side of the bridge. That must be his house we can see.”
Flynn gazed at smoke spiraling into the air from a slate roof. “Best if we leave the road. We’ll cross the paddocks and approach the house unseen.”
While they searched for a break in the hedgerow, behind them came the clatter and jingle of an approaching carriage.
Flynn grabbed her reins and guided the horses down to the river behind a graceful curtain of willow fronds. Hidden from the road, they watched a carriage race past, sending up a wall of water as it disappeared from sight.
Althea stared at Flynn. “That’s Crowthorne’s!”
“I only caught a glimpse of it. Are you sure?”
“That carriage was sent to collect me for his dinner party.”
“Then it seems Hazelton has a visitor,” Flynn said as they regained the road. “I’d like to lend an ear to that.”
They rode in Crowthorne’s wake while searching for a way through the hedgerows.
“We’ll have to jump a gate,” Flynn said. “Are you up for it?”
“I am.”
Flynn went first, clearing the wooden rail with ease. Althea followed.
“You ride well,” he commented when they met up again.
“I was little more than a baby when my father put me on a horse. First, he would take me up on his, but I nagged him until he got me a pony. I had a mare of my own by the time I was eight.”
“So, you have many skills apart from climbing trees.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I can sew, but if you don’t ask me to paint you a picture, I won’t ask you to recite English poetry.”
“I can recite Irish poetry in Gaelic should you wish it.”
“I would. One day perhaps.”
Her comment made him think that their friendship would continue longer than their time here in Slough, which pleased him more than he cared to admit.
They reached the far fence, and Flynn leapt down. A tributary of the river burbled over rocks, blocking their way to the house.
He helped Althea to dismount. “I’ll wade across. You stay with the horses.”
She narrowed her eyes. “This is an enclosed paddock, and that’s the second time you’ve asked me to mind the horses. I am not a groom. The horses are unlikely to run off. See, they are far more interested in eating grass.”
“You’ll get your skirts wet.”
She shrugged.
Flynn wouldn’t have brought her if there’d been a way to avoid it. He thought quickly. He didn’t want that chin of hers thrust out at him again. It made it damned hard to argue with her. “If you wish to join me in this escapade, you must obey me. Our lives may depend on it.”
“I shall,” she said. “But I do not care for your tone.”
“Look upon me as your captain.” Flynn turned to study the shallow stream, searching for the best place to cross. Beyond it was good cover with a copse of trees close to the house.
With a slight smile, she placed her hands on her hips. “If you are my captain, then what, pray tell, am I?”
He grinned. “A subaltern.”
She gave a mock salute. “I thank you for my inferior rank.”
He laughed. “You can come as far as the house.”
“Very well.” She walked to the edge of the stream and hitched up her skirts, showing a beguiling flash of shapely leg and garter.
“No need for that.” Flynn strode over to her and hefted her over his shoulder.
She slapped him on the back. “Put me down! I don’t mind a bit of damp.”
He patted her derriere as he waded across the stream. “You’ll be grateful for it.”
When he reached the opposite bank, he set her on her feet.
Althea blew a wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes and glared at him. “Kindly tell me before you do that next time.”
“Then be advised I shall do it again on the way back.” He held a finger to his lips and waved a hand. Althea followed him into the copse of trees. Beyond it was a wide area of meadow grass which was fenced off. And beyond that a brick wall.
“This is as far as you go,” he said in a quiet voice. “I have to scale that wall.”
She opened her mouth.
“I’m sure wall climbing is another of your skills, but this time, my lady, I am asking you nicely to wait here.”
She nodded and her eyes darkened. “Do please be careful.”
Flynn vaulted the wooden fence, ran toward the house, crisscrossing between trees and bushes. He scaled a high brick wall and found the garden deserted. Dropping down onto flagstones, he darted over the paved area, skirted an ornamental pond, and approached the house. He flattened himself against the whitewashed wall and edged around the corner. French windows opened onto the drawing room, which was empty. Flynn tried the latch and found the door unlocked. He cautiously opened it and entered the room, crossing the carpet to the door. He walked soft-footed along the corridor, his footsteps muffled by a Persian carpet runner covering the floorboards. The murmur of voices floated out of an open door at the far end.
“I searched the rooms, but her damn cat kept attacking me. When I tried to shove it out the window, it dug its dashed claws into my neck.”
Flynn assumed the voice belonged to Hazelton.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a tiger?” Crowthorne scoffed. “You let a domestic cat get the better of you?”
“I could hardly strangle the animal, now could I?” Hazelton said. “A sure sign I’d been there.”
“Were you able to look around at all?” Crowthorne continued to needle him.
Flynn wondered why Hazelton didn’t explode and hit him.
“Bloody difficult without disturbing the servants.” Hazelton’s whining tone confirmed Flynn’s opinion of the man’s weak character. “It’s a small house. I was concerned about the noise. The servants’ quarters are below. I couldn’t risk being found there. I’m on the village council for hell’s sake. I inspected the bedchambers, thoroughly. I’ll swear Brookwood hasn’t secreted it there. Anyway, when he came to see me, he said it was in London in a safe place.”
“He lied. He planned to abscond with it to escape his debts. It is not in London. We ripped both London houses apart.”
“What about Brookwood Park? Might it be there?”
“No chance. He hadn’t been near his countryseat for over a year. He detested the country. And he wasn’t about to leave the gaming tables to visit it.”
“Maybe Lady Brookwood has hidden it somewhere,” Hazelton suggested.
“We’ll examine that possibility next. If we come away with nothing from Owltree Cottage.”
Flynn leaned back against the wall, his hands tightening into fists. He had to fight not to race in and deal with them.
“And how do we pull the cottage apart, as you suggest, with servants there?” Hazelton asked.
“The household will need to be restrained.”
“Restrained?” Hazleton’s voice shook. “You don’t mean you’ll…”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Crowthorne barked. “Since Churton cottoned on to us, we are living on borrowed time.”
“It’s a wonder we haven’t been thrown into Newgate before this.” Hazelton sounded shaken. “Goodrich and Wensley expressed their distress at the way events were unfolding, and I have had trouble sleeping since you had Lord Churton killed.”
“Calm yourself, will you? Churton can’t have told anyone what he knew,” Crowthorne said. “It would not have been to his advantage.”
“What did he say before you.…”
“I planned to get more out of him when he met me in the alley. But Churton insisted we show him what we had. He wanted a share, or he’d give us away. I had one of our St. Giles pals with me who didn’t want to share. He acted rashly. Churton lay dead before he told me a thing.”
“Why the devil did you take that knife-wielding madman with you? You know how uncivilized these thugs are.”
“Because you’re all too soft!” Crowthorne yelled. “I can’t count on you! We’ve given things time to settle. It appears luck is still with us as our movements remain undetected. But we must act now!”
“But Montsimon is staying at the house. What does the fellow want?”
“I’m not sure,” Crowthorne mused. “It might be merely Lady Brookwood’s charms. She’s a prime article, wanted her for myself. I’ll warrant it’s merely an affair. Montsimon is popular with the ladies and a pet of the king’s. Better at employing elegant speech than firing a gun. He’ll be easy to deal with.”
Montsimon clenched his jaw. Crowthorne would learn how wrong he was soon enough.
“I won’t have any more blood on my hands,” Hazelton said in a querulous tone.
“Will you relax? I just learned in the village that Owltree Cottage is to be shut up, some sort of repair work.”
“Vacated?” Hazelton asked. “Are you sure?”
“Something to do with the foundations. It’s considered unsafe.”
“Well!” Hazelton’s voice raised a notch. “That is good news.”
“As soon as the house is empty we’ll break in and give it a thorough going over.”
Dogs barked excitedly somewhere behind the house.
“What the devil is that?” Crowthorne asked. A chair scraped across the floor.
“And you accuse me of being lily-livered,” Hazelton said, a degree of satisfaction in his tone. “My hunting dogs are probably on the scent of a fox.”
“For God’s sake, go and see!”
Before Hazelton had left the room, Flynn was crossing the drawing room carpet again. In another minute, he was back at the brick wall, searching for a foothold to scale it. A few minutes more and he dodged through the trees.
Althea sat on a rock. She leapt up. “Was Crowthorne there?”
“Yes. I’ll explain later. We need to get out of here.”
Flynn took her hand and they ran to the stream. Before he could take her delightful scented body in his arms, she’d pulled up her skirts and waded across.
“My, but you’re a spoil sport,” he said as they rounded up the horses.
“I didn’t want you to strain yourself,” she said as he cupped his hand and she placed her boot in it. He threw her up onto her horse.
“I was willing to risk it,” Flynn said, as he mounted his gray.
They cantered across the field and jumped the gate, then continued at a fast pace along the road. The horses, fresh from their rest, were keen for a gallop.
When they were a safe distance from Hazelton’s house, Flynn slowed his mount. With Althea trotting her horse beside him, Flynn related what he had overheard, omitting Crowthorne’s suggestion that they were having an affair. He saw no sense in embarrassing her. “If they don’t find what they seek at Owltree, they are going to come after you,” he said bluntly, hoping it might make her inclined to do as he wished.
Althea shivered, her eyes dark with fear. “But I don’t have this thing they seek.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have them in the hands of the law before they know where they are.”
“I can’t believe that of Lord Churton,” Althea said with a sigh. “I liked him. I’m sure he didn’t lie to me.”
“You liked him but you didn’t know him,” Flynn said. Churton was a spy, and spies did not have a reputation for being honest. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “But he was a friend of mine and I have to admit I find it hard to believe.”
Althea gazed at him. “Then we can’t both be wrong, surely.”
She was smart and instinctive, but naïve, Flynn thought, for she lived in a different world. And please God could he keep her safe.
*
After pointing out to Jet that his place was in his basket, Flynn shivered and settled down under the blanket for another night on the sofa. Without the fire lit, a chilly draft wafted in and touched his face. He wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up with a beard of icicles. His makeshift bed was dashed uncomfortable. He searched fruitlessly for the best position; his choices few, either with his knees under his chin or his feet dangling over the edge. The latter simply provided an invitation for Jet to prod his stockinged foot experimentally with a soft paw.
His mind wouldn’t let go of what he’d learned today. He was alarmed for Althea. Whatever happened tonight, she must return to London tomorrow. Barraclough’s men would watch the house. With a heavy sigh, Flynn sat up again and raked his fingers through his hair. He peered out the window. No rain tonight. The stars burned bright in the inky sky, the moonlight sending the garden into indefinable shapes. He blinked. Was it his imagination, or did something flit across the grass into the deep purple shadows near the barn? He grabbed his pistol. Would they have visitors tonight? He doubted Crowthorne would make a move until the house was empty.
His question was soon answered with three sharp taps on the window. “Bricks here, my lord,” said a man through the glass. “The men are in place.”
Flynn exhaled in relief and opened the window.
The scratch of a tinderbox was followed by the flicker of a feeble rushlight. It highlighted a man’s rugged features.
“How many of you are there?” Flynn asked.
“Four of us in all, placed around the grounds. We’ll be here as long as necessary.”
“Good man, Bricks. All armed?”
“Well armed, my lord.”
“Expect trouble. If not tonight, then soon. You can sleep in the barn during the day. I’ll have food sent out to you.”
“Right you are, my lord.”
“Should you need me, I’ll be here.”
Flynn closed the window. The rushlight extinguished, the man melted back into the dark. Now that he knew the house was watched, Flynn decided to snatch a few hours’ rest. Heaven knew when he would be able to sleep again. He arranged the blanket over his feet, and it slid off his shoulders. Damn it! The cold kept him awake. A vision of Althea snug and warm in the bed upstairs didn’t help. He resisted the temptation.
He wasn’t at all sure he could trust himself. And Althea deserved better, a man who would marry her and give her a good life. The thought gave him pause. When had he begun to question his motives? He’d always got on well with women, but he’d never called any a trusted friend. They’d made demands on him, he’d been happy to provide. His mother leaving him had built an inherent distrust into him from a very early age. Althea was different. She didn’t want anything from him except what he was prepared to offer. He lay back on the sofa. This time, with a deafening purr, Jet chose to ignore his instructions, and after a lot of tedious turning and alarming kneading of claws, the cat stretched out along his legs. Finding the animal pleasantly warm, Flynn closed his eyes.
“Flynn!” He opened his eyes to daylight. Althea leaned over him in her dressing gown, her hair in a braid beneath a lacy cap. “The servants will be up and about any minute.”
He leapt off the sofa, disturbing the cat. Jet stalked away with his tail in the air. “The deuce! If I spend another night on this sofa, I’ll be a cripple.” He straightened painfully. “My back feels like it’s broken in several places.”
“Nonsense. Come upstairs,” she murmured.
He followed her up. “My men arrived during the night. They’re sleeping in the barn today. Can you ask your cook to prepare them a meal? You can tell your servants these men are here to work on the foundation.”
“I will.” She gathered her clothes and stood at the bedchamber door. “Now I must bathe and dress. I have much to do.”
“Mmm,” he muttered, not trusting himself to comment as a vision of her naked in her bath flashed into his mind. He doubted even his imagination could do her justice.
An hour later, after he washed and dressed, Flynn joined Althea in the breakfast room. Her trunk stood at the foot of the stairs. Jet had been confined to a cane basket, his howls of disgust reaching them from the entry hall.
Althea spread butter and marmalade onto toast. “Jet doesn’t like being confined. I’m afraid he’ll make our trip rather unpleasant.”
“Not our trip, Althea,” he said. “I must remain here. The men need me.”
She blinked. “Oh? Why then must I go?”
Because I want to keep you safe. He didn’t say it. She had pluck to the backbone, and there was no sense in inviting trouble. “Because the house will be full of men, and your presence will complicate matters.”
“You are ordering me to leave.” Althea dropped the uneaten toast back on her plate. “Haven’t I proved to be helpful?” She raised her chin. “Your subaltern, you said.”
He gazed at her imploringly. “You would be just one more thing for me to worry about. Don’t you see? Please don’t make this difficult.”
Her eyes grew shadowed. “As you wish. But I don’t see the necessity. I would prefer not to be stuck in London wondering what’s taking place here in my home. A home I love, Flynn.”
“Then you must trust me to take care of it,” he said.
Sally entered the room. “My lord, the carriage has arrived for her ladyship.”
“Thank you, Sally. Please ask Ben to take Lady Brookwood’s luggage.”
“When did you give instructions to your coachman?” She raised her eyebrows. “Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You planned to pack me off and didn’t feel it necessary to tell me?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Did you think I would cause a fuss? Refuse to go?”
“No,” he said carefully. “I was confident you would see the sense of it. You do, don’t you?”
She sniffed. “No, you didn’t. I find it decidedly sneaky. And I might not forgive you.”
He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “I hope you will forgive me, Althea.”
She coolly withdrew it. “Mrs. Peebles will accompany me to London. There’s no longer any need for her to travel by stage.” She rose from the table and left the room.
Flynn sipped his coffee thoughtfully. She was angry with him, but it couldn’t be helped. He would deal with that later.