To flam - to lie, hum, deceive

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

 

It did not sit well with Ash to leave Lady Todd at the side of the road, but it seemed there was little to be done about it for now. He told himself that he would find a way to help her and make her secure, without damaging her reputation nor hurting her pride - which seemed a fierce creature indeed. He had the fleeting idea of offering for her and told himself he was being stupid. He’d known her for a matter of hours, and though he suspected his own affections could be engaged with very little encouragement, he had the depressing suspicion that she’d likely laugh in his face. Worse still, she might treat him with kindness and pity him.

The idea made his stomach roil.

His mind was so occupied with such thorny matters as the fate of Lady Todd and his own diminishing life expectancy that he was not prepared for the shock awaiting him when he returned home.

“Darling,” his mother cried as he strolled into one of the salons on the lower floor. Lady Ashwicke leapt to her feet as he made his way to greet her. He thought at once that her colour was a trifle high and her eyes full of anxiety, but it took a moment before he noticed another figure in the chair opposite hers. “Darling, I would like to introduce you to a … a dear friend of mine, this … this is Viscount Rennard.”

Ash froze.

His heart was thudding in an unpleasant manner in his chest. He could hear it, pulsing in his ears with a loud rushing sound, and he could only hope he wasn’t blushing with guilt. He suspected not, as he was fairly certain all the blood had rushed from his face.

Viscount Rennard stood and Ash’s heart sank as he realised the man had the advantage over him by several inches. He was also incredibly well-built, powerful shoulders strained the jacket he wore which, to Ash’s discerning eye, was far from well cut. Nonetheless, the man exuded power and charisma and Ash could hardly wonder that his mother had fallen for him. The dark eyes held amusement and a touch of challenge, but did not look like those belonging to a murderer. In fact, the handsome face before him appeared to be that of a good natured chap, perfectly ready to be pleased with the world.

For just a moment, Ash faltered. Could it be that Lady Todd was mistaken, or that she herself was the one trying to tangle him in some kind of web of her own making?

“Lord Todd,” Ash said, relieved that his voice sounded certain and did not quaver, though he’d been given a nasty shock. To find the man he’d been practising to murder for most of the day sitting in his own home was rather more than he felt equipped to deal with.

“Your grace.”

It was something, at least, that the man was forced to bow to Ash’s title, though amusement lingered in his eyes and gave Ash the feeling he was placating a small child rather than showing respect.

Ash sat down, keeping his eye on the viscount as though he was trapped in a room with a tiger.

“Felix, darling,” his mother began, sounding very nervous and rather like she was trapped between a tiger and a sheer drop herself. Her hands were clasped together, and she fidgeted now, turning a large diamond ring round and round her finger and betraying her agitation. “I’ve been thinking about holding a small party at Chartley. J-just a select few guests, you understand.”

Ash fought to keep his expression neutral even as the hairs on the back of his neck all stood on end. Well, this was exactly what Lady Todd had said would happen. He ought never to have doubted her.

“Really?” he said, keeping his tone polite and non-committal. He glanced back at the viscount to see the man lounging back in the chair, apparently completely at his ease. But Ash felt he could see something else in his eyes now, a hungry glint that made Ash swallow and wish he was the sort to hire bodyguards.

Maybe he should start?

“Yes, dear, don’t you think that would be a lovely idea?”

Ash turned back to his mother and wondered what the devil to say. On the one hand, he’d agreed with Lady Todd that it was better to go along with this plan, rather than be caught by surprise with a new one. At least he was forewarned. On the other, he was far from ready to face a man who, if he was really a murderer, could present such a cool and confident face to the world. He must be a cold fish indeed to treat Ash with such a pleasant face while all the while plotting to put him in his grave.

“Perhaps,” he said with care, glancing back at the viscount.

“And, of course, you need not attend,” his mother rushed on, obviously far too eager for time alone with her new beau to want her son to interfere and spoil her fun.

“Oh, no, Anne, dear,” Lord Todd replied, and Ash suffered a shock to hear the man address her in such a familiar fashion. Things were more serious than he’d feared. “That would not do at all. We must think of your reputation, after all. We must have his grace to lend propriety to the affair.”

The chill that had settled in Ash’s stomach like a block of ice seemed to gain in weight at those words. Well, there it was then. Any man who wished to spend time with the woman he hoped to marry would want that woman’s son a million miles from any select party that was being arranged.

Unless he planned to murder that son.

“Oh, Thomas,” his mother said with a sigh and a soft look that Ash found quite nauseating. “How thoughtful you are. Isn’t he thoughtful, Felix?”

Ash gritted his teeth.

“Isn’t he, though,” he said with what he hoped was a smile but felt more like a grimace. He wondered at the fact that his mother was so free with her own and Lord Todd’s given names, when his own request to be called Ash instead of Felix was constantly ignored by everyone outside of his friends. That his given name meant ‘lucky’ made him feel even more animosity towards it than usual. Lucky was not a word he was feeling at this precise moment in time.

However, he was a duke, after all, and with that came some benefits. The man in front of him may make him feel like he was in short coats and give him the strong desire to run away, but he had to defer to his title, and Ash knew what his game was. For the moment, at least, he had the upper hand, so he’d best make the most of it.

“Well, Felix, dear, what do you say?”

Ash pursed his lips and pretended to put some thought into the matter.

“When were you considering holding this … party?” he asked, quite unable to keep the distaste from his words, though he tried to sound interested.

“Oh, as soon as possible,” his mother said, leaning forward, her lovely face alight with hope since he hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand as she might have feared. “This weekend?” she asked, a slightly pleading tone to the words that didn’t escape him.

“Out of the question,” Ash replied, with rather more force than he was used to using, as the idea of facing Lord Todd so soon was frankly terrifying. “You’ll never get a party together so quickly,” he continued, but his mother interrupted him.

“Oh, but it’s to be only a small party, darling. Only our most particular friends, so it ought not to be hard to arrange.”

Ash shook his head and held on to his courage. “Yes, but it is not convenient for me, I’m afraid, and as Lord Todd said, you need my presence to make it a respectable affair and not damage your reputation.” He glanced back at Lord Todd to find the man staring at him in a slightly unnerving manner. Looking away, he turned back to his mother and hurried on. “The end of the month would be best,” he said, hoping that for once he sounded authoritative.

“Oh, but, Ash!” she cried, her disappointment palpable. “That’s almost three weeks away.”

Yes, and it wasn’t at all long enough in his view, but he dared not put it off too long in case Lord Todd grew impatient and decided to use a different method to dispose of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet and hoping that Lord Rennard would take the hint. “I’m afraid I have commitments that will keep me here in Bath until then. But I will be happy to accompany you at the end of the month.”

He turned to Lord Todd and forced himself to hold out his hand.

“I look forward to seeing you then, sir,” he said.

A slight smile flickered over the man’s face as he knew he was being dismissed.

“Indeed, your grace,” he said, taking Ash’s hand. His hand was larger and his grip on Ash almost painful, though Ash did not react. “I look forward to knowing you better.”

Ash inclined his head a little but refrained from comment, watching as Lord Todd made his bow and left the room.

***

Keziah placed the slab of cake onto a plate and cut it in two, one slice rather larger than the other.

“Here you are,” she said, sliding the larger portion across the table to Molly.

“Oh, no, miss, I couldn’t,” the girl objected, staring at the smaller piece on her mistress’ plate with discomfort.

“Of course you can,” Keziah said, her tone matter of fact as she sat down with her maid, something she knew she’d be in trouble for if her father caught her, but Molly had been her only friend over the past miserable years, and she’d be damned if she did as he wished or society expected. “Besides,” she added, picking out the cherries and transferring them to Molly’s plate. “I stuffed myself so full at lunchtime that it’s a wonder there is any room at all for this much.”

Molly giggled and tucked into her portion, apparently placated that her beloved employer wouldn’t starve on her account.

Keziah had made up a story about meeting a sweetheart for a picnic to explain her absence to the maid. She’d invented a handsome and mysterious figure whom she’d met several times in the market place. He was a soldier - that was certain to warm her abigail’s tender heart - and soon to depart, so they had few occasions to meet before he left town. This served two purposes beyond explaining where she’d been to Molly. The girl thought it so romantic that she’d keep it a secret at all costs, but in the unlikely event she spilled the beans, either by accident or design, better her father think she had a beau than that she was plotting his downfall. The story also gave her further opportunities to go and meet her supposed beau over the coming weeks, until she was forced to think of another excuse, or circumstances resolved themselves one way or another. The cake stuck in her throat as she considered several of the possible outcomes, and she was forced to take a large drink of her tea to force it down. The idea that her father could murder such a kind soul, and a man who seemed totally ill equipped to deal with such a threat, was enough to make her lose her appetite.

Food, however, was a scarce commodity, and so she forced the rest of the cake down, though her enjoyment of it was quite lost.

The sound of heavy footsteps from above did nothing to ease her anxiety. In silent accord, the two women cleaned their plates at the risk of their digestions, and tidied up as fast as they were able to. Not a moment too soon, as Martin’s familiar tread was heard on the stairs to the kitchen.

Keziah sat herself down and did her best to give the impression she had been enjoying a quiet cup of tea whilst Molly worked and glanced up with disinterest as the man appeared.

“Martin,” Keziah said, her tone cool.

“Well,” Martin said, taking a chair with no invitation and sitting himself down. “His Lordship is well pleased with himself, for today he had the honour of meeting his grace, the duke.” He ignored Keziah’s glower as he spoke, not caring a bit that he dishonoured her by sitting with her when he was her father’s valet and she Lady Todd. Indeed, why should he? Her father took him far more into his confidence than he did his daughter, a fact for which Keziah could only be grateful. That her father trusted the man so much had ever been a source of consternation to her, though, as personally she thought him the shiftiest sort she’d ever known, and bearing in mind the company her esteemed parent kept, that was no small achievement. She could only surmise that her father had something on him, some hold over him, that kept the man at his beck and call.

She glanced at him and felt her skin prickle as though she was sitting too close to a viper. He was a thin, sparse man with neat black hair, a small, perfectly trimmed moustache which spoke of a military background, and a fastidious cleanliness about his personal appearance that in no way illustrated the blackness of his heart.

“So, Lady Ashwicke is dancing to his tune, is she?” she said, keeping her tone nonchalant and disinterested. She’d had no idea that the duke would have to face him today, and wondered how he had fared. It must have been a shock to the poor fellow.

“She is at that, and such pretty steps, too,” he said with a nasty smile. “Her ladyship is arranging a party for him, just like he asked her to. Though rather later than your pa had hoped. The young pup has a little more backbone that he reckoned on, it seems. Apparently, he has commitments to keep him in Bath until the end of the month. Still, the lease here is for another eight weeks; it’ll be tight, but we should manage something.”

Keziah sipped at her tea and did her best to keep her hand steady, though this whole affair was becoming ever more real and frightening. She reminded herself that she knew nothing of the duke’s fate and tried to plaster a smile to her face.

“Well, we may be able to spend the summer at Chartley, then,” she said, wondering what the place was like and if she’d ever see it if she managed to keep the duke from her father’s grasp.

“Sounds good to me,” Martin said, grinning and showing rather too many teeth as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Hope the grub’s good.”

The ridiculous daydream of actually being a guest of Lord Ashwicke’s flitted into her mind, and she pushed it aside. Such frivolous thoughts were not to be contemplated. Her own fate would be decided once her father had been dealt with. The uncomfortable idea that the duke would not be able to do the deed required of him was one she couldn’t dismiss. He was a poor shot at best, and didn’t appear to have a devious bone in his body, let alone the strength of character that would see him through such a trying experience.

Could he really shoot a man dead, if his life depended on it?

There was no way of knowing, not until it was a great deal too late.

Keziah got to her feet, unwilling to spend any more time in Martin’s company. As she made her way back up the stairs, she wondered if her father had considered the fact that he would not be able to marry Lady Ashwicke for a year at least if she was in mourning for her dead son. She doubted that such a crucial detail had slipped his attention and realised it would serve his purposes far greater to be married first.

She paused on the steps as she realised that he would try and befriend the duke, whilst putting pressure on Lady Ashwicke to persuade her son to agree to a hasty nuptials.

Having seen her father in action, Keziah little doubted that her father could persuade Lady Ashwicke to do whatever he desired. He could charm the birds from the trees when his mind was set to it. Of far greater concern would be his attempts at befriending Lord Ashwicke. She had seen for herself how open and frank an expression the man bore, and had grave doubts as to his ability to dissemble.

She would have to warn him and put him on his guard. They had arranged to meet again the day after next, and in Keziah’s view, not a moment too soon.