Lord Maxwell’s Quest, page 6
“We were in London only a short time before my parents took me to Egypt.” She shrugged. “I’d not returned for a Season until this year and that is only because Sophia came home.”
Max leaned forward. “Are you sorry that you never had the opportunity?” He recalled those first years at Oxford. He’d attended balls, routs, musicales, the theatre, all places that gentry attended, as well as places that weren’t acknowledged, and they never suited him. He’d always longed to travel. To discover the world. To unearth history. But Rosemary was a gently bred miss, a best friend of his younger sister, raised and educated to take her place in Society.
“Sophia, Eliza, and I used to lie awake at night and talk about our first Season, perhaps marrying, having homes of our own.” She sighed wistfully. “It wouldn’t have suited any of us, but we were too young to realize that at the time.”
“My sister married,” Max reminded her.
“She lives on a vineyard in Italy. That’s hardly what we assumed our life would be when we were all of fourteen.” Rosemary laughed.
“Yet, no regrets?”
“A few, perhaps.” Her eyes met his. “But not having a Season and all that it entailed is not one of them.”
Max studied Rosemary and realized that this may be the first time that they’d ever had a pleasant conversation that didn’t involve antiquities or excavations. If they weren’t in competition to find a relic, or working near each other on an excavation, or both bent over studying an antiquity, they didn’t get along. This was almost as odd as being in a strange city that shouldn’t be strange at all.
“Do you miss not having the same type of life as others born of your station, the second son of a marquess?” she asked.
“No.” He knew without a doubt that he would have gone mad having a life of Seasons each spring, estates and house parties the rest of the year, or any profession that would be required of him being second born. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.” He smiled. “You and I have been very lucky in what we’ve experienced.”
“Yes, we have.” Rosemary lifted her tankard. “To more quests, Max.”
“To finding the sword,” he toasted.
When the door of the public house opened, Max glanced up and his blood chilled when he saw the face of the newest patron. Max grabbed his hat and put it on his head as he spoke to Rosemary. “Lower your head,” he ordered quietly.
She blinked at him.
Max slouched his shoulders, hoping to hide his face.
“Rylan,” he hissed. “And two of his men.”
Her dark eyes grew wide, but Rosemary rounded her shoulders and tucked her chin to her chest. Until they knew why he was here, they’d not bring attention to themselves.
For the first time in her memory, Rosemary was having a pleasant conversation with Max. It was nice, until Rylan arrived.
“What do we do?” she whispered.
“I’m not certain yet, but I’m keeping an eye on them.”
“We aren’t in danger,” she reminded Max. “It’s not as if we found the sword and have it in our possession.”
“I agree, but we don’t know why they are here,” Max spoke quietly. “Perhaps they’ve simply returned to London, and this is an establishment they frequent regularly, and if that is the case, I don’t wish for him to see us and pique his interest as to why we are here.”
She had to agree with his logic. The less Rylan knew, the better. “Or, he could have already learned of the sword,” she said.
“And he’s searching for it,” Max agreed.
“Therefore, if he knows we are here, he’ll let us find it, as it’s less work for him.” Rosemary wasn’t even certain Rylan knew how to go about locating an antiquity on his own. He let the others do the work, then took it from them, using whatever force was necessary.
“He’s taken a table near the door.”
They’d not be able to leave without being seen, unless they waited until he left, though if he’d come to drink, that could be hours. “Where do you think those stairs lead?” There was a set of stairs not far from where Max sat, leading to an upper level.
He glanced to his right. “Perhaps rooms or storage.”
The barmaid returned and placed the food before them. Rosemary motioned for her to lean in. “Do you have rooms available for the night.” She nodded to the stairs.
“We’ve one, if you’d like to take it.”
Rosemary looked to Max and he nodded. “Please.”
“I’ll just need you to sign the registry and pay first.” She gestured to a place behind Rosemary, but she didn’t dare turn for fear Rylan might see and recognize her.
“Can you bring it to us? I have the payment.” Max drew his purse from beneath his coat. “I’m trying to avoid someone,” he admitted.
The barmaid looked around. “All of our patrons are friendly like, you don’t need to worry…I didn’t know the likes of him, and friends had arrived,” she ended on a frown.
“Who?” Rosemary whispered to Max.
“Them,” Max mouthed to Rosemary.
The barmaid straightened. “I’ll bring the register to you right away.” She glanced at the plates. “You can take your meal above-stairs if you wish, and I’ll come collect them later.”
“Thank you.”
Rosemary sipped her ale but would not eat. Not while they were in the same common room as Rylan.
The servant returned only a moment later and refilled their tankards while Max signed the book using the fictitious name of Jonathan Jones of Wiltshire, then paid for their lodgings. The servant produced a key. “It’s the third room on your left at the top of the stairs.”
“Thank you.”
As she walked away, pocketing the extra coin Max had given her, they gathered their meal and tankards and made their way upstairs, neither one of them relaxing until he’d locked the door behind them.
“Now what?” Rosemary asked, taking in the small room and even smaller bed. Not that she feared spending the night with Max. She’d done so before.
He strode to the window, then opened it. “We’re above the alley and the drop doesn’t look too difficult.”
Rosemary joined him and looked out. “Not too difficult?” she asked in alarm. They were two stories above the hard, dirt passage.
“I’ll catch you.” Max promised.
“That’s little comfort,” she offered and returned to the plates she placed on the small table. “If this is going to be my last meal, I’d like to eat it while it’s still warm.”
“We’ve no time to eat,” he said.
“Of course we do.” Rosemary was starving, and she was going to jump out of the window with her stomach full.
“I glanced back at the barmaid as I turned the corner on the stairs. She’d dropped the ledger on Rylan’s table and nodded in our direction.”
“You signed a fictitious name,” she reminded him.
“After giving a description, you know that Rylan will determine that it’s us and I, for one, don’t wish for him to find us as we are enjoying a meal.”
“We don’t have the sword yet. He won’t bother us until we do,” she reminded Max.
He turned to her, hands fisted on his hips. “He doesn’t know we haven’t found it,” Max argued. “He’s beaten others for information, and I don’t wish to endure the same. Or, he might beat us to find out why we are here because we wouldn’t be in this part of London for any other reason.”
Max was correct, of course. However, that didn’t stop Rosemary from taking a bite of stale bread then washing it down with ale before she joined Max at the window. He was already crawling out onto the ledge.
“I’m certain they are assuming that we’ll be enjoying supper when they burst in on us, and I plan to be long gone before then.”
Max let himself drop from the window, his fingers clutching the ledge. He looked down one more time, then let go, landing on his feet, knees bent, then straightened, looking up at her. “Your turn.”
She didn’t like this. Not one bit. Though, if she clung to the edge and stretched out as Max had done, her feet would be closer to the ground and then it would be a simple drop, similar to climbing and jumping from trees when she was at Wiggons’.
There must be an easier and safer way.
She glanced down one end of the alley and then the other, then noted the mews and smiled. “Get the cart,” she called down.
“Cart?”
“The mews. There’s a cart of hay.”
Max turned, then strode in that direction. With a grunt, he lifted the handles and pulled it to beneath the window.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you didn’t trust me,” he called up.
“I trust your intention and efforts. Just not the strength of your arms to catch my weight,” she returned as she hiked her skirts and crawled out the window. She couldn’t drop as Max had done since the cart wasn’t close enough to the building, so she took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and jumped, landing solidly in the cart, and sinking into hay. The landing wasn’t as soft as she’d hoped, and she did strike the wooden bottom, but it was preferable to the hard dirt of the alley.
“I believe I’ve been insulted,” Max said as he helped Rosemary from the cart.
“You shouldn’t be,” she insisted. “Men often overestimate their abilities, and I’d not see you injured.” She brushed the hay from her clothing and pulled it from her hair. “Where to now?”
“The foundling home first,” he grumbled. “I would have caught you.”
“We can bicker later,” Rosemary insisted right before Max grabbed her hand. They ran to the far end of the alley, away from the public house. Together they wound their way through narrow streets and alleys until they reached a busier, and less dangerous, area where a hackney could be hailed.
Chapter 6
When Max gave direction to the foundling home, he intentionally asked the hackney driver to let them out two blocks from the establishment. Whenever Rylan was about, it was always best to be cautious and, in this case, it turned out to be a wise decision. Directly across from the home, hiding in the shadows, stood one of Rylan’s thugs, watching the place.
“They are watching and waiting for us, like they always do,” he grumbled. “Their being in London is not a coincidence, though I suspect his appearance at the public house had been or he would have approached us then.”
“How did they even know we’d be here?” she asked.
Max had no answer. How did they ever know? It was a question often asked, but neither he nor Rosemary ever had an answer. But they could be assured, the more valuable the item, the more likely Rylan and his men would be near, which meant they’d heard about the sword, an item that would be coveted by any collector or museum.
Max turned Rosemary away from Westbrook House. “I assume there is a back entrance.”
“I believe so, I’ve never used it however.” In fact, she’d only been to the foundling home twice since she’d been back in England. The first, when she was in London with her friends and was given a tour by Victoria and Olivia, and yesterday, when she’d come here to change into her disguise.
“It should be easy enough to find.” At the next corner they turned and made their way down another street lined with buildings, looking for a way to gain entry to the back of the foundling home, but soon reached the next street and turned to walk further.
“There must be a square within these buildings or there would have been an alley behind the foundling home,” Max said. He paused with hands on his hips. “We should be behind the foundling home now, but all we have are the fronts of homes.” He knew that there must be a drive or entry for servants at least. All these homes were large, not tenements, so they must have servants, or at least a way for deliveries that could not be made at the front of the house, as such simply wasn’t done.
Of course, it would be much easier to find if it weren’t so dark.
“There.” Rosemary pointed to what appeared to be a narrow drive just up ahead.
Slipping through the shadows and staying close to the walls, they edged their way to the end of the building and stopped when they reached the courtyard, a square of grass, trees, and park benches surrounded by townhouses. The only building that wasn’t attached to the others was the foundling home. It was likely that the land behind had been part of the original estate attached to the mansion.
Just inside, leaning against a tree, was another of Rylan’s thugs and Max cursed under his breath. Rylan usually traveled with five men who did his bidding. Two had been with him at the public house, one was across the street, and another here. If they were watching for Rosemary, then the fifth was probably outside the Albany as that was the likely place Max would seek rest—at his brother’s set of rooms.
One question concerned him, however. How did they know that this was where Rosemary would seek refuge? Who was watching them, and how long had they been doing so?
There was also the possibility that Rylan had heard rumors of the sword, or his boss had, before he and Rosemary had ever arrived. Given Crispin’s reputation, Rylan may have been sent to follow Crisp, but upon seeing Max and Rosemary arrive at Crisp’s home, put the thugs on their trail. That was the only explanation that made any sense because Max was certain Crispin would never betray either him or Rosemary to the likes of Rylan.
It really didn’t matter how Rylan came about the information. The concern was how to get into the foundling home without being seen.
“Is there some place else we could go?” Rosemary whispered after Max nodded to the man who had moved to lounging on a bench in the darkened shadow of a tree.
“The only lodgings I have are my brother’s set of rooms at the Albany.”
“That won’t do,” she mumbled.
Not only was it likely being watched, but the Albany were bachelor apartments, and women were not allowed on the premises. Or at least not female guests which sounded bloody dull.
“Do you have somewhere else we could go?”
“Not in London,” she answered.
He scanned the area once again, then focused on the back entry to the foundling home. “Have you a shawl?”
“A shawl?” she questioned while rummaging in that ugly bag of hers.
It was the best disguise he could think of on such short notice.
“I’ve an old tattered one.”
Max took it from her and wrapped it about her head. “I’m going to carry you to the back door. Keep your head tucked against my chest, and let your arm hang limp, like you’re dead or something.”
Her eyes widened. “Or something?”
“Just go along.”
Knowing Rosemary, she’d question the hastily made plan and then want to argue. Or worse, insult him again about his inability to catch, hold, or carry her. As Max didn’t wish to waste further time, he scooped her up in his arms, made certain that his hat was low, ducked his chin so that his features were further shadowed in the darkness, then hurried across the green.
“Don’t worry none, Mary. I’ll get ye help. I shoulda never allowed ye to marry that man.”
The man on the bench straightened and watched, but Max ignored him, intent on the back door of the foundling home and then started pounding on it, calling for help until it opened.
“My sister’s been hurt real bad. Ya got ta hide her.”
The startled woman stood back and let them in. Max kicked the door shut and let Rosemary stand.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the woman demanded.
Max bolted the door. “Is that man still sitting on the bench watching?
The woman frowned and went to a window and looked out. “Yes.”
“Is he moving?”
“No, he just leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest like he’s just enjoying the evening.”
Rosemary pushed the shawl from her head.
“Miss Fairview?” the woman asked, a bit befuddled and confused.
“Edith, I’m so sorry for the theatrics, but it was necessary.”
Max wasn’t certain he’d call it theatrics, just a necessary distraction.
“Is either Lady Olivia or Lady Victoria about?”
“They both are.” She frowned at Max.
“Could you take us to them? We are in a bit of a pickle.”
“No men are to be about the home, Miss Fairview. Those are specific rules.”
“Could you please ask them to come here?” Rosemary begged.
Edith looked at Max with concern, then nodded and quit the room. He settled back against the wall because he was certain this Edith was going to toss him out on his ear and then he’d need to be theatrical again, but with no place to go.
Rosemary had not been given a tour of this part of the foundling home. This room they’d entered was more of a cloak room than anything else. Coats and bonnets hung on pegs and umbrellas were in a holder by the door. There were also overshoes along the wall and on other pegs were aprons. On a table in the corner were a stack of baskets, most likely used for shopping. It wasn’t an overly large room with just two windows, one on either side of the door, but it served a necessary purpose for all of those who lived and worked within the home.
Rosemary wandered to the open door and entered a much cheerier kitchen. The whitewashed walls gave it a brightness lacking in the cloak room. Corliss stood at the stove cooking. Fern and Hazel were at the counter slicing bread and vegetables, while Adda washed dishes.
“Miss Fairview, where did you come from?” Corliss asked.
Rosemary nodded to the cloak room.
“And who might you be?” Fern lifted a knife and stared past Rosemary.
She turned to find Max standing there, hands raised so that he wasn’t seen as a threat, just as he’d done in the alley when that man had a knife at his throat.
“This is Lord Maxwell Trent. He accompanied me and is trying to protect me.”
“There are rules, Miss Fairview,” Hazel warned.
“Yes, I know, but these are extenuating circumstances, I assure you.”
