Sins, Secrets and Spies, page 15
The train chugged to a stop, and moving hastily out the door, he raced from the station to the nearby livery stable. Being a well-known noble in the district, Jim, the stable master, was happy to provide him with one of his best horses.
“Let ‘im have ‘is head and he’ll take ye on a fine gallop,” Jim declared, smiling his toothless smile. “Brave as a lion, ‘e is, and ‘e’ll not stop ’til you tell ‘im.
“Thank you, Jim. I’ll have him returned tomorrow.”
As he trotted away, then broke into a canter, his mind was racing.
While hiding in Verity’s bedroom he’d been flabbergasted at the conversation he’d overheard. Count Cavaletti’s secretary was at her door! Now he realized why he’d been duped. The man must have won Verity’s confidence.
“She told him about me hiding behind that blasted screen,” he hissed as he rode through the night. “Damn and blast. I just hope those constables found those two scoundrels and locked them up!”
Though he hadn’t been able to convince her to send him away, as he’d galloped home through the dreadful storm he’d decided it was providence, and had sent urgent word to the local constabulary. They were to go to Wilshire Hall, find the two men, then hold them under his authority. It would have prevented them from attending the party, and allowed Elias to deal with them at an opportune time, but he had no idea if the two men had been caught.
He’d soon reach a fork in the road, and he was still undecided about his destination. He could gallop to the party at the Earl of Hawkesbury’s, or go directly to Wilshire Hall. He slowed his horse, but the magnificent creature began snorting and jumping up and down, anxious to continue his speedy gallop.
“Verity’s” Richard exclaimed. “If the police didn’t find them, they’ll still be staying there.”
Turning the horse to the left, he leaned forward and released the reins. The gelding bolted forward, and sinking into the smooth gallop, letting the great creature thunder towards Wilshire Hall, Richard’s eyes narrowed. He was determined to find out exactly what Verity knew. All of it, one way or another!
* * * * * * * * * *
Seated at the impressive table in the Earl’s home, Verity was doing her best to appear calm and happy, but she was finding it increasingly difficult. As they’d left the lounge to enter the dining room, she’d paused at the window, and glancing outside she’d seen her carriage disappear down the driveway.
Rocco had found the assassin! He was headed back to Wilshire Hall!
She was simultaneously relieved and worried. Relieved that nothing had happened to him, but worried that something would. He’d be in the house with the murderous villain. So many things could go wrong.
“At least he has Luigi,” she mumbled under her breath as she stared down at the succulent pork chop on her plate. “I just wish I was there. I wish I knew what was going on.”
The elderly Duke to her right had been talking endlessly about the renovations of his daughter’s new home in Mayfair, and the handsome young man on her left kept brushing his knee against hers under the table. When she’d shoot him a reprimanding glance, he’d smile at her with pleading eyes. The table chatter was irritating, the room was stuffy, and she had no appetite. She wanted to go home!
“Are you all right, Verity?”
It was the Honorable John Hudson. He was seated across the table from her.
“To be honest, I am feeling slightly unwell.”
“Are you? Do you feel the need to lie down?”
He had opened the door for her, and she jumped through it.
“Perhaps I should,” she said softly with a worried frown, “though I don’t wish to upset the party.”
“Nonsense! Alice,” he called, his voice carrying down the table, “Verity is feeling unwell. Is there a room she might rest?”
“Of course,” Alice declared, rising from her chair. “My goodness, I hope you’re not getting sick. It is that time of year.”
“I’m fine, honestly,” Verity assured her, rising to her feet. “Perhaps I just had too much of your lovely wine. I feel terrible interrupting your dinner.”
“Don’t be silly.”
Leading Verity from the room, she closed the dining room door behind them, and took hold of Verity’s elbow.
“It’s probably the stress,” she said softly. “Harboring a fugitive can’t be easy, especially one to whom you’re so attracted.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I can’t imagine any other reason you would agree to do what you did.”
“Goodness. I suppose that might have had something to do with it, though I would always serve the crown.”
“I’m greatly looking forward to meeting this Count Cavaletti, and here we are,” she said, opening a door. “A place where you will not be disturbed. If you want anything the pull cord is over there by the bookcase.”
“Thank you, Alice. I simply couldn’t stay in that room another minute.”
“I completely understand,” Alice said with an understanding smile. “More than you know.”
“Alice…”
“Yes, Verity?”
“Would you think me awfully rude if I left?”
“Not at all. I’m sure this evening is the end to a very arduous day.”
“It is, actually. My driver had to take the carriage out, but he’ll be back soon. Perhaps Hastings could flag him down at the front door when he returns.”
“Of course, I’ll see to it, and I’ll be at Wilshire Hall tomorrow at 4 p.m.”
“I’ll see you then, and thank you for everything.”
As Alice gave her a gentle hug and left the room, letting out a grateful sigh, Verity dropped into a comfortable chair, leaned back and closed her eyes.
So far the evening had gone well, even better than she’d hoped, and she prayed Rocco was enjoying the same success. He’d left in the carriage, so she assumed he must be, but until she was back in his arms she would not rest easy.
CHAPTER TWENTY
There was no conversation as the carriage carried the men to Wilshire Hall, but when they turned into the driveway the hint of an evil smile curled the edges of the assassin’s lips. A chill rippled through Rocco’s body. It suddenly hit him. Elias knew the house. It was an unnerving epiphany. As they neared the sweeping steps in front of the home and Rocco tapped on the roof, Elias shifted his gaze from the window, frowning at him suspiciously.
“We’re not there yet. Why are you telling the driver to pull up?”
“Do you think we can simply knock on the door?” Rocco snapped, deciding to treat the assassin with the same contempt the man had shown him. It had worked. Rocco saw the glimmer of surprise in Elias’s eyes.
“Then how do we enter?” he asked as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Elias reached forward to open the carriage door, but knowing Luigi needed to climb down from the driver’s seat and slip out of sight, Rocco grabbed the killer’s arm and yanked it away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Elias demanded, glaring at Rocco with menacing eyes.
“The entrance to the house is hidden in its walls.”
“So?”
“When we are close to the wall, I must blindfold you.”
“HAH! You will not!”
“I must.”
“Why? Aren’t we on the same side?”
“Such a question,” Rocco exclaimed. “I go to all this trouble and you doubt me? Had I evil designs you’d already be dead. If you recall I approached you from behind. You were completely unaware of my presence.”
Elias let out a breath, pulled off his cap, and scratched his bald head.
“This entrance is known only to me, and I choose to keep it that way,” Rocco said, his voice gruff. “It is a weapon of sorts, and I am extremely possessive of my weapons, as I’m sure, are you!”
Again, Elias didn’t speak, but scratched his head.
“The count rests in that house,” Rocco continued. “He must be killed, but I will not give away the secret of the entrance. The count will meet his maker tonight by my hand or yours. The decision rests with you.”
“The man must die by my hand,” Elias angrily retorted. “It is my job.”
“Then you must accept the blindfold when we approach the wall.”
“As you wish,” Elias said grimly, “but I will not speak well of you when I return to Italy.”
Knowing Luigi would now be safely out of sight, and may even have reached the bushes by the hidden entrance, Rocco opened the carriage door. As the men climbed out Cyrus kept his eyes straight ahead, and when Rocco tapped the side of the cabin, Cyrus moved the horses forward to circle around and head back to the road.
“It’s not far,” Rocco declared as he led Elias across the lawns. “The count is hidden away in the east tower. It’s not used, so there’s no danger of us being interrupted. We will enter the home through a secret tunnel and leave the same way. When the count is found no-one will know how his murderers penetrated the security.”
“There is security? But you said you did away with his bodyguard.”
“I did. I do not speak of him. There are other watchers inside, but they are in the front of the home.”
“How did you learn all this? How do you know where the count is hiding?”
“I made it my business to become acquainted with a housemaid. She was easily persuaded to tell me what she knew. It was a pleasure getting the information out of her.”
“Women are such fickle creatures. You can’t trust one of them, not one,” Elias scowled. “Still, at times like this I am glad of it.”
“Here is where I must blindfold you.”
Elias shot him a scornful look before closing his eyes, and as Rocco placed the black scarf around his head and tied it off, he marveled at how easy it had been to win the man’s trust.
It gave him pause.
Had it been too easy?
Feeling slightly unnerved, Rocco gripped Elias by his elbow and led him forward. He had to continue with the plan, but he wouldn’t let his guard down for a single second.
* * *
Cyrus had made fast time returning to the earl’s estate. Heading up the driveway he saw a figure in front of the house waving a lantern. Drawing closer he realized it was one of the footmen.
“Your mistress wishes to return home,” the footman declared as Cyrus pulled the horses to a stop. “Hastings has gone to fetch her.”
“And back we go,” Cyrus grunted to himself. “I hope that will be the end of the evening!”
Though Cyrus had no idea why the men’s carriage had been tampered with, or why Lambert had laid down the law about keeping the visitors’ presence secret, Cyrus was happy to do their bidding. He was deeply loyal to Wilshire Hall.
Viscount Jackson James had been a man of great stature, but he led a mysterious life. He would often ask Cyrus to drive somewhere in the middle of the night, and Cyrus was aware of visitors visiting the home at all hours. Things had been quiet since the Viscount had passed away, and as he waited, he realized, in spite of his complaint, he was enjoying the intrigue.
The arrival of the earl’s butler escorting Lady James from the house snapped him from his thoughts. Touching his cap to her, he watched as she climbed in and the footman closed the carriage door.
“All right laddies,” he said to his team of horses. “Walk on.”
As the coach rolled down the driveway, Verity hugged herself. Just a short time before Rocco had been sitting where she was now—with the killer! It made her shudder. She’d promised Rocco she’d stay in her room, but she knew she would lose her mind sitting around waiting all night.
“I can’t just stand outside King Henry’s room and listen,” she muttered, “but I must find a way to—AH! Of course. The secret passage from my old bedroom to Henry’s room. I can watch from the small chamber above the bed!”
* * *
The horse from the stable at the train station was fast, very fast, so fast as to be almost unsettling. Every time Richard pulled on the reins to slow him down, the horse threw up its head in protest. And he was a massive beast, tall and wide with heavy bones. The power the animal possessed, and the length of his giant stride, caused Richard to think about the horses his ancestors once used in battle.
It was fitting that he would be mounted upon such a magnificent steed. It was fate! God had provided him such a beast to reassure him that his quest was right and true. He was to rule England and it’s many lands. It was his destiny. He would conquer even more countries, and with his new Italian allies, he would see all of Europe fall under his control.
As the revelation swept through him, the speed of the horse, and its great brawn and vigor, suddenly held no threat. The voices in his head told him they had sent the horse, and he and the horse would become famous throughout the land. He and the mighty beast were as one, dominating the ground beneath them and owning the night. He loosened his hold on the reins, and as he felt the horse relax and stretch out its mammoth neck, Richard knew it was so. He would pay whatever amount the stable manager asked, and he would name the splendid equine Zeus!
The driveway that led to Wilshire Hall was in sight, but they were traveling at great speed, surely too fast to make the turn, but he had faith in his mammoth mount. As Richard pulled on the right rein, the horse didn’t pause, but careened around the turn and thundered up to the house, then came to a dramatic and abrupt stop. His heart pounding in his chest, Richard leapt from the saddle and looked around for someone to take the reins. It seemed the place was deserted, and he was about to charge up to the front door when it opened and a footman appeared.
“Good evening, my lord,” the young man said, staring at the huge horse.
“Take him to the stables and make sure he receives the best of care,” Richard snapped, throwing him the reins as he approached.
“Her ladyship isn’t home.”
“Never mind about that! Just take care of my horse!”
Watching Lord Richard Smythe III march hurriedly into the house, the young footman, totally intimidated and not sure what to do, looked up at the snorting steed. It was pawing the ground, and thinking he had only one choice, he led the horse toward the stables.
Standing in the foyer, Richard wasn’t sure where to go. He needed to find the count, but it would take him all night to move from room to room.
“LAMBERT?” he bellowed, determined the austere butler would help him. “LAMBERT!”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but Lambert isn’t here.”
Spinning around, Richard saw another footman walking towards him. He was as young as the first, but possessed greater confidence, almost too much for a lowly servant.
“You have an Italian count staying here,” Richard exclaimed. “Where is he?”
“Italian count?” the footman repeated, a frown crossing his brow. “I am unaware of any such guest, sir.”
“Don’t take me for a fool. I’ll see you thrown out of here if you don’t tell me where he is this minute!”
To Richard’s surprise, the young man showed no fear.
“I can assure you, my lord, there is no such guest in the house, at least, not to my knowledge. I can check with Mrs. Danby. Would you care to wait in the drawing room?”
“Where the bloody hell is Lambert?”
“He was called out on an emergency, but I know nothing of the details. The drawing room is-“
“I know where the damn drawing room is,” Richard barked. “That count is here, I know he is. Find out where.”
“I’ll do my best, my lord,” the footman said earnestly, and turning on his heel he hurried away.
“Where has Verity hidden you?” he muttered, gazing up the stairs. “That footman was lying, I could smell it.”
Richard took a deep breath, trying to calm himself so he could think logically. He doubted the count would be in the front part of the house. The old east wing was closed up, but he remembered Verity hosting a party there as a lark. There was even a bedroom reputed to have been used by Henry VIII.
“That’s it!” he growled, a wicked grin crossing his face. “I’m sure of it. That’s where she’s put him!”
Striding towards the stairs, he took them two at a time, but when he reached the landing at the top he couldn’t recall which direction to turn. He vaguely remembered several passageways and a staircase, or was it two staircases? Grunting, having not the slightest clue, he was about to move to his left when he heard the footman’s voice.
“Sir?”
“You, come up here!”
Impatiently Richard watched the young man trot up the stairs, and before he had reached the top Richard demanded to be led to the east wing.
“I would be happy to oblige you, my lord, but I’m forbidden to go there.”
“You will take me,” Richard thundered, “or it will be your hide.”
“Forgive me, but if I do, it will be my job. The east wing has been closed off for renovations and isn’t safe. I’m afraid I must refuse you,” and to Richard’s shock, the boy turned around and headed back down the stairs.
As Richard let out a frustrated groan and clenched his fists, he wondered if the boy had run back downstairs for reinforcements. Deciding he wasn’t about to get any help, and worried he might find himself surrounded by a gang of servants bustling him out the front door, he started down the hallway. The east wing couldn’t be that hard to find, and he’d recognize it once he was there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In King Henry’s room sitting in an easy chair by the fire, Lambert had been trying to read. He’d thought it would help to pass the time, but it wasn’t working at all. Closing the book he placed it on the small table next to the chair, and rising to his feet he walked across to the window. There was nothing to see but the black sky, and the vague shapes of the trees dancing at the wind’s mercy. Just a week before he’d been sharing a glass of sherry with Mrs. Danby in his small office complaining about how tedious life had become. He shook his head with a rueful smile as he thought back to her response.
