Chapter Four
T hey all left early the next morning. Kara and Harold breakfasted, then went together to the laboratory. A shiver shook Kara as they passed the forge, gone cold and quiet for the first time in a while.
“I think I remember all the gears and sequences needed to make the Green Man’s arm raise his sword,” Harold said as he donned an apron over his clothes. “I’ll start on the arm and show you before I attach it.”
Kara smiled. Harold liked to include a sword in all of his automaton figures, because he could forge the blade with Niall. She couldn’t object to his urge to combine their arts.
They spent a quiet, productive morning, then paused to take luncheon back in the house.
“Mr. Welk is due to arrive this afternoon,” Turner reminded them as he placed a platter of cold ham on the table.
“Oh, yes.” Kara had forgotten that today was the day the mathematics instructor visited Harold. “Do you have the problems he left for you all worked out?” she asked.
“Yes, although the last one took me a good long time, only because I’d left off a null sign,” Harold confessed. “I had to go back, and then I realized.”
“Good for you, for figuring out where you went off track. That is a skill that will translate into many aspects of life.” Kara smiled at Turner. “And if Mr. Welk is due, then that means it is your half day today. What do you have planned for your afternoon off?”
The butler hesitated. “Perhaps I should delay my plans until tomorrow, seeing as the others have not yet returned.”
“Delay what plans?” Kara raised her brows. Turner could be remarkably non-forthcoming about his private time.
“Well, the Camleighs have left for Shropshire, on a visit with their eldest daughter.”
The Camleighs were the family at Wood Rose Abbey. “Ah, so you and Mrs. Canning have an afternoon together? Of course, you should go.”
“I don’t like to leave you…” But Turner sounded hesitant.
Kara’s anxiety spiked a bit, but she heard the note in her friend’s tone. He wanted to go. Turner had a life of his own. She’d had to remind herself of that since she was a girl, and she hated the thought of her troubles interfering with it. “Nonsense. What did you have planned?”
“Perhaps just a stroll into the village.”
“Then you’ll be right here in the neighborhood, won’t you?” She brightened. “Actually, you might wish to take my little chaise. You and Mrs. Canning can drive out. That seems…” She glanced at Harold and stopped herself before she said safer. They were still doing their best not to alarm him. “…better? Doesn’t it?” she finished.
“Perhaps I should just stick close to Bluefield,” Turner said.
“Well, you are always welcome to invite Mrs. Canning to spend the afternoon here.” Well aware of the rivalry between Turner’s love interest and her own housekeeper, she doubted he would agree to that suggestion.
He pursed his lips. “Perhaps you are right. A drive might be just the thing. Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Just keep alert, will you?” she asked with a raise of a brow.
“Of course.”
After luncheon, Harold went to prepare for his mathematics lesson while Kara settled into the ivory sitting room, at the drafting desk in the corner. She set to work sketching out the mechanism that would unfurl the kite on the picnic automaton. It was the most complex part of the piece. She had done something similar before, but on a much larger scale. Adjustments would have to be made.
Time passed, but she scarcely noticed, she’d become so lost in the connections and their mechanics. She jumped when a footman knocked upon the door and thrust it open at the same time.
“Your Grace! Can you come? One of the guards says there is a woman at the gates. They will not let her through, and she is in a lather!”
Kara’s belly clenched. A woman? Surely it was not Petra Scot? But who, then?
She stood. “Is Mr. Welk still here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She strode out into the passage. “Make sure he stays upstairs and keeps Harold occupied. Take him aside to explain, if you must.”
Tom was waiting for her in the entry hall. “I’m going with you,” the underbutler declared. “Please don’t try to stop me, Your Grace. You know it’s what Turner and the duke would both insist on.”
“Thank you, Tom,” she said, grateful for an ally. The young man had proven useful in the past.
She rushed out and followed the drive down to the gate. As they drew near, Tom positioned himself in front of her. She craned her neck to see around him. She could hear men talking loudly and feminine…sobbing?
She stepped around Tom, then rushed to the gate. “Open it! Open it!” she called. “Mrs. Canning?” Dread threatened to choke her as the disheveled housekeeper fell into her arms. “Are you all right? Where is Turner?”
“Oh, Your Grace! Thank the heavens above! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell these men. Please, tell them to come! Turner has been hurt!”
*
It had been a frustrating trip for Niall. Wooten had been unable to provide any new information about Petra or her whereabouts.
“We thought we’d found William Barnstaple, but it turned out to be Billy Barnstaple, a fifty-year-old manager in a tannery in Bermondsey.” The inspector shook his head. “Either she’s left England again or she’s tucked herself well away in a hidey-hole.”
“She must be up to something nefarious. Surely she did not come back only to harass Kara and me.”
“Oh, I’m sure she has something else up her sleeve. I just haven’t figured out what it is. Yet.” Wooten cast a sidelong glance his way. “We have interviewed the educators who raised her. They were no more thrilled than you to hear she is back, but they haven’t seen her or heard from her.”
“She already ruined them,” Niall said. “She confessed as much to Kara. It was one of the first acts she pursued, along with her fellow founding members of the League of Dissolution. No. She’s a planner, that one. I’d wager she’s got some new scheme in mind. She’s likely just playing with us in the meantime.”
“Not everything burned in that fire in Seven Dials, you know. We recovered some of the League’s files. They were investing.” Wooten consulted his notebook. “In railways, metal plating for ships, and something called the Submarine Telegraph Company.”
“Yes,” Niall said bitterly. “That was their aim. Start a war and profit from it. She admitted it without compunction.”
“Companies like that are no strangers to their large investors,” Wooten said. “I have men talking to each of them, hoping there might have been some contact.”
“Investments will likely lead you to Barnstaple. He was the one who was good with numbers and strategy.”
“I strongly feel that finding him will lead to her,” said Wooten. He sounded confident.
“I hope you are right.”
Niall had worse luck with Arthur Towland. His friend was the senior member of the Order of Druidic Bards. He was also a police court magistrate, and today he was sitting on the bench in Marylebone, inaccessible to visitors. Niall left him a note, inviting him out to Bluefield, then he and Stayme went to Berkeley Square, so the viscount could consult his staff and gather his files.
“Guts and garters, boy, your leg is moving faster than a piston on a steam engine,” the old man said as he filled a box at his desk.
Niall stood to stop his leg from twitching. “I cannot help it. I was on fire to come into Town, and now all I can think of is getting back to Bluefield.”
“Well, help me with this last box and we’ll go,” Stayme replied.
It wasn’t too long before they were moving through the village of Ambleburrow and turning onto the lane that led to Bluefield. Niall found his leg jumping again as they grew closer.
He let loose a sigh of relief as they approached the gates, but as he shifted to the window, he realized they were already open. One of the posted guards was in the process of closing it before he realized who they were and started back again.
Niall put down the window. “Where’s the other guard?” He’d specifically asked that they watch in pairs.
The man looked visibly nervous. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. He’s gone on to help the duchess. I know there’s supposed to be two of us here, but Mr. Turner’s been hurt, you see. It looks bad.”
“Go!” Niall called to Stayme’s coachman. “Now!” He fell back as the carriage leapt forward. The drive suddenly seemed interminably long, but they made it to the front of the house. Niall jumped out before the carriage had even stopped moving.
“Kara!” She was there, her face pale and drawn as she directed several men in unloading a pallet from the back of a wagon. Turner lay upon it, unconscious. He looked old and frail in a way that Niall had never seen. “Are you all right?”
She nodded wearily and leaned into him. “I’m fine. It’s Turner and Mrs. Canning. They were in an accident. She’s bruised, but only Turner was seriously hurt.”
“He doesn’t look good at all.”
“I know,” she said, worry written across her face. “He’s been unconscious since we found him. There’s a large lump on one side of his head. I think he has broken ribs, too.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ve sent for Dr. Balgate.” She raised her voice. “Keep the pallet level, please! I want him carried up to the guest room next to my rooms. Do not remove him from the pallet, just place it on the bed. Do you need more men to help keep it level and steady?”
“I’ve got it.” Niall stepped in to help. Between them all, they maneuvered past the crowd of gathered servants and a weeping woman he did not recognize. Working carefully, they got Turner upstairs and into the designated bedroom.
“Blankets!” Kara called, following them in. “I want him kept still and warm until Dr. Balgate arrives. I’ll need warm water and towels. Hot tea and a decanter of brandy. Robert”—she pointed at one of the footmen—“go out to the icehouse and chip a good-sized bucket of ice. Bring me a full bowl and keep the rest ready in case of fever.”
She started to drag a chair closer to the bed. Niall went to move it for her, laying a hand on her shoulder as she sat and took the butler’s hand.
She glanced up at him. “Shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”
“I don’t know. Wait until Balgate sees him before you start worrying.” He crouched beside her. “What happened?”
“It’s my fault,” she said in an agonized whisper. “It’s his half day. I encouraged him to go out, as he’d planned. I offered my chaise, thinking it would be safer than walking out with Mrs. Canning. Someone was lying in wait, though. They hid in the wood that crowds the bend in the road on the way here from the village. They fired a gun right there, just as they passed. Mrs. Canning said it was a roar like thunder. The horse went wild, thrashed about, and came partly out of the traces, then dragged the chaise half-cocked down the road. It overturned, and they were both thrown. Turner suffered the worst of it.” She hid her face. “I should never have pushed him to go.”
“This is not your fault,” Niall said sternly.
“He was wavering. He offered to stay with me and Harold. I encouraged him to go. I didn’t want him to miss his personal time because of our troubles.”
“You will not take this on yourself,” Niall told her. “This was Petra. Or one of her minions. Any fault lies with her.”
“I wish he would wake up,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Canning?” Niall said suddenly. “She was downstairs? Weeping?”
“Oh, yes. Would you see to her, Niall? I don’t want to leave Turner.”
“Of course.” Grateful for something useful to do, he stood, only to be pulled aside by Elsie, Kara’s personal maid.
“Your Grace, would you have a more comfortable chair brought in here?” She gestured toward Kara. “It’s my guess we will scarce be able to drag her away.”
Niall agreed. He spoke to a footman, then headed downstairs in search of Turner’s lady friend. He found that the staff had taken the woman in hand. He found her in the kitchens with hot tea and several sympathetic shoulders.
“Mrs. Canning?” he asked gently. She jumped to her feet, along with the others. “Sit, please,” he said to them all. “I thought I would offer to escort you home,” he told the visibly shaken woman.
Her face collapsed in relief. “Oh, thank you, indeed, Your Grace. I was dreading the walk.” Her lip trembled. “Turner? He will be…?”
“We have the duchess’s own doctor on the way,” Niall reassured her. “Dr. Balgate cured Harold when he was very ill indeed. I have every confidence that he will do the same for Turner.”
The housekeeper nodded gratefully. She looked around. “I hope someone will send news of his recovery?”
She departed amongst assurances. Niall saw her to his own coach, then took John Coachman aside. “Keep your eyes peeled and the horses under a tight rein,” he said, low.
“Aye.” John had clearly heard the details of the accident.
As they set off, Niall asked Mrs. Canning to point out the spot where the incident had occurred. She agreed, but held her silence as they traveled, even when they passed a couple of grooms bringing the battered chaise back home. As they grew closer, she leaned forward and indicated the spot.
“I do hope you will be able to catch the villain who did this,” she said. “It’s not right, setting out to harm someone who has done nothing to you.”
“I mean to,” he answered. “I mean to put a stop to this.”
Niall delivered her safely home before directing John back to the scene. There were scuffs in the lane from where the chaise had been dragged, but nothing in the spot where the shooter must have lain in wait. He widened his search and eventually found half a boot print in a soft patch of dirt.
“I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman’s boot,” he told Stayme later, as they lurked on the threshold of the guest room. “Just middling sized, with no distinguishing features.”
“I told you, she’s good, that Scot woman.” The viscount shook his head. “Neither she nor her hirelings are going to make this easy on us.”
“What did Balgate say?” Niall asked. He could see that the doctor had visited, as the pallet was gone and Turner had been thoroughly washed and dressed in a nightshirt.
“He wanted to know when we are going to stop making him dance on the end of our stick,” Stayme said wryly. “He confirmed the broken ribs and wrapped them. He praised Kara for her quick thinking with the ice, which is apparently something they found useful when they were working with his amputees. Balgate thinks Turner will awaken when the swelling on that lump goes down. He’s down in the stillroom, brewing up a poultice to slather on it.”
Sighing, Niall entered to crouch down next to Kara. “Come down and take some dinner? Stayme will sit with him while you get away for just a few minutes.”
“No, thank you,” she replied absently. “Elsie will bring me a tray.”
“My love—” he began.
She stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Please, Niall.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “You already know what I’m going to say.”
“Yes.” Her loyalty to Turner was unshakable—with good reason. “He never gave up on you.”
When Kara had been kidnapped as a child, even Scotland Yard had been unable to uncover the villains. It had been Turner, a footman at Bluefield Park at the time, who had put together the clues. When the police ignored his theory, he risked himself to save her.
“I’ll stay here,” she said. “I want to be here when he wakes.” Niall’s stomach gave a loud rumble, making her smile. “You two go and have your dinner.”
“I’ll come up and sit with you once we finish.”
“Good.”
He kissed her hand and went down to dine with Stayme. They were just finishing when a pale-faced Prudence entered.
Tom stepped forward to intercept her. The downstairs maid usually had no place in the dining room, but Niall waved him off.
Prudence gave a curtsy. “I do beg your pardon for interrupting, but Your Grace, this was just found on the front door.” Hand shaking, she extended a folded note.
Alarm and anger kindled in Niall’s belly as he took it. They burst into full flame when he read the note. Raising his head, he handed it to Stayme, then gave both the servants a hard look. “Not a word of this,” he growled. “Is that understood? Tell no one about this, for now. I don’t want Kara to know anything about it until Turner is awake and stable.”
Standing, he looked to Stayme. “Keep a sharp eye on things here, won’t you? I have a few calls to make in Town.” He paused and looked back at the viscount. “Wait a moment. You have people trained to dig in and ferret out secrets. Let’s put them to use.” He leaned in and spoke low near Stayme’s ear before straightening again. “Find out all you can, will you? We might need a bit of leverage.”