Chapter Two #3
Giving him a beseeching look which made absolutely no sense, Lucy exited the carriage.
Bernard stared after her. ‘Wasn’t supposed to be there’? What the blazes was she talking about? And who was ‘them’? How many other spies were staying in this safe house?
“Dixon?” Her voice was light, almost breathless, and when he followed her out of the carriage it was to see—
“Oh, my goodness,” Bernard murmured.
‘Home’? It was a home, all right: the sort of home one expected an earl or a duke to be living in.
The townhouse was gorgeous, elegant stone and flowers in window boxes, at least three stories high and double-fronted.
There was a footman at the door and through the doorway, Bernard could see another stepping forward to help Lucy out of her pelisse…
What the hell was going on?
“Come on, Mr. Dixon, sir,” said the driver with a grin. “Don’t worry. None of ’em bite.”
That didn’t bode well.
“‘Bite’?” repeated Bernard.
But it was too late. His feet had somehow stepped forward and he had entered the townhouse, and Lucy was introducing him to what appeared to be servants as ‘her friend, Mr. Dixon, from the Prison Reform Society, who is staying in Brighton for a time,’ and the house was splendid, all marble and fancy paintings and—was that a suit of armor in the corner?
As the other servants dispersed, Lucy stopped in front of one servant in particular, a woman of stocky build who had several decades on her, who had hustled down the stairs and hissed something about, “Leaving me in the park!”
“Say you were with me,” Lucy whispered back, “and you rode home with me and my guest. Yes?”
“I can’t! Your family knows I came back without you. And I suppose you were at one of your meetings or a courthouse and picked up some…” The servant turned to glare at Bernard—and then her face softened. “O-Oh.” She curtseyed, and Bernard was sure to give her his brightest smile. “Mr….?”
Lucy repeated her strange ‘Prison Reform Society’ story. The servant hissed, “You were alone with him? In the carriage?”
Lucy had no answer for that, simply turning on her heel. Bernard was about to ask what that was all about, but Lucy spoke first.
“Come into the drawing room and meet the family,” she said in a tight voice.
Bernard opened his mouth to suggest they speak to Hovell first before anything else happens, but before he could say a word, the door had opened and out stepped—
A crowd. A family. A gaggle of people all exquisitely dressed and impeccably mannered.
And furious.
“Lucy Florence Chance, I have told you once, if I have told you a hundred times—”
“Did you go to the courthouse? You know Mama said if you did such a thing again—”
“—and surrounded by criminals! You never think these things through, my child, and if I have to hear one more story—”
“—but you’re safe now,” said an older gentleman, graying around the edges and yet with a strength of presence than made Bernard a touch wary of him.
The others quieted at his words. “And with a friend, I see. A…gentleman.” The older man eyed him warily.
Bernard knew he wasn’t exactly wearing what gentlemen wore. “Beachem?”
The older servant who had been asking questions trailed up behind Lucy. “Yes, my lord?”
“Why did my daughter come home, unaccompanied, with a gentleman and no chaperone?”
Beachem’s mouth gaped open and shut like a fish.
“Come, Father, you know how Lucy gets!” said a fellow about Bernard’s age, though he was much more polished. “Don’t blame the old girl.”
Beachem still said nothing in her defense, merely curtseying.
The man glared at her, then said, “Very well. You may join the others for dinner.” He shifted and stared at Bernard’s companion for the past hour. “Lucy, will you not introduce us?”
Bernard looked instinctively at ‘Lady Lucy.’
Lucy smiled weakly. “Papa, may I introduce you to Mr. Bernard Dixon? He… He is just as interested in prison reform as I am, so much so that he, uh—he sometimes dresses as one in solidarity, and he will be staying with us for…for a few weeks.”
Well, that was a lie—but what on earth was the woman’s family doing here in the safe house?
A safe house, Bernard could not help but think wildly, that was far better furnished than anything he had ever seen. And with servants? That was new.
“Lucy, we shall have words later about your treatment of Beachem. She’s just there to keep you safe,” said a woman who was clearly Lucy’s mother.
They had the same eyes, the same fine lips, and though age had crept up on the woman, she was still remarkably handsome.
She turned to Bernard and studied him, as if a puzzle forming a picture she did not quite expect to see.
“How delightful to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you,” Bernard found himself saying, hardly knowing what else to do. “And—And you are…?”
“My parents, the Earl and Countess of Lindow,” said Lucy tightly, her gaze not quite meeting his own. “And that rascal over there is my brother, Percy.”
No.
No, this can’t be.
No.
“I always knew Lucy would be unable to help herself. She’s always assisting waifs and strays,” said the Countess of Lindow brightly, stepping forward and smiling at a frozen Bernard. “You know my daughter through the Prison Reform Society, is that right?”
“I… I…”
“Yes,” said Lady Lucy decisively.
And she was Lady Lucy, Bernard was starting to realize with a dazed smile upon his lips. This was not a trick, a ruse by Hovell to release him. This was not a clever hoax to prevent him from falsely being transported.
This… This was nothing to do with Hovell.
And that meant—
“How lovely to meet you all,” Bernard said faintly.
Oh, hell.