Chapter 36
Chapter
When Catherine arrives back at the governor general’s mansion, Mrs. Masters is waiting for her in the drawing room.
“Miss Hope!” she exclaims as Catherine rushes in, ignoring the stares of the butler who’s opened the door and the footman in the hallway. “Whatever has happened to you?”
Catherine opens her mouth. The story of the carriage accident is there on her tongue, but she can’t repeat it. The words won’t come out.
No more lies.
“Miss Hope?” Mrs. Masters asks. “Are you alright, dear?”
Catherine sinks down into the closest chair. “I’m not,” she says. “And I need your help, rather quickly, I’m afraid. Mr. Hawthorne has been hurt and—”
“And what? Where is Hawthorne? We’ll send a physician immediately.”
“You best send the constabulary too,” Catherine says as Mrs. Masters stands and makes her way to her writing desk, ready to spring into action.
“Is he in some kind of trouble, Miss Hope?” she asks as she pulls out a piece of writing paper and her quill pen.
“He is, I’m afraid, although I don’t know exactly what transpired after I left to get help. But please believe me that it is imperative you send a physician and the constabulary to the Duke of Barclay’s residence as soon as possible. And there’s something else I should—”
Mrs. Masters freezes mid-action and her head whips back to face Catherine.
“The duke’s estate?” she says. “Why, I wouldn’t…
” Her words trail off and she places her hands firmly on the writing desk, as if to steady herself.
“Sending the constabulary to the duke’s estate, you understand, would be…
And Uncle isn’t at home until tomorrow. So, I don’t… ”
“Please, Mrs. Masters,” Catherine interrupts. “Send help.”
The woman takes in a deep breath and fixes Catherine with her eyes. “One doesn’t just send the constabulary to a duke’s residence on the word of a governess, Miss Hope.”
“No, I suppose not.” Catherine pauses, but only momentarily. She knows it’s time. “How about on the word of an earl’s daughter?”
“Are you acquainted with such a lady?”
“I am,” Catherine says, and stands, throwing back her shoulders and adopting every one of the manners that have been bred into her since birth.
“I am intimately familiar with her because I am the lady in question. Lady Catherine West,” she says, and curtsies.
“Daughter to the late and cousin to the current Earl of Chester. It’s a pleasure to meet you. ”
Mrs. Masters stares at Catherine with an expression she can’t quite read.
“I can explain,” Catherine says. “And I do apologize for the deception.” Now I know why Rogers uses that line so often, she thinks ruefully before continuing. “It’s a rather long story and I’d be glad to tell you all of it, but the matter of Mr. Hawthorne is quite urgent. If we could—”
“I’m sure you can make a quick summation,” Mrs. Masters says, cutting her off.
Catherine bites back her frown. She can. She doesn’t want to; she wants to move as quickly as possible. But she can.
And what happens next isn’t really up to her.
She’s played the one card she has in her hand, which is that of her place in the peerage.
And all she can do now is what her hostess has asked of her.
She owes Mrs. Masters this. The woman has taken her in and treated her well and tried to be her friend.
And she’s right to hesitate—incurring the ire of a duke is no small thing, especially one who’s bastard enough to be involved in his own brother’s kidnapping.
Out with it then.
Catherine tells the story—the important parts of it anyway—as quickly as she can. To her credit, Mrs. Masters remains quiet throughout, although her eyes grow larger and larger as the narrative goes on. Her first question when it’s done is, “And what should I call you?”
“Catherine will do.”
“Fine then. You will call me Elizabeth?”
“Yes, of course,” Catherine says, bewildered that this is Elizabeth’s first response. No questions about jilting a future viscount at the altar or Catherine’s family or her reputation or McGann’s connection to the duke.
“Now, about the constabulary,” she says, pressing her luck.
“Yes, about that. As I said, Uncle isn’t home until tomorrow afternoon. Evening at the latest. And the constabulary will have already gone home for the evening. It is quite late, and you are—”
“Begrimed and sunburned and exhausted, yes. I know I am. But we must go tonight. Mr. Hawthorne’s life may very well depend on it.”
Catherine sucks in the air between her teeth, realizing as she does it’s exactly the gesture Andrew would make.
She pauses for a moment to gather herself before launching back into her argument for why they really must hurry, when she realizes Elizabeth is already writing a short note, which she hands to a footman just outside the door.
She turns to Catherine and grins. “As I said, if Uncle is to be home tomorrow afternoon, we ought to hurry if we want to settle this matter before he returns.”
“Thank you,” Catherine says, relief thrumming through her.
“You’re welcome, dear,” Elizabeth says. “But I do hope next time you’ll tell me the truth from the start. And I must warn you that it will be close to impossible to drag the chief out of his bed at this late hour. So I suggest you have a bath and a rest while we wait for his reply.”