Chapter Four #2
Prue climbed the servants’ stairs to her bedchamber.
She would never convince Roland to send her to London the following Season, once she cast off her mourning clothes, where she might find a suitable husband, a man after her own heart who would be a loving partner.
Even once she’d turned one-and-twenty, it would be impossible to return without a sponsor or find somewhere suitable to stay.
But Roland was determined to marry her. Wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, she swallowed her tears and squared her shoulders.
She must handle this herself, as there was no one to turn to for help.
Except Gramma. Prue longed to see her great-grandmama, whom she loved dearly, but Gramma was elderly and could do little to protect her from Roland once he officially became the earl.
She closed her bedchamber door and sat on the window seat to read the sheaf of papers she’d taken from the library.
Mostly letters that had been placed aside for the secretary.
There was one from Papa’s friend, Sir Eric Wallace which spoke of a formal dinner at Carlton House that they both were to attend.
It gave her pause to think. It was possible her father would have confided in Sir Eric. She must find a way to ask him.
William, one of the young footmen, knocked, and carried in a tray loaded with the tea things: a plate of ginger biscuits; a slice of pound cake; a wedge of cheese; and bread and butter. He unloaded them onto the table.
“Thank you, William,” Prue said, smiling at him. It was clear from his dazed look and shaky hands how shocked and worried he was. Sympathy tightened her stomach. She was unable to offer any sort of reassurance for his future. There was no telling what Roland would choose to do.
Glad of the hot drink, she returned to the papers and selected one. At first disbelieving her eyes, her hand trembled, almost spilling her tea. She put her cup down and reread the few words.
“Be warned. Meddle and suffer the consequences. What’s done cannot be undone.”
An icy-cold shiver ran down her spine. The note was unsigned.
The quality of the paper and the fine cursive pointed to someone articulate and most likely affluent.
Papa must have seen this but hadn’t wished her to know about it.
She thought back to the time when a wheel had come loose on his carriage, causing it to topple over.
Fortunately, Papa and their driver hadn’t been hurt and her father had called it an unfortunate accident.
Perhaps that was the reason he had urged her to bring her visit to Gramma forward.
She’d planned to go to Richmond next month and had wondered why he’d been so insistent she leave as soon as possible.
She’d been reluctant because of the new foal born a few days ago.
But she’d finally agreed to leave on Monday.
Now, the reason for his urgency became clear.
He must have expected trouble. Did this mean he’d been killed because he’d refused to bow to the threat?
Breathing slowly to calm herself, she chose another letter.
“My Lord Sedgwick,” it read, “At your request, I have investigated the matter and have uncovered something I suspect will be of great interest to you. I should like to come and see you as soon as possible. A delay could prove most unwise. I await your further instructions.” It was signed Bartholomew Everton.
She had no idea who he was or what he wished to discuss with her father.
Neither was there an address. Mr. Everton did not live in this area.
Would Sir Eric know of him? It was important to find this Mr. Everton but impossible to pursue the matter while she was here.
Roland would grow suspicious. Somehow, she must get to London.
Doing so would be far easier once she stayed with Gramma in Richmond first.
At the knock on the door, Prue shoved the papers under a cushion. The footman entered. “Mr. Stanton has requested you join him for dinner, Lady Prudence.”
She silently groaned. “Thank you, William.”
Prue folded the two notes and tucked them into her reticule. What if there were other attempts on her father’s life she knew nothing about? She must ask the coachman. At the washstand, she dabbed cool water on her face and tidied her hair. Then she went downstairs to face Roland.
After an hour of listening to Roland discuss the changes he would make to the estate and the household, which he considered badly run, she was thankful when dinner was announced.
At the dining table, Prue toyed with a glass of red wine, angry that he planned to make so many changes and seemed unmoved by her father’s murder.
The food turned her stomach. She forced down some of the oyster soup and picked at the meat—she would need to be strong—while listening to Roland continue to outline his plans.
They sounded impractical, and she realized he had no knowledge of running an estate.
Nothing he suggested would improve the lives of their tenants or the estate’s revenue.
“Papa considered the steward, Mr. Fellows, and Mr. Smythe, the bailiff, to be very capable.”
Roland raised an eyebrow. “They don’t do enough to warrant their exorbitant salaries.”
She longed to argue, aware of how wrong his ideas were, but resisted saying so. It would do no good and only make him angry. Instead, she discussed the succession houses. “We shall have an excellent crop of fruit for the summer.”
He looked pleased. It seemed wise to have him believe she’d begun to accept her situation. As soon as the flummery, which proved hard to swallow, was removed, she complained of a headache and returned to her bedchamber.
Thankful Roland had not asked her how she’d returned from Lord Bain’s, Prue curled up on the bed.
If he knew, he would be sure to use that as an example of her recklessness.
She plotted her next step while she waited for the hours to pass.
When Allie came to assist her into her night things, Prue was forced to confide in her.
If she didn’t, the maid would set up the alarm.
She explained about her decision to go to Gramma in Richmond and made the maid promise not to reveal it to Nyland.
She knew the butler could be trusted to keep silent but disliked placing him an awkward position.
“I will leave tonight. Don’t bring my morning chocolate until eleven, Allie.
Tell Nyland that those were my orders. Say I had a headache, had taken feverfew and wished not to be disturbed.
I’ll hide my riding habit away in a box.
At luncheon, go to Nyland and tell him you cannot find me.
Say you first thought I’d gone for a ride before breakfast, as my riding habit had gone.
But when I didn’t return, you grew worried. ”
Allie’s soft, blue eyes were round with distress. “Ooh, milady, all on your own in the dark? That will be very dangerous. You canna travel without a male to escort you.”
“I shall manage.” She held the young woman lightly on the shoulders and looked into her eyes.
“Now, listen carefully, Allie. I want you to fetch my father’s greatcoat and hat from his dressing room.
Fortunately, his valet has gone to London.
The village is only eight miles away. And the stagecoach for the city stops there early every morning. ”
“But you won’t be on the waybill, my lady. What if the seats are all taken?”
“There’s always room for a small person to squeeze in,” she said, hoping it was true.
“I’ll take some jewelry to pay the coachman.
” As she spoke, Prue went to the dressing table and opened her jewelry box.
She drew out a garnet and pearl brooch she disliked and never wore along with a gold ring. “These will do.”
“But where will you go when you reach that big, dangerous city?”
“I’ll find my way to my great-grandmother’s home. Have I your promise not to tell anyone where I’ve gone? I am relying on you.”
Allie firmed her mouth, and her eyes flashed. “Not even if Mr. Stanton tortures me, my lady.”
“I am sure he won’t do that, Allie,” Prue said hastily. “Just say I left without telling you.”
“Very well, milady. I do hope you’ll reach your Great-Grandmama’s home safely. Some awful people travel by stagecoach. Why, my Aunt Millicent told me a horrible story about…”
“Yes, I know. I shall take a pistol from the gun room.”
“A pistol? Ooh. Nasty things! Do be careful!”
“I will be. Papa taught me to shoot. Now I need Papa’s coat and hat.
Oh, and some gloves, and wait, I’ll need riding breeches too.
I’d better come with you.” She would have to wear her own riding boots.
Her father’s bedchamber was at the end of the corridor.
His wire-rimmed spectacles sat on the table beside the bed.
She tried them on. They were a fraction too big for her face but would make a helpful disguise.
But after she struggled to see through them, she tucked them away to wear only if absolutely necessary.
Returning to her chamber, Prue packed a gown to wear at Gramma’s house in a valise.
It was well past midnight when, having dressed in her father’s breeches held up by a sash, Prue shrugged on his greatcoat over the borrowed white shirt.
Her father had not been a big man, and she was quite tall for a woman, but he was much broader in the shoulder.
That couldn’t have been helped. The beaver hat was too large also, but when she pinned up her hair and tucked it beneath the hat, it stayed in place.
Then she sent the reluctant maid to bed.