Chapter Fifteen #2
“Felix’s sister-in-law is not in Town, though she and Somerville are expected,” Adaline Kempbury said.
“Nor are most of my former clients currently in London. “I shall visit those who are available. Have you considered drawing up a lawyer’s brief on a charge of false imprisonment, and having it presented to the House of Lords? That might set fire to Teign’s coat-tails. ”
It was a good idea, and a lawyer might be able to suggest other crimes they had evidence enough to prosecute, though a prosecution was not actually the point.
Arousing the marquess’s indignation until he lost his temper, that was the point, hopefully pushing him until he went after them in full view of witnesses, preferably witnesses with high rank and a solid reputation.
The feeling began as they were waiting for their carriage home to be brought to the steps.
Mel was familiar with the uneasy sensation, as if something with many legs was crawling down the back of her neck.
“We need to move out of the tower tonight,” she said to Allan, as soon as they were in the carriage and alone, with only Baldwin and Clara to hear.
“Your reason?” Baldwin asked.
“The marquess will be stepping up his efforts to find the secret exit from the tower. Perhaps he never will. But perhaps someone will realize that the floor of the hidden room in the dining area is actually a hatch. Or perhaps someone will remember the barred and locked way into the courtyard, and investigate. The lock won’t stand up to a determined assault, and I don’t want to be trapped in the lower tower with no way out. ”
“I prefer being close enough to see what he is doing,” Allan objected. “London is full of entrances to sewers and cellars and caves. No one has investigated the three that lead to the tower. Perhaps ever. Certainly not since we first discovered them from the other end.”
“Moriarty Protection can keep watch from outside, and see nearly as much as you can from the tower,” Baldwin argued. “It is foolish to take any extra risk.”
“You can stay with us,” said Clara. “Let us stop by the tower and collect your luggage.”
“I don’t agree.” Allan narrowed his eyes to peer at Melody in the dim light of the carriage. “What makes you mention this now, Melody?”
“I can’t explain,” Mel said. “I get this feeling sometimes when danger is close. I’ve found that once I’m aware of it, I can usually work out what I must change to avoid the danger.
Perhaps it is that I have noticed various things without realizing it, and my mind has put them together, or perhaps it is some kind of extra sense.
But this time, all my instincts are telling me we need to be out of the tower. Sooner rather than later.”
Allan’s look at her was disbelieving, but they had arrived, and Baldwin was already opening the door.
Before anyone could descend, one of the bodyguards poked his head in the door.
“Bad news, Lord Kemble. According to the boot boy, the marquess’s men have been combing the cellars for a secret way into the tower, and now they’re going through the grounds.
They’re investigating the entry in the courtyard, trying to break the lock so they can get into the tunnel. ”
Both brothers cast Mel a look of mingled disbelief and respect.
“How close are they to getting in?” Mel asked.
“They sent for their blacksmith. Woke him up. He’s claiming there’s insufficient light to work.
They’re trying to set up torches, but the wind has picked up and is blowing the flames around.
The blacksmith says he cannot do anything until dawn.
They are trying to persuade him.” Blacksmiths could always command a measure of respect, not only because their skills were essential, but because they were generally large and always strong.
“Dawn is at least four hours away,” said Clara. “You’ll have time to fetch your luggage. Baldwin, darling, let us go and help.”
“Take the carriage slowly around the streets,” said the Moriarty man to the coach driver, “and be back here in….” He raised a questioning brow, and Mel said, “Forty-five minutes.” It was good thinking. A carriage parked in this street for any length of time would attract attention.
They made all the speed they could. As Baldwin said, how long the blacksmith could delay things would depend on whether the other servants managed to wake someone else who frightened them enough for them to force the blacksmith to his work.
However, Allan had unpacked little after their move from upstairs, and the two trunks Mel had brought back from her sister’s—one of her own clothes and a smaller one of disguises—had not even been opened.
Teign’s men must have found a way of persuading the blacksmith, for as the two couples came down the stairs to the tunnel, they could hear a rhythmic ringing clang—presumably the hammer on the lock.
The two people with lamps shuttered them, and in the dark, they hurried their steps.
They soon passed the short tunnel leading to the courtyard, distinguishing it by the glow of dozens of torches and oil lamps and the increased sound.
Hidden by the darkness, they continued, those in front feeling the wall on the right for the next tunnel.
Seconds later, the curve of the passage hid them from sight, and then Mel, who was in the lead, said, “Here is the tunnel. Once we are within, we can afford to light one of the lamps.”
Or perhaps not. A cheer from the direction of the courtyard confirmed that searchers might be coming this way shortly. They continued in darkness.
“I’ll lock the gate,” Allan said, once they were through it. Nobody had followed them so far, and they left the alley just as the carriage approached along the street.
“Good instincts,” said Baldwin, as they continued their journey to Clara’s.
Allan said nothing, but he had taken her hand and was holding it cradled in his own.
The point of contact soothed her, and she was nearly asleep when they pulled up outside the house.
Whether Clara was keeping rooms prepared in case they were needed, or whether she had sent a groom ahead to warn the servants, Mel was shown to a warm room with a fire in the grate, a jug of hot water, and clean sheets that showed evidence of a recent encounter with a bed warmer.
She was grateful as she washed and prepared for bed, but she would have traded this lovely room for her cold room in the tower, if she was sharing it with Allan.
She was lying awake in bed, missing Allan, when there was a knock on the door. Clara, perhaps? Or a servant who had forgotten something?
She opened the door just a crack, and Allan—for it was he—pushed it further and slipped inside. “I cannot sleep without you by my side,” he whispered. “May I stay?”
“Yes,” she said. And in moments they were under the covers, Mel tucked in his arms, her back to his front. Comfortable at last, she slid into sleep.
*
Allan was woken by Clara’s voice. “Melody, I am sorry to wake you, but you are needed in the servants’ hall.
” Melody struggled up through fathoms of sleep, shedding the fragments of a dream as she rose into wakefulness.
Clara kept speaking. “Several women from the marquess’s household have come to give their testimony. I’ve sent Baldwin to wake… Oh.”
As she sat up, Melody had pushed back the covers, disclosing Allan, who was blinking his own way into the land of the living.
There was a knock on the door, but the person—his brother—did not wait for an answer, but burst in, saying, “Clara, Allan isn’t there, and the bed doesn’t look slept… Oh.”
“Give them a cup of tea,” Allan suggested.
He was sitting up, now, making it perfectly obvious that his torso was naked.
So, in fact, was the rest of him, for they had woken after several hours and come together, before falling back to sleep again.
That was none of Clara’s business. Nor Baldwin’s.
Allan’s brother was keeping his eyes pointedly away from Mel’s bare shoulders and his brother’s even more disreputable state, and struggling to keep a straight face.
“If you will excuse us,” Mel said, “we shall dress for the day and come down. What time is it?”
“Eleven o’clock, or close to,” Baldwin told her without looking at her. “Right. I’ll be off then. Coffee for you both, I take it? It will be ready for you when you come downstairs.”
“Clara, would you mind making certain that the servants are all somewhere else for a minute or so?” Allan asked, sounding perfectly relaxed.
Mel knew it was only an appearance, for she could feel, and see, the tension in him.
“I do not wish to damage Melody’s reputation by being seen emerging from her room,” he added.
Clara gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but walked out of the room. Allan dived for his discarded banyan, picked up his nightshirt, and pressed a quick kiss to Mel’s lips. “Not their business,” he assured her, before hurrying off.
Mel had a sibling. She did not doubt that Allan’s brothers would make it their business.
So, for that matter, would Harmony. She sighed.
There was no point in fretting about that now.
She needed to wash, dress, and brush her hair.
It was growing longer and beginning to curl.
It was just as well she no longer had to be a convincing man.
Clara arrived back, as if on cue, while Mel was struggling to do up one of the fashionable dresses that Thomasina and the aunts had decreed for her. This time, she knocked, and only entered when Mel called, “Come.”
“I thought you might need help with your buttons and your hair,” said Clara, as she sailed across the room. “You and Allan, Melody? I thought something was going on. Baldwin thought it unlikely, but there you were.”
“There we were,” Mel agreed. Where are we?
They had not discussed it. Mel had set out to have a casual affair.
Or, at least, that was what she had told herself.
It was a lie, though. Surely her feelings could not have deepened so quickly in fewer than twenty-four hours.
She must have been falling in love with Allan almost from their first meeting.
Even if he was dictatorial and annoying. Not really. He just bears the weight of being the first and feeling responsible.
“Is that all you are going to say?” Clara was now making efficient work of threading ribbon through her curls to form a simple but elegant coiffure.
“Yes,” Mel replied. She was a widow. Allan was a widower. They did not need to answer to anyone.
“Very well,” said Clara. “I shall not tease you. There. You are ready for the day. No one would know you spent the night—”
“Clara!”
The other lady grinned and made a motion as sewing her lips together. Mel shook her head and led the way downstairs, and then had to step aside and let Clara show her the way to the servants’ hall.
Allan was there already. Her eyes went to him as soon as she entered the long narrow room—as usual, she realized. He had become her lodestar, the point to which she turned at every moment.
He looked around and smiled, though she could have sworn neither she nor Clara had made a noise as they came in.
“Mrs. Blackmore, please come and sit down. And Lady Baldwin, too. Please allow me to present my friends. Mrs. Palmer is the cook at Sheppard House, and has always been good to me and my brothers. Jenny is her assistant, and Polly is the head housemaid.”
The three servants bowed in greeting.
Allan explained, “These good people have heard that Isaac and Jerome are now safely beyond the marquess’s reach, and that we are rejecting his control. They wish to help us.”
“There are five more, my lord,” said the cook. “We couldn’t all leave at once, but we shall send the others out on messages this afternoon. To market, and to buy ribbons and furniture polish, and the like. That is, if you want to see them all today.”
Excellent. Who knows more about a household than its maids?
Silent, invisible, and ubiquitous, maids saw far more than their masters ever knew.
If these eight servants had chosen sides in this silent battle between the brothers and the marquess, the odds had changed decisively, and in Allan’s and his brothers’ favor.
“We do,” Mel said. She sat down at the table, accepted the cup of coffee that Allan handed her, and prepared to milk this new source for every drop of information they could give her.