Chapter 1
The devil is always a welcome diversion.
Six years later…
King set down the book he’d been reading and scowled, glaring across the superbly decorated sitting room at the door upon which someone had just had the temerity to knock.
He felt very certain he had demanded no one disturb him.
It had been a trying day, and he wanted to shut it all out, to lose himself in the story of another man’s life, one, he hoped, that might have a happier ending than the one he was fast heading for.
Anyone viewing the scene from a distance might presume he was just another gentleman, enjoying the pleasures of a cigar and a glass of fine brandy, perhaps awaiting his lady wife before sitting down to dinner.
A little closer and they would realise their mistake at once, if for no other reason than the diamond stud he wore in his ear.
Strange, really, how hard he had worked to ape the mannerisms of his betters, only to give the game away before he even opened his mouth.
But that was King all over, contrary to his bones.
Just because he could pass for a gentleman—albeit one who had spent too long in the afternoon sun—it didn’t mean he wanted to.
“What?” he demanded irritably, too annoyed to have his little idyll interrupted to pretend he had any manners.
There was a second of hesitation before the door opened. “I beg your pardon, sir,” his butler Repton said, looking pained as well he might. “I would not have dreamed of interrupting your quiet evening, only—”
“Yes, yes, spit it out, why don’t you?”
Repton nodded. “It’s only that the boy, Jimmy, has discovered a rather troubling bit of information.
I would not have brought it to your attention with such alacrity, only it concerns Mr Marwick.
I know after the last time he worked for you, you considered yourself greatly indebted to him, if I am not mistaken. ”
King frowned down at the expensive binding on his new copy of Guy Mannering, a tale of lost inheritance, kidnap and smugglers. He had been enjoying it, finding something remarkably like common ground with Harry Betram, though he was no long-lost heir to a Scottish estate. “Marwick?”
“Just so, sir, and knowing as I do how deeply you dislike being indebted to anyone—”
King set the book aside with regret but regarded his butler with interest. “Quite right, Repton. What’s the young fool in for?”
“It appears there is a price upon his head. As I understand it, Silas Mourney has discovered who was responsible for certain missing items on the night of Lady Erskine’s ball.
Seeing as how many of his men were clapped up for a job they did not profit from, I believe he is rather aggrieved and has placed the sum of one hundred pounds to be given to any man who brings him Mr Alfred Marwick. ”
“Alive or dead,” King mused, one dark eyebrow lifting.
“I don’t believe Mr Mourney made any such distinction, nor much cares,” Repton replied calmly.
King regarded Repton with a jaundiced eye, knowing exactly what he was in for.
The old man had taken a liking to Mr Marwick.
Not a hard thing to do, for the fellow was entirely too likeable, but he was also a blessed nuisance.
Sometimes King heartily wished their paths had never crossed, but Repton was right.
Alfred Marwick had been invaluable in setting up a scheme that would free King from the ties that bound him and reap vengeance on his enemies at the same time.
Whenever he thought of his plan, of all the wheels that had been put in motion and were turning even now, a surge of grim satisfaction filled him.
That being the case, he’d do whatever he could to help Alfie, for he did indeed owe him a considerable debt.
Still, there was no point in looking too eager about it.
“I suppose you think I should do something,” he said, somewhat resentfully.
Repton, who had been an actor all his life until drink and too many hard knocks had left him destitute, returned a guileless expression. “I could not say, sir. I only know that you will.”
King snorted. He had picked Horace Repton up out of the gutter into which he had fallen and given him a chance to play the part he was born for.
No proper butler with such a wealth of haughty airs and graces would have worked for him, not without treating him like he was no better than the dirt beneath their nails, no matter the generosity of the wage.
Repton, however, lent the house and King a priceless depth of verisimilitude, and had repaid him by enduring the torments of the damned to sober up and stay that way, learning his job to a nicety, and being entirely too grateful for King’s comfort.
“Do you indeed, you old reprobate? I suppose you think I should pack my bags and hightail it down to East Sussex to warn him.”
“I think it would be wise, sir. One never knows when Mr Marwick will get it into his head to er… go back to work.”
“Hmph.” King glowered. “And I suppose you’re angling to go with me?”
“I should never be so bold, sir. Only, as you are temporarily without a valet, now that you have dismissed—”
“Yes, yes,” King grumbled, though in truth if he really had to face returning to the place of his birth he would far rather do it with a man like Repton at his back.
The old fellow would rather die than speak a word against King and could shrivel better men than him with his snooty manners if the desire took him.
“I suppose you’ve been learning how to valet in the days since the dreadful fellow left. ”
“I took the liberty of procuring a book, and of asking Mrs Keller for a few—”
King held up his hand to stop the otherwise inevitable flow of information.
“Fine. You can come. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, and you’ll have to see to my packing.
But don’t blame me when your elevated status crashes to earth with a bump.
The inhabitants of Little Valentine remember Jasper King as a bastard and a seducer of innocents, and they won’t welcome me with open arms, nor at all.
So you can look down your nose at them all you like, and they’ll still pity you. ”
“That, I very much doubt,” was the austere reply, delivered with such icy contempt that King could only laugh.
The Mermaid’s Tale, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd October 1815.
“Reckon I should make more scones?” Mrs Fairway looked uncertainly at the regimental rows of the gold-topped delicacies that marched the length and breadth of the massive kitchen table. “Not like we haven’t jam enough to go round.”
“Good lord, Hilda!” Anne exclaimed with a laugh.
“There’s seed cake, shortbread, hundreds of your famous Ratafia biscuits, and gingerbread too.
If we have the same meagre turnout as we had last month for our club meeting, we may as well resign ourselves to fattening up like the Christmas turkey, for we’ll be eating nothing but sweets from now until the New Year. ”
“All right, all right, keep your hair on, I was only asking,” the lady said, sitting down with a groan. “Oh, that’s better! My poor feet. You too, Anne; take the weight off for a bit. Martha, make us a nice cuppa, there’s a good girl.”
“Yes, Mrs Fairway,” the maid said obligingly, and swung the kettle into place.
“So, I hear her ladyship’s granddaughter is playing piano. Reckon she’s any good?” Mrs Fairway asked sceptically.
“I expect she’s exceptionally good.” Anne smiled, remembering with an inward shudder the taskmaster her own music teacher had been. She could only imagine the exacting standards to which a duke’s daughter would be held. “Her grace is excited about it too.”
“Aye, you can tell because she’s sharper than ever,” Mrs Fairway said fondly. “Miss Isabelle said she nearly got her head snapped off last time she visited the hall.”
“Well, Izzy does go out of her way to provoke her,” Anne remarked, stretching her toes out towards the fender to warm them.
The day, which had begun sweetly enough, had turned cold, with a chill wind blasting up from the sea that had almost taken both her and Mrs Fairway’s hats from their heads on their way home from church.
“She’s a funny one,” Mrs Fairway agreed, smiling.
“Always telling me daft stories, she is. Pirates and smugglers and I don’t know what.
Such a lively mind she’s got, though I worry what trouble she’ll land herself in.
Girls with too much imagination are bound to find mischief if they’re not watched careful, like. ”
“A good job I’ve none, then,” Anne said dryly, though bearing in mind how Izzy’s sisters had gone on, she entirely agreed.
“Ooh-hoo, what a plumper!” Mrs Fairway said, snorting with laughter. “No imagination, my eye! Oh, Martha, be careful, you clumsy goose. Those are Mrs Adamson’s best cups.”
Martha blushed, darting Anne a pained look as the fine china rattled urgently on the tray before she set it down.
Anne smiled reassuringly at the girl. She was young yet and rather in awe of Mrs Fairway, who appeared a good deal more terrifying than she really was. “Don’t fret, Martha. Sit down and share a cup with us. You’ve earned it too.”
“Thank you, Mrs Adamson,” Martha said with relief, as Anne poured them all out a cup of tea.
“I think we’ve earned a scone too,” Anne said, eyeing the neat rows lined up before them before plucking an especially plump one away from its companions.
She winked at Martha before getting up and fetching the butter and several jars of jam.
“Well, tuck in. I doubt we’ll get a look in tomorrow so we may as well enjoy them while they’re still warm. ”
Anne watched with amusement as Martha took her time selecting the perfect scone before sending Anne a grateful smile. It was cosy in the kitchen on a chilly autumn afternoon, and she felt a sudden swell of contentment.