His Lady Midnight Page 2

  “Excuse me, Ledwin,” he said as he stepped back into his carriage. “I must be on my way in hopes of finding Carr in one of his usual places.”

  “They grow in number.”

  “Yes.”

  “As does your burden, my friend.”

  “It is my burden, and I must tend to it.”

  Ledwin nodded and closed the carriage door. Folding his arms on the window, he said, “My offer stands for whenever you have need of Thistlewood Cottage. Consider it.”

  “I shall.”

  “I hope you find him quickly.”

  Galen slapped the side of the carriage as his friend stepped aside. “So do I,” he said under his breath. “So do I.”

  Two

  It was taking too long. They had to get this night’s work done and be on their way before anyone took note of what they were doing.

  Phoebe heard shouts and pushed open the door of her carriage. She waved aside her coachman, but Sam clung close to her as she edged toward the wagon that should have been on its way before now. What was causing the delay?

  “Go back to the carriage, Sam,” she ordered as she peered around a stack of what might have been raw cotton or finished textiles.

  “My lady, I should stay with you.”

  She shook her head. “I need you ready with the carriage, so we can leave posthaste if we must.”

  “I don’t like any of this.”

  Neither did she. Tonight was one of those fogbound nights when disaster lurked unseen. The sudden turn of the weather from winter to spring brought these fogs, which were at their worst here by the Thames. Hearing the muffled clang of church bells in the distance, she gasped. An hour had passed since she had arrived, and still the task for tonight was not completed.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Sam remained close behind her. “Go!”

  “My lady—”

  “Say nothing!” She put her hand on his arm to soften the impact of her sharp words.

  When he nodded and turned reluctantly to follow her orders, she promised herself that she would apologize to him once they were back on Grosvenor Square. Another shudder raced through her as she thought of her beloved home, which was now mortgaged for more than it was worth. Helping others had come at a high price, and she was unsure how much longer she could live among the ton and still do this work. Greater bribes were being demanded with every ship that was readied to sail from the Pool to Australia. Her family’s estate in Kent must sell soon, or she would lose both it and her house here in Town.

  You could stop this.

  She ignored the tempting voice as she had since she had embarked on this crusade. Yes, she could halt this, but then the innocents among the true criminals would be punished for a crime no greater than stealing five shillings’ worth of bread from a shop or setting a trap to catch a rabbit on some unfeeling peer’s land.

  Seeing a familiar form through the contortions of the fog, Phoebe inched around the stack of bales. A mistake, she discovered, as Jasper turned and, in a hint of breeze that swept aside the fog, she saw another man beyond him. It was too late. She could not turn back now, because she had been seen.

  She pulled the hood of her cloak over her bonnet to hide its quality. She kept her arms close to her, so no one would see the silver bracelet around her left wrist. Bother! She would have left it on Grosvenor Square if she had had any idea that she must step into the discussions on the wharf. Letting the cloak’s hem drag in the puddles on the wharf so that she looked as bedraggled as Jasper, she hoped the man was from the Trellis.

  “What’re ye doin’ ’ere?” Jasper muttered, stepping between her and the other man who was watching her closely through narrowed eyes.

  “Seein’ what’s keepin’ ye.” She tried to make her accent as broad as his, but she glanced at the other man. For someone who spent so much time near water, she doubted if he had used any to bathe in weeks. His clothes reeked so much that her eyes watered. His matted hair was as dark as Lord Townsend’s.

  Why was she thinking of him now? She must concentrate on this bumble-bath and find a way to complete the night’s work without compromising Jasper or herself. Biting back the questions she longed to ask, she knew she had to wait for Jasper to tell her what was wrong and how she could help. Her fan and reticule bounced against her leg as she moved closer to Jasper, and she hoped her heavy cloak would hide the motions from this sailor. She did not want him to think about the possibility that her bag contained gold. She wanted him to keep his mind firmly on completing the deal that would allow them to get the innocents off the boat.

  “Woman, ye aren’t needed ’ere,” Jasper answered. “This be men’s business.”

  She slid her arm through his as she noted two other shadowed forms behind the sailor. Mayhap she should have heeded Sam’s concern and let him come with her. He was a big man and strong, and he would have forced anyone who might be thinking of doing something foolish to think again. A single shout would bring him running, but she did not want to tip her hand until absolutely necessary.

  “Ye’ve been gone so long,” she said. “I got tired of waitin’ on ye.”

  “We ain’t got time for no curtain lecture from yer woman,” growled the sailor. “Told ye what we want.”

  “And I told ye it was too much. I already offered ye two guineas more than last time. It’ll be the best I can do.”

  “Not enough for my mates and me.” He squinted. “’Ow ’bout the lass? She got some gold on ’er?”

  “The missus ain’t got nothin’ worth nothin’.” Jasper edged Phoebe a half step behind him as he added, “Told ye my best offer.”

  “Ain’t good enough.”

  “Then we’ve got nothin’ more to say to ye. If ye don’t want my price, then I shall find someone who will.”

  “Jasper!” she whispered. “We can’t go without—”

  He scowled at her. “This ain’t yer business, woman.”

  As he turned her to walk away, the sailor shouted, “Wait!”

  “Ain’t got nothin’ left to say.” Jasper kept walking.

  “Wait!” called the man.

  “Jasper,” she whispered, “if they want to negotiate, we have to listen to them.”

  “Give it a minute. They’ll be beggin’ us to come back.” He chuckled softly. “Some of the tars are just more stubborn than the others. In a minute, they’ll—”

  Something exploded through the night. Phoebe gasped as Jasper reeled against her, knocking her into some barrels. When he cursed, she pulled him away from the stack as it began to wobble. The barrels toppled to the wharf with a crash that was not as ear shattering as the first explosion.

  Jasper began to run through the swirls of the fog, tugging her after him. She did not hesitate. Gathering up her skirt, she followed. Then she passed him. In amazement, she turned. She had never been able to outrun Jasper, even though she was two years older than him and had been trying to best him since they were children on her father’s estate in Kent.

  “Jasper, what’s wrong?”

  “They got me.” All hints of his dockside accent vanished, warning her that something was terribly amiss.

  “Got you?”

  He pulled her behind a stack of wooden cases and down an alley. When he reached a corner, he peered along it. She had no idea what he hoped to see as the fog grew even thicker. He drew her to the left. He threw open a door, then closed it behind them.

  Phoebe paid no attention to the scent of horses that warned they were in the back of a stable. When Jasper collapsed to the ground, his hand pressed to his right thigh, she knelt beside him. She pushed aside his hand, even though he warned her away.

  Blood glistened in the dim light. Slipping her hand under his leg, she smiled grimly as her bracelet jangled against the stone floor. Damp there, too. That was good, because the ball must have gone clear through the flesh of his leg. Reaching into her bodice, she pulled out a kerchief and pressed it to the wound.

  He groaned, but ordered,
“Go! You can’t be seen here.”

  “But you—”

  She was amazed when he grinned. “I’ve come to know these docks better than the river rats do. They have not caught me before this. They won’t catch me tonight.”

  “I can’t leave you hurt.”

  “I shall be fine. The chap who takes care of the beasts here is a friend.” He muttered something under his breath, something she was sure she should not ask him to repeat more loudly. “If you go right out to the front, the carriage should be just to your left.”

  “So close?”

  “Aye. Arranged that with Sam.” He shoved her hand off his leg and put his own over the cloth. “Go, so I can get out of here myself. I don’t want those chaps to take aim on me again.”

  Phoebe stood. “Why did they shoot at us?”

  “Do you want my guess?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could be they were not sea-crabs at all.”

  “Not sailors?” She stared at him, not wanting to believe his words or that he had been shot.

  “Get out of here, m’lady, before they take it in their minds to give chase.” Pushing himself to his feet, he pulled a strip off the bottom of his shirt. He wrapped it around his leg. “They didn’t get a good look at you, and—”

  “Someone’s back ’ere!” The bellow rang through the low ceiling of the stable.

  Jasper pulled her out through the door and shoved her in one direction along the alley as he ran in the other, vanishing within a pair of steps into the fog. Phoebe wanted to call after him, but another shout from the stable sent her racing into the labyrinth of the riverside alleys.

  Tonight had gone all wrong from the onset. First, she had not been able to find a way to sneak away from the duke’s musicale. Everyone in attendance seemed determined to speak with her and ask her opinion of the evening’s entertainment. That problem seemed like only an irritation now as she hurried through the foul passages between the houses. Shouts followed her, spurring her feet until a twinge in her side became a knot of pain.

  She leaned back in the shadows and tried to listen for sounds of pursuit. Nothing, but she knew the fog could deaden noise and make it sound as if it were coming from a completely different direction. Holding her breath, she listened again. She heard shouts from within a house and the clatter of horseshoes on broken cobbles. Straining, she sought the hushed whisper of the river edging past the wharves. She needed to go in that direction, and she was not sure where exactly the river was. None of these alleys were straight.

  As she pushed herself away from the filthy wall, she glanced back the way she had come. Stay safe, Jasper. It was a simple prayer, but it was the best she could do when she was so scared and her sides ached.

  Quickly Phoebe discovered she was utterly lost. All hopes of finding her carriage were dashed when she emerged onto a street that was lit by a single lamp. A stench, almost as foul as the odor of the unwashed sailor, filled every breath. She peered at a sign hanging in front of a tavern, The Little Lost Lamb. She had never seen this place before. Looking both ways, she tried to decide which direction led to the river and which to Mayfair.

  Had they been betrayed? Was that what Jasper had been about to say when they were forced to flee?

  She trembled at the very thought. For five years, there had been rumors of her work. She had heard them herself among the ton, but she had acted no more interested in them than in the Prince Regent’s latest peccadillo. She had hoped that would put an end to the speculation that the laws of England that transported people for inconsequential offenses to Botany Bay were being circumvented with the help of a member of the ton who could afford to pay bribes to buy silence.

  Someone must have decided to offer even more gold to loosen a few tongues. She must think about what she would do next, but first she had to get back to Grosvenor Square and send someone to find out if Jasper was all right. Of one thing she was certain. He would never betray her to the authorities, for it had been his younger brother she had first saved from being transported.

  Phoebe stared as she turned a corner, then smiled as she saw a bulky shape appear out of the wafting fog. A carriage! Was it hers? No, its wheels were painted a bright green that even the dim light could not disguise. It was a gentleman’s carriage, built for speed. And it was just what she needed.

  Not pausing to ease her curiosity about why a gentleman would be in this disgusting place at this hour, she kept to the shadows. She did not want the coachman to see her. The thought of leaving a gentleman here while she borrowed his carriage to get back to Grosvenor Square bothered her, but she would find a way to apologize. No doubt, the gentleman would be so glad to avoid speaking of being down here by the Thames that he would forgive her if she said nothing of where she had found the carriage.

  When she was sure the coachman could not see her, she threw open the door and climbed in. Hitting the side of the carriage with the flat of her hand, she gripped the window as the coachman whipped up the horses. She had no idea where they might be heading, but, for the moment, that did not matter. All she cared about was betwattling her pursuers and returning to the duke’s musicale before anyone noticed she was no longer among the guests.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the seat. Stay safe, Jasper. The plea repeated itself over and over through her head. He had risked his life to protect her, and she hoped that, even now, he had found his way to her carriage and Sam was taking him to Grosvenor Square where Jasper’s wound could be tended. Mayhap she should go there herself. No, she needed to return to the duke’s gathering so, if questions arose, she could honestly say she had been in attendance for most of the night.

  “Would you be so kind as to tell me where we are bound?”

  As the voice emerged from the other side of the carriage, Phoebe grasped the edge of the seat. She turned and stared at the shadows, which moved and became a man’s silhouette that was as dark and mysterious as his voice.

  A voice that was familiar, but whose was it? She hoped it was someone she could trust. Yet whom could she trust now? The authorities might be seeking her, if those sailors had been sent there by the government to trap her. She could not jump to conclusions. Too much was unknown. She must not panic. She must not.

  “Do you have no answer for me, my lady?”

  Although she still could not guess who might be sitting beside her, his features lost in the night, she said, “Forgive me. I had no idea anyone else—that is—”

  “I understand, Lady Phoebe.”

  “Do you?” She wondered how she had betrayed her identity when she could not guess his. Then she guessed he had seen her illuminated by some faint light when she entered the carriage. Next time, she must be more careful. Oh, she hoped there would never be another set of disasters like this night’s.

  “Of course.” He leaned toward her, and his face was lit by a streetlamp they passed.

  Phoebe wanted to groan with despair. Lord Townsend! She should have guessed only a man of his ill repute would leave his carriage sitting in plain view on such a despicable street. Had he been waiting for someone? Heat climbed her face as she wondered if she had intruded on an assignation. She shook aside the thought. Galen Townsend’s reputation was not pristine, but she had never heard his name connected with a Cyprian. That, in retrospect, was odd, but she had no time to consider that now.

  When she did not answer, he went on, “Of course, I understand. You did not expect anyone to be a witness to your crime.”

  “My crime?” The skills that had become instinct over the past five years kept her voice even and her hands from shaking. She had no idea how much he could discern in the darkness. She wished she could see more, so she might gauge his expression and decide how best to extract herself from this predicament.

  “Of trying to abscond with my carriage.”

  “Oh, that crime.”

  Her relieved reply was a mistake, she realized, when he asked, “What other crime did you think I meant?”

&nbs
p; Tonight she was prepared. She flipped open her fan and wafted it in front of her face, just in case he still could see more than she in the poor light. “Lord Townsend, do not hoax me now. I have had an evening I wish never to repeat.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, I believe I just said so.”

  “And your word is always the truth?”

  “I try always to be honest. Lying is not a habit one should embark on carelessly.”

  “You are correct. One lie often leads to another.”

  She took a deep breath and released it slowly. She must keep her voice even. “I agree.”

  “I’m glad that we are in agreement on the most basic of matters. And I’m sure you’ll agree as well that it’s time we should spread a bit of light over this murky situation. I know I would appreciate being enlightened about several matters I find baffling.”

  Phoebe blinked as Lord Townsend lit the lamp near the roof. Raising her hands to block the sudden burst of light, she wished he had warned her so she might have covered her eyes. Since she had left the duke’s townhouse, her eyes had become accustomed to the foggy night.

  “What the …?” He grasped her hands.

  “My lord, what are you doing?”

  Instead of answering, he tilted her hands toward him. She gasped as she looked down at them. Dried blood filled every crease of her palms.

  Raising his gaze to hers, he said, “I think, my lady, it is time you told me all of the truth.”

  Three

  Galen had never seen a face as colorless as Lady Phoebe Brackenton’s as she stared at the telltale stains on her hands. He could not begin to imagine why a lady, who should not be beyond the boundaries of the Polite World in Mayfair or Bloomsbury, had rushed into his carriage here by the Pool. And with blood on her hands like Lady Macbeth.

  Not just on her hands, for a scarlet patch was drying to a dull brown on the front of her skirt. He frowned. Her cloak must have fallen open so that her gown had come in contact with the blood. But whose blood was it?

  His first pinch of horror that the blood belonged to the lady herself had been wrong. She was unharmed. Frightened, yes, but that was understandable in light of the blood splattered on her. Now he wanted an explanation of why she had almost thrown herself into his carriage, interrupting yet another search for his wayward brother. His first inclination to turn the carriage about and continue looking for Carr had dissolved when he had seen Lady Phoebe’s terror. She needed him more than his brother did, and being needed instead of being considered a pest was a pleasant change. The circumstances for Lady Phoebe were apparently not at all pleasant.