A Midsummer Night's Sin (9 page)

Her father looked at her for a long moment before answering. “Yes. To spare him pain. I’m not the uncaring beast you sometimes believe I am, Regina. I’ve agreed to send you and your mother off with your Aunt Claire, haven’t I, and all to protect your cousin’s reputation?”

He’d just contradicted himself. He couldn’t believe Miranda to have been abducted and killed, or shipped off to some foreign port, and still say that he was agreeing to action meant to preserve her reputation until she could be overtaken on her way to Gretna Green.

Regina thought it best not to point that out to him.

Instead, she steeled herself and walked around the desk to put her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Papa. And I’m so ashamed to have been momentarily intrigued by Mr. Blackthorn, perhaps mistaking gratitude at his timely rescue for something more. I’ll never lie to you again.”

And with that lie, she left the study and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, where she opened the side window that looked out to the closed drapes of the building not ten feet away. She slid a white handkerchief beneath the sill so that it could be seen from the ground before lowering the window once more.

Now to go tell her mother yet another lie: that they, along with Miranda’s distraught mother, would be leaving for Mentmore Sunday morning at first light.

P
UCK DECIDED TO
follow Dickie Carstairs. For one thing, he was the larger of the two men, and therefore easier to see—although that observation, mentioned to Gaston in passing, was mostly for his own amusement. The real reason for the decision was that the man’s intelligence seemed to be not half that of his friend, Baron Henry Sutton.

The Honorable Mr. Richard Carstairs began his Saturday evening with a bird and a bottle partaken with three friends at his club, one of the minor clubs located at the bottom of Bond Street.

From there he made a solitary progression to the theater, Covent Garden, actually, where Puck, who would otherwise not have set foot into the place, endured a second-rate farce and the offerings of three warblers, one of whom actually owned a tolerable talent for carrying a tune someplace other than in a strong wooden bucket.

It was during the second intermission that the baron appeared, seemingly nonchalantly making his way across the crowded refreshment area to, entirely by accident, encounter Mr. Carstairs.

They both evinced some surprise upon seeing the
other, balanced their glasses awkwardly so that they might shake hands, and then drifted apart once more, Mr. Carstairs then promptly dropping the note the baron had slipped to him via that handshake and looking about himself frantically in hopes no one else had noticed, before scooping down to pick it up.

Truly, Puck thought as he stood in the shadows, sipping from his own wineglass, the farce that played out during second intermission was by itself worth the cost of admission.

Once more leaving the baron to his own devices when the gong alerted the audience that the play on the stage was about to recommence, Puck followed behind Mr. Carstairs to assure himself that, yes, the man indeed was reentering his private box.

But, all things considered—and Puck always made it a point to consider everything—it was doubtful dear Dickie would remain there for much longer. For that reason, Puck inclined his head toward the ever-faithful Gaston, who immediately left his place of concealment in order to go down to the street and order the elegant but unmarked black carriage be called to the front of the building in anticipation of its owner’s departure.

Within five minutes, the curtain on the aforementioned private box was pushed back and Dickie Carstairs emerged. Once again betraying himself by looking left and right to assure himself he was unobserved, he headed straight for the stairs that led down to the foyer and the street beyond.

Digging holes. Yes, and even that is probably rather
above his expertise,
Puck thought, pushing himself away from the wall and following after the man.

When he reached the street, the elegant black town coach was pulling up in front of the theater to inhabit the spot just vacated by the departure of another coach. This one, with its blue paint and yellow-accented wheels, was readily recognizable to anyone who had taken the time earlier in the week to make a passing inspection of the baron’s stables.

With a wink to the grinning footman holding the door open to him, Puck entered the coach, and his coachman, brother to the footman and the pair of them years earlier rescued from an unhappy employment as rather unsuccessful housebreakers, immediately implemented the unspoken order to follow the first coach.

“Sometimes, Gaston,” Puck said as he settled back against the comfortable squabs and shot his shirt cuffs, “it’s almost too easy. However, if you were by any chance considering resting on your laurels, let me remind you that my brother Jack is not called Black Jack for nothing. He probably already knows we’re on our way.”

“How comforting to learn that one’s younger sibling is not entirely a blockhead,” drawled a familiar voice from the dark that enveloped the facing seat.

“Your pardon,
m’sieur,
” Gaston apologized fervently. “He took me by surprise, as well. If you were now to lower the knife, kind brother of my
m’sieur?
”

Puck slapped his knees and laughed out loud. “Jack!
You’re following them, as well? Don’t trust your own compatriots, do you?”

Jack slipped the knife back into the top of his boot. “I trust them to realize they’re being followed, if that’s your question. I’ll admit to being mildly surprised to see you on Dickie’s tail earlier this evening.”

Puck shrugged in his elegant way. “My fault. I was so busy looking out for what was in front of me that I neglected to look behind me. Considering that I’m rather out of favor with a certain somebody at the moment, that could have proved a fatal mistake. Clumsy. Shame on me.”

“The
m’sieur
is too kind,” Gaston said, and then sighed heavily. “It is I who was to have his back tonight. It is I who has failed.”

“Well, isn’t this lovely. The two of you, gallantly trying to shift the blame away from each other. That’s the problem with both of my brothers, isn’t it? Soft hearts. Soft hearts lead to soft heads, you know, and soft heads are more easily crushed.”

Puck made a face in the darkness. “You should write for the stage, Jack. Don’t hold a candle to Will Shakespeare, but that drivel might do well enough for some provincial theater.”

Now it seemed to be Jack’s turn to laugh, but it was a short-lived relaxation of tension between the brothers. “I won’t ask why you’re following Dickie, for that’s self-explanatory. But what do you want with me? Oh, and don’t fret about our destination. Henry’s coachman
has been warned that he is to proceed slowly enough that yours doesn’t lose him.”

“How you ease my mind,” Puck said, that mind actually racing at least three leagues beyond the simple matter of their destination. “Our parents are in good health, or were when I last saw them before coming to town. You did mean to inquire about them, I’m sure.”

“I did? No, I don’t think so.”

“Really? Then you don’t know that Papa wishes to speak to all three of us together, at the estate?”

“All three of us? At one and the same time? He may be doomed to disappointment.”

“Especially if our mother is there?” Puck opined, wishing there was more light inside the coach so he could see his brother’s expression, not that the man ever gave anything away. “I never believed you’re afraid of her. And yet you were so careful to avoid her last year, when we buried Abigail.”

“We buried the Marchioness of Blackthorn, our mother’s sister. I paid my respects to Abby, which was all that was necessary.”

“Yes, you did. In the dead of night, with none but the servants to know about it before you were off on your way again. Mama nearly suffered an apoplexy when she spied the token you’d left behind.” Puck waved a hand in front of him to erase the words. “No, let’s not travel there right now, shall we? I originally wanted to find you tonight to tell you about Papa’s request. He really does want all three of us at Blackthorn.”

“So he only has to say once whatever it is that he seems to think he needs to say?”

Puck nodded. “Yes, whatever that thing is. He was going to tell Beau last year, as Beau tells it, but then changed his mind when Abby…when the Marchioness died. I would like to be able to tell Papa you’ll agree to come to the estate, even give him a date for the thing. Sometime other than in the dead of night would probably be preferable. He’s not growing younger with each passing year, Jack, and he apparently feels he needs to say what it is he wants to say as soon as may be. Not that Mama approves.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Jack said tightly. “You may inform the marquess that I’ll give his request some consideration. But not at the moment, I’m afraid. I’ve other business that will keep me occupied for a time.”

“One question, Jack. Which of the two do you hate more? Our mother or our father?”

Gaston slowly sank low onto his spine as he sat beside Black Jack.

“The puppy has grown fangs, I see,” Jack said, reaching out to hold on to the strap as the coach turned a particularly sharp corner, revealing the shape of one strong, long-fingered hand, a discreet fall of lace extending from his cuff and a large, black onyx stone set in gold adorning his index finger.

“The puppy hasn’t been a puppy for a long time, Jack. And I’m only two years your junior. I propose a pact. I won’t again underestimate you if you agree not to underestimate me.”

“After the way you’ve turned the tables on Henry and Dickie, neatly maneuvering them into introducing you to Society? Be careful of Will Browning, he’s no man’s fool. He might even make a good ally, should you ever need one. But all right. Agreed. Now, what was the second reason you wanted to see me tonight? Telling me about the marquess’s summons was only the original one.”

“Caught that, did you?” Puck was more than happy to leave the subject of their parents behind them and move on to other, actually safer, ground. He did not underestimate himself, either, but he would be a fool and unfair to the missing Miranda if he did not avail himself of all the help he could enlist.

“The cousin of a friend of mine was, just last night, abducted for reasons unknown but not difficult to be guessed at, given the small evidence so far in my possession.”

“Really. And the names of these persons?”

“Are known to me,” Puck said silkily. “Suffice it to say that the female who has gone missing is petite, blonde and supposedly quite beautiful. Pure, as it were, and of good family. Only cursory inquiry provided me with the unsettling information that hers is not the first disappearance of a petite, blonde and supposedly quite beautiful young woman here in London in the past weeks. I cannot, of course, vouch for the pureness of any of them. Only the one. I have promised my friend that I will do all in my power to find the one and return her safely to her family.”

“Did you now,” Jack said quietly. “How very determined of you, I’m sure. Even commendable. And have you spent any time cudgeling your brain as to
why
these females have, as you say, disappeared? And, even more to the point, how do you propose to get
the one
back?”

Puck very nearly obliged his brother by opening his mouth and telling him things he hadn’t planned to reveal now, if ever. But then he remembered something. A few somethings.

His brother was his own man, yes. Very much so. But he did at times share his talents with the Crown, as he had been doing last year when Beau and Puck encountered him in Gateshead along with the baron, Dickie, and the unfortunate and most likely now-deceased Noah.

The Crown, although understandably unconcerned with the disappearance of a few females from the lower orders, could not possibly look happily on the notion that its citizens could be removed from its shores with impunity, to be sold as so much merchandise in someone else’s country. Especially its women.

Jack was in London. That didn’t mean he had been there long or that he was frequently in the city. Again, the evidence of Gateshead, nearly as far away as the Scottish border, proved otherwise.

And he was here because of some
new assignment,
according to the note Wadsworth had found in Dickie Carstairs’s hatband.

So instead of revealing his own plans, especially the more bizarre portions of them, Puck took a chance and
said instead, “I think, Jack, if you don’t mind, that I’d rather first hear
your
plans for recovering the young women and putting a stop to such a heinous practice. If I agree with them, I may allow you and your bumbling friends to join me.”

Gaston pushed himself back to his usual erect posture and smiled so widely that, even in the darkness inside the coach, his white teeth were visible. “Puppy?
Bah, m’sieur
Black Jack, I think
not!
”

R
EGINA HAD LEFT THE DETAILS
to Puck, who had then informed her that she would know them when he did, as an hour spent cooling his heels in an alleyway waiting for her had been not sufficient time to do more than come up with the basics of a plan.

He’d asked her to trust him, and because she had no other choice and because he was so confident, she did so.

He’d also told her not to worry, which had been a waste of his breath for she had worried all night long and continued to worry now.

“Mama, please don’t concern yourself with that,” she said now, watching as her mother looked about her, counting the few pieces of luggage now lined up in the entrance hall, the special pieces that would travel with them inside the coach. “Hanks has seen to everything, for both of us.”

Lady Leticia continued her inventory. She moved slowly, carefully, probably in the belief that then ev
eryone would believe her sober, but the servants were well-acquainted with their mistress’s ways.

Poor Mama. She’d once been so pretty. Now she looked tired all of the time, and defeated, her blue eyes so sad and empty, the corners of her mouth perpetually turned down. And she still lacked two years before her fortieth birthday. Her youth had left her early along with any spirit she might once have possessed.

“Yes, dear, but I do not see my special traveling case. I cannot depart without my special traveling case. It…it was a gift from my dearest, departed mother.”

The case, in point of fact, had been a purchase in Bond Street a dozen years earlier, fitted out inside to hold a half dozen wine bottles and a supply of glasses. Regina inwardly scolded herself for believing, if only for a moment, that her mother wouldn’t notice its absence.

“Hanks?” she said, looking at the maid, who curtsied and then immediately turned and headed for the servant stairs, off to retrieve the case. They had earlier agreed to allow the case if Mama seemed about to make a fuss. If she made a fuss, Papa might hear, and the last thing Regina wanted was to have her father come into the entrance hall, asking what the problem was and perhaps changing his mind and disallowing the trip.

“And I don’t see why Fellows couldn’t accompany us. Sharing your maid like this? It will appear cheeseparing. You know your father does not wish us ever to look cheeseparing. He became out of reason cross with me when I suggested you did not need more than a
dozen gowns for a proper Come-out, if we just changed the ribbons and such on them from time to time. He does not want to ever look cheeseparing.”