Hurst 02 - Scandal in Scotland Page 19

  The woman whipped around. “Have you ever shot a pistol?”

  “No.” Marcail lifted the muzzle in the general direction of their prisoner’s feet. “But it doesn’t seem all that difficult. I might hit your leg instead of your foot, but that wouldn’t bother me.”

  The woman’s gaze went from the pistol to Marcail. “I don’t blame you for being angry. It’s been very difficult for me, as well.” She leaned forward, her gaze locked with Marcail’s. “I haven’t had a choice in this, either. I only did what I had to do. Surely you, who’ve been on your own as long as I have, understand that.”

  Marcail found that she couldn’t disagree. She did know what that was like. She lowered the gun the slightest bit. “Be that as it may, I cannot pretend that you’re an innocent in all of this. You’ve stolen thousands of pounds from me, destroyed my peace, caused me untold hours of lost sleep, and now you’re not going to blame me if I am angry? How generous of you.”

  William crossed his arms. “Miss Challoner, if I were you, I’d tell everything I knew. As you can see, there is very little keeping Miss Beauchamp in her chair.”

  Miss Challoner’s jaw tightened. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I didn’t wish to be involved in this from the beginning, but I was being blackmailed as well.”

  “By whom?” William asked.

  “By the same person who is blackmailing Miss Beauchamp.”

  “What for?”

  Miss Challoner’s mouth thinned. “I’m not saying.”

  Marcail stood. “Would you like to select a toe for me to aim for or should I try for the biggest one?”

  “I cannot expose the man or he’ll—” Miss Challoner’s eyes widened as Marcail advanced.

  The pistol lowered to Miss Challoner’s foot. “Well?” Marcail asked softly. “Is he worth a toe? or perhaps two?”

  “I suppose it won’t matter, as you’re bound to discover it for yourself sooner or later. His name is Aniston,” Miss Challoner said in a rush. “George Aniston. He is the cousin of the Duke of Albany and—”

  “What?” Marcail gasped.

  “You know him?” William asked.

  “He is Colchester’s … They are friends. Aniston has been bleeding Colchester dry, and I’ve done what I could to separate them. I suppose he resented it and so he began to blackmail me.” Marcail looked at Miss Challoner. “What are you being blackmailed for?”

  She shook her head. “I won’t say.”

  “You’ll say that and much more,” William said grimly. He took the pistol from Marcail. “Allow me.”

  “Of course.” Marcail took the chair across from their prisoner, eying her thoughtfully. “It isn’t pleasant to be blackmailed. How did you fall into Aniston’s clutches?”

  “I invited him to my house, thinking he might know something of interest I was attempting to find out. Instead, he took the opportunity to go through my things. He took something he shouldn’t have; something I must have back at all costs.” The woman’s expression was stark, and Marcail recognized the deep fear.

  She leaned forward. “What did he take that’s so valuable to you?”

  For a moment, Miss Challoner’s expression softened and Marcail thought she might hear the truth, but then the woman shrugged and said, “Aniston is waiting for me in Edinburgh. Once he has the onyx box, he will return my property.”

  “Do you really think he would have honored that agreement, even if you did return with the onyx box?” Marcail asked gently.

  “He must. He keeps saying he will rel—” Miss Challoner closed her eyes for a moment, finally saying in a weary tone, “Fine. I have your damned box. Aniston has promised to return my—the item to me in exchange. Of course, every time I complete a task, he says there’s one more thing to be done.”

  “Can you go to the Bow Street Runners or—”

  “No.”

  Marcail sighed, feeling more and more sorry for the woman as the minutes passed. She could see that Miss Challoner really was afraid of Aniston. What sort of a monster is he?

  William spoke from where he stood by the door. “And what will happen if you go to Edinburgh and don’t have the box?”

  Miss Challoner’s shoulders straightened. “I don’t know, but he had better not—” Her eyes blazed and Marcail almost shivered at the hard light. Miss Challoner fixed her gaze on William. “All I know is that the second Aniston has returned my possession, I shall enact my revenge—and it will not be pleasant.”

  A brisk knock sounded on the door and William unlocked it.

  Poston stood in the doorway, a small velvet bag in his hand. “I found it, Cap’n! It was sewn into the saddlebag of the horse with the cut hoof. I wonder if perhaps that’s why the track was so distinct.” He glanced inquiringly at Miss Challoner, seemingly unsurprised to find that the Frenchman had vibrant red hair and was obviously not a man.

  Miss Challoner sighed. “We marked the horse’s hooves in case it was stolen or ran from us, so we could find it if we had to. Did you use that to track us?”

  He nodded. “That’s why we were searching everyone from the inn.”

  William took the case and handed the loaded pistol to Poston. “Guard our prisoner a moment, will you? Miss Beauchamp and I must make arrangements for our return to London.”

  “What about me?” Miss Challoner asked.

  “We will take you with us, and once we arrive in London, you will be sent to the constable. He will decide what to do with you there.”

  She turned her head to stare out of the window.

  William and Marcail crossed the entryway and went into the common room, glad to see that it was empty.

  William placed the velvet bag on the long table and removed the onyx box. It caught the late afternoon sun, shimmering as if glad to be free of its dark prison. “Finally.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Marcail shook her head. “It’s difficult to believe such a simple object could cause so much trouble.”

  “I know.” He looked at her. “So what will you do about Aniston?”

  “I shall tell Colchester and Aniston will be so discredited that no one will believe anything he says about me.”

  “I don’t think this was about money at all, but about control. Aniston wished me gone, and this was as good a way as any.”

  “He would slowly steal your funds—”

  “And leave me nervous and alone, worried about the servants and the other people around me—” She hesitated, then added, “I’ve lately begun to realize that Colchester and I don’t have a true friendship. He’s … he’s using me and I’m using him.”

  In that instant, she seemed so alone that William’s heart ached for her. “Marcail, I—”

  A voice sounded from the entryway, deep and cultured, with a faint petulant tone to it.

  “I know that voice.” William went to the door and looked around the corner. “Bloody hell, what are you doing here?”

  Robert was removing his greatcoat, turning up his nose at the pegs available to hang it on.

  He didn’t seem the least surprised to see William, merely saying in a cool voice, “Surely there’s a better place to hang a coat than this. It will stretch the collar.”

  “Bring your damned coat in here. You can spread it on the settee, if you wish.”

  Robert sighed. “That will do, I suppose.” He followed William into the room, pausing when he caught sight of Marcail. He bowed elegantly. “Miss Beauchamp! Pleased to meet you.”

  William flicked a hand toward his brother. “My brother Robert. I don’t recall if you’ve met.”

  “Not until now.” She dipped a curtsy. “If you two will excuse me, I should pack and have our trunks brought down.”

  William watched as she left the room.

  Robert waited until she was gone before he flicked a glance at his brother. “She is even more lovely up close. I don’t find that the case with most actresses.”

  William turned back to his brother, noticing the lace cuffs that spilled from Robert’
s coat sleeves. Good lord, what a dandy. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been chasing you since you left London. I found something that I thought might interest you. It’s—” His gaze fell on the onyx box. “Ah. You have the artifact. I feared it might be in the possession of—” Robert’s expression closed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you have it back.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in red flannel. He unwrapped the object and placed it on the table near the onyx box. “Behold, a match for the first.”

  William frowned. “There are two boxes?”

  “So far.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “From the private residence of a young lady named Moira McAllen. At least, that was the name she was using at her residence in Edinburgh. She has others.”

  “Other residences?”

  “Yes, and other names, as well. She is a lovely redhead who—”

  “Bloody hell. She is the one we were chasing all along. She’s a tricky, conniving thief.”

  “You have no idea,” Robert said softly.

  William gestured toward the boxes. “One must be a fake.”

  “No. They are both original.” Robert picked up one box and flicked it open, then did the same to the other. With a smooth twist, he undid two more hinges in each until they lay flat upon the table. Then, with a simple nudge, he pushed them together. A soft click sounded.

  William leaned over. “They connect.”

  “And make a map.”

  “Bloody hell! It’s … Robert, is that a treasure map?”

  “Yes. I think that’s why so many people have wished to obtain Michael’s artifact.” Robert traced a thin line. “This is a river of some sort; I’m sure of it by the way it meanders. And these—” He touched a group of upside down V’s. “These are mountains, and these—” He ran his thumb over a group of boxes in one corner. “I think these represent a city. All that’s missing is the third piece.”

  “Good God.” William looked at the map. “There are three boxes, then.”

  “Yes. See these markings here? Three lines with a dot between each? That means there are three pieces and that they connect.”

  “Hmm. I wonder what our prisoner will say to that?”

  Robert looked up sharply. “Prisoner? You mean … she’s still here?”

  “Yes. Poston is watching her in the other room.”

  “Damn it, William, you can’t leave him alone with her!” Robert scooped up the onyx boxes and slid them into his coat pocket.

  “Poston won’t hurt her,” William said stiffly.

  “She might hurt him.”

  “He is armed.”

  Robert relaxed somewhat. “That’s something, at least. Are you certain he’s well trained?”

  “He was with Wellington on the peninsula.”

  Robert sighed. “Good. I wouldn’t leave her with a novice for a second. She’s a master at escaping.”

  “You said you found this box in the house of this Miss McAllen? How did you know it would be there?”

  “I didn’t, at first. When I saw the drawing Mary had done, I knew I’d seen the box before. It took me a while to realize where. It was in a collection belonging to a researcher at Edinburgh. I ran into him while there two months ago and he showed me all of his recent finds. He didn’t really focus on the box, for as artifacts go it’s not really spectacular, but something about it stayed with me. Once I remembered where I’d seen it, I raced to purchase it, but it had already been stolen.”

  “Let me guess. By a tall redhead.”

  “Exactly. The researcher was quite besotted, but I knew instantly who it was and I went to her lodgings—”

  “You knew where she lived?”

  Robert’s gaze flickered. “I knew whom to ask. Suffice it to say that I found her residence and repossessed the box.”

  “Repossessed, eh?” At his brother’s bland look, William sighed. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Robert, what the hell do you know about this woman?”

  Robert’s expression shuttered. “Not much. But she’ll talk. I’ll make certain of that.”

  “She seems to know you.”

  “She does—unfortunately for me.”

  “How well does she know you?”

  Robert fidgeted with his cuff.

  “Robert?”

  He sighed. “I dislike admitting I was a fool. I don’t know why it matters, but—” He shrugged. “At one time, Moira and I were married.”

  William blinked. “I beg your pardon, but—” He shook his head. “I could have sworn you said you were married.”

  Robert gave him a flat stare. “It was a trick. A dirty trick. Years ago, when I first came to London, I was an attaché to the Home Office, as you remember. I met her there and—Well, she is beautiful. You can’t deny that.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Robert shrugged. “One thing led to another, and I thought myself madly in love. So one night, we were at a masquerade ball and there was a man dressed as a clergyman—I vow that I did not know the man was real. That the license he had in his pocket was the actual thing. That—” Robert’s look was black. “I was enamored of her, though I knew her to be a woman of low morals. The silly ceremony seemed to assure that our relationship would progress further.”

  “You were thinking with your cock.”

  “True. The little head is always so impulsive, isn’t it?”

  William sighed. “Yes, it is. But what about the banns?”

  “Exactly,” Robert said darkly. “Without posting banns, then the ceremony, even if performed by a clergyman and with my signature on the license, would be false. But someone had indeed posted the banns; I just didn’t know it.”

  William shook his head. “You said you were married to her at one time. So you found a way out of it and aren’t married now?”

  Robert hesitated. “Technically, we are married, but I don’t recognize it.”

  “I assume a court of law would, though.”

  “Perhaps. But if they knew of her black heart—” Robert’s brow lowered. “She tricked me to discredit me with the Home Office. They almost let me go upon hearing that I’d wed a counteragent.”

  “Counteragent?”

  “Yes, the lovely Miss McAllen’s family has been very friendly with some of England’s greatest enemies. She was once an agent for Bonaparte. They say Bonny himself was madly in love with her, but she would have none of him, so he sent her here, to perform his duties on English soil.”

  “Why hasn’t she been arrested?”

  “Who says she hasn’t been? And then escaped. Which is why I’m surprised she’s still here.”

  William shook his head. “What a coil.”

  “There is more to it. She blames me for her arrest, and rightly so. I found evidence of her position—there was no escaping the truth. After she trapped me into marriage, the only way I could win back the trust of the Home Office was to offer her up on a platter.” Robert’s expression hardened. “Which I did with great delight.”

  “You know what Father says about vengeance.”

  “That it’s a bitter dish that bites the server as well as the taster.”

  “Exactly.” William eyed his brother. “So what will you do now?”

  “I don’t know, but I think the lovely Moira knows the location of the third box.”

  “And Michael?”

  “Hopefully he will be free by the time I find the last box. I have an idea about that. Take these boxes to our soon-to-be brother-in-law.”

  “The Earl of Erroll? What’s he have to do with anything?”

  “His cousin is reputed to be something of an expert in producing copies of antiquities.”

  “But that man stole from Erroll.”

  “Yes, but our tenderhearted sister has arranged for her soon-to-be husband to reconcile with his cousin, so we should have full access to his useful services.”

  “Very well. I’ll do that as soon as I reach London. Onc
e I have the copy, I’ll set sail and win Michael’s release.”

  “Excellent. Michael will be very interested in this map. In fact, once he knows of it, I don’t believe he’d want us to trade the boxes for his release.”

  “I just don’t wish him hurt.”

  “Hurt? His biggest complaint is that he is bored and his assistant has poured out all of his bourbon.” Robert shrugged. “Besides, he’s—”

  A gunshot sounded, followed by the tinkling of broken glass.

  Robert was out the door in a trice, William hard on his heels as they yanked open the parlor door.

  Poston was seated on the floor holding his arm, blood seeping between his fingers. One of the large front windows was shattered and there was no sign of Miss McAllen.

  “What happened?” William demanded as Robert ran to the window and looked out.

  “Damn it,” Robert swore. “There she goes.” They could hear hoofbeats on the cobblestones. “I must go. Take these.”

  He reached into his pocket, then thrust the two onyx boxes at William. “Guard them carefully. I will contact you.”

  “I’ll guard them with my life, but—”

  Marcail hurried into the room, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

  “Our captive escaped,” William said grimly.

  “How?”

  Robert scowled. “She has the most damnable way of making whoever guards her fall in love with her.”

  Marcail glanced at Poston, who turned a furious red. “She was jus’ tellin’ me about her family in Wiltshire. Did ye know she came from the same village as I did? In all me years, I’ve met only one other person from—” The groom blinked as Robert sighed and looked at the ceiling. “She’s not from Wiltshire?”

  “No, you fool. I doubt she’s even been there.” Robert swept a bow. “Good-bye. I must fetch her before she wreacks more havoc.”

  “Wait!” Marcail pulled a vial out of her pocket. “Here, it’s a potion of some sort. I’ve been told that it will keep a person incapacitated for some time. It may also make them think that they’re—” She blushed. “Use it sparingly, for I suspect it’s very strong. It may help you bring her to London, since she’s so difficult to hold prisoner.”

  Robert took the vial. “Thank you. That could be a great help. William, I will write.”