Peregrine's Prize Page 3
Nash and Felicity ran a happy and relatively unstructured household, with the minimum number of staff necessary for their comfort. Instead of a plethora of servants, they relied on extra help from the village when it was their turn to host hunt.
It was a rule of the house, gladly upheld by all, that between the hours of one and four, all staff were free to follow their own pursuits. Maggie had no intention of spoiling that. She was certainly able to make tea. Well within Felicity's suggested ten minutes Maggie entered the upstairs study. She pushed the ajar door further open, and giggled as Nash hastily removed his hands from his wife's derriere.
"Don't mind me," she said dryly, as Nash took the tray from her and set it on a convenient table. "It serves to remind me what I hope to feel before I shrivel up from lack of action." She'd long got into the habit of speaking her mind with her cousin and husband. Theirs was no employer-employee relationship. Maggie was as well born as either of them. In fact, she remembered, when she first arrived, Nash had been in the dark as to why he employed such a well-bred housekeeper. It took several weeks before Perry appeared and explained who she was, and even more before Nash became privy to her and Perry's relationship. Felicity possessed that tidbit well before Nash, much to his disgust.
"I remember your face when you were told just who I am," she said as Nash handed her a cup of tea and took his seat behind his desk. "For some reason I just had that thought. They told it wouldn't be for long, and I thought, how long is long?"
"Several months and counting eh?" Nash said wryly. "I assumed I acquired a temporary housekeeper whilst Mrs. Dagwood nursed her mother. I wonder just how much Perry paid to keep her away?"
Maggie laughed. "I never asked." She sobered as she remembered why she was there. "Now, before I go mad and end up locked in the attic, please tell me what's going on?"
Chapter Three
Dye's face was worthy of any pugilist and Peregrine swayed as he took in the state his friend was in. "What on earth?"
One eye appeared almost closed, and an ugly bruise of orange and purple spread across Dye's puffy cheek. His swollen lip bled profusely; across his right hand three long angry looking red welts stood out and his knuckles were scraped.
"You should see the other men," Dye said and winced. His lip split open once more, and Bacon tutted as he dabbed at it with a cloth.
"Men? Plural?" Peregrine asked, as Bacon replaced the soiled cloth with a clean one. He tried to keep his voice level and uninterested and he was certain he didn't succeed. Bacon gave him a sharp look, which belied the slightly unintelligent attitude he portrayed so well.
"Footpads I reckon my lord," Bacon said, annoyance in his voice. "Or highwayman. Nasty goings on, and in broad daylight as well. Something needs to be done. It's not good when law-abiding citizens can't go about their business without fear for their lives. If Mr. Paget here hadn't been so handy who knows what might have happened? Do we call the magistrates or someone?"
"Indeed." Perry noticed the brief narrowing of Dye's eyes. "It is not to be thought of. Footpads," he added. "And as for a magistrate? No need. I will bring it to the notice of the appropriate authorities. If Mr. Paget is attended to, perhaps we may go to our parlor, and have refreshments?"
The landlord bowed, relief in every movement, and Perry took hold of Dye's arm to help him into the room. Scarcely had the landlord withdrawn to arrange for "Victuals and ale my lord," than Dye sat on a settle with a groan.
"Bastards. A wire over the lane. Doughty will be scarred. I've left him with the head ostler who is poulticing the shins. This—" He indicated his face. "—Was done by a woman. She wore a half mask, but took no care to cover her clothing. French silks and exquisite linens, that were from Madam Lenore I'll be bound. And jewels that I know were of the finest water. Damn, Perry, I swear I should know who it was. Two men grabbed me, but it was the woman who used my face as a boot scraper. Plus she wielded a mean crop. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her temper too often. And fists, I swear she's been to Jackson's Salon for lessons. Bested by a woman, by god." He spat into the fire. "I tell you Perry, there is something more than evil still afoot. There were five of them. And she said something very cryptic." He broke off as Bacon reappeared with mugs of ale and his wife followed him with a tray full of pastries and meats.
For several minutes they were fussed over, until at last they were the only occupants of the room.
"Go, on." Perry handed a plate of food to Dye and began filling one for himself. The rich aroma of cooked fowl scented the room, and his stomach rumbled. It had been a long while since breakfast.
"Who do we know with emeralds set in a rope of diamonds and a large ruby ring, big enough to score skin with?" Dye asked as he nodded his thanks, and picked up a pie. The steam from it surrounded his face like a mist. "Ostentatious and well, vulgar." He rolled up the sleeve of his jacket to show a large welt.
"Gussie Gravesend?" Perry gnawed on a chicken leg. "That monstrosity that she wore at the masquerade. It sounds like it, and I'm certain it is she who is leading some sort of group now Mortimer is no longer of this earth, thank goodness." He contemplated the bone and satisfied he'd eaten all the meat, threw it into the fire. "There were rumors that Gravesend rather liked to be on the receiving end of her ministrations, temper or not. So it could have been her?"
Dye swallowed his pie with care, and washed it down with a long swallow of ale. It looked as if every mouthful caused him pain. "I don't know; it’s a long while since I've met the lady. I missed the masquerade, I was otherwise occupied. But she said, and I quote as best I can here, 'Tell Corby to desist or his lady will suffer more than he ever will. And stay away from', now," he hesitated, "this is where it gets confusing, as at that point she stood on me. I think she said stay away from Yorkshire, but I could be wrong. I wasn't in full control of my faculties. How would she know we were going there? The only persons who knew were Nelson and…" He broke off. "Ahh."
"Yes, ahh," Perry said in a grim voice. And as I do not believe for one moment Aitken would talk about my whereabouts we must assume the message did not come from him. Grief, Maggie." There were no secrets between Perry and Dye. "She needs to be warned to be on her guard as does Nash."
Dye tried to nod his head and swore. "Perry, go on without me, and beware. I would be a hindrance not a help at the moment. When I'm able to sit on a horse and not fall off I’ll go straight to Marsh Hall—well, via a circuitous, safe route—and warn Aitken of malice afoot."
Peregrine looked at him closely. Under the dried blood and bruises Dye's face appeared etched in pain. He nodded. "Very well, but not to Marsh Hall without a night's sleep. We'll meet up at the Pike as before. Dye, take care, you can be impetuous. Take no risks."
Dye half laughed, or as much as his swollen mouth would let him. "Pot, kettle and black, my lord." He sketched a mock bow, and winced once more. “I'm going to have a head as if I've imbibed inferior brandy I reckon. Sad to say, I think I will perhaps stop here for a while, just until I can see one settle and one mantle not several. Bacon is to bring me a concoction he swears by, and says it will set me up in a trice. God knows what a trice is, but people always use it to signify something will work in your favor in…" He half laughed. "In a trice. Ignore me, I'm rambling. Hell my head hurts, I swear if I ever get the chance for revenge I'll take it, woman or not. After this little lot," he touched his head, "she doesn't deserve the consideration I'd normally give to a lady. Because lady she isn't."
Perry laughed with him, even though his mind whirled with these new developments. Within the hour Perry left Dye sipping a foul looking liquid, and set off on the next leg of his journey. He wasn't worried that Dye wouldn't recover. On more than one occasion in the past he and his hard head encountered much worse.
It was true, Perry mused as he once more took the Great North Road, neither of them put their safety above that of their country or friends. More than once they watched—and saved—each other's backs, and more than once taken a strike meant for the other.
The day was well advanced and he'd be hard pushed to reach The Pike before darkness. Even though this stretch of the road was supposed to be comparatively safe, Perry didn't want to take any chances. He urged his horse into a steady gallop. Dye he didn't expect to see that night, whatever he said, and Perry encouraged Bacon to try and persuade Dye to rest until the following day. Bacon, who understood more of their comings and goings than he'd ever divulge immediately agreed, and set aside a bedchamber for Dye. Bacon in a stubborn mood was well able to subdue the hardest drunkard, and in his less than perfect state Dye would be no match for him.
Putting Dye out of his mind Perry began to think of other things. He had a lot to mull over; not least how to make sure that Maggie wasn't threatened any more. He missed her and needed her. His cock would have forgotten how to work soon, if he didn't have the chance to bury it inside Maggie's warm and welcoming body, and hear the soft mewls and sighs she gave as her climax approached. Even just thinking about how it had been, and how he hoped it would be again very soon, Perry felt his body tighten and his breathing quicken. He shifted in the saddle. All of a sudden the leather was hard under him, and he twisted the reins in his hands. His horse protested and skittered to one side at the unusual and conflicting messages the new hold on the reins gave him.
Perry brought his thoughts back to the present, and relaxed his grip.
"Sorry, boy." He soothed his horse and looked around to get an idea of his surroundings. Daydreaming was perhaps not the best idea with so much harassment around.
He was somewhat horrified to discover he'd managed several miles riding without being aware of it, and he was no more than an hour from The Pike. As he glanced at the gathering shadows, Perry decided he'd better get a move on. Oth
erwise he'd arrive in darkness, and out on the road wasn't the best place to be once daylight disappeared. He cursed himself for being so lax with security, but thankfully it seemed not to have caused him any problems. Nevertheless he vowed not to let his thoughts take over, but to remain vigilant.
The last few miles to the snug posting inn, situated in a tiny village alongside the road, were accomplished in record time, and as the last light left the sky, Perry turned into the Inn's stable yard. Inside of thirty minutes he washed the grime of the journey away in the comfortable bedchamber he knew to be the landlord's pride and joy. Being the heir to an Earldom did have some benefits. Perry dried his torso on the remarkably soft towel the landlord provided and glared at the bootjack. With a shrug he used it to remove his boots and put on a pair of soft house shoes instead. His valet would roll his eyes, but he'd known Peregrine for long enough to know that when he wasn't required on a trip, Perry employed a very much make do mindset. Asher might tut-tut over the scratches and jack marks, but as ever he'd work wonders and present Peregrine with an almost pristine pair of leather boots once more.
For now though, Perry would have to suffer the marks. He could only hope Nash's valet would take pity on him the following day. Until then the boot boy in the Inn would do his best. Perry set the boots outside the door, and made his way downstairs to his private parlor, where the landlord promised a meal would be waiting.
As he turned the corner of the stairs, the landlord's voice floated up to him. Something in the tone made Perry stop and listen, rather than continue downward.
"I'm sorry, sir. I never divulge my guest's names." The word sir was invested with such scorn it brought a smile to Perry's lips. Evidently the questioner was not to the landlord's liking.
"Look, all I want to know is whether Lord Corby is in residence," The voice was of a man, and Perry wished Harold was around to say where the accent originated. All Perry knew was that it wasn't a Londoner.
"I have no idea." The landlord said in a tone now so frosty, it was a wonder the stairs weren't icy. "Now unless you wish to book a room, I suggest you move on."
Perry took one step more to see if he could get a glimpse of the customer. All he could see was a dark greatcoat with only one meager cape. Not a member of the haut ton then.
"Then I'll have a room." The voice sounded desperate.
"Sorry, I'm full." The landlord sounded gleeful. "Now if there's nothing else?"
The noise of a chair being pushed back, and the startled shout of the landlord, made Perry take the last few stairs in a jump. He turned the corner into the lobby, to see a dark greatcoat disappearing out of the main door, and the landlord picking himself up off the floor. He looked up at Perry.
"Thank goodness we never got round to officially welcoming you, my lord."
Chapter Four
It was one thing saying very definitely that you were happy with what you needed to do, another knowing if you were capable of pulling it off. Maggie swallowed several times, and acknowledged her clammy skin and shaking hands were due to fear. Not fear for herself, but for the others who were involved. She knew so much rested on her ability to keep a cool head, and that failure could not be thought about. That knowledge made her pace the tiny study several times, skirting the desk and the other two occupants more than once. The desk of course being an inanimate object ignored her, but the humans looked on with so much compassion, Maggie scarcely dare look back at them in case their sympathy made her break down. What Nash asked of her almost beggared belief.
"Are you sure?" she said at last, as Nash continued to look at her with troubled eyes. "Do we really know that for certain?"
He sighed, and Felicity took hold of his hand and squeezed it. Maggie wished she had someone to do that for her.
Well maybe if we sort this mess out soon, I might have.
"Maggie, it's like trying to find alcohol at Almacks, nigh on impossible," Nash said. "However the informant is to be trusted, and he is as sure as could be that an attack on Peregrine is imminent, and it will be arranged to throw distrust and confusion both in the government, and among his family and friends. Gussie Gravesend is implicated, but it is thought she reports to more than one other person, now that Mortimer is dead." Nash tapped his lips with his index finger. "Sadly no one has any idea who the other people are, and the authorities are doing their very best. It's a pity Harry had to be removed to Scotland. I'm sure he'd have come up with some formulae or another to sniff them out. Ah well, it can't be helped. Perry knows best, and if he says Harry has to be in Scotland, who am I to argue. I value both my brothers' lives." He rolled his shoulders, and Felicity kneaded them.
"Tense," she said softly as she looked at Maggie. "He's worrying over things we can do nothing about." The love she possessed for her husband appeared so evident in every movement Maggie felt an intruder. Nash leaned forward and touched one of Maggie's arms.
"We really are in the dark. However the plan that has been concocted could work, with your cooperation."
"And Abraham's." Felicity added. "I don't presume to know what else he is, but I do know it's lucky he is a longtime friend of Nash's and around Perry's build." She held her hand up to signify a tall man and sketched the shape of a body in the air. Maggie hoped Felicity wasn't actually imagining Perry possessed a build like she described. It seemed more fitting to a woman. It was a measure of Maggie's agitation that the thought didn't make her smile.
"And raring to fight," Nash said. "His 'affaires de coeur', shall I call them are, as you well know, not going well. Until Lord Welland is found and either exonerated or convicted of treason, his love life is as lacking as…" He paused.
"Mine," Maggie said. She'd spoken to Judith Welland who loved, and was loved in return by Abraham who worked for the hunt—and others—just a few days earlier. Judith wasn't positive about her future.
"She's afraid she's going to be in limbo for ever, and never be able to move on. I feel for her," Maggie said, and did her best to keep that nasty desolate note out of her voice—the one that could creep in and upset everyone. "I often think the same. It's harsh, so very harsh to be destined for sadness, even worse when you've glimpsed happiness, and lost it."
Felicity moved away from Nash to hug her. "That is so true, and I can only say keep your faith. For as you well know Maggie, I entertained those ideas myself, but look at me now. Nash Gretton, not like that." She blushed. Nash laughed and raised one eyebrow as he leered at his wife. Maggie giggled, her melancholy mood dissipated by his antics. Even though she knew that had been Nash's intention, she ached to enjoy even one tenth of what Nash and Felicity shared. Every look spelled out their love, and the intimate fondling and supposedly hidden nips and gropes she often saw were enough to make her retire to her room and dream of Perry as she touched herself. Maggie knew she was loved, and returned that emotion ten-fold, but not to be able to show it physically was hard. Sometimes she could almost believe her trysts were all in her mind. Except, under her breast, was a tiny tattoo of a dragon. Perry appropriated Nash's inking kit—the one he used for marking his dogs—and given them both a dragon tattoo. "Because once the dragons are slain we can be together." Neither thought it would take so long. She wondered if Nash realized how fast his ink had been used up.
"Maggie? Are you all right? Are you in pain?"
She brought her mind back to the present, and realized she'd been rubbing her chest, over her tattoo, as if for strength.
"No, sorry I'm fine. I was wool gathering, and well, one can but hope," she said hastily. "But keep those looks and thoughts for later, both of you, or I will not be able to concentrate. Let's go over it all once more please. I need to get everything fixed in my mind."
****
"Are you sure you're happy with this, Maggie?" Abraham Starkey tooled the phaeton along the narrow lanes with a casual expertize Maggie envied. Although she could handle a phaeton and pair, she knew that even with continual practice she would never succeed as well as he did. The reins seemed to be part of him, and the way the horses responded to the slightest touch was instant. Maggie knew of several supposed excellent horsemen who would do well to watch and learn.