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‘Too many engagements, ma’am?’
‘I think perhaps I have had enough of town life.’
Overhearing, Mr Graham turned quickly towards her.
‘My dear Lady Allyngham, you will not desert us!’
‘Of course she will not,’ put in Lady Parham, coming up. ‘Not when there are so many diversions to be enjoyed.’
Eloise forced herself to smile. Suddenly she was tired of play-acting.
‘I think I may well go back to Allyngham.’
‘Ah,’ nodded Lady Parham. ‘Perhaps that is why you were in the Strand this morning, settling your affairs with your bankers.’
Eloise stiffened. ‘No, I had no business there today.’
‘Oh, I was so sure it was you!’ Lady Parham gave a tinkling little laugh, glancing around at her friends. ‘I had gone to Ackerman’s, to look at their new prints—so amusing!—and I saw a lady coming out of Coutts’s bank. But she was veiled, so perhaps I was mistaken.’
‘It must have been someone else,’ said Eloise firmly. ‘I was not in the Strand this morning.’
She selected a little pastry and turned away, only to find Jack Clifton regarding her with a little frown in his eyes.
Now what the devil is she about?
Jack had been watching Lady Allyngham for some time. He had noted that she was nervous, her eyes constantly straying to the clock, and her vehement denial of visiting the bank aroused his suspicions. She caught his eye and moved away so fast he abandoned any thought of speaking to her, but when, a short time later, Eloise made her excuses and left the party, he followed.
The press of traffic in the streets made it an easy task for Jack to follow her carriage on foot, and when they arrived at Dover Street he was close enough to hear the lady’s instructions to the coachman to come back in an hour.
Jack grinned. So she was up to something! He dashed back to King Street, quelling the little voice in his head that objected to the idea of spying on a lady. After all, Tony Allyngham had been a good friend and had asked him to look after his widow—well, perhaps not in so many words, but Jack was not going to admit, even to himself, that he had any personal interest in Eloise Allyngham.
Just over half an hour later he was back in Dover Street, his evening coat replaced by a dark riding jacket and with a muffler covering his snowy neckcloth. Hidden out of sight in Dover Yard, Bob was looking after his horse and in all probability, Jack thought, animadverting bitterly on the ways of the Quality. He positioned himself opposite Lady Allyngham’s door and settled down to wait. As with many of the streets in this area of London, Dover Street housed a variety of residents, from members of the ton to ladies who, while they would never receive an invitation from the great society hostesses, were very well known to their husbands. Courtesans such as Kitty Williams who, it was rumoured, could boast of having a royal duke amongst her many admirers. Jack was not one of their number, but Kitty’s residence had been pointed out to him by his friends, and he watched with interest as an elegant town carriage pulled up at the door. A portly gentleman climbed out and was immediately admitted, as if the doorman had been looking out for him. So Lord Berrow was one of Kitty’s customers. Jack grinned: the Earl professed himself to be one of Wilberforce’s saints—the old hypocrite!
The sounds of another coach clattering into Dover Street caused Jack to step back further into the shadows. He nodded with satisfaction as it drew up outside Lady Allyngham’s house. He saw Eloise come out, wrapped now in a dark cloak, and step up into the carriage. It drew away immediately and Jack turned and ran for his horse.
‘I still think I should come with you,’ grumbled Robert as Jack scrambled into the saddle.
‘No, you go back now and wait for me.’ Jack patted his pocket. He had a pistol, should he need it, and besides, he forced himself to face the thought, if this should prove nothing more than a sordid little assignation with a lover, the less people who knew of it the better.
Keeping a discreet distance, Jack followed the coach as it bowled through the darkened streets. They headed north through Tottenham Court Road and soon the town was left behind and they were bowling along between open fields. It was a clear night, the rising moon giving sufficient light for the carriage to set a swift pace. The coach slowed as it climbed through the village of Hampstead. When they reached the open heath Jack drew rein and as the carriage came to a halt he guided his horse off the road into the cover of the stunted trees. He watched Eloise climb out. Silently he dismounted, secured his horse to a branch and followed her.
Eloise hesitated, glancing back at the coach drawn up behind her. The carriage lamps twinkled encouragingly and the solid shape of her coachman sitting up on the box was reassuring. She had also taken the precaution of asking Perkins to come with her. He had been her groom since she was a child and she was confident of his loyalty and discretion. Turning again to face the dark open heath, she took a deep breath and stepped forwards. She suspected it was not the autumnal chill in the night air that made her shiver as she moved along the narrow path. She felt dreadfully alone and had to remind herself that Perkins was discreetly following her. For perhaps the twentieth time since setting out she went over in her mind the instructions she had received in the letter that morning. The carriage had stopped at the fork in the road, as directed, and the path to the right between a boulder and small pond was easily found. She counted silently, thankful that the letter had stated the number of steps she would need to take rather than asking her to judge a half a mile: in her present nervous state she felt as if she had walked at least three miles already. There was sufficient light to see the path, but the trees and bushes on either side were menacingly black, and she had to force herself not to think how many malevolent creatures might be watching her from the shadows.
At one point she saw a black square on her left; a shepherd’s hut, she guessed, although there were no sheep or cattle visible on the heath. Then, ahead of her, she could make out the path splitting on either side of a fallen tree. She stopped and glanced about her. Everything was silent. Shivering, she stepped up and placed a package under the exposed roots of the tree.
There, it was done. She was just heaving a sigh of relief when she heard a scuffle and crashing in the bushes behind her. She turned in time to see Perkins dragging something large and heavy out from the bushes.
‘I got ’im, m’lady,’ he wheezed, ‘I’ve got yer villain!’
Eloise ran back and gazed down at the unconscious figure lying at the groom’s feet.
It was Major Jack Clifton.
Chapter Four
Anger, revulsion and disappointment churned in her stomach. The major might be an odious man but she had not wanted him proved a scoundrel.
‘Check his pockets,’ she said crisply.
‘What exactly is you looking for, m’lady?’
‘A book—a small, leather-bound journal.’
‘Nope,’ muttered Perkins, ‘Nothin’ like that. But there is this!’
He pulled out a pistol and held it up so that the moonlight glinted wickedly on the barrel.
‘Heavens,’ exclaimed Eloise, eyeing the weapon nervously. She straightened her shoulders. ‘We must tie his hands,’ she declared. ‘I’ll not risk him getting away.’
Perkins nudged the still body with the toe of his boot.
‘He’s not going anywhere, m’lady.’
‘Well, we cannot remain out here all night,’ she retorted. ‘We must take him back to town with us.’
Perkins spat.
‘And just ’ow do you propose we do that? The carriage is a good half a mile hence.’
‘We will carry him,’ she announced. ‘And don’t you dare to argue with me, Perkins!’
Her groom scratched his head.
‘Well, I ain’t arguing, m’lady, but he’s no lightweight. I’d suggest you’d be best takin’ his legs but that ain’t seemly…’
‘Never mind seemly,’ she replied, gazing dubiously at the major’s unconscious form. Suddenly he seemed so much larger than she remembered. ‘You cannot carry him alone, so I must help you.’
Eloise had never carried a body before. She had never even considered how it should be done. When Perkins had lifted the shoulders she took a firm grip of Jack’s booted ankles and heaved. Half-carrying, half-dragging, they staggered back along the path with their burden, but they had not gone many yards before she was forced to call a halt.
‘We will never carry him all the way back to the carriage,’ she gasped.
‘Well, I could always run back and fetch Coachman Herries.’
A cold wind had sprung up and it tugged at her cloak.
‘I do not want to be standing out here any longer than necessary.’ She looked around. ‘There is a hut of some sort over there. Perhaps we could put him in there until he comes around.’ She sensed the groom’s hesitation and stamped her foot. ‘For heaven’s sake, Perkins, do you think we should let him perish out here?’
‘Aw, ’tedn’t that cold, madam, and besides I don’t see why you should worry, if he’s such a villain.’
‘He may be a villain but I am not,’ declared Eloise angrily. ‘Now take his shoulders again and help me get him into that shelter!’
It was a struggle but eventually they managed to get their unwieldy burden into the shepherd’s hut. Perkins spotted an oil lamp hanging from the roof and pulled out his tinder box to light it. Eloise, very warm after her exertions, threw off her cloak before picking up a piece of twine to bind the major’s hands behind his back. Not a moment too soon, for even as she finished tying the knot Jack groaned.
‘Quickly, now, help me to sit him up.’
‘If I was you I’d leave him on the floor, where ’e belongs,’ opined Perkins, but she overruled him: she did not like to think of any creature bound and helpless at her feet.
They propped him up against a pile of sacks in one corner and Eloise stood back, watching as the major slowly raised his head.
‘Where am I?’
‘There is no point in struggling,’ she said, trying to sound fierce. ‘You are my prisoner.’
‘The devil I am!’
‘You keep a civil tongue when speakin’ to my lady,’ growled the groom.
‘That is enough, Perkins.’ Eloise turned back to Jack. ‘Where is the journal?’
‘What journal?’
‘The diary. Where is it?’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘What were you doing on the heath?’
Jack looked up at her from under his black brows. The feeble lamplight threw dark shadows across his face and she could not see his eyes.
‘I was following you. What were you doing?’
‘That is nothing to do with you. I—’ She stopped, her eyes widening. She turned to her groom, saying urgently, ‘The package! Run back to the tree, quickly, and collect it.’
Perkins hesitated.
‘I don’t like to leave you alone with ’im, m’lady.’
‘His hands are bound, he cannot hurt me. But leave me the pistol, if you like, only go and collect that package!’
As the groom let himself out of the hut she weighed the pistol in her hand.
‘If that is mine I would advise you to keep your fingers away from the trigger, it is very light.’ She glanced up to find Jack watching her. ‘I would guess you had never used one of those.’
She shrugged.
‘It should not be difficult, at this range.’
‘Not at all, if you think you can kill a man.’
She glared at him.
‘I can and will, if you give me cause!’
A derisive smile curved his mouth and she looked away.
‘Who tied my hands?’
‘I did.’
‘And how did I get in here?’
‘We carried you.’
‘We?’
‘Yes.’ She flushed, saying angrily, ‘It is you who should be answering questions, not I.’
‘Then you had best ask me something.’
She was silent, and after a moment he said wearily, ‘I wish you would sit down. Since I cannot stand it is very impolite of you to put me at such a disadvantage.’
Eloise was suspicious, but she could read nothing from his countenance, save a certain irritation. She glanced around. There was a small stool in one corner and she pulled it forwards, dusted it off and sat down. He smiled.
‘Thank you. Now, what did you want to ask me?’
‘Why were you following me?’
He leaned back, wincing a little as his head touched the sacking piled behind him.
‘I saw you coming out of Coutts’s this morning. When you denied it so fiercely at the Renwicks’ party I became suspicious.’
‘Oh? And just what did you suspect?’
‘I don’t know: that you had run out of money, perhaps.’
‘I am not so irresponsible!’ she flashed, annoyed.
He ignored her interruption.
‘I followed you through Hampstead,’ he continued, watching her carefully. ‘It occurred to me that perhaps someone has a hold on you. This journal that you talked of: are you trying to buy it back?’
‘That is none of your business!’
‘I have a cracked skull that says it is my business,’ he retorted. ‘By the bye, is my head bleeding?’
She looked up, alarmed.
