Page 23 of The Duke of Ruin
"When were you supposed to have met this gentleman, Mr Beattie?"
"Last night, your Grace," the criminal replied.
Damn; so whoever it was that had hired Beattie, would already have heard of his incarceration and fled. Ruan thanked the magistrate for his time, and left the gaol to return to the coaching inn. Southampton had been a clever choice for a meeting place, Ruan decided. The town had a port that was moderately busy due to the Navy ships which docked there, but was also highly fashionable with the gentry. They came from London to take the waters at the spa, and as Ruan walked through the bustling city streets toward his hotel, he spotted a familiar face.
"Lavelle," he called, much surprised to see his friend hurrying in the direction of the port.
"Everleigh," Henry Lavelle, Lord Somerset turned at the sound of his name, and a wide grin broke across his handsome face. "I've been looking for you, heard from your Captain Black that you'd been down to the gaol to interview the cur who blew upThe Elizabeth."
"Aye, I did," Ruan grimaced, "Though fat lot of help he was. What brings you all the way down here?"
"Why, you of course; it's all over London that someone tried to kill you. You can't blame your second for hot footing it down, in case you needed my services."
Ruan tried not to wince at the innocuous reference to duelling; Henryhadonce acted as his second in the first, and only, duel that Ruan had ever partaken in. He had been there to witness Ruan shooting dead Charles Birmingham, the man who had been having an affair with his late wife. Though contrary to rumour, Ruan had only killed the blighter because Birmingham had turned before the count, and shot Ruan in the leg. The man had been deranged, and for what he had done to Catherine, Ruan felt little regret for having taken his life.
"Are you staying in The Dolphin?"
"Where else?" Ruan replied, as Lavelle fell into step beside him. The Dolphin Hotel was England's largest and grandest coaching inn, and after the long journey from Falmouth, Ruan wouldn't countenance staying anywhere that wasn't the height of luxury.
The men repaired to the hotel saloon, and over brandy Ruan shared with Lavelle his suspicions that someone was trying to kill him, the story of howThe Elizabethhad sank, as well as Olive's disappearance.
"Any idea where she is?"
For the first time in Lavelle's life, he seemed to be struggling to speak. His face was pale and drawn, it seemed he was shocked to his very core. Ruan felt touched by his obvious worry, though said nothing. Speaking about feelings wasn't the done thing, for men of their ilk.
"Actually," he said, taking a deep sip of his brandy, "I know exactly where she is, and you do too."
"I do?"
"St. Jarvis," Ruan supplied, and he was gratified to see Lavelle splutter on the drink he had taken.
"Good Lord," the blonde haired man gasped, as he struggled to regain his composure. "I haven't been there in years. Not since -- not since --"
Catherine's death; though in truth Lavelle hadn't spent that much time in St. Jarvis at all past the age of eighteen. Once he had inherited, he had moved to London to engage in debauchery on a grander scale, and forgotten clean about the small seaside village. Ruan could see the wistful look in his friend's eyes, as he thought on the place they had spent so many of their youthful summers.
"Is that where you're headed now?" Lavelle asked, his expression thoughtful.
"Aye, it is -- and if you'd like to join me, you'd be more than welcome. I think I might need my second, if Lord Keyford spies me there."
His late wife's father despised him, and with good reason, for he thought Ruan responsible for his daughter's death. The Duke knew for certain that if he saw him, Keyford was liable to do anything, such was the venom he held for Ruan.
"Good God," Lavelle put down his glass. "Keyford has an estate nearby, do you remember Catherine used to say he spent half his time down this way?"
Ruan had, and the same suspicions had crossed his mind. Keyford held a small estate in Nursling, and half the world knew that this was where he had housed his mistress, and his illegitimate offspring. It had been a bone of contention between Catherine and her father; another thing to argue about in a family that had made hurt and anger into an art form.
"We'll deal with Keyford, when we see him," Ruan finally said, a note of regret to his tone. The ghosts of his past kept resurfacing, and it seemed that to claim his future with Olive, he would have to confront them all.
The next day Olive awoke to the scent of baking bread, wafting from the kitchen below her. She washed and dressed quickly, ashamed that she had slept so late, when she had guests to feed and serve.
"You find your way about very quickly," she said with surprise to Polly, who had the entire table set, as well as fresh bread made, and sausages, rashers and pudding frying in a pan on the hob.
"If you can find your way around one kitchen, then you can find your way around them all," the young woman said cheerily, with a smile on her face, which was slightly red from the heat of the oven and the steam rising from the various pots.
"Let me help you," Liv said, reaching for an apron so that she could muck in with the cooking.
"Oh, no m'am," the other woman shook her head stubbornly, "That's what I'm here for, the grunt work. You shouldn't be serving meals, not when you're the proprietor."
"But I've been serving the guests since their arrival," Olive replied with a laugh, "They'll think me bone idle if I suddenly sit down at the table."
