Page 49 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“You never know a man’s true mettle until he’s backed into a corner,” James shrugged. “We must find him before he makes good his escape.”
“I doubt he’ll attempt it,” Lord Crabb replied. “Silencing Mrs Pinnock is the lazy man’s solution to a difficulty—and I fancy Henderson prefers his comforts too well to risk flight.”
“True,” James agreed. “Though I’d prefer he was found sooner rather than later.”
“Are we organising a search party? Count me in.”
The Earl of Ashford—a tall, dark, and usually forbidding man—wore a look of faint distress as he joined their party.
“Don’t want to stay for another dance, Ashford?” Crabb commented wryly, noting the earl’s vague air of desperation.
“Would that I was permitted to dance,” he sighed. “I let slip to Mrs Mifford that I have a bachelor cousin and she has been berating me all evening for hiding a male in need of a wife. I’ve had to promise to invite him for Twelfth Night just to get away from her.”
“She does have a gift for matchmaking,” James offered, unable to keep the smile from his lips as he thought of Miss Bridges.
The earl and Lord Crabb noted it, exchanging an amused glance between them.
“Indeed she does,” Lord Deverell agreed placidly. “I recall experiencing a similar affection when she determined I ought to marry Lady Deverell. That affection waned somewhat when I discovered that she now expects me to supply bachelors as fodder for her endless crusade. But enough of matrimony—who is it we are hunting?”
“A murderer,” the viscount answered, his tone instantly grave. He quickly explained Henderson’s role in both Sir Ambrose’s demise and Mrs Pinnock’s fall, to the evident astonishment of Lord Deverell.
“I didn’t think the lad had it in him,” the earl commented, echoing Lord Crabb’s earlier words.
“Well, he does,” James said grimly, nodding toward the group of men now carrying Mrs Pinnock to the exit. They were trailed by a ghost-like Miss Vale, who was being consoled by Mrs Canards—though James suspected her interest lay more in voyeurism than altruism.
As the bearers disappeared through the door, a slow trickle of revelers began to descend the stairs. The assembly, James realised, had come to its end.
“We’d best to it,” Lord Deverell sighed, as the foyer began to fill with people. “We should each round up as many men as we can, then we’ll divide into parties.”
“A sound plan,” Crabb agreed—then, catching sight of his wife, flushed. “Er—I’ll just let Jane know what’s afoot.”
“And I must inform Sarah and see her safely home,” the earl added, anxiously scanning the crowd for his wife.
And James? He realised, with a jolt, that he too had someone he cared for, someone who might fret if he vanished without word…
“Miss Bridges,” he called, as he sighted Flora descending the stairs. She was accompanied by a red-haired girl, whose gaze dropped to her feet as he strode toward them. The maid, James guessed.
“What happened?” Flora asked, as James ushered them both toward the door.
In a low voice, he quickly explained that Mrs Pinnock’s fall had not been accidental and the need to find Henderson quickly.
“We’re going to set up a search party,” James finished.
“I could help?” Flora offered.
“You can help,” James agreed, allowing himself a smile. “By returning straight home and staying out of harm’s way. I couldnot stand if anything were to happen to you—Henderson is much more dangerous than we had ever assumed.”
By now they had reached the gig, parked a short way down from The Ring. James assisted Helen up first, steadying her as she climbed. Then he turned back, and for a moment lingered with Flora in the shadow of the lantern light.
“If Henderson is dangerous, then I insist you take this,” she said, as she rummaged through her reticule. She drew out something and pressed it into James’ hand.
“Rosemary,” she explained. “For protection. I know you’ll think it silly—”
“I shall wear it close to my heart,” James cut her off, his voice rougher than he intended. He would not let her apologise for what was, to him, the most touching gift he had ever received—the concern of the woman he loved.
He took her hand for a moment, hoping his eyes might convey all the words he dared not speak.
“If there is any news, I’ll ride out to Brackenfield,” he promised, wondering if she would rebuke him.
