Page 35 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
It was an odd choice of words. Jacob had felt more solid and sure of his footing aboard any ship than he ever had at Ravencliff. “You speak with boldness, sirrah,” Jacob growled, making as if to push past them again.
To his surprise, not a man yielded. Jacob found his hand seeking out his pistol and for a single heart-wrenching moment he wondered what show of force they would use to stop him. He could only shoot one before they were all upon him.
“What you have to say is that important?” he asked, fastening his eyes on Tom, whose face had gone pale.
“Aye, Your Grace.”
Jacob’s hand moved away from the pistol. Tom nodded at the rest, and in the visible relaxation of arms that followed, Jacob realized that he was not the only man who had been armed.
“You are all clearly mad,” he muttered, and gestured for them to step into the parlor which was opposite his study. He wasn’t sure but he might have heard a mumbled agreement among the dozen men who followed him.
He turned and waited for them to come fully into the room before speaking. “You will tell me what this is concerning and be quick about it.”
“The girl,” Tom said without preamble. “I saw her as she left your office, her face sore bruised. She was trying not to cry, but fled past me so fast I cannot be sure. Someone has hurt her badly, and not for the first time, unless I miss my guess.”
“The cur!” Jacob made as if to go, but Tom was quicker. “Do you not think it is a bit of a coincidence that she was discovered in the moment that she was? Or that now she is to be removed from the estate in disgrace?”
“What do you know of it? I have only just been informed of the matter myself,” Jacob burst out. “I have told you nothing, and unless you have been listening at doors then…” He stared at the men a long moment and to his chagrin found the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Perhaps I should have expected as much from an assemblage of spies. You might as well tell me what you know.”
Tom exchanged glances with the others. “Little enough. I enlisted the men after speaking to you the other day. They worked with great care so as not to arouse suspicion.”
“I had thought that you all had a rather sudden interest in riding out each morning. I expect there has been a certain amount of investigation carried out on these excursions?”
“We are aware of a plot, Your Grace,” said one of the men quietly. “Though we have not the full nature of it.”
“’Tis connected to that blasted ball,” Jacob said, pacing shortly around the room, feeling the eyes of his men upon him. “And you chose to keep me in the dark until now?”
“We have only had vague suspicions until now,” Tom said, and the men murmured their agreement. “Something has changed in the last few hours, but we have not been able to ascertain just what. A trap has been sprung, and your Irish lass is right in the thick of it. We had thought to warn you of her, but now we are not so sure.”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose. “You think she is not part of it?”
“We know she is,” Tom corrected him. “That they would remove her from the household tells us her loyalties might be conflicted.”
“Or that she knows more than she realizes.” He glanced up toward the ceiling briefly as though he could see all the way to the servant’s quarters on the third floor if he did. “I expect she is safe enough within her own room. In the meantime, I was given the name of a stable hand, an Elias Moore.”
“We have met him,” Tom said with a glance at two of the men who looked somewhat shamefaced. “There might have been an altercation…”
Jacob looked hard at the two, noting for the first time the bruise upon Peter’s cheek, and the awkward way that Davy stood. “I daresay you have. Care to elaborate?”
“I tried to engage the chap in a…political discussion…to see where his loyalties lay,” Peter muttered while beside him Davy winced.
“He is part of the plot?”
“He is Irish,” muttered one of the men. “Is that not reason enough to fight?”
“I will not have that kind of talk aboard this ship!” Jacob snapped, then caught himself. “Er…”
“Understood,” the man said, as around him the others nodded. “This estate is as good as a ship to us, Your Grace.”
Jacob smiled grimly. “Then I would have you each to your posts. Tom, I want you with me. We need to talk to this Elias Moore.”
Chapter 26
There was an unusual amount of activity in the courtyard. It seemed that a tinker had arrived at the same moment that a man delivering grain had, the one wagon blocking the other in the narrow opening that led into the stable yard itself, with an argument ensuing over who had rite of first passage into the estate proper.
Both drivers were swearing mightily, with their carts pressed haphazardly against each other with little consideration for the horses, as Jacob and Tom approached.
“Your Grace, allow me to handle this,” Tom said, with a certain wicked gleam in his eye as he waded into the fray. Within minutes the matter was resolved, the farmer lying stretched out on the pavement with the tinker slung half over him.
