Harriet knew better than to trust Nana’s latest bout of timidity. She was not taking any more chances. If the innkeeper hadn’t recognized the old duchess and alerted Sidmouth, her frail grandmother could have been at the mercy of the wintery Cornwall weather, or thieves who frequented stage routes. She shuddered at the thought and kept walking toward the lodge’s kitchen. A hot cup of tea with a bit of something to fortify her would be just the thing.
She chafed at the need to argue with Sidmouth after his pronouncements earlier that evening when he’d finally returned with Nana. He was furious and actually suggested having her restrained in her bed. Harriet wiped away a tear at the corner of her eye at the thought of Nana spending her days as a prisoner in her own home.
She’d have to explain her grandmother’s earlier absence to Nicholas in the morning. Perhaps he could keep her company reciting passages from plays to occupy her time and make her feel as though she were helping him. Unfortunately, her son was the worst caretaker of all for her spirited grandmother, because he could deny her nothing, including the frequent flights of fancy that sent her gallivanting about the countryside.
Harriet did agree with Sidmouth on one thing. The sturdy footman sent for from Bocollyn House and now outside Nana’s door was a good idea. He was tasked with making sure the elderly, former duchess did not cross the threshold for any reason, no matter what fanciful tale she spun.
Once they were settledaround the old, battered kitchen table with the Duke of Sidmouth, Richard broached the subject he and Thorne had been hashing over for the last few days.
“Your Grace, I know you’re still in a lather over having to head to the next coach stop east of Falmouth to retrieve your grandmother, but we’ve come up with a suggestion to keep her happy and safe at the lodge while giving Nicholas an outlet for polishing his speech.
Sidmouth quirked an eyebrow, but nodded for him to continue.
“There is a man who appears frequently in Cornish theatres, and especially in Falmouth, who serves as an itinerant actor here in the west country to be near his family. He’s a Haitian-American who spent a number of years making his fortune in Germany and Russia. He once performed ‘Lear’ in St. Petersburg. His name’s Junius Algernon.”
Thorne continued the tale. “Years ago, when I patrolled the Med with then Captain Pellew, we saw him in a production of ‘Othello’ in Mahon. Played a hell of a Moor. Pellew was so taken with him, he pressed him aboard his ship after the production.”
“I expect the man wasn’t too happy being pulled away from the life he knew like that.” Sidmouth downed his first glass of brandy and sucked in sharply with his mouth, a grimace on his face.
“Yes, well, hewasa bit nettled when he woke up the next morning aboard a British ship headed back to Spithead.”
“And?”
“Oh, he was up in the boughs for a few days, but then he settled down and well entertained the crew for the rest of the trip home. Once Pellew brought him back here, he was the toast of the town in Falmouth for a while, gave acting lessons, met a Falmouth girl, and settled down to family life. Now, he gives performances all along the Cornish coast, but he’s getting a bit up there in years, like me. I expect he’d be happy to find a permanent position nearby.”
“Is there a reason you’re telling me this charming little fable, Captain?” Sidmouth poured himself another healthy portion of brandy.
Richard continued for Thorne. “We thought we might go into town to see him this week. He’s staging ‘Othello’ again in Falmouth.”
“And of course, you two would need to borrow my carriage at the lodge?”
“Well, we hadn’t got that far with planning, but yes, that would be a generous offer, and then perhaps we could take Lady Blandford and Nicholas as well.” Richard sipped at his first glass of brandy, still nearly as full as it had been when poured. He needed to keep his wits about him if Sidmouth decided to try to kill him.
“We thought perhaps if you were to hire Mr. Algernon, he could set up a small theatre at the lodge, or at Bocollyn House.” Richard sucked in a deep breath and waited to be punched into oblivion by Sidmouth’s massive fists. “And then, your grandmother would have a place to star in her own productions instead of running off to perform at the local taverns.”
Thorne jumped in to help when Richard’s voice trailed off at the end, in response to the ruddy glare beginning to form on Sidmouth’s face. “And Nicholas. He’s a fine lad with a wonderful voice. He could keep up his speaking practice to smooth over those, er, hesitations in his speech. He knows a lot of scenes from Shakespeare’s plays already.”
“When is this actor’s next performance?” The duke was still glowering, but Richard grabbed on to a sliver of hope. After all, he hadn’t thumped both of them for making such an audacious suggestion.
“Friday night. I’ll let Lady Blandford know.”
“You, you red-jacketed romancer…you stay away from Lady Blandford. I’ll discuss your idea with her and let her be the one to decide if this would be a good experience for Nana and Nicholas.”
Richard wisely went silent and simply nodded his head in agreement. Christ, but Harriet’s cousin was on a hair trigger.
“Then it’s settled. Now, can we please get on with paying homage to this fine brandy?” He lifted the bottle and poured another finger-full into everyone’s glass.
Richard could have swornthey’d not drunk enough to consume all the brandy from the dark container, but indeed, the empty bottle now stared at them accusingly from the middle of the battered wooden table in Rose Cottage.
“Did you drink all thas brandy?” Sidmouth crooked an accusatory finger at him and Thorne, at least in the general vicinity of where they were sitting.
With a sinking feeling, Richard realized he couldn’t let the already foxed duke wander down the hill toward the lodge in the middle of a blustery, dead cold night. One wrong step when he reached the bluffs before the turn to the safety of the lodge, and over the cliff he’d go. Richard saw with frightening clarity who would be blamed when the remains of the Duke of Sidmouth were spotted in the morning.
Within hours, the magistrate would have the “strange Marine” at Bocollyn Lodge taken into custody for questioning. He knew what would inevitably follow and refused to allow the resulting whirlwind of gossip to destroy Lady Blandford.
After Sidmouth tried several times to stand on unsteady feet, Captain Thorne slanted Richard a look.
“Yes, dammit, yes. I’ll see the obnoxious lug to his bed at the lodge.”
