The following afternoon, however, Kate overheard part of a conversation between the earl and the captain of the coast guard, who had come to report on the search for the kidnapper. She had been sent downstairs by Lady Thelma to invite the earl to tea, and she stood politely in the great hall until Lord Barton should have time to turn to her.
Lord Barton had just been explaining to the captain that Nicholas Seyton perhaps bore a grudge at being forced to move away from the Abbey and perhaps had something to do with the kidnapping, which had clearly been designed for Lady Thelma. The theory was at least worth looking into, the earl had added, before nodding a gracious dismissal to the man and turning to Kate to ask what he could do for her.
Kate had decided before another hour had passed that she was going to have to seek out Mr. Seyton for herself. And quickly. The members of the coast guard doubtless knew what he looked like. He had lived in this house all his life. And he might be captured very easily if he did not know that he was being looked for. That blond hair was very distinctive. The foolish man should disguise it somehow.
The problem was, how was she going to get to that cottage? She could find it right enough, she was sure. But how was she to get away from the Abbey? She could not just don a pair of walking shoes, grab a maid as chaperon, and announce to all and sundry that she would see them later. It was even less possible to saddle a horse and ride into the horizon. It would have to be done at night. By stealth. Truth to tell, the idea rather appealed to Kate. Should she tell anyone? The servants were all his friends, Nicholas had said. But what if she chose to confide in the very one who was not? Most rules had exceptions, life had taught her.
She could confide in that rather lovable porter’s son who had lit her way to the house last evening, talking and giggling the whole way about “Master Nick” and “Master Jonathan,” who, the fellow was convinced, was going to come back one day. He would probably accompany her and make sure that she did not get lost. But then she would not be alone with Mr. Seyton, and it was very unlikely that he would kiss her in someone’s company. No, she would go alone.
The evening was irksome. The earl chose to keep London hours even in this remote county of England. They dined at eight and then adjourned to the drawing room for tea. They seemed to sit an eternity over that before deciding to move to the adjoining music room, which was graced with a pianoforte as well as a spinet, a harp, and a violin. Lady Thelma had once been told in her father’s hearing that she had a sweet voice. Kate could not entirely disagree, but did the fond papa really have to insist on nine different songs to prove the point on this of all evenings?
And certainly no one in his right senses could have ever told Lord Stoughton that he played sweetly on the violin. But he played it anyway. On any other occasion Kate might have amused herself by converting the violin in her imagination into a cat during a mating ritual, the neck its outstretched tail. On this occasion she was merely aware of the ormolu clock on the high marble mantelpiece ticking away the minutes. It was well after ten o’clock before a yawning Thelma announced that she was going to bed and her dutiful companion could rise to accompany her.
Lady Thelma had never called on her services during the night. Even so, Kate found her heart thumping uncomfortably as she slipped down the servants’ stairs half an hour later and out through a door that she hoped would remain unbolted until her return. How she would explain a nocturnal outing if she were caught, she did not know. She would invent some story of insomnia, she supposed.
Three and a half miles had seemed a short distance when it was covered on the back of a powerful horse the evening before. It seemed a very long way when one was on foot and not quite certain of the way at times. It took Kate well over an hour to reach the cottage, and then she was discouraged to discover that it was in darkness. But of course, it must be past midnight. Strangely, it was only then that the extreme awkwardness of the situation struck her. Until then she had seen only the excitement and intrigue of the visit. Now she realized its terrible impropriety.
She was almost ready to turn back until she remembered the words exchanged between Lord Barton and the captain of the coast guard. She must warn Mr. Seyton. Indeed, perhaps she was already too late. If the coast guard knew where he was staying-and they might, despite what he had said the evening before-they might have arrested him hours before. Perhaps she really would see him swing after all. The thought sent her scurrying through the gate into the little cobbled courtyard she remembered from the night before. She knocked loudly on the door before she could lose her courage.
She had to knock again before a faint light appeared in the window of the room above the door and a head wearing a tasseled nightcap peered down at her.
“Who be it?” asked a gruff masculine voice.
Kate craned her neck and looked up. “Please,” she said, “I wish to speak to Mr. Seyton.”
There was a short silence. “Ain’t no one by the name of Seyton here, wench,” the voice said.
“I was here last evening, do you not remember?” Kate asked. “It is imperative for his own safety that I see him. Please tell him that Mrs. Mannering must speak to him.” Kate was thoroughly thankful for the darkness, which hid her blush of mortification.
“Wait there, missus,” the man in the room above said, and the head was withdrawn and the light disappeared.
Kate stood there for what seemed like interminable minutes. How very foolish she was to have come. He would think her a trollop, no doubt, when she could have just as easily written a letter, and entrusted it to one of the more likely servants or to Josh Pickering. A lone nocturnal visit after midnight! She would die of mortification. She turned to leave before she could be dragged inside into the light.
But it was too late. She could hear a bolt drawn back behind the door, and the next moment the light from a lamp was shining out on her. The man before her was not wearing a nightcap, though his thin hair was very unruly. He wore breeches and an imperfectly buttoned shirt. The voice was the same as had come from above her several minutes before, though.
"Come inside, missus,” he said. “Master Nick’ll be down in a minute.”
Kate followed him along the passageway and to the room where she had been taken the night before. She tried to look dignified and unconcerned, as if paying calls on single gentlemen after midnight were a quite unexceptionable activity for a lady.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head graciously to the servant—no, he was not a servant, was he? He was the owner of this cottage. Kate blushed and was thankful that the man set the lamp down on the small table and left the room without looking at her.
Fortunately she did not have long to wait. Her stomach was too full of butterflies to enable her to sit and wait in patience. The door opened abruptly not more than two minutes after she had been left alone, and Nicholas Seyton came into the room.
“Oh,” she said, “you are wearing that ridiculous mask again. Do you sleep in it?”
“Perhaps you would like to discover the answer for yourself, Mrs. Mannering,” he said in tones that she found far from encouraging. “What in the name of all that is wonderful are you doing here, ma’am? And at this hour?”
Kate drew herself up to her full unimpressive height. “I am an employee, if you will remember, sir,” she said. “I may not pay calls at my leisure during the daytime. Only the nights I can call my own.”
He grinned suddenly. “There is no possible use in trying to imitate a dowager duchess, Katherine,” he said. “Your air of superior dignity is totally inappropriate in every way. Are you in the habit of paying calls on gentlemen at this hour of the night? And in such clothes? They are dreadfully unbecoming, are they not?”
Kate shrugged. “The uniform of my employment, I am afraid,” she said, untying the ribbons of her gray bonnet and tossing it onto the chair by the fireplace before sending her cloak to join it.
“Good God!” he said. “Your hair. Is that part of the uniform too? It is my cousin that insists on this? No doubt he fears that you will outshine Thelma. But do not despair, my dear. Your charms are shockingly obvious despite the heavy disguise. To what do I owe this visit, Katherine? I take it is not merely a social call?”
“By no means,” she said dramatically. “I came to warn you that your life is in danger.”
Unexpectedly he grinned. “I suppose half the country is in search of the highwayman,” he said.
