“Sir and ma’am will do, since you’re a barbarian and aren’t expected to know any better.”
Whenever Elizabeth walked into the immense black-and-white-tiled entranceway of Darlington Hall with its soaring ceiling and huge chandelier, only belatedly electrified, she felt she should be wearing a corset and a dozen petticoats beneath a velvet gown that weighed a couple of stone. Benbett, the Palmer butler since before she was born, was there to greet them when she and Rome walked in through the giant double doors. He gave her a deep bow and stoically accepted her enthusiastic hug.
He said to the strapping young man standing off to his left, “Jeffrey, see to Lady Elizabeth’s luggage. And the gentleman’s.”
Benbett’s grand old voice sounded wonderful, and she couldn’t help it, she grinned shamelessly and hugged his stiff self again. She turned in a circle, looking up at the scores of large oil paintings that covered the pale cream walls as well as those marching up the wall of the huge staircase, all paintings she’d studied and copied since she was a child. With Benbett all stiff and formal, regarding her with indulgence now, surrounded by the gilt and glamour of ages past, she felt a familiar stirring, a recognition in the deepest part of her—she finally felt like she was home again.
“Benbett, this is Special Agent Roman Foxe from the FBI in the States. He’s here to keep me safe.”
Benbett gave him a short bow and a slight smile. “Special Agent Foxe, welcome to Darlington Hall. Allow me on behalf of all the staff to thank you for protecting Lady Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s mother came running out of the drawing room, calling her name. Elizabeth met her in the hallway, hugged herclose, kissed her cheek. She pulled back, studied her mother’s beloved face, saw shadows under her eyes, but saw too the beautiful smile. “It’s so wonderful to see you! Do you promise me you are all right? Mom, I’m so sorry this happened to you, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry.”
Lady Millicent took in her daughter’s face, so much like hers when she’d been Elizabeth’s age. “Yes, love, I’m just fine today. Your fault? Don’t be foolish, or I’ll have to deny you your biscuit and send you to bed early without your tea. Yes, it was frightening and such a shock, when those horrible men tried to kidnap me right at our gate, but it’s over now and I’m fine.”
Millicent hugged her again. “You came so quickly. Thank you, darling, thank you. It has seemed so long, these three months you were away with that Hurley Janklov fellow learning how to defend yourself. I understand, I really do. I wanted you to be safe, and you didn’t want to be helpless. But now you’re back, and I’m so proud of you. And I see you brought along this handsome young man who’s been looking after you.”
Elizabeth introduced Rome, watched her mother study him, then the smile and the handshake, all so discreet and proper she wanted to laugh. Then she looked over her mother’s head and saw her father standing tall and straight in the doorway of the formal drawing room, looking the perfect aristocrat as always, his arms crossed over his chest, wearing a bespoke gray suit, a lovely pale gray silk shirt, and a dark blue tie. He smiled at her, the special smile he’d reserved for her since she was a child. She took a running start and jumped into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist. He whirled her around just as he had when she’d been seven years old. She breathed in the woodsy outdoor scent of his cologne, which she remembered from her earliest years.
He kissed her ear, set her down, kept her hands in his. “My beautiful girl, I heard what your mother said to you, and she’s right in every way. We are proud of you, and you are in no wayto blame for anything. Looking at you is like seeing Millicent again so many years ago. I’m not sure you should have come, but I’m very glad you did.” He touched his forehead to hers. “We’ll get through this nonsense, all of us together.”
“Dad, they went after Mother because they knew they couldn’t get to me, not with Rome and the FBI guarding me.”
Sebastian looked behind her to Rome, tall, fit, too good looking surely for a federal agent. He met Rome’s eyes, saw intelligence and depth. This man was not only tough and trained, he was a thinker, and that was good. “So you are Special Agent Foxe, as I believe you FBI agents are styled. You’re the fellow who’s been looking after my daughter since she finished with Janklov. I assume you are armed?”
Rome wondered if he should bow and was relieved when Elizabeth’s father extended his hand. He said, “That’s right, sir, I was granted that privilege by Mr. Eiserly of MI5. And both of you are right to be proud of her.” He looked at her mother, then back to her father, deepened his voice. “I didn’t know her before, but now, I can tell you she can be quite fierce, something of an English Amazon.” Rome watched her father take in his words, very aware he’d been studied and weighed, to good account, he hoped. He felt the pull of the man, the charisma bred into his bones. Elizabeth’s mother was still so happy to see her daughter she was nearly dancing. He agreed with her father, his wife seemed the picture of what Elizabeth might look like in twenty-five years. Elizabeth had her father’s height, but her features carried her mother’s stamp—blond hair, blue eyes, and a lovely English complexion.
Millicent led them into the formal drawing room usually used only when they were entertaining. “Please, Special Agent Foxe, do sit down. I’ll ring for tea. Well, no need, Benbett is nearby, he always knows exactly what is needed before I do.”
Rome felt like he’d been plunked down in Downton Abbey, dozens of paintings on the walls, so much incredible woodwork,fat cherubs staring down at him from the ceiling. He and Elizabeth sat side by side on an elegant pale blue velvet sofa that looked as old as the Pilgrims. He gazed out the eighteen-foot windows that framed distant tree-covered hills and valleys dotted with small lakes. The water looked nearly violet in the dying light. To his jet-lagged eyes, it all looked barely real, like an impressionist painting. Yard upon yard of gold brocade was looped back beside the windows to let in the last of the late afternoon light. He wondered how much they weighed, and how many hands it required to take them down when they needed cleaning. He was grateful when Lady Millicent placed a cup of black coffee, not tea, in his hands. He tasted it, found it weak, the taste strange to his American palate, and discreetly set the saucer on an end table next to a century-old Tiffany lamp.
Besides tea and coffee, there was a pile of pastries still warm from the oven. Rome gladly accepted a slice of some sort of heavy yellow cake with raspberries, obviously made in the Downton Abbey kitchen.
It took only a slight nod from his lordship for Benbett to pour Rome a finger of whiskey in a Baccarat crystal glass. How did he know? It didn’t matter, Rome was grateful. He took a sip and realized he was drinking a whiskey probably as old as the Declaration of Independence.
Sebastian said, “We have some time to relax and chat before dining, say in half an hour?” He smiled at his wife, picked up her white hand, squeezed it. Elizabeth blinked. Had her leaving, and his wife being nearly taken from him, changed him? Or had it happened slowly, and she hadn’t realized it before she’d left? Her father said with obvious pride, “First off, let me say your mother knew what to do. She pressed that distress button immediately. The sound of it made me rise straight out of my chair in the study, it was so loud. The police were here in a short time, scared the culprits off. If they’d been any closerthe dogs would have taken them down. It’s a pity they weren’t caught.”
Millicent said, “It was thanks to your brother, Elizabeth. Tommy insisted we install the distress button in the Bentley. He was worried for me after what happened to you, and with you out of the country, he said he didn’t want to take any chances with me.”
At her mother’s open mention of Tommy’s name, Elizabeth shot a look at her father. His expression remained remote. He shrugged. “Your mother assures me Tommy is not presently using cocaine, that he’s been clean for over three months. She visits him a few times a week, and that is how, Deputy Director Eiserly told us, the men who attacked her knew where she’d be. It was only a matter of following her discreetly back to Darlington Hall. It was a filthy night and that helped them.”
Was this really true? Tommy hadn’t used for three months? Had it taken her leaving England to make Tommy realize his life was in the crapper and he had to change it? It was a depressing thought. She prayed it was true. She wondered if her father was considering bringing Tommy back into the family, but now wasn’t the time to ask him.
Benbett ushered them into the small family dining room with a beautiful walnut table with twelve exquisite chairs set around it. Millicent whispered to Rome that Cook had made her specialty, French onion soup. When a bowl was set in front of him he breathed in, tasted, and wished he could skip the rest of the meal and eat, say, six more bowls. When he finished, Benbett was at his elbow with another bowl of the amazing soup.
Over the stuffed pork and asparagus, Sebastian said, “I spoke twice today, before you arrived, with Mr. Eiserly of JTAC about what all this might mean, who might be responsible, and why. Well, at least about what he suspects, since there’s been so littletime to investigate what happened last night. He believes, and your mother and I agree with him, the two attempts on your life you’ve told us of near Washington were no doubt planned by that man Ammar Aboud, but whatever his reasons, they originated here in England, no question, now that Millicent has been attacked as well. Mr. Eiserly told me Aboud’s many holdings in Syria have suffered under the sanctions and possibly his motive is to force me to get them removed, which isn’t at all realistic. Aboud isn’t stupid. He must know mine was far from the only hand involved in setting the sanctions, that I can hardly simply revoke them myself. Eiserly agreed.”
He paused. “The question we face is who here in England is working with Aboud, perhaps directing him, and why.”
Rome set down his fork. “Sir, I must be blunt. The attempts on Elizabeth in the United States as well as the ones here in England—they didn’t seem to want to take her, like Lady Millicent, but to kill her. If she was meant to be killed, we must look elsewhere for a motive for Ammar Aboud’s involvement, because with her death, there would be no leverage. Eiserly no doubt told you the FBI did a complete search of Aboud’s office, his house, his stables. Nothing was found. There’s been endless discussion about whether Aboud’s involvement was out of revenge for Samir Basara’s death. Mr. Eiserly looked into connections and found evidence Ammar Aboud and Samir Basara were acquainted, but bosom friends? Apparently not. More than that we don’t know yet.”
Elizabeth sat listening quietly. It was still hard for her to accept someone wanted her dead so badly. Beyond that, her brain was fogged with jet lag. She was exhausted and imagined Rome was as well.
It was ten o’clock before she and Rome said good night to her parents and Elizabeth escorted Rome up the magnificent central staircase to a large bedroom with elaborate molding andwallpapered with Dutch country scenes. He eyed the antique four-poster bed and armoire that looked centuries old.
“Rome, Benbett told me Cranford hung your clothes in the armoire. Your folding clothes are in the drawers.”
He drew her into his arms, kissed her nose. “That’s all well and good, but where is the chamber pot and the copper tub?” He could picture it, a tub set in front of the Carrara marble fireplace a century before, filled with hot water hauled up by maids from the kitchen.
