“I have more than enough to meet our needs, sir,” Browning replied with a polite nod. “I had best be off. I have lingered too long already.” He departed with Jameson, no doubt heading to the kitchens to slip out through the mews unnoticed.
“Has he truly been watching us for a week?” Elizabeth asked, wonder in her voice.
“He has. Browning is a master at avoiding detection. I have entrusted him with delicate matters in the past, and he has never failed me. And he is no rogue, either, which recommends him further. A thief will betray his employer when it suits him.” Darcy knew from experience that a man who would raise a weapon against an innocent woman could not be trusted to keep faith with anyone.
They remained at Montrose House the rest of the day. The next morning, at Darcy’s encouragement, Elizabeth and the dowager resumed their usual activities. His dear betrothed did so with courage, though Darcy could see that she concealed her fear for her grandmother’s sake.
I can only pray this is over soon,he thought, drawing Elizabeth a little nearer as they walked down Bond Street.
Though their engagement had not been formally announced, word had already begun to circulate. Whispers reached their ears from more than one quarter of theton,suggesting a match was in the making. The gentlemen at Darcy’s club hounded him whenever he appeared, so he was determined to stay away for the present. Richard reported that the betting books were filled with wagers, and more than one fellow had called Darcy a fortunate dog. All wondered how he had managed to win thesuo jureCountess of Montrose before anyone knew she existed. He would tell the tale someday—once the danger had passed.
Jarvis
Jarvis tugged at the too-tight stolen livery, and took up a post beside a wall, doing his best to appear as though he belonged. His scruffy beard was gone—he had even bathed. His once-greasy hair had been slicked back and hidden beneath a powdered wig. White gloves covered his hands, and he wore shoes so impractical he could hardly walk in them. Still, he stood across the street from Montrose House, the picture of a liveried servant.
After lying low for several days, he had devised a new approach. One more day, and he had secured all he required. Now he waited for information. Had the ladies resumed their habits? Or were they cowering in their grand mansion, hoping he had vanished? They had hired additional guards, as far as he could tell.Fools.
A group of giggling girls passed by, trailed by a stern woman and a footman. Then came a pair of gentlemen and a dog. He waited. Time dragged. At last, two maids appeared, baskets in hand, chattering freely as they walked—just what he had hoped for.
“They be leaving London for a few days,” one said. “I’ll be able to go home and see Mother.”
The second maid scowled. “Old Lady Montrose gave you permission, did she? I never thought to ’ear it from her. That ’ouse ain’t got no joy. You ain’tnever been given leave before.”
“‘Tis much better now,” the first insisted. “What with the new young lady, Madam seems quite ’appy.”
“If you say so. When’re they goin’?”
The first maid smiled. “First of March. They’ll be gone for a week or somethin’. I have two days’ leave before I’m to return.”
“Mama will be excited. I shall see if I can change my ’alf day. Then we might surprise ’er together.”
Their voices faded, and Jarvis forced himself to remain still. He could not afford to leave his post. It would draw the wrong sort of notice. After a quarter of an hour, he glanced at hisborrowedwatch, then waited five more minutes for the hour to strike. At last, he stepped away from his station and slipped through a garden gate he had unlocked earlier. It need only appear that he returned to the house.
Once in the shelter of the garden, which was still far too cold this time of year for its occupants, he stripped off the livery and shoved the garments into a burlap sack. The powdered wig came next. He had half a mind to grind it into the dirt, but prudence prevailed; it, too, went into the bag, just in case it was needed. He freed his hair from the tie and tousled it to restore his usual appearance. Then he watched the street, waiting for a chance to slip away unnoticed.
Two days later, Jarvis walked the North Road with a sack over his shoulder, scouting for a place to lie in wait. His rifle had been stashed beneath a hedgerow, the spot marked by a discreet‘X’carved into a tree—visible to only him.
At length, he came upon a broad oak near the roadside and studied it. The trunk was solid, the branches thick and sturdy. Though bare of leaves, it would provide ample concealment. His coarse clothing, all brown and gray, would blend with bark and shadow. It was the perfect vantage from which to carry out his evil doings.
Jarvis retrieved the rifle and climbed into the tree. The night would belong, but he needed to be in position before the Montrose carriage passed. The shot would prove more difficult than the one he had taken outside Montrose House, and he cursed his luck. Never before had his aim failed him. Now, it must not. If he judged it well, he could put a bullet through a carriage window—and if fortune smiled, he might strike Darcy or the old woman as well, reloading whilst they screamed.
He drew a blanket from his sack and wrapped it around his shoulders. His greatcoat provided some warmth, but the blanket helped to stave off the cold. Closing his eyes, he settled back against the tree and tried to rest until his moment came.
Morning arrived swiftly. At first light, Jarvis climbed into position. The rifle rested neatly between a forked branch, angled toward the road. At last, the carriage appeared in the distance. Closing one eye, he squinted down the barrel and waited—steady and still. He held his breath.
A sudden crack rang out—and a sharp bolt of pain shot through his hand. He looked down, staring in disbelief as a patch of red bloomed across his knuckles.What had happened?Dazed and with pain surging through his arm, he scrambled down the rear side of the tree—only to be struck from behind. He hit the ground hard, his arms wrenched back, and a hood thrown over his head. Panic surged through him, and he wondered what he had done to upset his employers.
“Not a word,” someone growled in his ear. Rough hands hauled him to his feet and dragged him away. A carriage door opened, and he was thrown inside without ceremony. No one spoke as the door was closed. A rap on the roof and the conveyance began to move.
“Keep him there,” the first voice commanded.
“Should have locked him in the boot,” growled another. “The floor’s too good for the likes of him.”
A boot pressed down between his shoulders, resting there as though he were a footrest. “I do not believe our friend will give us any trouble,” the first man replied. “But if he does, his lot will be worse when we arrive.”
Jarvis clenched his jaw. He would escape—he must. He would bide his time until they neared their destination—and then he would find a way out.
Chapter Thirty-One
