“My insinuations?” Hammond looked downright offended. “I am merely saying that Charlie is by far the more intelligent of the two of you.”
Charlie shrank back. He would never have dared to say anything of the sort. It wasn’t true to begin with. Jonathan was wise and clever, but he was also wounded and searching for a place to heal.
“I wish to leave here,” Jonathan said, tilting his chin up and standing firm. “Neither you nor anyone else will stop me.”
His words were bold, but they lost some of their effect as a commotion began in the hall. It grew louder by the moment as several voices started calling out indistinctly from deeper in the house.
Everyone in their room turned to stare at the doorway, and when the noise grew louder, Hammond broke away from them, marching away as if to see what was happening. Jonathan’s father rushed after him.
Charlie tugged on Jonathan’s hand, pointing to the window.
Jonathan glanced from Charlie to the window, then back over his shoulder to the hallway, where the shouts were louder still. He clamped his jaw tightly and made a frustrated sound.
“If something has happened to put us in even more danger, we have to know what it is,” he said, starting for the hall and pulling Charlie with him. “I won’t go into anything blindly ever again.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jonathan was well aware that forgoing the opportunity to run with Charlie in order to see what kind of distraction was growing louder by the moment in the hallway could be a terrible mistake. He had to know what was pressing enough to distract Hammond in his moment of revelation, which meant he and Charlie had to thrust themselves into danger once again.
The revelation of Hammond’s connection to Brutus and Titus was not something Jonathan had expected. But as he and Charlie rushed down the hall toward the front of the house behind the man, all the signs were there. They were in the ways Hammond carried himself, the way his shoulders were sloped, and in the shape of his mouth and nose once Jonathan could see it as they reached the light of the front hall.
Few things were more dangerous than being caught in the middle of warring brothers. Particularly when they were all, to one degree or another, criminals.
“Hammond! There you are,” Lord Frome was already in the front hall, along with Copeland, Dalhurst, and Thomas.
Three other men were there as well, including two of Frome’s footmen. Two of them could easily have been members of the shadowy guard that suddenly seemed to be surroundingFairford House and who had kept Jonathan and Charlie from returning straight to the house earlier. The third wore a constable’s uniform jacket over plain clothes, as if he’d been roused from his supper table or from the armchair where he’d been reading after that meal was finished.
“More guests?” the constable asked, grim-faced and already irritated.
Frome let out an equally aggravated huff and said, “Yes, more guests. This is Mr. Charles?—”
“Who are these men and what are they doing here?” Hammond cut Frome off before their host could give his full name.
The constable seemed to know when he was face to face with a person of interest. “I was just alerted to a kidnapping and a prisoner being held at Fairford House,” he addressed Hammond, sending a quick sideways look to Frome.
Frome answered with, “As I have told you, that is utter nonsense. There has been absolutely no reason for you to leave the comfort and safety of your home at an hour such as this to chase after silly tales told by frightened girls.”
Jonathan held his breath. So the pale-faced maid had roused the constable after all. He hoped she was safe now, though he feared for her life, given the fury that flashed in Hammond’s eyes. He was equally surprised that the constable had found whatever she’d told him credible enough to make his way directly to Fairford. He had to have come in a hurry, given the way he was dressed.
“My lord, this is not the first time suspicions have been raised about mischievous goings on here at Fairford,” the constable said, crossing his arms and fixing Frome with a flat stare. “Surely, you must know tales have been told by members of your household who have been dismissed.”
Frome stood straighter, looking indignant. “I would have thought that a man whose salary I pay would know better than to believe the ranting of young people who have been dismissed for dereliction of duty.”
“One or two stories, perhaps,” the constable said, clearly believing he had the upper hand. “When those numbers begin to grow, it becomes my duty to sort things.”
“There is nothing here to sort,” Copeland said with a nervous laugh. “This is merely a summertime gathering of friends. If, perhaps, we have been a bit silly, well, is that not the way of gentlemen with too much leisure to contend with?”
The constable stared at him as if Copeland were a rascal and not his better. He let out a breath, dropped his arms, then addressed Frome again.
“My men will search the house and grounds,” he said, gesturing for his men to split off and do just that. “You will kindly have all of your guests and household gather in a single room so that they might give account for themselves. I know who is purported to be here, and if they are not accounted for within half an hour, I will be forced to take further steps, my lord.”
“This is outrageous,” Frome said, puffed up and flustered, unable to do anything to stop the two men with the constable from going off to search his house. “I will not stand for this. If you do not cease this insult at once, I shall be forced to terminate your employment as constable.”
“You are welcome to try, my lord,” the constable said with a humorless grim. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have outbuildings to search.”
“I will not allow?—”
“Let the man go about his work,” Hammond stopped Frome from impeding the constable.
