“I’m sure he will return when it suits him.” Lord Taylor’s jaw stiffened. “The baron is new to London. He is entirely unknown to us. He was not invited but came with Lord Strathairn. We cannot say if this is his usual behavior.”
Genevieve let out a little huff. “My brother has impeccable manners.”
“But of course he has, Your Grace,” Lady Taylor said hastily, with an annoyed look at her husband. “Perhaps some tea?” Her hand hovered over the bell.
“No, merci. We must continue our search,” the duchess said, rising.
Lord and Lady Taylor rose with obvious relief. Lady Taylor patted the lace cap that covered most of her iron-gray hair. “It is to be hoped that the baron returns very soon to lay this mystery to rest. We wouldn’t wish any scandal to attach itself to us, especially with our daughter’s season upon us.”
“There is little point inquiring of the neighbors, as Lord Strathairn has been before us,” Hetty said, when they found themselves out in the street.
The duchess having agreed, they entered the coach. Hetty wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the tremor in her arms. Rational possibilities had deserted her.
The duchess told the coachman to stop at the farrier’s in the village. The blast of the furnace greeted them when they entered the forge. The solidly built man pushed his cap back with a finger. “The night of the Taylor’s ball? Mostly fancy carriages and their liveried grooms. There was two men in their cups. So many shady coves roam the heath. The Bow Street boys often bring bodies down from there.”
Hetty shivered. “Tell us everything, even the smallest details could be important.”
“I told ’is lordship who called earlier. When I was walking ’ome down Hampstead Road, I passed these two coves. One was lugging the other. Said ’e was drunk when I inquired. Toffs they were, probably been to the ball, so’s I minded me own business. ’E bundled the drunker one into a curricle and drove off fast. But then they’s always drive fast, don’ they.”
Hetty grasped the man’s sleeve. “What did they look like?”
“No need to rush me, miss. I was gettin’ to that.” He shook off her hand and took a step back. “Didn’t see their faces. Similar in size. Tall and dark-haired, both of ’em.”
Hetty clutched her hands, finding cold sweat on her palms. “But which way did they go?”
“Took the north west road, but from there, who’s to say?”
“Could it have been Guy? He might have been hurt.” Hetty allowed the footman to assist her into the coach. “But who would the other man be?”
“Lord Strathairn’s residence,” Genevieve instructed the coachman.
*
With an eyeon Vincent, Guy ate the bread, sausage, and cheese. The pistol had never wavered in his brother’s hand. If Guy managed to escape, would he be able to find his way through the labyrinth of tunnels before Vincent found him? Guy was no longer under any delusion about what his brother was capable of. Vincent would shoot him down in cold blood.
“Do you remember your childhood, Vincent? The happy times when we swam in the lake and fought duels with wooden swords?”
“Oui. The apple fights in the orchard. And that time I set fire to Genevieve’s doll’s hair.” He laughed and shook his head. “She cried and cried.”
As the memories came, they shared them, lapsing into their native tongue. As Guy indulged his brother, the hope flickered to life that he could convince him to give up his awful plan.
“You can’t do this, Vincent. Don’t you see? We’ll enjoy a good life, here. Together.”
Vincent frowned. “This changes nothing. I’ve burned my bridges.” When he reverted to English, his persona changed. He became more intent on his purpose. Guy didn’t know this man and was forced to accept that Vincent was committed to his wicked plan. The pain and the hurt of it tore through him as if he’d already been shot.
His thoughts returned to a means of escape. If he was able to find his way to the room under the solar, he’d make for his chamber where he kept a brace of pistols. It was an enticing thought. Then they would be on equal terms, although he doubted he could shoot Vincent if it came to that.
“Do you have ale?”
Vincent nodded. He disappeared into the next room and soon returned with a tankard. As he put it down on the table, Guy jumped up. He threw the plate of food at Vincent’s head.
Startled, Vincent put his hand to his head, dropping the pistol, and Guy rushed him. He punched his brother’s solar plexus and met hard muscle. Vincent fell to his knees and groped for the pistol which had skidded under the table.
Guy kicked Vincent’s rear end and knocked him flat to the floor.
“Bastard!” Vincent cried, scrabbling for the gun. He was between Guy and the weapon and would reach it first.
Guy turned and bolted through the door into another large storeroom. Vincent had made a bed for himself there. Through another door, beyond it, he found himself in a dim rock-walled tunnel where only one candle flickered in a wall sconce. He fled down it. When the tunnel branched into two, he didn’t hesitate, he took the right fork. Around a corner, he skidded to a halt at a dead end. This didn’t make sense. It must lead somewhere. If this led into the room below the solar where was the door? Cursing at finding himself cornered, Guy ran his hands feverishly over the wall as he searched for any protrusion. There was no time to retrace his steps to the other passage which would surely lead him to the garden. Somewhere behind him came the rumble of his brother’s untroubled laughter.
