A Season to Be Sinful Page 40

  Sherry nodded. He bent his head enough to take her mouth once more, then set her gently from him. “It’s done.” He drew her toward the library. The servants parted to let them pass. He glanced up at the landing and saw his godmother had disappeared. “Hurry,” he said conspiratorially. “By my reckoning, we have but a few minutes before they descend on us.”

  Lily did not resist his pull. She was happy to be pressed against the library door and have her lips given the full attention of his. It was only when he pointed to his desk that she balked. “Oh no. Not again.” Then she qualified that refusal. “Certainly not when we might expect an interruption at any moment.”

  Chuckling, Sherry hustled her across the room. He pointed to the letters Woodridge had penned. “Please. Take one.”

  Lily sat in Sherry’s chair while he hitched a hip on the edge of the desk. She accepted one of the documents and began reading. It was not what she had expected. “This is no resignation,” she said slowly as she continued to read. Her eyes darted to Sherry’s. “It’s a confession.”

  “Indeed. Woodridge is capable of writing his own resignation. I was not certain he could be counted on to manage the confession.” He showed her the other was a copy. “I will keep one here, but the second I will put in the hands of my solicitor.” He took both letters and rolled them into separate scrolls. Lily helped him seal both with wax, then he hid one behind a shelf of books on agrarian practices. The other he gave to Wolfe for immediate delivery to Sir Arthur Meredith.

  “Sir Arthur is your solicitor?” Lily asked.

  “Yes. Why does that surprise?” He was smiling slyly as he turned away from giving Wolfe his instructions. “Do you think I would tell just anyone about you and the boys?”

  Lily did not have the opportunity to respond. Lady Rivendale’s shrill voice called for their attention.

  “Sherry! Lily! Come quickly! I fear the scoundrels have fled!”

  Sixteen

  Sherry dashed into the hall, Lily on his heels. Lady Rivendale was hurrying down the stairs, one hand floating just above the banister in the event she needed it for balance. She was carrying a piece of paper in her other hand, waving it aloft like a flag of truce.

  “Here! You must see for yourself. You will not believe me otherwise.” She was out of breath and flush of face, and her eyes were bright with hovering tears. “I can hardly credit it myself.” She thrust the paper at Sherry, then sat down heavily on the stairs.

  Lily was immediately at her ladyship’s side, trying to attend her but also keeping an anxious eye on Sherry as he read the missive. “What do they say?”

  Sherry read,

  Do not fret yerselfs! We are safely hid with the villain. Midge says we can’t trust him to leave. He saw the bloke twice in Holborn talking to that other villain Ned Craven and no one trusted Ned even before he tried to murder our good friend Lord Sheridan. We will be back. We solemn promise.

  Dash Pinch Smijun

  Please do not cry ladies.

  Sighing heavily, Sherry passed the letter to Lily. “Penned by Master Dash again, but it bears the stamp of all three.”

  Lady Rivendale dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. She sniffed inelegantly. “What do they mean, Sherry? Who is this fellow Ned, and when did he attempt murder?”

  “You will have to explain it to her,” Sheridan told Lily. He motioned to one of the footmen who had come forward to offer assistance to Lady Rivendale. “Tell Kennerly I want Achilles brought around.” When the footman hurried off, Sherry hunkered down in front of Lily and his godmother. He took one of their hands in each of his, squeezing lightly. “I will bring them back all of a piece. You may depend upon it. Woodridge has no use for them. If he finds them, he will toss them and leave them by the side of the road. I’ll be their escort. It won’t hurt them to walk back.”

  Lady Rivendale gave Sherry a sharp look. “I do not think I like that. Perhaps you should take one or two of the grooms with you so the lads can ride. Better yet, Lily and I will follow in the carriage. The boys can return with us.”

  “No.” Sherry’s voice brooked no argument. “Don’t leave here. I will be responsible for the boys, but I would rather not have you on my mind as well.”

  Her ladyship’s shoulders sagged. She dabbed at her eyes again. “Oh, very well. You know what is best, I suppose.”

  Sherry thought his godmother sounded more resigned than confident. He felt the need to extract some sort of promise from Lily. “You, Lily? Do you think I know what’s best?”

  Looking up from the letter, Lily nodded. “I’ll wait here.”

  Easing his hands out of theirs, Sherry stood. “I must go. Woodridge cannot have gotten far. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Sherry?”

  He stopped and looked at Lily. “Yes?”

  “How is it possible that Midge saw the baron?”

  Sherry pointed to the letter in Lily’s hand. “He says Woodridge was in Holborn.”

  “I know. With Ned Craven. But Midge recognized him here. When did he see Woodridge? I know they were playing in the passage and heard rather more than they would admit, but I doubt Midge would be able to identify the baron by his voice alone. When did he see him?”

  “They came into the gallery while Woodridge and I were speaking.”

  “Is that right? They did not tell me that.”

  “I asked them not to.”

  It was as Lily had begun to suspect. “You enlisted their aid, didn’t you?”

  Sherry did not deny it. “Yes. They are good at what they do, and I needed their help.” He held up one hand to forestall the objections. “They were never in any danger.”

  “Can you be so certain they are not now?”

  “I did not enlist them to do this thing, Lily.”

  It was not precisely an answer to her question, but she realized it was not entirely fair of her to pose it in the first place. She wanted assurances from Sherry that he could not properly give. He’d tried to do so once, more for Lady Rivendale’s sake than her own. She should not press him a second time. “Go on. I am sorry for keeping you.”

  Sherry took a few steps toward Lily again, dropped a kiss on her mouth, then strode down the hall.

  Lady Rivendale watched him go, puzzled by his direction. “His horse is at the front,” she said. “Why is he going—”

  “His pistol, I imagine.”

  Her ladyship immediately stopped dabbing at her eyes and pressed her crumpled handkerchief against her mouth.

  Pinch caught up to the stone he’d been kicking and kicked it again. It skittered down the road some eight feet before it stopped. “I don’t see ’ow ye fell overboard,” he said to Midge for the third time.

  Midge had his own stone to kick. He caught it just right with the toe of his boot and sent it flying in a perfect arc. When it landed it was at least five feet beyond Pinch’s. “I told ye. It jest ’appened. I ain’t ’appy about it.”

  Dash’s pace never faltered. Having no interest in kicking a stone all the way back to Granville Hall, he was able to keep his head up and his eyes on the ribbon of road in front of them. “’E ’ad an itch,” he told Pinch. “’E let go of the ropes to scratch it, and then—” Dash shrugged. “Well, ye know wot ’appened then.”

  “Ye ’ad an itch?” Pinch stopped in his tracks. “I should kick ye back to Granville ’All instead of this stone. It ’as more sense.”

  “It was me balls. I ’ad to scratch.”

  “Oh, well, as long as it was yer balls.”

  Midge shied away when Pinch raised his hand as though he meant to strike.

  “Stop it,” Dash told them. “It’s done. Anyway, ’ere comes ’is lordship an ’e’s not likely to be in a forgivin’ frame of mind.”

  Pinch looked up and saw Sherry’s approach. “Wot makes ye think that?”

  “’E’s got no ’orses wi’ ’im, now does ’e? We’re walkin’, lads.”

  “We’re already walkin’,” Midge said.

  “Sure w
e are, but we only ’ad Pinch to yammer at us. In case ye ’adn’t noticed, when it comes to givin’ us a piece of ’is mind, ’is lordship ’as a generous nature.”

  Pinch and Midge sighed heavily, in agreement for the first time since they’d had to abandon the baron’s carriage.

  Sherry reined in his mount several yards in front of the boys and waited for them to catch up. “Hello,” he said pleasantly, turning Achilles around as the scoundrels filed past. “I must say, I was not in expectation of crossing your path quite so soon. What happened?”

  Pinch threw up his hands, his lip curled in disgust. “Midge ’ere ’ad to scratch ’is balls.”

  Sherry’s dark eyebrows rose in tandem. “Really? That sounds rather like the end of the tale. I should like to hear it from the beginning.”

  The scoundrels began talking at once.

  Lily found Sherry and Lady Rivendale in the music salon. In a reversal of the usual practice, her ladyship was sitting at the pianoforte and Sherry was the appreciative audience. Lily joined him on the chaise, but when Lady Rivendale realized it was no longer only Sherry listening, she stopped playing abruptly and turned away from the keys.

  “Oh, please,” Lily said. “Don’t stop. I should like to hear more.”

  “As would I.” Lady Rivendale looked pointedly at her godson. “Well, Sherry? Lily is returned, the boys are tucked in, and we are waiting to hear the whole of it.” She glanced at Lily. “Unless the lads shared it all with you.”

  “No,” she said. “I did not demand they make another explanation. I said I would hear it from Sherry. They were bone weary and prepared to fall asleep on their feet.”

  “Their blistered feet,” her ladyship said. “Really, Sherry, you might have allowed them to take turns riding. They fairly dragged themselves in here.”

  “As I’ve noted before, they belong on the stage,” Sherry told her. “And I don’t think I like it that they’ve replaced me in your affections, Aunt.”

  “None of that now.” She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Tell all. I want to know where they were hiding and how they got away.”

  Sherry grinned. “It was surprisingly simple for them. While Woodridge’s horses were being tended, the boys climbed aboard the carriage and wedged themselves between the trunks and bags. Actually, because it was a squeeze they drew broom straws to see who would ride in one of the trunks. Midge pulled the short straw—though my own opinion is that there was some sleight of hand involved. He is the smallest, and I think Dash and Pinch got the better of him.”

  “Those devils,” Lady Rivendale said under her breath. “Poor Master Midge.”

  Sherry smiled at his godmother’s quick championing of Midge, though she would have said the same if it were one of the others being taken advantage of. “Indeed. The close confines of the trunk did not set well with our Smidgen, and he started to feel sick not long after the carriage was underway. He had to knock on the lid a bit before Pinch heard him and opened it. Pinch managed to get Midge out of the trunk without them being seen by the driver or the tiger, but Midge was feeling so poorly by then that he didn’t have much strength to support himself. In addition, it seems he developed a most inconvenient itch.”

  “Itch?” Lady Rivendale asked. “What sort of—” She stopped because Sherry was shaking his head, indicating he did not mean to answer any questions in that regard. “Oh, go on, then. It cannot be important.”

  “Thank you,” he said dryly, mocking her restraint. “Before Pinch could secure him properly, the carriage wheels hit a rut crosswise, and Midge was bounced off the roof. He caught one of the lines keeping the bags in place, but he couldn’t hold on. Pinch and Dash saw nothing for it but to jump as well. They refused to be separated from him.”

  “Lord love them,” Lady Rivendale said, putting one hand over her heart. The sincerity of the gesture overshadowed its dramatic bent.

  The smile that was still hovering on Sherry’s face deepened. “Oh, I think He does. Not only did they escape injury, they escaped notice.” Beside him, he felt Lily shiver. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She hesitated, then merely shook her head. “No, it is nothing.”

  “They’re fine, Lily,” he said. “You saw them. I imagine you inspected them for bruises.”

  “There are a few of those. Scrapes as well.” She turned slightly on the chaise. “I am not certain they understand how lucky they were. I don’t want them ever putting themselves in so much danger on any account, least of all mine.”

  “They know how fortunate they were. As for the danger, they had a good number of miles to contemplate their foolishness.”

  “And you, m’lord? Have you considered your own?”

  “Mine? What do you mean?”

  Lily’s lush mouth flattened disapprovingly. “Using the boys as you did.”

  “I thought this was settled. I told you the lads were not imperiled.”

  “I heard you well enough. I simply do not agree. You didn’t encourage their participation because they could lift the baron’s handkerchief. Pray, do not feign astonishment. I was out of the gallery but still in the passage when I heard you comment on the blood on Woodridge’s cheeks. I surmised you handed him your handkerchief because you told him not to trouble himself to look for his own. I did not think much of it then, but later, when I realized the boys had most likely been in the gallery and made the baron’s acquaintance there, I realized they were the ones who had pinched the linen.”

  Lily’s chin lifted a fraction. “They are thorough scoundrels, my lord, but even I acquit them of giving one of your guests the rum-hustle without your sanction. What I want to know is what else did they take from Woodridge?”

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  “I didn’t ask them. I wanted to hear it from you.”

  Sherry was aware that his godmother was following this exchange with open interest. He sensed her sympathies were not with him. “I imagine this will sound rather worse in the telling than it was in the practice.” He noticed that neither woman was moved to soften her expression. Seeing there was nothing for it but to plunge ahead with the explanation, he did so. “The baron carries a knife sheathed in his frock coat and a garrote in his pocket.”

  Lily’s face fell and she moaned softly, hugging herself. Lady Rivendale was more vocal. “Sherry! I am beyond incredulous!”

  Sherry wondered why the Foreign Office never engaged interrogators of the female persuasion. They were more effective at wringing a confession than a medieval torture chamber. “Midge also found an announcement of our engagement that Woodridge was carrying somewhere on his person. That was unexpected but perhaps of the most benefit. It proved that he knew we were engaged in spite of his denials of the same.” When this elicited no response from Lily or his godmother, he added somewhat helplessly, “And then there was his handkerchief.”

  Lady Rivendale sighed.

  Lily stood. “If you will excuse me, my lord. Lady Rivendale.” She inclined her head toward her ladyship. “I find myself unaccountably fatigued. I am for bed.”

  Sherry was on his feet as soon as Lily came to hers, but he did not try to prevent her exit. She was already turning away from him as he bid her good night. When she was gone, he plunged his fingers through his hair and regarded his godmother. “I believe some time and distance are in order.”

  “Oh, good for you, Sherry. I estimate that time to be at least the rest of this night and the distance at better than arm’s length.”

  Sherry understood that well enough. He would not be seeking out Lily in her bedchamber this evening, even to make an apology. “There was very little risk involved, Aunt. They are quite good at the rum-hustle, and we practiced until I was perfectly satisfied with their ability to relieve Woodridge of his—”

  Lady Rivendale held up one hand. “Do not say another word, dear, else I will take my leave as well. I hope that is not an explanation you mean to offer Lily in defense of your actions. She is likely to want to box your e
ars.”

  Sherry sat down heavily. “Mayhap it is something females cannot comprehend.”

  “My word, Sherry. Such condescension. I believe I may be moved to box your ears myself. You will do much better if you will simply allow that you were wrong and trust that she will be merciful.”

  He grunted softly. “Men are stirred to these actions by their desire to protect women, and I include the lads here. I know you and Lily are of the opinion they are children, but it is only their age, not their experience, that makes them so. Lily believes she has been protecting them when the truth is somewhat different than that. They have been the ones shielding her.”

  Much struck by this idea, Lady Rivendale’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I cannot explain all of it to you, Aunt. There is so much that is Lily’s alone to say, but I can tell you that the boys have long been aware that women of Lily’s particular coloring were highly prized by a certain Holborn . . . procurer, shall we say.”

  “I would say pimp, but you must use the King’s English as you see fit. You are speaking of this Ned Craven whose name I have heard.”

  Sherry sighed. “Yes. The lads did a bit of work for Ned from time to time to keep him from snaring Lily. All the while she was trying to keep them out of Ned’s hands, they were working to keep her out of the same. It is hard to know if they were ever at cross purposes, but there is no question that their intentions were honorable. They stayed close to her, kept a vigil as it were. She used to disguise the color of her hair with blacking, but the boys had learned she was a redhead. They didn’t want Ned to discover the same, so they made certain she was properly covered when she was out. They pinched clothes for her so that she could go into the streets as a young man. When they knew Ned was scavenging the streets, they warned her against going out or followed her if she went anyway.”

  “And she knows none of this?”

  “I don’t know what she might suspect, but they’ve never told her.”