Amanda Scott (32 page)

He was watching her, and he smiled, saying, “Ye’ve a verra expressive face, lass. Ye’d ha’ done better to bide a wee and hope Kintyre were right behind ye.”

Before Pinkie realized what he intended, he snapped his free arm around her neck, forcing her chin up. The moment she opened her mouth to object, he tipped the contents of the wineglass down her throat, and she swallowed reflexively, gasping and choking, sickened by the horrid taste.

“I prepared that dose for my Bridget,” Sir Renfrew said, “but I’ll just pour another for her if she requires it. If she behaves sensibly, she need not have more than she’s already had. I fear, though, that ye willna be such a complacent prisoner, Lady Kintyre, and I havena come this far only to be done in by a wee lass like yourself. Ye’d best sit down now, before ye fall down.”

Still coughing violently, Pinkie strove to catch her breath, but it was several moments before she could speak. “Wh…what was in that wine?”

“Nobbut a wee dose of laudanum; enough so that ye’ll soon sleep soundly and give us no trouble.”

Pinkie opened her mouth to scream, but he clapped his hand over it and dragged her to the chair he had been sitting on. “Fetch the curtain cord, MacKellar.”

Putting the pistol back in his pocket, the henchman drew a
skein dhu
from his boot and cut the cord, handing it to Sir Renfrew, who swiftly used it to bind Pinkie to the chair. Then, turning to Bridget, he said gently, “I’m just doing this so she’ll stay quiet, lass.”

Bridget said, “Did you really only give her laudanum?”

“Aye,” he said, binding a handkerchief over Pinkie’s mouth and knotting it at the back of her head. “It’s nobbut what I gave ye earlier, in the coach, so ye ken she’ll recover her senses in time.”

“That stuff gave me a headache,” Bridget complained.

“I dinna doubt it; however, if ye’ll sit doucely here whilst I deal with yon coachman, ye needna have more o’ the stuff. I give ye my word on it.”

Feeling dizzy and nauseous, and knowing the dose would likely act swiftly since she had eaten little that day, Pinkie concentrated on inhaling deeply and keeping her eyes open, hoping to delay its effects. If Mr. Conlan should come looking for her, she could at least moan or make some sound, so that Sir Renfrew would not get away with simply telling the man he had not seen her.

Sir Renfrew left them alone with MacKellar, and although he was gone for some time, no one else came to the parlor. Bridget seemed to have more interest in her plate than in her predicament. She kept glancing at Pinkie while she pushed food around with her fork, but she made no effort to speak to her.

Long before Sir Renfrew returned, Pinkie was fighting to keep her eyes open. Her body felt like a limp rag. She was dimly aware of his return, but his voice came to her as if through a heavy fog.

“Yon coachman will give us no trouble,” he said. “I paid his fee back to London and told him her ladyship had decided to remain here overnight and return with the lass in the morning.”

Bridget said, “Did you tell him that you are the man who tricked me?”

“Nay, then, lassie, why would I tell him such a daft thing as that? I told him I was your uncle, that I’d guessed what ye meant to do, and that I’d got here afore ye and sent the vile lad who abducted ye off wi’ a flea in his ear. He congratulated me heartily on my good sense, and said he was glad…”

Pinkie heard no more.

Michael had enjoyed more success in his meeting with Menzies than at any other thing he had done that day. Since persuading the Lords to overturn the law had so far proved unsuccessful, they had decided to work toward amending it instead. Satisfied that Menzies would present a strong argument, he had gone in search of Sir Renfrew Campbell, hoping to settle his debt at last.

He arrived at Sir Renfrew’s lodgings only to learn from the landlord that the man had gone.

“It is important that I find him,” Michael explained. “Did he chance to say where he was bound or when he will return?”

“Not so as I could be clear about it, sir. He said he were visiting friends in Buckinghamshire and would return in a few days, but he did not leave a scrap behind, nor his servant neither. Nor did he give me so much as a penny on account, so I’ll not be holding the rooms for him. I’ve another gentleman moving in today.”

Michael’s temper stirred at the likelihood that Campbell had left London on purpose. As it stood now, there was no way to give him his money before June 1, and he wondered if the man hoped to claim the land by making it impossible to settle the debt. He did not know the law well enough to be certain such a plot would fail, but he doubted that any magistrate would agree that Campbell could declare default by avoiding payment when it was clearly at hand. Still, if the man went back to Scotland, he could make matters difficult.

Hoping he could learn more about Campbell’s destination from one of the urchins on the street, he wasted another half hour making unsuccessful inquiries before he returned to George Street to find the household in an uproar.

After silencing the two with the most right to speak their minds and decreeing that he would hear, in turn, each person who had something to say, he managed to curb the older ladies’ flights of fancy and glean what little the servants knew. Although it was no mean feat to sort fact from opinion, and the whole business took more time than it should have, he finally did manage to ascertain, first, that his sister had run away, and second, that his bride had run after her. Only then did Sal think to hand him Bridget’s note. As he read it, he wished fervently that his sister were at hand so that he could vent his temper on her.

“You should read Penelope’s note, too, dear,” Lady Marsali said.

“Do you mean to say that there’s another one?”

“Well, you certainly do not imagine that she would have gone off like she did without telling you where she was going, do you?” Lady Marsali handed it to him.

“Ma’am, at this moment, I do not know whether I am on my head or on my heels,” he said, breaking the seal. “Here is my sister, writing that she is running away to Gretna Green with her lover, and I do not know who he is, nor does she bother to enlighten me. Has my wife rectified that omission, I wonder?”

“If you mean, did she name the man, she certainly did not tell Sal, and she sealed her note to you, so we could not read it,” Cousin Bella said in a tone of deep resentment. “If she knows who he is, I think it prodigiously unconscionable of her if she has kept the information from you.”

“From us, you mean,” Lady Marsali said with a twinkle. “Did she tell you who it is, dear? You look as if her note has made you angrier than Bridget’s did.”

Michael stared at the words Penelope had written, trying to make sense of them. Looking again at Bridget’s note, he realized what his bride had thought, and what she must be feeling. The knowledge made him want to strangle his sister.

“Do not fret, Michael, dear,” Lady Marsali said soothingly. “You will find them. I am sure that Penelope will leave word wherever she can. Sal said that she intended to take the Great North Road to Scotland, but the kitchen boy tells us they were heading for Kilburn Wells, which argues the Chester Road, Bella tells me. You will need this, in any case,” she added, handing him a thick wad of banknotes.

Sincerely thanking her for her foresight, and hoping that she was right in her expectation that Penelope would leave a clear trail, he sent for the kitchen boy, to hear that young man’s message for himself. Learning that the lad had taken another message to Faircourt House, Michael sent for Chalmers and told him to pack a bag with clothing for at least two days. Not waiting for a reply, he next told the kitchen boy to run to the nearest public stable and have them send round a post chaise.

Chalmers said, “I took the liberty of packing a bag for you, my lord, and there is a chaise awaiting your pleasure in the mews.”

“Good man,” Michael said.

“I have packed a bag for myself, as well,” Chalmers added.

“That won’t be necessary,” Michael told him. “If I have to chase them all the way to Scotland, I shall want you here to escort Lady Marsali back to Edinburgh. I’ll get word to you one way or another.”

He waited only for the chaise and four to come round to the front, then ordered the postilions to take him to Faircourt House, where he found the Countess of Balcardane and her mama-in-law in the drawing room.

Both ladies greeted him with undisguised relief, and Mary said, “Oh, sir, we are so very glad to see you. Have you had any word from Pinkie?”

“No, ma’am, only the messages she left for me. I was hoping that you might have learned more.”

“Nothing,” she said. “I sent Dugald, Our footman, after Duncan and Chuff posthaste, to tell them what happened. I collect from what her young messenger let slip that you do not know the identity of Bridget’s…” She paused tactfully.

“I have a strong suspicion,” Michael said, reluctant to share it with her.

“I, too, have formed a suspicion, sir, but whom do you suspect?”

Lady Agnes exclaimed, “Aye, who could it be? The lassie is as pretty as she can stare, but I vow, sir, she has a manner that is not conciliating, and I have seen no one in particular making up to her. We have seen a great deal of her since you arrived in London, too. Why, I dare swear you have attended nearly every event that we have attended. Indeed, it seems that we were always seeing you, but perhaps that is explained by your falling tail over top for our Pinkie, is it not? Oh, I do hope she does nothing foolish.”

“She has already done something foolish,” Michael said gruffly. “She had no business to go haring off after my idiotish sister.”

Mary smiled at him. “Now, sir, you know you do not mean that. From what Pinkie wrote to me, she believed there was nothing else she could do. She had no one at hand from whom she could seek advice and did not know where to find you.”

“She could have discussed the matter with you, ma’am.”

“Yes, she might have done that, and I might have sent Dugald with her, and sent someone else after Duncan and Chuff. However, I cannot think you would rather have her haring after your sister with a footman at her side to see and hear all, and I doubt that she would have allowed Dugald to accompany her, in any event.”

“You might have commanded it,” Michael said, but there was no strength in his voice, and he added hastily, “I should not have said that, ma’am. I know that she thought she was doing the right thing, and that she was thinking only of protecting Bridget’s good name. When I get my hands on my sister…”

“Yes, I can see that you would like to wring her neck for this,” Mary said, “and in all candor, I do think she needs a stronger hand to guide her.”

“Well, it’s not just
her
neck I’ll wring,” Michael said grimly. “The young scoundrel who seduced her deserves whipping.”

“Young
scoundrel? But I thought—Pray, sir, won’t you tell us whom you suspect? Indeed, we may be able to assist you if only we know who it is.”

Grimacing, Michael said, “I hoped to have proof first, ma’am, and in truth, I do not like telling you, for the simple reason that he has strong ties to this house.”

“Not Chuff! No, you cannot suspect him, so—Mr. Coombs? Oh, my dear.”

Michael spread his hands. “You can see why I did not like to speak.”

“Oh, yes, but it cannot be Mr. Coombs.”

“No, indeed,” Lady Agnes said. “Mr. Coombs is soon to return to Cambridge, after all, and besides, he cannot have gone off with Lady Bridget, my dear Kintyre. It would have been utterly impossible, for he is only one man.”

Michael waited for her to continue, but for once in her life she did not. She merely returned his steady gaze with a brightly expectant one of her own, as if she were waiting for him to choose someone else. He looked to Mary for enlightenment.

She smiled, and he was suddenly aware of how serene her smile was. He felt himself relaxing, even though he knew she was about to give him news that would further complicate matters.

“Mr. Coombs was here this morning,” she said, “after Pinkie’s message arrived. He is not here presently, or I would allow you to speak to him yourself, so you could be perfectly satisfied. He has taken our Roddy to visit Mrs. Salmon’s Waxworks. They will return shortly, but I daresay you do not want to wait.”

“No,” Michael said, “but if it was not Coombs…”

The countess tilted her head a little to one side, and suddenly he knew that he ought to have seen the truth much sooner.

“Sir Renfrew Campbell.”

“Yes, I should think so,” Mary said. “You will perhaps think I ought not to know about your business with him, but Duncan confided a little to me about your situation when you offered for Pinkie. I love her dearly, you see, and I did not want to see her make a mistake. We thought…No, I should not speak of that. I do think Sir Renfrew is capable of making off with your sister, do not you?”

“Aye, I do, and what’s more, if he did, he’ll not be heading for Gretna.”

“Bristol or Holyhead?”

“Bristol, I should think. He has at least one ship berthed there, if not more. I won’t wait, my lady, not for Coombs or for Balcardane. I’ve a chaise waiting outside, and if I cannot make Bristol by morning, I shall be surprised.”

“Yes, you had better go straightaway,” she agreed. “Duncan will not come here first, in any case, for he, too, will recognize the likelihood that Sir Renfrew will make for the coast.”

“How could he? He scarcely knows the man.”

“Well,” she said, looking self-conscious, “I’m afraid I suggested it to him in the message I sent with Dugald. It seemed so very likely, you see, once I gave it some thought.”

Pinkie’s first thought was that she was going to be sick. The rocking of the coach made her feel dizzy and nauseated. She opened her eyes and saw that the sun was peeking over a hill not far behind them. A shaft of sunlight touched her face and was doubtless what had wakened her from her opiate slumber. She was hunched in the corner of a coach, facing Sir Renfrew, who was snoring on the forward-facing seat beside Bridget. The girl reclined in the corner of the coach most distant from Pinkie. Her eyes were shut.