Malia Martin (31 page)

James shook his head. “It will not.”

“Fine, then.”

James fingered his empty glass. “I have decided not to send you to the Colonies, Clifton.”

Clifton blinked, and James thought for one strange moment that the large man was going to cry. But then he sat up a bit straighter and belied this notion with the darkest frown James had ever seen on a human visage.

“I must admit”—James looked away from the butler—“to a certain soft spot in my heart for the people of Gravesly.” James furrowed his brow and concentrated on the small wash of whiskey at the bottom of his glass. A beat of silence went by, and he could not help thinking of how desperately he wanted to believe that the people of Gravesly had felt the same for him.

Pathetic, really.

“Anyway, Prudence has informed me that the Marley brothers have been spotted in Gravesly, and that this could mean that they will try to take over the smuggling business of the town. Are her fears legitimate?”

He glanced up and saw that Clifton was very wary of James’s questions. The man’s one good eye could not possibly get any smaller and still be open.

“Yes,” the butler finally said.

“I want you to go to Gravesly, then, and make sure that does not happen.”

Clifton’s blue eye was now as round as James had ever seen it. “Is this a trick?” the man asked blatantly.

“No,” James answered, and stood. He clasped his hands behind his back, widened his stance, and stood staring down at his wife’s butler. “You have my word of honor that this is not a trick, Clifton.”

The man nodded slowly.

“Now I want your word of honor that you will not attempt to continue the work you and your mistress were conducting before I found out.”

Clifton shook his head. “What? Do you want me to go or don’t you?”

“I want you to go to protect Gravesly from harm, but I do not want any smuggling to take place.”

The man made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “If we do not get the business back up and going, the Marley brothers will take over no matter if I’m there or not. And anyway”—the butler stood as well—“we’ve got other problems besides the Marley brothers.”

“What other problems?”

But Clifton had shut his mouth. Obviously, he felt as if he had said too much.

“Clifton, I am trying to help, truly. What other problems?”

The butler shrugged. “Well, there’s our London contact. He hasn’t received any shipments in a few days, and I’m sure the man is angry.”

“Who is your London contact?”

Clifton truly clammed up now. “Don’t know,” he said succinctly.

James took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. He had a horrible headache.

“Captain,” Clifton said with a tone that had James glancing up sharply, “the smuggling gang in Gravesly will not listen to me. I could, perhaps, keep the Marley brothers at bay for a week or two by telling Harker and the others that Lady Prudence would be there soon. But they need a leader, a real leader. Someone they look up to. Someone they can believe in. Someone they know can keep the bad influences out of their operation.

“The baron knew that, and it is why, when he got so sick, he told me that I would have to get Lady Prudence to take over for him. It was hard for them at first since she was a woman, but they do need someone they perceive as higher than them in some way to lead them.” Clifton shook his head slightly. “If you are truly worried, Captain, you need to send Lady Pru back to Gravesly.”

This was the most Clifton had ever said to him, and it made James believe that he had at least garnered the man’s trust. For the moment.

James nodded as if contemplating Clifton’s suggestion. Of course, there was absolutely no way he would send his wife anywhere near Gravesly. It was ludicrous, really, to send Clifton.

He should go forth with his original plan, sell Chesley House, send Clifton away, and never let his wife back in the small town of Gravesly again.

Of course, that had been his plan when he had been burning with anger and betrayal. Both of those emotions had now smoldered down to his usual frustration and a bit of strong pique.

James furrowed his hand through his hair and nodded again. “I will think on what you have said, Clifton. But while I am deciding on my next course of action, I would appreciate your compliance with my wishes. I want you to go to Gravesly and do what you can to keep the Marley brothers away from the town.”

“Of course,” the man said.

Of course? Goodness, he seemed to have Clifton’s loyalty suddenly.

“Good.” James went to the sideboard, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to Clifton. “To your success,” he said, holding up his own glass.

Clifton looked a bit flustered, but clicked his glass against James’s and drank.

Prudence Farnsworth Ashley sat in the kitchen of the earl of Wimsley sipping tea with the under-housekeeper. Her original plan of having Clifton gossip with Leighton’s servants had been thwarted, yet again, by her husband. The man had sent Clifton off to pack up his things and say good-bye to the people in Gravesly.

And she had not even been given the chance to speak with Clifton before he left. Still, she hoped her butler would know to put it about that she was not gone, and that the Wolf would be back.

Then she had borrowed a cap and apron from Mary on the pretense that she needed them for a pattern to make some for her servants in Gravesly, locked herself in her room, and climbed a convenient trellis to the street.

She knew that servants gossiped incessantly, for when she lived in Gravesly, she gossiped with them. In fact, Delilah had once worked in the kitchens of the earl of Trent. Her cook had told her that the servants of London society knew every secret of the
ton
, and if there was ever something she needed to know about the peerage, a gossiping servant would be able to uncover anything.

So, Pru had become a servant. She had made her way first to the home of Lord Leighton where, on the pretext of looking for a job, she learned from a particularly chatty chambermaid that the man had close ties to his only living relative, the earl of Wimsley.

That bit of information sent Pru scurrying across town to the Wimsley mansion, aware of the fact that she had been gone from the house for a terribly long time and might be missed soon.

Now, using the name of the Leighton servant to get in the door, she sipped tea with another very talkative servant of Wimsley. It seemed the underground information lines of the servants of London were quite extensive and very interesting to say the least. She already knew the intimate details of the viscount’s relationship with his grandfather.

Wimsley, she was told, was a raving lunatic. A tyrant as a master, he also yelled and ranted at Leighton and insisted in speaking in code even though all the servants already knew all of the man’s deep, dark secrets.

This last bit of information piqued Pru’s flagging interest, and she sat up a bit straighter in her chair by the fire.

“Deep, dark secrets?” she asked, leaning toward her companion conspiratorially. “I must say, that does sound interesting, now doesn’t it?” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand in the air between them. “The people in my household are about as dull as dishwater, if you must know the truth. That Captain Ashley’s never done anything more exciting than save us from the French.”

“Ah, but ’e’s a looker, ain’t ’e?” she asked, with a wink and a slurp of tea.

Pru scrunched up her nose at this. Even the servants found her husband desirable. Was there anyone in this town unaffected by wide shoulders, stormy gray eyes, and dark-as-sin hair? Prudence sighed.

“See now, even you’re a bit o’er the top for ’im, aren’t you?”

Prudence hid behind her teacup for a moment, then waved her new friend to continue with her story. “So, tell me some of these deep, dark secrets,” she said.

“Well, there’s the stuff about some place down south, and ’ow ’e makes all ’is money, of course. But that’s so boring it’d put you to sleep, I’m sure.”

Prudence shook her head, but Livy continued on undaunted. “Now, the fun stuff comes with the older servants. There’s a woman that’s been ’ere since before Leighton was born. She says there was goings-on in those days to put a scandal on the name of Wimsley for a couple or three generations at least.”

“Really?” Pru asked with feigned interest. “But surely the thing about how the earl makes his money is ever so much more scandal-ridden than something so long ago?”

Livy snorted and shook her head. “Oh, that’s nothing. The earl is like most of the peers in this town, makin’ money on the backs of hardworkin’ people. And, o’ course, lettin’ them take the blame should anyone find out. No,” Livy continued without even taking a breath, “the deep and dark secrets come when ol’ Mrs. Winter starts her tales.”

Livy sat back with a satisfied grin and folded her arms across her ample stomach. “Wimsley had not one, but two sons, which any of the people who ’ave lived in London for more than fifty years could tell you.”

With a forced smile, Pru surreptitiously checked the clock on the mantel. She really had to get home.

“Now, his second son went on to India to make his own fortune and never came back.”

Prudence just barely suppressed an irritated sigh. “Well that certainly has happened to a few poor souls, now hasn’t it?” Pru said. “But having a secret source of income, now that …”

But Livy didn’t seem to be listening. “The son never came back, but a pregnant woman did, claiming that the son was dead and she was his wife.”

Pru suddenly found herself interested in spite of herself. “Whatever became of her?” she asked, and then realized that she had just fed the fire of Livy’s gossip telling in the wrong direction.

Livy’s eyes rounded as she waggled her brows dramatically. “Well now, ’ere’s where it just becomes the juiciest bit o’ knowledge you’d ever want to know. There’s some connection between Old Wimsley and the girl’s father that just made Wimsley fly into a rage like none other before it. It’s told round ’ere that after this particular fit, there wasn’t a piece of porcelain to be ’ad in the whole house that wasn’t smashed to smithereens.”

“Goodness.”

“Yes, and he sent that poor gel on her way, so ’e did. Sent her right on out the door as if she weren’t carrying his grandchild at all.”

Prudence blinked in consternation.

“Never ’eard of ’er or the child again.”

“If this is so well-known, why on earth isn’t it a scandal? I can’t believe that no one in London ever whispered about it or decried Wimsley’s actions.”

With a disbelieving sound somewhere between a chortle and a snort, Livy frowned at her. “It’s well-known by us, not them.”

Prudence did not understand. “Us?”

Livy shook her head. “What, is the world so different in Gravesly that there’s no us and them?” she asked with a harsh laugh. “Can’t say as I ever knew that.”

Us and them? Pru glanced down at her apron, and suddenly understood. “Oh,” she said, comprehension dawning. “Of course.”

Livy looked at her as if she had just sprouted wings.

Goodness, who knew that so much could be learned from the servants of the
ton
? She wished a long life to her second persona of Clarissa, special maid to Mrs. Ashley. Clarissa, it seemed, had the right connections to find out all kinds of interesting fodder. “So no one knows the name of the wife, or even whether the baby lived?”

Livy shook her head and shrugged. “No. I told you it was deep and dark now, didn’t I?” A bell clanged on the board above their heads, and Livy’s shoulders drooped. “’E’s wantin’ me to do some foul thing, I’m sure.” She stood. “You’re a fun one to talk to, Clarissa. I like how you talk, almost like you’re one of them.” She giggled a bit. “Come back soon.” And she disappeared through a massive wood door.

Pru closed her eyes for a moment, realizing that she had not been told anything that she could use. She had allowed herself to be taken in by a bit of servant’s gossip and had completely forgotten to find out about what she really needed to know.

With a mental slap, Prudence vowed to be more consistent with her inquiries from now on. At least, though, she was rather sure that she was on the right track.

Lord Leighton obviously knew of whom she spoke when she talked of Mr. Watson, and his grandfather had some secret source of income from a place south of London. She had to conclude that either, or perhaps both of the men, were the mysterious Mr. Watson.

Prudence let herself out of the servants’ entrance, climbed the steep stairs to the street, and hurried up the street. She kept her head down, of course, so that no one would recognize her. Unfortunately, that unwieldy position made it terribly hard to avoid running into people. Especially people of the upper classes who, she had discovered in the few hours she had spent as one of the lower classes, tended to keep their noses in the air and not give a second thought to anyone in their way.

Until now, Prudence had been able to avoid any serious injury, though she had been the recipient of a few harsh words and some old woman had found it necessary to whack Pru across the shins with her cane.

She was beginning to realize that she would not wish the job of London servant on her very worst enemy, and she was just vowing to give every single person in the Ashley household a raise when Prudence ran headlong into someone and landed smack on her behind in a stinking gutter.