Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (32 page)

M
ERYON WALKED DOWN
Bedford Place, back toward Russell Square to reclaim his carriage. A man was coming toward him down the street, a bag slung over his shoulder and a wad of broadsheets in his hand. “
The Republican
, sir?”

Meryon nodded, handing him a few coins. “Do you have any of the leaflets that Mr. Carlile prints?”

“Only these crumpled ones, sir.” He reached into the bottom of the bag and showed him what was left.

Meryon took them and waved off the change the man would have given him.

“Thank you, my lord.” The man smiled in appreciation and raised his customer’s station as well.

Meryon found the cabriolet, with Wilson, his tiger, standing on the driver’s seat, lecturing a group of interested men and boys.

“It’s been in England but three years. Some frog was the first to show it off, but it is such a splendid invention that we are willing to forget that.”

The audience murmured with varying degrees of interest in the speaker, the carriage, and the single horse.

“My employer purchased it when he was in France last winter and it has just arrived. Mind you, it is not the first in England, but it is the finest.”

Meryon hopped up beside Wilson, who looked mightily relieved.

“Looks like a curricle,” one man called out.

“Yes, that it does,” Meryon answered, “but it is lighter and requires only one horse.”

“An economy.” The crowd laughed at the idea that someone like him should need to economize.

“In theory, yes, but in fact the horse must be well-bred and large, and it will be costly no matter what the color.”

“Aye.” Several in the group chorused as though they had been played that trick.

“Gentleman, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I am expected home and if I am not on time the cook will serve my food cold and with too much pepper.”

They laughed again and one or two applauded. Most of them understood that whether the cook was your wife or your servant, rank meant nothing if you were not prompt to meals.

Wilson took up his post at the back and Meryon moved off through the near-empty streets, trying not to think about what a mess he had made of things. Elena actually thought that she could find happiness in marriage,
twice in one lifetime. Or, perhaps, having found it once she thought it would be easy to duplicate.

It was impossible. He did not even play an instrument. And he was sure that she had read nothing of Hazlitt, his favorite of the current writers.

It did not matter now. He had a feeling that the only person who could explain it to him would not even look at him, much less talk to him. The whole thing had ended before it began. He laughed. He did not even need wine to sound like a lovesick schoolgirl in a decline.

He was
not
lovesick, nor a schoolgirl. He was an experienced man of the world who had misread an invitation. As a gentleman he would treat her well should they ever meet.

In the meantime, he would have to write some sort of apology. He made the last turn onto Penn Square. The horse knew the way and he relaxed his hold on the reins and considered what sort of apology he should write.

A
note
of apology. Would that be too short? A letter, perhaps. A book would probably not be enough for her. A note so heartfelt she could not mistake his sincerity. If he used his blood for ink.

He would not blame Elena for what happened next. He had allowed himself to be distracted. Wilson called to him from his perch, speaking just loud enough to be heard.

“Sir, Your Grace! We’re being followed.”

Meryon looked over his shoulder, and sure enough a hulk of a man was trotting along the road behind them. The bully from Russell Square.

Meryon called back to Wilson. “I want no scene in
public. I will take the carriage back into the mews, to the stable. Then I will see what he wants.”

“I know what he wants,” Wilson called out in an aggrieved tone. “Your blood! I’ll jump off and rally the boys to help.”

Before Meryon could stop him, Wilson hopped down, stumbled, and took off running for the mews. By the time Meryon reached the stable, the big man was making a grab for the wheels. If that bastard ruined his cabriolet, he would find out firsthand what the Pennistan temper felt like.

The head groom came out to take charge, and Meryon stepped down from the seat and turned to face his pursuer. The groom had moved the conveyance into the stable when two men came up from Meryon’s back, grabbing his arms and twisting them up behind him.

Their leader came to him with a satisfied smile, and pushed Meryon’s hat off.

“Good evening to you, Duke. It’s time for you to learn not to pick a fight with someone bigger and stronger than you.” The smell of bad teeth and worse food made it an effort for Meryon not to turn his head.

“I’ll grant you taller and bigger, you buffoon, but not smarter.” Wilson must be around somewhere. Meryon rather enjoyed an uneven fight, but not this uneven. If the fools would let go of him he would match them punch for punch.

“You know who I am,” Meryon said, playing for time.

“Been thinking about doing this awhile now, you stuffed-up piece of dog meat. Been following you all day,
had a nice rest while you and your whore were at that little house. Followed you all the way back to Russell Square. When you went into the park I thought I was all set, but those fools thought you were worth saving.”

“Your first mistake.”

As the bully pulled out a knife, Meryon lifted his foot and pushed up and back, making contact with the soft part of one of the men behind him. The man let go of Meryon’s arm with a howl and doubled over. The one who held his other arm let go as well, smart enough to figure out that he would be next.

Now seemed an excellent time for his side to show up, Meryon thought. Three against one he could handle. But not three and a knife. Someone wanted to see him dead, maimed, or scared witless.

“You two, stay back; I can take this fop,” the bully called out when Meryon could hear the men running away.

Better, much better odds now.

The dusk made it harder to see, but the first lunge was impossible to miss. The man had no skill and would rely on his larger size. Meryon risked the move to pick his hat up from the ground and use it as shield. It lasted for about a minute. He’d liked that hat, damn it.

The next swipe and Meryon took a cut to his coat, but he was able to grab the bully’s wrist and twist it so that the knife clattered on the cobblestones.

“A fop, am I? I just disarmed you. What does that make you? A nancy boy, I’d guess, and those two keep you happy when you can convince them to stay around.”

The bully roared and charged him. As Meryon stepped aside, Wilson came running from the back of the house with three of the grooms. And Magda. Meryon waved off the grooms, but Magda came charging, barking furiously.

Meryon allowed the distraction a moment too long. The bully wrapped his arms around him from behind and picked him up. The man did have size on his side. Wherever he landed Meryon knew it would hurt. Magda yapped at the bully’s heels, and he raised one foot and kicked the dog so hard that she flew across the alley. With one pained yelp Magda fell in a heap.

“Magda!” Wilson screamed. “You bastard. You son of a bitch. I’m gonna kill you.” Wilson ran to the bully, yelling an impressive string of obscenities. The boy jumped on the attacker’s back and began pummeling him with his hands, pulling his ears and reaching around to scratch the man’s eyes out.

The bully dropped Meryon and gave all his attention to shaking the boy off his back. The drop was harmless, but before Meryon could gain his feet, the sound of a pistol caught the attention of everyone except Wilson, who was getting the best of the man four times his size.

“See to Magda, Wilson. Now.” Meryon used his voice of authority, and the boy dropped off the bully’s back and ran over to the fallen spaniel.

Garrett came out from the back garden, one pistol smoking, the other cocked and ready.

“Your Grace, your dinner is waiting. I will take care of the uninvited.”

Meryon nodded and went over to Magda. Wilson
hovered over the dog. “I don’t see any blood but I think she’s dead.”

“No. I can see her breathing. Let me carry her into the house and we will send for the senior groom to examine her. He doesn’t work in the stable anymore but he will know what to do.”

Wilson stayed close as Meryon picked up the dog as gently as he could. By the time they were inside, Meryon could feel the weight of her, but Magda was still breathing.

No sooner had they reached the senior groom’s quarters when Rexton caught up with them, out of breath from racing down from the nursery. The boy insisted that Wilson repeat every detail of the fight.

It took two hours to revive the dog and to calm Wilson, who kept trying to explain that the grooms had been at supper. The senior groom felt no broken bones or swelling of blood and thought that the dog might survive.

“Mind you she’s likely to nip at you and growl if she’s still in pain, so do not think to pet her until she comes to you.”

Both boys nodded.

“And you come to me if you start to worry or anything changes.”

The old man winked at Meryon, who tried not to smile as he thanked him.

Meryon had changed his clothes for dinner before the butler informed him that the meal would be late due to upset in the household. Either Cook was taking advantage of the incident as a show of power, or everyone loved Magda more than they feared the duke.

Meryon stopped in to see Magda, who was resting in
an elaborate dog bed, her eyes closed but her tail thumping every now and then. The boys sat nearby, their attention split between a game of checkers and Magda. Without disturbing them and with a word to the nurse about Wilson’s presence, Meryon headed down to his study.

He prepared a pen, smoothed some paper, and twenty minutes later was still staring at the blank sheet as he thought over the attack in the mews.

Bendas was intent on doing what he had failed to do the morning of the duel, and confronting him would mean nothing but lies and public spectacle.

He would talk to the viscount, Meryon decided. It was the least he owed Lord William after his help last year.

Picking up the pen again, Meryon smoothed the piece of paper, creamy white with the Meryon crest on it. The words to the viscount came easily enough. Short and to the point. If Lord William cared at all about the future of the Bendasbrook family and fortune he would see him as soon as he returned from Kent.

Meryon still had to write to Elena, and he knew those words would not come as quickly. When Garrett knocked on the door, Meryon was relieved to have an excuse to delay the note. Meryon poured both of them a brandy and offered Garrett a chair on the other side of his desk. “It appears you found out what you needed to know without resorting to brutality.”

“We talked.”

Meryon waited, rolling his glass between his hands, warming the brandy.

“The grooms found the other two hiding in one of the
storage buildings. They’re frustrated. Even the bully. They want work. They need money to feed their families.”

“Go on.”

“I told them that breaking the law and ending up in jail would hardly guarantee their families’ future.”

“That’s the truth, Garrett. But we both know they need more than that.”

“It’s amazing how useful those old army skills are.”

Meryon raised his glass in salute. “I take it they are more bruised than you are.”

“Your Grace. I’m a man of God now.” Garrett saluted his brother-in-law in return. “I offered them money if they would tell me who put them up to this.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, they really did not have much of an idea. They said a gentleman came to them and offered them money if they beat you up. The worse off you were the more they would be paid. He gave them one guinea as a mark of good faith.”

“Bendas.” Meryon was sure of it. And annoyed that he’d never considered Bendas would try something like this.

“Or one of Bendas’s minions did it on his orders. The bully, whose name is Reese, described a mature man but not an old or crippled one. DeBora or Rogers, I would guess.” Garrett’s expression turned even more solemn. “Lyn, Reese was told that if you should die of your wounds there would be no consequences.”

Meryon took some brandy to ease his anger. “That is fascinating, Garrett. This is the first clue I’ve had that
Bendas is fighting back. In his style, which is indirect and illegal. I should not be surprised.”

“But you are.”

“Yes,” Meryon said.

“I warned you no good would come of this.”

“Stop sounding like a Greek chorus. I am not the one contemplating murder. Bendas is.”

“What will you do now?”

“Protect myself, my family, and my staff, by pushing harder to bring Bendas to justice. I’ve sent a note for William Bendasbrook to come see me as soon as he returns to town.”

“All right. I am expected back at Pennford soon, but I can stay if it will help.”

“No. No. I can defend myself if Reese and his friends come back. Wilson will be on the watch. And the boy fights. Not with any skill, but he is ferocious.” He considered Wilson, Reese and his friends, and the crowds of unhappy people he had seen at Russell Square today. “What we do not need is someone like Bendas, urging attacks on the ton. That will lead nowhere but to trouble.”