Miss Farrow's Feathers (19 page)

"With luck, all of your questions will have answers tonight."

She smiled back at him.
With luck
. Yes, she supposed they were going to need a lot of it. After all, she had a lot of questions.

Max
waited, hidden behind decorative plantings and shadows from the setting sun. He let a full five minutes pass after watching Nigel's bright Phaeton leave Glenwick grounds before he whispered to his companion.

"We go in through the back."

The same entrance Max used on his last secret venture into the house would be the one they'd use this time, so he expected no difficulty. At least, he hoped for no difficulty.

"What about the steward?" Hugh asked quietly.

"His master is out. I expect that particular leech will be taking advantage of his evening off to get drunk."

"I hope so. I'd never recommend your plan otherwise. We need at least two other men to make this work, you know."

"Ordinarily I'd happily bow to your vast experience and superior education on this subject, Hugh, but tonight we have no other choice."

"I hope you're right. It just seems to me you ought not have to be breaking into your own home this way."

"If Nigel had any idea I was alive and in England to be doing such a thing, he'd never allow it. He'd finish what he started in Boston."

"He'd have to get through me first," Hugh assured him.

"Perhaps he would and then we'd both be dead."

And that scenario did not hold much appeal. He would much prefer to keep living.
So much easier to win Miss Farrow's affections that way.

Would his untimely
demise mean anything to her? She seemed to have grown beyond her instant dislike for him, and perhaps his kisses had done something to remove a bit of her distrust, but he had little reason to tryly hold out much hope her sentiments ran any deeper for him. She knew him as nothing more than a secretive, scheming parrot trainer. The truth, when it came out, might do more to turn her against him than to create any endearment.

Women
, he'd learned, were rather particular about being lied to, and he certainly had lied to her. She could hardly be expected to overlook that. A dashed shame it was, too. Any woman who could read that bawdy poetry without swooning was someone he'd very much like to know better. Any woman who could read that poetry looking as fresh and lovely as she did—AND who could melt so perfectly into his arms—was someone he fully intended to know much better.

Provided she didn't end up hating him. And provided he didn't end up dead.

"I just wish we'd had word from London by now," Hugh grumbled as they moved in the cover of shrubbery toward the looming manor house.

"My agent there assured me he'd have what we needed. He'll be there."

"We should have waited until that was certain before coming here. After dark would have been best."

"We
couldn't wait until then—this is our chance. Miss Farrow didn't invite that bastard into her home for the fun of it. She knew I needed him to be gone from here so she arranged dinner. We'll just have to hope we can find what we need and get out before he returns."

"So what are we hunting, then? Treasure?"

"No. It's here, but I still have no idea where to start. Tonight we seek letters."

"Letters.
We're risking our necks for some
letters
?"

"
You don't have to go along with me, you know."

"I didn't follow you all the way over here from Boston to abandon your cause now," Hugh said. "If you say there are letters we need to locate, then that's what we'll do."

"Thank you. Now follow me closely. Miss Farrow's reputation depends on us accomplishing our goal undetected."

Hugh stopped dead in his tracks. "
Those
letters? That's what we're here for?"

"And anything else we can find that might implicate Nigel in my grandfather's death."

Now Hugh was glaring at him. "But you don't really expect to find anything here, do you? You don't believe your cousin is stupid enough to leave such evidence lying around."

"Let's just say I sincerely hope that he is."

"But your primary goal is to strip the place of anything that might damage Miss Farrow."

"Yes, that is a goal, I'll admit."

Hugh clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Hellfire, man, you need to keep your wits about you. Nigel means business! You're the only thing left between him and the entire Glenwick estate, and he thinks he's already rid of you. You'd better get your mind off that female and think about your future."

He was not about to tell him
those two elements were not mutually exclusive of each other. Hugh did have a valid point, though. Max would have no future—with or without Miss Farrow—if Nigel was allowed to go on as he had. Whatever their plan tonight, it had to include some way to bring down that contemptible villain.

"Very well," Hugh said after he contemplated a moment.
"We'll do what we can to protect Miss Farrow. If you are convinced she did not know what your cousin was when she involved herself with him, then I suppose she doesn't need to be scandalized now."

Max
could tell Hugh was not thoroughly convinced of Miss Farrow's blamelessness, but his friend would not let him down. He appreciated all Hugh had done for him and he vowed he'd make it up to him at some point. They'd find what they needed and they'd bring Nigel to justice. Then perhaps they would both find some peace.

Meg fidgeted, pushing her food about her plate and trying desperately to appear interested in Papa's conversation about the village festival planned to help raise funding for the parish choir. The earl was pleasantly polite, yet she could not be at all comfortable with the glances he kept shooting her way. It seemed every time she looked up from her meal, Nigel was staring at her.

And not in a good way. It was in a way that said he'd fully meant everything he'd said and done earlier today and he
was ready and willing to do them again. He was convinced she knew more than she did. How could she convince him she did not?

Worse, how on earth was she to ensure he remained here at their home for a leisurely meal when he was eating as fast as a starved pig? It was obvious the man had not come
to stay. He would likely want to leave soon—she knew she certainly did—and he'd want to take Bartholomew with him. Probably he'd find some way to have private words with her, too. No doubt she would not like them.

"I hope your parrot trainer was able to gather himself together after his ordeal with Bartholomew," Nigel said when Papa had at last exhausted the festival topic.

"Oh, he was indeed. As I said, he's remarkably good with that bird. Pity he couldn't join us tonight."

"Yes, a pity. But I suppose it would be highly irregular to invite the help to dine with us."

"Oh, but Mr. Shirley has taken most of his meals here with us since his arrival," Papa explained. "I invited him tonight, but he declined due to a friend from London he was planning to meet."

"He's gone on to London?"

"No, his friend came to Richington from there. He's staying at our local inn and Mr. Shirley was to meet with him there."

"I see," Nigel said, his food intake suddenly slowing to a crawl. "I don't suppose he told you anything about this friend, did he? Why they were meeting tonight?"

"As a matter of fact, he did mention. He said his friend was bringing his references. Seems the fellow has had a devil of a time getting copies sent on when they were lost on his travels. You will not be surprised, I'm sure, to know Meg has been quite up in arms over this. I hope finally seeing the man's credentials will make her warm a bit more toward him."

Papa chuckled at his own words. Meg felt her face
burning up. Heavens, she most certainly hoped seeing Mr. Shirley's credentials did not make her feel warmer toward him. She was nearly combusting from her feelings already.

"I should think you'd both be most interested in seeing his credentials
," Nigel said. "I would, as well. Of course, that's assuming he was telling the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it is possible, you know, that he's not meeting a friend. He could very well be leaving the village."

"Leaving the village?"

"Don't you think it a bit odd that there's been no sign of a friend up from London until the day I arrive and accused him?"

"
I really thought nothing of it."

"Then perhaps you should," Nigel declared. "Perhaps you should wonder what really brought the man into your home, or why he is so very close to that parrot. Or your daughter."

Papa's eternal reserve and Christian charity was growing thin, Meg could tell. It was not often she watched her father struggle with the emotions of mortal men, but just now she could see that he battled back everything from anger and frustration to indignation and shock. It was, indeed, most infuriating to sit here and have the earl question their every action and insult Papa's ability to judge character. Not that Papa had actually judged Mr. Shirley accurately, but Meg was sure Nigel's suspicions were all based on motivation far more destructive than their parrot trainer's. Not that she knew Mr. Shirley's motivations, but still... Nigel was not a good man and he was being decidedly rude.

"Mr. Shirley has done nothing to make me suspect he is not all that he claims to be
," Papa declared. "You, however, sir, seem intent on insult and accusation yet you can produce no tangible reason for it."

Instead of being put out by Papa's rebuke, Nigel simply smiled. "Just wait. I have a feeling you will soon have all the tangible reason in the world to
regret not heeding my words. You should have given me the bird and thrown that pretender out."

"If there is tangible reason I should doubt Mr. Shirley, I should welcome it," Papa said.

"Then you'll be happy to know my steward and Mr. Barrelson are in the process of gathering it right now."

"What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

"I mean, before this dinner is done, I expect you and your daughter will owe me an apology." Now he turned his smug smirk off of Papa and onto Meg. "And anything else I might ask for."

"Don't be ridiculous," Papa said. "If an apology is owed, you will certainly get it. I'm quite sure, though, that neither of us owes you anything."

"And I have some particular documents drawn up by my grandfather that indicate Miss Farrow might choose to feel differently. Unless she'd like everyone in town to know about them."

The documents! Good heavens, he had them. She knew from his face he did not lie: he had the documents and he would use them against her. She would be ruined. Worse, Papa would be scandalized for her.
Nigel knew she would do anything he asked rather than allow that to happen.

He had won.

"Meg, what is he talking about?" Papa asked.

"Nothing, Papa. He is playing a game with us because he's worried we'll see he is wrong about Mr. Shirley."

Nigel shrugged and went back to his beef. "Believe what you will. The evening draws on and we will soon see who is wrong and who is right, won't we? Now, don't look so sad, Miss Farrow. Eat up your dinner. You're attractive enough, but I find a woman much more enticing if she has a bit of meat on her bones."

The house was quiet as
Max led Hugh inside through a dim, heavily cob-webbed corridor. Most of the rooms in this part of the house were unused, closed up over the years as Grandfather had aged and the once vibrant Glenwick line withered away. A feeling of sorrow and loss still hung over the place.

Max tried to recall the many happy years spent here, but then his
father had died suddenly and his mother claimed there were too many painful memories to visit here often. Then the family suffered the loss of Max's uncle, and then the attempts on his own life started. Then finally tragedy struck Grandfather. The house was left in a state of mourning and the staff dwindled to barely enough to keep the place standing.

But this left it
easy to creep about undetected. Carefully, silently, they made their way into the large, dark-paneled room that served as an office. It was still in disarray from obvious previous searches, but Max wasn't concerned about that. If Nigel had found what he'd been seeking, the hunt would have been over and he'd not have come after Miss Farrow for the book or the parrot.

Nor would he have lured Miss Farrow into the house
to search for those incriminating documents drawn up by his grandfather. If Max had not overheard the scoundrel discussing them himself he would have assumed them to be non-existent. He thought it unlike his grandfather to leave evidence that would harm Miss Farrow when clearly his intent had been to help her, but he supposed it was possible. Apparently they did exist and Nigel had wanted to be sure Miss Farrow knew of them. It was an excellent lure to get her to join in his search and to reveal any secret hiding places she might know of. Obviously Nigel had been out of luck. She had no clue of anything like that.

But he could still use the documents to hold over her head. He wanted the book and he wanted the parrot. What better way to force Miss Farrow to deliver those than to threaten her with those documents? Max had to get them into his hands before he could press things further.

But now that he was here, where should he look for them? Nigel claimed he merely knew of them but had not found them. Was that to be believed? Not likely. Nigel could not very well use them against Miss Farrow if he did not actually have them. His threats were invalid if he had not already located them.

Yes, Nigel must have had them already when he lured Miss Farrow here to help hunt. Max
stared at the piles of disheveled papers and ledgers and assorted books of all sizes. The room had been thoroughly ransacked, searched top to bottom more than once. It was far worse, even, than when Miss Farrow his visited. Clearly Nigel was repeating his efforts and clearly they had not been aimed at finding those documents.

This room had been ransacked in search of the book. That was the item Nigel knew he needed yet had been unable to find.
That's why he has resorted to near violence when he realized Miss Farrow knew of the book. Just as Max had realized, Nigel had, too; the book was the key to finding the treasure.

And t
hose incriminating papers regarding Miss Farrow... the likely truth of them dawned over Max like an approaching thunderstorm. The fact that Nigel knew of their existence while Grandfather had never once mentioned them in any of his correspondence with Max could only mean one thing. They weren't real. Nigel had crafted them himself when he realized he'd need to get Bartholomew away from the vicar.

So that meant
Nigel would not leave the parsonage tonight without what he wanted. He needed that book and he suspected Miss Farrow knew where it was. He would use every trick he could pull to get her to relinquish it. That could only mean one thing.

"I know where those documents are," he announced to Hugh.

"Good, because this place is a wreck."

"
They're not even here," Max informed. "We've been duped."

"
What do you mean?"

"
I mean we'd better get the hell out of here. It's a trap."

Before Hugh could question his meaning
Max heard the unmistakable click of a pistol from the darkened doorway behind them. Boots echoed on the floor. Damn, Max had fallen right into Nigel's scheme. He raised his hands helplessly, feeling the merciless aim of the pistol on his back.

"Good evening, gentlemen," a voice said. "I see you've forgotten your masks."