“What was her mode of life when you found her, and where, in Devonshire?” He wanted to compare it with what she had told him to find out if Kate had been lying. “What was she doing? Was anyone with her?”
He shook his head. “She was alone in a cottage on the edge of Dartmoor, sir. When we broke into her house, she was just sittin’ there readin’ a book.”
“I see.” At least this comported with what Kate had described a short while ago in the gatehouse. Rohan stared at Pete as he mulled it over. “So, this lord, the Old Man, somehow arranged to get O’Banyon out of Newgate, then funded the kidnapping of Gerald Fox’s daughter, whom you found living alone, quietly, at some remote edge of the Dartmoor wastes.”
“Aye, sir. You’ve got it perfect.”
“Sounds to me like the Old Man is out for Gerald Fox’s blood, as well, quite apart from O’Banyon’s desire for revenge.”
“That’s the feelin’ I got, too. That the girl was just the bait to lure her father in.”
“Did O’Banyon give you any indication why the Old Man might be out to get Captain Fox?” Rohan asked noncommittally. He already had a strong notion of the answer, but it involved matters that Pete would never know.
The lad shook his head. “The best I could reckon, sir, any pirate’s got lots of enemies. Denny and me thought maybe the Old Man was an investor in one of the merchant ships that Fox attacked at sea.”
“Ah.”
“As for the Old Man, well, O’Banyon seemed afraid to say too much about him—and the O’Banyon I know ain’t afraid o’ nothin’!” he added emphatically. “Whoever the Old Man is, I’d say he ain’t to be trifled with. Not by the likes o’ me and O’Banyon, anyway. We told my Uncle Caleb about the Old Man, and that was another reason why he said we had to give the girl to you. She’s in the middle of somethin’ bigger’n us. If I had any idea what Denny was getting me into …” Pete’s words trailed off. He just shook his head in regret.
“Why did your uncle deceive me? Why didn’t he simply come and tell me all of this last night?”
Pete lifted his eyebrows but dropped his gaze. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, that’s something you’ll have to take up with my uncle. He had his reasons, I warrant, but they ain’t for me to say—no disrespect intended.”
“None taken,” Rohan answered dryly. “Very well. Do you have any idea where I can find O’Banyon at the moment?”
“No, sir. When the job was done, he left the girl with us to mind her for as long as needed. When Denny asked where he was going, O’Banyon said it was none of our damned business. Said when the time came, he’d write to us and tell us where to bring her.”
“O’Banyon is literate?” he asked in surprise.
“Enough to get by, like Denny and me.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Not that I can think of, sir. I’ve told you everything.”
Rohan gazed at him assessingly. “You’ve been most helpful, Peter.” As two new guards arrived to take over for Parker and Wilkins, who would now be keeping a close watch on Kate, Rohan beckoned them into the cell. “Have this young man removed to more comfortable quarters,” he ordered the men. “You will, of course, keep him under guard.”
“Aye, Your Grace.” The men came into the cell to shackle Peter’s wrists for transport.
As they put the manacles on him, Peter hung his head. “I
am
sorry for my part in this, sir. Would you mind tellin’ Miss Kate that I do apologize? Sincerely. I tried not to let the other two abuse her too much. I was just tryin’ to make a living,” he added in a glum tone.
“I will tell her,” Rohan answered. “If you remember anything else, let your guards know, and we will talk again.”
Peter nodded, then the men led him away.
Rohan followed a few paces behind, which was how he heard the other Doyle taunt his cousin as the guards escorted Pete past Denny’s cell, on their way out of the dungeon.
“Yellow,” Denny accused him in a low and bitter voice.
“Keep quiet!” one of the guards ordered, but Rohan paused in front of Denny’s cell.
He stared at him through the bars for a long moment.
“Maybe I know something, too,” Denny vaunted, a hint of fear beginning to show beneath his bravado, envy, too, upon seeing that his cousin had found a way out.
“I’m afraid you’re too late.” Rohan gave him a cold look, then walked on, leaving the sullen bastard and his mates to rot.
Mercy had never been his forte.
When he returned upstairs into the castle proper, at once, he saw his lanky butler striding toward him.
“Sir!”
“What news, Eldred?”
“Caleb Doyle is here, as you ordered. Your carriage just returned from the village with him a few moments ago.”
“Good. Where’s Kate?”
“Settled in her chamber, eating breakfast. Parker and Wilkins have stationed themselves outside her door,” he added with a questioning look.
“Yes, I asked them to. I’m afraid we’re going to need to keep an eye on her, Eldred. What’s that?” He nodded toward the large leather traveling trunk that two of his footmen were now carrying up the stairs.
“Ah, clothes for Miss Madsen, sir. When you sent the coach down to the village, I took the liberty of telling the men to bring back something more suitable for her to wear than the footman’s uniform.” Eldred studied him. “Should I be concerned, Your Grace?”
“Ah, not at all. I’ve got her well in hand.”
Pete’s revelations had not erased Rohan’s suspicions of Kate but had admittedly reduced them.
“Eldred?” He turned back to his butler, suddenly inspired with a way to learn more about the lady.
To be sure, his methods of interrogating a beautiful woman would prove quite different from those he had just used on Peter Doyle, but he would get his answers all the same.
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell Miss Madsen I would like her to join me for dinner tonight. Say, seven in the dining room. Have the kitchens prepare a fine meal. And bring up my best vintage from the wine cellars.”
Eldred’s eyebrows lifted. “Very good, sir.”
Rohan nodded in anticipation. “Now, then. Where is our old Caleb?”
“Waiting for you in the great hall, Your Grace.”
He nodded. “Much obliged, Eldred, as always,” he said with an idle wave, already striding away.
The butler bowed and withdrew to inform Kate of their dinner appointment, while Rohan headed for the great hall to see what the double-dealing smugglers’ chief had to say for himself.
As soon as Rohan stepped into the great hall, Caleb Doyle rose from his chair. He held his hat humbly in his hands, but the pugnacious glower stamped across his weathered face was anything but repentant.
Rohan’s shadow fell over the old man as he approached.
“You lied to me.”
“Aye,” the old trickster grumbled, not bothering to deny it or to attempt any irritating excuses.
“That you deceived me is hardly a shock, Mr. Doyle, but how could you sink so low? You nearly tricked me into taking a young woman’s innocence against her will.”
“Eh, she wouldn’t have minded.”
“Of course she would, and so do I! You nearly entrapped me in an act of great dishonor, damn you. Why didn’t you simply tell me what the hell was going on?”
“As if you’d care!”
Rohan looked at him quizzically; Caleb eyed him up with a scowl.
“You want a fight?” the smugglers’ chief challenged him. “Very well, then! I ain’t afraid o’ you! No, indeed. I’ve known you since you was knee-high, my fine lord—and now you’ll listen to me!” he declared. “Pshaw, your father would be disappointed. We could’ve counted on him, but you! It takes a damn catastrophe to drag you away from your pleasures in Town!”
“Pleasures?” Rohan echoed in furious amazement. “Do you actually believe that?”
“How should I know! I had to do something to make sure you’d get involved this time instead of ignorin’ our predicament the way you did my letter!”
“So, that’s what this is about.”
“I wrote to you months ago and asked for your assistance—”
“You came whining to me for another bloody hand-out.”
“You turned us down—your own people!” he cried. “You turned your back on us in the midst of so much want all over England!”
“Enough!”
Rohan thundered. “Good God, how long will you and your followers act like hapless, spoiled children instead of grown men? Will you never take responsibility for your own lives? I warned you to save your money. You made a fortune on the black market during the war, so where is it now? Gone! Already spent! Is it
my
fault you lot choose to squander every penny you make on gin and trinkets? I am sorry, Mr. Doyle, but in my view, it was time that you all learned your lesson.”
“Well, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, we thought we’d teach you a little lesson, too.”
Rohan stared at him in outrage, then turned away, shaking his head. Doyle was lucky in that moment that he was an old man with a long history of loyal service to his family; otherwise, Rohan would have put him through a wall for his insolence.
“If you had been a bit more patient,” he said through gritted teeth, “you’d have soon found out I did not so much refuse your request as begin seeking to help you in a different way.” He sent Caleb a pointed look. “As it happens, I’ve been working on getting the proper licensing to turn your smugglers’ boats into a legitimate fishing fleet. That way, you’ll be able to fend for yourselves in future without turning to crime, though I’m beginning to think you prefer it. Meanwhile, are you aware that the girl you kept a prisoner in your cellar had assumed you were running an abduction ring, supplying kidnapped virgins to the stews of London? And you actually let her believe that I am a top customer!”
“Aren’t you? Well, sir, we hear about your exploits all the way in Cornwall.”
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I cannot escape the world’s notice, Caleb! It’s impossible for any man of my rank not to be constantly watched. Better they think me some soulless libertine than take note of my more serious pursuits—which you already know I cannot discuss, so do not even ask me.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to know,” Caleb grumbled.
Rohan fell silent for a moment. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here,” he added in a low growl, pacing past him. “Now then, if you are quite through scolding me, tell me why you think Gerald Fox is still alive.”
Caleb eyed him warily. “I’ve heard rumors over the years.” He shrugged. “Now this. O’Banyon’s tale confirms it.”
“What do you know about O’Banyon?”
“That dirty whoreson,” Caleb muttered. “Fox would’ve trusted him as a fellow West Countryman, I’d reckon. God knows my fool nephews did.”
“Did your nephews ever reveal the identity of this ‘Old Man’ who supposedly got O’Banyon out of Newgate?”
Caleb shook his head. “They don’t know. Nor do I.”
“And what about Kate?”
He snorted. “Why, she’s her father’s daughter, ain’t she. Put her on deck of a ship and give her a cutlass, and she’d probably cut yer head off.”
“She can use a weapon?” he asked swiftly.
Caleb waved his hand. “No, no. I was speakin’ metaphorical, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the little hellion could, now that you mention it. She nearly gelded Denny with the kick she gave him. Hell, if she wasn’t such a spitfire, we wouldn’t have had to drug her.”
“Well, you’re lucky you gave her enough to make her pass out on me last night. Otherwise …” He shook his head with a dire stare. “It was very wrong of you, Caleb.”
“Aye, well, we haven’t got many saints round here,” the smugglers’ chief said pointedly.
Rohan knew he couldn’t argue that. “You’ll be happy to hear that Peter has decided to cooperate. Unless he’s deceiving me, too, I will see that his life is spared. In the meanwhile, your nephews are to receive a letter from O’Banyon with instructions on what to do next. When it arrives, you are to bring it to me immediately. Understood?”
He nodded.
“Very well, then. You may go.”
Caleb lingered, eyeing him in uncertainty.
“What now, Mr. Doyle? Was there another insult you wanted to add before you take leave of me?”
The old curmudgeon scowled. “I didn’t like deceivin’ ye, sir, but it seemed the only way.”
“Is this your way of apologizing, or now do you merely fear some petty retaliation from me, hm?”
When Caleb shifted his weight uncertainly, Rohan let out a large, sardonic sigh. “Nobody around here seems to know me at all!” he remarked to the air. Then he flicked his hand at Caleb. “Go away before I come back to my senses and repay you for your lies as you deserve.”
“Harrumph.”
“And don’t forget to bring me that letter when it comes, or I may do something dreadful to you all. Unleash my hell-hounds, or toss one of your babies in my supper pot.”
Caleb shot an indignant scowl at him over his shoulder as he trudged out.
Rohan smiled with an assassin’s sangfroid.
Why, they really do think I’m a Beast.
He sat down slowly on the great thronelike chair of his ancestors and began brooding on the past. Combined with his many questions about Kate, Caleb’s stinging reproach had him thinking about his father. He rested his head against the chair back, the particulars of his father’s final mission for the Order turning in his mind.
The DuMarin affair.
The Count DuMarin had been a member of the Prometheans’ elite High Council at the time of the French Revolution, and if Rohan’s theory about Kate’s true identity was right, that would be her grandfather. And the French aristo blood would explain a lot about her, he thought wryly.
In any case, frightened by the chaos he had seen unfolding in France, DuMarin had secretly reached out to the Order, desiring to turn informant against his sinister coconspirators.
Rohan’s father had been the agent assigned to the case. The French count had provided the Order with critical intelligence concerning the Prometheans’ future plans, how they were carefully driving the guillotine mobs, intent on using the chaos to spread their vision of tyranny well beyond the borders of France.