The Reluctant Reformer (20 page)

“Have you come up with anything, yet?” James asked as he led the Bow Street runner into the library and closed the door.

Johnstone shook his head. “Not much,” the man admitted regretfully. “I found a couple of people who witnessed the incident where she was pushed in front of the hack. A couple people remembered it happening, but couldn't say whether she had been pushed in front of the carriage or just bumped. No one remembered a scarred man being there except for that driver. I've nosed around to see if there's any ill will toward G. W. Clark, but no one's rushing forward with information. I'll keep at it, though.”

“Aye. You do that,” James murmured, rubbing a hand wearily along his neck. “This has to be connected to Lady Margaret's articles. There is no other reason for anyone to wish her harm.”

Johnstone shrugged. “There doesn't appear to be. Usually such murderous attempts revolve around some sort o' monetary gain, but there doesn't appear to be anyone to gain from her death—except for her cousin, perhaps. He would probably inherit the town house and the money she invested if she died, but I looked into that and the lawyers still haven't located him. No, I believe ye're right, m'lord. It has to be connected to her articles.”

“Did you look into Drummond?”

“Aye. It's not him. He's dead.”

“Dead?” James glanced over in surprise and the runner nodded.

“Aye. Got his neck stretched. Rumor is that the judge
who tried him was one of the victims of his flammery.”

James frowned. “Then it must be because of one of her other articles.”

Johnstone nodded. “Well that's the problem: it could be one of the articles she wrote, or one her brother wrote. Anyone who discovered Clark's identity now wouldn't necessarily know her brother was the writer before his death, and would blame
her
for it. Do you know how many articles they have done between them?” he asked in disgust. “The suspects are in the hundreds.”

“Damn.”

“Aye,” Johnstone agreed.

“Well, my main concern is to keep her safe. Which might be easier now that her house is gone. She never would have agreed to leave it ere this, but now it shouldn't be too difficult to convince her to stay with me. I—”

“She will stay with me.” A stern voice resounded through the room.

Both men turned to peer at Lady Barlow. She stood in the door to the room, and they had been so caught up in their discussion that neither man had heard her open it. They exchanged vexed glances.

“It would be improper for her to stay with you,” Aunt Vivian pointed out. “She will stay with me. But someone must be sent to wait for and collect her staff. She says that they went to the fair. I imagine they should be returning soon. They won't have anywhere to go, and Margaret is quite worried about them.”

“She is awake?” James started for the door, only to pause when his aunt remained blocking the entrance.

“Robert is still with her. He has finished with Jack,
however.” Her gaze slid to Johnstone. “I sent him to the kitchens for something to eat and drink.”

“Thank you, ma'am. He is a good man.”

“Yes, he is. He saved Lady Margaret's life. But he needs to rest for the remainder of the night, at least, before he will be any good as a guard again, so you may wish to arrange to send someone to relieve him.”

“Yes, o' course. I shall see to it at once,” Johnstone assured her. As he moved forward Lady Barlow stepped out of the way; then she closed the door behind his departing back and eyed James as she'd done when he was in trouble as a child.

“Now, James Matthew Huttledon, it's time you told me about this ‘incident.' Meeks is looking bedeviled and guilty, and avoiding my questions. Obviously, whatever occurred includes your convincing him to behave against his instincts.”

“Against his instincts?” James echoed with feigned surprise, trying to stall long enough to think of a way to explain without it sounding quite as bad as he knew it would. He already knew that his aunt wouldn't be pleased that he had used her name, her home, and her staff in an effort to get Maggie alone—even if his only intention had been to speak to her, not ravish her. His aunt wasn't of the belief that the end justified the means; he had learned that long ago. She preferred honest, aboveboard tactics in everything.

“Yes. Against his instincts. Even as a boy you were always able to twist that man about your finger. Meeks is as soft as pudding where you and Sophie are concerned. Now, tell. I am losing patience.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Maggie said, watching Lord Mullin return his implements to his bag.

“You are more than welcome. It's the least I could do for Gerald's sister.” He closed his bag with a snap and stood. “Now, I had best go find James and Lady Barlow. I wish to have a word with them on your care. You just rest, Maggie. I know your head must be paining you. The tincture I gave you should help with that soon.”

Maggie instinctively started to nod, then caught herself and merely watched him leave. He was right, of course, her head was pounding something awful, and her face felt as if someone had taken a cricket bat to it, but she was alive. That was something, she supposed. She wouldn't lay odds that she had much else left to be happy about. The last thing Maggie recalled before waking up here on Lady Barlow's settee,
again
, was lying
helplessly on the floor of her kitchen as the fire spread around her.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and tried to get the image out of her head. The hum of voices from the hall told her that Robert had found James and his aunt, and was, no doubt, giving his diagnosis. Battered, bruised, and aching should about cover it, she thought wryly.

Reaching a hand up to feel her face, she found it swollen and deformed. Still, it was little enough to bear. Considering what might have happened…she'd been lucky and knew it. Maggie was not alive and well now due to any action on her own part. If anything, her foolish refusal to believe that someone might be out to do her harm had nearly cost her life. She should have listened to James. Any injury she had sustained was her own bloody fault. Even so, she could still hardly believe someone hated her enough to wish her dead.

A rustling made her start and peer around nervously, but she relaxed at the sight of Lady Barlow, Lord Mullin, and James entering the room.

“How are you feeling, dear?” the older woman asked, moving quickly to her side.

“Much better than I should, all things considered,” Maggie admitted softly. She eased to a sitting position, ignoring the pain the action sent shooting through her.

“Are you sure you should sit up?” Lady Barlow asked, but her questioning gaze went to Robert.

“Yes,” Maggie answered before Lord Mullin could comment. “If I continue to lie here, I will fall asleep…and I know I should tell what happened while it is fresh in my mind.”

“Surely that can wait until morning…” the old woman began, but James interrupted.

“No, she is right. She may forget something important if we wait. Best to get this out of the way. If you feel up to it,” he added gently, ignoring his aunt's narrow-eyed gaze.

She wasn't pleased with him at the moment. Aunt Viv had not taken the news of his faux tea party well. Fortunately, before she had been able to lambaste him about the ordeal, Meeks had tapped on the library door to let them know that Robert was finished with Maggie. James was rather hoping that tonight's events would see to it that his aunt never got around to that lambasting.

Aunt Vivian was the only one who could make him feel like a naughty five-year-old. He supposed it was a mother thing, and the woman had certainly filled that role for him.

A sound from Maggie drew James's gaze to her pale, battered face.

“Yes. I can manage,” she assured them with quiet determination, then paused, seeming to try to organize her thought. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes rose to him. “I suppose I should start with an apology.” When he looked startled, she admitted, “You were right, of course, about the scarred man.”

James's gaze sharpened with interest and he settled on the couch next to her, covering her hand where it rested in her lap with one of his own, he said, “Start at the beginning, Maggie.”

She tried to nod, then paused abruptly, pain flashing across her face. She held still for a moment, then took a deep breath and began. “I let the servants go to the fair,” she admitted regretfully. “It was opening day, and I was to attend the opera and then the Willans' ball
with the two of you, so I saw no reason not to let them all go.”

“Of course you didn't,” Lady Barlow murmured soothingly, taking up a position on Maggie's other side. She reached out to squeeze her free hand. “It was kind of you to let them go.”

“It was stupid of me, actually.” A smile that held little humor twisted her mouth as she admitted what James was thinking. It
had
been incredibly foolish of her. He had warned her not to go anywhere alone, and here she had released her entire staff and left herself vulnerable at home. At least she now realized the danger she had put herself in, he thought, gratefully. Then she spoke again.

“I neglected to consider that I would need help getting ready,” she admitted to a sympathetic Lady Barlow. “With everyone gone, I had no one to help me with my hair or dress.”

James rolled his eyes at the complaint.
This
was why she thought she had been stupid in releasing her staff? Nevermind that it had left her vulnerable to attack; she'd had to dress herself! Dear Lord, wasn't it just like a woman to be more concerned with matters of vanity than her well being. He exchanged a speaking look with Robert, who had taken a seat across from them.

“And then, too,” Maggie continued, “had I kept someone behind I should not have been all alone when that man came. He might not have broken into the house had the servants been there.”

Relieved that the fact had at least occurred to her, even if only as a secondary consideration, James nodded and prompted her to continue. “You let the staff go and were preparing for the ball…”

“Yes. I heard a noise below and thought one of the servants had returned early. Which I thought was grand. I was in terrible need of someone to aid me with my hair. I took a candelabra and went to find them.” Maggie frowned as the memory washed over her, clearly frightening.

“He attacked me when I entered the kitchen. We struggled and…I lost.” She sighed wearily.

“He set the fire after you were unconscious?” James asked.

“Yes. No. I was still conscious, and he didn't start the fire, but he did spread it.”

“Spread it?” Robert echoed in surprise.

“Yes.” Maggie explained, “When I hit him with the candelabra, the candles went flying. One landed against a sack of grain. It started a fire. He used the candle to light a lamp, then smashed it against the wall. I tried to stop him but…”

James's hand squeezed hers tighter.

“Who pulled me from the fire?” she asked after a moment. Her gaze went to him. “You?”

“No. You were already out by the time we got there.”

“A fellow named Jack pulled you out,” Lady Barlow added. “He had you in Mr. Johnstone's carriage when we got there.”

“Johnstone?” Maggie murmured. She frowned.

“The Bow Street runner who thought you were Lady X,” Lady Barlow reminded her. James didn't think his aunt sounded at all impressed with the man.

“I asked him to hire someone to keep an eye on you,” he explained. “Jack was to watch over you—in case something like this happened. I knew you did not believe anyone would want to hurt you and wouldn't take
the proper precautions. He smelled smoke and went around the back of the house just as your attacker fled.”

“Did he catch him?” Maggie asked.

“No. He went into the house after you, instead,” James explained.

She looked disappointed at the fact that her attacker had gotten away.

“He'll try again,” she said faintly, then met James's concerned gaze. “Thank you. I really did not think anyone could be out to harm me, but I guess you were right.”

“I wish I had not been,” he assured her, concern eating at him as her shoulders sagged and her head drooped. Her eyes had grown sleepier and sleepier for the past several minutes, and she looked quite done-in now.

“The draft I gave you is starting to take effect,” Robert commented guiltily.

“Yes.” Maggie roused herself enough to nod and say, “I should go home and…” She paused, a frown plucking at her brow as it occurred to her to wonder if she had a home anymore. She had no idea how much damage the fire had done.

“The servants are preparing a room for you here,” Lady Barlow informed her.

Maggie glanced over with surprise. “But my staff—”

“I had Meeks send one of the footmen to wait for and collect your servants. When they return from the fair, they too will stay here tonight. If necessary, we can make alternate arrangements on the morrow, after we see what is what.”

Maggie felt gratitude rush over her at the matron's firm announcement. Such decisions were quite beyond her at the moment; she was more than grateful to leave
them up to someone else. It was nice not to be the responsible one for a change. She had missed that since Gerald's death. Responsibility could be a heavy weight when one was alone.

“I shall just go see if your room is ready; then James can carry you up.”

“There is no need. I am sure I can walk,” Maggie protested.

“But why bother when I am here and can carry you?” James asked gently as his aunt left the room.

“James is right, you should save your strength for mending,” Lord Mullin concurred, getting to his feet. “And I suppose I should let you all be and head home.”

“No, don't leave, Robert,” James said. “Johnstone should be returning shortly, and we are going to discuss…things. I'd appreciate your input.”

The other man nodded and sank back in his seat.

Maggie knew she was the “things” James had alluded to; she hadn't missed the way his glance had dropped meaningfully to her as he'd said it. She supposed he wished to discuss how to find and capture the scar-faced man, but she remained silent, her gaze dropping to where her fingers were entwined with his. She was vaguely surprised at the sight, unsure when she had taken his hand, or if he had taken hers. She watched as his thumb brushed over her knuckles. Oddly, she felt safe and comforted.

“The room is all ready,” Lady Barlow announced, returning.

Determined to get there on her own, Maggie quickly gained her feet, then paused, swallowing as bile rose in her throat. The room spun. She made no protest when James scooped her into his arms; instead she caught her
arms around his neck and leaned her head wearily against his shoulders, breathing in the scent of him as he followed his aunt out into the hall.

Maggie stayed silent as he carried her up the stairs to the second level, the feel of his strong encircling arms reminding her of the intimacies they had shared that day in the country. Remembering his arms around her then, his hands moving cleverly over her body, his lips warm and demanding on hers…

Reaching the top of the stairs, James glanced down, his face lowering as he did, so that their lips were a bare breath away. For one brief moment, Maggie thought he might kiss her. She felt her heart speed up a bit, some of the weariness dropping away from her, but then he lifted his head again and nodded at a comment from his aunt.

Her breath coming out on a small sigh, Maggie turned to see that they had arrived. Lady Barlow was holding the door open for James to carry her into the room that was to be hers. He crossed the room to the bed—pausing as his aunt rushed forward to pull the coverlets back—then bent to set her gently down on its soft surface. The moment he released her and stepped away, Maggie missed his arms around her.

“Out you go, James. Go talk with Robert,” Lady Barlow ordered as he straightened. Lord Ramsey left the room without protest, pulling the door closed behind him. She turned back to Maggie and smiled. “He thinks I am put out with him and is walking softly now, else he would have resisted leaving.”

“Why would he think you are angry at him?” Maggie asked curiously.

The older woman moved to the bedside and urged
her to sit so that she could set to work at unfastening the back of her dress.

“Your buttons are mismatched,” she announced with a chuckle, undoing them quickly. She helped Maggie to her feet to remove the gown, then answered her question. “He thinks I am angry about the faux tea party. I just learned of it tonight.”

“You do not sound very angry with him,” Maggie said when Lady Barlow paused to consider her in her shift. It had gone undamaged in the fire, but carried the distinct odor of smoke. Both women wrinkled their noses.

“I am not. In fact, I am delighted,” Lady Barlow admitted, then she said, “I think we had best remove your shift as well, my dear. That smoky smell might give you nightmares.”

When Maggie nodded in agreement, James's aunt helped her remove that last article. The older woman clucked in dismay as the various bruises Maggie had gained during her struggle were revealed. While her face had taken the worst damage, her hip was not far behind, and there were several other contusions across her body. The moment the shift was gone, Maggie slid into the bed, self-consciously pulling the sheets up to cover herself.

“Wait here, I shall fetch you something to wear,” Lady Barlow began, then paused at Maggie's weary face and hesitated, before saying, “Well, perhaps you can do without tonight.”

Maggie felt relief course through her. She didn't think she had the energy to don anything. She was having difficulty even keeping her eyes open. She watched the caring woman bustle about, collecting the discarded clothes, then asked the question that had been nagging her for several moments: “Why are you delighted that James tricked me into coming to tea?”

“Because I want grand-babies.” Lord Ramsey's aunt frowned then added, “I mean grand-nieces and nephews.”

Maggie stared at the woman, unsure what one thing had to do with the other. None of this was making sense to her, but she was far too weary to figure it out. She closed her aching eyes.

“My room is just next door,” the older woman said quietly as she prepared to leave. “Just call out if you need anything.”