The Viscount's Dangerous Liaison: Regency romantic mystery (Dangerous Deceptions Book 3) Read online

  So, I am no longer Laura, am I? I had best take the hint. ‘And where else would you have taken poor Mr Thwaite? By your own admission, we cannot trust any of the gentry houses hereabouts – everyone of any note was at that dinner party. Besides, I am not some poor little female to be sheltered and protected, my lord.’

  ‘You are certainly not that.’ Her tone seemed to nettle him. ‘And I have sunk so low in your estimation that I am back to being my lord, am I?’

  ‘You called me Miss Darke. I thought I was being reproved for my forwardness.’ We are squabbling like children, she thought, biting her lip to repress a smile.

  ‘Are you laughing at me, Miss Darke?’ he enquired. The answering smile was back in his eyes, she saw, with a little flip of the heart.

  ‘I am laughing at both of us, all stiff-backed over what we call each other. I am Laura, you are Theo and we have more important things to be worrying about than social niceties.’

  ‘Very true.’ Theo came back and sat down. ‘Such as why they turned out his pockets but took no valuables.’

  ‘They were disturbed? But even so, they seem to be very disorganised.’ She got up, mimed lifting a weapon and bringing it down on a head. ‘I hit him, I stab him for good measure.’ She knelt down, pretended to examine a body. ‘If I want to rob him I look first at his wallet, because that is where the bank notes will be. I take those, then I turn out his pockets, take the coin and pull off his ring and remove his watch. But the banknotes and coin had not been taken, yet his pockets had been searched, you say. So, they were definitely after something other than money or they would have taken the notes, at least.’

  ‘They were looking for the results of his researches into the tomb,’ Theo suggested. ‘And when they found nothing, they decided to prevent him from carrying any out.’

  ‘That is foolish – what is to stop you from investigating the same sources? You are an educated man and a landowner – you must be used to estate papers and old maps and documents.’

  ‘Delaying tactics,’ Theo said, speculatively. ‘And I don’t have the papers.’

  ‘Delaying – until they can get their hands on you,’ she said with a little shiver.

  ‘Interesting if they try,’ Theo said slowly and with relish, and Laura felt her nerve snap.

  ‘Oh, you infuriating man!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  For a second Laura thought Theo was mumbling an apology at her, then she saw Will Thwaite was stirring restlessly.

  ‘It is all right, Mr Thwaite.’ She took his hand and stroked it, hoping to calm him. ‘Lie still, you have been hurt. You have nothing to apologise for.’

  ‘Neither have I, come to that,’ Theo muttered. ‘Unless it is simply being male that is the crime. You are safe now, Will,’ he added firmly.

  ‘You men are all the same,’ Laura said, still cross with him. ‘Danger is amusing, risk is sport, murder is an adventure. Perhaps you think someone trying to stab you would be fun? Lift Mr Thwaite’s head a little so I can give him a drink. Mrs Bishop found an old pap boat for feeding babies, but I don’t want to strain the wound in his back.’

  The water seemed to revive the curate because he took several long sips and then opened his eyes. ‘Where am I?’ he asked as they laid him back down.

  ‘I always wondered whether people really did say that,’ Theo remarked and earned himself a glare from Laura.

  ‘You are at Mannerton Grange, Mr Thwaite,’ she said. ‘You were attacked in the churchyard and brought here. The doctor has seen you and you will be quite all right in time, but you must rest.’

  ‘Attacked? Me? No, no. I must have tripped and fallen.’ He blinked at her. ‘Miss Darke? I thought you were in Bath.’

  ‘No, that was a… mistake. I’m sorry, but it cannot have been an accident – someone stuck a knife in your back.’

  ‘Good gracious,’ he said mildly as his eyelids fluttered closed. ‘Good grac…’

  ‘He’s asleep again.’ Theo sounded frustrated.

  ‘If he had seen who it was then he would have known he had been attacked,’ Laura pointed out. ‘So, there is no point in trying to rouse him. He might recall something later. Meanwhile, we need a plan.’

  ‘What do you propose?’ he asked, surprising her by not announcing that he would decide what to do.

  ‘First we inform the household of our fears and get them on the alert. Then we have luncheon. After that we organise the timings for tonight – who sleeps first and so forth. When our defences are in place then we ransack Perry’s library for local histories, antiquarian works, armorials and old maps – anything that might refer to the tomb. It has coats of arms on it, I think, but I never looked at them closely.’

  ‘Will was going to take rubbings of them so we could look in detail,’ said Theo. ‘I can’t recall much about them, other than a fat beast that looked like a pig.’

  ‘Why don’t you do that this afternoon, I think we’ve some black wax. You could have your groom as a bodyguard – don’t poker up at me, there is no point in taking unnecessary risks.’

  ‘True. Let us call everyone together and brief them on the situation. We had best do it in the hallway, because I do not want to leave Thwaite alone.’

  ‘Rum do, this, my lord.’ Jed scrubbed at the moss and lichen on top of the tomb while Theo warmed the ball of cobbler’s wax in his hands to make it a little softer. ‘Who’d kill a curate over this old thing?’ He brushed his hands on the seat of his breeches and moved to hold the first sheet of paper for Theo. ‘Ugly bit of work.’ He pulled a face at a podgy, blank-eyed cherub.

  ‘We might be mistaken and it is only a coincidence,’ Theo said as they spread the paper over the inscription on the top and he began to rub. ‘Still, at least this is coming up surprisingly clearly and it will be interesting to translate it.’

  Jed’s grunt expressed clearly how interesting he thought the idea of translating funerary inscriptions from the Latin might be. ‘I don’t suppose this slab lifts?’

  ‘What, the lid?’ Theo squinted at the edges. ‘Looks far too heavy, but we’ll give it a try.’ They strained and heaved for a bit, then both flopped over the top and panted. ‘If I’m as red in the face as you are, Jed, then we’ll both be having seizures if we keep this up.’

  ‘Whoever’s in there ain’t coming out in a hurry, anyways,’ the groom said and hunkered down to brush at the carvings on the sides of the great box. ‘Rum old coats of arms. Is that a pig?’

  ‘Wild boar perhaps?’ Theo rubbed vigorously at the panel and looked at the result. ‘The local stone mason wasn’t much of an expert on carving, I’d say. More used to plain stone buildings, probably.’

  They finished the four side panels and Theo rolled up the results. ‘These will strap on the back of the saddle.’

  Jed gave the tomb a parting kick with his heavy boot. ‘Is that my imagination, my lord, or did that echo?’

  ‘Your imagination,’ Theo said firmly. ‘I don’t want nightmares about echoing vaults, thank you very much.’ Or to have to remember Jed’s remark about the heavy lid keeping the occupant in. ‘We must get back. I don’t like leaving Miss… Mrs Albright, even with two footmen.’

  ‘Aye, best to be cautious in naming the young lady. That’s a tricky old bugger, her uncle, by all accounts.’ Jed swung up into the saddle and brought his horse alongside Theo’s. ‘Still, I reckon she’ll be safe enough, at least while Mrs Bishop’s about with her shotgun.’

  ‘Shotgun?’

  ‘Oh yes. And she can handle it too, by all accounts, according to those footmen. Fine female that,’ he added meditatively.

  ‘Jed.’

  ‘She’s a grown woman, knows her way around. She’s put one husband in the ground so she’s no blushing village maiden. No harm in trying.’

  ‘You behave yourself. A groom with his breeches full of buckshot is no use to me and a cook in a temper is no help to Mrs Albright,’ Theo said severely. Which was hypocritical of him, he knew. He was thinking ab
out Laura in that way – and she was a respectable virgin. And one who appeared to be attached to his good friend, which only made it worse. Leaving aside the fact that he was engaged to be married. He must write to Lady Penelope, let her know where he was, make polite enquiries about her health…

  ‘I’ll behave myself, don’t you be worrying, my lord.’

  Theo rolled his eyes and urged his horse into a canter. Trying to get the better of his groom was impossible, he had learned that long ago.

  Chapter Seven

  How long does it take to scrub some wax over some paper? Laura wondered irritably. She was tired, anxious and puzzled. Not a good combination and made worse by the suspicion that she was making a fool of herself over a handsome face and a pair of blue eyes. Stop it. What kind of woman yearns for a man who is spoken for? Theo’s an honourable man and you should be just as principled.

  Mr Thwaite was in and out of what seemed to her to be more a restless sleep than unconsciousness now. It was only natural that he should be feverish, she told herself and Mrs Bishop agreed, but there was no denying that she would feel a lot calmer if he was awake, rational, free of infection and able to produce some answers. What had he found out about the tomb? Who had attacked him? When, exactly?

  They had worked out that it must have been late last night, because the churchwarden reported that the curate had gone over to the church after supper for some reason. That was not unusual and he had his own door key, so the fact that the couple had gone to their bed before he came back did not worry them. It seemed that Mrs Lubbock, as well as being a bad cook, was not a fussy housekeeper, and she had not gone up to her lodger’s chamber to make the bed until well past nine the next morning. When she found it unslept in she had told her husband who had set out to search and had found Will sprawled across the threshold of the church porch in a welter of blood.

  If the attack really was a result of Theo’s conversation at her uncle’s house, then whoever attacked the Curate either knew he was likely to be found in the church late in the evening or it had been a lucky sighting – for them, that was.

  Which doesn’t get me any further forward, Laura thought, calling Edward to help her give Mr Thwaite a drink before he lost consciousness again.

  He blinked up at her. ‘Miss Darke.’ That was encouraging, at least he recognised faces. ‘Where am I?’ And that was not. He had asked the same question six times at least and had been answered every time. She was beginning to worry that he might never regain his right mind.

  That could be a good story to put about, one that might make the attacker feel there was no need to risk breaking into the house to try again.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Albright.’ Pitkin stood in the doorway, managing to look her in the eye and sound confident, she was glad to see. ‘Mrs Bishop says to tell you that his lordship has returned and that she has luncheon ready. I can sit with Mr Thwaite while you eat, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you, Pitkin. He has just been awake for a few moments and has had a drink. If he is restless, bathe his brow with the vinegar water and call me if you are worried.’

  Laura had expected to eat in the kitchen, but Mrs Bishop shooed her though to the dining room. ‘His lordship said so.’

  It was a novelty to have a man stand the moment she entered the room, to pull out her chair before Terence the footman could get there. Her uncle and cousins had been careless about such courtesies to her and now she felt flustered by the attention.

  ‘Mr Thwaite still only wakes for a few minutes at a time and he is no more coherent,’ she said abruptly, the moment she was seated. ‘And he is feverish. I did wonder whether to send for the doctor, but Mrs Bishop says there is no cause.’

  ‘It is very soon after a blow to the head, I imagine this is only to be expected. May I serve you some soup?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ She managed a smile. ‘I confess to feeling a trifle out of sorts.’

  ‘To be expected, I would say. Bread and butter?’

  ‘Thank you.’ The normal civilities of life were a useful shield, she realised. They gave her something to say, an excuse for watching Theo’s hands as he dealt with ladle and bowls. ‘Did you manage to take the impressions?’

  ‘We did. And we tried to remove the lid of the tomb, but of course it was far to heavy. Even the two of us could not get it to shift by a fraction, which rather quashes my vague idea that it might be a hiding place.’

  ‘Ugh, what a horrid idea. I much prefer to think of tombs staying firmly closed with their lids on tightly.’

  ‘So do I! You are not a reader of Gothick tales then?’ he asked with a grimace that made her laugh.

  ‘Definitely not the frightening ones. Will you study the inscriptions this afternoon?’

  ‘I thought we both might, if you are still minded to help – I think it needs at least two pairs of eyes. Pitkin can sit with Thwaite for a while. He says he has eaten.’ Theo demolished a slice of cold game pie, then sent her a quizzical look. ‘Have you been advising young Pitkin, Laura?’

  ‘Whatever can you mean?’ Laura asked, all innocence. She would rather that the valet seemed to have found his confidence by his own exertions.

  ‘I mean that he appears to have acquired a backbone – and a chin – and has almost stopped apologising every third word. I cannot quite see Mrs Bishop having a motherly word with him.’

  ‘It is clearly your example. And your encouragement.’ Theo raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘Oh very well, I did have a few words with him and offered some advice,’ she admitted, flapping her napkin into her lap, embarrassed that she had been found out. ‘His father seems to have left him full of self-doubt and he needs his confidence boosting. I certainly was not motherly, in fact I gave him what I hope was a bracing talk. He is very worried about letting you down and disappointing the Duke and his terrifying valet, Flynn.’ She hesitated, then could not resist adding, ‘And he worries that when you marry that your wife will not take to him and he will be dismissed.’

  Theo went very still. ‘That is nonsense. I will not be marrying before October and besides, my wife will have no say in the employment of my valet. I cannot imagine that she would be remotely interested. It was kind of you to spare time for Pitkin when you have worries of your own.’

  ‘I know what it is to feel inadequate and afraid,’ she said simply, then, when Theo looked as though he was going to respond, said hurriedly, ‘Is the inscription in Latin?’

  ‘Yes. Can you read that?’

  ‘No. I have had the usual education for girls – my languages are French, Italian and some little German. But I am used to working out involved patterns for embroidery, so perhaps I can help with the details, even if I cannot read them.’

  They settled in the library with the rubbings spread out and weighted at the corners with books of sermons which, as Theo remarked, looked as though they could do with taking down for an airing.

  ‘Hic jacet, Brandon Flyte, armiger,’ Laura read, brushing away a dead moth that fluttered out of one of the sermons. ‘I can manage that – Here lies Brandon Flyte, knight.’

  Theo peered at the rest of the inscription, took pen and paper and began to write down what he could decipher, leaving gaps where he could make no sense of it.

  Laura studied the shields from the sides and started to draw what she could in the hope it might make it easier when they compared the coats of arms with the books of heraldry. From time to time she glanced over at Theo whose hair had fallen into his eyes with the constant rake of his fingers through it. He had a smudge of ink on his cheek. The lack of perfection was oddly endearing. Once he looked up, met her gaze, grinned and went back to peering between the lettering and two Latin dictionaries.

  Strange that he did not refer to his betrothed by her name, she thought. Or say anything about her at all. Surely he misses her?

  Eventually he sat up, put down his pen and announced, ‘Sir Brandon Flyte was an unmitigated bore with a wildly inflated sense of his own importance, even though there i
s not a single example of what exactly he did do to deserve being memorialised as Prudent, Gallant, Charitable, Noble and Loyal. No clues there.’

  ‘I cannot find anything like these coats of arms in the Heraldry either.’

  ‘I am beginning to think that Flyte never existed. But why such an ostentatious tomb for a fiction?’

  ‘Might the inscription be a code? Perhaps treasure is buried in the churchyard.’

  ‘A memorial plaque in the church might be a less expensive option,’ Theo grumbled. ‘I know nothing about codes.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Laura shut the weighty Heraldry with a bang that sent up clouds of dust. ‘Oh, I’ve just had an idea. When did this tomb appear in the churchyard? Because if Sir Brandon is fictitious, surely everyone in the parish knew it, so, if we know when, we at least know who might have been involved.’

  ‘He is supposed to have died in 1767, less than fifty years ago. I suppose we should allow for a year or two for the tomb to be created – if he was real, that is. We could start looking in books of architecture, church histories and antiquarian surveys of the county.’ Theo got up and, hands on hips, began to scan the shelves.

  ‘Perry’s sure to have got that kind of thing somewhere – although his father was the one who bought all the books, as you can tell by the dust.’ Laura told herself to concentrate on the work in hand and not on admiring the tall figure against the leather bindings. ‘Dear Perry is not one of life’s great readers,’ she said fondly.

  ‘No.’ Theo sounded somewhat crisp.

  Perhaps he is frustrated at not finding answers. Giles would have been throwing books around by this point, but somehow she thought Theo had more self control. Besides, he was scanning the shelves with what looked like unflagging interest.

  ‘Here we are. Augustus Humbleton. A Survey of the County Of Norfolk: comprising a compete review of all features of historical, artistic and antiquarian interest comprised within the boundaries… Etcetera, etcetera. In five volumes, no less and written in 1790. It can’t have taken all that long since 1767 to have the tomb made, so it ought to be mentioned.’