Redeeming Jack (22 page)

Mrs. Evans took back her hand. “And what is your excuse now to come prying around the homes of God-fearing folk?”

Jack gestured at his worn clothing. “My father disinherited me. I have to earn a living, just like you do.”

“I know that,” Mrs. Evans tutted dismissively. “But I also know Reverend Davies doesn’t have a man to follow him around when he goes visiting. He’s far too poor.”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

Mrs. Evans stared right back at him.

Jack tried to decide how much information he could trust his former childhood ally with. “I’m working for the government. I need to know if you have a Mrs. Forester staying at the house.”

Mia came in backwards through the kitchen door, bearing the tray of teacups. “They want more tea and cakes now. Will they ever stop?”

“Mia.” Mrs. Evans spoke firmly, although her attention remained on Jack. “You are employed as a maid. Now do your job.” Under cover of Mia’s flouncing and complaints, Mrs. Evans moved closer. “A Mrs. Forester is staying here. I cannot imagine what interest the government would have in her. She’s my mistress’s sister.”

Jack felt a surge of triumph. She was still here, delayed by an unexpected attack of the chicken pox. It seemed the Fates had decided to favor him for once.

Mia returned to the drawing room, loaded with cakes and tea.

Jack got to his feet. “If you see any signs that Mrs. Forester intends to leave this house by stealth, will you contact Richard Mansell at the manor house?”

Mrs. Evans nodded as she poured her cake batter into greased tins. “I will do that for you, Master Jack. I’ve never known you to lie to me.”

Jack removed the bowl from her hands and kissed her reddened cheeks. “Thank you, Mrs. Evans. It’s been a pleasure.”

She swatted his face with her flour-covered fingers. “Get along with you, and give my regards to your family.”

Jack helped himself to another cake and headed for the door. “I rarely see my family, but I’ll certainly pass on your good wishes if the occasion arises.” He crammed his hat over his coal-darkened hair. “I’ll return to escort the reverend home. Tell him not to worry.”

He turned and started the steep climb back up the hill. He needed to write a short note to the duke and get Richard to send it post haste to London.

By the time he reached Richard’s study, Jack was panting with the effort. He’d used the secret entrance Richard had shown him to avoid bumping into any of the Mansells’ guests. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Mansell or Oliver Rice spotting him.

There was no sign of Richard as Jack scribbled his note and sealed it. He paused before he wrote the direction. Should he leave the note with the butler, or on Richard’s desk? Jack glanced out the window, where the morning sun climbed to its highest point. He had to go back for Gareth.

Jack slid the note under Richard’s ornate inkwell and hurried into the hall. He looked up and saw the Mansells’ guests descending the stairs for lunch. He caught a glimpse of Richard and Oliver’s surprised faces before he ducked back out of sight. Changing direction, he went through the baize door into the servant’s quarters.

Hamilton, Richard’s valet, was having his lunch at the crowded kitchen table. Jack took a moment to murmur in his ear. “I’ve left an important message for your master in his study. Would you be so good as to mention it to him after your luncheon?”

Hamilton, a most superior valet, inclined his head a regal inch. “Yes, sir. I will, sir. Now, please go and wash the soot out of your hair. You are destroying my master’s clothing.”

Jack patted the valet on the back, knowing how much he hated his clothes to be wrinkled. “Thanks for your help with that, Hamilton. You did a remarkable job.”

* * *

By the time Jack arrived, panting, at the bottom of the hill, Gareth had already mounted his horse and started back up the path. He smiled triumphantly down at Jack.

“I believe we have succeeded. Mrs. Forester is definitely staying at her sisters. I had the pleasure of her company for over an hour. She seemed such a nice woman. And I came away with a donation for my widows and orphans fund.”

Jack groaned as they started the long trek back up the hill. “I’m glad it went well and I’m grateful for your assistance. I intend to get into the house tonight and ‘persuade’ her to return with me.”

Gareth grabbed his hat as the wind tugged playfully at the brim. “At what time do I need to be ready?”

“You don’t,” Jack replied. “I’m going by myself.” He could almost taste Gareth’s disappointment. “I can’t risk your life. You’ve done more than enough already.”

They continued in silence, the only sound the clop of the horse’s hooves.

Eventually, Gareth heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. A man of the cloth can’t break into a private dwelling and kidnap a defenseless woman.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be struck by a lightning bolt from your employer because of me. Besides, whatever would I tell Carys?”

Gareth’s lugubrious expression eased and Jack started to smile. The unmistakable crack of a pistol shot exploded in front of him. The horse reared, sending Gareth falling toward Jack. Acting on well-honed instincts, Jack allowed Gareth’s weight to take them both to the ground and into a convenient scrub of bushes.

After a few cautious minutes, Jack raised his head and studied the barren terrain. The horse had disappeared. He had to assume the single shot had been fired from the grounds of Oxwich Manor above them.

Jack patted Gareth’s shoulder. “For a moment there, I thought God had spoken.” His breath caught as he gazed at his hand, which was covered in the blood oozing from Gareth’s shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Jack turned his best friend onto his back. “Gareth, can you hear me?”

Gareth’s freckled face was slack, his eyes closed. Jack felt for a pulse, his fingers cold and clumsy in his haste. He mouthed a silent prayer of thanks as he felt Gareth’s life force flicker under his fingertips. He had no idea in which direction the horse had bolted and could only hope it had the sense to return to its stable and raise the alarm.

Jack cradled Gareth in his arms as he considered his options. Did he carry Gareth down the hill, alerting everyone in Mrs. Edwards’ cottage to his presence? Or did he continue on up and risk the unknown gunman taking another shot at them? If he could only reach one of the entrances to the secret passages under Oxwich Manor…

It started to rain in earnest. The sun disappeared behind towering black clouds. Jack slid an arm under Gareth hoisting him over his shoulder. There was no other choice. He had to keep moving upward and pray that someone came to help him soon.

“CONFOUND IT, MAN. You can’t go haring across the countryside in your current state!” Richard pushed Jack none too gently back into his seat. The room was empty of furniture, apart from the rocking chair Jack sat in and a ladies’ writing desk. Faded curtains embroidered with horses and peeling blue alphabet wallpaper indicated that Jack’s present hiding place had once been a schoolroom.

Jack clenched his teeth in an effort to control the shudders of cold racing through him. Two hours struggling up a storm-swept hillside carrying an unconscious man had taken their toll. He sipped the warm spiced cider Richard’s cook had prepared for him, enjoying its fiery heat.

Richard had met him just beyond the outer wall and smuggled him and Gareth up the back stairs to the deserted nursery floor of the main house. Gareth lay in the room connected to his.

“I have to let Carys know that Gareth is injured. She needs to inform his wife.”

Richard made an impatient gesture. “Just give me her direction and I’ll send someone.” Jack studied his friend until Richard’s gaze grew indignant. “Does your silence imply that you don’t trust me?”

“As I said, the shot came from above us.” Jack forced the cider down his aching throat. “If you were in my position, I expect you’d be wary too.”

Richard raked a hand through his short brown hair. “But it could’ve been anyone! Perhaps it was a poacher or one of the local lads shooting at seagulls. Why do you assume it was me?”

“Because I doubt the shot was meant for Gareth. And if you do have plans to kill me, I’ll be damned if I let you involve my wife.”

Richard crouched in front of Jack. “I give you my word that I didn’t take a shot at you. Do you want me to get a Bible and swear to that?”

Jack didn’t have the heart to tell Richard that his personal belief in God had been shaken by the war. Richard was a gentleman and he still believed his word meant something. It occurred to Jack that he had no choice but to accept Richard’s help. If he intended to recapture Mrs. Forester, he needed to remain in Oxwich, not go chasing after Carys. “I’ll give you her father’s direction. He will be able to get a message to her.”

Richard got to his feet, a purposeful gleam in his eyes. “I’ll send my best man. Carys should have the news well before morning.”

Jack hoped she would be successful in finding someone to come and collect Gareth, preferably with a carriage or a cart. The bullet had passed through the fleshy part of Gareth’s upper arm without burying itself in the bone. For once, Jack had blessed his battlefield experience, which had helped him prevent any serious blood loss until help arrived. Apart from a large bump on Gareth’s forehead, where the horse had reared back and collided with his face, he was relatively unscathed.

Richard reached the door and Jack remembered something else. “Did you dispatch the note I left you earlier to the duke?”

“I don’t recall seeing a note.” Richard frowned. “Where did you leave it?”

“On your desk. I asked Hamilton to remind you about it when I saw him in the kitchen at lunchtime.”

Richard’s face cleared. “I haven’t been in my study since this morning. I took my mother and Lady Rice out for an airing in the carriage right after lunch. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Hamilton either. By the time we returned from our outing, Gareth’s horse had turned up in the stable yard, and everyone feared the worst.”

Jack pulled the woolen blanket up around his shoulders as another spate of shivering rattled his bones. If Richard was telling the truth, it was unlikely he’d been alone for long enough to attempt to injure Jack or Gareth.

“I’ll send both messengers off as soon as you’ve written a note to Carys.” Richard said. “You’ll find all you need in the desk.”

Jack glanced at the oak writing desk situated between the two windows. “Thank you, Richard.”

Some of the stiffness eased from Richard’s broad shoulders. “I’m just trying to help. Please allow me to do that at least.”

Jack finished his cider and got to his feet. His body shouted in protest as he forced his aching muscles to obey him. The door to Gareth’s room was ajar. Jack peered through the crack and ascertained that Gareth still slept. If he avoided an infection in his arm, Gareth’s chances of a complete recovery were excellent.

Still clutching the blanket around his shoulders, Jack turned to the desk. He moved a candle from the mantelpiece and placed it on the top of the bureau. Outside, fingers of fog crept across the darkening skies and reached down to caress the misshapen treetops like celestial gardeners.

Jack knew he couldn’t deal with Mrs. Forester tonight. His body was too shaken to see him through. He smiled grimly at his faint reflection in the windowpane. It had only taken one shot to plunge him back into the mayhem of war and set his nerves jangling and his gut puking. But all was not lost. If Mia was right, he had at least two more days before Mrs. Forester intended to leave.

It took Jack only a few minutes to compose a short, carefully worded note to Carys and seal it with wax. By the time the wax cooled, Richard had returned.

“I can’t find the note you left me.”

Jack nodded slowly. “That might explain why someone tried to kill either Gareth or me. The person might have inferred that we had stumbled upon some vital information.”

Richard paced the hearth rug, his hands behind his back. “How discreet was the note?”

“Very. All I said was that I had discovered something of interest and hoped to return with it within the week.”

“That could mean anything. If one of the servants read it, he could’ve assumed it referred to the local smuggling ring. Unless the French have a spy within this house, I doubt anyone connected the note with Mrs. Forester’s intended removal from the country.”

Jack couldn’t dispute Richard’s reasoning. “It’s my damn fault for not handing the note directly to you or to Hamilton.”

Richard stopped pacing. “That’s another thing. There’s no sign of him either.”

CARYS KNOCKED FIRMLY on the kitchen door of Oxwich Manor. By the end of the exhausting journey, dawn had broken over the iron-grey sea, lightening the darkness ahead of her. She stamped her feet to dislodge the melted ice on her kid boots and knocked again. Despite the early hour, Carys knew some poor soul had to be awake, tending to the ovens or boiling copious amounts of water to carry up for the family and guests.

A young maid wearing a stained apron and pink checked dress opened the door, her eyes wide.

Carys smiled as she removed her gloves. “I’ve come to see the Reverend Davies. Can you take me up to his room?”

The maid bobbed a hurried curtsey. “I’d have to ask Mr. Mansell about that, ma’am, and he isn’t up yet. Would you like to wait in the kitchen whilst I go and fetch him?”

“It’s all right, Gladys.” A familiar male figure appeared behind the maid. “I’ll take care of the lady.”

Jack hadn’t shaved, and dark bruises marred the left side of his face. He took Carys by the hand and sat her down at the large pine table. Without consulting her, he poured a cup of tea and slid a large bowl of porridge laced with honey in front of her. Jack knew her well enough to understand that food would always sweeten her temper.

While she ate, Jack sat opposite her, cradling a mug of tea. “I should’ve known you’d come yourself.”

Carys put down her spoon and searched his face for a clue as to his mood. He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her, but what else could she have done? Despite her fears for Owen’s safety, Gareth’s difficulties were more immediate.