A Murdered Earl Read online

  Luke wasn't quite so sanguine, either about his sister's willingness to submit to restrictions without explanation, or his grandfather's ability to repel a determined younger man. But he was accustomed to treat the old man's opinions with respect, in all except proposals for his own marriage. He nodded agreement.

  'But for the time being I will not come here again for fear I lead him to her. It's me he wants, and he'll look for me in London. It must have been coincidence he was in this direction. Perhaps it was coincidence when he saw me at the posting inn at Witney, that time, and thought he'd recognised me,' he said, trying to sound confident. He needed his grandfather to be fully aware of the danger to Sylvie, but didn't want to worry him unnecessarily. After all, he was an old man, not so robust as he had been even five years since.

  Before he could say more a minor whirlwind erupted into the room, and Sylvie, dark and pretty and laughing with excitement, flung herself into his arms.

  'Luke! Oh, it's good to see you! When did you come? How long are you staying? And you will tell Grandpère that I can earn my own living, as you do, won't you?'

  Luke laughed, kissed her soundly, and held her away from him. 'I declare, you grow taller every time I see you. But who would employ my hoyden of a sister to teach their children decorum?'

  She pouted, and laughed. 'I can be perfectly sober when I wish,' she insisted, but her eyes twinkled wickedly. 'I think, perhaps, I would prefer to be a lady's maid, and then, you know, I would be able to wear her cast off finery.' She glanced with a moue of dissatisfaction at the gown she wore. 'Grandmère insists I dress like a child.'

  'There is no need for you to consider obtaining any post,' her grandfather said rather wearily. The argument had clearly been aired before.

  'I want to so something to help. I can't bear being a burden on you all, or that Luke sends most of his pay here for my keep!' Sylvie said fretfully. 'And since no one is likely to wish to marry a penniless exile, that isn't any answer either.'

  'You're not nearly old enough to consider marriage!' Luke said, startled.

  Sylvie stamped a tiny foot. 'I'm seventeen next month, and lots of girls my age were married, and much younger, in France.'

  Luke suppressed a sigh. In the back of his mind he'd known that the problem of what to do with Sylvie when she was grown had to be faced one day, but he'd cravenly put off such considerations. He had enough complications for the moment. 'For reasons of money, and policy,' he said dismissively. 'But those reasons don't apply to us any longer. It's too soon for you even to contemplate marriage.'

  Sylvie clearly did not agree, but when reminded by her grandfather that Luke could only spare an hour with them, and didn't want his visit ruined by dissention, she apologised prettily and dragged him off to see the stable yard cat's new litter of kittens.

  His grandmother, and the spinster aunt who still lived at home, then appeared and demanded all his news, and there was no chance to speak to Sylvie privately until he was about to depart, and the rest of the family tactfully said their goodbyes and left them alone. He was tempted to warn her about Bossard, but hesitated to destroy her sunny mood. The chances of the wretched man finding her were, he hoped, remote, and he didn't want her life to be blighted any further than it had been. With just a general admonition to take care, and beware of strangers, he kissed her farewell and slid over the wall into the churchyard, excusing his caution with a laughing remark that he didn't want the Earl of Redditch or any of his tenants to see him riding one of the Earl's best horses.

  ***

  There was no one in the stable yard, so he led his mount into the loose box, removed the saddle, and was unbuckling the bridle when he heard footsteps approaching. He was about to step out when he noticed something odd about them. They weren't regular, there was more than one person, and now he could hear a muffled sobbing.

  He looked out, staying within the shadow of the stables. The Viscount was holding a girl, no more than a child, a thin scrap of undernourished humanity, by both arms, and pushing her in front of him towards the barn at one end of the yard. She was sobbing, at the same time struggling fiercely, but without avail. The Viscount pushed her through the small doorway which was used when they didn't want the big ones open for the hay wains, and kicked it shut behind him.

  Luke blinked, and for a moment he thought he was reliving that nightmare of two years ago. Then he bunched his hands into fists, left his horse, and walked softly across the yard. He pushed open the door, just as the girl was sent sprawling onto the hay.

  'Stay there, you little devil, if you know what's good for you,' the Viscount was saying, but she took no heed, scrambling onto her knees and desperately trying to escape while he was engaged in untying his breeches.

  'No, please sir, I's a good girl!' she gasped, and began to scream as the Viscount grasped her skirts and flung them over her head, bunching them together to hold her captive.

  She writhed helplessly, her cries muffled, and the Viscount threw himself on top of her, still fumbling at his breeches. A moment later Luke seized the neck of his elegant coat and heaved him upright.

  'What the devil? Get out of here, you damned Frog!' the Viscount gasped.

  'I will when the child has gone,' Luke replied, forcing himself to speak calmly. This time he must use his head, not let his instincts overwhelm him. He glanced across to where the child was sitting open-mouthed, gazing at him. He could see that she was no more than eleven or twelve years old. 'Where do you live?' he asked gently.

  'Peters, or whatever your name is! Let me go!'

  'Not yet, my Lord,' Luke said softly, and twisted his grip a little more firmly. 'Well?' he asked the girl. 'Where is your home?'

  'At the Lodge,' she whispered.

  'Then you'd best get there before I let this beast go.'

  She suddenly came to life again, scrambled to her feet, and crept round the edge of the barn, hugging the wall and never taking her gaze from the fuming Viscount. When she reached the door she gave a sob, and ran through.

  'Damn you! Let me go! I’ll see you're turned off without a character for this!'

  Luke released him. 'I don't think a character from you would be worth a great deal,' he said contemptuously, and turned away to leave the barn.

  A small scraping sound alerted him, and he swung round to see the Viscount, his face red with fury, thrusting a wicked-looking hay fork towards him. He swerved, his foot slipping on some loose hay, and fell heavily to the floor while the prongs missed him by inches, and thwacked into the wooden wall of the barn. The Viscount yanked them free, cursing volubly, and turned to attack Luke again, but Luke had used the moment's respite to scramble to his feet. Instead of trying to move away from the fork he closed with the Viscount and wrested the weapon from him. He tossed it onto a pile of hay, pushed the Viscount outside, and stepped back to avoid his flailing fists.

  'You bastard!' the Viscount gasped. 'I'll show you not to interfere with me.'

  'You prefer to fight helpless children, do you?' Luke asked, easily evading the unscientific punches that were being thrown at his head and body.

  'It's none of your damned business!' he panted. 'Anyway, the chit would have been willing enough for a few coppers. That was all to try and up the price.'

  'Rubbish! You have to force someone weak and helpless. I doubt you can satisfy a lusty woman!'

  The Viscount redoubled his efforts, then seemed to realise that he was unlikely to land a telling blow. He suddenly stepped back, dragging a small but efficient looking dagger from his belt. He lifted it, aimed, and threw. A moment later he was spreadeagled on the ground, lying on a pile of horse droppings, and Luke, his eyes hard and fists clenched, stood over him menacingly.

  'Well? Want some more?' Luke asked. The Viscount shook his head, rose to his feet, then stared in dismay at his ruined coat and breeches. To Luke's amazement and disgust tears filled his eyes.

  'You – you've ruined my new coat! I haven't even paid for it yet! I'll see your wages are stopped
for this,' he gasped, and turned to hasten back to the house.

  Luke breathed deeply and shut his eyes, but the vision of another man lying on the cobbles, his neck broken, wouldn't be banished. He shuddered, and thanked the good fortune which had helped him to use less force this time. He went back to finish unbridling his horse, and heard a low chuckle from the loose box. The head groom emerged, a wide grin on his face.

  'That were a sight fer sore eyes,' he said, holding out his hand to Luke. 'Shake, man! The times I've longed to do that to the miserable little runt.'

  Luke laughed unsteadily. 'I expect I'll be turned off if he goes squealing to his father, but it was worth it. Tell me, does he make a habit of deflowering children?'

  'I've not heard it before, but I'll warn the villagers, and them with young girls, to keep them out of 'is way.'

  ***

  He'd been delayed, looking for Bossard in Oxford, and taking extra care not to be followed. He went inside half expecting the Earl to dismiss him immediately for being absent when he returned from his ride. Harris was in the kitchen, holding the Viscount's filthy coat and breeches at arm's length. The cook and maids had paused from their work and were laughing raucously.

  'And 'ere's the 'ero,' one of the maids cried as Luke entered.

  'Well done,' Harris said, grinning. 'Having to clean these is worth it, I've never seen 'im so upset. Practically crying, he was.'

  'Has the Earl been asking for me?' Luke said, forcing a grin.

  'I told 'im you'd gone to the village for a special ingredient I'd advised you to use in his shoe blacking,' Harris said, grinning. 'I did what was necessary.'

  'Thanks,' Luke said. 'I'll do the same for you, if I keep my job. And if I'm allowed anywhere near him in future.'

  'His Pa won't send you away just for this. If the little man complains, he'll be told it served him right.'

  Luke hoped he was correct. 'Do you use a special ingredient?' he asked curiously.

  Harris grinned. 'Nah, just the ordinary stuff. But it keeps him quiet to think he's one up on others.'

  Nothing was said about the fracas in the barn as Luke dressed his master for dinner. Perhaps the Viscount had thought better of complaining to his father, having realised that he might have to explain the circumstances, but that hope soon disappeared.

  The Earl was in bed some hours later, and Luke was about to draw the curtains around him when the Earl suddenly chuckled. 'I hear you ruined my son's coat this afternoon?'

  'That was unintentional,' Luke responded.

  'Stupid idiot. Not you, you fool! Him. He ought to know better than to take them too young. They don't know what it's all about, willing or not, and don't give a man any sport.'

  Luke bit back his retort. The Earl's morals weren't his affair, and at least one unwilling child had been saved, for the moment. He was more concerned now about how to ask the questions he must. But the Earl closed his eyes, yawned, and Luke retreated. Tonight was not a good time. On the following morning, though, as the Earl was tugging on a pair of breeches and complaining that his tailor had cut them too tight, he suddenly glared at Luke.

  'What's this about you changing your name?'

  This had to be his best opportunity. Wearily Luke explained. The Earl sniffed, and then gave a bark of laughter. 'At least you're not too proud to work for an honest living,' he muttered. 'Who was your father? Killed by the rabble, I take it?'

  Luke took a deep breath and looked the Earl in the eye. 'Count Phillippe de St Pierre du Vivier. He was guillotined two years ago, and my mother died soon afterwards.'

  'And you're the only son? You're a count too, even if only a French one?'

  Didn't he recognise the name? 'I am.'

  The Earl chortled. 'Wonder if I'm the only man in London with a titled valet?'

  'I'd prefer you didn't make it too widely known, my lord.'

  'Why?'

  'I need to earn my bread, and it could make it difficult if it were known.'

  'Why don't you teach dancing, or give French lessons? Or look for a rich wife who wants a title? That's what most Frenchies do when they have to flee to England.'

  Luke grinned. 'I have little talent for dancing, no wish to spend my days explaining French irregular verbs, and no inclination to marry for money.' Especially not the heiress his grandfather favoured, however deep her coffers.

  'You're a fool, then. What about your mother's people? Why don't you apply to them for help?'

  'They are not wealthy. And even if they were I've no mind to be anyone's pensioner.'

  'Unlike that dammed puppy I threw out yesterday.'

  'Besides,' Luke added, 'I am hoping you can help me.'

  'Me? Impertinent puppy! What do you expect me to do?'

  'Your half-brother, the one who died ten years ago, was at Oxford at the same time as my father,' Luke said quietly. 'He visited you here with him on more than one occasion.'

  'Phillippe? From Vivier? Wait, it's coming back. Yes, I remember young Henry bringing some Frenchie here. So that was your father, hey? But what's that got to do with me now?'

  'Before the revolutionaries attacked the chateau, my father took almost all the family jewels and some papers and hid them. No one knew where, but he was away for two whole days, so he must have gone some distance.'

  'Where is this Vivier?'

  'Near the Spanish border. I suspect he either took them across himself, or entrusted them to a friend who would do so.'

  'He must have told someone how to find them! Damn fool behaviour if he didn't!'

  'He meant the jewels to provide for us in the future. But they came the following day, and he had no time to tell my mother more before they dragged him away. And then my mother died. All she told my sister was to apply to Redditch.'

  'You were not there?'

  'I was in England. It was difficult to get messages to me, or for me to travel once I received them. I was too late to see my mother.' He did not add that he'd been at the university. It would not help his case.

  'And your sister told you I had them?' The Earl's voice was rising dangerously, and Luke tried not to let his dismay overwhelm him. Either the man did not know, or he was not about to admit it.

  'I hoped you might know,' Luke said as smoothly as he could. 'I made enquiries later, and discovered you had been in Spain during that time, visiting an acquaintance near Pamplona, and later going to select wine at Jerez. I hoped my father had sent them to you for safe-keeping, or sent you word of where they were, knowing you were close to Oxford, and could tell me.'

  There was a discreet knock on the door but the Earl was in too much of a fury to heed it. 'You damned jackanapes! How dare you accuse me of stealing your paltry baubles! I've a good mind to turn you off right now! You can go back to your precious Oxford, or to France for all I care! The sooner they guillotine you the better!'

  He had failed. He should have been more diplomatic. Of course it had sounded as though he had accused the Earl of withholding either a letter or the jewels themselves. He should have made it clearer that he knew the Earl couldn't have known where it was. Then, if he was guilty, and by now Luke could believe any evil of him, he'd have had an escape route. It was too late to recover.

  The Earl was still glaring at him. 'Well, where's my hat? And my gloves. We'll be going back to London tomorrow, so pack what I won't need tonight while I'm out. I'll decide what to do about you when we're back in Town. Hand you over to the magistrate, probably.'

  ***

  The journey back to London was smooth, although the Viscount glared impotently at Luke whenever he looked at him and the Earl sat frowning in his corner, ignoring everyone. They arrived in Grosvenor Square as dusk was falling. The Earl dined with his wife, while the Viscount went out, to dine with friends, he said. By the time the Earl was ready for bed he was in a towering fury, and Sam told Luke the Countess had taken advantage of his absence to order new hangings for the dining room.

  'Damned woman! I'll be in Newgate before long, the
way she and the rest of the ungrateful rapscallions treat my money as if it grows on trees! Watch what you're doing! You clumsy oaf! Can't you even take off my stockings without tugging them and ruining them! What the devil do you want?'

  The last was to Sam, who had appeared bearing a twisted note on a salver.

  'I thought you'd want to see this at once, my lord.'

  The Earl snatched the paper, read it, and tossed it into the fire. 'Then you thought wrong, you numbskull! Get out of my sight!'

  Half an hour later Luke let himself out of the bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. In his own small room in the basement he found Sam preparing for bed.

  Sam grinned at him.

  'Phew! You're still alive, then? He's in more of a twit than ever tonight. Bit the Countess's head off before she'd said a word, told her to cancel the order for the new curtains, and send back the gowns she'd bought while he was away. Then he gave Drummond notice.'

  'Drummond? But I thought he'd been here for years! He's waiting his moment to dismiss me too, I suspect, but there's no one to take my place right now.'

  'Ten, at least. He went storming into the kitchen, saying he'd go at once and be thankful to be rid of the old devil, and he'd heard the Duke of Derby was in need of a butler, and treated his servants with proper respect. And then the cook turned nasty and came storming into the dining room because he sent back the fowls, saying they weren't cooked properly. She threatened to leave before her year was up, too, and then he threw the syllabub at Joseph because he clattered some knives together. At least the Viscount wasn't there to ruffle him still further.'

  'Are there often days like this? I've only had a month of it, remember, but this seems worse than usual.'

  Sam shook his head. 'This is the worst I've known, in just over a year. I wish I hadn't stayed, I should have gone when my first year was up. We'll be a right mess without a cook or a butler. And they haven't got another footman to take your place yet.'

  'Perhaps you'll be promoted butler,' Luke said, grinning.