Chapter Five

In Which our Hero takes a Well-Deserved Nap, and our Heroine cannot Lie

As Richard walked away from the little group assembled in the hall, Lady Hazel looked at her daughter and crooked a finger.

This was exactly what Holly had hoped to avoid, but she had no choice other than to follow Lady Hazel into a small room that she had claimed as hers many years ago. A bright fire burned, and there were a couple of books open on the lovely desk, along with paper and pens. It had always held the scent of her mother, something calming and welcoming.

“Sit, my dear. It’s cold outside and you look a bit chilled.”

Since she’d left her coat and gloves with a maid, and the room was comfortably warm, Holly was under no illusions that Lady Hazel’s question was simply to ascertain the temperature of her skin.

“Thank you, Mama,” she replied dutifully. “It certainly is nice and cosy in here.” She walked to the window. “It seems we might be in for the first big storm of the winter.”

“Indeed.”

“Good thing the greenery is indoors. It would have been a nuisance to send anyone out to lop branches already covered in snow. And think of the mess…”

“Holly.”

“Yes, Mama?”

“Sit. I wish to hear the story of Mr Richard Hawkesbury.” She folded her hands and gave her daughter “the look”, which was only used on serious occasions. “The real story, if you please, not that delightfully smooth, and completely improbable, piece of fiction you related so glibly in the hall.” Lady Hazel shook her head a little. “It will do nicely for the staff, at present. But I must know the truth.”

Outgunned, and accepting that this was truly a matter outside her experience, Holly nodded. “It is not really my story to relate, Mama,” she began. “So would it sound silly if I asked you to keep what I am about to tell you to yourself, for the time being?”

“I’m not sure,” answered her mother. “But you are not a young woman who would ask that lightly, so—with some hesitation, I’ll admit—I will agree. Unless I hear something that I believe your Papa should know about.”

Holly bit her lip. “I trust you, Mama, so I will allow you to make that decision. But please understand, I promised Mr Hawkesbury it would remain a secret for the moment…until we learn more.”

“It sounds intriguing,” smiled Lady Hazel. “So I await the telling with eager anticipation.” She leaned back in her chair comfortably.

“Would you like tea before we begin?”

“No thank you. I’m ready to hear all about it. Now .”

The last word was emphasised quite firmly, and Holly sighed. Something inside her told her it was the right thing to do, even though Richard would probably be concerned.

“Very well then.” She took a deep breath and began the story, telling of what she’d seen through the telescope, how she’d found him injured on the bank, and what he’d related about the fight and the villains who had set upon him and stolen his bag.

Her mother listened, her face betraying little of her reactions to the tale, only firming slightly as Holly told of how she’d discovered him, and the extent of his injuries.

“He could have been killed,” said Lady Hazel, anger in her voice. “On our land, too.”

“He was very lucky,” Holly agreed. “But he has no idea who the villains were. He didn’t recognise either of them. And without his bag…” She sighed. “He thinks that getting it away from him was the reason for the attack, and that was all they wanted. But I think they thought he was dead when they left him, Mama. I really do.”

“So he was on his way to see Sir Duncan? On business?”

“Yes. That’s what he said.”

“And you don’t know what this document was?”

“He won’t tell me. Apparently, it concerns a confidential matter that Sir Duncan had requested from his firm of solicitors.”

“Hmm.” Lady Hazel rose and began to pace, a habit she had when thinking something over.

Holly let her continue for a while, thankful that her recitation hadn’t brought any wrath down on her head. “Obviously, they wanted the documents, Mama, and were prepared to do anything to get them.”

“You really think they left him for dead?”

“I do, or at the very least believing he would die overnight.”

“The horse was gone too?”

Holly nodded. “He was completely alone when I found him.”

“Thank God you did,” said her mother. “You should, of course, have brought him straight here. You know that.”

“Yes, Mama. And I’m sorry for that. But given that he’d been attacked so violently, I couldn’t be sure if he was still in danger. Not something I wanted to bring into our home.”

“So you bandaged him up and stayed with him, not knowing if those wicked men would come back to finish the job—and you with it?”

“Er…”

Lady Hazel shot her a look that spoke volumes. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, Holly.”

“I hope I never have to, Mama,” she answered. “But with all due respect, it was a unique situation. I did what I thought was best for Mr Hawkesbury and Forest Grange.”

“Well, I’ll let it pass this time, in light of the information you’ve given me.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

“But the question before us now is what do we do with Mr Hawkesbury? Is there any way we can help him retrieve his belongings?”

“You mean the documents?” asked Holly.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed to admit I’d like to find those men and see them punished.”

“As would I.” She thought for a moment. “Mama, Sir Duncan and Mr Blackstone. They’re still here?”

“Yes, they are. As soon as the snow began, we knew we were in for a sizeable storm, so we had to offer them hospitality until they can resume their journey. Mr Blackstone could probably have taken his leave; a strong gentleman who appears quite able to negotiate bad weather. But it would have been a lot to ask of Sir Duncan, who neither young nor very fit.”

Holly frowned. “Why were they here in the first place?”

“I understand that Sir Duncan is engaged in some sort of business venture with Mr Blackstone.”

“Really?” Holly’s surprise was obvious. “That sounds rather obscure, doesn’t it? And in no way relates to us…”

“Well, I believe our properties share a border somewhere, not that it means anything, but indeed I can find no solid link or circumstance that might bring those two gentlemen to our door.”

“Neither can I, off the top of my head.”

Lady Hazel paused by the fire. “This man, Mr Hawkesbury. A solicitor, you said?”

Holly nodded. “Yes, and employed by the firm of Durnford and Hutchins, he told me.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I have heard of them. Most reputable, and exactly the kind of people Sir Duncan would employ for his business.”

“Well, that’s something in his favour.”

Sighing, Lady Hazel walked to her desk and consulted the lovely little clock that ticked away quietly on one side of it. “He will be roused soon. I believe any more information or conversation on this topic would best be served by his presence, don’t you?”

“He may not be too happy with me for telling you all this, Mama.”

“He’ll just have to accept it, my dear. And understand we are not his enemies, or a danger to him, but quite willing to assist him where we can.”

“Thank you,” she said, rising and going to her mother. “I love you most heartily.”

Lady Hazel grinned and hugged her daughter. “I love you too, even when you manage to get yourself, and by default me, into strange scrapes.”

“I believe you enjoy them, Mama.”

“Well…you’re not entirely wrong.”

*~~*~~*

Richard was awoken by a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Time to wake up, sir. Lunch will be served shortly. D’you feel up to it?” The efficient Charles was hovering with what looked like a bowl of steaming hot water.

“Umphh…” he blinked, disentangled himself from the linens and managed a nod. “Yes…yes, I’m better.” He put a hand to his head and felt the solid bandage. “I think I am, at least.”

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he glanced at the lad. “I’m very thankful for your care, Charles.”

The footman grinned. “My pleasure, sir. Not often I get to serve a gentleman, but the house is that busy right now with the preparations for Christmas, and clearing the snow, and all that…”

“Well then, if you would put that water down somewhere and undo this dratted bandage, I’d be most grateful.”

“Er…” Charles hesitated. “Mrs Trenchard…”

“Is, I’m sure, a woman of amazing talents and delightful disposition. But she’s wrapped me up like a china figurine about to be shipped off to Zanzibar. My head is a lot harder than that, and I refuse to lunch with a family I’ve never met looking like the victim of a pirate attack on the high seas.”

Charles burst out laughing, nearly spilling the water before he remembered himself. “Ooops, sorry sir.” The bowl went safely to the bureau. “Both of us will probably hear about this, but if you’d lean forward a little, I think I can manage it…”

As good as his word, the lad handily removed the offending cloth, leaving Richard feeling much better. “Thank you. That’s a decided improvement.”

“Got some clothes, too, sir,” Charles waved at the nearby chair. “You’re about the same size as Mr Ashe, so his valet found these, and said that they aren’t being worn anymore, so you should make use of them, just while yours are being cleaned.”

“That is very kind,” nodded Richard. “A shirt that isn’t decorated with…well, let’s just say I prefer plain white.”

“Can’t disagree with you there, sir. But there’s been plenty of blood shed in this house, and our maids are real clever at gettin’ it all out, nice and clean.” As if he’d just realised what he’d implied, Charles hastened to correct himself. “I mean, sir, accidents and all. You know, someone falls down and cuts a knee or something. Not like what you went through.” He gave a tiny shudder. “That’s a first for me.”

“Me too,” grinned Richard, carefully touching his head and pleased to note that it was now only tender, not painful anymore. “And I’d just as soon not repeat the process, which might happen if I’m late for lunch. So be a good chap and go away. I’ll dress and be down directly.”

“As you wish, sir. I could help if you’d like, someday I want to be a valet…”

“And a fine one you’ll make, Charles. But at this moment, I don’t actually need anything but an empty room.”

“Ah.” The lad nodded and took the hint. “Dining room’s second door on the right when you get downstairs.”

Richard smiled and waved him off, sighing with relief when he was finally alone.

Used to doing for himself, it took no more than five minutes to ensure he was refreshed and tidy, and that his wound was not showing signs of anything other than healing.

A clean shirt was, as he’d said, a delight. Apparently, Ashe Trease had good taste in clothing, since it was the sort of style and fabric he’d have bought for himself, if a tiny bit long in the sleeve. But paired with the cravat, and the lovely figured waistcoat, he looked quite the gentleman, especially when he finished it with the jacket, a fine wool in a green so dark it was almost black.

His breeches, thank God, were his own, obviously cleaned and neatened. Head wounds and stab wounds damaged upper garments more than lower ones.

Slipping on his boots, now polished to a shine they hadn’t had since the day he bought them, he glanced in the mirror and snorted out a laugh. Fine feathers, indeed.

Turning away, his mood sobered. He was about to face a difficult situation, complicated by the apparent presence of Sir Duncan Aylmer and Mr Blackstone. He would also be facing Holly’s family. How this muddled tangle would sort itself out, he had absolutely no idea, but one thing stuck to the forefront of his mind. Miss Holly Trease was definitely the most unusual and fascinating woman he’d ever met.

But what he was going to do about that fact—well, that matter would require some serious thought.