“And what then?” Sir Rupert asked in a dazed tone.
She shrugged. “We have hours on the train with the prince to concoct a reasonable story in the event he has been missed. If there is any storm at all, it will be a tempest in a teacup if he returns in the company of a sober middle-aged couple of respectable reputation. You are one of the nation’s most distinguished barristers, Rupert, and I am the patroness of seven charities. No one would believe the prince has been carrying on in a scandalous fashion if he has been in our company.”
“She does have a point,” Stoker put in. “Several of them, actually.”
“I am well aware,” Rupert replied in a mild tone. “I have long said the only person who has ever bested me in an argument is my wife. She would have made a far better barrister than I.”
“Do not talk about her as if she were not here,” his wife instructed, smiling as she poured another cup of coffee for Stoker. She gave me a glance. “I do wonder, Miss Speedwell, if that frock is entirely to your taste?”
“It is not,” I assured her.
“Then we will find you something more suitable as well,” she promised.
“I think it best if we give them the loan of the carriage instead,” Sir Rupert put in. “It will have them to Marylebone and back by the time we have need of it, and at least we will spare ourselves the possibility of them being arrested for vagrancy from wandering the streets at this hour.”
To my surprise, Stoker agreed, and Rupert sent Dearsley to rouse the coachman. It was some minutes until the carriage was standing ready in the mews, and we passed the time in finishing the impromptu meal and exchanging pleasantries. Lady Templeton-Vane trod a fine line between her natural curiosity and her innate courtesy, asking questions of me but taking great care not to pry.
When the soft knock came at the kitchen door to signal the carriage’s arrival, she put out her hand to me. “It has been a very great pleasure to meet you, my dear. I hope you will come for tea so that we may get better acquainted.”
“I would like that,” I told her and was rather surprised to find that I meant it.
Stoker kissed her soundly on the cheek as I shook hands with Sir Rupert. “Miss Speedwell, it is, as ever, a most interesting encounter.”
I grinned. “I do hope, Sir Rupert, that someday we will meet when we are not obliged to depend upon you for a service.”
“Do not distress yourself, Miss Speedwell,” his wife assured me. “He is never happier than when he is of use.”
They exchanged a smile of long familiarity and fell to talking with Stoker as I went to wake Eddy. I touched him gently on the shoulder and he roused himself with a start. I handed him the coffee and explained where he was and what would happen next.
“So the Templeton-Vanes will see you safely back to Balmoral and that should be an end of the matter,” I told him.
“And Archibond?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “Without either of us in his power, there is precious little he can do. No doubt as soon as we were lost to him, he took to his heels. A man like that would never leave his survival to chance. I have every confidence that he had an escape plan in place, and that de Clare has scuttled back to his hole in Ireland or perhaps even abroad this time. Still, to make certain their misdeeds are known to the authorities, Stoker and I will explain everything to Sir Hugo Montgomerie. If either ever sets foot in this country, or attempts to use the diamond star against you, he will be held accountable, Your Royal Highness,” I promised.
His moustaches drooped a little. “You were calling me Eddy, but I suppose the time for that is past.”
“It is.”
He took my hand in his. “I do not know if we will meet again, Veronica. Papa—” He broke off, struggling for words.
“Your papa mightn’t like it,” I finished for him. “I have to go now, Eddy. The carriage is here.”
He walked with us as far as the door, holding my hand the whole while. As I moved away, he suddenly clasped me to him, putting his long arms around me and holding me close, his head ducked against my neck. I hesitated, then returned his embrace for a fierce moment. He was spoilt and sometimes silly, thoughtless and young for his age. But there was a sweetness to him, a childlike candor that touched me, and I realized it might be the only time in the whole of my life that I would have the chance to hold a younger brother in my arms.
After a long minute, I moved away. I stepped into the carriage and heard Stoker slam the door behind us, knocking once upon the roof. The wheels turned slowly, rolling us away from the quiet mews and the people we left behind. I did not look back.
CHAPTER
20
It was nearly dawn by the time we reached Lord Rosemorran’s estate at Bishop’s Folly. We had passed exhaustion many hours back, but we took precautions, aware that there was a slender chance that de Clare and Archibond had anticipated our returning home. We left the carriage in the next street and walked around the estate, entering by means of a hidden door in the far side of the walled property.
No sooner had we set foot on the grounds than the dogs rushed us, Huxley and Bet and Nut flinging themselves at us in an ecstasy of welcome. Stoker fell to his knees from a particularly ill-placed thrust of Bet’s head, and I occupied myself with scratching Huxley and Nut lavishly about the ears.
“They would have alerted anyone to strangers on the premises,” I told Stoker, and he, too weary to speak, merely nodded. I helped him to his feet and, his arm draped over my shoulders, guided him to my little Gothic chapel. I drew off the borrowed boots, now falling to tatters, but did not help him undress further. He had fallen backwards onto the bed as soon as I began to tug and was completely asleep by the time the second boot hit the floor. The dogs arranged themselves around him protectively, and I covered him with a quilt pieced together from bits of clerical vestments. I pulled off my borrowed feathers—dress, hat, and boots—and did not bother with the rest, merely wrapping myself in my dressing gown and curling into a question mark on the little red sofa that had once graced an archbishop’s palace. It was chilly in the chapel, and my last thought was how nice it would be to light a fire . . .
I awoke to sunlight streaming over my face, the night’s fog burned away in a blaze of autumnal gold. I looked at once to the bed. Stoker was sitting up, leaving traces of blood and soot on the sheets along with copious amounts of dog hair.
“You are up early,” I said cheerfully.
He gave me a sour look. “If you dare to be merry, I will filet you like a haddock. I had a ghastly night’s sleep and I feel like something death might have forgotten.”
“You will end up with forty kinds of blood poisoning if we don’t attend to those wounds,” I told him. “Let me just—”