Eighteen

“Were you in Charles’s room when the fire started?”

“No, although-it’s the strangest thing, Edward. I was merely looking in on him, watching him sleep, when I felt this urgent need to appear to him, even though I knew it would scare him-as if it were so vital to awaken him, I could not remain hidden.”

“It was vital,” I said. “Had he not come to me in the library, he might have perished in that bed.”

“And Henry Bane would have become the Earl of Rolingbroke.”

“Yes. But it was William whose coat smelled of smoke and showed signs of being singed.”

“Hmm. How disappointing. William has actually spoken kindly to me once or twice in the past few years. But then, he needed to borrow money.” He sighed. “He’s not immediately in line for the title, but I suppose if two Rolingbrokes could be disposed of, Henry might have a short tenure as well.”

“Who are you talking to?” a child’s voice asked.

I looked in some dismay at Charles, peering at me sleepily from the bed. I glanced toward Lucien, but he had disappeared.

“Myself, Charles.”

“That’s a loud one,” he said, yawning.

“I beg your pardon?” I said, and thought I heard a ghostly chuckle near my ear.

But Charles had fallen asleep again, and though I whispered Lucien’s name, he did not reappear that night.

Charles was still sleeping peacefully when I bestirred myself just before dawn the next morning. I awakened Fibbens, who gladly kept watch over him while I went to the stables. I went down the row of stalls until I came to that of Lucien’s favorite, Fine Lad. An old groom was with the big dark bay, applying fomentations to its legs.

“I’m afraid he’ll be scarred, sir,” the old man said, showing me the horizontal cuts which neatly crossed the front of Fine Lad’s forelegs. “But he should be right as rain otherwise.”

“Those wounds-could they have led to the late earl’s injuries?”

“I wondered about it, sir, and thought p’haps he’d been tripped up, like. But then there was that branch, so I figgered our Fine Lad here hurt himself on the way home.”

“Tell me-what do you mean, tripped up?”

“It’s an old bad ’un’s trick, sir-they puts a rope across the road.”

“But the earl would have seen such a rope.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, but no, sir. The way it works is, Mr. Thief finds a place near a tree, like, and ties th’ rope around its trunk. Then he lays the rope across th’ road, and covers it with leaves, so it’s hidden. Along comes a fine gentleman like our lordship, and Mr. Thief waits until he’s near abreast of ‘im, and yanks hard as hell-beggin’ your pardon-he pulls it tight, see, and the horse can’t stop nor mebbe even knows what’s hit ’im, and while all’s confusion, he coshes th’ fine gentleman-if he ain’t already knocked in the cradle by the fall. Then he robs him, and that’s that.”

“How do you know of this ‘tripping up’? Has this ever happened near here before?”

“Oh, not near here, sir. But I rememory it did happen to the earl’s-beggin’ your pardon-the late earl’s uncle.”

“Lord Alfred Bane?”

“Yes, sir. ’Is lordship’s groom told me of it. Said that when ’is lordship were a young man, he was served just such a nasty trick, and took an awful blow to the side of ’is brainbox-and that’s how he went deef in one ear, which is why ’is lordship was forever shouting. I used to hate it when that man came near our horses-his late lordship, I mean, no disrespect intended-but y’see, ours t’weren’t used to all that shoutin’ and carryin’ on. So his groom tells me what happen’d t’him, and tells me that the robbers got to look no how anyways, ’cause Lord Bane hadn’t more ’n a few shillings on ’im, whilst they were caught and hanged, which is what they deserv’d.”

I rode my own horse back to the place in the woods where I had found Lucien. I searched for a likely place for an ambush, and found it just a few feet away. I did not find a rope, but one tree bore a mark on its trunk, a line that might have been made by a thin rope being pulled taut-and within the bark near that line, I found strands of bristly fiber, as from a cord or rope.

I searched on the side of the path directly opposite, as I might have searched for signs of an enemy’s camp during the war. My search was rewarded-I discovered a spot with a good view of the path, where sticks and leaves had been crushed. It was a place near a fallen log where fragments of brown shell told me that someone had eaten walnuts while they waited for the sound of an approaching rider, a place where someone’s boots had made marks in the soft, damp earth.

I spent a little time also in studying the tree which had supposedly caused Lucien’s injury, and the place where the branch had broken off. I rode my horse slowly down the path, halting in front of the tree, which allowed me an even better view of the point of breakage.

Back at the Abbey, I again examined the branch. I spoke to Bogsley and two other servants before I went to my room and changed out of my riding clothes-which had become somewhat soiled during my explorations. I cleaned up in time to join Charles for breakfast. By then, most of the family was in the breakfast room. Lady Bane-wearing a purple turban-declared that the previous evening’s disturbance had quite ruined her appetite.

I thought Charles might make some remark about this, as her plate was quite full, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts, not even responding to her lecture about young children never being allowed to dine with their elders at Bane House. At one point, he looked up and smiled and winked at me, just as his father might have done. But before I could respond with more than an answering smile, my attention was drawn back to Lady Bane, who asked why I was smiling, and if I thought fires in the middle of the night were amusing.

“Mother!” William said desperately, “Your breakfast grows cold. Do try to eat something.”

She ignored him. She had other complaints to make, and ended her lengthy list of criticisms by saying, “We are leaving immediately after breakfast, Edward, and I ca

“I’m sure it defies description,” I said.

She eyed me in an unfriendly ma

“Staying!” Lady Bane thundered. “Why?”

“To better acquaint myself with my cousin,” he said.

“Edward is not your cousin!”

“I meant Cousin Charles,” William said, then added, “And Edward, too, of course.”

Henry, who entered the room at just that moment, said, “An excellent notion, William! I believe I will join you.”

William seemed displeased, but said nothing. There was no opportunity for him to speak. Lady Bane found their plans extremely objectionable. The matter was decided when Fa

It was decided because Lady Bane, ever contrary, said, “No, I’ll not have it said that I was backward in any attention due to my family. We’ll all stay.”

Into the awkward silence which met this decision came Charles’s voice. “I wish to discuss a private matter with Uncle Edward,” he said, then frowning, added, “If you will excuse us, please?”

He stood, then took my hand, and led me to the library. He closed the doors, then said, “All right, Papa!”

“Excellent, youngster!” Lucien said. “My son, as you can see, Edward, is a stout-hearted fellow.”

“I’ve known that for some time now,” I said.

“He whispered to me during breakfast!” Charles said gleefully. “He was with me while you were out riding this morning.”

“And Fibbens?”

“I believe he has recovered from his initial shock,” my brother said. “I’ve asked him to break it gently to Bogsley.”

“’Zooks, Lucien! Is this wise?”

“I’d prefer they knew, rather than to come across me, er-accidentally. Fibbens will be here shortly to take Charles through one of the passages to the servants’ quarters. Charles will be my ambassador.”