“I suppose in that case he will return shortly,” the duke said with a shrug. “The matter isn’t urgent, after all.”
General Clinton looked as though he differed somewhat with this opinion but, with a brief glance at me, said nothing. He clearly had little time to waste, though, and, bowing politely, bade me good day.
I took my leave with alacrity, barely pausing to assure the duke that I was pleased to have met him and to ask where might his brother send word . . . ?
“I have rooms at the King’s Arms,” Pardloe said. “Shall I—”
“No, no,” I said hurriedly, to forestall his offer to see me home. “It’s quite all right. Thank you, sir.” I bowed to the general, then to Hal, and headed for the door in a whirl of skirts—and emotions.
Captain Richardson was no longer in the foyer, but I hadn’t time to wonder where he had gone. I gave the soldier at the door a quick nod and smile and then was out in the open air, breathing as though I’d just escaped from a bathysphere.
Now what? I wondered, swerving to avoid two little boys with a hoop, who were caroming down the street, bouncing off the legs of the soldiers carrying parcels and furniture to a large wagon. The boys must belong to one of Clinton’s officers, since the soldiers were tolerating them.
John had spoken fairly often of his brother and had remarked upon Hal’s tendency toward ruthless high-handedness. All the current situation needed was a nosey parker with a taste for authority mixing in. I wondered briefly whether William was on good terms with his uncle; if so, perhaps Hal could be diverted and put to good use in talking sense to—no, no, of course not. Hal mustn’t know—yet at least—about Jamie, and he couldn’t exchange two words with Willie without finding out—if William would talk about it, but then—
“Lady John.” A voice behind me stopped me in my tracks, only momentarily but long enough for the Duke of Pardloe to come up beside me. He took me by the arm, detaining me.
“You’re a very bad liar,” he remarked with interest. “What are you lying about, though, I wonder?”
“I do it better with a little warning,” I snapped. “Though, as it happens, I’m not lying at the moment.”
That made him laugh. He leaned closer, examining my face at close range. His eyes were pale blue, like John’s, but the darkness of his brows and lashes gave them a particularly piercing quality.
“Perhaps not,” he said, still looking amused. “But if you aren’t lying, you aren’t telling me everything you know, either.”
“I’m not obliged to tell you anything I know,” I said with dignity, trying to retrieve my arm. “Let go.”
He did let go, reluctantly.
“I beg your pardon, Lady John.”
“Certainly,” I said shortly, and made to go round him. He moved smartly in front of me, blocking my way.
“I want to know where my brother is,” he said.
“I should like to know that myself,” I replied, trying to sidle past him.
“Where are you going, may I ask?”
“Home.” It gave me an odd feeling, still, to call Lord John’s house “home”—and yet I had no other. Yes, you do, a small, clear voice said in my heart. You have Jamie.
“Why are you smiling?” asked Pardloe, sounding startled.
“At the thought of getting home and taking off these shoes,” I said, hastily erasing the smile. “They’re killing me.”
His mouth twitched a little.
“Allow me to offer you the use of my chair, Lady John.”
“Oh, no, I really don’t—” But he had taken a wooden whistle from his pocket and uttered a piercing blast on it that brought two squat, muscular men—who had to be brothers, such was their resemblance to each other—trotting round the corner, a sedan chair suspended on poles between them.
“No, no, this isn’t necessary at all,” I protested. “Besides, John says you suffer from the gout; you’ll need the chair yourself.”
He didn’t like that; his eyes narrowed and his lips compressed.
“I’ll manage, madam,” he said shortly, and, seizing me by the arm again, dragged me to the chair and pushed me inside, knocking my hat over my eyes as he did so. “The lady is under my protection. Take her to the King’s Arms,” he instructed Tweedledum and Tweedledee, shutting the door. And before I could say, “Off with his head!” we were jolting down the High Street at a terrific pace.
I seized the door handle, intending to leap out, even at the cost of cuts and bruises, but the bastard had put the locking pin through the outside handle, and I couldn’t reach it from the inside. I shouted at the chairmen to stop, but they ignored me completely, pounding along the cobbles as though bringing the news from Aix to Ghent.
I sat back, panting and furious, and jerked the hat off. What did Pardloe think he was doing? From what John had said, and from other remarks made by the duke’s children about their father, it was clear to me that he was used to getting his own way.
“Well, we’ll bloody see about that,” I muttered, stabbing the long, pearl-headed hatpin through the hat brim. The snood that had contained my hair had come off with the hat; I crammed it inside and shook my loose hair out over my shoulders.
We turned in to Fourth Street, which was paved with brick rather than cobbles, and the jolting grew less. I was able to let go my grip on the seat and fumbled with the window. If I could get it open, I might be able to reach the locking pin, and even if the door flew open and decanted me into the street, it would put a stop to the duke’s machinations.