Page 80 of My Hellion, My Heart
“An urgent letter from Lady Langlevit’s physician, Your Highness, alerting his lordship that her health had taken a turn for the worse. He thought it wise to leave for Essex immediately.”
The words fell through her, tumbling and sliding, but not making an ounce of sense.
“But that’s not possible,” she said, her mind whirling back to the letter from Lady Langlevit. “The countess is feeling much better…she’s on her way to Brighton as we speak. I’ve had a letter from her myself this morning, dated from only two days ago.”
Henry’s butler’s brows pulled together into a frown that she imagined must have matched her own.
“That does seem at odds with what his lordship reported. He was quite upset and fairly rushed to leave London. I do not believe he even changed into riding clothes before setting out.”
It made no sense. Why would Dr. Hargrove write to Henry with such news when the countess was doing well? Unless Lady Langlevit wasn’t as well as she’d claimed to be in her letter. But then…lying about anything at all was so far from her usual behavior. No. She had never lied to Irina before, and would not do so, not even to protect Irina from the truth of her ill health. She certainly would not have involved Lady Umbridge in the lie, either. So, that meant that Dr. Hargrove had been the one to send false information. But why?
“When did Lord Langlevit leave?” she asked.
“Less than a quarter hour ago,” he replied.
Something was wrong. Henry had been drawn away from London based on a lie, though he couldn’t have gotten very far just yet. She might be able to catch up to him along the road. The restless feeling returned, and Irina felt an edge of nausea.
“Thank you, I’ll see myself—”
A commotion of heavy footsteps, raised voices, and the slam of a door cut her off. A man rushed into the foyer, his livery marking him as a servant in the earl’s household. He was tall—taller even than Henry—and perhaps that was why the boy he dragged along by the elbow appeared so small.
“Needham, what is—”
The servant cut Stevens off. “It is his lordship,” he said, breathing hard. “Joseph says he is in trouble. We must call for the constable at once.”
The young boy nodded, his eyes wide with alarm. Irina hurried forward. “What has happened?”
The boy licked his lips, and she saw how out of breath he was, as well. “I was sent off after ’is lordship, told to hurry and catch ’im afore he gone too far. He rode off without ’is pistol,” the boy said, and Irina’s heart stuttered. He was unarmed. In trouble and without a weapon to protect him.
“Yes, but Joseph, what did you see?” Stevens asked, his worry showing through as impatience. Irina felt it as well.
“Highwaymen, sir. A group of ’em. A lady, too. They knocked ’im clean unconscious!”
Behind her, Jane gave a little screech. Irina’s throat felt swollen, unable to breathe.
“And then what?” she asked, needing more information almost as desperately as she needed air.
“I tried gettin’ closer, but couldn’t hear much,” the boy answered. He dropped his eyes to the marble floor. “One saw me, so I rode off to get help. I couldn’t’ve fought one of ’em, forget all four.”
“A wise decision, Joseph,” Stevens said, his eyes hardening. “Needham, send for the parish constable. Send another man to Bow Street.”
“And another to His Grace, the Duke of Bradburne,” Irina said, her heart thrashing unevenly in her chest. She turned to the stableboy, gentling her voice. “Joseph, you’ve been very brave. Can you tell me when you got closer, exactly what you heard?”
“They was whisperin’ about gettin’ his lor’ship into the hack. Sorry, mum, it was hard to make head o’ tails of it.” The boy shook his head, looking sick with guilt, and then hesitated as if deciding to tell her something. “The woman said sum’fing about a ship bein’ turned over.” He grew red with embarrassment, knowing how silly it would have sounded, and shrugged. “’Twas hard to hear.”
Her mind racing, Irina tore through the facts, considering and discarding a hundred possibilities. They hadn’t hurt Henry, which meant they’d intended to take him somewhere. If the boy had indeed heard the word ship, perhaps Henry’s captors were heading for some kind of port. One with a turned-over vessel. Was a disabled ship their lair?
“Can you show me where you saw the earl last?”
Joseph nodded. “Yes, mum.”
“We shall take my carriage, and you can hop up front with Beckett.”
Wishing she were on a horse instead of in a coach, Irina gritted her teeth and fought the rising tide of fear that pooled in the pit of her belly as Joseph directed Beckett to the scene of the crime. What the boy had heard made no sense, but she knew that it had to meansomething. The words could be jumbled, she just had to think it through.
The coach pulled to a stop, and Irina hopped out before Becket could dismount to assist. There was no carriage in sight, but the obvious signs of a scuffle in the drying mud drew her attention. Walking over to it, despite the protests from Jane and Beckett, she studied the damp ground, bending to study the carriage wheel marks and other wider imprints.
“What color was the carriage, Joseph?”
