Page 64 of The Time for Love
Martin asked Sophy to direct him to the mews behind the Bracknell town house.
After descending from the gig and helping Sophy down, Martin handed the reins to Johnny, along with a generous tip.
“Take your time driving back,” Sophy told Johnny. “No need to rush.”
“Yes, miss.” After offering them a jaunty salute and a wide grin, Johnny drove the gig sedately up the mews and turned out into the street.
Sophy glanced at Martin. “Right, then. Let’s go and beard the dragon.”
She led the way into the kitchen, surprising her grandmother’s butler, Higginbotham, and Mrs. Queerly, the housekeeper and cook.
After greeting both, Sophy inquired, “Is my grandmother in?”
“You’ll find her ladyship in the morning room, miss,” Higginbotham replied.
Sighting the prospect of people to feed, Mrs. Queerly beamed encouragingly. “You go right in, miss, and please tell her ladyship I’ll send in some tea just as soon as I can set the tray.”
Sophy hid a smile and, with Martin at her back, followed Higginbotham into the front hall. She dismissed his half-hearted offer to announce them. She had a fair idea what they would find in the morning room, and sure enough, when Higginbotham opened the door and she and Martin walked in, it was to discover the curtains half drawn and her grandmother reclining on the sofa.
“Higginbotham…” her grandmother murmured in tones of dire warning. She cracked open one eye and peered toward the doorway.
On seeing Sophy, her grandmother sprang to life. She swung upright, raising a hand to resettle the beaded widow’s cap she invariably wore.
“Sophy! What are you doing here”—her grandmother squinted at the windows—“in the middle of the afternoon?” Her gaze moved on. “And Martin, too…” Abruptly sharpening, her gaze shot back to Sophy, and in a much stronger voice, she demanded, “What’s going on?”
Sophy diverted to the windows and opened the curtains, then went to sit on the matching sofa facing her grandmother. She beckoned Martin to join her, which he did, and over the promised tea—with fruit scones and cake—they delivered a bare-bones account of their adventures from the time they’d left the Assembly Rooms to the present, scrupulously omitting any mention of their personal interactions.
To give her grandmother her due, she held back her questions and let them recount the events all the way to their arrival at her back door. Then she drew breath, but before she could launch into her inquisition, Martin said, “Before we elaborate further, might I suggest that we inform those who, as we speak, are likely searching for us?” He caught Sophy’s eye. “We should send word to the manor, to Oliver and Charlie as well as the household. And we need to warn your aunt and Hector that the Portobello Street house might be being watched, which is why we’ve sought refuge here.”
She nodded. “And we should send word to your men at the Kings Head. They’ll be expecting you to return, and if Murchison and his men have been watching me over recent weeks, for all we know, they might be watching you as well—or at least watching the Kings Head.”
Martin conceded the point with a tip of his head.
Sophy’s grandmother wholeheartedly agreed. She had Martin tug the bellpull and, when Higginbotham appeared, instructed him to send a groom riding to the manor, and footmen to the Portobello Street house and to the Kings Head, bearing the relevant messages.
With that done, Lady Bracknell sat back and regarded Sophy and Martin. Then she grimaced. “There’s no point going over everything twice, so let’s leave any further explanations until Julia arrives. Meanwhile, perhaps we can go over what you’ve learned about this situation and formulate the most urgent questions that lie before us.”
Martin noted the use of “we” and “us,” but knew better than to imagine things might be any other way. He shot a glance at Sophy. “Let’s list the questions that have already occurred to us.”
She nodded. “First question. Who is the man who brought the document to the hut?” She looked at Lady Bracknell. “He admitted that he and his men were responsible for the accidents at the steelworks.”
“And who is his ‘gaffer’?” To her ladyship, Martin explained, “By that, he meant the man who’d hired him to engineer the accidents at the steelworks and, more recently, kidnap Sophy and force her to sign the document.”
“Third question,” Sophy went on. “Why does that man—the gaffer—want to damage Carmichael Steelworks?”
“And how did he come by a key to the place?” Martin added.
Sophy’s eyes widened. “I’d forgotten about the key.”
“And lastly”—Martin drew the folded document from his pocket—“what would Sophy signing this mean?” He looked at the rolled pages. “What would it achieve?”
“Let me see that.” Imperiously, Lady Bracknell held out a hand.
Martin glanced questioningly at Sophy, and at her nod, he stretched over the low table and handed the document to her ladyship.
Lady Bracknell accepted it with a humph. She glanced over the first page, flicked through the rest, and sniffed disparagingly. “Legal stuff. I never could make heads or tails of it. Why they write everything in language that no one but one of their own can understand is beyond me.” She handed the document back to Martin. “We’ll have to get some legal eagle to decipher it for us.”
Martin nodded. “It’s the typical sort of company instrument, so weighed down with convoluted phrasing that no ordinary person could possibly comprehend it.” He looked at Sophy and arched a brow. “Who is your solicitor?”
