Page 7 of Suddenly a (The St. Clairs 5)

Chapter Three

Hudson left thesmall inn and rode toward Warlingham. His destination, Morris Park, was just east of Warlingham in Surrey. The innkeeper had given him good directions and Hudson should arrive at Lord Morrison’s estate in just under an hour. He hated that he’d wasted two days inside a carriage to reach the inventor. If his suspicions were correct, railways were the future of travel, with steam locomotives and their miles of track able to carry passengers and goods far greater distances in a single day than could be attempted by horseback or coach. That was why he wanted to visit with Lord Morrison in person.

He’d been intrigued by the viscount’s designs, which had been shared via their correspondence. If the prototype proved to be worthy, Hudson was willing to spend a goodly sum to invest in the man’s steam engine. It would still be months—if not a year or more—for production to be set up and engines manufactured. But he thought it a wise investment for the family’s future. It would also give him time to study how the Stockton and Darlington Railway progressed in the meantime. What problems they faced. How they were solved. How the public took to riding the rails. He’d already ridden twice on the new railway himself, wanting to check out the possible competitor to the St. Clairs and have a better idea of travel in that manner.

He arrived at Morris Park and rode up the drive. Though he understood it was the dead of winter, the place still appeared forlorn, as if it had seen better days and had been forsaken, its owners moving on. Yet he knew the property wasn’t abandoned. He’d corresponded several times with Lord Morrison over the past few months. Was its peculiar inventor a man who neglected his estate and spent all his time trying out new ideas?

Arriving at the house, he waited a moment. No one came out to greet him. He knew he was expected, if only for the day. Hudson called out and had his driver pull around to the eastern side of the house and found a few dilapidated sheds and a stable which had seen better days. It needed a few good coats of paint to start. A thin man with a limp came out, surprise on his face.

“Who might you be, my lord?” he asked as Hudson disembarked from the carriage.

“I am Mr. St. Clair. I have an appointment to speak with Lord Morrison.”

“Good luck with that,” the man muttered under his breath.

“My driver can help you see to the horses. They need to be watered and fed. I’ll only be here for a few hours.”

The servant nodded. “You can go back around to the front. I’m sure Lady Mia will be the one to help you.”

Hudson reluctantly left, glad his driver was present to help with the horses. He wondered if the man he’d spoken to was even a groom. He also wondered why he was directed to Lady Mia. Was she the viscountess? He didn’t have time to waste on a woman. He needed to see Morrison and firm up a deal if pleased with what he saw. Then he would go to London and iron out a few things with Davidson, the St. Clair solicitor, before returning to Eversleigh in order to spend time with Cor. She had made it downstairs to Christmas dinner but had tired easily. Hudson had carried her back to her bedchamber and remained with her the rest of the day, away from their boisterous family and numerous children. It had been a good afternoon and early evening, spent with a woman he held dear. Fortunately, she hadn’t pressed him any further about finding a wife. Hopefully, she’d forgotten about such nonsense.

His knock was finally answered, not by a butler or footman, but a maid with a perplexed look. She admitted him and he explained who he was and that he wanted to speak with the viscount. Her lips pursed and twitched from side to side before she led him to a small parlor and asked him to wait. The room was dark and dusty, as if Morrison hadn’t had a guest in years and no one had bothered to clean the parlor.

A quarter of an hour later, the same maid returned.

“We can’t find his lordship anywhere. This happens all the time.”

Disgruntled, Hudson asked, “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“You need to speak with Lady Mia,” she said earnestly. “She will be able to help you. Lady Mia handles everything for the estate.”

“Then take me to her.”

The maid frowned. “I’m not sure where she is. We can try the drawing room. If you’ll follow me, Mr. St. Clair.”

She led him up the staircase and down a long hall that had random items scattered about on tables and the floor. Opening the door of the drawing room, he followed the maid inside and found it totally unsuited for entertaining. Instead, it was full of all kinds of experiments strung about. They seemed either halfway completed or abandoned, the person responsible moving on to something new as many were resting in open boxes. Hudson couldn’t imagine living in such an atmosphere. He believed in neatness and order. Everything needed to be in its assigned place or he couldn’t concentrate. No one was allowed to touch anything on his desk. He shuddered as he surveyed the room, eager to leave.

The servant brightened. “She must be in the stables.”

“I’ve been there. I’ll find it myself.”

Hudson strode from the mess and retraced his steps, returning to the foyer and going out the front door. He couldn’t imagine why the viscountess would be in the stables unless she’d gone for a ride. Even then, the late December day had turned quite bitter. If she was out, she wouldn’t be gone long. He preferred to wait in the stables in the freezing temperatures as opposed to being in this sloppy, disordered house.

Arriving at the stables, he almost wished he could leave now, acknowledging that the trip had been an immense waste of his time. He hadn’t come this far, though, to abandon what he thought was a promising lead. He would root out wherever Lord Morrison was and discuss the man’s invention before taking his leave.

Hudson entered and he heard a loud noise coming from the back of the stables. He passed a few horses in their stalls but didn’t see the man from earlier. In fact, he’d seen very few servants since his arrival and thought it incredibly strange. He wondered if the viscount’s eccentricity made it difficult to keep staff on hand.

He followed the racket and as he went deeper into the stables, he saw where the walls separating several stalls had been removed, leaving greater space. As in the drawing room, he passed several projects that appeared to be in progress. Finally, he saw sparks up ahead and the loud whine of an engine. Suddenly, the whine turned more to a hum and a voice exclaimed, “Yes!”

The last area was composed of probably four previous stalls. Some type of engine sat on a long, wooden table. Someone stood next to it, their back to him, as an orange tabby sat nearby, licking its face.

“Hello, Lord Morrison?” he called out and then doubted he could be heard above the commotion.

Hudson hated to enter and tap the man on his back. He didn’t want to frighten him, since he wore some kind of contraption on his head and would be unaware of anyone approaching him. Biding his time, Hudson hoped the inventor would eventually stop the engine. As he waited, he studied the viscount. He was tall but very slender, wearing some type of workingman’s trousers and scuffed boots and a shirt with sleeves rolled up. Thick gloves covered his hands. He twisted and pushed something aside.

A braid...

Hudson realized this wasn’t Lord Morrison at all. It was a woman.

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