Page 11 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 5

To stop his claret - to murder

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

Keziah watched as Ash blinked at her, noticing for the first time how very green his eyes were. She gritted her teeth in frustration as she realised that he’d barely been attending their conversation and was now staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

Why on earth must it be that she had to deal with a wretched dandy who had more hair than wit? The phrase, handsome is as handsome does, drifted into her mind and she suppressed the urge to grimace. The last thing she needed was some good-looking fool who had no more notion of dealing with a man like her father than a lamb with a wolf.

The fleeting idea of leaving him to his fate - she’d delivered her warning after all - was considered, only to be dismissed. If the duke was going to survive at all, he was going to need help.

“I beg your pardon,” the duke replied, anxiety flickering in those quite astonishing green eyes. “Did … did you say that your father planned to … kill me?”

Keziah nodded and leaned forward, grasping hold of his arm in her desperation that he listen to her and take heed. “Yes. I did, and I meant it. He’s killed twice before that I know of, one of those was my mother,” she added seeing the shock in his eyes, and only relieved that she’d said the words without the slightest quaver, even though she felt like getting to her knees and crying. To distract herself, she tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet and removed it, realising as she did so how shabby a picture she must present to someone who so clearly held fashion in high regard.

Despite his obvious hopelessness as the kind of man who’d be handy with a sword or his fists, Keziah could not deny that there was something about the duke that was inherently kind. There was a sweet, slightly puppyish air to him, which was very disarming and made you want to unburden yourself of all your darkest secrets. Because anyone with a face as open and guileless as this young man’s would take your secrets to the grave.

But he’d be facing the grave a great deal sooner than he might have imagined if he didn’t take action, and none of the qualities she’d seen in him to date would save him from his fate.

“He killed your mother?” the duke repeated. Keziah nodded, and could only wonder at the man as he reached out and took her hand, his eyes full of sorrow. “My dear, Lady Todd, I … I can’t begin to express my regret for … for everything you have suffered.” He released her hand then and got to his feet, walking to the window, and was clearly deep in thought before turning and retracing his steps. “You must leave that house immediately, of course. I can have someone come with you now, help you to collect your things; you must stay here, of course,” he added, running a hand through his thick, rather wavy hair, and causing a dark curl to tumble over his forehead. It was really rather endearing, but not of any use whatsoever.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Keziah said, quite unable to keep the impatience from her voice. “It’s you that’s in danger, not me. My mother died years ago when I was a mere babe, I’ve lived with him all these years and shall continue to do so, or it will raise his suspicions.”

“But you might be in danger,” the foolish duke continued as Keziah gritted her teeth together. “You said yourself he murdered your mother,” he said, such anguish in his eyes at the idea that she was quite taken aback. “No,” he said, surprisingly stubborn after all. “You must be taken to safety, and then we shall contact …” He frowned then, his dark brows drawn together. “Who does one contact in such a case?” he said, pursing his lips as he considered this. “A magistrate, perhaps?” he added and then gave a nod of satisfaction. “A magistrate would do for starters, and then he can guide us if that isn’t correct.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Keziah exclaimed, getting to her feet and stalking up to him. “And what will you say to this magistrate? What proof do you have of this nefarious plot?” she demanded. “Because if you think they’ll convict a peer of the realm on my say-so, you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.”

There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was swiftly covered, and Keziah was too anxious and short of time to find any gentler emotions.

“Listen to me,” she said, giving him a hard look and seeing a wary expression in return. “My father is expecting your mother to invite him to Chartley House, that is when he plans to murder you,” she said, keeping her tone even and any emotion from her voice and praying that he was paying attention now. “You must accept this and agree to it.”

“What?” he replied, his eyes growing wide with indignation. “Why the devil should I?”

“Because,” Keziah said, clenching her fists and wishing he’d just listen to her. “He plans to kill you during a hunting trip, but you … you are going to be ready for him, and you’re going to kill him first.”

Lord Ashwicke, or Ash or whatever he was called, just stared at her.

“I’m going to …” he repeated, his voice faint as it trailed off, apparently too shocked to say more, until he finally shook his head and added. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Fine. Then he’ll kill you,” Keziah said, throwing up her hands and stalking away from him.

“No, wait,” he said, holding out a placating hand himself and walking closer to her. “If I send Mother away, then she’ll be out of reach and he won’t be able to marry her, so there will be no point in murdering me,” he said as Keziah held back the desire to pick one of any number of available missiles up and sling them at his head.

That rather weighty ormolu clock, perhaps?

Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten. “No,” she said, the word slow and drawn out, and was unsurprised to discover that she sounded like a woman on the edge of sanity. “That won’t work.” She regarded his blank look with frustration and carried on. “He’ll simply kill you first, and then marry your mother once she returns. You do realise that she’s in love with him?”

Lord Ashwicke shrugged, looking really troubled now, as well he might. “I only heard of your father for the first time last night, but … but yes, I gained the opinion that she had formed a strong attachment.”

Keziah nodded, relieved that he was finally grasping the situation. “Can you fight?” she demanded, not reassured as she saw panic flickering in his eyes.

He shook his head, and, although she was unsurprised, her heart sank. At the very least, she’d hoped he had a knack for pistols.

“Right, then,” she said, her brain busy as she turned over the obstacles in front of them and what must be done to overcome them. “You must meet me tomorrow afternoon,” she said, pacing now as she thought about how she was going to leave the house and get back without being noticed. “You’ll have to pick me up outside of town,” she said, talking to herself as much as to him. “We’ll need to go somewhere secluded and out of the way.” She looked up then to see him staring at her in a rather scandalised fashion.

Tutting with impatience she glowered at him. “I assure you I have no thoughts as to trapping you into marriage or suggesting anything in the least … improper,” she said with dignity. “But we must have privacy, so …?” She waved an impatient hand at him and Lord Ashwicke stuttered a little, but finally suggested, “S-Smallcombe Wood?”

“That sounds perfect,” Keziah said, relieved. “Best bring a picnic, I suppose,” she added, frowning over the particulars and lingering on the idea that she might at least get a decent meal out of it. “That can be our cover if we are discovered.”