“Certainly not.” Nicholas kissed the tip of her nose. “And nor will you. But it’s not the same mission. I doubt I’m the type to successfully arrange foreign marriages and pretend proxy courtships. I’ll tell you something of the rest tomorrow.”
Alarmed, she whispered, “You won’t be leaving so soon, I hope? Please tell me you have time first to look for Avice?”
Nicholas shook his head. “There’s time. A little anyway. But for now, my love, I have barely the energy to open and close my eyes.” His fingers slipped, caressing her back, following down the gentle bumps of her spine to the tuck between her buttocks. His palm cupped appreciatively, fingertips against her dimples. But as she murmured, speaking of love, Emeline realised that Nicholas was already very deeply asleep.
His eyes remained closed. Some hours had passed in dreaming, drifting between troubled memories and future fears, Nicholas immovable in soundless sleep, when the sudden interruption woke Emeline first. It now seemed almost a familiar commotion, the jangling upheaval from the stables, voices of men pulled abruptly from their pallets, horses stamping and snorting, those already asleep disturbed by new arrivals, the creak and squeak of gates opening and the echoes across the cobbles, sharp sounds in the night.
Emeline scrambled up in bed, and Nicholas awoke, opening one reluctant eye. “Already? Again? Nightmare or indigestion?”
“Listen,” she said with wide excitement. “That’s Sissy’s voice. And that’s Avice. They’ve arrived.” She hurtled from the bedcovers, grabbed her bedrobe and tugged it around her shoulders, tied tight. Within minutes she had thrown open the great doors to the main hall, and took her little sister in a fierce embrace. “You are a horrible, horrible child,” she squeaked, though Avice seemed too squashed to answer. “All England has been searching for you, and I shall never, ever speak to you again.”
Nicholas was behind her. “I suppose,” he said, yawning, “we’d better wake someone somewhere and order the wine warmed. Then I’m going back to bed.”
Emeline did not return to bed until dawn. Finally, crawling back to her chamber, she discovered Nicholas had indeed deserted her. Her bed was empty though dishevelled, and so instead she welcomed both Avice and Sysabel into the wide warm luxury. All three passed the little of the night remaining curled close and breathing their simmering exhaustion into each other’s ears.
It was not until dinner the next day that the entire gathering of recent arrivals met together.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There had been some hours of excitement, bustle and noise, affectionate demonstrations, tired recrimination, apology and temporary defiance. But it was at the dinner table after thanks being given for the food on the platters and while the grace of religious blessing still reigned, that they sat in those moments of silence and stared each at the other, assimilating what had happened, and acknowledging what would inevitably follow. The fury and accusations were over and a general contentment had slipped in with the blaze of relief. Avice wore one of her sister’s prettiest new gowns, and Sysabel, avoiding her brother’s frown, wore another. The baroness, gloriously grand in a new gleaming fur trimmed gown of her own in bright cerise velvet, unclasped her hands and smiled broadly.
“Well, well, it appears,” she said with a complacent sigh, “that everything is finally solved, and we are all safe. I shall never forget, Avice, the trouble you have caused. Your religious upbringing clearly gave you a good deal less moral circumspection than your father imagined. But since I know I was an exemplary parent, I hold him responsible. However, now we are here together with all the glories of London just a few steps to our right and magnificent Westminster to our left. I must admit I am not even cross anymore.”
“I, on the other hand,” said Adrian with some resonance, “am exceedingly angry.” He frowned across the table at his sister. “I made my wishes plain when I left. You were to stay in Nottingham.”
Sysabel attended closely to her platter, choosing a small salmon pasty and a manchet roll which she then did not eat. She mumbled, “I’m sorry, Adrian,” rather faintly, “but I’m not an infant anymore you know. I wanted – and I needed to – so I did.”
“Evidently,” said Adrian with ambiguous emphasis.
Nicholas took three carefully carved slices of roast beef in mustard sauce onto his plate, added a small spoonful of chicken livers and raisins cooked in claret, smiled first at his wife, then extended the smile to the rest of his family, and said, “How delightful to be surrounded by so many unexpected and cheerful guests. I’ve never known this house so – animated. However, I am devastated to tell you all that I’ve two days at the most before I have to leave. You’re all most welcome to stay and keep Emma company, but I imagine since, as you say, the original problem is now solved, you’ll all wish to hurry home?”
“Certainly not,” said Avice, thumping down her spoon. “We set off to find who killed Papa and Peter. And that hasn’t been solved at all.”
“I hardly see,” said Aunt Elizabeth, absently patting her forehead with her napkin, “that you young people could manage any such thing. How does one find a madman? Do they hide under bushes? And how would you know if it is the right madman you discover anyway? I believe England is full of them.”
“An evil man, not a mad man,” insisted Avice. “Peter was killed in the same way as Papa, so Nicholas thinks by the same man. Someone wanted revenge, and planned it all carefully. We didn’t even know where Papa was, but the murderer found him somehow. And no one could have got in easily to kill Peter. So not mad, just wicked.”
Adrian stood, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape. “Assumptions, ignorance, undisciplined imagination. We know nothing. Even the sheriff knows nothing.” He turned to Nicholas. “And you, you’re running off as usual, just as soon as matters appear challenging? Deserting your wife once again, abandoning your whole family, and certainly your duty. What excuses have you to offer this time?”
Nicholas looked up from his well filled platter and smiled widely. “My reasons? Boredom? Irritation? Headache? But no, my dear cousin, I offer no excuses. I have never acknowledged either the desire or the necessity to excuse myself. I am simply leaving on my own affairs and will inform my wife, whose business it is, and no one else since it is not theirs.” He then refilled his cup from the jug of Tuscan Trebbiano, and as an afterthought also filled Emeline’s. “Drink up, my dear,” he told her. “I believe we may both need a little additional insulation.”
She drank obediently, then turned back to her mother. “Nicholas has to go away, Maman,” she said. “I know he hasn’t any choice. So can you and Avice stay a little while?”
“I am also not entirely sure,” her mother told her, “that I believe your Papa’s murderer could possibly be traced by a couple of girls barely out of the nursery. But I do have a certain interest in knowing who – and seeing the culprit hanged – and I’ve very little wish to return to the Gloucestershire gales.”
“That’s it then,” declared Avice. “We’re all staying.”
Sysabel gazed warily across at her brother who had sat down again with an air of being long misunderstood and much mistreated. “If you wish to return to Nottingham, Adrian dear,” she said with care, “since you have so many responsibilities there, then you should go. I’m perfectly well chaperoned here as you can see, with Aunt Elizabeth, and her ladyship.”
Adrian opened his mouth but Nicholas interrupted. “Settled then. Adventure and intrigue, and all at my expense. What more could you ask, Adrian? Off you go back north, and leave the women to their hunt.”