The Homeless Heiress

After a while, she laid the book aside. Obviously, Captain Hernshaw was mixed up in something nasty. It had not occurred to her previously to wonder why he should have been in those mean streets where he’d found her, but now she frowned over it. Had he gone there to meet someone? She knew from her own experience that the slums were haunted by rogues, thieves and worse—so what had a man like that been doing there? And what was in the package she had snatched from him?

It must have been important for him to chase after her the way he had. Could he possibly be involved with the kind of people who would work against the government and the Regent? She had begun to like him rather a lot and tried to dismiss the thought.

Getting to her feet, she was about to replace the book, but then changed her mind, taking it with her as she went back upstairs. She paused outside Captain Hernshaw’s rooms, then knocked and entered. She saw at once that their patient was awake, sitting up against the pillows. Henderson had clearly been busy, for his master was clean-shaven and looked much better than he had when she’d left earlier.

He gave her an odd look as she entered. ‘What are you doing here? I must thank you for helping Henderson, but you should not continue to visit me here now—unless you have no reputation to lose?’

Georgie blushed. ‘I came to see if I could do anything for you,’ she said. ‘If you would like me to read to you…’ She hesitated and then approached the bed, showing him the book. ‘I found this downstairs.’

‘Did you indeed?’ Richard glared at her. ‘And have you been reading it?’

‘Yes…’ She looked away from his hard gaze and then back. ‘It has writing in the margins and some words are underlined.’

‘And what do you make of that?’

Georgie took a deep breath. ‘I am not sure. It might be some sort of a code…’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because I tried making sense of it.’ She hesitated, then confessed, ‘There was a paper inside that gave me instructions for breaking the code.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes…at least I was able to form words and sentences.’

‘And that has made you wonder if I am a spy or an assassin?’

‘No, of course not,’ Georgie denied, a flush in her cheeks. ‘I mean…it does look bad, but I didn’t think you…but you were attacked and I wondered…’

‘I should have left you where I found you,’ Richard said ruefully. ‘I knew you were trouble from the start.’

‘You’re not involved in a plot to kill the Regent, are you?’ Her eyes opened wide.

‘If I were, you would have just signed your own death warrant,’ Richard said, a gleam of annoyance mixed with laughter in his eyes. ‘No, I am not involved in it—but I may be involved in trying to stop someone who is.’

‘Yes…’ Georgie let out a long sigh of relief. ‘I thought it must be that. I am so glad it isn’t you.’

‘Are you?’ He arched his right brow. ‘Are you able to keep a secret, Georgie?’

‘Yes, of course. I shan’t breathe a word.’ She hesitated, feeling uncomfortable at what she must do now. ‘Could you lend me some money—enough to travel post-chaise to Yorkshire?’

‘Lend you—or give you?’

‘Oh, I should pay you back soon,’ Georgie said. ‘If you would do that, I could leave at once and I would not trouble you again.’

Richard’s gaze narrowed. He studied her face for a moment or two. ‘I could lend it to you,’ he said. ‘I may do if you tell me the truth. I know you told me some story of having been forced from your post as a lady’s maid because of your employer’s son, but I think you were lying to me. I don’t think you were ever a maid, were you?’

She hesitated, and then met his eyes. ‘I didn’t know you then,’ she said. It was no use, he wouldn’t believe her if she told him more lies. She was going to have to tell him the truth! ‘You could have been anyone. My real name is Georgina Bridges. My father was Sir John Bridges, my mother the youngest daughter of Lord Nairn. They were both killed in an accident two years ago—and they left a fortune in trust for me. I inherit in a few weeks’ time. My uncle, Sir Henry Mowbray, wants me to marry a man he owes money to—but I hate him, so I ran away. They want my money and they think he will give some of it to them if they make me marry him, but I know he would keep it for himself. He is so horrid…the way he looks at me makes me feel…dirty.’ She ended on a sob of distress. ‘I ran away as soon as I heard them discussing it. I would rather die than marry him.’

‘And what is the name of this man?’

‘He is a Frenchman. His name is Raoul Thierry. He seems to be a rich gentleman, but there is something sinister about him.’ Georgie shuddered. ‘I did not know what to do when I heard my aunt and uncle talking so I ran away, but then…I told you what happened. I suppose my lawyer would give me money if I asked, but he might not believe it really was me.’

Richard’s eyes went over her. ‘In your present attire I am certain you would not get past his clerk. The money isn’t a problem, Georgie. But I am not certain you are telling me the truth.’

‘I am this time! I promise I am.’

‘Even so, you are vulnerable. You obviously aren’t capable of looking after yourself.’

‘I should have gone to my great-aunt the first time. I was wrong to stop in London.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘I know you must be angry. I tied to rob you and now you are ill and you do not want the bother of me.’

‘No, I do not want the trouble of a young lady,’ Richard admitted and frowned. ‘However, Henderson told me how you helped him and I owe you for that, Georgina.’

‘Please do not call me that! My Aunt Agatha calls me Georgina and I hate it. I am Georgie—and you don’t owe me anything. I did what anyone would have in the circumstances.’

‘No, that is not strictly true. Apparently Dora nearly fainted at the sight of the blood. You did far more than I could have expected of a stranger.’

‘You gave me supper and somewhere to sleep.’

‘And by doing that you became my responsibility,’ Richard said. ‘I am confined to bed for the next week or so, but once I am on my feet I shall take you to your great-aunt.’

Georgie looked at him doubtfully. ‘You cannot want that trouble, sir. Lend me the money and I shall go alone.’

‘No, you will not,’ Richard said. ‘If you have told me the truth, you may be in some danger. Therefore it is my duty to see you safe.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Forgive me, but I am weary. Please go away now. You have my promise that I shall take you to your great-aunt when I am able. For the moment you must be patient and wait.’

Georgie stared at him for a few seconds, but he had leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closed. She placed the book of poetry on the bed and then walked softly to the door, glancing back at him as she went out. She felt frustrated, for she knew that without money she could not hope to reach her great-aunt’s house. She could go to her lawyer, but it was doubtful if he would see her in her present state of dress—and if he did he would hardly believe that she was Miss Georgina Bridges.

If she ran away again, she might starve or become ill before she could reach safety. It seemed as if she must stay here, and wait for Captain Hernshaw to recover his strength sufficiently to accompany her to Yorkshire.

Richard opened his eyes as the door closed behind her. Her story was believable enough, though she had lied to him previously. If he accepted it this time, it would be wrong to let her go anywhere alone. Besides, she had mentioned a name—a name that he had learned to associate with treason.

It could be coincidence, but it was possible that by delivering Miss Bridges to her great-aunt, he would learn more of the man—or group of men he sought.

For a moment he wondered if she had been sent to rob him that night. She had certainly tried to take the package containing new information about the plotters—perhaps the names and whereabouts of men concerned in the conspiracy to bring down the government and cause chaos in England. He had not yet had the chance to decode it, though he’d delivered it to others who might recently have done so.

They needed the information, because the plot must not succeed. With the Regent dead, as these villains planned, there would be men in England who would not hesitate to settle with the French. Napoleon Bonaparte was barely contained in his island prison of Elba, where rumour had it he reigned like a prince. If he were to break free and march again, the Allies would join together to defeat him—but if England were in chaos…

Richard knew that without the British the Allies would not stand long against Bonaparte. It was imperative that this plot be foiled and quickly before things got out of hand.

If Georgie was involved with these people, he would be best to stay close to her. His instincts told him that she was innocent—and yet she had decoded the message in the poetry book. It was that first clue that had been instrumental in alerting other members of the intelligence service that a plot was afoot. He believed that the near-fatal attack on him had been because of his involvement in the affair, but he had not seen the face of his attacker for it had been covered by a muffler and only a pair of cold eyes had been visible.

Looking into those eyes briefly, Richard had known that his life was in the balance. It was merely the sound of approaching voices that made his attacker run off before his work was done. From somewhere he had found the strength to stumble the few yards to his home, and Henderson had done the rest…with the girl’s help.

Richard frowned. If his manservant were to be believed, Georgie had done well. He’d never had cause to doubt Henderson and must therefore be grateful to her for her contribution, and she was certainly entitled to the benefit of the doubt.

Richard knew that he had been feverish, and wondered what he had said in his muddled state. Had he mentioned his work for the government…or had he spoken of more intimate things? He knew that in the fever he had thought of Justin, his cousin. He felt the sharp grief strike at his heart, because the memories were still painful. Justin had been clever, a bright future his for the asking, but he had been led astray, his mind corrupted by opium and wine. He had sunk lower and lower, beyond the reach of his studious father, until at the last they destroyed him…those evil men who had drawn him into a web of bitter despair.

Richard had been away fighting and had known nothing of it until he returned. At his uncle’s behest he had gone looking for the cousin he loved as a brother, but when he found him it had been too late. Justin had been living in squalor, lying amongst his own filth in a disgusting house, his mind destroyed, his body wasting with a disease that could not be cured. Richard had taken him to a place of safety, staying by him until the last, holding him as he choked on his own blood. The memory haunted him, would never leave him. It had made him the man he was, harsh, stern, living only for his work.