Captain Overton’s manner was distinctly less conciliatory this time. “Your pardon, sir. But I have received information from a very reliable source that, not only have you been sheltering Lord St. Anton since the battle at Swarkestone Bridge, you have also had another gentleman—none other than a dangerous highlander—staying here as well.”
“Was it by any chance Sir Clive Sheridan who gave you this information?” Rosie asked quietly. The captain, noticing her for the first time, blinked as this vision of loveliness smiled sweetly up at him. “I only ask because I think Sir Clive may be a little put out that I have not responded to his advances.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “I think perhaps this might be his way of avenging himself upon my family. I am only sorry that your time has been wasted on this nonsense, Captain.”
Resolutely, the captain turned away from the wide grey eyes that were uplifted to his at the end of this speech. “My orders are to search the house and the grounds again, sir. You and your family will oblige me by remaining in this room until my investigation is complete.”
“Well, how long will you be?” Harry asked. “I have to walk my dog each evening. He will be most restless if I keep him waiting.”
“And I have matters to attend to in my own house,” Martha said, attempting to infuse a touch of impatience into her voice. “This is really most inconvenient.”
“Stop wasting my time!” Captain Overton’s voice cracked out sharply, stunning them all into silence. Beau gave a low, warning growl. “And shut that hound up unless you want me to do it with my boot. Let us get one thing settled. I have not come here to negotiate with you. My men will search your property, and they will take as long about it as is necessary. Now, if you will excuse me…” He gave a stiff little bow and backed out of the room.
Rosie exhaled slowly. “Detestable man,” she muttered.
“He is following his orders, my dear,” Mr. Delacourt said.
“I meant Sir Clive. Will they search the attics, Tom?”
“Unless they are completely stupid—and I don’t see any reason to doubt Overton’s intellect—they will. But Jack and Fraser are concealed in the hidden room behind the attics. They should be safe. We will all just have to wait it out.”
“Should be?” she exclaimed, twisting her hands in her lap. “Oh, I can’t bear it.”
“Well, you must,” Martha said calmly. “We all must. Harry, isn’t there a deck of cards in the bureau over there? Let us play a hand or two to while away the time.”
“Oh, Martha, must you always be so cold and practical?” Rosie wailed. “I don’t know how you can remain so calm and unfeeling. But then I suppose ’tis easy for you. After all, you do not have someone you love in danger up in the attic.”
Martha regarded her steadily over the top of her spectacles for a moment. Rosie could not have hurt her more if she had flayed her face open with a horsewhip. But Rosie couldn’t know that Martha wanted nothing more in that moment than to find an outlet for her own feelings. She longed for the luxury that Rosie had of allowing the gnawing panic that consumed her to show openly. A razor-sharp sword of fear sliced through her resolve and tried to shred her outward composure. All she could think of was that Fraser was in danger and she could do nothing to help him. The thought played on a persistent, agonising loop in her mind. The hand that held the pack of cards shook, and she lowered it quickly.
She must concentrate on making everything appear normal. They all must. Things were bad enough anyway, but if Captain Overton glimpsed any nervousness in them, he would rip the house apart. That was what she could do to help Fraser. She could make this a scene of normality so that the captain’s suspicions were lulled. Pushing her spectacles up her nose in the gesture she always used to steady her nerves, she smiled at Rosie with an attempt at reassurance.
“Indeed, I am so very fortunate to have no man to care for and worry about, am I not, Rosie?”
Slipping back into the role of demure old maid that had stood her in good stead for so long, she picked up the cards. With a hand that was now steady, she began to shuffle. Turning to Harry, who was casting increasingly troubled glances toward the ceiling, she said gently, “You decide. What shall we play?”
Chapter Eleven
The hour was well advanced, and they had been yawning over the cards on and off for several hours. The footsteps of the soldiers pounding through the rooms around and above them punctuated their conversation.
“Why are they still here? They have checked each room over and over,” Rosie asked.
“To make us sweat,” Tom said. “They are showing us that they can stay here all night if need be.”
“Do you have your gun with you, Tom?” Rosie threw down a card at random.
“If you are going to play at all, play properly,” Harry said reproachfully, scooping up her discard and displaying a winning hand.
“Yes, I have carried my old flintlock with me since Swarkestone.” Tom pointed to where he had placed it on top of the bureau near the door. “When the Jacobites invaded, I was worried that deserters might turn to robbery and looting. I thought it best to stay armed in case I needed to defend the household.”
Rosie studied the gun with interest. “Do you keep it loaded at all times?”
“Yes, but of course it carries only one shot. It is probably more use to me as a cudgel.”
“Why all these questions about the gun, Rosie? It is not as if Tom is going to use it.” Mr. Delacourt raised his brows at his daughter’s flushed face.
“I just wondered if Tom would be able to go to Jack’s aid should the soldiers discover him.” She tossed her head defiantly.
“I would imagine that, if it came to a fight, Fraser might be of more help with his dirk. We must hope that no such eventuality occurs, however, since it would inevitably result in Jack and Fraser’s arrest,” Mr. Delacourt commented, and silence reigned once more.
At long last, Captain Overton reappeared in the doorway. He was clearly vexed to be forced into another admission of failure, and his eyes were narrowed as they scanned the room. It seemed to Martha that the captain’s gaze rested on her face for just a fraction longer than necessary. Telling herself that she was being foolish, she willed herself to return his stare calmly. Soon—pray God—this nightmare would end and she would be safe in Fraser’s arms again.
“My men and I will leave you now, sir,” Captain Overton was saying, with a curt bow to Mr. Delacourt. “I give you good night, ladies.”
When the front door had closed behind him, Rosie bounded up from her chair. “I must go up and tell Jack they have gone.”
“Not so fast, Rosie,” Martha warned. “Let us be quite certain they are gone.”
Tom twitched the curtain aside and watched the soldiers depart. “To say there were dozens of soldiers was an exaggeration on Mrs. Glover’s part. There are mayhap fifteen of them altogether.”
“Enough to take Fraser and Jack by force if they had discovered them,” Martha said in an oddly hollow little voice. She tried to gather up the cards, but, finding that her trembling fingers were likely to betray her, she gave up the task.
“What’s this?” Tom said, from his watching position at the window. “Overton and his sergeant have paused partway down the drive. I can see their faces quite clearly, because the sergeant is holding a flaming torch aloft. Overton has waved the rest of the company to continue on ahead of them.”