Carolyn, who had not yet moved, put the poker aside. "But won't that be a problem with his mother?" she faltered. "She wants him to marry within the peerage. That's what everyone was saying last night. And how do we explain that he was injured and his loss of memory?"
Alison shrugged. "We'll say we found him wandering and brought him back. It isn't as if there haven't been rumors about the steadiness of his mind." She frowned. This was getting more complicated by the moment, and dangerous, too. "We'll have to be quick, though. If he doesn't come back by morning—"
"His motorcar is here," Lauralee pointed out. "People will know that. By now, everyone in the village knows that."
Alison gave vent to her feelings with a curse. Carolyn flinched. "Then one of us—me, I suppose—will have to drive our auto, and one of us will have to drive his."
"I'll drive it," Warrick Locke said from the stairs. "Here's your kit, Alison. It was still on the hall table." He handed her the morphia kit and looked down at the prone form of Reggie Fenyx with a lifted brow. "I hope you didn't damage him, Carolyn. Things could be cursed difficult if you have."
"So what if she did?" Alison retorted, filling a syringe and kneeling beside her victim. "It will make my job easier. Bloody hell. I hate complications—"
"Then let's plan this very carefully," Locke said, grimly, "Because this isn't just 'complications,' Alison. You've physically assaulted a man, and not just any man, but a peer, and not just any peer, but a genuine hero of the war. If he remembers what he came for, and what happened to him, the law is going to come into it, and I very much doubt I can get you out of it."
She turned to stare at him as she removed the needle from the vein in Reggie's arm. "You assume I haven't been in this position before."
"If you have, that was in London. In a part of London where people know better than to be curious," he said, coldly. "And you must have dealt with someone who was a nonentity. This is a tiny village, where everyone knows everyone else's business. And this is Captain Reginald Fenyx, baron. Have a care, Alison. This is dangerous."
She took a deep breath and held it to prevent herself from snapping at him. He was right. She needed his help.
The trouble was, it was going to cost her. Men like Warrick Locke could wait decades for an opportunity to get their hooks set in a target—and once they did, it was impossible to shake them off.
"So what do you suggest?" she asked, with feigned meekness.
"After dark, I pull Reggie's motor around to the old stable. You bundle him up in a blanket and bring him out; I'll put him in the passenger's side and wear his coat, goggles and cap myself. Don't try to hide him, I want people to see that there is someone with the driver, though not who. I'll take him straight to the Hoar Stones, leave him there, and drive his motor back along the route you'll be coming, where I'll abandon it in a ditch." Locke's eyes glittered as he spoke; there was no mistake, he enjoyed the part he was now playing, and he was going to get his pound of flesh out of it. "You'll bring the girl along and pick me up. We'll all go back to the Hoar Stones, drop the girl down the mineshaft either before you do your work with Reggie, or afterwards, depending on how things work out. You will work your spell on his memories while I damage his clothing to make it look like he was in an accident. Everyone around here knows how he likes to drive like a demon. That will explain the crack on the head and the amnesia afterwards."
She had to admit, it was a brilliant plan. "Do we leave him with the motor?" she asked, reluctantly. She really didn't want him out of her sight, but—
"Yes, but we'll drive to that coaching-inn we stayed at, and one of us will go rushing in there to report the accident," Locke replied. "While people are milling about, we'll slip away, and there will be no connection between us and his condition. And as for Eleanor, she figures into the plan, too. We'll leave Eleanor's old coat, and perhaps a bundle of belongings in his auto, and once he's identified, no doubt someone will come around to ask why he was here. We'll say we never saw him, then identify the coat and the clothing. That will give us the excuse to send a search-party back in that area to look for her, once you're sure she's gone quite mad! Everyone will assume she eloped with him, or he persuaded her to go away with him, and without a doubt, everyone will assume the worst of her."
She ground her teeth, but smiled at him. Damn the man. It was a good plan, making the best possible use of all of the disasters that fate had thrown at them. "It will work," she conceded.
"It will do more than merely work," Locke said, raising his chin arrogantly. "It's the way to guarantee that one of your girls marries the boy. Don't you see? If Lady Devlin thinks that he and Eleanor were off together, unchaperoned, perhaps on their way to a wedding at the worst, or a clandestine liaison at the best, she'll be terrified that you will demand he marry Eleanor! Bad enough to tie her precious boy to a commoner, but one who's gone mad? And if instead, he's fixated on Lauralee and you give your consent, she'll be so relieved that you aren't making a fuss about the stepdaughter that you'll have no trouble getting her to agree to the wedding herself. She thinks you're gentry—poor, but blue blood. By the time she finds out differently, it will be too late. Especially if you hasten the wedding on the grounds of scandal, the war, or both."
He was right, curse him. Well, of course he was right. He was used to thinking in terms of blackmail. She hadn't much practice in that particular "art." She had always dealt with her enemies in much more direct ways—and with those from whom she wanted favors, by means much more arcane.
"What about me?" Carolyn mewed plaintively. "If Reggie's going to marry Lauralee, what about me?"
At that moment, Alison caught a glimpse of something avid in Locke's eyes, and knew what he was going to demand as his payment for all of this. After all, she would now control the Robinson fortune outright, once she was appointed guardian to a madwoman. Carolyn would stand to inherit all that; Lauralee wouldn't need it once she was Lady Devlin. Carolyn was pretty, soon to be wealthy, none-too-clever, and just as ruthless as Locke. She was a good match for him, by his way of thinking. He would not have to hide things from her, and she would be just as eager to cover up irregularities as he was.
"Oh, you'll have your wedding, too, Carolyn," she replied, with a little nod to Locke. "Just as splendid as Lauralee's. I'll see to that."
And she would see to it that the girl found Locke acceptable, too. After all, it was a great deal easier to put a death-curse on a man whose wife would do anything her mother said.
Because the clever Warrick Locke was getting too clever. And Alison Robinson had not gotten where she was now by allowing anyone to have a hold over her.
30
August 12, 1917
Elsewhere
ELEANOR STARED AT THE SMALL army of Earth Elementals facing them, and put one hand on the back of a Salamander to steady herself. There was no way that she could battle all of them—they'd overwhelm her by sheer numbers. Was it possible that she could call for more help?