The Archer's Paradox (The Heart of a Hero Book 8) Read online

  London 1788

  “Mary, I have a message for you from Nurse Wilson.” Mrs. Ashperton came bustling into the nursery, the words already falling from her lips. “She is sadly indisposed and you are to take the twins to the park in her stead. Francis will accompany you.”

  “Very good, Mrs. A,” Mary replied. Lowering her eyes to hide a grin, she bobbed a slight curtsey. What a stroke of luck.

  “I will have less of your impertinence, girl, if you please. That is Mrs. Ashperton to you and don’t you forget it.” Although her words were severe, the housekeeper’s tone was mild. “The carriage has been ordered. Mind you dress the boys warmly; there is a cool breeze this morning.”

  “Yes… Mrs. Ashperton.” Her thoughts on the handsome new footman, Mary gazed across the bright, spacious room to where the young Marquis and his brother were playing quietly before the fire. Would she have time to redo her hair?

  “Well, don’t stand there wool-gathering!” the housekeeper exclaimed tartly, the ribbons on her cap bobbing as if to add their insistence. “Get their faces and hands washed and tidy them up. The sons of a duke cannot go out with their breakfast stuck to their cheeks!”

  Within the hour, Mary had duly made the two small boys presentable, wiping away egg yolk, brushing hair and dressing them in skeleton suits of nankeen trousers, warm stockings and matching blue jackets with natty little caps. Although twins, they were not identical, the young Marquis having dark hair while his brother had the colouring of a bronze statue. In fact, they bore little resemblance to each other at all, leading to unfounded whispers below stairs that her Grace had accommodated two sires. Mary found the time to put her own hair into a knot before donning her best hat and cloak. It was important she make the most of this opportunity and reflect well on the Duke’s household, she told herself. It had nothing to do with Francis whatsoever.

  They mounted into the low, gilt-embossed children’s carriage, drawn by a matched pair of golden dun ponies and brought around to the front of the house by one of the grooms. Francis jumped on to the rear step and the equipage set off smoothly in the direction of Hyde Park. The short drive from Berkeley Square took only a few minutes, and soon the carriage had entered the park by the Chesterfield Gate and was bowling along beneath an avenue of walnut trees. Mary directed the groom to halt beside a stretch of level meadow on the approach to the Cheesecake House.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling warmly at Francis when he lifted her two charges down. He grinned back and her heart jumped.

  The groom gave a disinterested sniff and she quickly turned away. As he clicked at the ponies to move off again, a large town chariot overtook and a lone rider ambled past. The horseman gave them a cursory, sideways glance as his sorry nag continued along the driveway without seeming to require any direction. Beyond noting his working attire and taking him for an ostler or jockey from Tattersall’s, Mary paid him no further mind. A low wooden rail separated the park from the carriageway and, having negotiated this obstacle, she led the boys across the grass to a tall elm perched on a slight rise. Francis spread a blanket on the ground and while their lordships ran about firing pretend arrows and riding imagined, spirited chargers, Mary sat down, carefully arranging her grey skirts about her. The footman leaned one shoulder against the tree and chuckled.

  “This certainly beats cleaning clothes and polishing the silver,” he remarked.

  “Yes, until those rascals get into mischief,” she answered. “Last week, Nurse Wilson gave me a bear-garden jaw because Master Adam was running about the nursery with her sewing shears. I had turned my back for less than a minute, I swear.”

  “Mr. Ashperton made me clean all the silver again on Sunday, just because I missed one tiny speck of paste. All of it. Have you any idea how much silver tableware there is in his pantry? I only got about two hours’ sleep that night.”

  “I rarely get much more than that,” she said, peering sideways at him in a coquettish fashion. “I share with Maud, the under-housemaid, and she snores!”

  He laughed. “I wonder if Mrs. Ashperton does, too. That might explain Mr. A’s perpetual frown.”

  “Ooh, you wicked thing!” Mary brought her hand to her mouth, pretending to be greatly shocked. She could tell by the twinkle in his eyes he was not deceived.

  He pushed away from the gnarled trunk. “Would you care for a cheesecake?”

  “Are you offering to buy me one?” She made her tone deliberately coy.

  In response he held out his arm, crooked at the elbow. “I had a bit of luck on the horses. I can stretch to a tart or two.”

  “Lead on, then, fine sir,” she trilled, dipping a mock curtsey. “Master Robert, Master Adam, come along now, please!”

  They walked the short distance to the timber-framed cottage. Set in its own grounds behind a stout wooden fence, it nestled among mature shrubs and trees. Holding the two boys by the hand, Mary followed Francis across a sturdy timber footbridge to the front door of the house. The landlord was standing on the threshold, wiping his hands on his apron. He greeted them cheerfully.

  “Good morning. It is a fine one, is it not?”

  “It is indeed,” replied her companion. “Two half measures of cider and four of your finest cheesecakes, landlord, if you please. Only the best is good enough for the sons of dukes out on a spree.”

  “Oho, like that, is it?” The man rubbed his round stomach and chuckled. “They seem determined young sprigs, so they do. You look to have your work cut out there, missy. Would you be their nursemaid, then?”

  Mary glared at Francis. “I believe that is for me to know, good sir. I am not sure my employer would wish for the world to be privy to his sons’ excursions in the pursuit of exercise,” she said, copying Nurse Wilson’s manner in as haughty a tone as she could manage.

  The landlord, looking taken aback, stared at her for a moment. Then, with a wink at Francis, he tipped her an ironic bow and said:

  “My apologies, my lady, I was not aware I was addressing royalty. Would you care to step into my parlour?” He waved his arm in the direction of a pair of small, round tables which had been set on a square of dandelion-riddled grass. Several chickens clucked and scratched nearby, two under one of the tables. They squawked indignantly and flapped away at the small party’s approach. The young Marquis ran after one with a white body and black tail feathers. He tried to pick it up, but it opened its beak, squawked again and with its wings beating wildly, leaped out of his reach.

  “Master Robert, come and sit down, please.” Mary called him to order. “Master Adam, if you pick up that worm, you will have no cheesecake!”

  The landlord reappeared bearing a large tray, and set before them their refreshments. The cheesecakes at this house were renowned and looked delicious, being speckled brown with nutmeg atop a creamy filling and encased in golden pastry. Mary took a small bite. The rich, almond custard almost melted on her tongue and the pastry was crisp and light.

  “Oh,” she murmured, “that is glorious.”

  Francis grinned and wolfed a third of his in one enormous mouthful. Chewing as he spoke, he asked:

  “You never had one before?”

  “Not from here,” she clarified, trying not to laugh at the comical contortions of his face as he endeavoured to collect a crumb of pastry from the corner of his mouth. “’Tis a special treat to eat in the park.”

  “I do not like it,” declared Master Robert. “It is nasty. I want to go to the lake. I want to see the ducks!”

  “You may see the ducks shortly,” she told him. “Sit still and wait quietly, please. A young gentleman must learn not to make a fuss in public. Master Adam, I will not tell you again. Throw that worm away and come here so I may wipe your hands. You can’t eat with soil all over them.”

  “Yes, I can!” he retorted. “My papa is a duke. I can do whatever I want and you cannot stop me!”

  He threw the worm away, as she had demanded, but not under the bush where he had found it. He launched it straigh
t at her.

  Mary squealed in surprise and jumped up, brushing at herself with her hands.

  “You little beast!” she cried. “Come here!”

  With Francis doubled up with laughter, she ran after Adam, who galloped away across the small garden, shrieking in delight.

  “You cannot catch me! You cannot catch me!” he sang.

  “Is that so?” Mary caught up her skirts and chased after the dodging and weaving child.

  Francis almost fell off his chair and slapped his hand on the table as he righted himself.

  “Come on, Mary! Is that the best you can do? He’s running rings around you!”

  The chickens scattered, speckled beads of white, brown and black on green velvet. Not to be outdone, Robert scurried after them. Giggling merrily, Adam scampered off in the opposite direction, towards the wood beyond the house. By now caught up in the game and laughing almost as much as the rest of them, Mary followed him.

  “You wait until I get a-hold of you, Master Adam. You’ll be sorry!”

  The little boy gave a startlingly good imitation of a neighing horse, leaped in the air like a battle charger and cavorted in between the trees. Mary could hear his footsteps crunching on dead leaves and bits of wood. Then everything went silent.

  “Adam?” she called, suddenly concerned. If anything happened to him she could lose her position. He was in her care. “Adam, are you all right?”

  She ran to the place where she had last seen him and peered into the shadows. There was no sign of him. Heart thumping, she pushed through a clump of undergrowth. Her bonnet snagged on a hawthorn branch and was pulled askew.

  “Adam! Answer me! Where are you?”

  Without warning, he poked his head around the trunk of a tall chestnut tree a few yards from her and stuck out his tongue.

  “Here I am!”

  “Oh, you did give me a fright! Come along now, please.”

  “Not till you catch me!”

  “I’ll catch you a clip round the ear is what I’ll do, young man, if you don’t do as you are told.”

  “I shall tell Papa and you will be put in gaol,” he retorted. He skipped out of sight again and she heard his light, boyish gurgles of laughter dancing about the wood as fireflies might dance on a summer’s eve. It was a long-ago memory, yet cherished still; sitting about her grandfather’s campfire the night before his last drove to Wales. He had not returned, a week of torrential rain having ended his days through a grievous inflammation of the lungs, and Mary’s mother had brought her to London. Forced on to the streets to survive, her mama had died from the pox. There was little she would not do to avoid that fate, she thought now, and humouring a small child, however spoilt, took no great effort.

  Pinning a wide smile to her lips, therefore, she chanted, “Eight, seven, six, five, four… three, two, one. I’m coming, whether you are ready or not!”

  Several minutes later, her sombre mood had left her and she began to laugh with genuine amusement again, the impromptu game of hide-and-seek coming to a satisfactory conclusion when she found Adam caught in a knot of brambles. They walked back towards the picnic lawn where they had left Francis and Robert.

  A pewter tankard stood upon the second table, the only evidence of another’s presence. A quick glance as she and Adam passed told Mary that the vessel was empty, just the dregs remaining. Francis was sprawling back in his chair, his ankles resting on the edge of their own table, which was littered with crumbs and empty plates. He had eaten the remaining cheesecakes and was gently snoring. Of Lord Robert there was no sign.

  “Francis!” Mary ran to his side and shook him. “Wake up! Where is Master Robert?”

  He blinked a few times and rubbed his face. “He was here a moment ago.”

  “A moment ago, you say? How long have you been sleeping?”

  “I wasn't asleep.”

  “Oh!” She pushed at his ankles. As they dropped to the ground, he lost balance and the chair toppled over with a crash, taking him with it. “There was somebody else here. Look,” she said, pointing at the tankard. “Did you see him? What did he look like? Did you see which way he went?”

  Francis climbed laboriously to his feet and sniffed. “I didn’t see nuthin’,” he answered in a belligerent tone. “What about you? You are the one supposed to be lookin’ after the little—”

  “Watch your tongue!” she interrupted. “Little pitchers have ears too!”

  “Ha? What pictures? What are you wittering about, now? We’re outside. There ain’t no pictures out here.” He seemed nervous, as well he might. His speech was no longer quite so smooth as it had been.

  “Oh, get out of my way! We have to find him. Anything could have happened.”

  “He’ll just have wandered off, that’s all.”

  She turned and glowered at him. “You go into the house and discover if anyone has seen him, then check the nearby paths. He could have wandered anywhere.” She paused, thinking. “He wanted to see the ducks. Find the carriage and ask Evans to help us search. I will take Master Adam and look down by the lake.”

  “Yes, my lady!” Francis jumped to attention and gave a parody of a salute.

  “Aw, stop acting the dimber-cove, you ain’t no knight of the rainbow! Go parley with the reader merchants and find out if they know anything,” she retorted, lapsing into the cant that had been so much a part of her youth.

  For a moment Francis gaped at her; then, without a word, he spun on his heel and ran into the Cheesecake House. Taking Adam’s hand, Mary almost dragged him past the heavy wooden entrance door, around the end of the house and through a shrubbery of mixed trees and large bushes to the lakeside. A pair of ducks was floating on the calm green surface a few feet from the sandy shore. One bobbed its head beneath the water and came back up with some aquatic weed in its beak. The other flapped its wings before settling again. Neither seemed particularly disturbed.

  Mary scanned the ground. At first she saw nothing to give her pause, merely a host of boot prints and the occasional cigar stub. She led Adam along the bank behind the cottage, passing a small wooden jetty. Two men were sitting in a rowing boat more than two-thirds of the way across the water, one wielding the oars with a somewhat jerky motion, it seemed, for the boat tipped and rocked as it went. They were already out of earshot and since there was no sign of Robert or any other figure in the craft, she turned her attention back to the riverside ahead of her.

  Adam tugged at her hand. “Want to go home, now,” he said, his bottom lip curling into a pout.

  She bent down to him. “We cannot go home until we find Robert. He is hiding somewhere and we have to look for him. Where would you hide, if you were him?”

  Shading her eyes from the bright spring sunshine, she stared up ahead. Beyond the fence surrounding the house, and dissected by one of the carriage drives, rough parkland stretched to the parade ground. Farther away, woods lined the valley of the Tyburn brook. There was no-one to be seen, let alone a small boy. Then Adam, who had been contorting his face in careful thought, appeared to make up his mind, for he began to pull her in the other direction. As they drew level with the ducks and with the sunshine behind her, Mary spotted a smaller footprint she had previously missed, at the edge of the sand shore where it blended into the grassy footpath. The path also crossed over the moat spanned by the footbridge and followed the bank of the lake.

  “Shall we run, Adam?” she intoned in a sing-song voice to hide her rising concern. “Let’s find where Robert is hiding.”

  They ran perhaps a hundred yards. Mary’s gaze swept back and forth as they went. There was a pool a little further on, bordered by reeds and clumps of rough grass. Beyond the pond, the bank curved around the end of the lake, where earth had been piled to dam the original brook when the Serpentine had been created. Now it was home to a forest of dark and brooding trees. She swallowed and slowed her pace. The spot was well known for deaths. The waters here were filthy and deep. Sewage released into the river collected around the slu
ice. An iron railing extended along the footpath above the sluice, but was not enough to prevent either the various suicides or bathing accidents which had occurred in recent times. Built by the architect, a waterfall took the river’s overflow into another pond beyond the dam. There were dangers everywhere for an adventurous small boy.

  Suddenly, Adam stopped, jerking his hand from Mary’s.

  “Look!” he cried, pointing.

  She returned her glance to the footpath in front of them, following the line of his arm. Caught in a thicket, at the edge of the steep bank above the water, was Robert’s jaunty blue cap.

  Chapter One

  London 1814

  “And then, Lucien, my good fellow,” continued Lord Adam Bateman, tapping a sheaf of papers on the library table in front of him, “I wish you to take a hackney into the City and deliver this letter to my man of business. Mr. Liversedge has requested some personal information with respect to my brother and I do not care to entrust it to a messenger, nor yet even one of the footmen.”

  “Very good, sir. So, if I might be so bold as to enquire, your brother was never found?” His voice was light. It matched his slight build but bordered on the effeminate.

  “No, he was not.” Adam considered his secretary, debating how much to tell him. He was young, fair and very enthusiastic. Fresh down from Oxford and newly appointed to the post on the recommendation of Mr. Liversedge, the youth was proving diligent and efficient. He had given his age as one-and-twenty, but appeared much younger. “An extensive search was carried out. My father had every blade of grass overturned, it seems, as well as men on the lake, dredging to the bottom with long poles. No trace was found beyond his cap,” he revealed at last. “My nursemaid said she saw a rowing boat on the far side of the lake, but again, neither it nor the two men supposedly in it were discovered.”

  “Yet you still believe the Duke is alive?”

  “Yes, I do; with every fibre of my being. No doubt that sounds the stuff of madness to you, but I assure you there is no necessity to have me committed to Bedlam! My brother and I are twins. Twins have a special bond, one which others cannot ever know. Were he dead, I should know it, deep within.” Feeling somewhat foolish, he tapped his chest. “This is why, now my father has died, I will not take the title. Indeed, I cannot. There is no reason to suppose he is dead. I will be as the Prince Regent is for the King; I will be the acting Duke of Wardley, in that I will oversee my brother’s estates and concerns on his behalf until such time as I am assured he is truly no longer alive.”