the thuggee and their curses behind seven years ago. The necklace was cursed, but not in the way it was whispered. It reminded him of the heart he had lost. But the thuggee were no more. All of them had been brought to justice. Heritage had been in charge of ensuring the hanging of the surviving thuggee was carried out. ‘Why were you searching for me?’
Heritage hesitated for a fraction too long. ‘Your carriage was discovered earlier. We feared the worse.’
‘I will survive.’ Adam gave a careful shrug, despite his muscles screaming in protest. ‘My clothes have seen better days and my boots are gone. My valet will be ready to commit murder about the boots. He had just perfected his blacking technique of that particular pair. And having survived one attempt on my life, I have no wish to risk another.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Heritage clapped him on the shoulder. ‘What happened? How did you end up here? Your carriage was found abandoned a few miles from here.’
‘We were attacked after we left Brampton. After my time in India, I can sleep anywhere, and I wanted to return to Newcastle. The carriage was stopped and surrounded. I escaped, rather than submitting.’
‘The carriage was found abandoned on the Brampton road. Someone had set about it, but a farmer spotted the wreckage when he was taking his cows to pasture. He came to the hotel while I happened to be speaking to the innkeeper. I went along to help and recognised the carriage straight off. The one body was far too portly to be you and so we have been searching. The whole village turned out.’
Adam regarded Heritage. Perhaps the story was true. The men on the riverbank could have been innocent searchers, but somehow he doubted it. However, he would content himself with surviving and plotting his revenge. ‘How was my coachman killed?’
‘Strangled.’ Heritage paused. His face turned grave. ‘Strangled with a yellow scarf, knotted in one corner with a coin. They found it wrapped around his neck.’
Adam stilled, ice creeping down his spine. He had hoped the memory was caused by the drugged beer, but apparently not. The group of thuggee that he had routed had favoured strangulation with a vivid yellow scarf. They had had their sacred grove, dedicated to their demon goddess. There were times when he was playing cards in White’s or drinking at Brooks’s that he considered the whole episode to be some sort of fantastic fable out of the Arabian Nights. Unfortunately, it would appear that his enemy also knew of the tale.
‘That is not possible, Heritage. This is England. All of them were brought to justice. The ones who were alive after the attack swung for murder.’
‘The scarf was there. I saw it with my own eyes. Bright yellow, you know that peculiar nasty shade that sends chills down your spine. It made me wonder if somehow I had conjured them up what with my story about your exploits to my great-uncle.’
Pain seared through Adam’s head. Heritage looked positively shaken by the scarf. ‘Coincidence.’
‘You may be right, but it made a shiver run down my spine all the same.’ Heritage pulled at his cuffs. ‘How many besides you are left from the battle? I can think of nary a single man.’
‘Curses are for the superstitious, weak minded and gullible.’ Adam shut out the memory of Kamala’s soft voice telling him to be careful as he pocketed the necklace. He had laughed at her fears and had gently kissed her neck. Later, after the battle when she had told him that she was leaving, he had wondered. But the necklace was a symbol of his folly, nothing more. ‘I put my faith in reason. But I will grant you that the entire operation was planned, down to the smallest detail. Somebody wants me to think of India and the events there.’
Heritage rocked back on his heels. ‘Was there anyone else with you?’
‘With me?’ Adam’s vision swam as wave after wave of tiredness and pain hit him. His body needed rest and food. ‘I travelled alone. I wanted to get back to the delights of London.’
‘I thought I heard voices earlier. A woman’s voice.’
Adam put a hand to his head. The pulsating headache grew to a crescendo and his vision turned dark at the edges, driving all the thoughts from his brain. But he struggled to focus. Miss Milton had a good reputation. He did not need Heritage to destroy it through misplaced gossip and innuendo. ‘I met a woman who had been picnicking with her charge. She helped me out of the river. She took a tremendous risk, but she left me to continue on.’
‘And her name is? Who is this paragon of virtue? We go back a long way, Ravensworth.’ Heritage’s face took on a foxlike expression as it slid in and out of focus.
Adam redoubled his efforts. What had happened to Kamala all those years ago was not going to happen to Miss Milton. He would protect her. He would save her life.
‘It really does not matter, Heritage. She was a governess of the most exasperating sort. A nobody of little consequence. Leave it there.’
* * *
‘Miss Milton, Miss Milton, you are back!’ Nella’s tear-stained face greeted Daisy when she reached the schoolroom at the Blandishes’ rented house.
‘Of course I returned, Prunella.’
‘Is the man…dead?’
Daisy wrinkled her nose. How much did Nella need to know? Certainly nothing about her attraction to the man, or the fact that she suspected he might be a rake. ‘He is alive.’
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Nella clapped her hands.
Daisy busied herself with removing her gloves and bonnet. Everything in the pristine schoolroom was just as she had left it—the papers stacked neatly and the ink bottle full. A small fire glowed in the grate. Nothing to say that her adventure had even happened.
‘The situation was resolved speedily. He is recovering at Shaw’s. No thanks to any help you sent.’
‘I know. I utterly failed you, Miss Milton. You put me to the test and I proved unworthy.’ Nella gave a series of rapid sniffs. ‘I betrayed you and your trust.’
‘How did you betray me?’ Daisy asked quietly, refusing to allow her mind to speculate. Calmness and fortitude were a governess’s watchwords. Never show surprise whatever your charge might do. ‘Surely you did as I requested and informed the innkeeper about the injured man.’
‘I never got the chance. Mama sent me to my room for telling fibs.’ Nella’s bottom lip trembled. ‘She threatened to paddle me with a hairbrush. Called it a Banbury story of a cock and bull.’
‘For what? You did tell her that I needed aid. That a man was seriously injured?’
‘I told her that you were with a naked man and needed someone to assist you in your endeavour.’
‘You did what!’ Daisy was unable to stop her mouth from falling open. A great black hole opened up inside her. She had little doubt that Nella had injected a bit of colour into the tale. But to twist the story in that particular fashion! She could well imagine what Mrs Blandish would have thought. Hopefully Mrs Blandish would recollect that her references were of the highest order and that she had never been involved with impropriety in her life. Her fists clenched, but she resisted the temptation to shake Nella. ‘Lord Ravensworth was clothed.’
‘I had to say something to get their attention. They were outside the hotel, on the terrace overlooking the riverbank. Susan was complaining about Lord Edward’s absence and Mama was busy gossiping with Mrs Gough, the vicar’s wife, and another lady. I tried and tried. No one noticed. I simply had to do something dramatic.’ Nella played with the tie of her pinafore. ‘I thought they would understand, but then Susan started screaming and demanding smelling salts. Mama had the severest look on her face and Mrs Gough, well, she puffed herself up like a wet hen. The squawking was frightful.’
Daisy’s lungs collapsed against her chest. The scene and its outcome were simply too dreadful to contemplate and all too vivid in her imaginings. Nella had to be exaggerating…again. Daisy gazed up at the crack in the ceiling,