The howls were intended to do two things. They were to frighten the villagers out of going into the hills at night, and they were to serve as signals. The howls last night had that distinct quality about them that indicated that they were signals, and he thought he knew why. But he had been too involved with the Duchess to pay them much heed.
Now he hurried up the track to see what had happened. As soon as he neared the sheep shearing shed, he could see something was wrong. Or something had gone back to being right, depending upon your point of view. He slipped off the track into the undergrowth along the way, took his mask out of his pocket and put it on, then he pulled his hat low down over it and his coat about him.
The rails had been returned to the fence, and the bales of turf were stacked outside the shed. He hurried inside, and discovered that the cache of bottles was gone. All gone.
Now what was he going to do? Margery depended upon him. She suffered abominably without the laudanum. But the stuff he gave her was not pure laudanum. It was cut with a tonic he had learned to make when he was apprenticed to the apothecary. Some of the “Ladies” of Rose street used it to make their trade more pleasurable. The mixture, when the tiniest bit of laudanum was added to it, enhanced perceptions. It made the world brighter, sped up thinking, and soothed anxiety.
Under its influence, Margery could hold a conversation, could listen to a book read aloud, could maintain a seat on horse. Without it, for her the world was a terrible place.
Margery had always been anxious, even as a child. When he returned home to his mother, having been turned off from the apothecary to whom he been apprenticed in Edinburgh, he had been assigned to his little goddess as a protector, keeping away stray dogs, wasps, and even butterflies. She could not even stand to pet a kitten. It was only several weeks after he had begun dosing her with his miracle formula that she had been able to learn to ride.
Now she was an amazing horsewoman, finding in wild flights across country on horseback an escape from what she had come to consider an untenable situation.
In addition, the formula made her pliable, so it was no trick at all to persuade her to stand in front of an Anglican minister from a small town at the foot of the mountains to make her vows with him.
When the late Duke of Mabway had insisted that she marry the heir to Gwyndonmere, he saw an opportunity. Between them, he and Margery had plotted that she would pretend to wed, but that she would insist that he have a place in the Duke’s household.
But with the laudanum gone and his money gone, too, he scarcely knew how to manage. There was enough in the vial in his pocket to keep her for a week. He would have to come up with something before he ran out. The stuff was integral to the rest of his plan, as well. He would need to find a new source, and quickly.
Margery was his everything. Without her, he was nothing. There was nothing he would not do, would not risk for her.
There was a sound behind him, and he whirled around. The Revolutionary stood behind him. “I see you found the problem,” he said. “They came up yesterday and dug it out. Where were you?”
“Attending essential business,” the shadow man snapped.
“Essential to whom? To me? To the Cause? Or to that high-strung aristocrat you’ve been diddling?”
“To everything,” the shadow man replied. “If I do not keep her appeased, I am likely to lose my place.”
“I don’t suppose,” the Revolutionary drawled, “that it ever occurred to you to do the job you were hired to do? Not that being on the staff of a highborn gentleman ever appealed to me, but a show of competence would eliminate the need for the Duchess to keep interceding for you.”
“How do you know about that?” the shadow man asked.
“I get around. My face isn’t known, so I can go into the village to buy things now and then. To them, I’m just a vagrant, roaming around up here in the hills. They are sure that I poach a bunny or two, and they might lay some stolen laundry at my door.”
“What about our other friend?”
“Him? He’s terrified out of his wits. The poor fool cares for nothing but his dogs. He nearly messed his drawers when he saw the use to which your Ma put his dogs. That was a pretty maneuver, but I wonder how it will be when we come down to the end and things become a little sticky. Know this, little man, I will put you down as readily as you intended to do that girl.”
“What do you mean? I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t you? Well, you can play it that way if you wish. But I intend to have this little castle back here in the hills whether you can off the Duke and turn his Duchess up sweet or not. I like finessing the game, but if that isn’t possible, I can round up enough outlaws to do it the hard way.”
“Hold on there,” the shadow man felt his insides go to jelly. “You can’t do that. This isn’t the olden times when soldiers pillaged and destroyed.”
“Ask the little abigail if it isn’t. I think she might tell a different story, having been in France so recently.”
“But that is in France, not in Scotland. Things are civilized here.”
“Is that what you call it? Pour a little snake oil over it, and it is civilized, is it? I don’t know what you are thinking, you little piece of work, but I’m not civilized. I know the kind of barbarian I am, but I don’t think you are any better.”
The shadow man gulped, then rallied. It was for Margery, it was all for Margery. He would find a way.
“I have enough for the Duchess for a week. I have a good idea about where they might lock it up. I’m sure that is what they have done. It is so pure, the Duke will not want to waste it. He is dedicated to keeping his accounts in the black, and would know the worth of such a thing.”
“Very well. You have a week. If you have made no progress by the end of the se’night, we will do it my way. And don’t forget, I know your secret – you and your precious Duchess.”
With that, the Revolutionary glided away into the brush, heading back up the mountain. The shadow man leaned against the lintel of the shearing shed for a moment, steadying his shaking nerves. He longed to take a sip from the little flask, but he dared not. No, that was for Margery, the Duchess, his goddess, his dearly beloved.
