Skylark by Jo Beverley Page A

that she was as eccentric as Lady Caldfort, but devoted to nighttime portraiture.
    She went down to the hall and copied the picture as best she could by the light of one candle. She paid particular attention to the bones of the young man’s face, the line of his nose, and the shape of his one visible ear. Those things didn’t change much over time.
    She would have made a more finished job of it, but the clock struck six and she heard a rattle from the kitchen area. The staff was stirring. She hurried back to her room and closed the door with a shudder of relief. She almost felt as if her own life was in danger. Perhaps it was. What would the Gardeynes do if they learned that she knew this secret?
    She wouldn’t feel safe until she and Harry drove away. With Stephen as escort. Thank God for that. She could even imagine Jack riding after to kill them both. She wasn’t sure what Lord Caldfort would do about the letter, but she felt certain Jack would not accept the return of his cousin.
    After acquiring Hal’s small pistol, she’d not done anything with it. Now she carefully cleaned, checked, and loaded it. She paused, thinking that if Hal was looking down from heaven, he’d approve.
    “You’re an unlikely guardian angel, Hal,” she whispered, “but keep our son safe.”
    She packed the case in her trunk but put the pistol in her coach bag, feeling considerably more secure.
    No chance of getting back to sleep now, but too early to ring for breakfast. She worked a little on the drawing, but then realized it was a mistake. Anything she added now might make a better picture, but would be less like the original. She put it in her portfolio and returned that to her bag.
    She read over the letter again, but it gave up no more wisdom. Oscar Ris. They’d come up with possible explanations for everything else, but not that. Perhaps it had a private meaning for Lord Caldfort.
    Dear heaven! Could Lord Caldfort have had a hand in his nephew’s disappearance all those years ago? Consigned him to imprisonment with Oscar Ris?
    She’d try the suggestion on Stephen, but she could see the main objection. If the then Colonel John Gardeyne had decided to get rid of his nephew, he would have killed him, not locked him away somewhere. And only in fairy tales did hired killers turn softhearted and spare the victim.
    The clock struck half past six. The sun was up, so she could be, too. She rang for Catherine, and by seven was taking breakfast with a fidgety, excited Harry. Waiting until eight for the post chaise to arrive was clearly going to be a torment for him. She and Nan occupied him with last-minute packing and with the important choice of toys to take in the coach.
    With half an hour still to go, Nan said, “Will I take him down to the stables, ma’am, to wait there? The horses and cats will amuse him.”
    It was an excellent idea, but with escape so close Laura didn’t dare let him out of her sight. She felt as if Jack could be lurking, ready to pounce, and she couldn’t warn Nan.
    “No, I’ll take him down to my room. You make sure everything goes down to be ready, then wait there to say good-bye.”
    Her bedchamber and boudoir did distract Harry a little, especially her mechanical singing bird in a cage—a favorite treat. She thought for a moment of taking it with them, but recognized in time that the winding and playing would weary her long before it wearied a child.
    Even now it was making her sad. Hal had given it to her for her twentieth birthday, saying he’d bought it because she was Lady Skylark. Even then, when he could do no wrong, she’d recognized that it didn’t fit. No one caged a skylark. What point, when it sang only when on the wing?
    “The coach is here, ma’am!”
    “Thank heavens,” she said to Catherine, and they shared a smile. “Come on, Minnow.”
    He was already at the door and would have rushed down the stairs if allowed. She had no intention of risking a fall now, and made him go at a