“We have. You aunt does not know us and spying on people is something I am very good at,” said Bevan.
“He is that,” said Morris. “No idea how he does it, but people can walk right by him and not see him and yet, I know he does not disappear or anything strange like that. ’Tis a wonder.”
“Do you become part of what you hide near?” she asked. “Like one of those chameleons?”
“Something like that.” Bevan smiled at her. “You are not only not troubled by it all but you try to understand.”
“A gift from my father, I think. Curiosity and the need to know. He said one must learn and learning sometimes meant you have to face things you fear or do not truly want to know. The fact that your son,” she said, looking at Morris, “sees the dead and could let me see them if I wanted is fascinating even as something inside shies away from it. Papa said never listen to that voice unless it is a matter of life and death, your good health, or your safety.” She shrugged. “I try to follow that lesson. I rather like to learn things. It helps that I recall most everything I read and, to some extent, everything I hear although I have recently discovered some rather large holes in my memory from when I was a child. But, I will sort that out when we get Bened free and make certain my brother is safe.”
“And, I hate to say this so bluntly, but we need to be rid of your aunt.”
“No need to apologize, sir. That I know. Since I am almost certain she is the one who killed my father and quite possibly my mother years ago, I have no difficulty accepting that this will end with her dead. After all, she means to see me and my only brother dead.”
“Good that you can see that clearly. She has Bened in a cottage behind the village. It is at the end of a tiny lane between the dressmaker’s and the apothecary.”
“He is still alive?” she asked, unable to fully hide her fear and not surprised when Bevan patted her hand. They were both worried about his brother.
“Yes, he is. Last I looked he was just rousing from the blow on the head.” Bevan frowned. “I do not know what is planned for him but I am certain it is not good.” A slight color touched his face. “He is naked and tied to a chair.”
“Good heavens.” Primrose frowned and thought on all the books on battles and wars she had read and felt her blood actually chill in her veins. “Torture,” she said. “I have read too many books on battles, wars, and such as that, perhaps, but I think they want some information and mean to torture it out of him.”
“It is what I thought, as well, so we need to get him out of there before that happens. He is still unconscious so that is a good thing. It has kept him safe from any harm while we came to get him. She has half a dozen men lurking about if you include the one they all refer to as her servant. I listened to them laughing about it as they say she needed the fool to press her gowns.”
“Sad to say that is probably exactly right. Did they mention a name?”
“Johnson? Nay, it was Jenson.” Bevan looked at her in surprise when she gave a short laugh.
“She has taken Uncle Rufford’s valet with her.”
“Do you think he is also her guard? Someone we need to worry about if we get to her?”
“No. He is a valet. Fussy, not too brave, needs everything clean, and such as that. I am not certain he could even use a pistol or want to. In many ways, he is a nice man. No, Jenson will not fight anyone.” Primrose sipped the cider Morris had bought and served them all. “I wonder what she has threatened him with to get him to go along with her, to leave my uncle.”
“She would have to threaten him to do that?” asked Bevan.
“Yes. He hates travel and knows my uncle would never let him go. I wonder if she had more than one reason to take him. He is probably the only reason she never killed her husband. Jenson fussed over my uncle. But, then there is the fact that she needs my uncle alive to become the baron if she is to be the lady of the manor.”
“But he might not live long to celebrate that moment for long.”
“That is what I think, Morris.” She frowned. “Is that all of your name? No sir before it or anything?”
“Actually, I am Lord Morris Wherlocke. A viscount. Will step up when, and pray it is not soon, my father dies.”
“Oh, I am sorry then, m’lord.”
“No need to be. The Wherlockes actually have more than their fair share of titles. When we are together we tend to toss them aside or we would be m’lording ourselves to death.”
“Is there a plan to get Bened back?”
The silence that greeted her question made Primrose uneasy. It would be six against three—if they counted her and she suspected she would need to force them to do so. Not good odds. Not unless they could come up with a way to winnow that down until it was at least even.