Читать книгу Regency Society Collection Part 2 - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 19

A day or so later the weather turned fine and Eleanor decided to drive out in her carriage. She was a little surprised to see the scruffy Dodds on the driver’s box when she stepped out of the door. She frowned. ‘Where is Johnson?’

‘’E’s got a touch of the rumytism, milady,’ the shabby Bill Dodds explained.

Strangely, Johnson had spoken highly of Dodds’s competence, despite her initial misgivings, and so she had left things alone. ‘Well, Dodds, if you are going to drive my carriage, I would appreciate it if you would borrow Johnson’s coat.’

‘Er, yes, milady. Thing is, it don’t fit.’

Eleanor grimaced. The man was far taller than Johnson, despite his slouch, and broader across the shoulders. ‘Wait here.’

She returned with the oldest of Garrick’s greatcoats. ‘See if this fits.’

It could have been made for the man, she thought, as he shrugged himself into it.

‘Thank you, milady. Right kind o’ ye.’ He grinned, a flash of white teeth through the thick beard. A strange sense of recognition flooded through her. He turned away quickly, fiddling with the reins.

She was imagining things. Every tall man with dark hair on the street made her heart jump. She had stopped running after them, but her heart still gave a hopeful little lurch.

She stepped into the carriage. The horses trotted sedately through the traffic under the firm control of Bill Dodds and it wasn’t long before they turned into Hyde Park. It was too early for the ton to be much in evidence. Some fresh air and a spot of exercise would do her good. Tired of the way everyone, from Sissy to Nidd, fussed because she was increasing, she longed for a rest from their anxious faces and solicitous words.

She tapped the overhead door with the handle of her parasol. It opened. ‘Pull over, Dodds. I’m going to walk.’

‘I don’ know, milady. Better if’n you stay with the carriage.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Are you going to start now?’

He muttered an apology and stopped the carriage. He helped her down and stepped back quickly. There was something almost guilty about the way he refused to meet her gaze. She shook off her discomfort. The man was competent, that was all that mattered.

‘I will be back within a half-hour. Feel free to walk the horses if needed.’

She was aware of the gleaming dark eye that followed her as she strolled away. She should not have been so fierce. It was their respect for the Marquess making them all so attentive. Given the rumours about Garrick, she was grateful for that respect.

Her spleen relieved by a brisk walk, she sat down on a stone seat beside the lake and watched the ducks dabble. She would bring the baby here. Garrick would have approved.

What would he have thought, had he known she was with child? Would he have left for France? She couldn’t help a wry little smile, because she didn’t doubt it for a moment. But she did wish she’d found the courage to tell him her true feelings. If they’d had more time, they might have rediscovered the joy they’d shared so briefly. In time, perhaps she would have found in him the handsome Marquess with warm brown eyes and wicked smile with whom she had fallen in love.

She would never know.

The pain in her chest rose into her throat in a hot, hard lump. Damn. She blinked back the watery veil obliterating the view.

‘’Scuse me, miss.’ She gazed through the mist at the urchin standing in front of her. The boy seemed ill-at-ease and out of breath. ‘You the Marchingness of Bosworth?’

She frowned. ‘What of it, child?’

‘I got a ’portant message. But yer gotta promise not to tell.’ The ragamuffin shifted from foot to foot as if on the verge of flight.

Her heart picked up speed. She desperately tried to quell the rush of hope. It was foolish to hope. And yet she’d received no official confirmation of Garrick’s death and it was always there, catching her unawares, like a candle that refused to be snuffed. ‘I promise.’

‘’Ere.’ The boy flung a dirty scrap of paper at her and dashed away.

Eleanor uncrumpled the paper. A bold scrawl emblazoned the page.

Meet me tonight after Midnight at the corner of the Square.

B.

B. meaning Beauworth? It would be like Garrick to issue such a command. Who else could it be? Garrick was alive. Hands shaking, she stared at the note. She pressed it to her lips, inhaled the scent of ink. Her eyes burned and blurred. What? Crying? Now was not the time for tears. Think. He must be in danger if he couldn’t come openly to his house. So she would go to him.

She tucked the note into her reticule. Alive. She leapt to her feet, her heart so light it could have carried her away on a breeze.

What would she wear? What would she say? Would he ask her to go with him? She headed back for her carriage and home. Would he be happy about their child? No matter what his circumstances, she would go with him this time. Even if it meant flight to the ends of the earth, if he asked. She pushed a surge of fear aside. When she reached the carriage, Dodds had a strange look on his face. If she’d hadn’t known better, she might have thought it was utter relief.

The rest of the day passed far too slowly, the clock’s hands creeping minute by minute until she thought her head would burst. After dinner, she went upstairs to her chamber, and after sending her maid away, changed into a practical walking gown, dressing her hair in a simple knot. If they were going to be on the run, the less fuss the better. Since he’d not asked her to bring anything, she decided not to pack a valise in case there wasn’t room. On the other hand, he might be in need of money, so she stuffed her reticule with bills. What else? She paced in front of the hearth. A weapon?

She ran to the dressing room and opened her trunk to find the only thing she’d kept from her madcap youth in the bottom. Her sword.

She drew it part way from the scabbard. The blade caught the light of her candle with a wicked glint. As instructed by her father, she’d cleaned it and oiled it faithfully at regular intervals. Father had been right. You never knew when a sword might come in useful.

A woman with a sword wasn’t exactly a common sight. She rummaged through her clothes’ press and found a thick woollen cloak. She wrapped the sword and scabbard in the folds of the cloak and stood in front of her mirror. If she carried it like so, tucked under her arm parallel with her body beneath the cloak, it should pass unnoticed. After all, no one expected a woman to carry such a weapon.

Unable to think of anything else, she sat down to wait.

It was the most horrid hour she’d ever spent, but finally the clock on the mantel chimed twelve and she slipped downstairs and opened the front door, feeling a little bit like Cinderella. Garrick was waiting. She hugged the thought close.

What if he took her with him tonight? Sissy and William might never know what had become of her. It didn’t bear thinking about. She took a deep breath. Deal with one problem at a time. First she had to see Garrick. Find out what was happening. Her palms damp and her heart racing, she stepped out of the house and into the dark street.

Dark shadows loomed between the houses and beneath the trees in the middle of the square, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her footsteps a light tap on the flagstones, the scent of coal fires in her nostrils, she stepped out briskly.

‘Who’s that?’ Garrick, lounging against the side of the house, prodded his companion.

‘I dunno. One the maids, I ’spose. The little saucy one, most likely. She slips out sometimes to visit her fella.’

‘She ought to be careful, walking the streets at this time of night.’ Garrick limped out on to the footpath, careful to avoid the light cast by the streetlamp. The maid paused at the curb, then crossed the street under a light. His breath hissed between his teeth. ‘What the devil? Fetch my horse. Now.’

He dashed to the other side of the street, maintaining his halting gait and staying close to the park’s iron railings where the shadows were deepest. He turned the corner of the square in time to see the woman step into a waiting hackney. The driver whipped up the horses as soon as the door closed.

Gut in a knot, he ran back. Abandoning stealth in favour of speed, he shouted orders as he ran for his horse. ‘You, follow me. You, take this message to the Captain. Damn the woman. And damn Le Clere.’

The faces of his men looked tense as they hurried to do his bidding.

When the horses drew up at an inn somewhere near Hampstead Heath, Eleanor thought, she opened the door and jumped down.

The driver clambered down and waved her towards the entrance of a small, mean-looking place with moss-covered thatch and grimy windows. ‘After you, my lady.’

The voice struck a chord of memory and she stared at his face. A face she only saw in her nightmares. ‘Matthews?’

‘I didn’t think you would recognise me, my lady, after all this time.’ He grinned.

A sick feeling churned in her stomach. Why would Matthews be helping Garrick? She hesitated. No. She would not turn away again. There must be some reasonable explanation.

‘Where is my husband?’

‘In there.’ He jerked his head at the open door of the inn.

Eleanor strode into the taproom with Matthews close behind. The room was empty and Eleanor turned to him with raised brows, only to find the man holding a pistol. She stepped back. ‘What does this mean?’

‘It means, my lady,’ said a hoarse voice from behind her, ‘you have very kindly assisted me in my quest.’

She turned slowly and took stock of the man who had entered the room through another door. He was old and so bent over he was forced to look sideways up at her. Deep lines etched his heavily jowelled face below a shock of pure white hair.

Eleanor had never seen him before. ‘Where is the Marquess?’

‘Dead.’

Eleanor’s knees weakened. The room seemed to spin. She clung to the back of a chair. ‘No! I received a note.’

‘Oh, yes. A note. Meet me tonight after Midnight at the corner of the Square.’ The old man cackled. The sound pierced her heart like knives.

‘Really, my lady, do you think my traitorous nephew would be foolish enough to walk into England for you, even if he lived? British spies watch you every minute in case he returns. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?’ He glanced at the other man. ‘Matthews, you are sure you were not followed?’

‘No, sir, nary a sign or a peep.’

This twisted gnome was Duncan Le Clere. She recognised his cold eyes. Her heart beat became erratic. He’d tricked her. Garrick was dead. An ache spread through her chest. Cruel man to raise her hopes, then shatter them with a single word. She wanted to curl into a ball. To shut out the world. To let the darkness dancing at the edge of her vision descend. But she couldn’t, for the sake of the child. Garrick’s babe.

‘Why?’ she whispered, her voice breaking.

‘Please be seated, my lady.’ He waved towards one of the chairs. ‘You carry his child, do you not?’

Eleanor put one hand protectively over her belly and held her ground. ‘What concern is it of yours?’

‘I want it. And I want a certain letter only you can get for me.’

The whole thing became clear. What a fool she’d been. She should have guessed. ‘I see.’

His piercing dark eyes glittered like the eyes of a snake laid out on a rock watching a rabbit. She felt very much like a rabbit. ‘You know, don’t you?’ he said.

She would not show her fear. ‘That it proves you a murderer? Yes.’ He cocked his head on one side, his mouth twisting. Clearly the wrong thing to say. ‘You cannot keep me against my will.’

‘Can I not? You will be well looked after until the birth of the child. If you fail to produce an heir, there is a woman standing by with a male replacement. But you won’t. Le Cleres always beget boys.’

His voice was so cold, so rational, she had no trouble believing he meant every word, mad as they sounded. She couldn’t breathe. It was as if something was wrapped around her chest and was slowly squeezing all the air from her lungs. She felt dizzy. What a fool to walk into his trap. She had to do something. Her hand clenched around the scabbard hidden in the folds of her cloak. What could a sword do against a pistol? Perhaps something, if the right moment came along. She’d have to be patient. The safety of her babe depended on not making another mistake.

Le Clere grinned. ‘Do what I tell you and who knows, I might let you live.’ He withdrew a pistol from his pocket and cocked it. ‘Matthews, have one of the men take the hackney back to London. There must be no trace. Then bring the coach around and let me know when you are ready. I will not be thwarted this time. I will have the heir in my control and this time he will be obedient.’

A shudder of horror crept down her back. Clenching the scabbard, she held herself rigid, aloof, waiting her moment.

Matthews left to do his bidding and Le Clere grinned up at Eleanor. ‘You see, my lady, I amassed quite a fortune from Beauworth during the war, but Garrick managed to upset my plans.’ His laugh was harsh and sounded more than a little crazed. ‘I moved all my money to the Continent.’ The old man’s voice lowered to a mutter. ‘France is ruined. I am ruined.’

The door opened with a soft click. He raised his voice, but didn’t turn around. ‘But what we did before, we can do again, isn’t that right, Matthews?’

The door swung back. ‘I’m afraid, Le Clere, that Matthews is otherwise detained.’

‘Garrick.’ Eleanor reeled at the sound of her husband’s voice. It was really Garrick, looking like Dodds, without the patch and the limp. A sob of joy rose in her throat. She started forwards, wanting the feel of his arms around her, wanting to touch him to be certain it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks.

‘Hold,’ Le Clere said, grabbing her. He hooked an arm around her throat. He pressed his pistol against her temple.

Garrick cursed.

Eleanor could not take her gaze from his dear face. Garrick had come home. Tears ran down her face. He was alive.

‘Well, nephew,’ Le Clere said with a sneer, ‘I heard you were dead.’

Garrick nodded, his face grim, the lines beside his mouth deepening. ‘I knew it would bring you out of whatever hole you had crawled into. I must say, though, I would never have recognised you.’

‘An unlucky bullet the day you betrayed me. It hit my spine. I have not walked upright since. I should never have let you take her across the field.’

From the wild look in the old man’s eye, Garrick judged him capable of anything, even the murder of an innocent woman. There was no doubt in his mind. Le Clere was quite mad.

‘Drop your weapon and kneel down, Garrick.’

He should have waited for Dan, but his fears for Ellie had scrambled his wits. ‘Go to hell.’

Le Clere’s lips drew back in the grimace of a smile and he jammed the pistol harder against Eleanor’s temple. Her repressed gasp told Garrick he’d hurt her. No more. He’d done her far too much ill already. He threw the pistol to one side and, with one hand on the arm of the chair, sank to his knees, praying his men would arrive soon.

‘That’s so much better.’ Le Clere’s grin was sly. ‘I hate looking up at anyone.’

‘Let her go. Your quarrel is with me.’

‘But you don’t understand, Garrick, she is with child. Your heir.’

He kept his face blank, despite the roar of blood in his ears. ‘I know. So?’

‘Sadly, you were spoiled by the time you came under my authority. I had thought that without your mother’s influence, you would settle down. Hence, I disposed of her. But you proved uncontrollable. This newest addition to the Beauworth family will learn obedience. This one will know his master.’

By his own admission, this man had killed his mother. Anger raged inside him like a beast that refused to be chained. His vision narrowed. All he could see was Le Clere’s leering face. He clenched his fists, ready to launch himself forwards.

Ellie. He was pointing the pistol at Ellie. Garrick took a deep breath. Then another until the beast subsided. He would not risk Ellie’s life to satisfy his lust for blood.

Le Clere, watching him closely, nodded. ‘Thought better of it, eh, Garrick? You always were a coward.’ He shifted his aim to Garrick. ‘You always tried to save your own neck. Well, it won’t work this time, dear boy.’

Garrick gritted his teeth and fought for control. If he could just get Le Clere further away from Ellie, he could give the signal to his men. ‘I’m not your dear boy. I never was.’

‘True.’ The old man grimaced. ‘I must say I was shocked when I heard of your activities in France.’

Ellie fiddled with her cloak, as if looking for somewhere to lay it down.

Garrick’s hackles rose. He kept his face blank and glared at his uncle. ‘You know nothing of my activities.’

‘No? I heard secrets exchanged hands. I sold a few myself. Had to recoup my losses somehow. Not that the bastards paid me very much.’

Ellie leaned against the back of a sofa, her free hand fussing with the cloak’s folds, which looked strangely stiff. A long, dark object fell to the floor. Oh, no. She couldn’t have.

‘I, on the other hand, made a fortune,’ Garrick said, watching his wife from the corner of his eye.

The old man leered. ‘And it will all be mine.’

As Ellie shifted, Garrick blinked at the flash of steel she let him see. Blood buzzed in his ears. Damn her. If she missed, someone was going to die.

There was no stopping her, he could see it in her face. And she trusted him to follow her lead. He glared at Le Clere and made as if to rise.

The old man tightened his grip on the pistol. ‘Are you so ready to die?’

Ellie let the cloak drop, the blade clutched in her fist behind the sofa. A sword against a pistol. Utter madness. But she’d done it before.

He needed to keep Le Clere looking his way. ‘You whoreson. You won’t get away with this.’

Le Clere took aim. ‘Now then, Garrick, such language in the presence of a lady.’ He sounded almost jocular.

Garrick got a firm grip on the chair. ‘She is not the lady you think her.’ His voice was hoarse, hating the thought of the pain she’d endure.

Le Clere grinned. ‘I guessed as much.’

One quick step. Her arm came up. The hilt arced. The pistol discharged into the ceiling with a puff of smoke, a deafening roar and a rain of plaster. She threw the sword, hilt first, to Garrick.

He plucked the weapon from the air. ‘She’s Lady Moonlight.’ He pricked Le Clere’s throat before he could so much as blink, watching the trickle of blood run down his neck with supreme satisfaction.

The door sprang open. His men charged through. Ellie looked terrified. She backed against the wall, her gaze fixed on him. She must think they were Le Clere’s men.

Dan clambered in through the window, pistol at the ready, his expression furious. He pointed his pistol at Le Clere and the old man put up an arm to shield his face.

‘Why the hell didn’t you wait?’ Dan said.

‘Give me a moment.’ Garrick crossed the room to where Ellie stood rigid, unsure whether to kiss her or to shake her for taking such a risk. Neither seemed appropriate from the fearful expression on her face.

‘You idiot,’ he said instead. He lifted her hand, pulled off her cotton glove and looked at her bloody palm. ‘You were lucky. I don’t think you will need stitches.’ He tied it up with his handkerchief.

‘I’m all right, or I will be, when you tell me what is going on,’ she croaked. ‘Who are these men?’

Some of the men were speaking French. After what his uncle had said, no wonder she looked horrified.

‘Not all Frenchmen are loyal to Napoleon. I’m sorry, chérie, I can’t talk now. Some of Le Clere’s henchmen are still on the loose. Captain Smith will see you get home.’

He turned to survey the room. Le Clere was already handcuffed. Matthews had been dragged in. But until he saw Le Clere safely to prison he would not feel easy.

‘Dan,’ he called out, ‘take Lady Beauworth home.’

And that was it. Numb, reeling, not sure what to make of what was happening, Eleanor watched him stride coldly away. It was as if what was happening in the room gave him the excuse he needed to pull away, to keep her at a distance.

A moment later, Dan was at her side. ‘I have a carriage waiting outside, my lady.’

Eleanor glanced across the room to where Garrick was issuing orders in French.

Not Napoleon’s men. Was this the truth, or had Le Clere been right? Was it simply a smokescreen to ensure her compliance? And how did Captain Smith come to be involved?

The captain urged her forwards, supporting her around her shoulders, leading her to the waiting carriage. One of the recent additions to her stables jumped down from the box and opened the door. Now Garrick had accomplished his goal, heard Le Clere’s admission of guilt, would he regret being trapped into marriage? He must have known about their child and yet he’d stayed away.

Which would be worse? Finding out he was a traitor, or losing him?

Captain Smith handed her into the coach and gave orders to the driver in a low voice, then he returned to speak to her through the window.

‘You are quite safe now, my lady. You will be taken home.’

‘But what about Garrick?’ She sounded pathetic, she knew she did, but she did not care.

‘He will come to you as soon as he can, he gives his word.’

His word. He gives his word. It was all that sustained her on the long drive home.