Jane Feather - Charade

by Unknown

  She appeared not to notice him until Malcolm stuttered, "My lord, I ... I ..."

  "Give me those." Linton gestured to the purse, rings, and cloak. "Go and help Tomas with the horses.

  He has eight to care for."

  "Yes, my lord." Malcolm scurried away, convinced that he was to be turned off without a recommendation as a result of this day's work. But he had simply obeyed orders. Perhaps he should have gone into that hell himself... he shuddered at the thought. There was only so much an employer could expect of his servants and Her Ladyship had never once given him the opportunity to offer the sacrifice.

  "Linton." Danielle looked at her husband with strangely blank eyes. "I have paid this cochon"—she pointed at the trembling governor—"one hundred guineas as bail for Brigitte. I do not think he deserves it. You will retrieve the monies, if you please." Her voice shook suddenly. "Do you see what they have done to the child, in no more than four hours? Give me my cloak." She pulled it out of his hands and made to wrap it around the shivering figure.

  "You will wear this yourself, ma'am." Justin whisked it away. "If you could only see yourself." He threw the cloak around her, pulling the hood over her head. "The child will do well enough with a blanket. Fetch me one." He turned to the governor, who shrank from the blazing black eyes.

  "I'd ... d ... do not know where to find one, my lord," he stuttered.

  "Then give me your coat, it will do as well."

  Having the firm conviction that if he did not the jacket would be torn from his back, the governor pulled

  it off hastily.

  "The money," Danielle said fiercely. "I will not leave here without it. It is in the room of this bete. He shall have not one penny and if he does not bring it I shall . . ."

  "Be silent!" Linton clipped. "You will do only as you are told!"

  Little Brigitte began to weep helplessly. "Now look what you have done," Danielle accused. "Come, petite. Put on the coat and I will take you to your maman. She is waiting for you outside with ton pere and grandpere. You shall all come to my house where you may wash that filth from your hair and I will find you a gown to replace the one you have lost." She turned to her husband. "You will retrieve the money, please, and then we shall be done with this unpleasantness."

  "It is a long way from being done with, Danielle," he said with soft menace. "You may give what orders you please as to the care of the child and her family and I will deal with this . . . person . . ." He gestured disdainfully toward the cowering governor. "And then I shall deal with you." This last was said for her ears only and Danielle bit her lip as the walls of her determination began to crumble under the sure knowledge of her escape from one horror and the equal certainty that she was facing an icy rage, controlled now but barely so. Her eyes met Justin's in frightened appeal but there was no softening in the stony blue black gaze. She turned back to Brigitte.

  "Come, let us leave this place." Taking the girl's hand again, she walked stiff-backed down the corridor and out into the March sunlight.

  Justin watched the rigid stance, thought of what she had been through, of the reckless impulse that had put herself and their child in acute danger, and for a moment his rage turned on himself. He had allowed her too much freedom, yielded too often to the self-determination that was not the right of any woman, any wife. He was her husband and husbands must be obeyed. He had been gullible for long enough, tolerant and easygoing for long enough. She had betrayed his trust and taken advantage of his understanding. He swung round to vent his pent-up fury on the governor and within minutes had the hundred guineas in his pocket and was striding across the courtyard, leaving hell upon earth at his back.

  Had he been capable of the softer emotions at this point, he would have found the scene outside the jail affecting. The child was sobbing in the arms of her weeping family while Danielle, swathed in the cloak, stood to one side. The horses under the care of Malcolm, Tomas, and the urchin stood quietly in spite of the emotions of the spectators who yelled encouragement or wept tears of vicarious sympathy for the happy reunion.

  But Justin, Earl of Linton, was filled only with a black glacier of rage and it would be much later before he recalled the scene and saw truly what his wife had achieved. He broke up the group like an avenging angel, sweeping his wife, in mid-sentence into the curricle, ordering Malcolm to follow them with the Robertses to Grosvenor Square. The urchin was told that if he wished for a job in the Linton stables he should go along with Malcolm, and the wiry figure scrambled onto the box of the chaise, a delighted

  beam on the grubby face.

  "Let go their heads, Tomas." The tiger obeyed instantly, glad that he was not in Lady Danny's shoes at the moment. The anger radiating from my lord's powerful frame was an almost palpable force, although he spoke not a word throughout the entire journey.

  Danielle sat beside him, shrouded in the cloak, the hood pulled well down over her scratched face. She began to shiver with aftermath and trepidation. Never had she seen her husband look as he did now, and never had she been so devoid of ideas as to how to placate him.

  The curricle drew up outside Linton House and the chaise followed almost immediately. Justin alighted and lifted his wife from the seat. Ignoring her protestations he carried her into the house. "Send for Dr. Stuart, Bedford, and ask the housekeeper to see to the needs of the family. She will know what to do."

  "Yes, my lord." Bedford bowed, discreetly ignoring the small figure in His Lordship's arms. What a to-do in a nobleman's household! But the butler was supreme at his job and with very few members of the staff any the wiser, had the Robertses ensconced in a back bedchamber, a footman dispatched to Harley Street, and everyone continuing about their business as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  "Justin, I do not wish to see Stuart," Danielle declared unwisely as he set her on her feet in her bedchamber.

  "I have no interest whatsoever in your wishes, madam," he informed her coldly. "Molly, you will fetch boiling water, towels, salve, and antiseptic immediately." Molly, completely at sea as to what catastrophe had transpired, bobbed a curtsy and fled the room, glad to be away from this suddenly awful presence of her master.

  Justin unfastened the thick cloak and tossed it over a chair, still holding Danielle by a supporting arm. He examined her appearance with visible distaste. "You are a disgusting sight. Just look at yourself." His voice shook with'suppressed fury as he pushed her in front of the pier glass.

  Danielle averted her head, shrinking from the image of the bedraggled creature. In addition to the oozing scratches on face and breasts, large bruises were purpling on her cheek and arms and the ones on her legs and back throbbed beneath the ripped garments. She said nothing as Justin stripped away her clothes, throwing them into a heap on the floor.

  "Get on the bed," he rasped, and she stumbled to obey, desperately thinking of something she could say that would return her husband to this stranger's body. But nothing came to mind and then Molly reappeared, staggering under the weight of a steaming jug and her other burdens. "Fill the ewer and bring it here," the unfamiliar harsh voice instructed. "Thank you. Take those clothes and burn them; then you may await Dr. Stuart belowstairs. Show him up as soon as he arrives."

  Danielle heard the door close on the only friend she appeared to have at this moment and fought down the hot sparking tears of misery and fright.

  "This will hurt." Justin shook antiseptic onto a towel, "but there is no knowing what filth those women carry beneath their nails." He washed the scratches thoroughly and she held herself rigidly still beneath

  the stinging pain of the antiseptic and his minute exploration of every inch of her skin for further open wounds. He washed her from head to toe with scalding water, lifting her limbs, turning her over with all the detachment he might have shown to a rag doll. And Danielle endured in silence. There was nothing rough about his movements as he anointed the bruises with cool salve, but there was little of tenderness, either. When he handed her a nightgown she put it on, her
embryo protest at bed-in-the-afternoon dying in the face of that cold mask and thin lips.

  Dr. Stuart bustled into the room with many apologies for the delay in responding to the summons. He'd been attending a birthing, but all had gone well, thanks be. Now what was amiss with My Lady Linton? His tone was jocular until he realized from the grim set of the earl's expression and the ashen face of the countess on the pillow that such an approach was inappropriate.

  "Her Ladyship has suffered an accident—a fall from her horse," Linton informed him. "I am concerned about the child." There was the slightest emphasis on the "I" and Danielle's spirit curled in on itself in despair. How could he think that she was not also concerned? But then she had given him little evidence to believe so.

  Stuart, tut-tutting in a suitably anxious tone, begged leave to examine Her Ladyship and Justin, without a word, pulled back the sheet and stood beside the bed as the doctor prodded Danielle's abdomen, asked if there was any pain, and then asked if she had yet felt the child quicken.

  "This morning," Danielle said in a dull monotone, "for the first time."

  "Was this before the fall, my lady?" Stuart asked, continuing to palpate her belly that still showed only

  the smallest curvature.

  "Yes," she said unhappily, seeing Justin turn away with a muttered exclamation. How could she explain

  in front of the doctor that by the time she had felt the life stirring in her womb she had gone too far to withdraw. And would it have made any difference anyway? She had certainly forgot the fact of her pregnancy wben she had taken up the cudgels for Brigitte Roberts, but even reminded of it she would not have done otherwise. It was quite inescapable and there were no apologies she was prepared to make. Something had happened that she could have done nothing to prevent. She would have gone into that cage to rescue Brigitte Roberts if the need had arisen four months hence as automatically as she had

  done so while her pregnancy was still invisible and unknown to all but the few.

  "As there is no pain, my lord, and no bleeding we can hope thattto damage has been done." Stuart pulled the sheet up. "It would be best if Her Ladyship remained in bed for three days and she should take an opiate now to still any restlessness. If her body is quiet then any disturbance to the child will be remedied."

  "That will be done," Justin said. "How soon will it be safe for her to travel?"

  "I would not advise a long journey, my lord."

  "I am not suggesting one, just into Hampshire, by slow stages."

  "In three days, then. If there are no adverse signs in the meantime."

  Danielle listened to a conversation that was about her but took no account of her presence. She was powerless to interrupt, to demand what her husband had in mind, to protest the draught of laudanum

  that Stuart was pouring from a small vial—powerless until the physician left and she could face her husband in privacy.

  She turned her head away, though, when the physician offered her the opiate and Justin said, "You may leave that with me."

  "As you wish, my lord." The door closed behind Molly and Stuart.

  "Drink this." Justin picked up the glass.

  "No." Danielle sat up in fierce determination. "I have no need of it. I will rest, if that is what you wish,

  but I will not be drugged. Justin, please let us discuss what has happened. I do not think you understand

  . . ."

  "I understand well enough," he interrupted harshly. "I understand that you are not to be trusted to take a care for yourself or for our child in your womb; that you are not to be trusted to keep your word and from this moment on I shall make a proper wife of you, madam. I accept full share of the blame but I

  will correct my faults as you will correct yours. Now, drink."

  "No." But he moved behind her, catching her head in the crook of his arm, holding her with one arm as the other reached for the glass.

  "You will," he hissed, tilting her head backward. Hermouth opened in protest and Justin tipped the contents of the glass down her throat, clamping her mouth shut until she swallowed with a choking gasp.

  "How dare you!" Danny hurled herself at him as he released her from the vise of his arm. She had endured physical abuse this day for more hours than she could bear to remember and to receive such treatment from the one person who had always viewed her body asa shrine, in whom she had reposed complete trust and confidence, shattered the last straws of her composure.

  "Stop!" He seized her wrists. "I'll not have you causing any further damage to yourself or to the child." He pushed her facedown on the tumbled bed, clipping her wrists in the small of her back, and with a

  low defeated moan Danielle gave in, wondering as she did so whether she would ever be able to forgive her husband for this.

  "Laches-moi," she whispered and Justin released her instantly, a panicky shaft of compassion stabbing him as she turned on her side in a tight fetal curl. Gently he pulled the cover over her and went to sit on the chaise longue until her deep breathing told him that the sedative had taken effect.

  Chapter 18

  Danielle awoke some eight hours later, her throat dry and head fogged from the drug-induced sleep. But her body was languid with relaxation and she felt again the wondrous quiver in her belly that told her all was well with the babe. Her hands stroked comfortingly over her abdomen as her body whispered its message of loving reassurance to the life it contained. "My lady?"

  "What time is it, Molly?" Too lazy to sit up, Danielle turned her head on the pillow, smiling at the maid who now stood by the bed, her face anxious in the shadowy light of the single candle on the mantel.

  "About ten o'clock, my lady. Can I bring you anything?"

  "Some tea, please. I have a powerful thirst."

  "I will bring it directly." Molly left and went speedily downstairs. She had been instructed to inform the earl the minute his wife woke, but with defiant bravery Molly decided to provide the tea first. A dreadful heaviness hung over the house and even the servants' quarters were affected. They all knew now much of what had happened, both Malcolm and Tomas being anxious to recount the story. Malcolm's tale in particular had fired the realm belowstairs with a fierce partisanship for Lady Danny—a partisanship that even Bedford had found himself sharing in spite of the shocking nature of Her Ladyship's actions. But when matters were going so badly abovestairs, those below could only keep the lowest profile imaginable and hope for a resolution between master and mistress.

  Only Peter Haversham was unaware of the facts. His position did not allow him to question either the servants or his grim-faced employer. He knew only that something appalling had occurred and obeyed

  the terse instructions to arrange for the removal of the household to Danesbury for an extended period

  of time in discreet silence.

  Molly brought tea to Danielle's bedside, brushed Her Ladyship's hair, and assisted her in washing away the sleep from her eyes before saying tentatively, "My Lord wished to know when you awoke, my lady. May I tell him?"

  "Indeed you may, Molly." Danielle smiled reassuringly. "I thank you for your patience. You need have

  no fear that your delay will have unpleasant consequences."

  "No, my lady." Molly smiled a smile of gratitude, comprehension, and friendship.

  In her absence, Danielle sipped the tea, the hot fragrant liquid restoring some of her strength. She and Justin were about to have as monumental a fight as they had ever had and it must be the last on the

  issue of her independence. Their marriage would be made or broken on this rack of conflict and she

  knew only that it must be made.

  Justin, having partaken of a solitary and seemingly tasteless dinner, was sitting in the library staring moodily into the fire when Molly tapped lightly at the door.

  "Come in."

  Molly shivered slightly at the bleak look on his face. "My Lady is awake, sir."

  "Thank you." The girl left and Justin remained staring into
the fire for a few minutes longer before getting heavily to his feet. He didn't think he had ever been more miserable as he trod up the stairs, and the main source of his misery was that he was about to make his wife very unhappy. But what possible choice did he have? If she was unable to take care of herself in an appropriate fashion, then he was going to have to assume that responsibility himself. She was still barely more than a child—just turned nineteen—in spite of her experiences, and she reacted to situations with all the willful impulsiveness of a child who had grown up with few external controls.

  The sight of the small battered face on the pillow merely reaffirmed his determination. "How do you feel?" Taking her chin between long fingers he turned her face to the light, examining the scratch carefully. It looked clean enough, although still raw. "Unbutton your gown," he instructed quietly and