Hell In A Handbasket

by Anders, Annabelle

  The horses, he knew, were nearing their limits. With no sun to tell the time of day, he guessed it to be late in the afternoon. He would stop at the next inn. The mud was not only dangerous for himself, but for the horses. Rather than simply changing them out and attempting to travel late into the evening, he would stop early for the night.

  If he came across a suitable inn, that was.

  He was already becoming soft, out of the army for just over a month.

  He laughed ironically at himself.

  Before he could ruminate over what he was going to do without Sophia in his life for an entire year, a sign for an inn ahead beckoned. Turning his head, water poured off his hat down the front of his coat.

  He would stop.

  He turned off the highway toward the two-story building and rode around back to the stables. Fortunately, a hostler, who was handy to care for Dev’s cattle, was able to inform him that rooms were available to let.

  Although his heart was heavy, he would be grateful. Harold was safe, Sophia was free, and time would soothe matters over. And he had easily found a bed in which to sleep, which wasn’t always the case in such poor travelling conditions.

  A hot bath, a good night’s sleep, and Dev would cover a greater distance tomorrow. Perhaps, if the rain stopped and the roads dried up… Dev scraped the mud from his boots outside and then stepped inside to pay the innkeeper.

  Coming out of the rain reminded him of the day he’d met Sophia in the park, of ducking into the gazebo with her. Would she ever be far from his thoughts?

  Was he doing the right thing? He could not swoop in so soon. He hadn’t much choice, really.

  After a tepid bath, Dev climbed into the bed and determined to put such thoughts aside.

  Surprisingly, he slept.

  “Captain Brookes! Captain Brookes!” A pounding at the door roused him in an instant. It was not the voice of a friend or reveler who shouted. It was panic-stricken and anxious. He knew that sound all too well.

  Jumping up, he pulled on his breeches and opened the door before the entire inn was awakened.

  Henry stood before him, covered in mud, quite literally. The only clean part of him was the whites of his eyes — which held a foreboding message of bad news.

  “You are needed, sir, at Priory Point,” he rasped in a loud whisper.

  Some of the other guests had stuck their heads out of their doors to shush the late-night messenger.

  Dev beckoned for Henry to enter his room. Mud trailed after him. Dev’s night of rest was not to be. If he was needed at Priory, he would leave as soon as the horses could be readied. Glancing at the window, he was at least relieved to see that the rain had ceased. They would only have darkness and mud to contend with on the journey back.

  Was it Sophia? Had something happened to her? Or had Harold returned? He could not imagine what disaster had befallen so much so that his immediate presence would be called for. It must be Sophia.

  “Tell me what’s happened.” He lit a few candles in the room and then pulled the door closed behind him. Not much light came in from the windows as the moon was still enshrouded in clouds.

  Henry looked at the floor and then shook his head. “There has been another accident, sir,” he said. But the words did not flow easily.

  “What kind of accident?” Dev’s chest tightened. God, not Sophia.

  “The duke’s coach, with St. John and also your father, sir.” And then Henry looked up at him with an abundance of compassion on his face. “They’ve all perished. The road washed away, and their carriage fell into the sea.”

  Dev replayed the words in his mind to be certain he had not misunderstood what the stable master was trying to impart to him.

  This hardly seemed possible.

  And yet, Dev considered the conditions when he, himself, had set off earlier that day. Soggy, wet… even on a bright and sunny day that road had always seemed more than a little precarious.

  Nothing like this had ever happened before, however, and the castle had sat perched on the point for hundreds of years.

  His father?

  He swallowed hard. Henry would not have come all of this way to give him such news if it were inaccurate.

  “Is the road passable now?” It must be, if Henry had made it through. “Did her grace send you?”

  Henry was shaking his head. “Not passable by carriage, barely by horses. We have workers shoring it up with rocks now.” The obviously exhausted man paused and then remembered Dev’s second question. “It was Lady Harold who sent for you.”

  Sophia… was alone at the castle. She was alone with his aunt — a woman who was under the impression that her youngest son had died not two weeks ago.

  “All of them?” He could not help but to ask.

  Henry’s face expressed regret and sadness. “The only ones to escape were the driver and one of the outriders. Even the horses went in.”

  At these last words, Dev thought the man might lose control of his emotions.

  Henry had cared for the duke’s cattle his entire life. Those horses would have been like children to him.

  His father was gone. His uncle. His cousin. “All three of them were in the coach?” Somehow, he needed to hear it again. It did not seem possible. “The duke, St. John, and my father? None of them were on horseback?”

  Henry continued shaking his head. “The rain was heavy. They said they’d ride in comfort until the storm passed. They were going to London and then on to Kent. The ladies remained at Priory Point and planned on traveling tomorrow.”

  Dev ran his hand through his hair. Thank God, the ladies hadn’t been with them. It could so easily have been Sophia. He pushed such a thought out of his mind.

  Still… this… this… loss. It was nearly inconceivable. He could not dwell on his personal emotions right now.

  The women were virtually trapped at the castle.

  Her grace would be beside herself.

  And Sophia… sweet, innocent, loving Sophia… would be caught in the middle of it all.

  Devil take him, he needed to contact Harold.

  Harold was the duke now!

  That had to change everything. Wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t the death of his father and brother be cause to return? To stage some miraculous reappearance?

  Dev looked up and realized that Henry awaited instruction.

  The man needed to get some rest before taking to the road again. Dev pulled on his shirt and gestured toward the basin. “Clean up and rest a little, Henry. I’ll have the horses readied and see about locating sustenance for the journey. I need to attend to a few matters before we leave, and then I’ll send a maid to wake you.” After pulling his boots on, he forced himself to sweep away the pangs of loss threatening to engulf him. “Are you up to it, Henry, or do you need to wait until morning?”

  But Henry would not wait. “Practically morning already. Send the maid when you are ready.” He grimaced. “At least the rain is stopped now. I’d not let you travel alone, you being the new duke and all.”

  Oh, hell!

  He needed to reach Harold! And as quickly as possible. For if Harold and Stewart’s packet had set sail already, it could take months — years possibly — to track them down.

  “Don’t say that,” Dev said. “Don’t call me that.”

  He could make no explanations to the lifelong retainer his uncle had employed. But he was not the duke. Had not ever really even considered it.

  He stuffed his belongings into his knapsack and pulled on his jacket. Thankfully, it had dried by the fire the chambermaid had lit before he’d lain down. “I’ll be back within an hour.”

  Looking at him with sympathy, Henry nodded.

  The innkeeper was angry at first when Dev woke him, but after he heard about the tragic accident, his demeanor changed from that of annoyance to obsequiousness.

  “I need a messenger to travel to Dover. The matter is of the utmost importance. Time is of the essence.”

  Dev had written a message i
n code to the false name he knew Harold had taken on. Dev wanted to punch something, the wall, a door. He realized that most likely, Harold and Stewart’s ship had already sailed. His only hope was that the weather might have delayed it.

  They could not continue to perpetuate the lie of Harold’s death now, could they? With explicit instructions, he sent the message off in hope that it reach his cousin in time. He could not even begin to fathom the implications… What with the guilt he and Sophia had experienced, he could only wonder at how Harold would handle news of this very real tragedy.

  It was nearly four in the morning, and most of the inn’s staff were yet abed. Dev exited the inn and made his way around to the outbuildings. He would assist the hostlers who’d been awakened when Henry arrived. It would give him something to do with his hands, with his restlessness, while he allowed the other man some rest.

  * * *

  The outrider had not been mistaken.

  Everything he’d originally reported had been verified.

  Since the road up to the Priory was still considerably dangerous, Sophia could not send for a physician to tend to the duchess. Instead, she’d directed the housekeeper to locate some of the laudanum that had been given to her shortly after Harold’s death, and had a dose administered to the duchess. The magnitude of the woman’s loss was unfathomable.

  Nonetheless, a doctor could not be called in.

  Without getting any sleep herself, Sophia found herself called upon to attend to the magistrate who arrived early the next morning. He’d asked for the duchess, but Sophia explained to him that her grace was indisposed. He could discuss matters with her. He’d met her once before, when she’d described to him how her husband had fallen off the side of a cliff.

  The pity that gushed from him was not welcome.

  She did not deserve pity. She did not welcome his compassion.

  She was a fraud, a villain even. She invited him to enter and be seated, and then asked Mr. Girard to bring tea.

  It was all rather civil really.

  The magistrate pulled out the notebook she remembered from the last time he’d spoken to her and began reading off some of the details he had scribbled earlier.

  Apparently, all of the bodies had been recovered.

  They’d managed to attach a hoist to the wreckage, detach the front axle, and pull it to a level area above the water. Some rescuers had been lowered, and the bodies had then been lifted out. He assured her that the deaths occurred quickly; he was mostly certain. The impact had done most of the damage. He did not think any of the gentlemen had drowned. The bodies had been pulled up on the village side where the road had collapsed. He asked her if she had any instructions as to what the duchess would have him do with them, since they could not be brought back to the castle.

  “Eden’s Court,” she said. “They must be transported to the duke’s estate in Kent.” The family plot was in Kent. The duchess had lamented to her several times that they could not bring Harold home with them, where he belonged. “Whatever the cost, I am certain that is where the duchess would have them laid to rest.”

  “Do you know where we can locate Captain Brookes?” he questioned her then. “Our records show he is the heir. What, with your husband gone, and the marques, as well as the duke and his brother. Captain Brookes must be notified immediately. We’ve deployed messengers to London in order to begin all necessary legal proceedings.”

  Sophia’s head spun.

  Dev? Dev was the duke now?

  Oh, dear God, but he wasn’t.

  Harold was.

  In that moment, she was severely tempted to tell the magistrate everything. Harold must be found. He must be intercepted before leaving England for God knew where. He was all his mother had left.

  “I’ve sent for Captain Brookes already,” she heard herself say. Suddenly, for the first time, tears threatened to escape from behind her eyes. What a quagmire they’d created. This poor, poor, family had been decimated, and all because of her!

  If she hadn’t married Harold, none of them would have come to Priory Point.

  If she hadn’t assisted Harold in staging his death, they would not have been on the road yesterday.

  And if they hadn’t been on the road yesterday, they would not have been killed.

  Even now, she worried for the duchess’ health. Although her grace was by no means an elderly woman, the toll of all of this was enough to cause even a young woman to become frail and despondent.

  Could a person die of a broken heart?

  Sophia wondered.

  Would it never end?

  “My lady? My lady?” The magistrate was speaking to her still.

  “I’m sorry. Pardon me?” She sat up straight and schooled her features into impassiveness.

  The housekeeper entered after softly tapping on the door. She carried a setup with tea and morning victuals.

  Sophia nodded as the servant set the tray down on a nearby table.

  Sophia was supposed to do something now.

  Oh, yes. It was her duty, as hostess, to serve the tea.

  She stood, for all the world as though this were any polite call, and then poured the magistrate’s tea. She remembered from his other visit that he took his tea with just a splash of milk.

  She methodically prepared the familiar beverage and placed it on the table beside the magistrate. Then, lifting the plate of pastries, she offered it to him as well.

  He thanked her profusely as he took three of them from the platter. When Sophia turned to pour her own tea, for just a moment, she forgot how she took it.

  Hot, she said to herself. Like the depths of hell would be when she arrived.

  “I believe the road can be made somewhat passable for horses and such, if my lady and her grace wish to depart for Eden’s Court as well. Would you like me to make arrangements for a carriage to collect you both there, on the other side of the landslide?”

  The bodies would need to be buried quickly after arriving in Kent. They would have to be transported with ice, a great deal of it, as matters stood. To delay the funerals would be… unpleasant. No time could be wasted.

  Sophia and her grace must leave right away.

  “It was a landslide then? Is that what they call it?”

  The magistrate grimaced. “The mud gave way, causing land above and below the road to collapse into the sea. I imagine it would be accurate to refer to it as such, yes.” He answered her and then put the entirety of the last morsel he’d procured for himself into his mouth.

  It truly was amazing, she thought, that the bodies had been recovered. A morbid part of her wondered in what condition they had been. “Their necks were most likely broken when they fell,” she said softly, answering her own question.

  Chewing, the magistrate nodded in agreement.

  And then she made a decision. “Leaving for Eden’s Court will be best for the duchess.”

  Would Dev arrive soon? She hoped Henry had been able to locate him. It was a long road to Surrey. With many inns along the way he could easily be missed.

  But she could not afford to wait.

  She needed to get the duchess away from this horrid, horrid place.

  She needed to get herself away from it.

  She did not think she would feel an ounce of regret if she were never to see the sea again.

  Or the cliffs.

  The bodies would need to be put into the ground as expediently as possible.

  The bags had been packed earlier, before, when they had planned to meet up with the duke a few days later, at Eden’s Court. But what of the duchess? Would she be able to get down the road on horseback? How would she react to passing the carnage that had stolen her husband and his heir away from her?

  And Dev’s father.

  She mustn’t forget Dev’s father had perished as well.

  And aside from the protocol of following the bodies to their final resting place, Sophia had a pressing need to flee the castle. If only for her own sanity.

&nb
sp; “We will meet you there at three in the afternoon.” She spoke more decisively now. It was early in the morning yet. She would rouse the duchess and persuade her as to the necessity of their departure. “Thank you, for your thoughtful consideration,” she added. “Would you be so kind as to make any other necessary arrangements with Mr. Girard?”

  The man nodded and then stood, apparently knowing he’d been dismissed.

  As he excused himself, Sophia looked out the windows at the craggy cliffs that marred the horizon. If it was up to her, she’d have the castle fall into the sea.

  After they’d all left, of course.

  Sophia arranged for tea and breakfast to be sent up to her grace and then waited half an hour before tapping on the duchess’ chamber door. As the maid invited her in, she was more than a little relieved to see the duchess up and dressed. She seemed much more alert than Sophia had thought she’d be.

  Yes, her mother-in-law had regained control of her emotions, for now, at any rate. The duchess had hundreds, thousands of empty days and lonely nights in her future. For now, she wore a black crepe gown and sat on a chaise lounge with a cup of tea.

  Her posture was rigid and her eyes somewhat dull. “Sophia, you will forgive me, dear? For abandoning you to the magistrate this morning? As soon as I heard he’d been here, I realized I’d already neglected my duties, leaving you to cope with them all alone.”

  Sophia was quick to reassure her, although she did feel a tremendous sense of relief, knowing the duchess was not, after all, incapacitated by her grief. “Not at all, your grace.”

  “I was told you arranged to have the bodies taken to Eden’s Court, but I’ve corrected your orders. A service will be held in London, at St. George’s Cathedral. It must be held in London. His grace loved London and considered it his home more than anywhere else in the world. St. George’s, of course, will be packed. The streets will be lined with mourners. It must be in London.

  “And then, afterward, we’ll proceed to Eden’s Court where there will be another service, and the burial of course.”

  As Sophia listened to the duchess’ detailed plans, she realized that maids were efficiently collecting items from around the room. The duchess was preparing to leave Priory Point. Sophia could have cried, knowing that all of this was not to be her burden to carry alone. And as soon as she thought that, guilt set in again. Such a burden would not exist but for her own selfishness.