by Bree Verity
She wished, just for a moment, that the household was not her responsibility, but then she resolutely tucked the idea away in her mind and said to the expressionless Benton, “Alright. Out with it.”
“Indeed, I do not know what you mean, Madam,”
She smiled grimly. “I thought you would give me more credit than that Benton. Do you think me a fool?” A footman - not the erstwhile James - swooped in to pick up her boxes and parcels from shopping. She made a little movement to stop him, at least, from taking the package with the India silk, but let her hand fall. There was obviously something else she needed to take care of. She watched as the footman expertly balanced all the parcels while also climbing the stairs.
“Did you wish me to organize a tray for you upstairs, Madam?” Benton asked. “You appear quite worn.”
Caroline frowned. She never took tea upstairs. “No, thank you Benton, in the parlor, as usua…” Her brows snapped together as she glimpsed just who was already in the parlor - her mother, and Uncle Harold.
“What is he doing here?” she said, her voice quiet and dangerous. “I thought we gave orders after the last visit that he was no longer to be permitted entrance without Sir Theo or myself in attendance.”
Benton flushed. “It is all my fault Madam,” he said, avoiding Caroline’s eyes. “I had some errands to run and left it to the footmen to answer the door, expecting that James would do so in my absence. Instead, he made the newest footman do it - and he didn’t know how to turn a gentleman away. By the time I arrived home Mr. Ponsonby was already installed in the parlor and I thought it best not to create a scene and forcibly remove him, as it might upset Mrs. Cheswick.”
By this time, a sheen of perspiration covered Benton’s face. Caroline gave him a gentle smile and lay her hand on his arm.
“It is all forgiven, Benton. Just make sure in future whoever answers the door has the necessary training to turn someone away.”
“I will, Madam. And thank you.” The relief on Benton’s features was palpable.
“Send in a fresh pot of tea will you, Benton?”
“Certainly, Madam,” While it could never be said that the stately Benton scurried, Caroline thought it the closest explanation for how quickly Benton walked away from her.
With an irritated sigh, she turned toward the parlor.
Neither Uncle Harold nor her mother glanced up when Caroline entered the room, so engrossed as they were in their conversation. Uncle Harold had moved a high-backed chair so that he could sit close to Mama on her favorite chaise, and they presented quite a sweet picture as they sat, hands clasped together and their heads close.
For a moment Caroline wondered if she and Theo had been too hasty in revoking Uncle Harold’s unfettered access to his sister. They looked perfectly contented, engaged in a conversation that did not brook any interruption from the outside world. She smiled gently and took a quiet step closer, straining her ears to hear what Uncle Harold was saying, and feeling somewhat an interloper.
“I should have thought that with all his wealth, Sir Theodore could afford better brandy than the pigswill I keep being offered.”
Caroline stiffened, her smile freezing in place.
“And you would think that Caroline would have instructed her servants to offer me refreshments. Cake, or sandwiches. Lord knows I am starving to death over in my house by myself. Oh, my dear, I cannot wait for the day I can tell your uppity man of business that his services are no longer required. You will be quietly shipped off to Bedlam, and I shall live out my days in luxury.”
It was enough.
“Uncle Harold,” snapped Caroline loudly.
Both Uncle Harold and Mama started, but only Uncle Harold jumped to his feet. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
Harold’s beady eyes flicked from Caroline’s face to the parlor exit behind her. He swallowed.
“You did not hear what you suppose you did,” he started, but Caroline held up a warning hand.
“There is no explanation you could give that would satisfy me.”
“You are taking things out of context, Caroline…”
“And you are threatening my mother with committal to Bedlam.” Caroline moved swiftly to her mother’s side. “How could you even contemplate such a thing?”
“It was very easy to contemplate. I have no desire to babysit my idiot sister for the rest of my days.”
“You are not required to do so. Besides, you do not have the power to have her committed.”
“Not with you and your erstwhile husband in the way, no. But I am patient. I can wait.”
“For what?” Caroline fumed when her uncle tapped the side of his nose and leered at her. She felt herself at a wild disadvantage, not understanding what he was talking about.
From the doorway, footsteps and light clinking of china proclaimed Benton with the tea, as Caroline had requested. He lay the tray down and was about to leave when Caroline said, “Benton, can you remain a moment?”
“Certainly Madam.” He arranged himself by the door, his face an impassive mask. Caroline turned back to her uncle, who seemed to have put on a coat of self-assurance. She desperately wanted to slap his face, to see his arrogant expression slip into one of shock, but she kept herself contained.
“You will leave this house and never return. You are no longer welcome here.”
Harold laughed mockingly. “I can walk in and out of this house as I please. Nobody has ever stopped me before.”
“They will now. Especially since I give them permission to call a constable if you are recalcitrant.”
“You would have the authorities remove me? Your own uncle?”
“You are no uncle of mine. You are a manipulative, wicked, treacherous old man with no interest in anybody except yourself. You will leave. Immediately. Benton?”
“Yes Madam?”
“Show Mr. Ponsonby the door.”
“You will regret this,” he rasped as Benton came over to take his arm. “You and that foolish husband of yours have no idea what is in the wind. Mark my words, you will regret it.”
Caroline stood, white-lipped, as her uncle was shown out, calling out more threats as he went. At the sound of the door closing, she exhaled, and the momentary triumph she had felt at being able to tell her uncle exactly what she thought of him was replace with shaking limbs, and the desperate need for a strong cup of tea.
She sat down beside her mother before her knees betrayed her and said in a voice that was, to her ears, far too shrill, “Are you alright, Mama?”
“Yes.” There was no tone to her mother’s word. She had picked up her ragdoll from where it lay and was plucking at the flowers on its dress.
“Do you understand that you will not need to see Uncle Harold anymore?”
“Good.” She said this a little more emphatically and the corner of Caroline’s lips curled into a smile. She leaned over to kiss her mother’s cheek, and whispered, “I hope you still remember that I love you, and that I will never let anything happen to you.”
Her mother’s hand came up to cradle her face and, for the first time in a long time, she looked straight into Caroline’s eyes.
“I know.”
They stayed that way for a long moment, Caroline leaning into her mother’s hand, before Mama dropped it away and returned to her doll.
Caroline smiled through unshed tears. Her mother was still in there - admittedly, sometimes she was buried quite deep, but she was still there. It was a comfort.
She sighed, then said, “Will I pour us some tea, Mama?” Getting up from the chaise, she moved over to the blue chairs, in front of which Benton had set up the tea things. Lifting the teapot, she began to pour.
Then she frowned. Uncle Harold had made some rather disturbing statements - how he was patient, and how she and Theo would regret their decisions. Something tugged at the back of her mind, a warning bell of some sort.
And then, with a clang, she put the teapot down, he
r eyes widening. It was Uncle Harold. The one who was trying to kill Theo. She could see it all, his entire plan, spread out before her. Giving Harold control over, not just Mama’s fortune, but all of theirs - Theo’s and hers as well.
She had to find Theo fast, before Harold did.
“Benton!”
He appeared in the doorway, surprised at Caroline’s shouting. “Yes Madam?”
“Where is Sir Theo?”
“At his club I believe.”
“I must go there at once.”
As she hurried out of the parlor, Benton protested, “But Madam, no lady of breeding would allow themselves to be seen near the gentlemen’s clubs. It is improper.”
“It is a matter of life or death Benton. Sir Theo’s life or death.” She threw a heavy cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood over her hair.
“Then at least give me permission to come with you.”
“No, I need you to stay here in case Mr. Ponsonby returns. But you can hail me a hackney, Benton. And be quick. I haven’t a moment to lose.”
Chapter Twenty-Three.
Ushered back into his club looking somewhat like a drowned rat, the valet took Theo’s coat and promised to have it taken care of, offering him a dressing-gown from amongst a collection that seemed to be available for just such an emergency. Theo accepted a dark red wrap, ran his hands through his hair to flick the water from it, and smoothed it back. Then, he turned to enter the main room.
He immediately noticed Freddie sitting in exactly the same place they had been seated before, and his heart quailed. He desperately wanted to make it up with Freddie, but he was afraid. He had said some rather hurtful things to his best friend, and he was not certain he could be forgiven.
The walk in the rain, coupled with Sir Allan’s words, had sobered him up. He detoured to a nearby waiter and asked for a large brandy, to bolster his nerves. When the servant returned quickly with the fiery liquid, Theo downed it in one gulp.
Then he turned toward where Freddie was seated and resolutely placed one foot in front of the other until he was by his friend’s side.
Freddie scowled. “Come to cast some more barbs?” he said icily. But Theo noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed and his voice wobbled.
“No. To apologize.”
Freddie laughed without mirth. “Apologize? Oh no. I will require far more satisfaction than that.”
Theo gave a confused smile. “I am not certain I know what you mean, Freddie. Satisfaction?”
“Yes. You have impinged upon my honor quite severely you know.”
“A duel?” Theo was incredulous. “You want to fight a duel? You do know dueling is illegal, do you not?”
Freddie was scathing. “No, I do not want to fight a duel. But I do want the opportunity to beat the tar out of you. Let us go and settle this. Right now.”
“Here?” Theo replied, bewildered.
“Of course not. Outside. In the alleyway.”
Theo glanced uncertainly around him.
“Unless you do not think yourself enough of a man to meet me?”
Freddie stood up and stumbled, and Theo realised he was very nearly as drunk as Theo had been earlier. “You need to sober up a little, Freddie, before I meet you.”
“So you refuse to fight me? Come along Theo. It is the only way I can be satisfied.”
Freddie’s voice was growing louder, and Theo did not want the entire club to know what was happening. Both his and Freddie’s business reputations would be muddied were it known that the pair of them were contemplating fisticuffs in a back alley like a pair of hooligan schoolboys. But Theo could not think of a way out of it.
“Alright,” hissed Theo.
As he followed the unsteady Freddie out of the club, he thought he could let Freddie take a few swings at him, maybe even land a punch or two, if that was sufficient to satisfy his honor. His friend would not last long in his inebriated state. And really, it was a small price to pay for the things Theo had said to him.
They passed the valet who looked at Theo questioningly. Theo assured him, “I shall be back inside in just a moment.” The valet nodded, apparently assured that one of his prize dressing gowns was not, in fact, being pilfered.
Stepping outside, Theo shivered. The rain had stopped, but the freezing wind still flitted through the streets. In the alleyway it swooped and churned, lifting pieces of detritus into the air and then flinging them back down on the rain-soaked cobblestones. Every now and then, the sound of a passing vehicle would join the maelstrom, the clop-clop of horse’s hooves mixing with the whistling of the wind. Theo paused at the entrance of the alley. He had no desire to go down there.
Freddie walked to around the middle of the alleyway, then stopped and turned.
To Theo’s shock, he saw the moonlight glint off the smooth silver shaft of the pistol that Freddie held in his hand. He had it pointed directly at Theo.
Theo laughed uncertainly. “This is a little different to the fist fight I expected, Freddie.”
“Yes.” Freddie was impassive. “I needed a ruse to get you out here. Step a little closer, if you please.”
Taking a few small, furtive steps into the alleyway, Theo noticed Freddie’s stance was wide, and his hand, steady. “Why, you are not drunk at all, are you?”
“All part of the deception, my friend. You see, you simply refuse to die. No matter who I pay to do it, no matter how much they hate you, somehow you always come out unscathed. So, I said to myself, ‘It is the old proverb - if you want something done, you must do it yourself.’”
Theo’s face drained of color. “You?” he said, feeling sick to his stomach. “You are the one who has been trying to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“But… why?”
“You see, there is this little clause in our business agreement that says if you were to shuffle off this mortal coil, I get first option at your share of the business. And I find that I am in dire need of your share of the business.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Capital, dear fellow. Capital. You have it. I need it. It is a simple business transaction.”
“But you are wealthy. You have always been wealthy.”
“Yes, about that. Like my father before me, I am rather fond of high stakes gambling. And loose women. And a few dreadfully unwise ventures have left me with nary two coppers to rub together.” He sighed sadly, then continued in a conversational tone. “It is mostly your fault. I invested heavily in Cabot and Co when you recommended them. So, as recompense, I believe you owe me your share of the business.”
“Why didn’t you say something, Freddie? You know I would have assisted you?”
“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” Freddie almost spat. “Sir Theo, riding in on his white horse, saving the day. Saving poor Freddie from his own imprudent actions. Well, I can tell you, I would much prefer to be indebted to the moneylenders than I would you, Theo.”
Theo felt as if he was in a nightmare. Freddie - his boyhood friend - penniless, and in part due to Theo’s own ill-advised actions. He had always known Freddie played for high stakes - all gentlemen of wealth did. But a gentleman knew when to stop, when to cut his losses.
But this was Freddie. His friend, his companion, his partner. They had seen the ups and downs of business through together. What on earth could have made him turn into the cold, unfeeling creature before him? Perhaps there was still some of his better side remaining.
“But… but we are best friends, Freddie. For years.”
“Yes. That is rather a pity. I shall mourn you greatly when you are gone.”
He must be insane. There was no other possibility. He had lost all his fortune, and it had driven him insane. Theo tried another tactic.
“But if you take my part of the business, you will leave Caroline destitute. You do not want to do that, do you? You like Caroline.”
“Oh, come on, Theo, you are grasping at straws. Caroline will receive her portion back
upon your death. She will not be destitute. Only perhaps,” here Freddie smirked, “perhaps when you are gone, I will marry her and put that big, beautiful brain of hers to work for me, as you should have.”
Theo clenched his fists. “You leave Caroline alone; do you hear me?”
“Poor, poor Caroline,” Freddie mocked. “Widowed and all alone. Who better than her husband’s best friend - her fellow mourner - to console her?”
“I mean it, Freddie. Do what you will to me but leave Caroline out of it. I warn you.”
“Fine words from the man without the pistol,” sneered Freddie. “It would be just as amusing, I think, to kill you without any other reasons, just so that you will leave this earth with the alarming knowledge that Caroline is in danger.” He exaggeratedly slumped his shoulders. “But no. I need the capital.”
“I will sign all of the damn capital over to you immediately, Freddie, if it means that much to you.”
“That is a lovely thought, Theo, but you know you would not do it. And even if you did, there is the little matter of you shouting about that I forced you to do it at gunpoint. No, the only truly safe way for me to get it is to kill you.”
“But they will hear, inside the club,” Theo said desperately. “They will hear the shot and come running out.”
“By which time I will be cradling your body in my arms and sobbing my eyes out. ‘Oh, woe is me. My best friend, shot by footpads even as we both stood together just conversing.’” He grinned at Theo. “My performance will be worthy of Drury Lane, I assure you. And Ponsonby will back me up, if he is here.”
“Ponsonby?”
“Yes, the little weasel. He might have been useless at having you killed, but he can certainly act the part of the doting uncle.”
