Deadly Engagement: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance)

by Lucinda Brant

  He felt Selina stir in his arms and lift her head off his chest where she had rested her cheek. He smiled down reassuringly into her upturned, flushed face with its lovely trembling mouth and dark questioning eyes, and had an overwhelming desire to want to protect her from the ills of the world. They stood so still, locked in the moment, neither one wanting to make a false move, yet each waiting for the other to take the first step. It was Selina who moved time on, cross with herself for foolishly thinking he meant to kiss her when it was obvious he regarded her as a brother does a sister not as a lover does the object of his love and desire.

  The ballroom was now quiet and emptied of guests. The dancers had crossed to the terrace with its view of the gardens that led down to the Thames and where bobbed punts stocked with fireworks waiting to be set alight. Distant rumblings like thunder came from that side of the house, then seconds later flashes of bright light like lightning illuminated the stars above. The fireworks had commenced. The eerie silence of the balcony was enough for Selina to realize they were now quite alone and she pulled out of his comforting embrace.

  “Please, Mr. Halsey,” she said, flustered. “I would be most grateful if you’d stop regarding me as a lost puppy in need of a home! I am quite capable of taking care of myself and have done so now for—”

  Alec blinked at her and flushed up. He was too angry to be distracted by the bang of the doors or notice the laughing couple who ran out onto the balcony, mistaking it for the terrace, then just as quickly disappear again in a swish of silk petticoats and perfume.

  “Dear God, Selina, you are the most infuriating woman of my acquaintance! Mr. Halsey indeed! What a ridiculous thing to call me given the history between us.”

  “It is precisely because of that history that you take great delight in throwing my married name in my face at every opportunity!” she answered bitterly, gathering up the folds of her velvet gown in readiness to excuse herself. “The fireworks have started and we shall be missed. Her Grace will be expecting us to—”

  “Olivia can damn well wait as long as I have!” he growled, a hand about her upper arm. “Do you think I derive any pleasure from addressing you by that offensive name? Christ, how you wrong me! Every time I uttered it I wanted to make you a widow there and then!”

  “Did you indeed?” she answered archly, her anger now as all consuming as his and making her throw caution to the four winds. “And by such declaration am I to take it that whenever you pleasured one of your countless lovers you fancied yourself taking me to Heaven and back? Ha! You never gave me a thought!”

  “You are sadly mistaken in my character, Madam,” he enunciated in a low voice and, before she had time to turn away, pulled her into a suffocating embrace and savagely pressed his mouth to hers, murmuring as he kissed her a second time in a wholly different manner, “Damn you for forcing me to act no better than he…”

  The Duchess of Romney-St. Neots stood on the terrace surrounded by her family, the happy couple beside her and the noisy, laughing crowd at her back. Neave had sent a footman down to the riverbank where workmen waited to light the fireworks and all heads looked out expectantly to the night sky in the direction of the Thames.

  Sir Cosmo was the last to join the perfumed multitudes and he stood at the back of the crowds pressing forward in awe of the skyrocket spectacular, head craning to catch sight of Alec and Selina. But after five minutes of standing on tip-toe he gave up the attempt and opted for the open space of the gardens where many of the guests had taken up position on the steps and along the paths bordering the formal flower beds to escape the crushing confinement of the terrace. More than once he passed a shrub in shadow to hear giggles and moans and the sounds of love making. He thought he saw Macara dart behind a bush in pursuit of a lady with her petticoats pulled up to her knees. He was not surprised then when there came the high-pitched squeal of capture. He rolled his eyes at such crude behavior and continued on his way.

  Before he had strolled much further another round of sky rockets burst forth into the night sky in quick and deafening succession and sent a shower of diamond stars across the blackness; the sparkles of light illuminating the whole gardens for an instant then falling in a dim cascade into the Thames. Then yellow stars, and orange, then white again, and finally an explosion of such magnificence that it seemed the sun had come out, and with such an accompanying rumble of thunder that many thought it about to rain.

  It was a magical sight and one Sir Cosmo gaped up at in awe with the rest of the four hundred chins pointing skywards. A lull in the spectacle brought his head down and to the mouth-gaping sight of Lady Gervais having her breasts pawed by Lord Andrew Macara. Under the red light of a Chinese lantern the man was kissing and fondling the woman’s exposed breasts as if he had paid for the privilege; and she was calmly patting her hair into place as if she was standing alone in the privacy of her own dressing room! Finally she pushed him away, kissed his open mouth, and they parted company on the walk; she to trip down toward the ivy covered rotunda, and he to trudge up the path toward the house, adjusting his clothes as he did so. He passed close by Sir Cosmo, but if he noticed him he gave no indication and went up to the terrace, only remembering at the last moment to adjust his wig.

  The fireworks finale saw the wooden structures erected on the punts set alight and they flamed into outlines of swans and bears and a Chinese pagoda. Small rockets shot out from these flaming structures just as they burned themselves out, and there was a final, brilliant illumination of the night sky to the accompaniment of the oohs and aahs of the appreciative spectators. Then the crowd dispersed, to go indoors, or to take a last stroll in the grounds before calling for their carriages to return to town. And soon the Duchess and Emily were swamped by well-wishers full of verbose compliments and overflowing with praise for an evening’s entertainment not equaled that season. The Duchess looked about her for the Earl and wondered why he had slipped away from Emily’s side at the height of the night sky spectacle. He had missed the best of the skyrockets.

  Sir Cosmo thought he had seen it all until he happened to venture further into the gardens, then he wished he had kept his attention skywards.

  Alec and Selina came to a sense of their surroundings with the final cheer from the spectators on the terrace. They fell apart and stood facing one another on the deserted balcony, a little disoriented yet acutely aware that there was no going back from what had just occurred between them. They had missed the entire skyrocket spectacular played out above their heads; neither cared.

  Without a word, Selina put up a shaking hand to her disordered curls and Alec picked up her fan from the tiles where she had dropped it, and stood holding it. He did not look at her but at the fan with its sticks of carved ivory and heavy silver tassel, and tried to gather his thoughts, wanting to explain his disordered emotions to her, yet fearful that any words spoken at that particular moment would hardly match the depth of his feelings. He was saved a stumbling speech when Selina gave a start and he turned to find Emily coming towards them, face flushed and looking very agitated. When she saw Alec she burst into tears.

  After saying her farewells to the Duke and Duchess of Beauly Emily excused herself from her grandmother’s side and went in search of the Earl of Delvin. She, like her grandmother, had not been so preoccupied with the fireworks that she did not notice her betrothed had vanished half way through the spectacle. It spoiled her enjoyment of what should have been the finale of a wonderful evening, and when he did not reappear to say farewell to their guests Emily became worried that something may have happened to him. Saying nothing to the Duchess she went quickly back into the house and began her search of the public rooms and had crossed to the middle of the deserted ballroom where only the musicians remained, packing away their instruments and talking amongst themselves, when she was distracted by a couple who entered the ballroom in the midst of an argument. So consumed with rage were they that they failed to notice they were not alone. Their shouts bounced off the four walls.


  The woman screeched when the man tried to take hold of her again. She retreated further into the room. He followed, hand outstretched. Emily couldn’t believe it, it was Lord and Lady Gervais.

  “I didn’t know it was Delvin!” he shouted. “Cindy! Cindy. I didn’t know! I thought it was Macara. I saw you with Macara!”

  “So you think!” she threw at him. “You drunken fool. You great baboon. It wasn’t Macara in the rotunda, was it? It was Edward. Edward you disturbed. Lord! I wish I’d seen his face when you stormed through the bushes like an idiot, demanding to know what he was about!” She laughed shrilly. “But as I was on my knees with my mouth full I was denied the privilege!”

  “Shut up, you foul-mouthed slut!”

  “Oho! That’s better!” she teased, jumping away from him and skipping up the room. “If I am a whore, whose fault is that, William? Not mine to be sure! And you know it. When was the last time you felt any natural stirrings between your legs? When?”

  “Come here! Come here,” he bellowed, and lunged for her and missed. “I’ll show you! I’ll show you, you poxy slut!”

  “Show me? Show me what? Hasn’t it dropped off by now? I declare I haven’t seen it this last decade. Perhaps you still take it out for special occasions? Such as a good hanging or when you spy on Edward’s visits?”

  “I don’t spy! I never—”

  “Oh, don’t lie to me! I’m your wife, remember? The pretty innocent you deflowered then failed to perform for thereafter. God! And for all those years I thought I was at fault! That’s your real fetish, isn’t it? You can’t perform unless it’s with a girl who hasn’t a clue how disgustingly bad you are as a lover!”

  Lord Gervais’ face turned white. “Just because I won’t share your disease-ridden couch! Come here, I said!” He made a final lunge and caught a handful of her petticoats. “I’ll show you!”

  “You couldn’t even if you wanted to!” she taunted.

  He grabbed her about the waist, pushed her against the wall, scattering several chairs, and drove a hand up her petticoats. She made no attempt to escape him now. She merely laughed and continued to taunt him. It only inflamed him all the more. She struggled, but it was only a pretense. He had her billowing petticoats bunched up over her knees, exposing her white thighs, and was fumbling with the flap of his breeches when Emily came to her senses and turned blindly for the balcony doors. But she could not help a last look and stood riveted, unable to take her eyes off the couple until there was a loud crash of a music stand hitting the floor. A few of the musicians still remained, and by their grins of appreciation they were enjoying what they considered the highlight of the evening. Emily glared at them, flushed up scarlet, and finally escaped into the fresh air to the sounds of Lord and Lady Gervais consummating their rage.

  Alec pushed the fan on Selina and went to meet Emily. He took hold of her hands. They were unnaturally cold. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Emily continued to sob as she groped for her lace handkerchief. She shook her powdered head when Alec asked her a second time to tell him what had upset her. He continued to hold her hands and this was a comfort to her and finally, with a great sniff, she said in a rush,

  “Have you seen Edward? I can’t find him anywhere. He’s—he’s not on the terrace. He was to farewell the guests and Grandmamma will be cross with him for not seeing the Beaulys off. And, oh, Alec! He didn’t see out the skyrockets with me! I don’t know where he is! I must find him! Please help me find him!”

  “But surely Delvin’s disappearance didn’t bring this on?” he asked gently.

  “Yes! Yes, it did!” she assured him. “I must find him you see. I must.”

  “He can’t be far away,” he said soothingly, taking her lace handkerchief and wiping her wet cheeks. “Why don’t we go into the Saloon? I know there is to be a supper for the house guests. Perhaps he is in there now?”

  This idea struck her and she nodded agreement and would have gone with him but when Selina came out of the shadows she balked. Instantly, she felt an intruder. Selina’s face and throat were flushed and a few tangled curls had come loose from their pearl headed pins to tumble across her bosom. She did not look at Alec nor he at her yet it was painfully obvious even to Emily in her distress that they were embarrassingly happy in their silence. It was all too much for her to bear. How could they be happy when she was utterly miserable? This night of all nights was to have been her happiest yet. She was engaged to the nobleman of her choice and everyone said it was going to be the match of the season! So why did she feel utterly wretched? Why had Edward deserted her? Had he really gone off with that painted and patched whore Cynthia Gervais? She couldn’t be his mistress, could she…?

  When Alec tried to take her hand again Emily pulled away and so quickly that she almost tripped over her petticoats. In her wretchedness she turned on Selina fiercely; the woman had no right to happiness when she was miserable.

  “Aunt Charlotte blames Alec for what happened to you in the wood!” she blurted out. “But I think you encouraged him! You wanted him to seduce you! You lured him to the wood and you-you bewitched him, You’re no better than that adulterous slut Cynthia Gervais—”

  “Emily!” Alec interjected stridently and took a step toward her but Selina cut him off.

  “What took place in the wood happened before my wedding, Emily,” Selina said as she slowly advanced on the girl. “But you are quite right. It was at my instigation. No one can blame Alec.”

  “Aunt Sybilla thinks she stopped you before it was too late, but she didn’t did she? He took your vir—”

  “This has gone far enough!” Alec growled.

  “I want to know! I must know!” Emily cried out, looking to Selina.

  “Yes. Sybilla was too late; thankfully,” Selina told her calmly. “I was never more glad of anything in my life. Sybilla saw what she wanted to believe, but in fact Alec was helping me to dress not undress.”

  Emily stared openly at Alec and he turned away from her watery, unwavering gaze, a hand through his black curls in a gesture of embarrassment, and walked to the balustrade. But Selina smiled at the girl with understanding. The balcony was so quiet that the sounds of servant activity in the Saloon, of tables being laid with clean silver, china and glass could be heard distinctly through one of the open French doors. Emily came up to Selina, as if the servants in that part of the house could overhear.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m glad: That Aunt Charlotte is wrong about Alec; that you had a moment’s happiness together before your wretched marriage to that horrid man. You deserve to be happy. You deserve—Oh, Selina! I’m so mis-miserable,” Emily sobbed and buried her fair hair in Selina’s velvet bodice.

  Into this scene walked Sir Cosmo, followed by Plantagenet Halsey. They came up the steps from the lawns, having walked the perimeter of the house from the terrace rather than cut through the public rooms and chance an encounter with a nosy servant or an inquisitive guest. Both were grim faced but Alec still breathed a sigh of relief at being thus fortuitously interrupted. He left Emily in Selina’s capable hands and went to meet them half way across the balcony. It was then that he saw the dark stains splashed across the front of Sir Cosmo’s oyster silk waistcoat. The man was ashen faced.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded, taking in Sir Cosmo’s disheveled state; he was missing his frockcoat and his shirtsleeves were pushed up over his elbows. Alec noted the grass stains on his silk breeches and the state of his hands. They were dirty. But it wasn’t dirt, it was blood.

  “Come round to the gardens, my boy,” Plantagenet Halsey said quietly, a glance over at the two women and led the way.

  “Are you unwell, Cosmo?” Alec asked.

  “Yes. Yes. Bit of a shock, that’s all,” said Sir Cosmo in a clipped voice.

  “It’s Tremarton,” explained the old man. “Mahon found him. His feet were sticking out from under the shrubbery. Dragged there I wouldn’t wonder. He wasn’t quite dead then, w
as he, Mahon?”

  “Not quite dead, sir. Still breathing in fact. No hope for him though. Poor chap.”

  Plantagenet Halsey led his nephew to the gardens below the terrace. He left the path and pushed through a hedgerow to a small clearing of grass that divided the flower beds. Two servants stood guard and another joined them carrying a folded coverlet under his arm. All three looked at one another as if this sort of thing was not new to them. Flambeaux had been rammed into the soft earth either side of the clearing, casting an eerie glow on a grisly scene.

  Simon Tremarton’s lifeless body lay on its back, eyes closed, head propped up on Sir Cosmo’s hastily folded frockcoat and a little to one side. He was in such a seemingly relaxed pose that it was hard to believe the man was dead and not just sleeping off a heavy bout of drinking. Yet, on closer inspection, Alec realized his first impression was nothing more than a trick of the flickering light. There was a tenseness about the mouth. Blood and spittle oozed from between the parted lips. A trickle of the same slid down the left side of the chin. A hand clutched at the stomach, fingers contorted about wadding soaked with blood and pressed to a gaping hole in the man’s left side. Blood drenched the shirt and breeches and had soaked the sodden grass.

  Alec got up off one knee and looked away. Sir Cosmo lurched into the hedgerow for a second time, the great heaving shudders of his stomach punctuating the still night air.

  “The shot went straight through him,” Alec observed numbly for want of something to say.

  “Yes,” confirmed his uncle, taking him to the side of the clearing, away from the servants. “Hole as big as my fist. Ghastly business. The damn fool hadn’t a chance. By the time he was found it was all but over. I came along and found Mahon in a frenzy to get the fellow’s neck cloth unraveled. Poor Mahon. If I hadn’t shoved him aside and bitten his head off to pull himself together he might’ve turned into a case for Bedlam. Wouldn’t believe the fellow had been shot until I showed him a hand covered in blood. That did the trick. Sent him heaving! I tried to staunch the flow but it was useless. It only caused him more pain, so I stopped. It was soon over.”