The Waverly Women Series (3-Book Bundle)

by M C Beaton

  It had been her idea and she was proud of it. When the effects of the gin had worn off, she no longer felt quite so strong about confronting Mrs. Waverley, even with the protection of her father and two of her brothers who had been selected for the job. She had told her family that if Mrs. Waverley was awake and recognized her, then the police would know the names of the culprits.

  Unaware that the house had been let and that Lord Harry Danger was shortly about to take up residence in it, Mr. Souter and two of his sons, Joe and Bill, were already in the upstairs of the house, which they had broken into the night before, and were even now prizing out the last of the bricks on their side of the wall. They then intended to loosen the bricks on the Waverley wall so that they could push their way through when they were sure the whole household was drugged. The fact that one of them might lay awake did not cross Annie’s mind—and with reason. Fresh milk was a precious commodity in London and the servants considered themselves fortunate to be allowed a glass a night. The entry into the Waverley house was to be made into a passage on the second floor, where the girls and Mrs. Waverley had their bedrooms.

  But the only member of the household who would not touch the milk was Frederica. Ever since she had heard the scandalous rumor that the wicked Marquess of Queensbury bathed his ancient body in the stuff every morning, and that his servants sold it back to the milkmaids, she had been unable to touch it. Although the nightly glass of milk was supposed to come straight from the cow, Frederica was always afraid that some courting housemaid might contrive to buy the milk in the morning so that she could use her evening outing walking out with some young man.

  Like the rest of the household, she had heard the occasional scrapes and thumps coming from next door and had assumed Lord Barton had got the builders in to effect some repairs.

  That night, she found she could not sleep. She kept turning the conversation with Lord Harry over and over in her mind. She was sure she would not have been so upset about the outing if she had been used to more freedom. It had been wonderful to be out in the world without the ever-constant presence of Mrs. Waverley calling, “Keep your eyes down, girls.”

  She picked up a book and tried to read, but after a time she put it down again and began to listen to the silence of the house. There was something sinister about that silence. It was so dead, so absolute. Usually there were a few noises: a sigh, a grunt, an occasional call as someone had a nightmare. Mrs. Waverley usually snored dreadfully, her great rumblings echoing from across the passage. But tonight even she, it seemed, was silent.

  In the house next door, the Souters waited. At last, Mr. Souter lit a lantern and held it high so that its rays shone on the broken section of wall and great lumps of plaster which lay about the floor.

  “Now!” he whispered.

  Lord Harry was strolling across Hanover Square. It was not his route home, and yet he felt drawn to the place. He glanced up at the Barton house, reflecting that he should really do something about hiring staff, when he saw a flicker of light coming from an upstairs window. It was there, and then it was gone. He wondered if he had imagined it.

  Then he felt the weight of the door key dragging at his pocket. He had meant to have a further inspection of the house earlier in the day, but had forgotten all about it.

  He crossed the square and mounted the steps, and inserted the key in the lock. The lock was well oiled and the key turned easily. He gently pushed open the door and went into the blackness of the hall.

  And then, high and far above, he heard a muffled scream.

  Frederica heard an almighty crash from the passage outside. She thought the building was coming down. She opened the door and looked out. She saw a light flickering at the end of the passage, and dark shapes. She could smell danger in the air, but thought it was her imagination. Something had fallen and the servants had come to see what it was. The figures moved toward her. “What’s amiss?” called Frederica. One of the figures raised a lantern and she saw three men. She opened her mouth to scream, but one of them ran toward her and clamped his hand over her mouth while the other two seized her. She twisted her head and managed to scream before that smelly hand was clamped over her mouth again.

  “Hit ’er with somethink,” came a female voice.

  “Naw, get her in here and tie her up,” growled Mr. Souter.

  Frederica was pushed back into her room, thrust in a chair, and her wrists were tied behind her back with the bell rope, which Joe Souter tore from the wall.

  “Pretty, ain’t she?” said Joe Souter. “Let’s have a bit o’ fun, Dad.”

  “Leave her be,” screeched the female who was in the darkness of the passage outside. “Get the jewels.”

  Mr. Souter went over to the jewel box on Felicity’s dresser table and wrenched open the lid with one great paw. Diamonds and rubies, pearls, emeralds, and sapphires cascaded onto the floor at Frederica’s feet.

  Mr. Souter and his two sons sank to their knees beside the jewels, as if praying. Then there came a shrill scream and the sound of a blow from outside. The Souter men jumped to their feet.

  Frederica’s candle was still burning, and so she was able to see clearly that, by some miracle, Lord Harry Danger was standing on the threshold of her room, a drawn sword in his hand.

  “Evening, gentlemen,” he said pleasantly.

  Joe Souter snarled and made a lunge for Lord Harry, who drew back his dress sword and drove it into Joe’s arm. Mr. Souter took out a wicked-looking knife and held it to Frederica’s neck.

  “Stand clear,” he said, “or we kill her.”

  “Go ahead,” replied Lord Harry, with a smile. “I have never seen a lady knifed to death before. It would amuse me.”

  The Souters looked at him in baffled fury. They had heard of decadent aristocrats like this who would no doubt enjoy the novelty of seeing a young woman killed.

  But to make sure, Mr. Souter pricked Frederica’s neck with the point of his knife and a thin trickle of blood began to run down the white skin.

  One minute Lord Harry had been standing in the doorway, looking very much at his ease. The next, he erupted like a whirlwind into the room. The candlelight flickered on the blade of his sword as it darted like quicksilver, slashing this way and that. Mr. Souter dropped the knife he had been holding to Frederica’s neck and clutched his wounded side with a groan. Joe and Bill Souter, cut and wounded, ran for the door and made their escape.

  Lord Harry held his sword to Mr. Souter’s fat neck and said, “You will now tell me who you are before I call the watch.”

  Frederica looked over his shoulder and saw Annie, holding a chamber pot. “Look out!” called Frederica. Lord Harry twisted like an eel, but the chamber pot came smashing down on his shoulder. Mr. Souter aimed a vicious kick at Lord Harry as he reeled and stumbled, and then the old villain fled from the room, dragging his daughter with him. Lord Harry sat down on the floor and held his shoulder. “Are you hurt?” cried Frederica.

  “Of course, I am hurt,” he said testily, massaging his shoulder. “Nothing seems to be broken, however.”

  “I am sorry about that,” said Frederica. “You deserve to be killed. You were prepared to see me die.”

  “I thought they might believe me,” he said, getting to his feet. “I would not let them harm you.” He took out a handkerchief and tenderly dabbed at the trickle of blood at her neck.

  “Please untie my wrists,” said Frederica crossly.

  His green eyes suddenly flashed like the emeralds lying spilled at his feet. “I think I deserve a kiss,” he said.

  “You are a monster,” raged Frederica. “I am nigh killed and you have no pity but needs must begin to flirt.”

  He put both hands on the arms of her chair and leaned over her. She stared defiantly up into his eyes, her own almost black. She was wearing a delicate muslin nightgown and her masses of dark hair were streaming about her shoulders. He was in full court dress: satin knee breeches, clocked stockings, blue coat with gold buttons, and a casc
ade of lace at his throat and wrists. And then he saw the shine of tears in Frederica’s eyes.

  He stood back. “Stand up and turn about and I will free your wrists,” he said quietly.

  Frederica did as she was bid and, once her wrists were free, she rubbed at them vigorously. “That was Annie,” she said.

  “The robbing female of the party?”

  Frederica nodded. “A housemaid, recently dismissed. I cannot remember her second name.”

  “No doubt Mrs. Waverley will know.” He raised his head and listened, and then frowned. “But why did no one come running? There was enough noise going on to wake the dead.”

  Frederica clutched at him in sudden terror. “What if they are all killed?”

  He strode from the room and Frederica ran after him. He pushed open the door of Felicity’s room. “Get a candle,” he called over his shoulder.

  Frederica went and got her bed candle and tried to hold it high over Felicity’s bed, but her hand shook so much that he took it from her and set it down on a table. He bent over Felicity and listened to her regular breathing, then pried up one eyelid.

  “Out cold,” he said. “No doubt drugged.”

  He and Frederica then went from room to room, examining the sleeping occupants. “How did they manage to drug the whole household?” he marveled.

  “The milk,” said Frederica. “It must have been in the milk. I am the only one who does not drink it. How did you get in? How did you rescue me?”

  “Well, if you would please put something on over that delectable nightgown, and find us something to drink, I shall tell you… but at the moment the sight of you is sending my senses reeling.”

  Frederica blushed. “If you would be so good as to go down to the butler’s pantry, you will find something to drink.”

  When he went off, she returned to her room and hurriedly dressed, expecting him to saunter in at any moment. But she heard the sound of voices from the street outside and, opening the window, saw him talking to the watch, then saw the watch hurrying off.

  At last he entered, carrying a tray with a decanter of brandy and two glasses. “I had to report the matter,” he said. “I have sent the watch to find the constable.”

  “But how did they get in?” asked Frederica as he poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to her.

  “From the house next door. If you will look at the end of the passage, you will see they have driven a hole through the walls.”

  “We heard sounds from next door all day,” said Frederica, “but thought Lord Barton had engaged builders to make repairs. How did you come on the scene so promptly?”

  “I was crossing the square and saw a glimmer of light at one of the windows and decided to investigate. I have rented the place next door, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “To be near you.”

  “I do wish you would be serious.”

  “Alas, I am always serious, but no one takes me seriously. I come gallantly to your rescue and you look at me as if I were a species of black beetle. Shame on you, Miss Frederica! Not even one kiss.”

  “You seem to have no concern for me, sir,” said Frederica. “I have been nearly robbed and killed and yet you think it is a good excuse for dalliance.”

  “But you are a modern woman, equal to any man, as tough as old boots, may I remind you.”

  “Then treat me as an equal and stop flirting,” snapped Frederica.

  “Oh, very well,” he sighed. “Is that all your own hair?”

  “Yes, I would hardly sleep in a wig.”

  “It would surprise you to know how many people cannot bear to be their natural selves at any time of the day. I knew one man who slept with his false calves on. On my oath! And a lady who never took her fine red wig off, day or night.”

  “I should have known your experience of what ladies wear or do not wear at night would be vast.”

  “You want me to talk to you as I would to a man, and when I do so, you become jealous.”

  “I? Jealous because of you! You are an idiot.”

  “Now I really do have a good mind to kiss you. No! Do not bristle up like an angry cat. I shall not kiss you until you throw yourself into my arms.”

  “Then I am quite safe,” said Frederica, “for that will never happen. You should not be in my bedchamber, drinking brandy. I am unchaperoned.”

  “True. But you must admit the circumstances are extraordinary. Besides, a man would not cry out for a chaperone. Or would you have the rules of society changed?”

  “Yes, I would,” said Frederica. “I would like every man in society to be as closely guarded as the women, to know what it is like. It is well you had your sword with you. I did not know dress swords were so sharp.”

  “Usually they are not. But I feel the need for protection in London’s dangerous streets. I like to walk, you see. I can never understand why people must go to a ball or rout by carriage and spend an unnecessary hour waiting for a place in the crush.” He smiled at her lazily, and then suddenly the smile was wiped from his face. He got slowly to his feet and Frederica rose as well, looking at him apprehensively. She was standing with her back to the door. He looked over her shoulder and his face became a mask of horror. “Oh, my God!” he said slowly.

  Frederica twisted about. He had left the door open. The flickering candlelight made the shadows dance and sway. Her overwrought nerves could not take any more. She flung herself into his arms and held him tight. “What is it?” she whispered. “Have they returned?”

  And then the green eyes looking down into her own began to laugh and dance. “You tricked me,” said Frederica fiercely, just before his lips met her own.

  Shock held her rigid in his arms, and then she began to kick and struggle. A tremendous knocking at the front door sounded from below.

  “The forces of law and order are arrived,” he said. He raised a tress of her hair to his lips and let it fall.

  She stood staring at him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. He bowed slightly, turned, and was gone.

  Frederica sat down suddenly, her legs shaking. From below came the murmur of voices, and then footsteps ascended the stairs. She closed her bedroom door quickly, and then listened as Lord Harry outlined what had happened. Then she heard him say, “Do not trouble Miss Frederica Waverley until tomorrow. She is shocked and upset.”

  Her first feeling was one of gratitude, and immediately that was followed by one of shame. A man would have gone out and joined them, and talked for the rest of the night if necessary. But she felt very weak and tired, and if she went out, then Lord Harry would look at her with that glinting, mocking look in his eyes and make her feel weaker.

  Just this once, thought Frederica, I am going to be weak and helpless. She undressed and climbed into bed, and fell asleep with the taste of his lips on her own.

  Chapter Four

  Caroline James rose late the following morning. Two months until her marriage. Two more months during which she could call her life her own.

  She did not miss the theater. Her long illness had taken away any desire to act. Lord Harry had sent her a generous allowance and she had thriftily saved as much as she could of it. She had written to him, offering to send him what she had saved, but he had replied that she was to keep it. She could have afforded to live in a better part of town, but fear of the future had prompted her to return to the rundown Covent Garden area, where only a very few respectable people still lived.

  She had only just settled in when she had met Colonel James Bridie again at the playhouse. She had been in the audience. The colonel had met her briefly in Switzerland, two years before. It transpired he had once worshipped her from afar. He had called on her the day following their reunion at the theater, had taken her driving, had escorted her for walks in the parks, and after a week, had proposed marriage.

  Caroline knew in her bones that the colonel did not know that she had once had lovers. The stigma of licentious living, which clung to most actresses, als
o seemed to have passed the colonel by. He thought she was a fine woman and a respectable matron, and in his company Caroline automatically fell into that role.

  But as she slowly dressed that morning it dawned on her that she had not given up acting, that she was about to act the part of Mrs. Bridie for life.

  She did not love the colonel. In fact, she did not find him attractive in the least. But she was tired and weary, frightened of her little stock of money running out, frightened of being forced to take to the streets. She knew her once great beauty was gone, that beauty which would have given her a choice of husbands.

  She remembered her conversation with Felicity. Felicity appeared to think that entering the bonds of marriage was like entering Newgate. Caroline had laughed and called her cynical, and Felicity had apologized and said, “Perhaps, Lady Harriet, you are one of the fortunate ones who will not mind bearing endless children and being allowed no thoughts or views of your own.” Caroline had reminded her gently that she could not bear children and had been subjected to another grueling examination.

  Caroline sighed. She had told the colonel that due to her illness she was barren, and he had laughed and said she was all he wanted. But would not such a man want sons? Would he not, after his infatuation for her had cooled, cease to be so blind to what might have happened in her past?

  In an attempt to bolster her flagging spirits, she sent her little maid out to buy hot rolls for a late breakfast and put on a filmy muslin gown and dressed her hair in an elaborate style.

  She was just sitting down to enjoy her breakfast when the colonel was announced. She frowned with impatience, and was on the point of telling her maid, Betty, to inform the colonel she was not at home, when she remembered she would soon be seeing him every moment of the day and as soon as she got used to it, the better.