A Particular Circumstance

by Shirley Smith

  In spite of the serious events of the last few days, everyone was in excellent spirits as Jane rang for Robert to bring in wine and set glasses on the table.

  Mrs Palmer bustled in to set out an enormous supper, her red face beaming with pride at Kitty’s news, for as she remarked to all those in the kitchen who were prepared to listen, ‘Miss Kitty deserves some happiness. She’s never been a leader like Miss Charlotte, being quieter, like, but Mary Palmer wishes her happy and you can’t say fairer than that.’

  Nor could they.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next Sunday dawned with an unusually thick early morning mist as Alfred Westbury and his manservant, Josiah Bennett, met furtively at the entrance to the secret tunnel. In spite of their swift glances to right and left, Alfred was confident that they were quite alone and totally unobserved. The extensive grounds of Westbury Hall, shrouded in low cloud and the quiet stillness of the landscape all around, would make anyone feel that he was the only person in the world. Like Adam and Eve, thought Bennett bitterly, except that he was alone with his malevolent employer, a cruel bully, who Bennett knew would destroy him.

  Alfred was, as usual, quietly, vindictively threatening, as he said softly, ‘So, Bennett, the attack on cousin Hugo has proved a failure and the kidnap of Miss Grayson has been unsuccessful, due to that clod Perkins and his accursed gig. This is your final throw of the dice, Bennett. This time, you will use the insipid little Lucy Baker as the bait to kidnap Charlotte Grayson and so lure dear Hugo to his death.’

  Bennett quailed. Though forced to obey Alfred’s orders, he drew the line at murder. His face was a sickly white and his voice trembled somewhat as he said, ‘Death, Mr Alfred?’

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ Alfred sneered. ‘I am quite capable of doing my own dirty work. You need only obey orders. Position yourself near the Bakers’ cottage and make sure you follow the child and nab Miss Grayson. I shall do the rest. And under no circumstances should you try to get in touch with me, Bennett. When the lovely Miss Grayson has had time to cool down, I shall pen a ransom note to her handsome friend and once I have ensnared him, Miss Grayson will be released.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Alfred, sir.’ Josiah Bennett’s face was now ashen, his palms sweating. He had no stomach for murder. He’d been with Alfred Westbury for years, first as a young footman and then, later, as his personal servant. There was nothing he didn’t know about his master; there were no secrets between a gentleman and his valet. He knew how over the years Alfred’s resentment at not inheriting the Westbury wealth had grown and festered inside him until he was consumed with hatred for Hugo. He knew of all the ploys Alfred used to extort money from young fools who gambled, from foolish old women who could be flattered into parting with their jewels and from wealthy parents anxious for a daughter’s virtue. He knew that his master was not above stealing small valuable items or cheating at cards when he was a guest in some country house. He also knew that Alfred Westbury would stop at nothing to get rid of Hugo and inherit Sir Benjamin’s fortune. Knowing all this had come at a price. He’d been an accomplice in various of Alfred’s crimes, including eloping with a silly young heiress. The family had paid Alfred a small fortune for her safe return. He knew that if ever Alfred revealed the extent of his own complicity, he would surely hang. It seemed that he would never escape. And yet … and yet … he must try to break away. He had saved most of his earnings and might be able to make a bid for freedom….

  No. Alfred Westbury would be sure to catch up with him and he had networks of bully boys to administer his own brand of punishment. No, he would never be free. Unless … unless he could seize an opportunity when Alfred was too distracted to hold him back.

  Aloud, he said in his usual servile voice, ‘Very good, sir, I shall do as you ask.’

  Gradually, the early morning mist began to clear and it was another perfect autumn morning. The air was still cool, but the sunshine was warm and Lucy Baker was fairly dancing along the path which led from her cottage to the church. Billy was not very well and Ma was staying at home to keep an eye on him. Pa was busy taking up vegetables to store in sand for the winter. Lucy was excited. She had on the dress that Miss Grayson had made for her and a new little shawl, knitted by Mrs Palmer up at Felbrook Manor. Her innocent happiness showed in every movement of her bobbing golden curls and in every joyous step she took towards St Paul’s and her beloved Sunday school teacher, Miss Grayson.

  Meanwhile, Josiah Bennett had made a desperate and half-baked plan to run away. Dressed for a journey and carrying a businesslike valise, he crept along the lane after her. As soon as his mission was accomplished, he would disappear.

  He had friends in London and money for the stagecoach. What Alfred Westbury chose to do with Miss Grayson was none of his concern. He would await his opportunity and then steal away.

  He would be free of Alfred Westbury for ever.

  His every nerve ending was stretched in painful awareness of his surroundings and when Lucy Baker stopped for a moment, to pick some wild flowers, he stopped also, not knowing what to do. He froze, unable to control the panic which leapt up into his throat, almost choking him. He dodged behind a tree and waited.

  When at last he glanced furtively in Lucy’s direction, he was surprised to see a diminutive little face turned towards him and gazing up innocently at him.

  He let out a deep breath and gasped, ‘Oh … you are Lucy Baker. And what are you doing here, little girl?’

  ‘I am on my way to meet Miss Grayson, my Sunday school teacher, I am.’

  ‘Well, then, you may walk along with me, Lucy Baker.’

  ‘No, sir. Thank you kindly, but Ma don’t let me walk with strange genn’elmen.’

  He decided he must keep her quiet and said persuasively, ‘But I am not strange, my dear. I am a friend of Miss Grayson’s and I have a penny for you.’

  ‘A penny?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you says as how you are a friend of Miss Grayson’s?’

  ‘Yes. Come along now.’

  ‘I be comin’, sir.’

  With that, Lucy scuttled hurriedly along the path, but still kept her distance.

  ‘But not so far off, Lucy. You must walk beside me or you shall not get the penny.’

  Lucy approached him very warily, taking care to stay out of his reach. Her normal ebullient skipping movements were now reduced to a slow, dragging walk.

  ‘Well, Lucy, my dear, I think you are afraid of me.’

  ‘No, I ain’t afraid, not me.’

  ‘Then why do you walk so far away?’

  ‘’Cos my ma says as I shouldn’t talk to strangers and I ain’t got the penny yet anyways.’

  They were approaching a narrow part of the path and suddenly the sun seemed to go behind a cloud, leaving everything dark and bleak. Bennett held out the penny enticingly. ‘Lucy, my dear little girl, I really do believe you are frightened of me.’

  She snatched the penny and darted away from him. ‘No, I ain’t, but I thinks you looks nicer than you is.’

  ‘But you know I would never hurt you, don’t you, my dear?’

  ‘No, I don’t and, any case, my pa would hurt you no end if an’ you did.’

  By this time, they were in a very shadowy part of the lane and a little further along the road before them, Lucy recognized Miss Grayson, walking without her maid, and immediately she began to feel more brave.

  ‘There’s Miss Grayson,’ she said boldly. ‘There’s my Sunday school teacher.’

  ‘Quietly, my dear,’ said Bennett as he halted and moved further into the shadows.

  ‘No, she won’t hear me unless I calls her,’ Lucy said artlessly and she put her cupped hands to her mouth and drew a deep breath.

  Bennett let his valise fall to the ground and sprang towards her, desperate to stop her calling out and drawing attention to himself. He grabbed her with merciless hands and dragged her deeper into the woods. Lucy let out a shrill scream which was swiftly lost as his choking
hands clutched her slender, childish throat, trying to stifle her cries.

  ‘Stop that, sir! Stop that at once, I say! Loose the little girl now, Bennett, or it will be the worse for you.’

  It was Charlotte Grayson, surprisingly near, although Bennett had not heard her swift approach. Startled, he released his little victim and turned to find Miss Grayson gazing sternly at him, her grey-green eyes as hard as steel. She moved to stand between him and Lucy, her arms outstretched to shield the child.

  ‘Quickly, Lucy! Run home to your mama,’ she cried, and Lucy needed no second bidding.

  While Bennett stood looking helplessly at Lucy’s formidable defender, Alfred Westbury stepped forward with two tough bullies who seized Charlotte and stifled her cries immediately, before dragging her off along the path to Westbury Hall.

  Lucy ran crying and distressed for home, to tell of the two bad men who had made off with her dear Miss Grayson, and Josiah Bennett slouched away into the bushes.

  It had happened too swiftly for Charlotte to do anything about it. She bitterly regretted not taking Hugo’s advice about not going out alone, but it was no use repining now. Her cries were stifled and her struggles were useless. Charlotte was blindfolded very efficiently and gagged and bound with her hands tied behind her. Absolutely helpless, she acknowledged to herself. But in spite of this, she used the senses remaining to her to guess what was happening. Her shoes were scraping along every hump and hollow of the path as she was dragged roughly along for several yards. Then, even behind the blindfold, she could tell that there was a dimming of the bright sunlight. Perhaps they were in a tunnel. Then she was pushed unceremoniously into what seemed like a dark cupboard. It was Alfred Westbury himself who pushed her and forced her shoulders down until she sat on the floor. She recognized the scent of his gentleman’s cologne and hair pomade.

  Her legs were stretched out in front of her. She was on a cold stone floor by the feel of it and already, in spite of the warm sunshine outside, Charlotte shivered as she realized that she was confined in some sort of dungeon.

  She heard the sound of a well-oiled panel being slid across and as it closed to, Alfred Westbury’s hateful voice saying, ‘There, my lads, no one will find her until I decide to give dear Hugo a hint as to the whereabouts of his rebellious sweetheart, by which time she will have lost the strength to struggle.’

  Then silence. She strained her ears for the slightest sound, tried desperately to wriggle out of her blindfold, struggled to try to remove her bonds, but it was to no avail. They were tied too tightly and instead, tears of frustration and rage ran down her cheeks, underneath the oppressive cloth tied round her eyes.

  She stifled them almost immediately and thought seriously as to where she was and what might be her fate now that she was obviously in the power of the evil Alfred Westbury. She guessed that as the first attack on Hugo’s life had failed, she was now to be the bait which would lead to his capture and certain death. Cautiously, she tried stretching out her bound feet, to try to gauge the dimensions of her prison cell.

  It was quite small, she decided. Swivelling sideways, she stretched her legs once more and as if visited by a stroke of sudden lightning, realized that she was, in fact, confined in the secret priests’ hidy-hole behind the panelling in the library of Westbury Hall. She began to tremble and shiver uncontrollably. She had the macabre feeling that she might be lying on the same patch of stone floor as the unfortunate Charles Westbury. She wondered wildly if she were lying on that dreadful dark stain that Adam had said was dried blood. Would she, like Hugo’s grandfather, die alone in this place and not be found for years?

  Swiftly, she pulled herself together. Who would be in the house at this time? Sir Benjamin? Hugo? Servants? It would do no harm to try to attract attention. She began to thump with her feet on the wooden panelling and shouted for help, until she was quite hoarse and her legs were absolutely exhausted with the effort. There was no response. Her light summer slippers were too soft to make any significant noise and her toes were already sore because of being dragged across the ground. Shouting was useless. The panelling was too thick to allow her voice to be heard. She wondered desperately where Mama and Kitty were. It must be long past the time for church. She thought wildly of what would happen if she were to die in this place. What would they think when they found her mouldering remains? Surely Mama must soon wonder where she was. But would she visit Westbury Hall to see how Hugo was getting on, or would she decide just to go straight home from church?

  Would Lucy Baker have raised the alarm? Would anyone be looking for her?

  In fact, Charlotte’s mama was very put out by the apparent disappearance of her eldest daughter. When Charlotte didn’t appear at morning service, she confided in her brother-in-law, Bertram, that it was very remiss of dear Charlotte and hoped at least that she would be at Sunday school. Bertram tutted in disapproval, but as Aurelia Casterton appeared at that moment, he bowed jauntily to her and offered to escort her home. No one recollected seeing Charlotte that morning, except for Phoebe, who reported that Miss Charlotte was going out to collect foliage for the flower arrangements. Later, when Jane discovered that Charlotte in fact had not attended Sunday school, she became alarmed, but her first emotion was anger and disappointment at what she thought was Charlotte’s inconsiderate behaviour. She sent Robert and the groom to look for her, but Charlotte was nowhere to be found. As for Lucy Baker’s garbled version of events, her report of a ‘nasty man who had given her a penny and then frightened her by taking Miss Grayson away’ was not at first given much attention. Billy was hot and feverish and Lucy’s pa was late home for dinner. No one had much time to listen, but at last she was taken seriously and a message was sent to Felbrook Manor to Miss Grayson’s mama, who was chagrined because just when she needed Bertram to help in the search, he was out paying court to Aurelia Casterton.

  Miss Casterton’s mama had graciously condescended to allow Aurelia to go for a pleasant stroll with Mr Bertram Grayson, with Aurelia’s abigail in attendance, of course, and they set out on a very decorous walk, Miss Casterton holding Bertram’s proffered arm and the maid trailing a little way behind. Bertram was in fine fettle. Aurelia, as became a well-brought-up young lady, responded consistently to his overtures with modesty and reserve. Nevertheless, he was experienced enough to know that his little captive bird needed very little coaxing now, before she gave him her heart, utterly and completely. Even the hawk-nosed Augusta, he knew, had finally come round to the view that Mr Bertram Grayson was personable, in possession of a modest but adequate fortune, had a town house in London and another in Norwich and was well connected in Norfolk society. Not only that, but Aurelia, her pride and joy, her one and only little darling, was obviously head over heels in love with him. What mama could possibly deny her dear offspring the opportunity of connubial bliss? Certainly not Mrs Casterton. After all, Aurelia had a very considerable fortune in her own right and Mr Grayson, although not a youth, was just the right age for matrimony and just the right partner for her dearest Aurelia. She was more than willing for the two of them to get to know each other better on a gentle leisurely country stroll and hoped that perhaps today Mr Grayson would finally declare himself and offer for Aurelia.

  She was gracious in her best wishes to Aurelia and Bertram for a refreshing and healthy walk. After all, thought Augusta, a trifle cynically, a bird in the hand and all that. And Hugo Westbury had proved more than disappointing, not only not coming up to snuff, but also sustaining a mysterious and violent attack which had confined him to his bed….

  Hugo, in fact, was not confined to bed. He was in a comfortable chair, reading Miss Austen’s novel and concentrating well, in spite of his distracting thoughts about the adorable Charlotte, while Latimer hovered in the dressing-room, putting away some of Hugo’s clothes and keeping a watchful eye on his beloved master.

  Sir Benjamin had informed Hugo that Miss Charlotte Grayson had not attended divine service this morning. Only Miss Kitty and her mama a
nd uncle had been in the family pew. ‘But they asked after you, dear boy, and hope to visit later,’ he said, before going to the library for a brandy and a snooze before lunch.

  Latimer entered the bedroom and put out clean linen. He asked Hugo if he could get him anything, but Hugo smiled and said, ‘No, nothing. Unless you could arrange a new pair of eyes for me. Mine feel strangely tired.’

  ‘Perhaps the print is a trifle small,’ Latimer said soothingly and went back to his duties.

  Neither of them noticed Bennett’s departure or knew anything about a note which had been delivered for the personal attention of Mr Hugo Westbury. The butler had refused the request of the rough type who’d delivered it to ‘make it snappy’ and instead had closed the door and placed it on his silver tray for later, telling him that there was no reply and that he could clear off.

  Quite by chance, Bertram and Amelia strolled along the selfsame path taken by Josiah Bennett and Lucy Baker, which led them past the imposing gates of Westbury Hall. Bertram noticed Alfred Westbury’s servant, Bennett, creeping slyly through the trees in a decidedly furtive manner and wondered what the man was doing. Surely he should be indoors, attending to his master’s needs? He decided to follow him, but Bennett seemed to have disappeared. In the presence of the maidservant, Bertram had to confine his wooing to ardent glances, gallant remarks and the occasional meaningful pressure of his large hand on the diminutive fingers in their lace mittens, but Miss Casterton was shyly responsive and returned his touch demurely. The scene was an idyllic one, the verdant grass and fine trees of the Westbury estate, the singing of the birds, the wild flowers, all contributing to lend a romantic atmosphere to Bertram’s skilful courtship.

  Suddenly, there appeared the dishevelled figure of Josiah Bennett, running away from Westbury Hall and closely followed by the Bow Street Runner. In her fear and nervousness, Miss Casterton clung to Bertram most deliciously and he felt compelled to put a protective arm around her. As they watched the dramatic scene enacted before them, it became obvious that Josiah Bennett was well and truly caught. Bunfield tripped him expertly and then held him by the simple expedient of sitting on him.