The Officer and the Proper Lady

by Louise Allen

  Julia waited at the bottom of the stairs for the men. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Worse than I have ever seen him,’ Marcus said, running both hands over his face then raking them through his hair in weary resignation. ‘The doctor thinks he will pull through, but he will be an invalid for a long time. Perhaps for ever.’

  ‘What is that?’ Hal nodded at the grubby paper in Julia’s hand.

  ‘Come into the drawing room and have some tea, and I will tell you.’

  When they had both read the document, she thought they were as shaken as she was. More, no doubt, for they had lived with this story almost all their lives.

  ‘Hell’s teeth,’ Hal said at last, without apology.

  ‘Quite.’ Marcus stared at the letter. ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Julia and Hal said together.

  ‘Why should he lie, then of all times?’ Hal asked. ‘The man would have had to have been twisted beyond belief to have written that minutes before he died if it were not true. My God, if father sees it—’

  ‘He must not,’ Marcus said. ‘You realize what this means, don’t you? There is a murderer and a spy to find.’

  ‘You have a potential ally,’ Julia ventured. ‘Stephen Hebden.’

  ‘What! That bastard? He is no-one’s ally, he’s a dangerous vengeful maniac.’

  ‘He wants vengeance on the man who killed his father,’ Julia said patiently. ‘He thought it was Nell’s father, so he attacked his family. He felt betrayed by his own father’s legitimate family, so he attacked them. He thought your father betrayed his by his inaction, so he hates all of you. If he hears the rumours, he might suspect your father of the murder or of being a spy.

  ‘Yes, the man is dangerous,’ she agreed, leaning forward to urge her words on them. ‘But he also acts outside the law with amazing ease, and he is unscrupulous and obsessive. He can do things you never could—never would. If you can convince him with this letter that both Wardale and your father are innocent, then you will have him on your side. And never forget you have a present-day at tempted murder to solve.’

  She saw Hal look at his brother. ‘I did suggest—’

  ‘No.’ Marcus slammed his fist down on the table by his side, making the fragile piece rock. ‘You know what he did to Nell, what he threatened. I will not go near him unless it is to put a bullet in him—she is your sister now, you swear to me you will never go to him for help.’

  ‘I swear,’ Hal said, reaching to clasp his brother’s hand.

  Julia’s heart sank. She could under stand, she could sympathise, but she was certain in her heart that they were wrong. Their half-Romany nemesis could be a powerful weapon on their side.

  The letter had fluttered to the floor when Marcus thumped the table. Julia picked it up and slipped it into her pocket. She had promised nothing.

  It was a long Sunday. They all sat around, not knowing what to do to help, yet feeling it was wrong not to be there. Julia woke the next morning to find Hal’s side of the bed un rum pled and the bed in his dressing room un touched. As she was looking at it he came in, yawning.

  ‘I sent Mother to bed at two,’ he explained. ‘And packed Marcus off back to Nell at the same time.’ Julia put an arm around his waist, tugging him towards the bedroom.

  ‘Come and undress, get into bed,’ she urged. ‘How is your father now?’

  ‘Better, a little. Mama is with him again.’ Hal tossed his coat aside, he seemed to have discarded his neck cloth long since. Julia began to unbutton his shirt when he made no effort to do it himself. ‘His lips aren’t so blue and he seems to be sleeping.’

  ‘And so should you,’ Julia said, attacking his breeches fastenings. ‘Come on, help me. And then I will get dressed and see if your mama needs me.’

  By luncheon, Hal was up again and Marcus had returned with Nell. Between them, they devised a rota for sitting with the patient; Julia insisted on taking the hours between dinner and midnight. Which left her, she calculated, enough time to locate Stephan Hebden.

  As everyone dispersed after the meal, she found the butler alone. ‘Wellow, whereabouts does Viscount Milden hall live?’

  ‘Hanover Square, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you. I wish to visit Lady Mil den hall. Is one of the footmen free?’ Julia had read enough Gothic novels where the intrepid heroine plunges off into danger without so much as a note left behind her not to take precautions—like one of the Carlows’ strap ping footmen.

  ‘Certainly, ma’am. Richards is available. Do you require a carriage?’

  ‘The small town coach, if you please. I will be down in fifteen minutes.’

  Julia had not become accustomed to the luxury of being able to take a carriage for distances she could easily walk, but she had no idea where she might locate Hebden, and she did not want to have to rely upon hackney carriages. Always assuming his half-sister was at home and would receive her: without her help, Julia would be at a stand still.

  But she was in luck. Not only was Lady Mil den hall at home, but positively eager to receive a visit. Julia liked her on sight, with her flyaway brown hair and her candid grey eyes. She looked, Julia thought, nothing like her half-Romany brother.

  She waved Julia to a chair and sank back into her own with a grimace. ‘Oh my, another four months still to go,’ she lamented, resting a hand on the swell of her very pregnant belly. Julia did some quick mental arithmetic and hid her smile behind an expression of sympathy. The Mil den halls had been married just five months: she wondered if she would begin increasing so soon and what Hal’s feelings would be if she did.

  ‘So, you are Hal’s new wife, Julia! He was at my wedding and my step-brother was teasing him about settling down—and here you are, married.’

  ‘Indeed, Lady Mil den hall. That would be Captain Bredon? I met him in Brussels and then, after the battle, he helped me find Hal. I think that saved Hal’s life.’

  ‘You must call me Midge,’ Lady Mil den hall said with a friendly impetuousness that Julia guessed was habitual. ‘I have been dying to meet you. I am so glad you saw Rick. Tell me, truth fully, was he badly hurt? He writes that he had just a scratch, and he is still over there and seems to be all right—but one can never tell with him.’

  ‘Rather more than a scratch,’ Julia admitted. ‘But nothing worse than weariness, cuts and bruises. He was walking and had the use of all his limbs when I saw him, I promise you.’

  ‘That is a relief.’ She blinked hard for a moment, then smiled. Julia suspected that Midge was rarely cast down for long. ‘It is good of you to come and visit.’

  ‘I am afraid I should have waited and called with my mother in law, or Lady Stanegate,’ Julia admitted. ‘But I need your help, you see.’

  ‘Oh.’ The ready smile faded. ‘What has Stephen done now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Julia hastened to assure her. She was not going to tell tales of teasing encounters in book shops or the mystery of the attack on Hal. ‘I think I have found something that will convince him to halt his campaign of vengeance.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Midge closed her eyes for a moment. ‘He is not the evil man they make him out to be, you know. He has had such cruelty in his life.’ She bit her lip as though to stop herself pouring out the entire story, then smiled, a lopsided smile that suddenly made Julia see a fleeting similarity to Stephen. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Help me find him. There is a letter I must show him. Is he in London?’

  ‘Yes. He has a house in Bloomsbury Square. Here.’ She took some paper from the table beside her, scribbled a few words. ‘There’s the number—and a note to his man to admit you—the servants defend the house like a fortress.’

  I’m not surprised, Julia thought grimly. Stephen Hebden made enemies, it seemed, as easily as breathing. ‘Thank you, I do so hope this will put an end to this awful feud.’ She got to her feet.

  ‘But won’t you wait, take tea? Monty will be home at any moment, I do so want him to meet Hal’s wife.’

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nbsp; ‘I will come back,’ Julia promised, taking the note and gathering up her things. ‘But I must hurry now.’

  The streets were crowded, and Julia was soon lost. Bloomsbury Square must be somewhere close to the British Museum, she supposed, although she had not visited this temple to learning. Hal had expressed himself forcibly on the subject of fusty holes when asked to accompany her.

  But she could not think about Hal now; she must focus on convincing Stephen Hebden that his campaign of vengeance had missed its target. As the carriage drew up, Julia looked out at a terrace of pretty town houses with ornate iron balconies running right along at first-floor level. It seemed an improbable home for a half-Romany adventurer.

  She paused on the edge of the pavement, her hand still resting on the footman’s arm. The clock of some nearby church struck three. ‘Richards, if I am not out by the time that clock strikes four you must go immediately to find Major Carlow, or, failing him, Lord Stanegate. Tell them where I am. And take no notice if anyone from the house comes out and says I will be longer. Do you under stand?’

  ‘Ma’am.’ The footman looked distinctly unhappy. ‘Should you be going in there? The Major won’t like it, not if it’s somewhere that isn’t safe, he won’t.’

  ‘One of Lady Mildenhall’s relatives lives here,’ Julia said lightly. ‘I am probably being over-cautious, but as I have never called on them before…’

  ‘Very well, ma’am.’ Still looking less than happy, he mounted the step and banged the knocker.

  The door opened to reveal an impassive Indian in a green coat. Trust Hebden not to have a conventional butler like everyone else. ‘Good afternoon, I am here to see Mr Hebden,’ Julia said brightly, holding out her card.

  ‘You have the wrong address, Mem Sahib.’ The man did not glance at the card.

  ‘Mr Beshaley then.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mem Sahib.’ The door began to close.

  Julia stuck her foot out, jarring her toe. ‘I have a note from Lady Mil den hall.’ She flourished it under his nose—which someone appeared to have recently broken—while rubbing the wounded toe on the back of the other calf.

  Without a word of apology, the man stepped back, holding the door. It shut behind her the moment she was through. ‘Stephen Sahib is in his workshop.’ The Indian took her card, turned his back and moved silently across the hall. Julia followed, through the green baize door, down three stone steps and into the kitchen. The man kept going, pushed open a door at the far end of the kitchen and announced, ‘Carlow Mem Sahib, from Imo Mem Sahib.’

  Julia stepped past him into what must once have been a long wash house. Now it looked like the workshop of aneccentrical chemist. Shelves and cup boards lined the walls; strange tools hung from hooks; jars and boxes were stacked every where; a sword was propped against a vast safe in one corner. A bench, covered in stretched leather that had been caught up to make a trough at the front, ran under the barred windows and in the middle stood a small brazier, glowing red despite the warmth of the day.

  As Julia stared, the man bending over it dropped something into a crucible and a cloud of evil-smelling vapour puffed up. She choked, fanning herself with her hand.

  ‘My dear Julia!’ Hebden strode out of the cloud of smoke, put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a high stool by the part-open window.

  ‘Let go.’ She coughed and batted at him with her hands, but he laughed, stooped and kissed her right on her parted lips.

  The shock took what little breath she had left. Pressed against the high back of the stool, Julia fought her instinctive response. She was on the verge of kissing him back, she realized, outraged. His mouth was firm and he tasted spicy. Something in the smoke, she thought hazily, then found the strength to raise her right knee sharply, even as she jerked her head back.

  He dodged with a fencer’s agility, laughing at her as he stepped out of range. ‘I thought you had come to say thank you for my gift of Byron’s verse,’ he said, dark eyes soulful. ‘I am wounded.’

  ‘But not wounded enough,’ she snapped. ‘Listen, Mr Hebden or Beshaley or whatever your name is—’

  ‘I have so many.’ He was still smiling. ‘Call me Stephano. If you have not come for my lovemaking, then how may I be of service?’

  ‘You can listen to the truth for once and stop these attacks on my family and their friends,’ she said, ignoring his question. If she took exception to all his outrageous remarks, she would never get through this.

  He spread his hands in a gesture inviting her to proceed, hooked a foot through another stool, and pulled it close so that when he sat his knees were within six inches of her own. ‘I listen, beautiful Julia. And then we will go somewhere more…comfortable.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hal rode slowly up Whitehall, his uniform uncomfortable after weeks in civilian clothes, the rigid stock chafing under his chin. So, report back in a month and they would tell him their decision. The West Indies, India or an English garrison.

  He realized he had no appetite for an English posting. What would it be? Endless drills—or subduing rioting factory workers? That was not why he had joined up. And India or the West Indies were a hell of a long way away. A long way from Julia.

  He did not notice the tall grey stone buildings as he passed, or the busy traffic. Max knew where he was going and walked steadily on.

  Hal’s imagination was full of lush green Buckinghamshire meadows with soft-eyed brood mares nudging their spindly-legged foals into their first steps. And a small child laughing in a woman’s arms. Julia’s arms.

  He could not take her with him as she asked: not to the heat and the disease. She was too precious to risk like that. And too precious to leave behind. But he had to choose. Somehow.

  He was still deep in thought as he reached the house in Albemarle Street and dismounted. A shout and the clatter of hooves roused him.

  ‘Carlow!’

  ‘Monty?’ His old comrade reined in the team of chest nuts pulling his high-perch phaeton. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Your wife,’ Mil den hall said urgently. ‘Is she home?’

  ‘Of course she’s home.’ The front door opened. ‘Wellow, where is Mrs Carlow?’

  ‘She went to visit Lady Mil den hall at about two, Major. She took the small town coach and Richards. She has not yet returned.’

  Hal pulled out his watch. ‘And it is just past three. Not so long for a call, Monty.’

  ‘But she left our house almost at once; she came to ask Midge for Hebden’s address.’

  ‘What?’ Hal felt the blood drain from his face. ‘And Midge gave it to her?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently your wife told Midge that she had something to tell Hebden that would stop his campaign of vengeance.’

  ‘Hell and damnation—the man is here, in town?’

  ‘Yes, Bloomsbury Square.’ Monty began to turn his team. ‘North side.’ He gave the number as Hal swung back into the saddle. ‘Don’t try the main street, there’s a brewer’s dray over turned at the bottom of Tot ten ham Court Road—chaos. I’ll follow, fast as I can.’

  Hal set his spurs to Max’s sides and the big grey took off at the gallop towards Oxford Street. His sabre bumped his leg as he made the turn into Bond Street, and he checked the saddle holster. Yes, his pistols were there. He was going to need those.

  Nell took the old, much-folded paper from her pocket and held it up. ‘This is the last letter that William Wardale, Earl of Leybourne, wrote, minutes before he was hanged. If ever a man is going to tell the truth, surely it is on the verge of death.’ The beautiful brown eyes watching her sharpened, lost their mocking, sensual smile. ‘Listen, he swears on his children’s souls that he is innocent.’ She read that impassioned statement, then watched as the colour leached from under Stephen Hebden’s golden skin. His eyes widened.

  ‘I believe him—so do Hal and Marcus. Wardale was not your father’s killer, Stephano, and neither was—’ Julia broke off as he swayed, his hands coming up to clutch at hi
s temples. Staring into his wide eyes, she saw the pupils contract to pin pricks. ‘What is it? You are ill, let me call for help.’ She began to scramble down from the stool, bumping into his legs as she did so.

  ‘He swore on his children’s souls. He swore as he was about to die?’ Stephano seized her by the forearms so she was trapped between his thighs. ‘And now they prosper, they thrive. They are happy, all of them.’ He was talking to himself, she realized, not to her.

  ‘Let me go, Stephano, I do not under stand.’

  ‘The curse,’ he muttered. ‘The children will pay for the sins of their fathers. He did not sin. He did not.’

  ‘You are frightening me, and you are not well.’ Julia tried to free a hand. ‘Let me get help.’

  ‘No.’ He was on his feet now, pulling her tight against him, her face pressed to his shirt, his own cheek against her hair. He needed someone—something—to hold onto, she realized. She doubted he even realized who he was holding.

  Distantly there was a crash, then shouting. ‘Stephano,’ she said softly. ‘Stephano!’ He winced as though she had struck him. The workshop door banged open. ‘Julia!’

  The man holding her jerked round, one hand still circling her arm.

  ‘Hal!’ He was in uniform, she realised. His sabre was in his hand and murder in his eyes. ‘Hal, he has not hurt me. He isn’t well.’

  ‘He’ll be dead in a minute, that will cure him,’ her husband said, slamming the door. He spun a chair towards him and jammed it under the handle. ‘What has he done to you?’

  ‘Nothing. Hal, I came to tell him about the letter because you could not, that is all. And then he became ill. I was supporting him.’

  Hebden pushed her back a little. His eyes were focused again, although the planes of his face were sharp and drawn as though he was in pain. ‘So sweet, your wife’s mouth, Carlow, so generous her kisses.’

  ‘You fool,’ she snapped at him. ‘Do you want him to kill you?’