by Jane Ashford
“What girl might you be—” began the man from outside, then gasped again as Michael Shea jammed a fist into his side.
“We don’t want no trouble with you gentlemen,” said the other man quickly. “We was just doing a job of work and collecting our pay.”
“Work!” Shea spat the word.
The man at the table looked him up and down as if trying to place him. “Well, mayhap you can pick and choose. Harry and me…” He shrugged.
“The girl is here?” repeated Sir Richard.
“Aye.”
“If you have hurt her…” began Shea.
“We ain’t touched her, mate,” was the ominous reply.
“Here is what you men will do,” said Beckwith. “There are horses here?”
“One old nag in the shed. He took the others. Don’t trust us with ’em.” The man at the table gave a gap-toothed grin.
“You will take that horse and go on your way,” continued Sir Richard. “Don’t come back. Tom, take the pistol and watch them on their way.”
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, we’ll leave the nag,” replied the other. “I don’t care to have his horse with me when he finds out.”
“He’ll have our heads,” croaked the other man, rubbing his neck where the collar had squeezed it.
“Well, now, Jem, it can’t rightly be called our fault if three gentlemen come along with pistols and order us off,” answered his colleague. “Still, I don’t believe I’ll go back to London just yet.”
The other shook his head emphatically.
“On your way,” said Sir Richard, gesturing with the pistol.
The two men went out and walked together around the cottage to the road. The Beckwiths followed them, then Sir Richard left Thomas with the gun and returned to the house.
Michael Shea was gone from the kitchen. Sir Richard hastily scanned the room, catching up a bunch of keys from a hook, then made his way through the empty front room and to the stairs. Shea was at the top, leaning on a closed door.
“She must be here,” he said. “But she doesn’t answer me, and it is locked. Help me break it down.”
He sounded near the end of his tether. Sir Richard simply held up the keys and bent to try them. In the next instant, he had the door open.
The room thus revealed was dim, and at first they could see no one. Then Shea gave a cry and leapt toward the narrow bed. Bess was curled there, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. When Shea touched her, she cried out. He fell to his knees beside the bed and spoke to her, but she didn’t seem to hear. “The devil,” he hissed. “I’ll kill him. The devil.”
Moving closer, Sir Richard could see bruises on Bess’s bare arms and on one of her cheeks. They were purple and glaring on her pale skin. He set his jaw and bent over her. “Bess,” he said clearly. “Bess, we have come to take you away from here.”
“What’s wrong with her?” said Shea in a choked voice. “What’s he done to her?”
Sir Richard gently explored Bess’s injuries. When he touched her head, she muttered and pulled away. “A hard blow to the head,” he concluded. “Perhaps when they first took her. And some drug. I think. Laudanum perhaps. Along with ill treatment, it has thrown her into a kind of delirium. We must find a doctor.”
“We can’t leave her here!”
“No. We shouldn’t move her, but under the circumstances…”
“I’ll carry her before me,” was the fierce reply.
“We should have brought a carriage.”
“It would have slowed us too much.” Shea slipped his arms under Bess and rose to his feet, holding her tenderly against his chest.
“Shall I help you?” offered Sir Richard.
“No!”
They emerged from the dim room, and Sir Richard saw traces of tears on the redheaded man’s cheeks. He turned away and ran lightly down the stairs, leaving Shea to follow more slowly with his burden and recover himself.
He found his brother outside, still watching the road. “They’ve gone,” said Thomas. “I’m certain they didn’t double back.”
“They were not paid to fight,” replied Sir Richard. “Come, we are going now.”
“Bess?”
“Shea has her.”
“Is she…all right?”
Sir Richard merely shook his head.
It took a little while to get their group under way again. Bess was settled in front of Michael Shea, her head resting on his shoulder. She occasionally moved it from side to side and muttered incomprehensible phrases, but she had not regained her senses. Shea cradled her as if she were a rare treasure. Sir Richard rode in the rear. It would have been best, he knew, to leave Bess where she was and summon a doctor. But he did not want to risk meeting Fenton. Michael Shea would kill him. And even if he was kept from doing so, still this scandal would break over all their heads. If they left, Fenton could not be positive who had taken Bess. He might be sure in his own mind, but he could not accuse them. The men he had hired would stay out of his way. They weren’t the sort to risk identifying their attackers and perhaps getting caught in the middle of the quarrel.
Now they just needed to find some place of safety where Bess could be restored to health and then spirited quietly out of the country with Michael Shea. The more Richard thought about this plan, the better he felt. Bess would not have to work as a servant. He could tell Julia that the girl was married and gone. And Fenton was thwarted without a public sensation. All would be well, if only Bess was all right. This brought back his worry in full force. He spurred his horse forward. “How is she?” he asked Shea.
“The same. We should be looking for a doctor.” Shea’s face and voice were showing the strain.
“Yes. Unfortunately, I don’t know this country well. I suppose we must find a village and an inn.”
“There’s a carriage coming,” called Thomas from up ahead. “It’s in the cross lane. I didn’t hear it until just now.”
“In that cart track?” replied Sir Richard. “It can’t be a carriage.”
“It is, though. I saw it through a gap in the hedge. A post-chaise.”
“Fenton!” hissed Michael Shea. “Where is your pistol?”
“He would scarcely be traveling post,” objected Beckwith. But he was considerably annoyed. His hopes of keeping this matter secret were again in jeopardy. There was nowhere for them to hide; the road was bordered by open fields.
“Thomas and I will go ahead,” he ordered. “Shea, you hang back. Perhaps we can send them on their way without exposing Bess.”
They did this. The post-chaise emerged from the rutted lane with a drunken bounce, and the woman who was leaning out of the window said, “We are still lost? You told me you knew the way perfectly well. What are we to do?”
“Julia!” exclaimed Sir Richard.
Twelve
“Oh, Richard, do you know the way back to the post road?” replied Julia, all grievances momentarily forgotten in her relief at seeing him. “We have been lost for nearly two hours, and I am so tired and dusty. None of the servants…” As she spoke, she gradually took in the group before her, and her voice trailed off.
Sir Richard was stunned by the ill luck of the meeting. Here was another incident he could not explain. He could not tell Julia Devere what had befallen Bess. It was not a story for female ears. Thomas Beckwith was equally frozen.
But one member of the party was not diverted. Michael Shea rode up to the carriage. “We cannot delay,” he said as he went. “We must find help for Bess.”
Julia gazed at him. She recognized Bess at once as the woman she had seen with Sir Richard, and she could not help but see the livid bruises on her face and arms. “What…?” she began. Then the awkwardness of the situation hit her, along with a belated recollection of her anger. She pulled her head back inside the chaise and wondered what she
should do next.
“Go on with Shea,” Sir Richard told Thomas. “I will catch up to you. I must speak to Julia.”
His brother nodded, staring as if he wanted to ask what in heaven’s name he meant to say, and started on. Sir Richard drew in a breath. “Come and walk,” he said to Julia.
She shook her head, but he paid no attention. Swinging down from his horse and looping the reins over a handgrip, he opened the chaise door and held out a hand. “A walk will do you good,” he added. “Take out some of the stiffness of the journey.”
Seeing that she could not refuse without a scene, Julia allowed him to help her down. But she did not take the arm he offered. She merely walked beside him, at a little distance, along the narrow road.
“I am going to say something to you that perhaps I should not,” Sir Richard began. “But I had already made up my mind that the proprieties must give way if they keep us apart. For that I will not have.”
Julia made a sound, half-protesting, half-surprised.
“No,” he said. “Hear me out. We have just taken the girl you know of from a house where Lord Fenton had imprisoned her. His hirelings kidnapped her five days ago. She has been cruelly ill-used. This rescue was made possible by a young man named Michael Shea, whom you just saw. He intends to marry Bess as soon as she is better. If she wishes it, that is. I think she will.”
Julia had been gazing fixedly at the ground before her, shocked by what she heard. But now she looked up and met Sir Richard’s gray eyes.
“Yes,” he assured her. “It is Mr. Shea who cherishes tender feelings for Bess, not I. As I have been trying to tell you for some time.”
“But I saw her in your arms!” Julia burst out.
“Impossible.”
“I drove by your house. You were standing outside near a hack, and you…she… I saw you.” Julia turned away, struggling with her emotions.
Frowning, Sir Richard cast his mind back. He knew he had not embraced Bess in the street, and at first he could not remember what she might have seen. Then, the circumstances came back to him, and he actually smiled a little. “In my arms,” he said. “She was, in a manner of speaking. I was trying not to shake her until her teeth rattled. I have never known anyone who could put me in such a flame.” He looked down. “Except perhaps one other.”
Julia returned his gaze. “Can it be true?” she wondered aloud. But she knew it was. It explained all of the unbelievable contradictions that had plagued her and revealed that her own judgment, and that of those she trusted, was unflawed. The universe settled back into its former order, and Julia was abruptly flooded with joy. She needn’t break it off with Richard, she told herself, and live the lonely life she had been forlornly contemplating during the journey. Everything could be as before. She met his eyes again, and smiled.
He pulled her into his arms, as relieved and happy as she, and held her against him for a long blissful moment. Then, consciousness of the watching servants and his unfinished task made him reluctantly draw back. “I must go,” he said. “Bess must have help. We are headed toward the post road. You can follow that far.”
“And go back to London?” replied Julia. But she said the words as a question to herself; and answered it. “No.”
Beckwith looked inquiring.
“I shall go home as I planned, I think. I don’t want to return to town now. After all that has happened, the quiet of the country will be welcome. My parents, and you, will be joining me soon.” She smiled tenderly up at him.
“You had better write them the news, then,” he suggested, with an answering smile.
“News? Oh! You don’t suppose they have sent another notice to the papers? I told them to announce that the engagement was dissolved, but…”
“I think your mother meant to wait a while and see.”
Julia nodded distractedly. “I’ll write at once. Today. And send someone with the letter.”
Sir Richard’s smile widened. “I take it then that the engagement is not dissolved?”
Julia raised her chin at his teasing. “Perhaps it is!”
“Oh, no.” He caught her against him again, his eyes fixing hers from very close. “I shan’t let you get away from me again.”
They were prevented from savoring this moment to the full by the sound of hoofbeats and the reappearance of Thomas further up the road.
“Richard!” he called. “Come quickly. Bess has had some sort of fit. She fell from the horse, and so did Shea. I don’t know what to do for them.”
Sir Richard ran at once to his mount and swung up. With a hurried, “I will come to you soon” to Julia, he pulled its head around and spurred it into a gallop, following Thomas back the way he had come. Julia stepped up into the chaise. “Follow them,” she commanded.
The carriage bumped along the rutted road more slowly than the riders. By the time Julia reached the spot, all three men were kneeling on the ground around Bess, who lay on her back in the dust.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Julia heard Michael Shea declare as she jumped from the post-chaise again. “She startled me is all. She’d been lying so quiet that when she jerked about I lost my hold, and the horse threw us both. I was only stunned for a moment. But Bess. What of Bess?”
Julia joined them in looking down at her. Restless movement had replaced Bess’s former limpness. She threw her head from side to side and muttered. Her hands came up to her face, then fell, and her whole body twisted in the grass as if to escape some torment. Her skin was dead white, and the bruises stood out against it cruelly. Julia, seeing her much more clearly now, was shocked to the core. Such violence had never before intruded into her protected life, and she had not imagined it existed.
“We must get her to an inn where she can rest comfortably,” Sir Richard was saying. “And find a doctor. She is obviously worse.”
“Why didn’t we bring a carriage,” moaned Shea. “It might have followed us. She can’t be bouncing in front of me any more.”
“Put her in mine,” said Julia.
All three men turned to look at her. They had been so engrossed in their examination of Bess that they had not noted her arrival. Now, Thomas Beckwith was embarrassed, Sir Richard surprised, and Michael Shea filled with crazed relief.
“Whoever you are,” said the latter, “bless you.”
“Julia, I don’t think this is wise,” said Sir Richard. But his voice lacked conviction, for he could see no other solution.
“We cannot leave that poor girl lying in the road,” replied Julia, whose attitude toward Bess had undergone a revolution. In her restored happiness, Julia felt a proprietary, protective interest in Bess.
“Indeed not!” exclaimed Shea, looking from Sir Richard to Julia wildly.
“Julia Devere,” Thomas muttered to him in a strangled voice. “Richard’s fiancée.” Thomas was terribly worried that this encounter would be the final blow to his brother’s engagement. Though Julia seemed to be taking it well, you never knew with girls, he had found in his rather limited experience. Too, she should not be exposed to such a situation; it was no place for a gently reared young lady. Yet he could see no way around using her carriage either.
“Come along,” insisted Julia, turning back to the chaise and opening the door. “Put her in. Betty, move to the front seat.”
As her maid obediently shifted and the men carefully lifted Bess from the ground and carried her to the chaise, Julia felt a sudden bubble of happiness expand in her chest. It was wholly inappropriate, unfeeling, but she wanted to laugh, and whirl in a mad circle with her arms outstretched. Her reconciliation with Richard had changed everything, she realized. Even her very real sympathy for Bess and shock at what had happened to her could not pierce this elation. She felt as if nothing could hurt her now.
When Bess was settled in the rear seat of the post-chaise, Julia got in beside her maid. “We’ll
return to the main highway,” said Sir Richard through the window, “and stop at the first inn we see. You can resume your journey then.”
Julia nodded, and the group got under way, the three men riding in front and the perplexed post boys bringing up the rear. They went slowly, to avoid shaking Bess up any further; more than once, Julia had to steady her on the seat.
When at last they reached the larger road and paused to confer, Julia caught sight of a sign post and exclaimed, “Why we are less than three miles from my home! And to think we have been wandering in that maze of lanes for hours. I should have recognized the country, but I never ride in this direction.”
“Where is the nearest inn?” asked Michael Shea eagerly.
Julia frowned. “There is one at Moreley, but it is really only a tavern. Their rooms cannot be anything but attics. The closest good inn is more than ten miles.”
“We will try the other, then,” said Sir Richard. “Which way?”
Shea, who had ridden back to gaze worriedly at Bess, grimaced.
“No,” answered Julia, her brows drawn together in thought. “It really won’t do. She will be stifled there under the eaves. But I can’t think of any other…”
“What about your house?” asked Shea. And when the others all stared at him, he met their eyes defiantly.
Julia was the first to recover. “Of course. She must come and stay with me. Dr. Phillips will know what to do for her.”
“Out of the question,” declared Sir Richard. “I won’t permit it.”
“There’s no alternative, man,” insisted Shea.
“There is the inn at Moreley.”
“Do you want to kill her, then? Would that suit your purposes?”
Acutely conscious of Julia’s maid and coachman, and of the avid post boys, Sir Richard could not reply as he wished to that he would not have Bess in the same house with Julia.
“You are overwrought, sir,” said Julia, also thinking of the servants. “But this is clearly the best solution. I am sorry I did not think of it myself. Bess can stay with me until she recovers from her…accident. And then you can find her other quarters.”
