The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)

by Julia Brannan

  “If it’s a girl, then Anne gets everything except a big dowry and a property in Sussex which will be held in trust until the girl marries or comes of age. Beth, I canna…”

  “And if the child dies?” Beth persisted.

  “Then Anne gets the lot. The title will be defunct, because there are no male relatives living.”

  “Was there any provision made in case she married again?”

  “No,” Alex said. “I dinna think Redburn expected her to marry again. He loved her, and thought she loved him enough to never consider another man.”

  “She did love him,” said Beth. “Have you read the letter? She was coerced into marrying Richard. He managed to convince her that she needed looking after and the child needed a father, and that he would be the ideal choice.”

  “Aye, but we discussed the possibility of this, Beth, if you remember. We knew she was vulnerable.”

  “I know, but I thought she’d refuse all offers until she was at least out of mourning!” said Beth. “I know what’s happened,” she continued angrily. “The whole family have worn her down. It’ll be to Edward’s advantage to have so much money in the family, and all his sisters think it’s impossible for any woman to live without a man to guide their every move. She has no idea what she’s done, what she’s married. He’s evil, Alex. What can we do?” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to find a solution.

  “Accept it,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do. Maybe it’ll all work out better than ye think. Maybe he’s changed.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He hasn’t changed. He’s always been bad, even when he was a child. He’ll hurt her, Alex, and God help her and the child if it’s a boy.”

  “Oh come on, Beth,” said Alex. “As badly as ye think of him, surely ye dinna think he’d harm a wee bairn?”

  “I don’t know what he’d do. He beat John, repeatedly, and drove Martha from the house. He didn’t care what happened to her child.”

  “Aye, but there’s a big difference between beating and dismissing servants, who were probably sullen at best and defiant at worst, from what ye’ve tellt me, and hurting your wife and innocent stepchild,” Alex reasoned.

  “He hit me, too!” Beth cried, getting angry in spite of his reasonable tone. “And left me in the barn for Graeme to find. That’s hardly the action of a caring brother!”

  “No, it isna. But ye tellt me yourself, you’d just thrown a knife at him and called him a coward. I might have hit ye myself, if I’d been him.” He smiled down at her, and her eyes softened.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she said, putting her arms round him. “You’d have taken the knife off me before I could have thrown it, and dragged me off to bed.” She froze momentarily, then continued speaking quickly before he could ask her what had crossed her mind. She couldn’t tell him that, even if it would prove how reasonable her fears for Anne were. “You don’t know him,” she finished lamely.

  “Maybe not,” Alex admitted. “But I ken the woman he’s married, and I hardly think she’s likely to provoke him like you did. Even if the child is a boy, Richard’ll still be wealthy. He’ll get his captaincy and any other rank his commanding officer is daft enough to gie him, and he’ll be able to entertain his officer friends to his heart’s content. And Anne’ll be happy to indulge his every whim and look after him and the child. She’ll no’ gie him reason to hit her, and if he’s feeling vicious he’ll be able to bully his men instead. It could all work out better than ye think, Beth. Let’s look on the bright side.”

  He didn’t add because there’s nothing else we can do, anyway, but they both thought it.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll look on the bright side. But while I’m looking on it, I’ll keep an eye on her. When are they coming back to London?”

  He looked at the letter, which had become a bit crumpled during their embrace.

  “In two weeks. Less than one week, now,” he said, because the letter had taken three days to arrive, and had lain neglected for another week.

  “I think we’ll throw a dinner for them,” Beth said. “To welcome them back. That’ll please Anne and annoy Richard, because he’ll be expecting me to be angry and to ignore them. And it’ll give me a chance to see if she’s as happy as she says she is. Now, let’s change the subject. What did Murray’s letter say?”

  * * *

  Murray’s letter said that he had received Alex’s and had included the information in a packet he’d already prepared, signed by himself and many of the chiefs, stating that they were of the unanimous opinion that no rebellion was possible without French support. He had given this to the Earl of Traquair, who promised to forward it to the prince straight away and who intended to go to France himself soon in any case. All that remained to be done was to continue gathering information where possible and to wait for Charles’ response. Because there was nothing more they could do to influence Charles, Beth was not thinking about that as she entered Sarah’s shop, having turned her attention to more domestic problems.

  She had paid a visit to Caroline and Edwin, although she had rightly assumed that Anne would also have written to them with her news. She had, but with the consideration that was one of her most endearing features, she’d posted the letter to Caroline two days after Beth’s so that her ‘dear sister’ would receive the news before anyone else. The Harlows were of the same general opinion as Alex; it was a shock, but there was nothing anyone could do but hope all would turn out well. But then they didn’t know Richard either. No one did. And she couldn’t tell anyone. It was a lonely feeling, but she had been lonely before and had learnt to cope with it.

  Sarah was just finishing off an elaborate and very youthful hairstyle for an elderly overpainted lady, and politely asked Beth if she would be so kind as to take a seat for a few moments, whilst at the same time demonstrating by way of an elaborate mime behind the woman’s back that this ridiculous coiffure was not her idea and that the woman sporting it was really as stupid as she looked. Beth managed to refrain from laughing and sat down demurely, accepting the coffee offered by a very young girl she had not seen before, who then disappeared through the door leading into Sarah’s private room.

  “I haven’t seen her before,” said Beth as soon as the customer had gone.

  “I take it you mean Emily and not the cantankerous old trout?” said Sarah irreverently. “Yes, she works for me a couple of days a week, cleaning, making coffee, that sort of thing. She’s got a big family, so the money comes in useful. She’s gone home now, you can come through.”

  “And you can afford a servant,” Beth said, following Sarah through to her room.

  “Yes I can,” she replied proudly. “Wonderful, isn’t it? And it’s nice to help someone else out too. Mrs Marshall was my last client today, but I’m really busy normally. Business really picked up after Anne married Lord Redburn. Which I assume is what you’re here to tell me about. Richard and Anne, I mean.”

  “It isn’t, actually. I thought you’d already know. You seem to know everything the moment it happens.”

  “Everybody in London knows about Anne and Richard, though. She wrote to Lady Winter.” Sarah beckoned Beth to a seat and took one opposite. “Are you frightened for her?” she asked.

  Beth looked around the room, which was simply but tastefully furnished. Two comfortable chairs and an oak table, cream-painted walls, a framed landscape hanging over the fireplace. A little rug by the fire.

  “Yes,” she admitted after a moment. “But everyone else seems to think I’m worrying unduly.”

  “Even Sir Anthony?”

  “Yes, even Anthony. He thinks that Richard may be settling down, and doubts that Anne will provoke him like I did. Which is true. You have a nice room here. I haven’t seen it before.”

  “Thank you,” said Sarah. “Does Sir Anthony know that Richard tried to rape you?” She said it matter-of-factly, as though she were asking whether Anthony knew that Beth liked toast for breakfast.
>
  The room vanished. Everything vanished except this young woman sitting opposite her, who knew what nobody knew. Beth stared at her, her eyes wide with shock.

  “How do you know that?” she blurted out, before realising that she had now made any denial impossible. “Did Richard tell you?”

  “No, of course he didn’t,” Sarah said. “No one told me.”

  “Then how…?” Beth was stunned, panicked. Her voice died in her throat. Sarah leaned forward.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I know all about men and sex, as you’re aware. I know what they’re like when you please them and I know what they’re like when you don’t. I’ve also had those who’d already tried it on with another woman and been refused. The nice ones wanted you to make them feel handsome and virile, to soothe their hurt feelings. And the bastards wanted to take their frustration out on you, humiliate you like she’d done to them. That’s what Richard did that night when he came to my room and I tried to comfort him. If he could he’d have raped me and beaten me, but as it was you’d kicked him so hard he wasn’t capable.”

  “So he just beat you instead,” Beth said.

  “Yes. But I knew what had happened. I thought at first that he’d made a try for Jane, Grace, or even little Mary. I wouldn’t put anything past him.” Sarah grimaced. “Even I didn’t think he’d try to swive his own sister, though. I couldn’t believe it when you told me.”

  “I didn’t tell you!” Beth protested.

  “Yes, you did. You told me you’d had an argument with him and he was very angry with you when he left you.”

  She had. She remembered now, sitting on the foot of Sarah’s bed, assessing the injuries Richard had inflicted on her. She had known, all this time. Over two years.

  “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” Beth said.

  “No, of course I haven’t. I think you should tell your husband though.”

  “No!” Beth almost shouted. “No, I can’t.”

  “Why not? He doesn’t seem the kind of man who’d blame you. He’s nice, and he’s obviously very fond of you.”

  “That’s the problem,” Beth said. “He wouldn’t blame me. But he would kill Richard.”

  “Well, that would certainly sort out the problem of Anne’s stupidity, if he did,” Sarah said, considering. “Although Anne might be a bit upset at being widowed twice in a year. Are you worried that Richard might kill Sir Anthony instead of the other way round?”

  She was completely serious. Beth looked at Sarah as if seeing her for the first time, realising how little she knew the woman who had once been her maid.

  “No. Anthony is a good swordsman. But Richard’s my brother, Sarah,” she said. “I couldn’t be responsible for his death.”

  “Well no, I suppose not,” said Sarah doubtfully. “Everyone’s different, I suppose. If my brother did that to me, I’d be happy to see him dead. I won’t tell Sir Anthony though. It’s not for me to do that. But I will keep an ear out for any rumours about Anne for you. Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

  Beth had virtually forgotten what she had come to talk to Sarah about, she was so shocked by the direction the conversation had taken.

  “That would be nice,” she said now, dragging her mind back to the present day. “But no. I came to talk to you about Maggie.”

  She quickly outlined how Maggie was still in bed ten days after the birth, and how active she normally was. That she didn’t even do anything in the bed, just lie or sit there pleating the bedsheets between her fingers for hours on end.

  “Murdo thinks she needs someone to talk to. Someone who understands what she’s been through.”

  “Murdo,” said Sarah. “Is he the one who rides a horse like a madman?”

  Beth laughed.

  “Yes. But he’s very sensitive as well. And I think he’s right. She won’t talk to her husband, and I’ve tried, too, but she won’t talk to me either.”

  “And you think I might have more success because I’ve lost a child as well?” Sarah asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Beth admitted. “I know you haven’t told me the details, but…”

  “I haven’t told anybody the details,” Sarah said. “I’ve never talked to anyone about it, ever.”

  Beth nodded, bit her lip.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, standing up. “I shouldn’t have asked you. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Yes it was,” Sarah said. “You want to help your friend. And maybe it’s time I did talk about it. They say it helps to tell someone your problems, that by just talking about it you feel better, whether they offer any advice or not. I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “It does help, if you can trust the person you’re talking to,” said Beth, sitting down again. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Not if it’s about the baptism. I just want to forget that.”

  “No, it’s about Richard. That night, when he came to your room. Graeme thought I’d kicked him in the balls too, although he didn’t guess why like you did. I didn’t. What I really did was…”

  It’s true, Beth thought as she walked home later, her step light. It does make you feel better, sharing something with someone you can trust. Much better. She saw things in a clearer perspective now that she’d laughed about it with Sarah. It would all be all right. Anne would not provoke Richard, ever. She was incapable of it. He was older now and had everything he wanted. He had no reason for violence. He would settle down. Anne would work wonders with him, as she had with Stanley Redburn, and in time would give Richard an heir too, which if Edward failed to marry, as seemed increasingly likely, would one day inherit the Cunningham title and fortune. Richard would certainly be pleased with her if she did that.

  Everything would be all right.

  * * *

  When Sarah arrived at the Peters’ residence the next day it was Sir Anthony himself who greeted her at the door, bowing to her with an exaggerated flourish that in anyone else would have been a sarcastic gesture, her status being so much inferior to his, but which in his case managed to convey genuine respect. He gallantly took her basket of beauty preparations and ushered her into the house.

  “My dear Sarah!” he gushed, “I cannot tell you what an honour you do us, to agree to assist us at this difficult time! Acting the part of an angel of mercy is becoming a habit with you.” His dark blue eyes sparkled with humour and beneath that, a genuine regard, and she returned his smile.

  “I’m sorry, I’m a bit later than I agreed with Beth…Lady Elizabeth,” Sarah corrected.

  He waved his hand about impatiently, and the glass bottles tinkled merrily in the basket.

  “I am sure I will not be offended if you call my wife by her diminutive name. After all you have known her for longer than I, and are a most trusted friend.”

  The emphasis on the word trusted made her pause in taking off her cloak and glance up at him. For a moment she saw a different man entirely; tall, menacing, and the cold warning look in his eyes made her shiver. Then it was gone, she must have imagined it, and he was fussily assisting her off with her cloak and leading her up the stairs, the trivial, harmless fop once more.

  “It matters not a jot that you are late, as my cook is not expecting you,” he said, turning back to whisper confidentially in her ear. “I thought your visit would come better as a surprise.” He clapped his hands in ecstasy, nearly dropping the basket in the process. “I do so love surprises! When they are of a pleasant nature, of course. Now, let me introduce you.”

  He knocked politely on the door but then entered before Maggie had had time to respond, thereby spoiling the deferential effect somewhat.

  “My dear Margaret!” he said, showing himself fully so that Maggie would instantly know that he was Sir Anthony, her employer, and not Alex, her friend and kinsman. “I have a visitor for you, and a most delightful surprise! I am sure you remember Miss Browne.”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I never had the chance to thank…” Maggie began, sitting up i
n bed. The shutters were open, but the curtains were drawn, and the room was bathed in a dull blue light.

  “Miss Browne is here in quite a different capacity today, Margaret,” he interrupted, moving across the room to open the curtains. “There! That’s better!” he trilled as sunshine streamed into the room, lighting up the pallid face and lank tangled hair of his cook, who bestowed a venomous look on his brocade-clad back.

  “Now,” he said, turning from the window and beaming at the company, “Miss Browne is a woman of many talents, and her greatest is to make the very best of every woman, or man, who visits her establishment. Why, I have seen her take ten, even twenty years off an old lady at the mere stroke of a brush, and her reputation is unparalleled. The nobility flock to her in droves! But today she is here to devote her attentions exclusively to your good self!”

  “That’s very kind of you, Sir Anthony,” Maggie said in a tone that expressed nothing more than the ardent wish to plunge a knife into him at the first opportunity, “but I really havena any need…”

  “To thank me! As you know, I always like to take the very best care of my staff! Well, I will leave you two together. I am sure you will get along famously. Be sure to call in the library before you leave, Miss Browne. Murdo will take you home. In the carriage,” he added.

  In a flurry of lace and violets he was gone, leaving Sarah standing uncertainly in front of her none-too-willing client. They regarded each other in silence for a moment.

  “Miss Browne…” Maggie began.

  “Sarah,” said Sarah, moving to the foot of the bed. “You had no idea I was coming, did you?”

  “No,” said Maggie. “And I’m sorry for your trouble, but I really have no need of a fancy hairstyle and face paint. I dinna ken what he’s up to, but you’re wasting your time.”

  “I think he’s worried about you,” Sarah said, sensing that here was a blunt woman who would not appreciate prevarication. “I know Beth is. She’s not used to being helpless, but she knows she can’t help you.”

  “Nothing can,” said Maggie, “least of all some fancy creams and scents. I’m sorry, I dinna mean to be rude, but I’ve tellt them all, I’ll get up when I’m ready. In a few days. I just need a wee bit of time, that’s all. Thank ye for what ye did for me. I appreciate that, all of it.”