Sixteen
Elizabeth felt completely detached from the two women, as if they were fictitious characters resurrected from one of her early novels. Her emotions remained firmly centered on her encounter with Rand. He was her reality. I’ll be back tonight, Bess. I love you.
“So…” A multitude of sentiments, ranging from contempt to fury, was conveyed by Dorothea’s one word. She stood, her motion tremulous rather than fluid. “Close the door, you slut!”
As if she were sleepwalking, Elizabeth obeyed. Lilith remained on the bed, twisting folds into her nightshift. Her aunt had betrayed her, Elizabeth thought, but what other choice did she have?
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Dorothea’s delicate features contorted with anger.
Elizabeth didn’t care about anything save riding south with Rand. A part of her warned that she should try to brazen her way out of this predicament, but her mind remained as numb as her extremities. “I have done nothing wrong,” she finally managed.
Dorothea made a disgusted sound. “You have run off on some midnight tryst, which could ruin everything. Lord Stafford will pay off our mortgages and complete the renovations on Wyndham Manor.” She advanced toward Elizabeth. “But you must sign the marriage contract first.”
Elizabeth’s bare feet were beginning to ache. She wondered how her feet could feel numb and ache at the same time.
“Who is he?” Dorothea asked.
Elizabeth shook her head.
Dorothea slapped her.
“Sister, please!” Lilith half rose from the bed. “There is no need—”
“I asked her a question which she had best answer.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand against her cheek. Dorothea had never struck her before. The fact that her stepmother was upset enough to lose control jolted Elizabeth from her inertia. “He is no one you’d know,” she said.
Dorothea inclined her head toward her sister. “When you rode off, Lilith had a clear view of him from the window. She said he looked like a man she saw at Zak Turnbull’s execution, the surgeon who cut him down. I’ll find out sooner or later, so why not make it easy on both of us? Tell me now.”
“No. Never. I’m sorry to spoil your plans, but I will not marry Walter Stafford.”
“Where did you meet your lover? How long have you been sneaking off to rut with him? Do you realize what you’ve done? If word of your promiscuity leaks out…” Dorothea wrung her hands.
“I don’t care about any man except… him.”
“How quaint. You’re starting to believe your own novels. Real women don’t forsake their futures for love, Elizabeth. If they do, they invariably regret it. Once you consider what I’ve said, you’ll realize I’m right and we shall leave for London as if nothing has happened.” In a tone several degrees colder than Elizabeth’s hands and feet, Dorothea added, “Because nothing has. Do you understand?”
“Yes. But if you force me, I shall tell Lord Stafford the truth. I’ll tell him that I’m in love with another man, that I’ve lain with somebody else.”
“Frankly, I don’t believe that would deter him. Anyone can see that he’s bedeviled by you.”
Terror stabbed through Elizabeth. She had long suspected that Walter’s dogged pursuit of her was fueled by her constant refusals and obvious disdain. If she had only played the flutter-fanned coquette, the empty-headed damsel, if she had only portrayed one of her book heroines, his interest might have dried up years ago. Walter wasn’t bedeviled. He was possessed.
“You’ll do as I say, you pigwidgeon,” Dorothea continued. “I’ll not sacrifice my future for your whims, nor your romantic fancies. I’ll not allow you to indulge yourself as you please, and neither will your father. We leave for London on the morrow.”
Elizabeth felt all the color drain from her face. A pigwidgeon was a simpleton. Dorothea could not have uttered a more demeaning epithet. Elizabeth had striven her whole life to avoid such an appellation, and she had succeeded brilliantly. “You bitch!” she cried. “I won’t bed Walter, I won’t marry him, and I won’t travel to London with him. And should I tell him the truth, he’d spurn me forever.”
“What truth is that?”
Goaded beyond endurance, beyond caution, Elizabeth blurted, “My lover is a highwayman. The highwayman!”
Lilith gasped. Dorothea stiffened.
I’ve bested you now, Elizabeth thought triumphantly. You and Father will disown me, but I’ll be rid of Walter Stafford forever. More importantly, I’ll be free to leave with Rand.
Silence charged the room. From the kitchen came the first sounds of the servants. Dorothea bent her head and tapped her teeth with her forefinger, a signal that she was calculating events and molding them to her favor.
Uneasy, Elizabeth edged backward until her buttocks pressed against the door. Her father, always the military expert, would have said she had made a tactical blunder.
Dorothea finally smiled her cat-smile. “Leave it to you to conjoin with a thief and a murderer—”
“He has murdered no one!”
“—though I do thank you for the information. Ultimately, it will make my task so much easier.” She motioned toward the corner washstand. “Make yourself presentable. We’re to meet with Lord Stafford after breakfast.”
“I will not marry him,” Elizabeth insisted. “I shall tell him so, and you cannot stop me.”
“I can stop you.” Dorothea opened the door. “I suggest it would be mutually beneficial for all concerned if you refrain from mentioning anything about a lover. Such an admission will lead to questions regarding his identity. Lord Stafford may not be many things, but he is a dedicated justice of the peace. If he knew you had rutted with the highwayman, he would only intensify his efforts at bringing the scoundrel to justice. Such an admission, far from solving your problems, would seal your lover’s death warrant. Make no mistake about that!”
“Lord Stafford’s a bumbler. We have nothing to fear from him.”
“I believe Zak Turnbull challenged Lord Stafford’s competence. True?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, albeit reluctantly. A fist knotted in her stomach.
“Would it not be easier to go to London with Stafford?” Dorothea’s cat-smile never wavered. “Your compliance would remove his presence from the Dales and your highwayman could slink away to freedom. Unless you do as I say, your lover is headed straight for the gallows.”
The fist grew and widened, drawing Elizabeth’s breath from her lungs.
Dorothea’s smile widened as well. “Wash your face and bathe your lover’s scent from your body. Lilith, don’t let her out of your sight!”
***
Eyes downcast, Elizabeth entered the parlor and groped for a chair. Clasping its upholstered sides, she sank down onto its padded cushion and stared at the red, blue, and green rug. With one foot, she inched the tasseled edges apart.
When she finally raised her lashes, she saw Walter and her parents grouped at the opposite end of the mahogany-paneled room, near the tiled fireplace. A sheaf of papers rested upon a writing desk, while a silver service perched atop a table draped with white linen. The pleasant aroma of coffee permeated the room.
“Did you sleep well, Bess?”
Her father’s tone accused her of heinous offenses against God and nature. Dorothea had told him about the highwayman.
“I asked you a question, Bess.”
“I slept very well, Father,” she fibbed.
“Well, I didn’t. I spent the night freezing my arse off, chasing some bastard across the moors. Some bastard who—”
“Hush, dear.” Dorothea cast him a warning look. “We can discuss that later. For now, we have other matters to address.” She removed a silver cup from the tray and nodded sharply at Elizabeth. “Coffee, daughter?”
I’m not your daughter! “Yes, please.”
&n
bsp; Elizabeth gazed over her stepmother’s head, toward a painting of Lake Windermere. The passivity of the painting only increased her anxiety. Accepting the coffee cup, she curved her hands around its warmth. Even after a hot, almost scalding wash, her extremities still felt chilled.
“The papers have been drawn up,” Dorothea said.
Elizabeth squeezed the silver cup until her fingers burned. “And what exactly is in those papers?”
“It is a standard agreement.” Walter’s gaze shifted back and forth between Elizabeth and her parents. His nose twitched as if he could smell the tension, thick as pea soup. Or perhaps he had simply shoved a few pinches of snuff up his nostrils.
Dorothea casually rearranged the spoons on the tray, but her gaze remained fixed on Elizabeth, willing her to obey. Father also glared at her. Walter extended a quill pen.
Rising from the chair, Elizabeth placed her cup on the hearth, then accepted the quill. Her movements were slow and deliberate, along with her thoughts. It made no difference what she signed because she had no intention of going through with the marriage. Rand had said he would come for her tonight. He had employed logic this time, but she understood his motive. He had left her at cock’s crow, and daylight was one of their enemies. Tonight, cloaked by darkness, familiar with the terrain, they would avoid the patrols. On the morrow, when Stafford arrived, she would be gone. She could sign her name in blood for all it mattered.
“What are you waiting for?” Lawrence’s voice had gained several decibels. “Sign the damn papers!”
“Do you not you think I should read them first?” Elizabeth asked sweetly.
“No wonder women aren’t allowed to be soldiers. They can’t follow orders.”
She tried to meet his gaze defiantly, but knew that her expression revealed a yearning for the past, for the papa who had cuddled and protected her. “You plan to accompany us when we travel to London, do you not?”
He shook his head. “I’ll remain here. Lord Stafford has endowed me with certain responsibilities and I must prove myself worthy of his trust.”
Rand, thought Elizabeth. Father didn’t want the highwayman captured. Father wanted him dead. That way he would never reveal her “promiscuity.”
She settled her face into a serene expression, but her mind raced.
Father was a gambler. He would always gamble. Settling her father’s debts would merely lead to more erratic wagers, more devastating losses. Elizabeth felt an habitual twinge of remorse. However, she no longer wanted, nor needed, her inheritance.
Rand was her legacy now.
***
Storm clouds had gathered, hiding the stars. Elizabeth wished they would hide the moon. Wending her way toward the stables, she prayed for rain. The steady patter of raindrops might disguise the sound of hooves while a deluge would surely cover any footprints or horse tracks.
The whole day had been interminable. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and the hands on the clock seemed to inch backwards. Elizabeth had packed her traveling bag, asking Lilith’s opinion on this gown and that one, thanking her profusely when she insisted Elizabeth keep the sapphire bracelet from last night.
Meals—without Walter’s presence, thank goodness—were welcome respites, although Elizabeth couldn’t swallow one morsel. Instead, she chatted about her forthcoming marriage. “I’ll continue my writing, what Lord Stafford calls my scribbling, in between children.”
Smiling sweetly at her stepmother, Elizabeth continued. “After I confront Mr. Beresford and demand my money, I’ll ask him if a torture device surrounded by snakes is too profuse. A multitude of snakes. A chamber floor carpeted with snakes. I can hear them hissing. I can see them slithering inside the iron maiden through its… eyes? Nose? Mouth? What do you think, Dorothea? God’s teeth, you’re so pale. Do you feel faint?”
“My sister can’t abide snakes,” Lilith had reprimanded, but Elizabeth could see that her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Lawrence, help your wife to her room and give her an opiate. Elizabeth, let us retire as well. I am exhausted by last night’s events.”
Exhaustion was an understatement, Elizabeth now thought, placing her feet carefully on the path that led to the stables. Before they had finished even one game of backgammon, Lilith had fallen asleep, her snores punctuating the clock’s rhythmic ticks.
It gave Elizabeth the perfect opportunity to saddle and bridle Rhiannon. Better yet, she would nonchalantly ask one of the stable hands to help her. Then she would pretend distress, explain that she had forgotten something in her room or that she was momentarily indisposed. When Rand rapped on her shutters, Rhiannon would already be saddled and—
“Damn it to hell! I can’t help it if the bloody horses get upset, Tim. We’re talking about catching a criminal here.”
Elizabeth jerked away from the open stable door.
“But with so many men crawling about, Master Wyndham, ’twill make the beasts all worked up.”
“’Tis just for tonight, Tim. As soon as the highwayman sets foot at the inn, it’ll be as good as slipping a noose ’round his neck.”
Outmaneuvered again, Elizabeth thought, hurrying back across the courtyard. Why oh why had she mentioned Rand? She should have sewed her mouth shut. Dorothea had surmised that the highwayman would return tonight. She had discussed it with Father and he was laying a trap. Lord Stafford had not been informed, of course. He might ask too many questions. For example, he might ask Dorothea where and when she had obtained the pertinent information.
I must warn Rand. But how?
Startled by a flurry of activity, Elizabeth halted. Her mind was still dazed by the scene she had witnessed inside the stable, but she could see that servants carried Lilith’s trunk toward a waiting coach.
Lilith followed. Spying Elizabeth, she said, “I think it best I leave tonight. I trusted your compliance, but as soon as I shut my eyes you fled from the room, free as a bird.”
“Please, Aunt Lilith, don’t leave. Your abrupt departure would alert Father and…” Elizabeth swallowed the rest of her plea when she realized that her father had already been alerted.
“Everything has turned into such a bloody horror.” Lilith dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m sorry I told Dorothea about your liaison. At the time I thought it best, but frankly I’m no longer sure.”
“Then you must help me. John means to come for me tonight, and Father is laying a trap.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The highwayman. His name is John. Tonight, when John arrives, he’ll be captured, probably killed on the spot. You must head for York, then double back and wait for John at the crossroads. Call him by name and tell him Bonny Bess insisted you intercede. Dorothea said you saw him from the window and at Turnbull’s execution, so you know what he looks like. Please, Aunt Lilith, you must warn John to stay away, that the inn will be swarming with lawmen.”
“You don’t realize what you’re asking of me, Elizabeth. Your John is a thief, a murderer.”
“He has murdered no one.”
“He’s a criminal!”
“Tell John that Lord Stafford and Dorothea are taking me to London on the morrow. Tell him I have no choice. If I refuse, I shall undoubtedly be forced to travel against my will. Tell him I’ll give Lord Stafford the slip and meet him as soon as I can. Tell him to wait for me at the peel tower.”
Lilith balled her handkerchief between her palms. “I must not get involved in this.”
“If you don’t warn him, he’ll think I betrayed him…” She almost said again. “If you don’t warn him, they’ll kill him. And without him, I might as well be dead.”
“I dreamed about the Harvest Ball, Elizabeth. When I awoke, I was weeping. It was a premonition. If you ride off with your highwayman, something terrible will happen. And if I help, I’ll be setting in motion tragic events.”
&n
bsp; “Would you rather be a party to John’s murder?”
“I would rather be left out of this completely!”
“It seems such a little thing, to warn John. Furthermore, if you had not betrayed us, your intervention would not be necessary. Please, Aunt Lilith, please. I’m begging you.”
“All right. I’ll think about it. But I cannot promise.”
***
Elizabeth waited by her window. She watched the moon rise higher and higher. She watched the shadows of her father’s men as they raced across the inn yard, or crouched behind the wagons and carriages.
The moon climbed to its zenith. No hoofbeats disturbed the silence. No rider appeared along the highway. The moon edged westward.
“Thank you, Aunt Lilith,” Elizabeth whispered.
Near sunrise, she crawled into bed. By cock’s crow, she had formulated a workable plan.
Seventeen
Elizabeth clasped her hands around the pouch she had hidden inside her muff and settled her boot-clad feet against the warmed bricks on the floor. Walter’s coach was making good time, nearly ten miles an hour, but its rocking motion threatened to put her to sleep. So did last night’s vigil. With an effort, she straightened her back against the rolled damask cushion. I must stay awake. I must go over my plan once again and make certain I’ve left no stone uncovered.
Stones still covered a coin purse filled with a ring, watch, and guineas. It was one of the reasons she wanted to meet Rand at the peel tower. She could hear his laughter when she handed him the purse, her dowry, stolen from her fiancé. She might have a vivid imagination, Elizabeth mused, but she could never devise such a subtle plot twist for one of her own novels. Admittedly, she still felt an occasional pang of guilt at her unintentional participation, but then she’d recall Walter’s comment about paying triple to bed her. He had been mortified at the theft of his clothes, not the loss of a “paltry” two hundred pounds.
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