Benedict snorted. “Well, that had nothing to do with Maggie and Frank. I can’t abide my father and never have.”
Lizzie shot him an exasperated look. “I know you and Jack are worried about your brother, so I don’t why you’re pretending otherwise.” When he said nothing, Lizzie persisted. “When we first arrived here, you seemed very put out that Maggie was not around anymore.”
He swung her around to face him. “What do you mean, I was put out?”
Lizzie looked at him with surprise. “Well, just that. Jack said she was worn ragged, and you said that Frank ought to have looked after her better. And you always seemed to resent Daphne being around.”
“What Frank gets up to is his affair, not mine,” Benedict pointed out, pulling out a chair at a side table. “I felt sorry for Maggie, true enough, but she needs to grow her own backbone, you can’t take that role on for her.”
Lizzie was a little taken aback. She dropped into her seat. “Well, no but – ”
“And I’ll not have her running to you constantly expecting you to dry her eyes and take up the cudgels for her.”
“What makes you think she’ll do that?”
“Because that’s what she was always doing before with her little friend. The plain-faced one who used to work for Connie.”
“Because I’m the plain-faced one who works for Connie now, you mean?” Lizzie answered before she’d had chance to bite the words back.
“What did you say?” Benedict looked incensed.
“Oh, nothing,” Lizzie tried to fob him off. She had been rattled and spoken the words in haste.
Mercifully at that moment, someone came over to take their order. As soon as they’d gone, Benedict leaned in closer.
“Repeat to me what you just said,” he seethed.
“I suppose you mean Aggie, the human skull,” Lizzie replied, avoiding the eyes boring into her own.
He shook her arm. “Tell me!” he repeated.
“I don’t want to!” Lizzie burst out hotly. “It’s just that no one saw fit to mention how beautiful Maggie is, that’s all!”
“So, what if she’s beautiful!” Benedict thundered back. “I’ve never looked twice at her in that light, and if she’s going to cause trouble between us, then I’d just as soon she hadn’t shown back up at all!”
“Cause trouble between us?” Lizzie echoed mystified. “How would she do that?”
“She already seems to have!”
Lizzie looked away as the server appeared and fiddled with her wedding ring as the pitcher of beer was sat down and the glasses.
Benedict poured the beer out and scowled at her. He lifted his glass before setting it back down again untouched. “I don’t think of you as plain,” he said abruptly. “You should know that by now.”
Lizzie colored hotly. “I don’t know why I said that,” she mumbled. “Can you please just forget I said it?” He took a sip of beer and Lizzie tried again. “Maggie has not caused any trouble between us, Benedict,” she said reaching for his hand. “And you’ve never said anything to make me feel insecure. Please don’t be cross.”
He was still a moment and then turned his hand to tighten his fingers about her own. “I want you to let this business between Maggie and Frank play out now without interference, Lizzie. You’ve done your part in writing that letter. We need to iron out our own grievances.”
Lizzie stared and he lifted an eyebrow. “We do?” she asked uncomfortably.
“If we didn’t, you would not have just made that comment,” he said grimly.
Lizzie raised her glass with a hand that was not entirely steady. “Very well,” she said, though when he looked at her a little impatiently, she lowered it again. “Now?” she asked, casting a glance around the busy beer tent.
“It might be easier than in that box on top of one another,” he shrugged, looking away.
Lizzie drew her hand out of his and straightened her shoulders. “My uncle said when you offered for Betsy you promised to set her up in her own home. All this time I thought you must have exaggerated your prospects. Now I find – ” She glanced down at her hands. “That is not the case.”
She paused a moment, mustering her courage to voice the next part. “I suppose at my lowest ebb it occurs to me that maybe you meant to use me on the road for twelvemonths and then trade me in for a better prospect when you settle down to your prosperity. My uncle mentioned the word revenge in connection with our union.”
She heard his swiftly indrawn breath. “Is that it?” Benedict asked harshly. “I want you to get it all off your chest once and for all.”
Lizzie looked up meeting his cool hazel eyes. She felt her own color must have drained away leaving her very pale and plain. She bunched her hands together, hard. “I know you did not admire my looks or personality at Sitwell Place, Benedict. And let us be frank, I thought you were a dreadful man, but we married anyway,” she concluded painfully. “Due to circumstance.”
“Circumstance?” he echoed. “Is that what you think?” He gave a bitter laugh. “I brought about my own change of circumstances, Lizzie. And let me tell you plainly, your own prospects changed the minute I saw you face down that table full of smug hypocrites. That changed everything for me.”
“What do you mean?” Lizzie croaked.
At that moment, there was a commotion in the crowd next to their table and Jack came bursting through it.
“Benedict, thank God!”
Benedict’s mouth tightened. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know right now!”
“Trust me,” Jack panted. “You’ll want to know about this!” Benedict opened his mouth to deny it, but did not get that far. “It’s Nat!” Jack blurted. “Nat Jones! He’s here with a bunch of his fancy backers. They’ve come to watch you fight. Ben,” his brother’s voice shook, “this could be it. If you impress them now, this could be a real shot for you at the big time.”
Benedict went very still, and Lizzie reached across to touch his sleeve. His eyes shot to meet hers.
“Go,” she said simply. “We can finish this later.”
He started to shake his head. “No, Lizzie, we haven’t cleared the air.”
“Benedict,” she urged. “It’s fine. We can pick this up later. This sounds important.”
“So is this!”
Seeing his frustration, she squeezed his arm. “We’ve got the rest of our lives for matrimonial strife,” she joked weakly. “I’m not going anywhere, and we can take a walk later and finish this … conversation.”
He swore, low and profane. “I shouldn’t have raised all this between us right now,” he said, raising her hand and pressing it to his lips. He closed his eyes fleetingly. “The timing couldn’t be worse.”
“No, this is a good thing,” Lizzie insisted. “I will spend the time arranging my thoughts so I’m coherent later. I was ill prepared for this conversation.” She hesitated. “You made some very good points,” she said softly. “And you’re right, we need to have this out properly.”
“Ben!” Jack burst out in an agony of anticipation. “They’re waiting at the tent!”
“Lizzie – ”
“Just go, Benedict,” she managed a smile. “I have Sebastian to escort me back, and we’ll sort finish this later. I promise.”
She watched him being swallowed up into the crowd as he sent one last backward glance her way. She glanced down at Sebastian. “Come on, boy.”
Sorely tempted as she was to find out what was happening between Maggie and Frank, Lizzie turned her steps toward the exit intending to head for the wagon, when she heard her name called. The voice that called it almost made her miss her footing. She halted and turned slowly about.
No, she had not been mistaken about those sweet, high tones.
It was her cousin, Betsy.
27
It took a moment for Lizzie to register that Betsy was not alone but accompanied by two others. As Lizzie stood frozen immobile, Betsy gave a smile and stepped forward, looking ex
tremely neat in a fur trimmed cloak and bonnet of sage green. “Cousin,” she said and extended a dainty gloved hand. Lizzie stared a moment at the yellow kid glove and then met Betsy’s gaze.
“What do you want, Betsy?” she asked aloud.
A soft gasp behind them drew both their attention, and Lizzie noticed with surprise that Aunt Hester was stood nearby looking agitated with a handkerchief held to her mouth.
“Aunt,” Lizzie blurted. “What are you doing here?” It seemed incongruous in the extreme to see her respectable aunt stood surrounded by gaily colored striped tents. Aunt Hester’s tastes in life had always been so puritan.
Lizzie’s gaze traveled on to the third person who stood supporting her aunt. It was not her uncle, but a much younger man dressed in a gray tweed suit. She vaguely recognized him as Mrs. Lessing‘s nephew, though she could not recall his name just now.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, the young man said with a polite bow, “Perhaps you do not remember me, Miss Anderson, but we were introduced at a garden party last summer. I am Mrs. Lessing’s nephew, Frederick Mountford. Perhaps you remember me?”
“Of course,” Lizzie answered automatically, though in truth, her memory of him was dim. All she really remembered was Betsy saying what a shame it was that so handsome a young man should have to dance attendance on his disagreeable old aunt in the hopes of inheriting.
Now it seemed Betsy did not mind so much, if the warm eye she was casting over him was any indication. “You must not address my cousin as such, Mr. Mountford,” she said gently. “For she is a married lady now, is that not so, Lizzie? And as such, her name is Mrs. Toomes.”
“Your pardon, Mrs. Toomes,” Frederick Mountford said with a charming smile and Lizzie nodded. When the awkward silence stretched, he cleared his throat. “I hope you would not think it impertinent for me to suggest we all repair somewhere we can have some quiet conversation?”
“Oh yes!” Betsy cried at once, sounding relieved. “That sounds the very thing, does it not, Mother?”
Hester Anderson did not reply, for her eyes were still fixed on Lizzie in mute appeal, though she seemed wholly incapable of speech.
Lizzie sighed. “I do not mean to appear rude,” she began. “But – ”
“Please, Lizzie!” Betsy burst forth, clasping her hands before her. “We – we must speak with you of this matter! I beg of you!”
Sebastian barked, not appreciating the suddenly tense atmosphere. Lizzie looked from Betsy, to her distraught aunt, to Frederick Mountford who had a concerned pucker between his brows. “Oh, very well,” she conceded, reaching down to grasp Sebastian’s collar. “I can give you half an hour of my time, I suppose.”
Lizzie turned about and led them in the direction of a tea tent, noticing for the first time the dried mud splatter at the hem of her cloak. That must have been from her jaunt to the shops yesterday. She would need to take a brush to that, she thought wryly, considering the contrast between her smart cousin and herself.
Reaching up, she straightened her bonnet and considered the fact she was likely not looking her best. The bruising around her eye was now a jaundiced shade of yellow, and her gray gown had been on the shabby side before it had left Sitwell Place.
By the time the four of them were seated about a table, Lizzie was feeling decidedly at a disadvantage. She listened to Betsy give an order for tea and muffins all round and stroked Sebastian’s neck when he sat alert and watchful. They sat mostly in silence until their order was brought to the table, and then Betsy broke the silence by pouring and handing around the tea with determined cheerfulness. “This one is for you, Mother, this for Mr. Mountford, and here is yours, Lizzie.”
Lizzie took hers with a murmur of thanks but refused the muffin. The plate stood untouched as Betsy let out a deep sigh. “The truth of the matter is, Lizzie, that we stand to lose everything. Father won’t come to ask for your aid, for he says he is too ashamed.” Betsy bit her lip. “He hasn’t really been the same since he came to visit with you earlier in the week,” she said in the manner of one making a confession.
“On that occasion, on his return, he shut himself up in his study and would not come out for three hours. I will admit, I quite feared you’d been dragged out of a river or something of that nature,” Betsy admitted. “For when he came home, he was pale as milk and trembling all over. ‘Father, said I, what ails you?’ ‘Not now, my child, not now’ was all the response he would make me.
“Then, when finally he did emerge, what do you think? Not a bite of supper would he take but insisted that Mother and I come into the parlor and pray for forgiveness for the wrong we’d done you.” Betsy bit her lip. “At the time, I don’t mind telling you, Lizzie, we thought you’d met with some terrible end. I won’t lie to you, Lizzie, Mother and I tried to resist and say we were not to blame and then – ” Betsy paused, licking her dry lips. “Then Father told us that if we would not pray for forgiveness for our role in casting you out among wolves, then we should pray for our own salvation, for our pride was surely putting it in grave peril. Then he said he was going out at once to speak to his fellow elders about how things stood with the church financially.
“He said, and I will never forget his face, Lizzie, ‘If Reverend Milson is a crook, then we are ruined, my dears, quite ruined. For I have made all our investments over to him as have a good many of our community.’ Then he turned and went out of the door, and Mother and I ran to watch him walk down the street. And I tell you, Lizzie, he looked a broken man.”
Aunt Hester gave a moan and covered her face with her hands. Lizzie glanced at her in alarm. “Surely things were not as dire as he supposed?” she faltered.
“No,” Betsy said gravely. “For they were a good deal worse. Reverend Milson has embezzled all of the church funds, Lizzie, and dipped into a good many charitable pots. Worse than that, Father found that almost all of the church elders had been persuaded to invest in the reverend’s private accumulation schemes as Father had. Mr. Hedgcomb, Mr. Scott, Mr. Fitzallen, all of them.
“They, too, had seen no return in a twelvemonth but had not raised the alarm due to the fact they had such implicit trust in him. Other prominent members of the congregation have also been taken in.” She hesitated. “The richer of the widows – ” She broke off at an involuntary gesture Mr. Mountford made.
The breath caught in Lizzie’s throat. That Reverend Milson could have been stealing on such a large scale was truly horrifying. “I can scarcely believe such a thing is possible,” she muttered.
Aunt Hester dropped her hands from her face. “Who could believe that such wickedness exists in the world,” she said hollowly. “When it wears the guise of honesty.”
“His mask did slip before though, Lizzie. To you,” Betsy pointed out. “You saw beneath the façade, and none of us would believe you.”
“There are none so blind as those who will not see,” intoned Aunt Hester.
“Yes,” Lizzie agreed sadly. “But if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I daresay that I, too, would have been hard to convince.”
“You are generous, Lizzie,” Betsy said. “More generous than we. Now I, too, know how Papa felt when he saw you previously.” She smiled sadly and reached across to clasp her mother’s hand. “May we earnestly beg your forgiveness, cousin?”
Lizzie swallowed and nodded. “You have it,” she said. “Is that the extent of your errand today?” she frowned. “To ask my forgiveness?” Their urgency had seemed a good deal more pointed than that.
For the first time, Betsy’s gaze faltered. “Alas,” she answered with a small laugh. “I wish that were true, but …” She glanced at Frederick Mountford, and he gave her an encouraging look. “In truth, that was only the first of the boons we wished to beg from you. You see, Mrs. Lessing’s legal man is currently compiling the church’s evidence against Reverend Milson. We have eyes watching him, and it is believed that at any moment he may try to flee the country on a passage steamer bound for the Americas. Time is of
the absolute essence in our case.”
“Yes?” Lizzie still could not see where her cousin’s narrative was taking them.
“It occurred to us that the only case we could currently bring against him successfully is the charge of attempted theft regarding Mrs. Lessing’s diamond brooch. If he were clapped in jail awaiting trial for those charges, that would give our legal people time to prove the additional frauds and embezzlement.” Betsy twisted her clasped hands in her lap.
Enlightenment dawned. “Oh,” said Lizzie, her brow clearing. “I see, and I am your only material witness.”
“Several members of the dinner party that night will attest to its being discovered in Reverend Milson’s pocket, but you were the only one who actually saw him actually steal it.”
“That is true,” Lizzie agreed slowly. “But will the police not think it odd that we waited a whole month before bringing it to the attention of the authorities?”
“Doubtless they will,” Betsy agreed. “But we mean to be fully frank and open.” She hesitated. “Once it is explained that my parents threw you out – ” Aunt Hester moaned aloud again and shut her eyes. “Then I do not think they will wonder that you were not in a position to report the theft and give Queen’s evidence until now.”
Lizzie nodded, though her expression was troubled. “Can I not simply give you a statement?” she asked. “It is not entirely convenient for me to make my way to a police station at present.”
Betsy darted another quick look at Mr. Mountford. He shook his head.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Anderson,” he said looking at Lizzie. “But I am afraid we would need you to proceed with us at once if the miscreant is to be apprehended.”
Lizzie opened her mouth, but Betsy forestalled her.
“My cousin is not Miss Anderson anymore, Frederick,” she reminded him briskly. Lizzie glanced quickly at Betsy’s face, but her bright gaze was fixated on Frederick Mountford.
“I apologize, Mrs. Toomes.”
Lizzie nodded absently, wondering if his aunt was due to lose considerably more than a brooch this time if Reverend Milson was not prevented from fleeing the country. Mr. Mountford certainly seemed very invested in the outcome.
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 34
