The Homeless Heiress

by Anne Herries

  ‘He forgives you,’ Georgie said as he fell back against the pillows with a sigh. She wasn’t sure if he could hear her in his fever, but she stroked her fingers down his cheek, soothing him. Touching him made her feel a little strange, because she felt he needed her and she longed to help him. He was in such torment and his pain tugged at her heartstrings, bringing tears to her eyes. ‘He knows you wanted to save him…it isn’t your fault if he dies…’

  His hand shot out, gripping her wrist, his eyes staring at her, but seeing something beyond her. ‘I knew,’ he muttered. ‘I knew what they did to him! I should have stopped them. It wasn’t his fault…he was gentle…so gentle…they killed him…’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Georgie told him, her fingers caressing his cheek once more. ‘Rest now. Justin is safe…’

  ‘No, he died…’ Tears were trickling down his cheeks now. ‘He died because I wasn’t there to help…’

  ‘But you wanted to,’ Georgie comforted, her heart wrenched by his obvious distress. ‘You would have if you could…’

  ‘Failed him…’ His eyes had closed now, but she thought he seemed a little easier. She stroked his hair and his face, using the cool cloth to wipe away the sweat from his forehead and the tears from his cheeks. His outburst had been a revelation, for who would have guessed that he could be so moved? He seemed such a stern man, giving no sign of any deep emotions, but clearly he felt them. He had inadvertently revealed another side of his character, one that she might not have known was there if he hadn’t been struck down like this, and it had reached out to something inside her, arousing tender feelings she had not known she had. Georgie wondered who Justin was and what had happened to him—and why did Captain Hernshaw feel so very responsible?

  It wasn’t her business, she decided as she sat back in the chair Henderson had drawn close to the bed. At least he was resting for the moment. He was still hot, but the mutterings had stopped and he appeared to be more comfortable.

  She sat watching him, studying the curves and angles of his features. He wasn’t a handsome man by the standards of the day. His features were much too harsh, his nose straight and patrician. His mouth looked softer when he was sleeping, not hard or angry as it did when he was annoyed, and his lashes were thick and dark. She could not see his eyes at that moment, but she knew they were grey—eyes that could be cold or sparkle with amusement. He intrigued her. What kind of a man would bring a thief he had met on the streets to his home? What kind of man was tortured by something in his past? Had he done something dreadful? Was that why he begged forgiveness in his fever?

  She would probably never know, Georgie realised. She had hoped to persuade him to help her reach her great-aunt’s, but he was unlikely to be able to leave his bed for some weeks. Could she stay here all that time—ought she even if he allowed it?

  She was torn by uncertainty as she sat watching him. One part of her told her that she should leave as soon as she could, because it would be foolish to become more involved with him. Perhaps one of his servants would lend her enough money to take the coach to Yorkshire…and yet she could not desert this man while he lay ill. Against her will, she felt drawn to him in a way she could not explain. Besides, Henderson would need help until his master was over the worst. And, Georgie admitted, she wanted to help take care of him, to see him strong and well again, to touch him and… She shut out the foolish thoughts. She wouldn’t run away while he needed her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to have foolish thoughts either!

  Henderson returned exactly two hours after he had left. Georgie wondered if he had slept at all, but when she asked if he had, he merely said he was rested.

  ‘I got used to not having much sleep when we were fighting on the Peninsula,’ he told her. ‘I don’t need a lot. Mrs Jensen said you were to go down when you are ready, Georgie. She will give you breakfast in the small parlour.’

  ‘Oh…thank you,’ Georgie said, becoming aware that she was beginning to feel hungry. ‘Yes, I shall. Do you want me to help with his medicine first?’

  ‘I can manage him,’ Henderson said. ‘He is easy enough when he’s like this; it’s when he begins to feel more like himself that he gets restless. He doesn’t make a good patient.’

  ‘You have nursed him before?’

  ‘He wouldn’t thank me for telling you, but, yes, he has been wounded badly a couple of times.’

  ‘He was lucky to have you.’

  ‘I’m the lucky one,’ Henderson said. ‘When I was caught by a blast from a cannon, it cut my face to ribbons, and I had a stomach wound that should have been fatal. They thought I was finished, but he wouldn’t leave me. He carried me back to base over his horse and he forced the surgeon to sew me back together, and then he sat with me until he knew I would live. He paid for someone to nurse me until I was on my feet again. A good many would have left me to die—and when they told me I was no more good for the army, he told me I had a place with him for life.’

  Georgie looked at him intently. ‘You love him, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure whether it’s brotherly love or gratitude,’ Henderson said with a grimace, ‘but I know I would die in his place if it came to it.’

  ‘I call that love,’ Georgie said and smiled. ‘I’ll come back later. We’ll look after him together.’

  ‘Yes, miss, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘It is,’ she said, ‘and you can call me Georgie.’

  Henderson shot her a curious look, but didn’t answer. She was discovering that he was a man who spoke only when he thought it necessary, and she felt pleased that he had told her his story. It must mean that he liked her and trusted her. She felt that she had made a friend, someone who might help her if she were in need.

  She went downstairs to the small parlour and discovered that Mrs Jensen had set out a table for her. There was a dish of scrambled eggs with ham and some good fresh bread. It smelled wonderful and she ate most of what had been left for her, gathering the dishes afterwards just as Jensen entered.

  ‘There’s no need for you to do that,’ he said, his expression doubtful and a little sad as he looked at her. Georgie suspected that he thought her no better than she should be. Perhaps he believed she was masquerading as a boy so as to carry on an illicit affair with his master. ‘Mrs Jensen and I are used to taking care of things in this house.’

  ‘Have you been here a long time?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘Forty-odd years,’ he replied. ‘I served the old master until he died. I thought I would leave when that happened, but I’ve stayed on to take care of things for the captain.’

  ‘I am sure he is grateful,’ Georgie said. She sensed that he was not as willing to be as friendly as his wife, and that he didn’t quite trust her. ‘But you should tell him if you wish to leave.’

  ‘Don’t you go saying a word to him!’

  ‘No, I shan’t, but if you would like to retire you should consider telling him yourself.’

  ‘When he has time to settle down…’ Jensen shook his head. ‘That’s if he recovers from what happened last night…terrible to think such a thing could happen so close to home.’

  ‘It may be as well it did,’ Georgie said. ‘Had he not been able to get home, he might have bled to death in the street.’

  Jensen looked grey in the face. ‘Nothing like that ever happened when the old master was alive. I can’t think what things are coming to…’

  He looked suddenly old and his hand trembled as he gathered the dishes. Georgie felt sorry for him, because he was so obviously upset.

  ‘I am sure Captain Hernshaw will recover now,’ she said. ‘Mr Henderson was very quick and clever last night. He saved the captain’s life.’

  ‘You helped him,’ the old man said and shook his head sadly. ‘Mrs Jensen told me she couldn’t have done it. I’m not sure why he brought you here, but it may be a good thing.’ He sounded and looked doubtful even as he said the words.

  ‘I was in trouble,’ Georgie said. ‘Captain Hende
rson helped me—but I would have done it for anyone. I am not frightened by a little blood.’

  ‘It was a lot of blood,’ the old man said, giving her a reproachful look. ‘We’ve never had young ladies in this house…and certainly not dressed as you are.’

  ‘I am sorry if you disapprove, but I am in hiding, you see. If a certain person discovered where I am, he might…kill me.’ She had decided to stick to this part of her story, because she couldn’t be sure of the reaction she would get if she told the truth.

  ‘Such goings-on! The old master would turn in his grave if he knew…’ Jensen grumbled to himself as he picked the tray up and went out of the room.

  Georgie sighed. She would have felt better if she had been allowed to help, but it was obvious that Jensen would not allow that. His wife would probably resent it if Georgie offered to help in the kitchen. There was nothing for it but to find a book to read, though she doubted she would find anything of interest in this room.

  She wandered over to the bookshelves, looking at the volumes of history and scientific volumes. They would send her to sleep in five minutes! She looked further along, almost giving up until she saw the book of poetry. It was new, bound in red leather, and very much out of place amongst all the others. Picking it out, she frowned as she opened it and a folded paper fell out. Georgie replaced it without opening it because it wasn’t hers to read. She took the book and curled up in a chair by the window, beginning to read, but after a while she saw that it had been marked in ink in the columns and some words had been underlined.

  What a terrible way to treat a new book! And it was by Lord Byron, something she had wanted to read for a long time! Who could have done such a thing?

  She frowned over it, trying to ignore the ink marks, but they annoyed her and she found herself fixing on them when she ought to have been reading the poetry. She was caught by the regularity of what seemed to be a pattern, and began to wonder if perhaps it was a code of some kind, though she couldn’t make much sense of it. She flicked through the book and found the folded paper someone had left inside, hesitating because it wasn’t hers and yet intrigued.

  Oh, what did it matter? It shouldn’t have been left there for anyone to find if it was important. She unfolded it and read through the few lines of explanation, a spiral of excitement curling through her as she realised that she was right. It was a code and with this she could break it easily. By studying the text in the poetry book and then comparing it to the instructions in the letter, Georgie soon realised that if you took out the letters that had been marked you could make new words and sentences.

  It was a message of some kind! She looked at what she had thought was just scribbling in the margins and realised that the numbers and letters referred to certain lines. Someone had already done a lot of the work and Georgie found it easy to work from that person’s notes. Counting along the lines, she found the words that had been underlined and suddenly the message began to jump out at her.

  It concerned a plot to kill members of the government and an important man, who, she thought, was meant to be the Regent! She sat holding the book for some minutes, staring at it in disbelief, thinking she must be mistaken. Surely she was wrong! If she had translated this correctly, the man she had tried to steal from the previous evening might be concerned in a wicked plot to bring down the English government and the throne!

  She couldn’t be right! She must have made a mistake…and yet the terrible attack on Captain Hernshaw that had happened close to his house might be directly connected with what she had just discovered. No! She would not believe he was capable of such infamy! Georgie got to her feet, placing the letter back where it belonged and closing the book with a snap. She returned it to its place on the shelf. She had made a mistake when deciphering the message…or perhaps Captain Hernshaw was concerned with this plot because he was trying to stop it happening…

  It had to be that, she decided, because she could not—would not—believe that the man who had treated her so well when he might have handed her over to the watch was a traitor to his country.

  Besides, she had no right to pry into his private affairs. Glancing at the clock, she saw that some hours had passed. It was time that she went up to give Henderson a chance to find himself something to eat.

  They took turns to watch him throughout the rest of the day and during the night, but there was little change, though once while Georgie was with him he seemed to be feverish. Once again she heard the name Justin, though what he was saying wasn’t clear this time. She smoothed his damp hair back from his forehead, talking to him softly, and after a while he quietened. She smiled down at him, thinking how much younger he looked when he was resting. She knew a strong temptation to kiss him and stroke his face, but fought it because it wouldn’t be right to take advantage when he was vulnerable. She sat down again to watch over him from a distance. When Henderson came back, he was sleeping peacefully.

  ‘He seems better,’ the manservant remarked. ‘I think he may be through the dangerous time, Georgie.’ He smiled at her. ‘Go to bed now. I can manage him from now on.’

  ‘I’ll come back so that you can have your breakfast,’ Georgie replied. ‘You told me that the trouble will start when he comes to his senses, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but…’He shook his head at her. ‘It isn’t fitting for a young lady to be in a gentleman’s bedchamber.’

  ‘Who will know?’ Georgie asked and grinned. ‘I shan’t tell if you don’t.’

  He tipped his head to one side, considering her. ‘Who are you, miss? I’d swear you were a lady if I didn’t know he found you on the streets.’

  ‘My name is Georgina, but I can’t tell you any more than that,’ she said. ‘I ran away from…where I was, because something terrible would have happened if I hadn’t.’

  Henderson gave her a look of disbelief. ‘Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?’

  ‘I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.’

  ‘The captain will want to know when he’s himself again.’

  Georgie looked at their patient. ‘I want to trust him, but I am afraid he might not believe me.’

  ‘If you tell him the truth, he will help you.’

  ‘Will he?’

  Henderson looked at her hard. ‘You will have to trust someone eventually—and he is the one who can help you.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I will try, honestly, I will—and could you please call me Georgie? I don’t want anyone outside this house to know I’m a girl.’

  ‘They’ve only to see your hair,’ Henderson told her. ‘I shan’t betray you, but you must be very careful.’

  Georgie agreed that she would and he went away to have his breakfast. She stood watching over their patient for a while; he seemed to be resting more easily. She bent to stroke his hair from his forehead, smiling at him as he murmured in his sleep, and then she leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. His eyelids flickered, which made her back away hastily. She wandered over to the window, where she discovered a rather battered-looking chess set on a little table near the window. She began to set out the pieces and had just finished placing them when Henderson returned. He smiled as he saw what she had done and came over to the table.

  ‘We played this many an evening during the campaign,’ he told her. ‘There wasn’t much else to do, miss.’

  ‘Shall we play a game?’ Georgie suggested. ‘I used to play with my father, but I haven’t played for ages. I’ll take white and you have black.’

  ‘Yes, if you wish,’ Henderson agreed and moved a piece for his opening gambit.

  Georgie moved a pawn to block him and battle was joined. She gave a chuckle of delight as he removed her first piece, for it was obvious that he was a worthy opponent and she need not fear to play her best game. Neither of them noticed when the man in the bed opened his eyes.

  Richard lay with his head resting against the pillows for some seconds before he became aware that he was not alone in the room. He was at first co
nscious only of the throbbing agony in his thigh. There was some soreness in his left shoulder, but it was his thigh that pained him the worst. He could not for a moment think where he was, his pain swirling him back to the battlefield and the agony he had endured from wounds gained there. The girl’s laughter penetrated the fog that held him, making him focus on the two figures near the window.

  It was a few moments before he realised that one of the two was Henderson and the other…was a rather odd-looking urchin dressed in clothes that were far too big for him. He inched his way up against the pillows and the sharp stab of pain cleared his thoughts. No street urchin, but the girl he had brought home the night he was attacked.

  Richard grimaced as he continued to watch them. Her laughter was infectious as she moved her chess pieces with lightning speed and gave a chortle of glee.

  ‘Check!’

  ‘I didn’t see that coming,’ Henderson told her ruefully.

  ‘I am sorry to interrupt your game, but could I have some water?’

  Richard’s words brought their heads round instantly. Somewhere beyond the pain and the need to relieve his thirst, he felt amusement at the guilt reflected in the girl’s face. She got up at once and went swiftly to pour water into a glass.

  ‘Come back to us, have you, sir?’ Henderson said, unperturbed. ‘I thought you were over the worst last night. You gave us all a fright, captain. What happened?’

  ‘I had been somewhere and it was on my way back…’ Richard frowned as he recalled the murderous attack. He had delivered his package to the man who waited for it and returned home. He had had no sense of being followed and the attack was silent and deadly, his assailant stabbing him in the leg viciously and then the shoulder. ‘Rather like you, Henderson, I didn’t see it coming.’

  ‘That’s unusual for you, sir. You hadn’t been drinking?’

  ‘Not sufficiently to lose my awareness. Whoever it was must have been a professional.’