The Homeless Heiress

by Anne Herries

  ‘It might be another reason why you were not allowed to visit the countess,’ Jenny remarked. ‘She would have been sure to ask why you did not have your mother’s jewels, for it is more usual for a daughter to be given those at once, you know.’

  ‘My aunt gave me the trinkets. I took them with me when I left home, a gold cross and chain, but they were lost when my things were stolen.’

  ‘She did not give you pearls or bracelets?’ Georgie shook her head. ‘It might have been considered right to hold back diamonds or emeralds, something of that kind, but you should have had your mother’s pearls before this—and I am sure she had some. Pearls are always the first things a young lady receives from her mother and father.’

  ‘If my uncle sold them, it is too bad of him,’ Georgie said. ‘I do not care for the diamonds so very much, for I should not have wanted to wear them until I was older—but I remember Mama’s pearls. They were beautiful and I believed they were waiting in the bank for me.’

  ‘They may be, of course,’ Jenny said and squeezed her arm comfortingly. ‘The countess had some fine pearls and I believe they may be yours very soon. I know it is not quite the same, but you will have a few pretty things to wear in Bath, dearest.’

  ‘Oh…’ Georgie stared at her. ‘Shall I really? I had not thought I would receive anything for ages.’

  ‘Well, the money may be tied up for a while, but Edward has the jewels. Mary recently gave them to him for safekeeping. I think she may have feared that her husband’s distant cousin might try to take them if she died.’

  ‘I see…’ Georgie could not quite suppress her feeling of anger and disappointment over her mother’s jewellery, which, she was now fairly sure, had somehow been kept from her and misused. But the news that she would have the countess’s jewels had done something to alleviate it. ‘Then…if I had not run away, Lord Maddison would have come to bring me the jewels one day.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you were bound to meet us one day,’ Jenny said, a look of satisfaction in her eyes. ‘I am sure everything will work out just as we might wish, my love.’ She squeezed Georgie about the waist. ‘We shall take one more turn about the rose garden and then it will be time for tea.’

  Georgie looked at the casket Edward Maddison had just placed in front of her, hardly daring to lift the lid. It was an imposing box fashioned of mahogany with a large silver lock; she inserted the key carefully and turned, lifting the lid to peep inside. An array of velvet jewellery boxes met her eyes, and, opening the first, circular-shaped box, she discovered a set of creamy pearls with a diamond clasp. There were also some ear-bobs and a bracelet of gold set with pearls.

  ‘Oh, they are magnificent,’ she gasped, lifting them out. ‘I never expected to own something like this! Thank you for giving them to me, sir.’

  ‘You will discover much more valuable things, though some are not suitable for a young girl. Countess Shrewsbury entrusted them to me for you, but you may wish to place some of them into a bank? Perhaps you should choose the ones you like best and put the others away for a time?’

  ‘Are all these things mine?’ Georgie asked, opening a ring box to look at a diamond five-stone ring. ‘I have never seen stones as fine as these. Even my mother did not have such a good ring as this…as far as I can recall.’

  ‘Well, I know the countess would have been pleased to hear you say that. She was proud of her jewellery, which is why she did not wish the contents of this box to fall into the wrong hands.’

  ‘May I keep the box tonight and then give you back what I think should be put away tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said and looked pleased. ‘You will want to take them up to your room and look through everything in private. You may safely leave them in the drawers of your tallboy, Miss Bridges. My servants are completely trustworthy, though I will take charge of them if you prefer?’

  ‘Perhaps later,’ she said. ‘I would just like to look at everything, but I do not need very much. The pearls are perfect, and perhaps one of the rings, but most of the rest can be put away until I marry.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ he agreed. ‘I dare say when you marry your husband will have several things reset for you in a more modern style. I believe much of it may be old-fashioned, but good quality. As you may know, the countess was a wealthy woman in her own right. Her late husband left her most of his money, though the house and land was entailed—but she was married twice and she kept her own fortune through the marriage contract. I was able to make some profitable investments for her—and you will have somewhere in the region of one hundred thousand pounds when the estate is settled.’

  Georgie gasped. She imagined her father’s estate could not amount to much more than five and thirty thousand pounds, but with the addition of the countess’s fortune she would indeed be extremely wealthy.

  ‘I had no idea, either that she was so wealthy—or that she intended to leave me so much,’ Georgie said, feeling her eyes prick with tears. ‘I am not sure that I deserve it, for I did not visit her.’

  ‘I believe at one time she intended to leave only a third to you,’ Lord Maddison told her. ‘She had a young relative who died suddenly, and she blamed his death on her husband’s cousin, who was also to have inherited a third. She changed her will at that time, leaving everything to you.’

  ‘Did her husband’s cousin come to the funeral?’

  ‘He was expected, but he did not show,’ Lord Maddison told her with a frown. ‘I have never met the man, but I understand he came down from the female line and his mother married a Frenchman.’

  ‘A Frenchman?’ Georgie’s flesh tingled. ‘Do you know his name, sir?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Monsieur Raoul Thierry…’ He frowned as he saw the colour drain from her face. ‘You know the name?’

  ‘Yes. He…he was the man who wanted to marry me, which was the reason I ran away from my uncle’s house.’

  ‘Good grief! You are sure?’ Lord Maddison was stunned. ‘Richard told me a part of the story, but he didn’t mention Thierry’s name. Your uncle tried to force you into marriage with this man against your will?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it was because of my father’s estate,’ Georgie said. ‘And I think my uncle may have sold him some of my mother’s jewels—but this bequest is a far more compelling reason for Monsieur Thierry to wish to marry me.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine you are right,’ Lord Maddison replied. ‘It would explain something else…the reason you were shot at on your way here, Georgie. If you had died first, Thierry would have inherited everything. The countess had no one else, you see, and her fortune would have gone to him by default.’

  Georgie shivered. She closed the lid of the large mahogany box, her pleasure in the contents dimmed as she realised that her life must have been in danger all this time without her realising it. How would Thierry feel once he knew that she had inherited the money?

  ‘Do you think my uncle knew? Is that why he refused to let me visit the countess?’

  ‘Who knows what the pair of them cooked up between them?’ Lord Maddison said. ‘I must speak to Richard about this matter, my dear. I had thought we merely needed to consult with lawyers, but I believe we must employ someone to make sure that you are safe from any attempt on your life during your stay in Bath.’

  ‘You won’t stop us going? Lady Maddison is so looking forward to it—and so am I.’

  Edward smiled at her and shook his head. ‘I am certain that Richard and I can come up with something to protect you and Jenny from these rogues. I had not thought it was this serious, but what you have told me with what I already know of Thierry tells me that he is a dangerous man, Georgie. However, we shall make sure that he does not harm you. I give you my word.’

  Georgie thanked him, leaving him to take her box up to her room. She frowned over what she had learned, for it had puzzled her why someone should want her dead. She had thought that no one but her uncle could gain from her death, which, in the case of her father’s estate, was correc
t—but the legacy from her great-aunt was an unknown factor in this mystery. Monsieur Thierry had tried to gain her by marriage, which would have brought him her fortune and her person. Knowing that she had run away rather than take him for her husband, was it possible that he had taken the chance to shoot at her? He had perhaps meant to shoot Richard, but, seeing her at the inn the previous night, had hesitated before firing and then chosen her. If so, he had missed his target by the narrowest of margins. How long would it be before he decided to try again?

  Raoul Thierry frowned over his wineglass. Damn the wench and the interfering devil she had run off with! Her precipitate behaviour had ruined his plans in more ways than one, and he blamed that fool Henry Mowbray. Somehow the girl had learned what was afoot and taken off before anyone could prevent her. But how had she ended up with Hernshaw? Was it possible that he knew of the connection?

  Thierry was furious at the way he seemed to be thwarted on all sides. He had lost the bride he had chosen, for her beauty as well as her fortune. He would have treated her kindly enough had she taken him, at least until she began to bore him, which she would in the end, he had no doubt. Women always bored him once he had broken them to his ways, and he did not think she would be any different, though she was certainly spirited— perhaps more so than he’d imagined. Had he suspected her capable of running off alone and with very little money, he would have made sure of her first. He should have snatched her from Mowbray’s house and seduced her, ensuring that she could not leave him and retain her reputation.

  He wondered what she was doing dressed in a youth’s clothing. Was it a disguise to keep him off the scent? Had she guessed that he would look for her after that fool told him that she’d gone? She couldn’t know that his distant cousin’s wife had left her all the money. It was cursed chance that had led him to fleece the countess’s late sister’s grandson at the card tables, and stupidity that had led the young man to take his own life. Stupid young fool! Why hadn’t Hastings gone to his great-aunt for money to pay his debts? He was her closest relative apart from Georgina Bridges, closer to her in truth since she had been fond of him for years and had offered him a home after his parents died of a fever. She would no doubt have rung a peal over him, but then given him the money he needed. Instead, he got drunk and then put a pistol to his head, leaving a letter that blamed Thierry for leading him into a game that put him in debt over and beyond what he could pay.

  Thierry had tried to explain it away, but the countess had required him not to visit her again. She could not deny him the house and land, for, though distant, his relationship to her late husband was indisputable, but the estate was worth a fraction of her own fortune. He knew for a fact that it must be upwards of a hundred thousand pounds—and she had left it all to that girl! He had thought it would be an easy task to turn Georgina’s head with flattery. Women had always been eager for his attentions, but not her—not that proud bitch! She had made her dislike of him clear, but he would still have had her. He had fleeced her uncle of his last penny, telling him he could stay on in his own house providing that he gave the girl to him. It was then that the fool confessed he had stolen most of her mother’s jewellery, given to him for Georgina by the lawyers six months after her mother’s death.

  Mowbray had caved in once Thierry told him that he would go to prison for theft and debt. He had promised that he would force the girl if she would not take him willingly, but she had fooled them all by running away. Mowbray was still running round like a headless chicken looking for her, but he had found her first. Had she been alone, she would have been his wife by now, and her fortune his for the spending, but she was with him…Hernshaw.

  Thierry glowered at the rich ruby wine in his glass. He wasn’t sure how much Hernshaw knew about the other business. He had dealt with the traitor, and the man would tell no more tales, and he had tried to lead Hernshaw astray. Had his ruse worked? He had tried to confuse his enemies, and then to have Hernshaw killed, but the assassin had failed—and he had paid for it, his throat cut, his life blood draining from him as he lay in an isolated ditch. No one must be allowed to stand in the way of his plans!

  The British had defeated Napoleon Bonaparte, making him a prisoner on Elba, but they were careless jailers. He had escaped and returned to France in glory—and Thierry had been one of those who had worked for the emperor’s freedom. Now that he was free, the people of France would no doubt rise to greet their Emperor, marching with him to throw off the yoke of the new regime, restoring him to his rightful place on the throne. Indeed, it was already happening. Money would see that the uprising did not falter. And then, when Bonaparte had won the inevitable war, crushing his enemies, Thierry would have everything that had been promised him: the lands and chateaux his family had lost during the revolution, riches beyond anything he might have had here. But he needed the countess’s money to finance his project. Uprisings all over the country in the Emperor’s favour would happen only if strings were pulled in the background—and that cost money.

  And there was the other little matter. At just the right moment two assassinations would take place: the Prince Regent and Wellington. The British could find another prince to rule them and another general would take Wellington’s place, but his was the brilliant mind that might secure the defeat of the Emperor and with it all Thierry’s inflated ideas of grandeur. Once Wellington and the prince who had staunchly supported him were dead, the country would be plunged into chaos, and at that moment Bonaparte would march to victory against his enemies. By the time England recovered from the chaos it would be too late!

  Thierry’s eyes glittered. Money and property were not enough for him. His family had been humiliated when they were forced to flee for their lives during the revolution, and he had found a home here in this God-forsaken country, but not the respect he craved. The damned English aristocrats had looked down their noses at him, acknowledging him but shutting him out of the most exclusive circles. As Bonaparte’s saviour and friend, he would be heaped with glory and honour, and then he could go home. The peasants who had driven his mother from her home, murdered his father and his older brother…they would pay the price they had long deserved. He had waited for his moment, made his plans carefully. There were always disaffected rogues to take his money and do his bidding, and few of them knew he was the mastermind behind the plot, for he took care to behave as though he too was taking orders from someone higher up the chain.

  But to make sure that the Emperor’s return was successful, he needed more money. Money was always the key to everything in his opinion—money and careful planning.

  ‘You are certain Thierry is in league with the Bonapartists?’ Richard asked, his gaze narrowing as he looked at his informant. ‘I had heard whispers, but I thought the French dissidents were a spent force.’

  ‘They cling to hope of his return to the throne,’ the man sitting opposite him said. ‘We have known of Thierry’s activities for some time, but we thought they were a bunch of idle dissidents, great talkers and drinkers, but men of little action. It is only recently that we have begun to suspect that he might be the leader of another, more deadly group.’

  ‘You think they were behind the plot to free him? Now that they have succeeded, do you think the French people will rise in numbers to greet Bonaparte as a returning hero?’

  ‘The present regime is not particularly popular with many of the people,’ the other man said. ‘With the right measures in place the rabble could be roused—and there are soldiers still loyal to Bonaparte, bound to be. We already have reports of men flocking to him.’

  ‘But sufficient for a significant rising?’ Richard frowned. ‘He was beaten by the Allies before and will be again if he attempts it. Surely his commanders must know it is hopeless? They will persuade him to treat for terms?’

  ‘Perhaps…’ The other man toyed with his wineglass. ‘But supposing Prinny were dead and Wellington too?’

  ‘That would make a difference,’ Richard agreed. ‘The R
egent had always been a staunch supporter of Wellington and the war against the French. Others are not so strong. It is possible that the pacifists amongst the government could sway the motion towards making peace with Bonaparte. They might think he has learned a lesson and will not cause trouble in future.’

  ‘Then they are fools,’ the other man said. ‘Bonaparte will never be satisfied until he has England under his thumb. We English have been a thorn in his side too long. If he could quash all resistance from us…’

  ‘He would crush the rest of them under his heel and rampage across Europe again,’ Richard agreed. ‘We have to make sure that Thierry doesn’t carry out this plan of his to have the Regent and Wellington murdered.’

  ‘God knows where he gets all his money from. He came here with virtually nothing, but my agents report that he always seems to be flush in the pockets.’

  ‘Gambling, I dare say,’ Richard said. ‘You know the score—lure a flat into a game that’s too deep for him and take everything he has. Men like that do not hesitate to cheat their intended victims. I know of at least one case involving a man who was driven to desperate measures because of Thierry’s threats.’

  ‘He is a dangerous man, Richard. My superiors have spoken of having him disposed of, but they want to learn as much as they can of his activities first.’

  ‘Murder?’ Richard frowned. ‘You are not expecting me to do your dirty work for you, I hope? I won’t murder for you, Rawlings.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you would,’ his companion replied. ‘Fortunately, there are others not so nice in their scruples. When the time comes he will be dealt with—we just need the names of his friends.’

  ‘And that is where I come in, I suppose?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Sir Michael Rawlings, secret agent and government adviser, said. ‘I can give you a clue—there is a tavern they are known to frequent. We need you to follow Thierry the next time he goes there to a meeting. We want the names of the men he meets—where they live, what they do, if you can get it—but we must have the information soon.’