“In this direction, I suppose, because mother said a horseman rode past her carriage at the gallop and barely keeping to his saddle. It wasn’t until she reached town she discovered what had occurred a few miles ahead of her.”
Oh Francois, what have you done?
“Diamonta, are you all right, you’ve turned as white as the sheets on our beds.”
“I have a bit of head pain, and need to go and lie down for a while.”
~~
It was wonderful to see lanterns lit and hanging within trees in the garden, and Park House gilded with light from glittering chandeliers, and beautiful gowns and glorious masks, but it all paled when one felt as alone as she did.
It was almost midnight and still Francois remained absent. Where was he? Had he been shot and now hiding somewhere, or might he be lying dead on a bridleway? She could leave she supposed, unnoticed, but where to look for him was the burning question. She had already taken to her horse and ridden several bridleways, but had to return to home to prepare for the ball.
She glanced at her mother and Leohne, at that moment fussing around Richard. Unfortunately, he’d fallen from his horse and injured his shoulder whilst out riding that very morning and hadn’t wanted to dance with Leohne. Not that her sister seemed to mind and had danced all evening with anyone and everyone who’d asked her, and even now she was about to desert him for a young hussar officer.
Bad shoulder or not, there was no reason why Richard could not dance, or at least promenade around the dancers or take a stroll in the garden. What possible motive could he have for letting Leohne dance at will with whomever asked her?
She hurried toward him and caught up his uninjured arm. “I promised you this dance.” Ignoring his polite protest she dragged him into the fray, her mother aghast at her shameless behaviour. “Put your good arm about me. Pretend to dance and then we can retire to the outer salon. I can see you’re as bored as I.”
She noted her mother in conversation with Lady Fortnum and barely a glance in their direction, as though her brazen behaviour was forgotten already. About to ask Richard a leading question about Francois, he declared in hushed tone, “I think I’m bleeding.”
“Bleeding?”
“I have a wound in my shoulder, and I swear blood is running down my arm.”
She instinctively glanced the length of his arm to hand, and indeed his fingers were blooded and blood dripping to the floor. “Oh Lord.” She snatched his lace-trimmed kerchief from his sleeve, and discreetly wrapped it around his hand to cover his blooded fingers. “Just keep walking toward the garden doors.”
“Damn fool, I’ve been such a damn fool,” he said, as they hurried out into the cool night air, stars in abundance and as yet no moon. “We can go round to the stables and perhaps slip back into the house unseen.”
They quickly made their way around the house aided by light casting through windows, and she asked, “How did you come by this injury?”
“How do you think I got it?”
“I don’t want to think, I want you to tell me.”
“You’ve guessed, have you not, that I’ve been less than honest of late.”
“Oh Richard. I cannot imagine why you even considered such reckless behaviour.”
“I confess I’ve led a life of subterfuge for so long now, the thought of settling down as mere husband and landowner fills me with dread. Yes, I love Leohne with all my heart, but I am a man who thrives on danger and the thrill of it all.”
“Yes, but to scare poor old Lady Fortnum by holding up her coach, although quite funny, she could well have died from fright.”
“I am an adventurer, Diamonta. All those times I travelled to France I went there to spy, to gather information for England and our allies. Damn it, a peasant uprising in one country can easily spread to another in much the same way French and Italian fashion has influenced you ladies for years. To be forewarned is to be forearmed and ready to counter any sway toward revolt by the people. History could easily repeat itself, and royal heads thence to the block or hangman’s noose here in England.”
They rounded the side of the house the stable yard before them, dark except for light casting outward from kitchen windows and rear door left ajar. “How are we to get past the servants?”
He chuckled despite his injury and obvious pain in shoulder, and said, “ We go in heads held high and then we duck up the back staircase to my bed chamber.” Which they did, and bar for one servant and two party guests sneaking from a bedchamber no one said or seemed to notice anything untoward as they hurried past.
Grabbing a candelabrum in passing, ablaze with fresh candles, he urged her to open his bedchamber door. Once inside she took it from him and proceeded to light as many candles as she could find, whilst he set to in relieving himself of his blue damask coat, a bright red patch just below his shoulder now evident upon sleeve. But when it came to hefting his coat from injured shoulder he winced and cursed all in one breath. She took it upon herself to assist in its removal, and to her horror, found his shirtsleeve streaked with blood and waistcoat blood soaked.
“Oh God, it’s bleeding badly.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks, and I need to bind it again,” he said, as she again assisted in removal of his upper clothing. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
She untied a knot, which secured tight linen binding and then unwound it from his shoulder, the proximity of half naked man the least of her worries. “It’s a deep wound, Richard, really deep.”
“It’ll not kill me. I’ve suffered worse.” He rushed across to his washing bowl and with china ewer poured water enough to bathe his wound and arm. “I’ve always appreciated your company, Diamonta, and hope I have not jeopardised our friendship, now that you know the truth of what I am and what I’ve done.”
“I am your friend, and will remain so. But please, promise me, promise you will not commit highway robbery again. Not for my sake, for Leohne’s sake.”
“I promise,” he said, dabbing his wound with a drying cloth. “In the chest drawer. Top one. There’s more binding. I cannot, however, promise against return to that of government spy.”
“At least that is honourable, even if of a secretive nature.” She retrieved a fresh bandage for him, and rebound his shoulder. “That’s better, now let’s get you dressed again. Where do you keep clean shirts? ”
“Third drawer down of chest. “He caught her arm, preventing movement. “Have you wondered how Francois has acquired riches so quickly?”
She met his blue eyes, sense of dread gripping her. “He did bring jewels and a few silver and gold items with him, which he sold in London.”
“Not enough to rent a substantial house and land let alone purchase such.”
It was the time, the moment to reveal her thoughts. “I am of mind he’s a highwayman, and I had thought the man shot today to be him not you. I’ve been frantic all evening fearing the worst, and now here I am with the stark truth that our local highwayman is indeed yourself.”
He let slip her arm, said, “There’s a highwayman who has robbed numerous coaches betwixt Oxford, London and Newbury. No one has been murdered, but it is said he has a strange accent.”
“Could it be Francois? His accent would be considered strange.”
“I don’t know, Diamonta, but I do know his visits to London match those of reported robberies, and I know he’s renting a small gentleman’s residence with paddocks in Faringdon.”
Her heart sank as she hurried to retrieve a clean shirt for Richard. “How do you know he’s renting a house?”
“Let’s just say I became suspicious on rumours heard, and searched his bed chamber here in the house. Given what I discovered, it all seemed to fit with what I had suspected, that he’s the highwayman.”
“I have feared it, and know not what to do,” she said holding Richard’s clean shirt open in order to assist slipping his injured shoulder in with ease. “Can you manage, now, only I think I ought to go below stairs before w
e’re missed and mother organises a search party.”
“At a fashion,” he replied, emerging through neck aperture with big grin on his face. “You’re right. Go or Leohne might think my heart has lain at your feet all these years as she once accused to be the case.”
“That’s silly, we’ve only ever been friends,” she said, making haste for the bedchamber door.
“Not always, Diamonta. I did at one time hope you might look on me with favour, but alas you never did.”
“I’ve always loved you as I love Charles, nothing will change that, and I’m thrilled you’ve found love with Leohne.”
She fled sense of sorrow about her indifference to Richard in a romantic sense, whilst fearing for Francois’ safety.
~~
Having reached the top of the gallery leading to the staircase, below in the hall a terrible disturbance and raised voices could be heard, and then, “Move one step and I shoot.”
Utter hushed silence befell the ground floor and her heart dived, for it was Francois. Even the music had stopped. She glanced over the balustrade, and there he was in Richard’s old riding cloak, hat on head, pistols in hand and slowly backing toward the main entrance door.
“I tell you,” said a man. “He’s the one. I swear, swear I recognise him.”
“Who else could he be?” said Lady Fortnum, her croaky voice unmistakable as she further said, “Somebody, do something. Rush the wicked fellow.”
“You’re the one with a stick, Madam,” said a raucous male voice.
Her mother stepped forward, her voice cold as ice. “So. You are Jacques de Boviere’s son, and Le Compte of Saint Mont Marche”
“A count?” yelled Lady Fortnum. “ A count? What kind of count resorts to highway robbery?”
That is correct,” said Francois, lowering one pistol a little. “I am Le Compte of Saint Mont Marche. You think I need your jewels when I have my own fortune?”
“You are so like Jacques, though a little taller, methinks.” Was she mistaken or had her mother’s tone mellowed, but no, it was all a ruse. “Be sensible, Francois. Surrender your pistols. There is no chance you will escape the hangman, not now we have seen your face and I able to identify you.”
She could hold back no longer, and skirts raised, she sped down the stairway to Francois side. “He’s not a highwayman. He has wealth, and a house, and we are to be married very soon.”
“Diamonta, what nonsense is this? Come here,” demanded her mother.
She would not. She would die beside Francois rather than lose him.
“Do as she says, Diamonta,” he said, nudging her away. “Never fear, my love, this trouble I am in will be resolved very soon, and I will return for you anon.”
“Resolved, how may I ask is your situation to be resolved?” demanded her mother, eyes full of malice toward Francois, though in truth to that of Jaques de Boviere. “Return for my daughter’s hand in marriage? Never. I will see you dead by my own hand before that will happen.”
“I walked into this house innocent about my business and I am then accused of attempted robbery, now highway robber and afforded no right of reply.” Francois bowed to the proud stance of her mother, threaded a pistol through his belt and opened the door, the other pistol he kept pointed in the direction of the assembled. ”It is best I take my leave until such time as sense prevails.”
Richard appeared at that moment at the head of the staircase, and said, “What in the Lord’s name is happening here?”
Everyone glanced up, and in that brief respite Francois disappeared into the night and the door slammed shut.
“After him,” squawked Lady Fortnum.
Several men rushed forward, and in the mayhem and onrush of ladies in gowns she watched the door hauled wide. Male guests rushed outside, and a horse could be heard galloping in to the distance.
Her mother strode forward as though everyone else in the hallway had ceased to exist, her wrath to be expected and hopefully to be as short-lived as it had been in the past once the heat of the moment was over and done with. “This admirer, the one whom sent the jewels, it is he, is it not? Francois de Boviere?”
“Yes, and I love him,” her only defence, which would not pacify her mother, she knew that much. She was in trouble, deep trouble. “You once loved Francois’ father, and I know what happened, and I can understand why you were so upset by it all.”
“How dare you shame the Whitaker name, you harlot?” Her mother’s words cut deep, but the slap to her face cut deeper. Never before had her mother laid a hand on her. This was different. Her mother’s expression alone implied the full force of her rage was yet to surface, her sudden grip on arm merciless. “Home, we are going home right this minute my girl. And you shall learn a great deal of humility before you will be allowed to show your face in polite society again.”
She could barely hold back tears, her cheek stinging as her mother turned to a liveried footman, and said, “Be so good as to call for my carriage.”
What did her mother mean? What dreadful punishment had she in mind?
“Must we go?” implored Leohne, mouth petulant as ever, eyes dancing and as good as gloating at big sister’s shame.
Richard appeared at her mother’s elbow with Angelica, who’d kept silent throughout as though as stunned as everyone else that her brother was now a highwayman for real. Richard, braver than all of them, said, “My dear lady, why so angry? Is not Diamonta’s affection for Francois a mere passing fancy?”
“Passing fancy or not. He will never have my daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Richard and his foolish games could make things worse, when it was he who had robbed Lady Fortnum and others within the county. “It is no fancy.”
“I think you misjudge my brother, Mrs. Whitaker,” said Angelica, adamant in tone “He walked in here tonight after a long ride from London, and could not have committed all these terrible deeds you’ve all talked of. He’s been there for days.”
“That is what he said,” remarked a man standing close by, “and you know, I don’t think he’s the highwayman from hereabouts. I’ve been thinking, the young count is dark of eyes and dark of hair, and that young varmint who held us up the other day had eyes as blue as the viscount’s, and I swear as fair, too.”
The footman reappeared, and with that her mother turned to him allowing the man to inform her the carriage at the door. “Come girls, the evening is at end for us Whitakers.”
Chapter Nine
~
She had not thought her mother’s wrath would be so cruel, yet here she was hundreds of miles from home and staying with relations of Lady Fortnum’s, the lady herself as good as her jailer. The only consolation they were staying at a most elegant house overlooking the Cleddau Estuary. She’d had no prior notion Wales, in particular Pembrokeshire was such a beautiful place. In some respects it was much like home, with pretty villages, country churches and a few grand houses.
To be able to walk beside the tidal waterway every day, weather permitting, had been a whole new experience, too. Although keeping company with Lady Fortnum proved no great thrill, when Hugh Lewelyn Griffiths, her nephew, accompanied them he turned the time to local history lessons and made confinement more palatable.
On this day they’d all taken a drive in a carriage to see a ruined castle, and Hugh had promised it would be a pleasant surprise. With eyes closed as instructed, she waited in anticipation as the carriage climbed a hill and then rolled to a standstill.
“What can you see?” he enthused, his chestnut eyes almost laughing, his dark brown hair ruffled by remarkably warm breeze off the sea.
“Oh my goodness. What a beautiful bay, and stretching as far as the eye can see. The sea is so blue, and the sand pure gold.”
“What else can you see?”
She veered inland, and there it was, further up the valley inlet, sitting on a large outcrop of rock. “A tower, a part ruined tower. Can we get to it? It looks so romantic.”
“Of course w
e can. No one lives there.” He chuckled, excitement evident. “Would it surprise you if I told you it once belonged to one of your mother’s ancestors?”
“It did?”
“Indeed it did,” said Lady Fortnum. “Roche Castle, once owned by the de la Roche’ family.”
Hugh chuckled. “And Charles the second’s mistress, Lucy Walter, lived there when her father owned it, during the time of the Civil War. Another story in itself.”
“My goodness, I have much to learn. After all, Lucy gave birth to a son, whom Charles, the merry monarch, recognised as his and duly bestowed title Duke of Monmouth on the little fellow. Such a shame he lost his head in trying to wrest the throne from James the second. But, please, do tell me more about the castle.”
Hugh ordered the carriage onward and the old place came to life in her mind as, en route, he retold its de la Roche history.
~~
Thrilled to have received a heartfelt letter of reprieve, from her mother, nonetheless a little bit of her regretted having to leave Pembrokeshire so soon. Hers and Hugh’s trips to castles and relics of historical merit, although sometimes having involved a lot of walking, riding, and carriage drives and picnic lunches she had enjoyed every minute of her time in his company.
Although a tad full of himself in the nicest possible way, he was completely obsessed with the past and a bit of a romantic fellow, and always telling her tales of love and romance through history in and around the county. For a young man he was quite shrewd, too. He had not been told of her reason for banishment, but had guessed, and she’d spilled her heart to him. It was as though he had fully understood her pain and loss, and had then confessed a similar dilemma to that of hers and Francois. Poor Hugh was in love, but the lady in question unattainable, and the young lady’s parents adamant he would never be the one for their daughter.
How cruel life could be sometimes, for she now had to return home and there would be no Francois, and not a word from him or Angelica. Richard had sent one letter to say Francois had moved Angelica into a house near Gloucester and, that he’d ceased renting the house and land in Faringdon. He’d further said Angelica feared Francois had returned to Guernsey with a broken heart, and doubly feared for his life.
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