by M. C. Beaton
Malmbrooke Square was not very far away. He set out on foot. He arrived in the square at four-thirty and stood in the blackness beside the railings of the square gardens, well away from the feeble rays of the parish lamps. At quarter to five, he heard the rumble of wheels and drew his hat down over his eyes so that the whiteness of his face would not show in the gloom.
Isabella had written a tearful letter to her parents, then had changed into a traveling gown and had packed a portmanteau and two hat boxes for the journey. She half wanted to wake Lucy to tell her what she was doing, but Lord Harry was Lucy’s brother, and she felt that the girl’s loyalties would lie with him.
She crept down the stairs. One of the hat boxes escaped her clutch and rolled to the foot of the stairs. It did not make very much noise, but to the overwrought Isabella, it sounded like thunder.
But it prompted her to speedy action. She ran down to the hall, retrieved the hat box, and holding it and the other securely in one hand by the ribbons and the portmanteau in the other, she stepped out into the black frosty morning. She saw the carriage at the corner of the square standing under a lamp. She placed her luggage on the step and turned and closed the door with a dreadful feeling of finality.
The curricle moved slowly round and came to a stop in front of her.
Isabella stepped forward and looked up at Lord Rupert. “Why a curricle?” she asked. “That will not take us very far north in this weather.”
“They are repairing one of the traces on the harness of my traveling carriage,” said Lord Rupert smoothly. “I will drive you to my house and you may have a glass of something to warm you while the servants bring the traveling carriage round.”
Isabella hesitated, but then slowly climbed in and sat beside him.
The curricle moved off.
Lord Harry stepped out into the square and watched it go. She had gone willingly, without protest. There was nothing he could do.
“Ain’t you going arter her?”
A voice behind him made him jump and turn round.
Biddle was standing peering up at him.
“What are you doing here, you old sot?”
“Saw you go out and came arter you,” whined Biddle. “That was your lady went off with that pig.”
“And willingly, too.”
“Course she went willingly,” jeered Biddle. “For that snake has tricked her some way.”
Lord Harry stood irresolute.
“If it was me,” said Biddle, “I’d go to ‘is house and stand outside, like, see if she screams or summat.”
The sheer idea of Isabella having to scream about anything galvanized Lord Harry into action. He set off at a run with Biddle stumbling after him, calling and protesting at the speed.
Lord Rupert helped Isabella down from the curricle and then sharply ordered a grinning groom to take the horses and carriage round to the mews.
“Come in, my dear,” he said opening the door to his house. “A glass of wine to warm you.”
“If I should be seen …” said Isabella nervously.
“It would not matter in any case as we are to be married. Just a few moments. We cannot stand here in this biting cold.”
Isabella allowed him to usher her into the house. He led her into a library on the ground floor where a fire was burning brightly. The books on the wall had a uniform, unread look, which was indeed the case, Lord Rupert having ordered them by the yard from the bookseller.
She crossed to the fire and held out her hands to the blaze. There was a click from behind her, and she swung round. Lord Rupert grinned at her in a way she did not like and held up the door key before dropping it in his pocket. “That should stop anyone disturbing us,” he said.
Isabella stood staring at him.
“Yes, my dearest, I am one of those disgusting men you so fear, who play interesting games with Cyprians on the floors of posting houses.” He drew a pistol out of his pocket. “And now, Isabella Chadbury, you are going to learn everything a prostitute knows and better by the time I’ve finished with you.”
White to the lips, Isabella said steadily, “Why?”
“Why, you bitch? Because you dared to spurn me, and no one insults a Fitzjohn without paying for it.”
“Was it you who assaulted me in Cornwall?”
“Yes, and I would have had you in that ditch if that namby-pamby milksop hadn’t come running up. Then you stuck a hatpin in me. Another thing you must pay for.” He raised the gun. “Take your clothes off. The fire is nice and warm, and the hearthrug will serve us very well.”
That was when Isabella began to scream.
“That’s it,” cried Biddle from outside the house. Lord Harry tried to run to the door but found the elderly retainer clutching his arm.
“Let me go, you old fool.”
“I got the key.”
“You’ve got what?”
“The key to the front door,” said Biddle patiently. “I nicked it off the key rack on the way out from the servants’ ‘all, I did. Saw a spare and took it.” He dug into his pocket and produced a large key with a label dangling from it marked “Front Door Spare.”
Lord Harry seized it and went and opened the door and marched into the hall and stood listening with Biddle crouched behind him.
Inside the library, Lord Rupert was saying, “Scream all you like. No one will come to your aid. Now are you going to do as I ask, or am I going to have to shoot you?”
Isabella looked at him and said wearily, “Yes, you are going to have to shoot me.”
He threw aside the pistol with a snarl and advanced on her. “Then I’ll take you by force,” he growled. “I’ll rip those damned clothes from your body.”
There came the sound of splintering wood as the library door crashed open. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a voice from the doorway. Isabella let out a moan of sheer relief as Lord Harry strolled into the room with a brace of pistols leveled at Lord Rupert.
“So it’s you, you man milliner,” jeered Lord Rupert. “How did you know she was here? Did the bitch tell you? Very brave with pistols, ain’t you?”
Lord Harry grinned, and his blue eyes flashed, “I’ll fight you, if you prefer … with my fists.”
Lord Rupert threw back his head and laughed. “Splendid. We’ll settle this here and now.”
Both men pushed the furniture back helped by the eager Biddle. “No,” said Isabella faintly. “You must not, Lord Harry. He will kill you.”
Lord Harry did not hear her. Both men were engaged in stripping to the waist.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Chadbury,” said Biddle, settling himself comfortably in a chair in the corner of the room. He poured himself a glass of sherry. “Make yourself easy. Nothing better than a good mill.”
Isabella sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair next to Biddle who handed her a glass of sherry assuring her it was a suitable drink for ladies, and he drank it himself when he was not drinking liquor, Biddle classing sherry with ale as innocuous.
“Strips well, don’t he?” remarked Biddle conversationally, waving his glass in the direction of Lord Harry, whose well-muscled torso was gleaming in the firelight.
To Isabella it was all like some mad dream, the two half-naked men beginning to circle each other, the quite awful smell emanating from the old retainer. “Hey ho!” shouted Biddle. “Draw ‘is cork, Harry.”
And then Lord Harry leapt at Lord Rupert, raining savage blows on him, while the astounded Lord Rupert was sent reeling. “Groin’ to be too easy,” said Biddle, nudging Isabella in the ribs. “He’ll finish him off any moment now.”
Just as he spoke, Lord Harry landed a massive blow right on Lord Rupert’s chin, who stretched his length on the floor.
“Stop sitting there crowing, Biddle,” said Lord Harry, “and tie this villain up. I want to have a long talk with him when he wakes up.”
Biddle took out a wickedly sharp knife and began to hack the curtains into strips. Lord Harry dressed while Isabella
sat there, wondering miserably whether he was about to take his revenge on her.
But when he was dressed he came and sat down next to her. “Tell me how you came to get yourself in such a dangerous situation,” he said quietly.
In a flat voice, Isabella told him the whole thing, of the scene in the posting house, of her fear of men, of her dread of her forthcoming marriage, and of how Lord Rupert had tricked her.
“Why did you not tell me this before?” asked Lord Harry. “I thought you were a heartless flirt, and I only acted the part of the fop to enrage you.”
“You succeeded very well.” Isabella put her hand up to her brow. “So well that I could not confide in you.”
“If only you had told me …” Lord Harry took her hand in his. “As of this moment, you are a free woman. I will take you home. No one will be awake. You can simply go to bed and forget about the whole thing. No one will know. I will return here and make sure of that. Smile, Isabella. All your worries are over. I shall return to my regiment and you can forget this whole sorry episode. But there are plenty of kind and clean and decent men around who know how to love and respect a lady. Can you, for example, imagine my friend James consorting with whores? He loves Lucy truly, and she is prepared to follow him to the battle front. Such is love, something that men like this churl here know nothing about.
“Thank you,” said Isabella brokenly. “Oh, thank you for everything.”
He stood up and raised her to her feet.
“Like a play this is,” said the irrepressible Biddle. “Kiss ‘er.”
“Impertinent dog. Watch your tongue.”
“Well, don’t ‘e deserve a kiss?” whined Biddle.
Isabella kissed Lord Harry gently on the cheek, and he put his arms about her and held her close. They stood like that for a long time until they finally separated, looking at each other in a kind of wonder.
“Get a move on then,” grumbled Biddle. “Can’t stay here all morning!”
Chapter 9
LORD HARRY AND Isabella walked through the still-dark streets of London in the direction of Malmbrooke Square. All was quiet and still. Frost glittered hard and white on the pavements, and the parish oil lamps shone dimly through a thin veil of fog.
“How did you know where to find me?” asked Isabella. He was holding her arm, but it was comforting.
“I suspected Lord Rupert when I saw his horse up for sale at Tats. He had sold it to a squire in Exeter last June. I recognized that horse as the one that had been ridden by your assailant.”
“But why did you not warn me?” cried Isabella.
“Would you have listened? No. So I sent Biddle to find out more about this Lord Rupert. Drunk as he was when he returned—Biddle is usually drunk—he managed to tell me that Lord Rupert had ordered his carriage for five in the morning. It seemed to be nothing out of the way. He could have been starting off early for some race meeting. But you nodded to him at the opera, and I could not but help thinking it was some sort of prearranged signal.”
“He asked me to elope with him,” said Isabella. She added timidly, “You did make yourself out to be such a monster.”
“I can only apologize for having driven you to such lengths. You owe old Biddle a lot. I thought you were going with him willingly, but it was Biddle who pointed out that you had probably been tricked.”
“He certainly deserves a handsome award,” agreed Isabella. “But to get money to reward him, I would need to tell my parents everything….”
“I shall reward him for you. But I doubt if there is anything the old man wants other than getting drunk from dawn to dusk.”
“Could you bring him to me today so that I may thank him?” suggested Isabella.
“Certainly. I owe it to your parents to assure them that the end of our engagement is by mutual consent. I will ask to see you alone, and you may speak to Biddle then.”
Tears stood out in Isabella’s eyes. “I am so grateful to you,” she whispered.
“Enough of that,” he said harshly. “I do not deserve your thanks.”
“You will soon be going away again, you and Captain James. Now that you are rich, why do you not sell out?”
“The war is unfinished. We must go on.”
“And Lucy? She is so determined to go with her captain. I shall miss her sore.”
They walked on in silence. Then Isabella exclaimed, “My luggage! I left it behind.”
“I shall get it back to you without anyone knowing. Here we are. Enter quietly. Try to sleep and forget about the whole sorry affair.”
He stood looking down at her, tall and serious.
“What will you do with Lord Rupert?”
“Persuade him to leave the country. I beg of you, forget him or that he ever existed.” He raised her hand to his lips.
Isabella forget about the conventions, forgot that only a short time ago this was a man she loathed and despised. She threw her arms around him and hugged him close.
Then she released him and turned and fled indoors. He stood for a few moments, staring in wonder at the closed door, and then he went off to deal with Lord Rupert.
Lord Rupert, like most bullies, was a coward at heart. When Lord Harry said coldly he would kill him if he remained in England, Lord Rupert believed him. Lord Harry kept him tied up until he got a promise of a written agreement and then released him and waited until that agreement was written.
Then he took himself off to his parents’ town house with Biddle following, carrying Isabella’s luggage. “This be a bad business,” moaned Biddle.
“Nonsense. It is all settled,” said Lord Harry.
“I mean, here I am, an old poor frail creature, having to carry your lady’s traps.”
“Oh, give them here, you old reprobate. You are coming with me later today to call on Miss Chadbury so that means you are going to stay sober. I am going to lock you in your room.”
Biddle let out a squawk of outrage. But Lord Harry was determined, and so Biddle was thrust into the small cubby hole that served him as a bedchamber as soon as they returned. Lord Harry turned the key firmly in the door and put it in his pocket.
He went to his own room and found James sitting there, waiting for him.
“I heard you go out,” said James. “I looked at the time and remembered what Biddle had said about Fitzjohn. What happened?”
And so Lord Harry wearily sat down on the bed and told him everything. He did not think it necessary to swear him to secrecy, forgetting in his tiredness that James was too much in love with Lucy to keep anything back from her.
“I could call early,” said the captain, “and take Isabella’s bags with me. I could get them to her without being seen by her parents.”
“What of the servants?”
“The Chadbury servants are too correct to make any remark. But just in case, I will wrap everything up in pretty paper and ribbons and they will think I have been buying presents for your sister.”
Lord Harry yawned. “So all’s well that ends well. Be a good chap and run along and let me sleep.”
Captain James, carrying three huge beribboned parcels, which contained Isabella’s two hat boxes and one portmanteau, presented himself at the Chadbury’s town house. To his relief, he was told that Mr. and Mrs. Chadbury were still asleep but that his fiancée was in the drawing room. He made his way up the stairs, refusing to relinquish the parcels to a servant.
“Why, what is this?” cried Lucy, running forward to meet him.
“Not for you, my sweet,” said the captain. “Here, shut the door and damn the conventions. I have such a tale to tell you!”
And so Lucy, sitting on his lap, was told the tale of Isabella between kisses. “Well, it is all Harry’s fault,” said Lucy when he had finished. “He could have made her love him.”
“I sometimes wonder if he has any idea how to court a lady,” said the captain. There was a noise from upstairs, and Lucy leapt from his lap. “My parents will be here shortly. I had better take these p
arcels to Isabella’s room.”
Isabella struggled awake as Lucy crashed in and dropped the parcels on the floor with a cry of, “I know all!”
“Does the whole of London know?”
“No,” said Lucy, sitting on the end of the bed. “James told me all about it, but he will not talk of it to anyone other than me, and I won’t tell anyone. Why did you not tell me you were afraid of men?”
“It was such a horrible experience, Lucy, not fit for your ears.”
“Pooh,” said Lucy. “You have led too sheltered a life, Isabella!”
“And you have not?”
“Well, no, for my parents are very lax, and I was allowed to run wild without a servant to accompany … My dear Isabella, come the harvest festival, you have never seen such scenes of debauchery. I crept out to watch, but there was really nothing to it, rather like watching the beasts mating in the field, a lot more undignified but not alarming in the least.”
“Oh, Lucy,” Isabella was half laughing, half crying, “what a fool I am.”
The Chadburys were preparing to go out to consult the Tremaynes about the end of the engagement when Lord Harry was announced.
They looked at each other in consternation. “It would be rude not to receive him. Perhaps we had better tell him what we are about,” said Mr. Chadbury.
They received him in the drawing room. Lord Harry was accompanied by Biddle, a surly and furious Biddle, for he had been forcibly bathed and attired in clean linen. He felt a pale shadow of a man and kept swearing that they had washed all the strength out of him.
“Harry, my boy,” said Mr. Chadbury awkwardly, “we are about to go to your parents. I am afraid Isabella does not want this marriage, and so we think it would be better if you cried off.”
“Gladly,” said Lord Harry with a smile. “But allow me some time with Isabella. At least I should be allowed to put her mind at rest as I have caused her so much distress.”
Mrs. Chadbury heaved a sigh of relief. “Spoken like a gentleman. Of course you may see her. We will go to tell your parents the news.”
The Chadburys waited until Isabella made her entrance. Mrs. Chadbury stared in amazement as Isabella dimpled at Lord Harry and gave him her best curtsy. All her sympathy for her daughter fled. Isabella was flirting again.
