by Sherry Ewing
Margaret patted her hair into place and was turning to inspect her dress in the mirror when she startled at the sound of something hitting the floor above. The bang caused even the paintings upon the wall to rock to and fro. And was that a shriek? She cocked her head to listen intently. Who could be occupying the room above her? Was he or she injured after such a fall?
She quietly opened her bedroom door to peer down the hallway, but all was silent, Sander’s guests still asleep at this early hour after least evening’s festivities. They would be departing this morning, the house party over. Margaret was looking forward to taking her leave as well. What she was not looking forward to was telling Sander she would not wed him. He would need to find another bride to help with the raising of his sons.
Margaret’s heart raced as she quickly made her way down the hallway. She was defying Sander’s direct order not to venture up to the third floor of the manor, but the crash from the room gave her the excuse she craved to satisfy her curiosity about what everyone in this house, from Sander down, was determined to hide from her. The wooden floors creaked as she made her way up the servant’s stairs at the back of the manor.
Like her own room, the one above would look out over the gardens and not the front of the house. As she rounded a corner of the corridor, she heard footsteps. She came to a sudden halt and hid within a window alcove, pulling the drapes closed to hide her. Peeking through the gap, she saw Sander’s younger son Michael coming into the hallway from the room she sought. The boy was crying, and her heart went out to him. He halted at a muffled voice from within the room, set something on a table by the entrance to the room, went back inside, and then came back out without closing the door completely. She watched the boy flee, tears streaming down his face.
The open door was like a welcoming invitation. Margaret made quick work of crossing the hallway, but paused with her hand upon the door knob to check the table for what the boy had left behind. A brass key.
Margaret could see no one to account for the crash. Her eyes roamed across a room that was pleasantly decorated with pink floral print upon the walls, a matching coverlet gracing the bed. A lantern stood on the side table near the bed, the wick turned down low. A dressing table near the window held a brush and containers that probably held a selection of perfumes.
“Is someone there?” Margaret whispered, her voice shaking.
At a distressed cry from the other side of the bed, Margaret rushed further into the room. A woman was lying on the rug next to a rolling chair that lay on its side in the midst of a million fragments of what may have once been a vase. A dark purplish-blue bruise marred the woman’s right eye in an otherwise lovely face. Her blonde hair was pulled back, her lace cap slightly askew, and her night rail torn.
Margaret surveyed the woman to see what other injuries she may have sustained, and was startled to notice she was missing a leg, which explained the rolling chair. Some kind of accident, perhaps.
“Let me help you,” Margaret offered as she set the chair upright and bent to help the woman from the floor.
“You should not be here.” The woman frowned. “It will not go well for either of us if you are found here.”
Margaret lifted the woman up and assisted her into her chair while the lady hastily adjusted her clothing to cover herself. Margaret pulled over another chair, and she reached over to take one of the woman’s trembling hands. “Are you all right, my lady?”
The woman peered at her before a hysterical laugh escaped her. “Hardly.” She lowered her gaze to her lap.
“Who hit you?”
She waved off Margaret’s concern. “I but fell. No one hit me.”
“You shall have to forgive my boldness, but such an injury is not due to a fall. Trust me. I can be of assistance.”
“There is no help for me.”
“But of course there is,” Margaret replied with a confident smile. “Let me summon Captain Morledge so he can put to rights this injustice within his household.”
The woman’s eyes widened in fear. “Heavens no! I beg of you, do not tell Sander, of all people, you have seen me.”
“Do not be afraid, my lady. The captain does seem a bit intimidating at times, but he would surely not let such an injustice against his guest go unpunished in his own house. Please, let me help you.”
The lady muffled a cry of protest. “You do not know what you are saying. No one on this earth can help me escape this prison that was once my home.” She pulled her hand from Margaret’s to cover her face. “How could I ever leave when he has my children?”
Margaret blanched at her words. “Y-your ch-children?”
The woman uncovered her face. “Yes,” she whispered softly. “I am Jennette, Sander’s wife.”
Margaret stared at her in astonished dismay. “The beast!” she fumed. “His wife? How can he hide you away as if you do not exist?”
Jennette’s face reddened. Her lips quivered and her eyes began to swim with unshed tears. “It is my injury, you see, from a riding accident. He tells me I have become an inconvenience for him because I can no longer go out in polite society in my condition.”
“Your condition? Good heavens! You are not the first person to sustain such an injury, and it is hardly the end of your life.” Margaret’s anger rose with each word she was hearing. “Nor does he have the right to hit you!”
“He is my husband, and the law is on his side.”
“Well, the law is wrong!” Margaret stood and began pacing the room, her embarrassment rising as she comprehended what she had nearly done. “Madam, I must offer you my sincerest apologies for my actions. I had no idea the captain was married when he told my father he was looking for a wife.”
Jennette offered her a meek smile. “It is hardly your fault. As far as the world is concerned, I am dead.”
“Did you know why I was here?” Margaret asked, hesitantly taking her chair yet again.
“Yes, my sons told me.”
“No wonder they disliked me so. They thought I would be taking the place of their mother.”
It was Jennette’s turn to extend a comforting hand. “They are young and do not understand…I hardly understand it myself. How can someone I used to love treat me so cruelly?”
Margaret seethed at the treatment this woman had been receiving and for who knew how long. God forbid! She could have been next! “You no longer need to worry about him, dear lady. I will see you and your sons out of this household if it is the very last thing I do!”
The soft sound as the door clicked shut drew Margaret’s attention to the door, and the blood drained from her face as she saw who had overheard their conversation.
“I had so hoped for your obedience, Margaret,” Sander said, turning the key in the lock. His boots barely made a sound as he quickly crossed the rug towards her.
“Sander, I─”
“Shut up!” He drew back his hand to slap Margaret across the face.
Her head snapped at the contact, and she lost her balance. As she stumbled backwards, her head made contact with Jennette’s dressing table, and her world began to spin. The last thing she saw was Sander hovering over her with a grin.
Chapter 11
Frederick’s brow furrowed in worry. He ran his hand across the back of his neck before leaning an arm on the hearth of the fireplace. No one could find Margaret, and he knew that she would not have left without him, despite what the servants said.
Morledge was bidding his guest’s goodbye as they left in waves of noisy groups. He played the part of a gracious host well, but something about the sly looks the man continued to cast in Frederick’s direction gave him the chills. Frederick would lay odds that Morledge knew what Frederick himself longed to know…the whereabouts of the woman he loved. Morledge had a reputation for being ruthless in battle, but surely he would not injure a helpless woman? Frederick could only ponder what game the captain now played.
Confusion reigned in Sander’s entryway, his guests causing as much chaos
at their departure as when they arrived.
Frederick could not leave until he was sure Margaret was safe, but how could he stay? Morledge had no particular fondness for him. Frederick wondered if it was too soon in the day for a glass or two of brandy. He was at the sideboard and about to pour a glass when Digby entered the room with Lady Constance and Lady Penelope.
“She is not here,” Digby declared. “I checked her room myself, at Lady Penelope’s request, and all her belongings are still sitting on her bed waiting to be packed into her cases.”
Frederick had tried to calm Lady Penelope and Lady Constance but he feared the women would have an attack of the vapors if Margaret did not turn up soon.
Constance moved closer to Digby. His friend took the lady’s hand and bent over it, prompting a fleeting smile from Frederick.
“What of the upper floors?” Frederick asked.
Digby reluctantly tore his gaze away from Constance. “I was not able to venture there. Damn uppity servants… my pardon, ladies…were ushering me down the stairs as fast as I had gone up them. Considering the men were the size of an oak tree, I did not have much say in the matter.”
Margaret was upstairs then. Frederick had no doubt in his mind. He took Digby aside. “Take the women and get them to their carriage post haste. Once they are on their way, go and find the constable. Bring him back here immediately. There is trouble afoot. I sense all is not as it seems here.”
“Just find her, Lord Beacham,” Lady Penelope urged over her shoulder while Digby took charge of the two women.
“You have my word, my lady.” Frederick gave a curt nod and made for the stairs.
Morledge, who was opening the front door for the ladies, put out his other hand as if to halt Frederick in his tracks. “Did you forget something, Viscount Beacham?”
“I left my watch fob in my room.”
“Very careless of you to forget such a possession.” Sander almost sneered. “I will send a servant to retrieve it.”
Frederick waved him off. “No need. They are busy with your guests. I can get it myself.”
Morledge peered at him with cold eyes, as though weighing his words, and Frederick could tell that the man was about to refuse him. Lady Constance must have felt the tension between the two men for she quickly laced her hand onto the captain’s arm.
“I cannot thank you enough for your most gracious hospitality, Captain Morledge. I do hope you have more parties like this one next year,” Constance murmured. She flashed a pretty smile and batted her eye lashes. Sander beamed.
“If you would be kind enough to accept an invitation to such a gathering, I will be more than pleased to host another event,” Sander said, opening the door wide. “I hope you ladies had a pleasant stay. Please give my regards to Margaret, and thank her for acting as hostess. Such a shame I could not offer my thanks myself, but I was told she was in quite a hurry to leave this morning.”
The moment the captain’s attention was off him, Frederick took the stairs two at a time. Two women servants stood guarding the way to the third floor. At least they would be easier to deal with than those Digby encountered.
“My lord, you are not permitted─”
Frederick pushed past them. “Get out of my way unless you wish to be arrested as accomplices for holding a woman against her will.”
He gave them no further heed and began looking into one room after the other, trying not to panic when each room contained nothing but dust. Clearly none had been used in some time. Still, he continued to check each one meticulously in case he missed some clue or doorway that could possibly be hiding a person.
Frederick was desperate with fear for Margaret when he reached one of the last doors. It was barred against entry. His hand trembled. He rattled the knob as if this would magically permit him entrance to the room. “Margaret!” He pressed his ear against the wood. A possible muffled voice within was enough for him to kick at the frame. Damn English oak did not budge even when he rammed his shoulder against it.
“There’s a key in the drawer,” a small voice said from near his waist, “but if you rescue the lady, then please take us with you too.”
Frederick turned to see Sander’s son, Joseph, pointing to the table against the wall. Without hesitation, Frederick slid open the drawer and found the key.
“I will do all I can to help you,” he vowed as he slid the key into the door and swung it wide.
The drapery was closed casting the room into darkness, lit by a single lantern near the bed. Frederick assumed the outline of a figure on the bed was Margaret. “I have come for you, my love,” he whispered. He crossed the room swiftly to open the curtains to let in the light, tripped, and caught himself on the fabric so that it ripped from the rod overhead as he fell.
He heard a subdued grunt as he landed in a heap on the floor tangled in the drapery. Unmistakably, he had tripped over a person. Who the hell could be in this room? His brow furrowed in confusion and he moved the remaining fabric as quickly as he could.
To his surprise, he revealed the bruised face of Margaret. She was tied up like a Christmas goose, a rag stuffed in her mouth. As he removed it, Frederick noticed the bruise upon her cheekbones. He shook with the force of his anger. How dare Morledge lay a hand upon a lady! Margaret gave a sigh of relief once the ropes were free.
A small body flew into the room followed closely by another as both of Morledge’s sons jumped onto the bed to be cuddled by the woman there. Now that the light from the window was flooding the chamber, the boys’ resemblance to her was not in doubt. All the pieces began to fit, and Frederick knew he was staring at their mother.
Margaret began to cough, and Frederick gently touched her bruised face. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound calm, when he wanted to roar in anger at her maltreatment.
She nodded. “I will be, but only once we are all out of here. Sander has been keeping her and the boys basically locked up in the house.”
“I gathered as much, although some thought he had killed you, Mrs. Morledge,” Frederick said quietly.
“He might as well have.” Jennette hugged her boys closer.
“I am glad to see the rumors are false, but we must get you out of here. Digby should be here shortly with the constable. We can file charges against Morledge for holding Margaret against her will, but it may be far more difficult to prosecute him for his actions against his wife. Most would think it only as a husband and wife falling out. A minor misdemeanor, at best.”
“Misdemeanor?” Margaret said in outrage. “She has been kept here against her will as much as I have, Freddy. Jennette and the boys must leave with us. I can always offer them refuge at father’s rectory.”
Frederick leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I promise you we will not leave them behind.” He helped Margaret to rise, and, once steady upon her feet, she made her way to the bed to help Jennette into her rolling chair.
Margaret and Frederick stood side by side to push Jennette’s chair down the hallway while her boys held tightly to each of her hands. Margaret steered them to the back stairwell. It was less used, so better for their escape.
“You will need to carry her down the stairs,” Margaret whispered to Frederick. “It is not much farther.”
“It is entirely much farther than you think, my pet.” Morledge blocked the way, his snide tone setting Frederick’s teeth on edge.
“I am not your pet,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Hmmm…yes, I would guess that privilege will be Beacham’s.” Morledge turned his gaze to his family. “And just where do you think you three are going? Get to your room, boys, if you know what is good for you!”
Without hesitation, the boys scattered like scared chickens.
Frederick put himself in front of the women. “Stay away from the ladies,” he warned.
Sander laughed. “What do you think you can do to keep me from my own wife, you fool? The law will be on my side where my family is concerned,
but go ahead and take her.” He nodded towards Margaret. “And good riddance, the bloody bluestocking. She would have never learned her place as my wife.”
“You already had a wife. I hardly think the court will take kindly to you attempting to have two. I will not leave your wife and sons in your care, since it is abundantly clear that your care is deficient,” Frederick warned.
Sander clenched his jaw, balling up his fists, and lunged forward towards Frederick. Frederick only was half aware of the women, shrieking, of Margaret rolling Jennette down the remaining hallway, calling for aid. He was fully occupied in his battle with Morledge.
Frederick gained his feet even as Morledge punched his midsection. He bent with a loud grunt of pain, but recovered to deal the man a hand-numbing blow to the chin, sending him sailing backwards towards the main stairs. Morledge’s feet slipped on the rug, he skidded across the wooden floor, and teetered on the edge of the top step. Arms swinging widely found no purchase, and he toppled down the stairway to crash through the balustrade and fall in a motionless heap to the entrance hall far below. From the odd angle of his head, it was gruesomely apparent that the fall had broken Sander’s neck.
Catching his breath, Frederick straightened. Margaret had clearly managed to get herself downstairs to call for aid, for she barely glanced down at Sander’s immobile body before racing up the stairs to throw herself into his arms. Trying to calm the sobbing incoherent lady was almost an impossible task. “Margaret…I am well and Morledge will no longer hurt you or any other again,” he murmured against her hair.
She raised her head and began fussing with his cravat. “I have ruined your shirt with my tears,” she sniffled.
“It is only linen and can easily be replaced. You, however, cannot.”
“Do not ever leave me again,” she sighed, leaning into his embrace.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “As my lady commands.”
Chapter 12
25 December, 1811
