"I was saving myself for the right man," she fired back, "which is more than I can say for you. Look at you!" She indicated Emer's rounded belly with a flip of her hand. "Disgusting!"
"You may have all those things, but I have far more than that, Madeleine. I have Dalton’s love, and his child inside me," she revealed, deciding to end all of the lies and subterfuge once and for all, and the devil with the consequences.
The other woman gasped and looked as though she would be ill. "You lying—"
"It's the truth. I never set out to take him away from you on purpose, on the ship, since I never knew you even existed. I certainly didn't intend to now either. Our seeing each other at the cathedral the other day was a pure accident.
"But how can you be happy with Dalton knowing what you do now, that your relationship with him is based on nothing but lies, and business dealings, not love?”
Madeleine tried to slap Emer’s face, but she fought her off easily.
“You can’t have him! He’s mine! I’ll see you dead first, and your little bastard along with you!” Madeleine raged. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the house.
Emer sighed, and sat down heavily in her chair. She knew she shouldn’t have laid all her cards on the table like that. But the thought of Dalton married to such a grasping, evil woman, who seemed to hate children so much, was more than she could bear.
Emer composed herself by sipping a small glass of sherry, and was about to go in to dinner when she looked on the sofa and saw a black beaded reticule, patterned with the initials M.A.L., that Madeleine had left behind in her haste to leave.
She rang for Sissy, and admired the elegant bag absentmindedly as she waited for the girl to arrive. She had seen them in one of the more expensive stores in town one day when Myrtle had insisted on dragging her out shopping.
This was even more costly, because it had been custom-made. It galled her to think this one bag would feed all the children at the orphanage for a month.
“I have to eat and then get back to class, Sissy, so can you please see that this is delivered back to Miss Lyndon’s house. And then go get the things on this list for me while you’re in town, please."
“It’s a lovely bag isn’t it, Miss. She has her monogram on it and everything. Nothing store bought for her,” Sissy admired.
“Yes, lovely. It’s just a pity about the rest of her,” Emer mumbled, as she handed it over to the girl and went to try to eat her supper for the sake of her unborn child, even though her stomach was heaving with nerves over the interview with Madeleine and the woman's dire threats.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Madeleine’s plan to rid herself of Emer and her child, and everything she hated forever, took shape in her twisted mind on the way across the ferry back to the centre of town.
After cross-examining Pertwee about all the had happened on the Pegasus yet again, she said, “Pertwee, when we get back to town, take a message to Mr. Horace Grayling, and tell him that Dalton won’t be able to make it to the ball tonight, so could I please go with him instead.”
“Very good, miss.”
When she arrived home, Madeleine wrote a note to Dalton saying that under the circumstances, she did not wish to attend the ball with him, but would be at home should he wish to try to defend his inexcusable conduct at the Hearsts' home the previous evening.
Madeleine dressed alluringly that night in a bright pink gown of so fine a fabric that it was virtually see through in bright light.
But she also took her heaviest black cloak with her, and carried it and her matching monogrammed reticule over her arm when she went down to meet Horace, a rather tame and extremely drunken young man Madeleine had always treated like an amorous poodle.
She was at her most charming and flirtatious with him all night, and clad in that gown, she was sure he would refuse her nothing, and her plan would go off without a hitch.
Horace, unable to believe his luck, and convinced Madeleine was willing to resume their love affair, remarked boldly, “I can’t believe you’re really going to marry that old stick Randall. Why, he’s grown decrepit and grey before his time.”
“Well, Horace, you always did show me the best time. What do you say we cross the river and go into the woods, and have ourselves a little private ball of our own?” Madeleine murmured intimately in his ear.
Horace was like putty in Madeleine’s manipulative hands. After creeping out of the ball early, he took her across in the ferry, driving his small carriage himself so that their amorous activities would be undisturbed.
Madeleine’s sharp eyes peered into the darkness, which was occasionally illumined when the full moon peeped out from behind the clouds. She could identify the avenue of trees nearest the orphanage, and had Horace stop the carriage up a narrow lane concealed from the house by thick shrubs.
Madeleine let Horace go so far with her, and then cooed, “Wait right here a minute, darling. I have to attend to a call of nature first.”
Horace giggled and drunkenly staggered off in the opposite direction to do the same himself, leaving Madeleine free to run through the woods until she reached the back of the orphanage.
All was silent and dark, and Madeleine emptied three of the oil lamps hanging outside one of the work huts onto the back porch, making sure she soaked the wood of the floor and walls thoroughly.
Then she fished out the box of safety matches she had brought with her from her elegant little monogrammed reticule.
Madeleine stooped down with the bag and box on her lap. To her delight, she managed to get an excellent blaze going with only one match on the old boards of the veranda.
With a loud hiss and plop, they immediately went up in flames. Madeleine had to jump back to avoid the front of her lustrous pink gown and cloak being scorched.
When she was satisfied the blaze had taken hold nicely, she hastily made her way around to the side of the house, and ran through the woods to hasten back to Horace before he suspected anything, her cape flapping wildly in the breeze for a moment to reveal the bright pink gown she wore underneath.
Dr. Adrian Lovell caught a glimpse of Madeleine as he was heading out to the house to bring Emer an unexpected visitor.
Sissy, peeping out from behind the shade of the front window of the library, also saw Madeleine flitting through the trees.
Sissy was just about to comment on how odd it was to see Miss Lyndon there at that hour, when she spotted the lights of Adrian’s carriage and said, “Look, the doctor is coming.”
Mrs. Jenkins, just closing the sash at the front of the house to stop the moonlight from disturbing the children’s slumber, watched Madeleine coming around to the front of the house, and then saw her flee down the avenue of trees, and sighed.
She hoped that Emer hadn’t had to put up with another tongue-lashing from that horrible, selfish woman.
She and her husband had promised Emer not to interfere between herself and Dalton Randall, but no matter how nasty Mr. Randall really was, surely he didn’t deserve a wife as evil as that.
Dalton had come to the same conclusion himself, but was so busy with his duties at the fever hospital, that when Madeleine’s message about cancelling her date with him for the ball arrived, he welcomed it as the opportunity to avoid an unpleasant scene, and get a few more hours of research done.
Dalton worked steadily throughout the day, interrupted only by two unexpected visitors, who both looked at him warily.
Both also seemed to be skirting around a particular subject, without Dalton ever once being able to grasp what they were hinting at.
Dalton was up to his eyes in patients, and certainly not in the mood for guessing games, and so he did not devote his full attention to the papers that each handed him until late that night.
Myrtle Chandler had been the first visitor, ostensibly there to have a tour of the fever hospital which she said her father was willing to donate money to. She had talked of neutral topics such as how he had enjoyed himself at the Hearsts’
party.
Then, just as their meaningless conversation had begun to drift, Myrtle had suddenly thrust a folded up piece of paper and said nervously, “Father gave me that to give to you as well, an overdue account. You’ll understand when you read it.”
Blushing to the roots of her hair, Myrtle had fled, leaving a puzzled Dalton far behind before he could ask her any questions.
Dalton had stared after her thoughtfully, and was about to read the paper, when one of the other doctors came to consult him about a difficult patient. He had thrust the bill into his pocket absentmindedly without looking at it.
Later that afternoon, the Bishop arrived on an unannounced visit, and insisted on Dalton coming around for a tour of the facilities with him.
After nearly an hour of polite conversation about Dalton’s interests and ambitions, he asked Dalton to escort him to his carriage. Just as he was about to get into it, he stooped down, and said, “You dropped this, Mr. Randall.”
Dalton frowned in confusion. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“All the same sir, I'm certain it has something to do with you. It looks like your writing, does it not?” the Bishop said quietly, looking directly into Dalton’s eyes almost hypnotically.
“Er, yes thank you,” Dalton admitted reluctantly, and took the crumpled note.
Just then, a cheerful voice from across the street interrupted his reverie, as Adrian waved to him, and asked, “Would you like to come with me to the slum over on Water Street? Possible cases of cholera. I could really use your help filing a report, and locating the source, old man.”
“Yes, of course, Adrian. Let me get my things, and tell them where I’m going,” Dalton replied quickly, as he slipped the note into his pocket, and eagerly ran to get his medical bag.
Late that evening, Dalton had finally helped Adrian locate the source of the cholera infection, and had then exhaustedly gone home and had a hot bath and something to eat.
It was only as he had fished in his pocket to consult his time-piece that Dalton had remembered the two odd messages, and unfolded them carefully and laid them out on the table.
The bill for the provisioning of the Pegasus was only mildly peculiar, except that Dalton wondered why it was for so small an amount. He folded it up with some papers from his wallet, and resolved to see Amos Chandler about it first thing in the morning.
But the note from the Bishop had him completely dumbfounded, for he recalled it was the final page of one of the last letters he had written to his father from Ireland, and had been penned to accompany a gold and sapphire engagement ring he had purchased for Emer. How on earth had it come into the Bishop’s possession?
Dalton went downstairs and tapped on his father’s study door. Once inside, he confronted Frederick with the slip of paper and asked, “But how do you suppose he got it?”
“I have no idea,” Frederick grumbled uneasily.
“But you told me you went to look for Emer in August, to take her into the house with her family to protect her as you had promised, and there found out she was dead. I wrote this letter in October, so it would have arrived in about November or even December. The Bishop first met Emer in November. So I ask you again, Father, when did you go to Grosse Ile to look for Emer and her family?” Dalton demanded.
“Just what are you accusing me of, son?” Frederick shot back angrily.
“Nothing yet, but I want the truth. Did you ever meet with Emer?”
Frederick sat in stony silence.
Dalton threw up his hands in exasperation, and began to pace up and down in front of his father's desk.
“You did. You must have. You told me she had red hair, though you claimed she had died by the time you got to Grosse Ile. And I would stake my life on it that she recognized you in the cathedral that day. So why are you both lying to me?"
When his father remained stubbornly silent, he began to puzzle it out for himself. "Ever since I’ve come home, people have been lying to me, covering things up. Emer looks at me like a watchful, wounded animal, and doesn’t want anything to do with me. Now I find this letter in the possession of the bishop. Where is the ring I sent to accompany it? Does Emer have it?”
“No, of course not. I, well, the girl was dead, after all, so I gave it to Madeleine Lyndon as a token of your esteem.”
Dalton's eyes rounded. “You had no right! And that’s another thing, you keeping that absurd engagement open all this time despite the fact that I told you in August and again in November that I had no intention of ever marrying Madeleine Lyndon!”
“But you have to marry her now. In less than forty-eight hours you're due to walk down the aisle with her!” Frederick insisted.
Dalton shook his head. “But I don’t love or esteem her, Father. Beside Emer, Madeleine pales into insignificance. You should have seen the two of them at the Hearsts the other night. Madeleine showed her true colors, and is not a woman I could ever admire or esteem. Nor did anyone else compared with Emer."
"That jumped up little hussy could obviously charm the birds from the trees. But I thought you were smarter than that!"
"I'm sorry, Father, but Emer is none of those things, and I will thank you not to speak disrespectfully of the woman I love."
"But Madeleine is worth ten of her—"
"Only on your balance sheet, Father, but certainly not on mine!"
Frederick slammed his fist down on the desk so loudly even the windows rattled. "I can't believe you would throw away all we've ever worked for—"
"It's not just because of Emer, Father, it's my medical career as well. I know this has been your fondest wish for some time, a merger between ourselves and the Lyndons, but I can’t go through with it, no matter how much you try to persuade me otherwise. And I certainly have no intention of marrying her when there is the slightest hope that Emer will forgive me for what she seems to think I’ve done to her. Now I want the truth, and I want it now. Have you ever seen Emer before?” Dalton demanded.
Frederick could see the game was up. He decided that perhaps telling the truth to his son for once might gain him what he had sought to win through lies and deception.
“All right, yes, yes I did! In November, when I thought you were coming home. She was writing all sorts of wild letters to you, pestering us for money. I thought she was going to try to blackmail us over your past with her, so I went to see her.
"She asked for money, and I gave it her under the promise that she would never see you again. She agreed, took the banker's draft, and that was the end of it. I told you she was dead to protect you, son. I thought it was better you think of her as an honest young woman instead of the grasping harlot she really was,” Frederick said in this most wheedling tone.
Dalton slapped his palm down on the deck dismissively. “You’re lying. I don’t believe a word of it. Emer would never have taken the money, never! She loved me, and you destroyed her trust in me. This note. You used it to convince her that I wanted her paid off, didn’t you? How much did you give her?” Dalton exclaimed.
“She demanded fifteen thousand pounds.”
“Indeed. Demanded, eh? And how much of it was your own money, and how much mine?” Dalton said with a glare.
Frederick looked the floor.
Dalton continued, “Because now that I think about it, the bank manager Mr. Simpson told me that money had been taken out of my account in early November, a sum I couldn’t account for. You used the rubber stamp with my signature on it to present her with a cheque which seemed as though it were me paying her off! How could you!”
“But son, I was only trying to protect you! You’re too blind to see what she really is!” Frederick argued heatedly.
"No, you’re the one who’s blind!" Dalton fired back, his anger rising with every word. He paced up and down in front of his father's desk, growing more agitated with every passing minute as the reality of what his father had done sank in.
"You let Emer and her family rot in that hell hole for months. She was trying to h
elp the sick, alone with six children to look after as well, and hardly a penny to her name. When she didn’t conveniently die of fever, you paid her off in my to make sure she stayed away from me, and told me she was dead. Have you any idea what I went through when I thought I’d lost her!” Dalton demanded, shaking with fury.
“Well, I'll tell you. I stood in my room with a razor in my hand, Father. A razor, for pity's sake. I was one second away from cutting my own throat, I was so devastated by the thought of having lost her forever. I trusted you, and this is how you’ve repaid me!”
Frederick looked aghast at Dalton's confession of his near-suicide, but wasn't prepared to back down. “No, I'm telling you, she asked for the money! She accepted it willingly! That’s why she wants nothing to do with you. She is greedy and evil, and you mustn’t believe her lies about me, or about Grosse Ile. She is just looking to get your sympathy, you fool. She’s probably spent all the money and come looking for more! That’s why she gave you the note!” Frederick lied desperately.
The Hungry Heart Fulfilled (The Hunger of the Heart Series Book 3) Page 6
