by Ashe Barker
He cackles, the sound stark in the shocked silence now filling the parlour. But Sidney is not done yet. “You are a wanton little trollop, always were, but I might have wed you even so and given you a decent station in society. Not now though. You can rot with the rest of the thieves and murderers you choose to consort with.” He turns to Sir Phillip again. “You want to summon the constable? Do so. I shall be delighted to share with him the tale of how my light-skirted sister spread her legs for a common footpad, a robbing bastard who stole from me, then left me for dead.”
“What are you talking about? This is nonsense.” Beatrice rushes to my side and flings her arms around me. “Imogen was widowed, tragically—”
“A widow? Is that what she told you? She failed to mention the highwayman who she begged to help her? The masked bandit who was obliging enough to carry her off on his horse and who she doubtless spread her legs for that same night?” He turns to yell over his shoulder. “Watson! You shall leave at once for Edinburgh. Take my mount, for that is the swiftest beast and bring the magistrate back with you. He shall no doubt have some questions to ask of this trollop—like where the sire of her bastard brat might be found.” He grins at me, his expression now laced with pure greed. “I may not get my inheritance back, slut, but I shall settle for the reward. The lord mayor of York put five hundred guineas on your thieving lover’s worthless head, did you know that? I almost had it too, but that slippery bastard managed to escape me. I paid good money for the hire of a mercenary to track him and my man ran the cur to earth at that rat hole of an inn but he slunk away and we had to settle for firing the place instead. Now I shall have my funds back and more besides, not to mention the satisfaction of seeing your whoreson of a lover swing.”
“She did not know of the reward. Nor did I, though I am gratified to learn that I made such an impression on the city fathers whilst I resided in the vicinity of their fair city. I must also thank you for satisfying my curiosity in the matter of the attack on The Blue Man.”
I gasp and twist in my chair to see Gray entering through the French window. He smiles at me and winks, then turns his calm smile back to Sidney. “So, we meet once more, Mr. Smethurst. I cannot say I am pleased to see you. Indeed, I deeply regret not dispatching you to meet your maker that night, but Imogen would not hear of it. Still, it is not too late.” His hand goes to the hilt of his sword, though his smile does not waver. “Left for dead, you say? But surely your coachman was able to render assistance. I assume you did see fit to free him before you set off in pursuit of Miss Bennett, intent upon battering her to death?”
At Sidney’s spluttering protestations, Gray laughs out loud. “Oh, you did not? How unfortunate, such an oversight. Then yes, you may indeed have encountered a lengthy wait before anyone else happened along.”
“You are a murdering, thieving scoundrel.” Sidney’s countenance has turned a most alarming shade of puce. “I shall see you hang, sir, you and your whore. This very day. Then I shall live off the reward for years to come.”
“Francis, what is this man saying? What does any of this have to do with you?” Beatrice has paled, clearly bewildered by the events unfolding in her drawing room. She turns to Sidney. “My brother-in-law has been abroad in the New World. There is no reward on his head.”
Gray manages a wry smile for her. Mercifully, his sword remains in his scabbard. For now. “I am sorry, Beatrice, Phillip. I have not been completely honest with you, I am afraid.”
“But, how…? I mean, what…?” She turns to her husband. “Phillip, do you understand any of this?”
He frowns at his brother, then at me. “I am beginning to, I fear. And I suspect Francis is not the only one who has been, shall we say, somewhat economical with the truth. Am I right, Imogen?”
“I… I…” I gnaw on my lower lip, wracked with guilt at the lies I have told.
Gray steps in to rescue me. “It was not Imogen’s fault, any of it. I made her swear to say nothing of me and to tell no one of our previous relationship, or of my—activities. She has kept her promise.”
“Evidently,” agrees Sir Phillip, though I detect not the slightest hint of approval in his demeanour. “So, am I to assume then that at least some of what our guest said is true? Are you the father of Imogen’s baby?”
“I am.”
Sir Phillip’s lips thin. “My felicitations. I am to be an uncle. How gratifying. But I am puzzled. Given that you and Imogen appear to retain at least some fondness for one another, why are we not planning a wedding? You would leave her to bear and raise your child alone?”
Gray glowers at Sir Phillip, ready to defend his actions. “It was not by choice. I love her and would happily marry her tomorrow. I had hoped to avoid entangling Imogen in my nefarious past.”
“In that, brother, you have failed most spectacularly,” observes the earl, his expression one of utter disgust. “If you had been honest with me, with us,” he gestures toward Beatrice, “we would have found a solution.”
“Aye,” snarls Gray, “you would have turned me over to the authorities and set Imogen out on her ear.”
“Please try to be less obtuse than is absolutely necessary, Francis. Of course I would not. I may deplore your choice of career, but you are still my brother and this child is my niece or nephew.” He turns to me. “Imogen, do you care to tell us what actually transpired on the night you first encountered my brother?”
I glance at Gray, seeking his consent. He gives it in the form of a curt nod.
“It was the day of my mother’s funeral. I knew I was in danger from Sidney and resolved to leave at once to come here and seek the aid of my remaining family. I walked from her graveside back to our house to collect my belongings but Sidney was waiting for me there. He attacked me and locked me in the cellar. Then later that day, he dragged me from the house intending to take me to Leeds. He planned to force me into marriage. As my husband he would be able to lay claim to everything I owned. I tried to escape, naturally, but he attacked me in the carriage.”
I pause, draw in a long breath as I recall my absolute terror in those moments. I fully expected to die in that carriage, one way or another.
“Sidney was beating me. I was semi-conscious when Gray—sorry—Francis, came upon us. He stopped the coach at gunpoint, intending to rob us. He dragged Sidney off me and told me I was free to leave. I begged him to help me, to aid me in escaping Sidney. He kindly agreed.” I pause, then, “He saved my life, I am sure of it. Sidney would have murdered me that night but for Gray’s intervention.”
My explanation appears to mollify Sir Phillip, though just barely. He turns to face his brother. “Are you still engaged in highway robbery?”
Gray snorts in derision. “Of course I am not. Not here.”
“Well, that is something, I suppose. And whatever the circumstances, your actions toward Imogen were gallant enough. Apart from…” he waves an arm in the direction of my swollen abdomen. “Please tell me this was not the price of your aid.”
“It was not.”
“No,” I affirm. “Gray was most kind and… he did not force me. He has never forced me. It was always my choice.” I reach out my hand and Gray crosses the room to come to me. He takes my fingers in his and bows to kiss them. I smile at him, then at Phillip and Beatrice. I need to make them understand. “We love each other and—”
“We shall be married. As soon as practicable.” Gray makes the announcement, then glares at me as though daring me to gainsay him. “There is nothing to stop us now. I shall obtain a special licence.”
It is not the most romantic proposal I might have hoped for but it will do. I beam at him, nodding my consent.
“Thank the Lord for that. Now, all we need to do is deal with Mr. Smethurst here. Tell me, sir, how much will it cost me to buy your silence?” Sir Phillip turns, ready to negotiate with Sidney. Unfortunately, my stepbrother is no longer among us. The door to the hallway stands ajar, evidence of his escape while all at
tention was focused on Gray and myself.
“Shit! He’ll be heading for the magistrate in Edinburgh. We need to stop him. Masterson…!” Sir Phillip strides toward the open door, Gray hard on his heels.
I make to get to my feet, intending to follow them, but a harsh, clenching pain across my lower abdomen causes my knees to buckle. Sticky wetness drenches my skirts as I double over, screaming.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, her waters have broken. The baby is coming. Help me, please.” Beatrice is on her knees beside me, reaching for my hands.
Both men return to my side; Gray’s expression is one of abject horror.
“It is too soon,” he murmurs. “There should be another month yet.”
“I seriously doubt that, my brother. Your child is joining us now and unless we want him or her to come into the world here in our front parlour I suggest we get Imogen to her chamber. Beatrice, would you send someone for the physician, please? I shall never be out of debt to that man, I daresay.”
“Yes, of course, the physician,” agrees Beatrice, “but you must go for him yourself, Phillip. He will come if you demand it, but the temperamental man will not shift for a servant.”
“I cannot go to Stirling. I need to get after Smethurst. And you, Francis, need to make yourself scarce before the authorities descend upon us. Even if I can catch up with Smethurst and manage to buy his silence, his companion has an even greater head start.”
Francis shakes his head. “I am not leaving. Not without Imogen.”
“You must. We will take care of her. She will be safe here.”
Beatrice urges Gray to take the wiser course, but he is having none of it. He flattens his lips and bends to scoop me up in his arms. “We will leave together. As soon as Imogen is able to travel—and the baby.”
As the pain of my contraction recedes I add my pleas to Beatrice’s. “But that might be days. Possibly longer. You do not have that time to waste before Sidney returns with the authorities. Please, go now.”
“No,” he announces, heading for the hallway. “We leave together, as man and wife—a family.”
“But—”
“Together, or not at all.”
“Fair enough,” concedes Sir Phillip, already pulling on his coat in readiness for his gallop to Stirling. “We shall have to find a way of secreting the pair of you until such time as you might be on your way. I suggest Virginia might be a sensible destination since you claim to have enjoyed your previous visit to the Americas. I assume you did actually go there, at some stage? It was not some fabrication to account for your absence from Scotland?”
Gray pauses at the foot of the stairs. “I did go there, yes. You are suggesting I might travel to the Americas to manage your interests in Virginia whilst avoiding the York magistrates?”
“Aye, you would be good at it. And more to the point, as you have mentioned, you would be beyond the reach of British justice. I am given to understand Imogen is not averse to the notion of a little foreign travel either, so it seems a decent enough solution for both of you.”
“I see. Imogen?” Gray meets my gaze. “Would you fancy crossing the Atlantic with me to live in exile, a pair of fugitives?”
I do not hesitate. “Oh, yes. Yes! I would,” I manage before another cramping contraction seizes me once more.
“Right, good. That is settled then.” The pain recedes and I regain my sensibilities to see Sir Phillip tugging on his gloves. “We can discuss the details later. Meanwhile, Masterson, can you send a couple of stable hands after Smethurst, on decent horses? Bring him back here, by force if need be.”
The servant bows but does not rush to do the earl’s bidding. “Sir, if I might just—”
“Hurry, man. There is no time to lose.”
“Of course not, my lord, it is just that—well—the gentleman’s departure has been delayed somewhat. Both gentlemen, in fact.”
“Delayed? How?” Sir Phillip halts by the front door as Masterson fidgets in front of him. “Tell me, Masterson, do you by any chance know where Mr. Smethurst is now?”
“I do, my lord. He is in the wine cellar.”
Sir Phillip lifts his eyebrow, his expression less amazed than I might have expected in the circumstances. “How did he come to be there, if you please?”
“I was, er, outside in the hallway and I could not help overhearing the, the news. About the highwayman and Miss Bennett. I was not intending to listen, naturally, but—”
“Never mind that. What did you do?”
“Well, when Miss Bennett’s brother shouted for his companion to go fetch the magistrate, I was not convinced that was exactly what we wanted. I thought we might prefer a less public solution. I accompanied the man outside in search of his horse. The route took us past the entrance to the wine cellar and he, well, he sort of lost his footing. And the door was open, so…” Masterson shrugs, conveying the impression that less than vigilant visitors on their way to summon magistrates to the house are wont to stumble into the Kirkleven wine cellar on a regular basis and it really is not a matter of great consequence.
“I see. And Mr. Smethurst?”
“His route took him past the cellar also. And, well…”
“They are both secured in my wine vault?”
“They are, my lord. Perhaps there is not so great an urgency after all. There will be no magistrate arriving, at least not for a while so there is no pressing need for Sir Francis to leave quite yet and Miss Bennett might take her time in, in…”
“Quite. Thank you, Masterson. You have done well, though I did have a case of singularly fine claret laid down. We must hope Mr. Smethurst does not remain with us long enough to discover it.” He grins at his brother, then at me. “Perhaps some haste is called for, after all, Imogen. I see no point at all in tempting providence.” Sir Phillip offers me a swift bow. “I shall go for that physician at once.”
Epilogue
Virginia, 1754
“Cameron, please stop molesting your cousin. Francis is trying to listen to the story.”
In truth, four-year-old Francis is exhibiting not so much as a passing interest in the fortunes of Bluebeard the pirate king and is far more intent on wrestling with his smaller playmate, my own little Cameron who has just turned three. I am doing my best to sound stern, but the sight of two small boys tumbling one over the other across my rug will always make me giggle. Beatrice too. She lays her book aside to watch the antics of our sons.
“They love playing together. It is a pity they see each other so infrequently.”
“I know, but that makes your visits all the sweeter.” I grin at her and shift baby Prudence on my lap. My daughter is almost a year old now. I lay one hand on my stomach, just starting to swell again. “And once this little one is born, perhaps Gray and I might return to Scotland, maybe for an extended trip this time.”
“Can we not convince you to return permanently? It is quite safe to do so since Phillip sent your odious stepbrother on his way, a thousand guineas the richer.”
“It still pains me that Sidney came out of that affair so well. It was always about greed with Sidney and spite of course.”
“Yes,” agrees Beatrice, “but avarice won out in the end. He was happy enough with the bargain and has not bothered us since. Even if he decided to change his story now, it would do him no good. Too much time has elapsed and it is unlikely any convincing evidence would be forthcoming to endanger Francis. You could come home, all of you.”
I shake my head. “This is our home now. We love Virginia and we belong here. This is a young country but a fine one. We shall stay, I believe. It is what we both want.”
Beatrice gives her grudging agreement. “The Americas have been good for you, I can see that. You are positively glowing, Imogen.”
“Ah, yes, now that the first three months are past, I am fighting fit and enjoying this pregnancy at last. It is very different from the first time and of course, Gray is such a doting husband and fat
her.” I do not add that he wields a harsh switch on occasions, though he still chooses not to do so whilst I am pregnant. No matter, he still finds plenty of reasons to turn me over his lap and spank me. That shall remain our secret though.
“I cannot become accustomed to that name,” observes Beatrice, “though I confess it makes it a little easier, not having too many Francises in the house.”
“I tried to use his given name, but to me he has always been Gray.” I glance toward the window at the sound of hoof beats outside. “And speaking of which, I believe they are back.”
Moments later the clatter of feet and laughing male voices reach us as Gray and his brother enter the house. Our home on the outskirts of Jamestown is Jacobean in style and overlooks the acres of grassland owned by the Kirkleven family. Thus far, I am relieved that Gray has resisted the advice of our neighbours that we should acquire slaves to enable the production of crops. My husband’s passion is for horses and he has built a reputation for breeding fine animals that are much in demand in Virginia and the neighbouring states. We are prosperous, though not as rich as the owners of the plantations that surround our land. Still, it will do. We are content and my husband has found his niche.
As have I. I soon abandoned my notion of running a guest house, there being no call for one hereabouts. And I am not overly fond of domesticity in any case. Instead, I spent a goodly portion of my inheritance on purchasing a printing press, which I have installed in an outbuilding adjacent to Gray’s stables. I have started a newspaper, The Jamestown Gazette, which has grown to a regular print run of over three hundred copies each week. Not a great circulation, but the newspaper grows a little each month. I write most copy myself, local news in the main though occasionally I am able to commission articles. Increasingly the demand among my readers is for content that bemoans the policies of the British government and demands ever greater freedoms for our colonies.
