by Anne O'Brien
‘I was not aware of that.’ He shrugged. ‘A mere scratch.’ He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words, undecided whether to say more, but then continued, ‘I owe you my life, you know.’
‘I thought he meant to shoot you,’ Frances explained. ‘Is he … is he dead?’
Aldeborough turned his head to where Ambrose and Matthew were finishing their inspection. ‘I’m afraid they might both be.’ He took her cold hands in his and saw the horror imprint itself on her face. ‘You must not think about it. If you had not shot him, we would doubtless both be dead by now.’
‘Dead!’ Ambrose confirmed, his face grim. ‘We shall not learn anything from them.’
‘No. I expect they were thugs hired in York. If your groom could wait here for the coach containing our luggage, they could then arrange to take the bodies back to York. We might find out who they are or at least who paid them—but I am not too hopeful.’
‘But they were not ordinary footpads, were they?’ Frances broke in, voicing the thoughts that had been crowding into her brain for some time. ‘They were not common highwaymen.’
‘Perhaps not, but don’t worry.’ He squeezed her hands reassuringly. ‘We’ll be safe enough now with our gallant rescuers. Matthew’s always good for seeing off any troublemakers.’
‘But …’ Frances persisted, unwilling to let the matter drop.
‘Not now, Frances.’ It was a command.
Aldeborough transferred his grasp to her arm to help her up into the coach again. When he became aware of the trembling that she could not control and so had failed to hide from him, he turned without a word and strode to his tethered horse, producing a small flask from his saddlebag.
‘Drink this.’ He unstoppered it and presented it to her. ‘It will stop the shivering, so don’t refuse.’ Frances had the grace to look sheepish as this had been her intention. She took a gulp of the fiery liquid, making her gasp and her eyes water, but the warmth in her stomach was comforting and she drank again before returning it to Aldeborough.
‘You were very brave, Frances Rosalind,’ he said softly. ‘I shall not forget this day.’ He took a drink of the brandy himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Up with you. I’ll ride a little way with Ambrose. Matthew will keep you company. You can tell him all about your adventure and the indignity of travelling on the floor of the coach. You’ll be quite safe and we shall be at the Priory in no time.’
With Matthew and Frances comfortably ensconced, the coachman gave his horses the office to start. Aldeborough swung himself up on to his horse and he and Ambrose fell in at some little distance behind the coach.
‘So, what’s all this, Hugh?’ Ambrose could barely contain his curiosity. ‘A bit like the old times in the Peninsula, was it?’
Aldeborough laughed without humour. ‘Yes, it was. But there you expect ambush and guerrilla tactics. You are prepared for it. I was not prepared today—too casual by half, it seems.’
‘Hmm. It looked like a nasty incident and this is not known as a dangerous stretch of road that highwaymen frequent.’
‘They were not footpads,’ Aldeborough stated baldly, ‘as my wife observed. And you are correct. It had the makings of a very nasty incident. With my blood on the road.’
‘Hired assassins? It seems unlikely.’
‘Very true, but they were. They knew who they were intending to waylay and had clear instructions as to the outcome. And it seems they were being paid handsomely.’
‘Could they simply have recognised the black falcon on the coach panel and seen their eye to the main chance? It is fairly distinctive—you were hardly travelling incognito, were you?’
‘They could, but I think they were well informed beforehand. The leader called out my name as they stopped the coach. And they were expecting Frances to be travelling with me. He asked me where she was.’
‘So who knew you were travelling today?’
Aldeborough shrugged. ‘Any number of people, I suppose.’
Ambrose was silent for a moment, frowning as he contemplated the possibilities.
‘Been making any enemies lately?’ he asked finally. ‘Putting up the rent of your tenants or something of the sort?’
‘No.’ Aldeborough shook his head. ‘I am seen as an improving landlord, I believe,’ he stated cynically.
‘Well, you couldn’t be worse than your father. Or Richard. But that is not saying much.’
‘Thank you,’ Aldeborough commented drily. ‘I am delighted that someone appreciates my achievements.’
‘Your mother still giving you hell, is she?’
‘Of course. Richard was the centre of her universe.’ Aldeborough’s set expression and icy tone did not encourage further discussion.
‘So?’ Ambrose took the hint. ‘What of your footpads? Won a lot of money from anyone recently? Seduced someone’s wife?’ Impatiently the Marquis shook his head.
You have made one enemy too many, my lord.
Aldeborough remained silent for a moment. Then, ‘I don’t want this spread abroad, Ambrose. They were paid assassins and out for blood. Mine. They were not frightened of being recognised, their faces were not covered, so obviously they intended to allow no witnesses to remain alive. The fact that they failed was pure chance—and your timely arrival, of course.’
‘Do I understand that it was in fact Lady Aldeborough who shot one of them?’ As Aldeborough nodded, his friend continued, ‘She has amazing spirit as well as a beautiful face. You’re a lucky man, if you did but realise it,’ he ended drily.
‘Very true, as you have not hesitated to tell me before. I did not realise you were such an admirer.’ There was a hint of warning, but lightly given. ‘If it had not been for Frances, I would be lying dead in the road.’
‘Be assured, Hugh, if your footpads or assassins had been successful, I would have been only too willing to come to Lady Aldeborough’s aid!’ Ambrose’s lips twitched in dry amusement, claiming the familiarity of an old friend, and there was a glint in his eye. But then he stared straight ahead between his horse’s ears, suddenly serious as a thought struck him and he refused to meet Aldeborough’s enigmatic stare. ‘But it gives you food for thought, does it not? That someone hates you sufficiently to be prepared to arrange your death.’
Aldeborough, for once, gave no reply.
‘Good afternoon, my lord. My lady. We have been expecting you. I trust your journey was uneventful?’
‘Yes. You’re looking well, Rivers.’ Aldeborough shrugged himself out of his caped greatcoat. ‘Any problems?’
‘No, my lord. I am sure you will find everything running smoothly and to your satisfaction. Kington expects to report to you tomorrow. He has left a letter for you in the library.’
‘I will read it presently. Can we have tea in the library at once? I’m sure her ladyship will be grateful for some refreshment. Lord Matthew is with us. He’s gone with the horses to the stables, but should be here presently.’
‘Indeed, my lord. Everything is prepared. And perhaps I should inform you. Lady Cotherstone is in residence. She arrived last week. For a prolonged stay, I believe. She had considerable luggage.’
No expression crossed the butler’s face, but Aldeborough caught the gleam in his eye and responded with a low laugh. ‘Thank you, Rivers. It is as well to be warned. Where is she?’
‘In the library, awaiting you, my lord. For some little time, I understand.’
‘Then we had better go and announce our arrival.’ He turned to Frances as Rivers retired to organise refreshments. ‘Come and meet one of the skeletons in our family cupboard.’
‘Who is she?’ Frances’s lingering unease over the violence of the attack was overlaid by a lively curiosity.
‘Lady Mary Cotherstone. My grandfather’s sister—my Great-aunt May. I’ve no idea how old she is—she will never admit her true age—she is eccentric, opinionated and outspoken to a fault. She married when she was very young—I am amazed that any man was willing to take he
r on—but she has been a widow as long as I have known her. She and my mother detest each other and spend as little time as possible under the same roof.’ He grinned. ‘You will like her extremely.’
Frances acknowledged this with a chuckle. ‘Does she live here? Where was she when you first brought me here?’ They made their way to the library, Frances divesting herself of coat and gloves to a waiting footman.
‘She doesn’t officially live anywhere. She does the rounds of her relatives and moves on only when their patience gives out or she loses her temper. I suppose she lives here more than anywhere. You will find her a most refreshing experience after the polite manners of town.’ He opened the door into the library.
‘Well, May. I hear you have taken up residence again. We are honoured. And I see that Wellington is still with us.’
‘Aunt May to you, my boy. Show some respect to your elders and betters. Wellington is very well.’
Frances found herself in the company of a lady of extreme age and somewhat forbidding appearance. She was tall and thin to the point of emaciation. Her black hair, allowed to show no signs of natural ageing, was drawn back from her forehead to leave a row of girlish curls as a fringe. She was dressed remarkably in the fashion prevalent in the days of her youth with a tight buckram-lined bodice and a full, ruched overskirt caught up over a matching petticoat. The whole was trimmed with frivolous bows and flowers, which sat incongruously on her angular frame. Her face was heavily lined, but those around her eyes and mouth suggested that she smiled often—as indeed she did when she rose to meet Aldeborough. Wellington, an inappropriately named hound of mixed parentage but a quantity of long, tangled hair, growled and panted at her feet.’
‘Well, Aldeborough. Let me look at you.’
She raised a bony, arthritic hand to turn his face to the light, scanning his features with eyes uncannily similar to his own.
‘You look well. Still missing the campaigning?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You should not have let them bully you into selling out. I doubt your mother thanks you for it. I suppose you are still her least favourite son?’
Aldeborough, well used to his aunt’s astringent style, shook his head and refused to rise to the bait. ‘I had no choice but to sell out, you know that,’ he said, ignoring one question and answering the other.
‘Hmm. So you say.’ She snorted in an unladylike manner and patted his cheek in dismissal. ‘So.’ She turned to Frances, who felt herself being raked from head to foot by the bright, inquisitive gaze. ‘And this is The Bride. Are you going to introduce us?’
‘This is Frances.’ He drew her forward with a hand on her arm. ‘My dear, this is my Great-aunt May.’
‘You are not what I expected. I have had the dubious pleasure of making the acquaintance of Viscount Torrington and his wife.’
Frances was not sure how to take this, but decided that it was a compliment and dropped a small curtsy. ‘I am pleased to meet you, my lady.’
‘Don’t stand on ceremony. Call me Aunt May like the rest of them. You’re a pretty little thing. You’re Cecilia Mortimer’s daughter, are you not?’
‘Yes,’ Frances admitted in some surprise. ‘Did you know my mother?’
‘No. Although I probably met her. She was much younger—a different generation—but I remember the to-do when she ran off with your father. But I have to say that even that scandal pales into insignificance in comparison with your own marriage.’ She turned her accusing stare on Aldeborough. ‘What were you thinking of, Hugh? To abduct the girl from her uncle’s house—is that the truth of it? It was not exactly good ton, was it? I though you had more style, boy.’ It gave Frances some cause for amusement to hear her self-assured husband addressed with such familiarity and in such an accusing tone. But if he was discomfited, he covered it well and responded to his aunt with good humour.
‘Clearly I have spent an ungodly life, as I have already been accused once today.’
‘Probably a surfeit of claret. And poor quality at that, if it was Torrington’s.’ She cackled with laughter. ‘Have you forgiven him yet, my dear? It might be best if you do. And I never did like Torrington, even if he is your uncle.’
‘Spare us all our blushes, Aunt May.’ Aldeborough came to his wife’s rescue, but to his surprise Frances chose to respond to this forthright lady.
‘I have forgiven him. And I must tell you that my lord did not abduct me. He rescued me from an impossible situation—and it was of my making, not his. Indeed, I have no complaints.’
‘Well, well, Aldeborough. You have a champion here. Very noble of you, my dear, I am sure.’ Lady Cotherstone’s eyes twinkled at the colour that had risen to tint Frances’s pale skin. ‘We must have a comfortable chat later when you can tell me all about it. I love gossip and don’t get enough opportunities these days. I’ll wager my pearl necklet that the Marchioness was up in arms. Let us have tea. Ring for Rivers. And here is Matthew—you didn’t tell me he was joining us. Quite a family party, in fact. Perhaps we should have a bottle of port as well.’
There was no opportunity for the rest of that day for Frances to have any private conversation with Aldeborough. He did not come to her room that night and she found that she did not have the confidence to go to his. She spent a restless night, haunted by memories of violent death and the part she had played in it.
Next morning Frances made a point of accosting Aldeborough in the library before he left to meet Kington and to ride out to inspect a land-drainage project that had been put in hand along the flooded river meadows.
‘Can I disturb you?’
He was leafing through a stack of papers on his desk with an air of resigned frustration. ‘Of course. I am delighted to be disturbed by a lady as pretty as my own wife.’ He stood and smiled in welcome. ‘What are you planning to do today? Don’t let Aunt May bully you into one of her schemes. She may be ancient, but she has more stamina than anyone I know unless it is Juliet. My sister is very like her.’
Frances smiled at his unexpected gallantry, but otherwise ignored it. ‘About yesterday,’ she began, without preamble, before she could have second thoughts. ‘The highwaymen.’
Aldeborough continued to smile, but his eyes became hard and flat, discouraging discussion. ‘They were just footpads. A normal hazard when travelling except that this time it was too close for comfort.’
Frances was determined not to be discouraged and met his eyes with her own direct gaze. ‘I don’t believe you. I am not a fool. They were not just footpads and it wasn’t just chance, as you well know. They intended murder—they threatened to kill you.’
Aldeborough still refused to be drawn. ‘Don’t make too much of it. I have started enquiries in York; if there is anything to discover, it will be done.’
‘So you think I should just forget about it?’
‘Yes. What would be the point in worrying about it unduly?’
‘But I killed a man! I have blood on my hands.’ She heard a rising note of hysteria creep into her voice and fought hard to suppress it.
The expression on Aldeborough’s face softened at her words and obvious distress. He immediately came round the desk to take her hand.
‘Forgive me, Frances. I did not consider … Perhaps it is the effect of campaigning that makes a man accept death so cheaply. I have been thoughtless, not realising how you must react to such a horrifying incident.’
‘I could not sleep for thinking about it. I kept seeing the pistol and the blood.’
He smoothed the frown from between her brows with a gentle finger. ‘The only consolation I can give is that if you had not shot the rider, I would be dead, and you too. There is nothing more certain.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘So you must not let it prey on your mind. I order you to stop!’ He replaced his finger with a gentle brush of his lips.
She laughed, if a little shakily, and, although her fears remained, had to admit the justice in what he said. ‘Very well. I didn�
�t mean to trouble you. Only …’
‘I understand.’
‘I expect you do. I will try not to let it worry me.’
‘What an amenable wife you are this morning!’ He stroked his hand over a ringlet, which had escaped from its pins, with a twitch of his lips.
‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ she responded equally lightly. ‘So you see, there is no need to resort to such extreme methods as highwaymen to rid yourself of a troublesome wife. Miss Vowchurch warned me that travelling to the Priory could be dangerous. She did not know the half of it.’
It was said as a joke, a light-hearted jest, laughter in her eyes, expecting a similar response from him. Instead his reaction was devastating. His hand fell from her hair, while the other one clenched into a fist on the papers he was holding. His eyes blazed in a face from which all blood had retreated, then went flat and cold. Fire and ice. He clasped her wrist in a grip that branded her with its heat.
‘What can you possibly mean by that interesting statement?’ he asked quietly and conversationally, his tone at variance with the controlled emotion in his face.
‘What have I said?’ she asked perplexed.
‘I never believed that you would believe such slander.’
‘I don’t understand, Hugh. What should I not believe?’
‘Richard’s death will haunt me for ever. I don’t need you to remind me of it or to repeat what the world chooses to believe.’
‘Richard? What has he to do—’
‘I will not discuss it. It is no concern of yours. My mother has clearly done an excellent job on you in the short time that you were under the same roof. I never realised that you were so much in agreement.’
‘I understood that Richard fell from his curricle,’ Frances answered carefully, wary of this sudden, unexpected explosion of anger.
‘Oh yes! He fell. And broke his neck.’ His face was a mask, his voice full of bitter self-mockery. ‘And I inherited everything. So I must have been to blame, do you not think? It is all very logical. I must have hated my brother from the moment of my birth, for standing in the path of my ambition to possess the title and the fortune that goes with it. And how I must have rejoiced at his death. I must have offered up prayers of gratitude to God when I held his lifeless body in my arms and wiped the blood from his face.’
