by Anne O'Brien
My dear niece,
It has grieved me that a rift has opened between myself and the daughter of my only and much-loved brother. I understand your feelings and can only offer my apologies for any misunderstandings in the past. I have always had your care as my first priority as your guardian and I wish to fulfil that role to the end.
‘Well!’ Juliet interrupted, a gleam in her eye. ‘I must say, that does not sound like your version of events!’
Frances shook her head in disbelief and continued.
I know that you have been informed of the extent of your inheritance and I wish you well for the future now that you have almost reached your majority. I have in my possession some keepsakes, letters and items of jewellery that belonged to your poor mother, which were entrusted to me until you came of age. They are of no great monetary value, but I am sure that for sentimental reasons you would wish to possess them. I would like you to have them now. I shall be in town tomorrow and I would like to discharge this obligation as soon as possible. I do not think that it would be wise for me to visit you as Aldeborough has made his censure clear. Therefore might I be permitted to suggest that you visit Torrington House yourself so that the matter can be settled quietly and without fuss. I am sure that you will see the necessity for acting with discretion.
I will put at your disposal my coach, which will await you at the entrance to Cavendish Square at two o’clock this afternoon. I trust this will be convenient for you. Your obedient servant,
Torrington
‘Well! What are you going to do? From what you have told me, I would not wish to visit him. And certainly not alone. Perhaps you should wait for Hugh to return.’ Juliet rested her chin on her clasped hands and awaited Frances’s decision.
‘But if he has some of my mother’s possessions! I have nothing of hers except this brooch—’ she touched the amethysts at her breast ‘—indeed, I was not even aware that any mementoes or keepsakes existed. And letters! I cannot forgo them, Juliet, indeed, I cannot. And I would hate him to return to Yorkshire with them still in his possession. I have to accept his offer.’
A decided sparkle illuminated Juliet’s eyes. ‘I could come with you, of course. Would that still count as discretion?’
‘I doubt my uncle would think so, not if he knew you!’ Frances laughed but the idea attracted her. ‘Would you come with me? He does not exactly say I have to be alone. And I would dearly love your company.’
‘It would be exciting. An adventure. And, as long as Aldeborough does not get to know, there will be no harm done. And I may get to see your fascinating Cousin Charles!’
‘He is not fascinating and I am sure I should not encourage you. Besides, I do not think he is in town any longer—he said at Almack’s that he intended to return to the country almost immediately.’ After a moment’s reflection she asked, with a studied casualness that she hoped would hide her interest, ‘What do you think your brother would do if he found out?’
‘Hugh? I am not sure. But he can be very severe if he thinks I have done anything immodest or dangerous. But I do not think you have to be concerned, dear Frances.’ A sly little smile touched Juliet’s lips.
‘I wish I had your confidence. Aldeborough and I had an … an argument before he left for Newmarket.’
‘I know. It was about Mrs Winters.’
‘Juliet! How did you know that?’
‘Aunt May, of course. There is not much that goes on in this family without her knowing. But don’t worry. Hugh will never be severe with you. I have seen him smile at you.’ With which enigmatic comment Juliet left Frances to contemplate the wisdom of a visit that might drive her absent husband to extreme measures. It was an interesting prospect. It was a pity that he would never know of it.
The two ladies, suitably garbed for their afternoon visit, were waiting at the entrance to the Square at the appointed hour when a plain, unmarked coach pulled up. A footman jumped down and helped the ladies to ascend the steps. They were driven off at a smart trot the short distance to the Torringtons’ town house.
‘The knocker is off the door,’ said Frances with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice as she leaned forward to see their destination, an undistinguished town house, rather narrow and in need of new paint. ‘I hope he has not left already, but then, since he has sent the coach …’ Her fears were clearly ill founded, for as they pulled up the front door was opened and a liveried servant ushered them into the house. He preceded them quickly up the staircase, giving them little time to note the shabby furnishings, meagre furniture and the general air of neglect, and opened the door into one of the large reception rooms on the first floor overlooking the small unkempt garden at the rear.
‘If you would make yourself comfortable, my lady. You are expected. I will arrange for tea to be brought.’
They were left alone to wait for Torrington.
The room was as dingy and badly furnished as Torrington Hall. Frances could only remember one visit here when she had been a child and so had little recollection of the house. She traced her finger through the dust on one of the walnut side tables while Juliet adjusted her flower-trimmed straw bonnet in the badly foxed mirror over the mantelpiece. She wrinkled her nose with displeasure.
‘It does not have an air of being lived in, does it? I cannot imagine when a fire was last lit in this grate.’
‘Not for many weeks. I wonder why—’
She was interrupted, the door opening to reveal, together with the expected tea tray, not Viscount Torrington, but a smiling Charles Hanwell, as urbane and self-possessed as usual and certainly more approachable than on their previous meeting at Almack’s.
‘Charles. I did not realise you were still in town.’ Frances allowed him to take her hand in a cousinly salute as the footman left the tray and closed the door. ‘Didn’t you say that you were leaving when I saw you at Almack’s?’
‘Yes. That is what I said.’ He continued to smile at her, but she detected an edge to his voice as he inclined his head towards Juliet. His words startled her. ‘I did not expect you to be accompanied. I fear that I cannot say that I am pleased to see you, Lady Juliet.’ His elegant bow held more than a touch of irony.
‘I had a letter from my uncle,’ Frances stated, unease touching her nerve endings with its icy fingers.
‘No, you did not. I sent the letter. My father is in the country.’
‘Forgive me, Charles. I do not quite understand. Are you offering to give me my mother’s possessions?’
‘There are none, to my knowledge. That, my dear cousin, was merely a lure to bring you here. I knew you would not be able to resist. Such sentimentality, Frances, can be dangerous.’
‘What do you want of me?’ Those icy fingers spread to her heart.
‘I am sure that you are intelligent enough to work it out for yourself.’
‘Do I presume it is money?’
‘Of course.’ Charles’s lips continued to curve in the semblance of a smile, but Frances saw no humour in his face. ‘I had no choice but to bring you here. My other plans failed, so I am left with one final option.’
‘Other plans? I thought you wanted to marry me.’
‘Past history, my dear Frances. My intentions have changed. I had not bargained on your presence, Lady Juliet, but it need not intrinsically alter my design.’
‘But what do you want? What do you intend to do with us?’
‘You will remain here for a little while—I assure you, you will be quite comfortable. I have some arrangements to finalise. You will not expect any attempt to rescue you, of course.’
Frances curved her lips into what she hoped was a smile filled with total disbelief and disdain for her cousin’s plan. ‘Of course there will be an attempt to rescue us! How could you doubt it? As soon as we are missed—’
‘Come now, Frances,’ Charles interrupted with a careless shrug. ‘Do not play the fool with me. I would wager any money that you told no one of your intentions this afternoon. After al
l, who would you tell? Your resourceful husband is in Newmarket. The Dowager? I doubt it. Your inimitable aunt? Perhaps. But you did not, did you?’ He caught the telltale flush that stained her cheeks and smiled. ‘Of course you did not. We both know that no one will come here to search for you.’
‘I don’t believe that you could contemplate keeping us prisoner!’ Juliet looked at him in disbelief.
‘Oh, yes, he would.’ Frances was now convinced of her cousin’s guilt. ‘I believe he has tried to cause harm before. Isn’t that right, Charles? On the road to York? You tried to kill Aldeborough, didn’t you, so that you could marry me and take the money for yourself. What are you trying to do now? Do you intend to blackmail Aldeborough? My inheritance in return for my life?’
An amused smile crossed Charles’s face. ‘The thought had crossed my mind. But you need not trouble yourself about the means, dear cousin. Last time, purely by chance, I failed. I shall not do so again. I am truly sorry that you would not accept my offer of marriage, Frances. It would have saved us both so much pain and heartache. But now it is irrelevant.’
He opened the door and stood, confident and amused at the inevitable success of his plan, his hand on the latch. Frances felt her fingers curl into claws and an overwhelming desire to mar his handsome face with feline scratches.
‘You cannot escape through the windows—they are all securely locked. And there is no one to hear you if you call out for help. My servants can be remarkably hard of hearing. I will leave you to your reflections. Good afternoon, ladies.’
‘Can he really keep us here?’ Juliet enquired with remarkable composure in the circumstances.
‘I suppose he can. After all, who can stop him?’
‘When does Aldeborough return?’
‘I don’t know. We could be here for days. What an awful prospect.’ Frances surveyed the room bleakly. ‘One thing is certain. We have to escape.’
‘Charles was right, I am afraid. The windows are not an option.’ Juliet tried unsuccessfully to push one open. ‘And even if we smashed one, it is a long way to the ground. I don’t relish a broken leg.’
‘And no one knows we are here because we deliberately did not tell anyone.’
‘And I suppose you have the letter with you? You didn’t by some chance leave it in the breakfast parlour for someone to find?’
‘I am afraid it is in my reticule.’ Frances sighed. ‘We have put ourselves in a very difficult position.’
‘We need a strategy. What would Hugh do?’ Juliet seated herself and clasped her hands.
‘Get over rough ground as lightly as possible. Is that not a favourite military objective with Wellington? But I am not sure that it helps us now.’
‘Somehow we have to get Charles out of the way and the door open.’
Silence hung in the room as they assessed the hopelessness of their situation.
Juliet, idly pulling at her gloves, suddenly turned her head with an arrested expression. ‘Do you remember the novel we read that Mama was so sniffy about when she discovered it behind the cushions in the morning room? The one with the castle in the Alps and beautiful Marianne. And the Wicked Baron Oliver who wanted to force his attentions on her.’
‘Yes. Raven’s Castle. What on earth has that to do with anything? Honestly, Juliet, here we are imprisoned in this—’
‘But do you remember how Marianne escaped from him?’ Juliet interrupted.
Frances thought for a moment. ‘She pretended she was ill and took to her bed where she groaned a good deal, then she hid behind the door when the Wicked Baron came to offer her help and hit him with a candlestick, which laid him out on the floor. That was more or less the story as I remember it. I thought it was a bit far-fetched at the time.’
‘Could we do that?’
Frances met Juliet’s quizzical expression and a smile began to curve her lips as the image developed in her mind. She crossed to a sidetable, picked up an elegant bronze figurine of a hunting dog and weighed it, somewhat thoughtfully, in her hand. If she was to prevent Charles from blackmailing Aldeborough out of an extortionate amount of money, she and Juliet must win their freedom. It seemed it would call for some forceful and imaginative action.
‘I cannot think of a better idea. Which part would you like to play? The languishing invalid or the intrepid attacker?’
Juliet giggled. ‘Oh, the invalid. I am sure I could do that. After all …’ she suddenly became serious ‘… we have nothing to lose, have we? I have decided that I do not care for your Cousin Charles at all.’
‘Neither do I! Let us discuss tactics.’
They set the scene with great care and dramatic intent. The dust-laden curtains were loosened from their ties to cast the room into suitable gloom, apart from one branch of candles that Frances arranged on the small table beside the silk-covered sofa on which Juliet would play out her major role. Meanwhile, that enthusiastic young lady removed her bonnet and unpinned her hair so that it lay romantically on her shoulders.
‘What do I do with this statue?’ Frances lifted the bronze again. ‘If I were Aunt May, I could hide it in my skirts. There’s not much hope with this dress, is there?’ She eyed her light muslins critically.
‘Just put it behind the door until you need it,’ Juliet advised. ‘It looks very heavy. Don’t kill him, will you?’
‘I will try not to!’
‘What a pity we have no blood. That would look most realistic—and suitably shocking! Charles would have to come to my aid.’ Juliet eyed with interested speculation the knives that had come with the cakes on the tea tray.
‘I am not cutting my wrists—or yours, for that matter—for you!’ Frances was quick to see the direction of her thoughts.
‘But think of the effect on Charles—he could not possibly think it was a trick, that I was merely feigning illness if I was covered with blood!’
Frances picked up a knife. ‘It is not very sharp,’ she observed dubiously.
‘We don’t need much. Just a little cut and you could dabble the blood on my bodice. It will not hurt. Just think of it as part of the adventure.’
‘Why are you not volunteering?’
‘I need all my strength and concentration to act.’
‘And I suppose I don’t to hit him on the head.’
‘He is your cousin. Come here and I will do it for you.’
‘I cannot argue against that.’ Frances held out the knife reluctantly.
Frances closed her eyes as Juliet applied the knife as gently but effectively as possible to her bared forearm. There was a sharp stinging pain, which made her draw in her breath on a gasp, and she tried not to look at the blood that immediately seeped from her torn flesh.
‘There. That wasn’t too bad, was it? Now, if you let the blood drip on to my dress. Yes. That’s very good. I never liked this pale green anyway—far too insipid. Are you feeling quite well, Frances? You do look a little pale. It is amazing how much such a little cut will bleed.’
Frances, swallowing hard, tried not to think of her blood being smeared over Juliet’s bodice and skirt and was relieved when Juliet, satisfied at last, tied her handkerchief around the wound to staunch any further bleeding.
‘Are we ready? Let us start before my nerves fail me.’ Frances rubbed her arms to dispel the shivering and positioned herself between the sofa and the door. Juliet stood beside the sofa, hands already clutching her throat in dramatic mode. She grinned encouragingly at Frances and the play began.
Juliet began to cough. She bent over, choking and retching, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other clawing at her throat. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted into a mask, her clothing spattered artistically with Frances’s blood. The coughs were punctuated with cries of anguish. Nodding in satisfaction, Frances turned and hammered on the door for attention.
The door opened precipitately to admit the footman. His eyes grew round in shock and his face visibly paled as he took in the horrific picture, Juliet gasping and choking wit
h blood on her gown, Frances in hysterics.
‘My lady! What’s happened? What can …?’ he gabbled, falling into silence.
‘My sister,’ shrieked Frances. ‘She is in such distress. What can I do to help her?’ She ran to the footman to clutch his arm convulsively. ‘Please! You must tell Mr Hanwell. We need his help.’
‘Mr Hanwell is about to go out.’ The footman could not take his eyes off Juliet, who continued to cough and moan.
‘Fetch him.’ Frances shook his arm violently. ‘It is a matter of life and death.’
The footman turned on his heel and all but ran from the room. Juliet raised her head to grin at Frances. ‘Well done!’ she whispered.
‘Don’t stop now,’ Frances murmured back. ‘Charles must be in no doubt that this is genuine if I am to take him by surprise.’
Charles arrived in the doorway, taking in the scene at once. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ he demanded in a voice harsh with latent panic. Frances simply stood, wringing her hands and sobbing loudly. ‘She seemed perfectly well an hour ago.’ His tone was cold, but even he appeared shaken by the tragic figure before him.
Juliet collapsed limply on to the sofa, head flung back, gasping for breath. Then once more she doubled up in painful retching, which soon developed into harsh coughing. One trembling hand was stretched out blindly for help. Only the most heartless creature could ignore such suffering.
‘She needs help!’ Frances managed to cry. ‘She had eaten one of the cakes—and then she began to choke. All this blood! And she can hardly breathe. Please help her.’ She looked at Charles with piteous, tear-filled eyes. ‘I do not know what to do for her.’
Charles considered the heartfelt appeal for a moment and then approached the sofa, kneeling to take a closer look at the sufferer, thus turning his back on Frances. Now, she told herself, do it now! She pushed the door gently closed, picked up the bronze hunting dog and advanced silently to where he knelt. Charles moved as if to rise to his feet. Don’t move, she prayed. Just stay there for one more minute! Juliet’s coughing reached a violent paroxysm that caused Charles to bend over her once more.
