ALSO BY MAUREEN DRISCOLL
THE EMERSON SERIES
ALWAYS TRUE TO HER (Emerson Book 2, James and Irene)
ALWAYS COME HOME (Emerson Book 1, Colin and Ava)
THE KELLINGTON SERIES
NEVER TURN AWAY (Kellington Book 6, Joseph and Evelyn)
NEVER DENY YOUR HEART (Kellington Book 5, Liam and Rosalind)
NEVER RUN FROM LOVE (Kellington Book 4, Hal and Melanie)
NEVER WAGER AGAINST LOVE (Kellington Book 3, Arthur and Vanessa)
NEVER MISS A CHANCE (Kellington Book 2, Lizzie and Marcus)
NEVER A MISTRESS, NO LONGER A MAID (Kellington Book 1, Ned and Jane)
THE POLITICAL SATIRE
DATING GEORGE CLOONEY
ALWAYS HAVE HOPE
By
Maureen Driscoll
To my mom. I love you now and always.
CHAPTER ONE
London, March 1823
Sergeant Ambrose Fisk studied the scene in front of him.
Mrs. Winifred Pierce, once known as Lady Winifred, daughter of the late Earl of Ridgeway, sat huddled in a cold interrogation room in Newgate prison. The officers had brought her straight there instead of stopping first at Bow Street, as was the norm with suspects, especially when the accused was a member of the ton.
Her gown was covered in blood. Her hands were stained with it. Even her fingernails were encrusted with it. Both of her eyes were blackened, there was a cut on her cheek and her jaw was swollen. The way she was holding her arm against her mid-section gave every indication that at least one rib was cracked or broken. She was staring down at the table and had given little more than one-syllable answers for the three hours she’d been questioned.
She’d said she didn’t know what had happened. She’d found her husband dead in his study, his throat slit. When the butler had walked in he’d sent for the police. There was no sign of forced entry in the house. According to the butler, Mr. Pierce had no enemies. And his family had been adamant that only one person might have motive to kill him: Mrs. Pierce
And that’s what had made Sergeant Fisk so suspicious. When a man is violently murdered in his own home, he has an enemy. And likely more than one.
From the looks of Mrs. Pierce, there was little doubt in Fisk’s mind who’d beaten her so severely. She certainly would have motive to kill her husband. And whether the law said it was wrong or not, Fisk figured the bastard had it coming. But the woman before him looked too broken to have done such an act. Not to mention if those ribs hurt as much as he imagined they did, she wouldn’t have had the strength to carry out the attack.
He’d been at the crime scene. The late Mr. Pierce had been a large man, with hands the size of ham hocks. His knuckles had been scraped and there were scars beneath that. Some abusers kept their violence hidden so their victims could be paraded about with no one the wiser. But, obviously, Mr. Pierce hadn’t cared.
As bad as Mrs. Pierce’s injuries were – and they were bad – Fisk didn’t think they had made the scrapes on Mr. Pierce’s knuckles. He’d fought with someone else recently. Perhaps his killer. Perhaps someone else entirely. It was worth running that down before they did anything foolish like arrest Mrs. Pierce.
Unfortunately, it was not his call to make. Inspector Dunlop was in charge. And if there ever was a man prone to foolishness, it was Dennis Dunlop.
Formerly, Fisk had quite happily served under Inspector Joseph Stapleton. Inspector Stapleton had even recruited Fisk to the force, when he’d been barely scraping by working menial jobs. Fisk had lost a leg in the war and it had been difficult to find work. But Inspector Stapleton had made him his sergeant and been a good friend to him. He still was, but he was recently married and splitting his time between his estate and working as a consultant with the Home Office.
If Joseph were there, he’d see the inconsistencies of the circumstances. He’d have doubts about Mrs. Pierce’s guilt. And he wouldn’t have spent three hours questioning her when it was clear the lady was only becoming weaker. He’d get her a surgeon for no other reason than it tended to ingratiate a suspect to you.
But Joseph wasn’t there.
Fisk continued to observe from a darkened corner. A constable came in to speak to Dunlop.
“A toff is demanding to see ‘er. A Lord James Emerson.”
Mrs. Pierce looked up and for the first time appeared almost hopeful.
“What the devil is his interest in the case?” asked Dunlop.
“Says ‘e’s her brother.”
Mrs. Pierce nodded her head. It looked like it took a great deal of effort to do so. “May I see him?”
Dunlop looked at her for a moment, then turned to the wooden slats in the wall behind him where others often watched the interrogations. Fisk wasn’t sure who was back there, since the door had already been closed when he’d arrived. Now there came one knock on the wall.
That meant no.
“You can’t see no one, Mrs. Pierce,” said Dunlop.
“When can I go home?”
This time Dunlop walked over to the shutters and put his ear against the slat, listening. Whatever was said made him pause. He whispered something back, then listened again. He nodded and returned.
“You can’t go home. We’re holding you tonight. Here at Newgate.”
“What?” Fisk rose from his seat. It was highly irregular to hold anyone but the most hardened criminals in Newgate awaiting arraignment. They rarely held peers and Fisk couldn’t remember the last time they’d held a female suspect who was a member of the ton. It wasn’t that toffs didn’t commit crimes. It was that they had powerful friends who could make life difficult for the police. It was usually only when the evidence was irrefutable that such measures were taken.
“Why not release her into the custody of this Lord James Emerson?” asked Fisk.
“And have him spirit her out of the country? Absolutely not.”
“But it ain’t safe for a lady to be at Newgate overnight. You know that.” If one of the other prisoners didn’t kill her for her gown – bloodstained or not, it was worth money – she would likely be assaulted by one or more of the guards.
Something very odd was going on. And it didn’t sit well with Fisk.
“Last I checked this was none of your concern,” said Dunlop. “I’m not your precious Stapleton here to listen to your theories. You’re the sergeant and you’ll do as you’re told. And I’m telling you to leave.”
One of the constables came in to collect Mrs. Pierce for processing. Fisk reckoned he had upwards of an hour until she was taken to a cell, maybe less.
Dunlop left the room and Fisk waited five minutes to make his exit. As he suspected, the door to the observation room was open, giving him a good look at the occupants. There were two men and a woman in there with one of the magistrates. Toffs by the look of them. But he didn’t recognize anyone.
Fisk walked through the dank corridor until he found a friendly face, a junior constable who’d also come up under Stapleton.
“How’d you like a smoke, Donnelly?” asked Fisk.
“Yer a lifesaver, Sergeant.”
Fisk handed him a cigarette he’d rolled earlier that day. Though he didn’t smoke himself, he’d learned long ago that tobacco loosened more tongues than liquor, and more reliably, as well.
“Who are the toffs?” he asked, motioning to the observation room.
“Kin of the deceased. They hate the widow. Say she deserves to hang or worse.”
“Worse?”
The constable shrugged. “Just what I heard some of the fellows talkin’ ‘bout. Didn’t hear it meself. But they certainly seem to hate her.”
“Is there a lot of blun
t at stake?” Hatred that strong generally came with money attached.
“Too early to tell. You never know from appearances, but I reckon there’s got to be some blunt to get them that upset at the widow if she’s in line to inherit. Gotta get back to work. Thanks for the smoke.”
Well that was that. Fisk wasted no time in getting out of the dingy maze of Newgate. He’d become adept at moving with speed despite his wooden leg. If Stapleton had been in town, Fisk would have appealed to him. But with him in the country, there was only one place to turn.
He had to ask a favor from someone very powerful.
He hailed a hack and gave an address in Mayfair, telling the driver to hurry. After a seeming eternity, Fisk arrived. He ran up the steps to the imposing manor and rapped on the door.
Moments later, the butler opened it.
“Sergeant Fisk,” the man said. “Welcome.”
“I hate to bother his grace, but it’s urgent. Might be a matter of life or death.”
The butler, Heskiss, evaluated the situation in the blink of an eye, then instead of telling Fisk to wait there while he was announced, he simply said, “Follow me, Sergeant.”
Fisk followed the butler upstairs to the family wing. Heskiss knocked on an ornate door, then called within.
“Your grace, Sergeant Fisk is with me. He is here on a matter of great urgency and requests an audience.”
After a moment, Fisk heard a deep voice on the other side of the door.
“I shall be ready directly. Just one moment, please.”
Fisk waited, hoping he’d taken the best course of action in going there. For if he had to start over, it would only delay matters. He had an acquaintance with the Duke of Lynwood, who was firm friends with Stapleton. But this was a big favor to ask. And even a man as fair and powerful as the duke might not want to grant it. Finally, the voice on the other side bade them entrance.
The door to the Duke of Lynwood’s dressing room opened. The duke was there, impeccably attired. Only three things indicated he had been interrupted while in the midst of something else. One was that his color was heightened. The second was that he was standing behind a chair. The third was that the Duchess of Lynwood was flustered. Her hair was mussed, her petticoats were showing on the right side and she looked like she’d been thoroughly tupped.
Which Fisk was certain she had been.
“Yer grace, yer grace,” he said, bowing to them both. “I am so sorry to interrupt you, but I fear Lady Winifred Pierce will lose her life this night in Newgate if I don’t have your assistance.”
The duchess said “Oh, dear” and looked at her husband.
The Duke of Lynwood said, “I am at your service, Sergeant. Tell me how I can help.”
*
Win wasn’t sure what was happening to her. It had all been a blur since finding Clarence’s body earlier that evening. There had been so much blood. She didn’t think a person had that much blood in him, but it had been everywhere. And before she knew it, it had been everywhere on her. She’d known he was dead just by looking at him lying on the floor of the study. No one could survive his condition. His throat had been cut, yet she’d knelt to see if there might be some life in him. Anything, even just a vestige of the man she’d seen not four hours earlier.
When he’d been beating her.
She wasn’t sure what had brought on that beating. But after six years of marriage, she’d learned Clarence had never needed a reason for his outbursts.
Her late father had been the impoverished Earl of Ridgeway. He, like his father and grandfather before him, had spent frivolously, gambled as if he had the money and embroiled his estate with so much debt it was a miracle he hadn’t ever been taken off to debtors’ prison.
But when Winifred turned eighteen, he’d arranged for a marriage to the very wealthy Clarence Pierce, the son of a merchant speculator who’d made much of his fortune by capitalizing on shipwrecks and bankruptcies. Clarence had been in his early 40s and of pleasing looks. He was politely indifferent during their brief courtship, but then backhanded her during their wedding trip.
The violence only grew worse.
Pierce hadn’t allowed her to maintain contact with her siblings, other than two letters a year, which he dictated to her. She never knew how often they responded, for Pierce opened the post, only passing on the occasional letter.
The beatings had hurt a great deal, but were of limited duration. The pain of losing her family stayed with her on a constant basis.
Win had three brothers. Colin was thirty and, since the death of their father three years earlier, the new earl. He was recently married to a former governess. Pierce had had a long laugh about that one. He’d crowed about how the lofty earl had been forced to marry so far beneath him. It seemed like Pierce sometimes forgot that his social standing was only what it was by virtue of marrying an earl’s daughter. Win had read in the paper that her new sister-in-law was named Ava. She’d savored that bit of news. It was if she were just a tiny bit closer to Colin.
Because of her father’s numerous infidelities, Win had a half-brother who was Colin’s age and also an earl. Nicholas Chilcott was the Earl of Layton, though it was common knowledge that his father had been the old Earl of Ridgeway. But since Nick had been the third-born son, society had considered his birth only a mild indiscretion. However, after both of his older brothers died from illness, Nick’s father had been outraged that Ridgeway’s get was now his heir. Many believed the apoplexy that killed him was the result of the old earl’s rage at Ridgeway and his hatred for Nick.
Nick was now the earl, but from what Win had heard, his cousin Simon Chilcott was making his life miserable. Simon believed he was the rightful heir and there was talk he would press his case all the way to the House of Lords.
Win’s brother James was eight and twenty and had run away to America to make his fortune when he’d been twenty. He and Colin had been beaten frequently by their father and James in particular had been the subject of their father’s wrath. Colin had been able to laugh it off, but James had been too sensitive, which led to his departure. He’d vowed never to return to British soil until he was a rich man. Win had been devastated to see him go and had missed him terribly through the years.
He was now back in town, though without the fortune he’d been determined to make. Instead, he had an even more valuable prize: a daughter. Her mother had been Algonquin, but had passed away some six months earlier. James and his daughter had come to visit Win, but been denied entrance by the butler on Clarence’s orders. Win had been lucky enough to sneak a peek at James and his beautiful daughter, who looked to be about five years old. Win had held that memory to her heart, knowing it might have to last for years to come.
Her sister Rose was now eighteen, but, given the family’s finances, she wouldn’t have a debut in Society. However, considering how terrible Win’s marriage had been, she wondered if that wasn’t a secret blessing.
Leticia was eight, and the only Emerson without black hair and dark brown eyes. Letty’s red hair and blue eyes were the result of an affair their mother had had with the sole purpose of humiliating her husband. Win had seen little of Letty in the six years since her marriage, but she longed to get to know the little girl.
Now maybe she would finally be reunited with her family.
If she wasn’t hanged for a murder she didn’t commit.
Inspector Dunlop had said James was there and her heart had leapt with joy. She wanted to see him. And, now that Pierce was dead, she could see him. She could see her entire family. Except Dunlop wouldn’t allow it.
But, thankfully, James knew she was there. She’d begun to fear that Clarence’s family could have her arrested and held, and, for all she knew, convicted, without her family being the wiser. Thank God James had found her.
They would send him away. But he’d be back. She knew he’d be back. Unless…what if he thought she didn’t want to see him? She couldn’t think about that. It was making her head hurt too
much.
The sergeant who’d been sitting in the corner of the room had seemed like a fair man, but Dunlop had told him to stay out of it. She’d wanted to appeal to him, but hadn’t been able to find the words. Maybe she would be able to do so after she’d slept.
But for now, she would be on her own. She was frightened of what might lie ahead, both tonight and in the days to come. But it wasn’t the first time she’d been frightened and at the mercy of others. She would do as she’d always done: persevere in hopes of seeing her family again. She would think of the love she had for them. Undying. Unfaltering. And she would get through whatever came her way.
She loved her family. And that would keep her alive.
CHAPTER TWO
James Emerson was terrified. During his eight years in the American wilderness he’d faced any number of life-threatening situations. Freezing cold that could kill a man. Bears, snakes, disease. He’d been attacked by men intent on killing him, but had escaped unharmed. None of that compared to the fright he’d endured just a few weeks earlier when his dear six-year-old daughter Anna had been so ill he’d thought he might lose her. Fortunately, she’d survived and was recovering back at the family estate in Wiltshire.
But here was another situation he couldn’t control, with the highest stakes imaginable. His dear sister Winifred was being held somewhere in Newgate. But they wouldn’t let him see her. The clerks wouldn’t give him any information other than she was a suspect in the murder of her husband. They wouldn’t tell him when she would be released. Or even if it would happen.
He couldn’t think of Win in that hellhole. He couldn’t think of what might happen. Good God…
James and his betrothed, Irene Wallace, had learned of Win’s arrest upon arriving at the Earl of Layton’s London town house an hour earlier. Layton’s cousin Simon Chilcott had told them. James wasn’t sure how Simon had learned of the situation, nor why he was at the house when Layton was in the country. But as soon as James had heard the news, he’d rushed to the infamous prison. Only to be stopped by a clerk.
Always Have Hope (Emerson Book 3) Page 1
