The Truth About Lady Felkirk

by Christine Merrill

  What was she to do? Justine gripped the edge of her lace pillow, twisting the velvet in her hands. Even the best servants were prone to gossip. To create a scene would make it all so much worse. When the footman announced Mr Montague, she gave the smallest of nods. And now the villain was in the room with them, his eyebrows arched in surprise at the presence of Margot.

  He flashed a look in the direction of the servant, not wanting to speak until they were alone.

  How much protection could the poor footman offer to them, should they need him? The boy was barely thirteen and Montague outweighed him by several stone. With another, helpless nod of her head, Justine dismissed him and instructed that the door be closed.

  The moment it was, Montague dropped into a chair opposite them. His insolent slouch was meant to remind her how complete his mastery was over them and the situation they were in. ‘Well played, Justine. I see now why you have been ignoring my instructions to meet.’

  ‘I suspect she had been too busy, what with my arrival yesterday,’ Margot responded for her, fancying herself the diplomat between two warring states.

  ‘Silence, child.’ Montague did not even glance in her direction, making it clear that she was a point of contention rather than a part of the discussion.

  ‘I was ignoring your instructions because I did not wish to meet with you. In fact, I do not wish to see you, ever again. If you continue to threaten me, or my sister—’

  ‘Justine!’ The sharp rebuke came from Margot, who must think she was being overly dramatic.

  ‘—I will tell Lord Felkirk all I know and accept the consequences for it.’ She spoke louder, to be sure she could be heard over the protests of her sister.

  ‘That would be extremely unwise,’ Montague said, staring at her as though expecting he could shatter her resistance with a single icy stare.

  ‘It is the only choice I have,’ she said. ‘I am but a weak woman, unable to settle my disputes with violence, as some do. Nor can I survive any longer on a diet of lies and deceptions.’ To speak thus was the boldest thing she had done in her life.

  She was rewarded with a flash of cold fury in his eyes and a momentary pause that told her he had no easy answer to this. It had never occurred to him that some day she might rise up and fight.

  ‘Honesty is the best way to deal, in life or in business,’ Margot said softly from her side, as though hoping her agreement would in some way bind the other two together.

  ‘Yes,’ responded Montague, seizing upon the words. ‘If we are all to tell the truth, it is time for your sister to be honest with you and tell you what she has been willing to do to secure her place beside me in the shop. There is much you do not know, I think.’ He looked to Justine then, in challenge. ‘Is honesty still so attractive to you, I wonder?’

  ‘We do not need to involve her in a thing which is just between the two of us,’ Justine said. Surely he would not reveal the sordid nature of their relationship. It would reflect just as poorly on him as it did on her.

  ‘If it involves the shop, it involves me as well,’ Margot interrupted. She looked at Montague pleadingly. ‘You have always promised me in your letters that I would help you there. I should have done so, long before now.’

  ‘I gave your sister the power over that decision and she has refused to allow it,’ Montague answered without hesitation.

  She could not call him a liar, for the statement was at least a partial truth. ‘His offer is not as it appears,’ Justine said.

  ‘You will not allow me?’ Margot looked more than disappointed. She was furious. To her, it must appear as if Justine had no care for her wishes at all. ‘You tell me time and time again that you do not want the shop. You do not like Bath.’

  ‘Yet, she was willing to trade her virtue to keep her place there,’ Montague announced, then feigned sorrow at the sudden revelation. ‘You were always better suited to work at my side. But your sister would hear none of it. She used her beauty as a weapon against me. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I could not resist.’

  ‘That is not true,’ Margot said. She was very still now, waiting for her sister to explain that it was all some horrible lie.

  ‘That is not the way it happened,’ Justine said. And it was not. She’d had no choice in the matter. To pick between her freedom or Margot’s had been no choice at all. ‘He forced me...’

  ‘As I forced you to come here?’ Montague countered. He turned to her sister again. ‘You know she is pretending to be married to Felkirk, pretending to love him, engaging in Lord knows what vice. And all because she wants the diamonds.’

  ‘Justine?’ Justine watched as her sister’s expression changed from doubt to horror. She believed him. How could she not? There was more than enough truth in what Montague was saying and it matched very closely to what she had told her sister.

  But he had omitted one important detail. ‘Montague struck him. With a poker. If I had not brought him home to heal, he’d have died on the floor of your precious shop and we would both have been hanged for murder.’

  It was plain that the facts made the story no better. Margot stuffed a fist into her mouth, as though she could not decide whether to scream or be sick, but desperately wished to avoid either. Her hand muffled the sob that matched the tears starting in her eyes. Then she was up and gone, probably to her room, where she’d have been all along had she followed Justine’s first order.

  The door shut and silence fell in the room again, as though Montague expected her to speak first. Justine reflected that the wait for words could be prolonged, since she had no idea what to say next. Even if she managed to get him to leave again, it would take some time to calm her sister and to explain things in such a way that did not make her seem like a conniving whore.

  Perhaps that was what she was, after all. She had thought herself the victim. But Montague’s version of the truth seemed equally plausible. In either case, it was possible that her bond with her sister was irretrievably broken. Margot would never again look with trust upon either Justine or their guardian. Who did that leave to support and encourage her?

  ‘What have you to say for yourself?’ Montague said at last, as though dealing with a recalcitrant child. ‘You see all the trouble you have caused, trying to get around me and disobeying my wishes? Next, I suppose you will tell me that you’ve learned nothing of the stones and the whole trip has been for naught.’

  ‘Not for naught at all,’ she said with a sigh. She sounded as tired as she felt. ‘I have not had to endure your touch for several months. In my opinion, that is almost as good as a holiday.’

  ‘Then your holiday is at an end,’ he said, rising from the chair and standing over her. ‘You will be coming away with me, today, while Felkirk is away and cannot ask questions. Tell your sister to pack as well. We are all going back to Bath.’ There was something in his voice that made her wonder if that was their destination at all. Perhaps he meant to take them only part way. There was likely a cliff or a crag somewhere between there and here, where three might walk out and only one would return. He would be safe and there would be no more troublesome women, threatening unfortunate revelations.

  ‘No,’ she said, feeling rather proud of herself. ‘I do not mean to stir a step from here. When Will comes back, I will tell him all and he can decide what is to be done with me.’ She looked up at Montague, trying to raise some real defiance to disguise the apathy she felt creeping over her, now that all was lost. ‘Since you cannot carry me bodily from the house, you might as well go away.’

  ‘I will take your sister, then,’ he said.

  ‘She will be nearly as difficult to move as I am,’ Justine said, with a slight smile. ‘I suspect she is having hysterics in her room after what she has just heard from the pair of us. Better that you should go alone. You can travel faster that way and be far from here before my husband and the d
uke return.’

  ‘Your husband?’ Montague laughed at her.

  It had been a stupid mistake. She must learn not to believe her own lies. ‘Lord William Felkirk,’ she corrected. ‘The man you attacked. Perhaps he will not even seek you out, if I am here to take the blame for the crime.’

  Montague considered for a moment and shook his head. ‘You think you shall persuade him to forgive you, with your sad eyes, your bowed head and your gentle manners.’ He reached out then and plucked the cap from her head, running his fingers through the curls and then pulling sharply back on them so that she was forced to meet his gaze. ‘You will bind him with lust and pity, until he is as trapped by you as I have been. Then you will send him to find me and I will be the one who hangs.’

  ‘Then I suggest you run as far and as fast as you can,’ she said in a calm voice. She could feel the skin of her scalp pulled tight in his grip and the muscles in her neck straining against the force of his hands. It did not matter. After today, she had likely lost the love of her sister. She would lose Will as well and the respect of everyone else she had met here. There was little left that Montague could do that would hurt her.

  ‘I am not going anywhere,’ Montague said with a smile. ‘Unless it is back to the woods to await the return of your precious Felkirk.’ He released her, pushing her roughly back into the cushions of the chair, and withdrew a pistol from his coat pocket. When he was sure she had seen, he dropped it back to where it had been hidden. ‘How hard would it be, do you think, to finish him with a single shot?’

  ‘Harder than you think,’ she said breathlessly. ‘He is with his brother the duke. There will be coachmen, outriders, livery. You cannot have so many bullets as that in your little gun.’

  ‘Perhaps I shall wait until he rides out alone,’ Montague replied. ‘He is still weak, is he not? And probably just as careless as he was the day he turned his back on me.’

  ‘You would not dare,’ she said, suddenly quite sure he would.

  ‘I would not act, unless you gave me reason. If you were to stay here, to blather the story to him, for example. Or if you plan on raising the alarm against me.’ He paused, reaching for her again and running his thumb down her cheek. ‘I would have no reason for it if you came away with me. Things will be as they were between us. Then, if it pleases me, we will discuss your freedom and that of your sister.’

  Her heart sank. He would win, just as he always did. She would go with him, if only to lure him away from Will and Margot. If she did not, he would wait and watch, and eventually he would strike.

  He could feel her weakening. It made him smile. ‘Very good. I knew you would come to see things as I do. You of all people should understand what might happen to a man alone on that path. There are places that are shadowed, even in daylight. At night, when the moon is new as it was when your father died...’

  ‘How did you...?’

  ‘He thought he was too clever for me, just as you did,’ Montague said. ‘He hid the diamonds and carried nothing but an empty pouch. In the end, he gained nothing and lost his life. I got the insurance money, of course. But I wanted the stones as well.’ His voice trailed off, as he thought back to the incident, his face marked by a childlike disappointment.

  ‘You.’ She felt no surprise. It was as if she had known, all along, but it had been too awful to contemplate, so she had refused to think too closely about it.

  ‘Me,’ he said, with a proud smile. Then he gripped her by her shoulders, pulling her to her feet. ‘There is no point in resisting. I have been the architect of your fate for most of your life and I do not mean to change that now. In a few moments you will get your shawl and come away with me. You will leave this place and have no more contact with sweet William and his family. If you do anything to warn him, seek help of any kind, or reveal secrets that have been hidden for years, then things will be far worse than the lesson I mean to teach you now.’ He kissed her, if such an open-mouthed punishment could be called a kiss. She fought, but the contact was relentless, his tongue pushed deep into her mouth until she was near to gagging on it and had ceased her struggles. Only then did he release her, following it with a slap that sent her reeling on to the sofa.

  It was happening again. And as usual, she could think of no way to stop it. To cry out would mean discovery and an end to the assault. But it would also require explanations and the story would eventually get back to Will and then to his brother. The servants would not conceal an attack on their mistress from the very people who might punish the perpetrator.

  There would be questions, so many questions. Why would she welcome such a man into the house? Why had she not called out sooner? And the question she asked herself most often: Why had she not found a way to stop this, years ago?

  As usual, she had no answer. And as usual, she closed her eyes and imagined she was somewhere else.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Will needed only a moment to decide the route and speed for his return trip to the manor. Keeping a sedate pace on the road beside the carriage would give him time to think. He did not need to do that. He had spent too much time in the last weeks trying to understand the circumstances of his new life. But when one was basing one’s cogitation on a horribly flawed series of supposed facts, one had nothing but nonsense at the end of it.

  What he needed now was action, not thought. He set off cross country at a full gallop, through pastures and fields, scattering sheep and taking fences as a series of easy jumps. He had nothing to fear, after all. Jupiter was not dead. He had not fallen from a horse. And the injury he’d suffered was no accident.

  He would arrive home much sooner than expected and surprise Justine de Bryun. The thought made him smile, but it was with none of the foolish, misplaced joy he’d been feeling lately. This was the kind of cold, grim satisfaction that thief takers must feel when they had their man dead to rights and heading towards the gallows.

  He would arrive home and he would shake the truth out of her. He would ignore the huge, sad eyes and wistful smile, toss the lace into the fire and follow it with the ridiculous, prim cap she was likely wearing. A whore did not belong in modest gowns, nor did she bother to cover her head like a housewife. That she would sit with ladies under a scroll of virginal lace was an affront to him and his entire family.

  She was a liar, nothing more than that. Below stairs, above stairs, and all the places in between. An image arose in his mind of the sweet, seemingly innocent face that had looked up at him as he’d touched her in their shared bed. Then he imagined that same face, smiling in a much more knowing way at Montague as they plotted against him. The beautiful body that had twined with his had writhed under another man, as she moaned with pleasure.

  She was a liar and he had been a fool. Now it was not just her and Montague, but her sister he had to contend with. Lord knew if the girl was in any way involved in this. But was it really his problem, if she was not? He supposed she might be as big a victim as he was. All the same, it did not entitle her to much more than a ticket back to the school she supposedly attended.

  The house was in sight now and he bore down on it, gaining speed, rather than slowing. After so long abandoned in a stall, Jupiter relished the speed, just as he did. But now he was eager to return to his own pasture and to be curried and cosseted by familiar hands. He stopped, still dancing with excitement, at the front door.

  Will dismounted, handing the reins to a footman who could only manage an awed, ‘My, lord’, at the sight of the familiar, black stallion. Then Will pushed past him, into the house, to find his wife.

  Not his wife, he reminded himself. No more weakness, no more foolishness. She was a madman’s plaything, nothing more than that. Soon she would be gone. She and her lover would be in the hands of the law and life would return to normal.

  When he opened the door of the morning room, the scene before him left his mind as
blank as it had been when he’d first awoken. Justine was sprawled upon the couch, eyes shut tight from fear or pain, or both. Her face was dead pale, except for a red mark on one cheek, where a man’s hand had slapped life into her complexion. Montague stood over her, radiating menace.

  For a moment, Will could not think of anything, other than how wrong it was that such a thing should happen. Men did not hit women and they certainly did not do it while under his roof. That such a beautiful creature as his wife should have to fear anything, ever, was all the more wrong. Had he not promised her, over and over, that she would be safe with him?

  He was halfway across the room, his hand already raised to strike before he even remembered how satisfying it would be to hit this particular man, who had stolen six months of his life and ruined the one good thing that had come of it: his sweet and innocent Justine.

  ‘No!’ The word seemed to come, not from his mouth, but the very depths of his soul. With one hand, he gripped Montague by the shoulder and spun him. With the other, he struck. It was a full-armed cuff to the side of the head that sent Montague crashing to the floor.

  ‘Will.’ Justine’s eyes were open now and he watched their expression change quickly from shock to relief, then change again to sorrow. Then she whispered, ‘He has a gun. It is in his coat pocket.’

  In response, he gave her a curt nod and focused on the man at his feet.

  ‘If you stand, I will knock you down again. If you move for a weapon, I will break your hand with my boot. And do not think that I will turn my back on you, even for an instant. There will be no more chances to strike me from behind.’

  Montague seemed barely bothered by this revelation. ‘You finally remember, do you?’ His lack of fear was unnerving.

  ‘I remember it all, down to the last detail. You were a fool to bring my horse back to Wales, you know. It was bound to be discovered.’

  Montague shrugged at this. ‘Of all the things that would be my undoing, I did not think that would be the one. Do you mean to call the magistrate? It is your brother, is it not? He will arrest me and my mistress, and you will be free of us. I am sure it will be a terrible scandal and very embarrassing to all concerned. People will wonder that Bellston would be so easily fooled as to take a whore into the bosom of the family.’