by Joyce Alec
He stared at them for another moment before waving to the guards on the other side. “Let them in!”
“Thank you,” Lillian announced, bestowing the guard a look of appreciation.
The courtyard was muddy from the recent rains, but Lillian walked ahead, passing out the scones to the guards as they passed. Isabella wrinkled her nose at the scents that emanated from the building ahead of them. As they entered the stone building, the scents of unwashed bodies and rotten food assaulted her senses even greater.
“This is scary indeed,” Lillian whispered as they started down a long, dimly lit hall, the cold blowing in through the cracks in the wall. “How will James ever survive in here?”
“We are going to get him out as soon as we can,” Isabella reassured her as they came up on another guard. “We are here to deliver the scones.”
“And they smell heavenly,” the guard said, selecting one from the pile. “Are you sure you want to wander in these bowels? They are not for sensible women such as the lot of you.”
“Tis a Christianly thing to do,” Lillian said demurely.
Isabella nearly laughed aloud as she realized that the guard, a portly man of advanced age, was ogling Lillian’s curves. It would be a quite surprise to him to feel the pillows that were strapped to Lillian’s body!
“Bless you,” the guard replied with a smile, revealing the gap where his teeth should be. “I shall escort you ladies through this god forsaken pit.”
Isabella sidled closer to her friend as the guard fumbled with his keys. “You will have to distract him so I can speak to James.”
“I shall for the sake of my brother,” Lillian replied, squeezing Isabella’s arm before stepping forward.
The guard unlocked the chains and they all walked through the open gate, the clang of the door shutting startling Isabella. Though they were only coming to gather information, Isabella could not help but shudder at the thought of being caught and then trapped in this place.
The group walked down the hall, and a shiver skittered down Isabella’s spine as the moans and screams started to rent the air, the cells now coming into view.
“Ladies with your constitution should not be here,” the guard continued. “Do not get too close to the cells. There are murderers and thieves waiting to take advantage of the likes of you.”
“Do not worry,” Lillian said, patting his arm. “We will follow your instructions. Perhaps we should go to the section where the men come from good families and are educated. Surely they are not all savages.”
The guard chuckled as he turned to the left. “You, my dear woman, would be surprised.”
Isabella followed a few steps behind as they entered another section of the prison, the cold not as evident there. The cells were slightly bigger, and as she peered through the bars, she could see they were not as crowded as the other cells. The classes of people were evident—even in prison.
“Oh! Can we go in there?” Lillian asked, hurrying forward so that the guard would have to catch up with her. Isabella took the advantage and scanned each cell, finally seeing the familiar mop of blond curls she was looking for in the dimly lit area.
“James!” she whispered. “James!”
James lifted his head, and Isabella’s heart sank as she saw his battered face, the cut lip that was swollen. His fine clothing was torn in places, dirty from the hard-packed floor of the cell. He had not gone down without a fight, apparently. “Lady Isabella? Whatever are you doing here?”
She motioned for him to come close and turned her back so that the guard could not see what she was doing. “I’ve come to ask if you saw your father’s murderer. Did you happened to see and recognize him.”
“Where is my sister?” he asked instead, his tired eyes searching hers. “Please tell me she is safe.”
“She is here,” Isabella said with a frown.
James blew out a breath, his hands curling around the bars. “I must beg you—get her away from the house. She is in danger.”
“James,” Isabella said, sucking in a breath. “Who murdered your father? Allow us to get you out of this place.”
He shook his head. “I cannot put you in that kind of danger, Isabella. Just promise you will watch out for my sister. Take her into your home if you can.”
“You are scaring me,” Isabella cried, touching his hands. They were ice cold and she longed to warm them. “James, please, tell me who killed your father.” She hoped that her use of his Christian name would convince him to give her the information she needed. Her time was limited, and she could not waste even a single moment.
James, however, removed his hands from her touch, looking defeated as he stared at her. “Of all the regrets I have in my life, I regret that I did not have the chance to meet you during your first ball, the chance to sweep you off your feet, and make your season truly memorable.”
The tears were still clinging to Isabella’s lashes when Lillian and the guard returned.
8
Later that afternoon, Isabella paced the floor of the parlour, her hands clenched behind her back tightly. “I cannot believe he would not tell me who it was!”
“He is attempting to protect me,” Lillian said miserably, worry etched on her face. “At this rate, they will hang him before the week is out.”
Isabella drew the lace curtain aside and looked out at the crowd, some now starting to leave due to the lateness of the hour. She was worried about James’ comments concerning his sister’s safety. When she approached Lillian about going to her home instead of staying in her own, Lillian had set her jaw and stated that under no uncertain terms would she be chased out of her own home.
So now they sat in the parlour, attempting to find what the next step should be to free James. Isabella let the curtain fall and joined Lillian on the settee, the cold pot of tea still on the tea cart, untouched. Neither of them felt like drinking, both worried about what would happen with Lord Rearden. If they could not free him… Isabella didn’t even want to think about the consequences. After his declaration in that cell, he had refused to acknowledge her any longer, and once Lillian and the guard collected her from her spot, they had hurried out of the prison.
But now, time was ticking away. Isabella sighed and looked down at her trembling hands. “I will send word to my mother and stay the night with you.”
Lillian looked over at her. “You do not have to do that. I am perfectly safe here.”
Isabella reached for her friend’s hands, finding them trembling just as much as her own. “We are a team,” she stated, “and a team we shall be until we are able to bring James home.”
She just hoped it would not be in a pine box.
Much later that night, Isabella sighed as she stared at the canopy above the bed, listening to the fire crackle in the fireplace. Lillian had put her up in a lavishly decorated room, and while her surroundings were comfortable, her body could not settle down. All she could think about was James in that cold, dank cell, waiting for his fate to be decided. She and Lillian had spent the rest of the afternoon making her father’s funeral plans and finding the mourning gowns that her friend would be donning for the next year. Tears were shed, but Isabella knew that Lillian was a strong woman and would come out of such a terrible situation a stronger woman.
Throwing back the covers, she reached for the robe that Lillian had loaned her, sliding her bare feet into the slippers before opening the bedroom door and heading towards the stairs. Perhaps she could find the kitchen for a spot of tea or cocoa that would help settle her.
As Isabella reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard papers landing on the floor, coming from the study that had been shut up since the marquess’ untimely death. The door stood open now, and a flicker of light spilled out into the hallway. Isabella cautiously walked toward the open door, being as quiet as possible as she peered through the crack.
The room’s occupant was none other than Mr. Tellsman, the lantern on the desk casting enough light so that Isabella could
make out his sharp features. The window behind him was open, the cold wind sending a mound of papers that were scattered about the desk blowing onto the floor.
Mr. Tellsman cursed and started to gather the scattered papers, rifling through them with a frown on his face. “Where is it? Where did he put it?”
Isabella did not know what he was looking for, but cold dread filled her veins as she thought of James’ urgent warning. Was this whom he was talking about? Was Mr. Tellsman the marquess’ killer?
She stepped back and winced as the floor creaked under her foot, causing the man to look up sharply, surprise filtering through his features as he saw her standing in the doorway.
“You!” he screeched.
Isabella started to scramble down the hall, but he caught her quickly, dragging her back into the study before shutting the door behind them. “I knew you were going to be trouble for me.”
She struggled against him, attempting to break free from him. “What are you doing?” she cried as he released her, causing her to stumble against the nearby chair.
Mr. Tellsman looked at her before swearing, sweeping the lot of papers from the desk to the floor in disgust. “If only you would have allowed me to help,” he began, and the tone of his voice sent dreadful shivers down Isabella’s spine. “Then I could have found the documents denying me the right to marry my lovely Lillian, and I would have ensured that she was taken care of for the rest of her days. Now, I will have to stage your death as well.”
“You?” Isabella asked, shocked. She had suspected it, of course, but to actually hear him confess her suspicions was unexpected. “You killed Lillian’s father?”
“You heard me right, lovey,” he said. “I killed the marquess because he would allow me to have his precious daughter. Nobody will get in my way, and that includes you!”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Isabella, confused by his confession.
“It does not matter what you know, for I cannot let you live after what you have seen. You should have left Lillian alone when I told you too. This is your own fault.”
Isabella froze as his words burned her very soul. Mr. Tellsman was going to kill her. She had to ensure that did not happen. “You will not get away with this.”
He gave a harsh laugh, rifling through more papers. “I already have, dear girl. Lord Rearden is in prison, and once I rid myself of you, Lillian will have no one to help her. The next marquess in line will want her out of the house, surely, as she is associated with such scandal.”
Isabella watched as he turned away from her, spying the fire poker in its stand near the fireplace. If she could reach it, she could defend herself. He thought her a helpless female that was going to simply wait for her death.
Well, he could not be more wrong.
In a flash, she hurried across the floor, and as Mr. Tellsman turned, she grabbed the poker, his hand like a vice grip on her wrist as her fingers closed over the cold metal. “Oh, no, not so fast my dear!” he said, shaking her wrist until Isabella thought he would break the delicate bones. “I underestimated you, but I will not again.”
Isabella attempted to swing the poker, but he gripped her wrist so tightly that she screamed, shattering the silence.
“Now you have done it!” he yelled, pushing her away with his free arm. Isabella fell onto the floor and scrambled back as he raised a pistol, pointing it towards her. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
A deafening blast sounded, and Isabella waited to feel the pain, closing her eyes as she knew her life was over. When the pain did not come, though, she opened her eyes, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air.
“Are you all right, my lady?” came the voice of an older man.
Isabella turned to see the butler standing beside her, a smoking rifle in his hands. “I—” She swallowed. “Yes, I am fine. Thank you for your kindness and bravery.”
He nodded as Lillian, still dressed in her nightgown, appeared in the doorway and hurried to her side, her face pale. “Isabella! I heard the commotion and roused Mr. Gerald out of his bed. We seem to have arrived just in time.”
“He killed your father,” Isabella stated, wincing as she grabbed her bruised wrist.
“I heard him confess,” Lillian said, looking over at the body on the floor. She frowned and spoke in a cold tone. “I do hope that Mr. Gerald did not kill him. I wish for him to pay for what he has done.”
“A flesh wound, nothing more,” Gerald supplied, looking down at the body. “I have practiced shooting since I was a child. I never miss. Although, he will have a massive headache once he wakes.”
Isabella allowed Lillian to help her off the floor, cradling her injured wrist in her hand. “Summon the authorities. It is time to get your brother out of that prison.”
9
Two weeks later, Isabella smoothed the front of her dress, enjoying the feel of the crushed velvet under her hands. It was finally Christmas, and the house was full of wonderful smells, including the pine boroughs that graced the doorways and the delicious food that was cooking in the kitchen. It was a lovely day, the snow falling softly outside of the windows only adding to the ambience that was her favorite time of year.
But inside, her heart was heavy with dread. Her father and Lord Vistley were due back from Scotland and soon she would be forced to move forward with her life and her future with the baron. The last few days had been full of planning for Christmas, her mother hovering over her as if Isabella were going to break at any point. After facing death, Isabella had a new lease on life.
The saddest part was that she had not seen Lillian or James since her encounter with Mr. Tellsman. It was a sad time for them, as they had just lost their father. She wished she could be with them to offer emotional support
With a sigh, Isabella stared out of the window. After being questioned about her role in uncovering the marquess’ true murderer, she had been seen by a physician, who had wrapped her wrist and stated that she was in shock. Before she knew it, Isabella had been bundled into a coach and sent home, where her mother had fretted over her the rest of the night and much of the next day. Lillian had sent word that Lord Rearden had been released from prison and they would be going to the country estate for Christmas and the burial of their father.
I cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate all you have done for us, the missive from Lillian had said. I consider you part of my family, and you truly have become like a sister to me. I know that our friendship will withstand whatever is brought our way in the future.
While Lillian’s words had brought tears to Isabella’s eyes, what she truly wished to know was what James thought now that his freedom had been restored.
But there had been no word from him, and now Isabella was resigned to the fact that her future, the one set for her before she had ever met James and Lillian, was going to take place.
The front door opened, and she heard her father and Lord Vistley coming through the door, their voices filling the otherwise quiet household. Isabella clasped her hands together and waited for them to join her and her mother in the parlour, watching as they walked through together.
“Merry Christmas,” her mother announced as her father took his wife into his arms, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “I am glad that you made it in time.”
“The snow nearly waylaid us,” her father said as he greeted his daughter with the same jovial demeanor. “But I am glad that we made it.”
“And I as well,” Isabella responded, releasing her father.
Lord Vistley stepped forward and looked at her, a joyful expression on his face. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said softly, allowing him to kiss the back of her hand, the hand which once again wore the large ring he had given her. When she had placed it on her finger that morning, it had seemed foreign to her. After not wearing it for the prior three weeks, it was going to take some time to get used to wearing it once more.
“Well now,” her mother clapped. �
�Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
The baron proffered his arm and Isabella took it, forcing a smile onto her face. Lord Vistley—Henry—truly was not a bad gentleman, and she should be grateful.
But she could not be. James was on her mind and in her heart. He was the one who caused her to hold her breath, the one who flushed her cheeks and made her wish for a future with him.
As they started to leave the parlour, the front door knocker souned, and her mother frowned. “Whoever could be out in this weather?”
“A desperate sort,” her father replied as the butler opened the door. From her vantage point, Isabella could see a lone person on the doorstep, and as he raised his head, she nearly stumbled back. “Allow him entrance,” she said immediately, dropping her hand from Henry’s arm. “Please.”
The butler stepped back, and James walked through the doorway, removing his snow-laden outercoat and hat, his eyes never leaving hers. She could not breathe as he murmured his thanks and stepped forward. He looked like his old self once again, not the broken man she had seen in prison. The sparkle in his eyes that had been there the last time she had seen him was back, and Isabella felt relief flood through her veins.
“Lord Rearden,” she breathed as he stopped before her.
“Lady Isabella,” he said, a hint of a grin on his face. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, Lord Rearden,” she said, suddenly nervously. What was he doing there? “I thought you were at your country estate?”
He drew in a breath. “I was, but my sister would not allow me to stay a minute longer than needed. She stated that I had left something very precious back in London and it was my responsibility to retrieve it.”
Isabella ceased to breathe as she saw the tenderness in his eyes. “I do hope you are able to find whatever it is that you seek.”
