by Jane Godman
Rosie moved to sit beside her, taking one of Lady Drummond’s hands in her uninjured own. “I wish I could help.”
“My dear child, you are my comfort in all of this. You and young Xander. When I think of how Clive has wantonly squandered his son’s inheritance…”
Rosie felt a chill hand of dread close over her heart. Now was not the time, but one day soon the tricky subject of Xander’s parentage would have to be discussed. She had a feeling Jack would not be dissuaded from openly claiming his son. Would such an action be the trigger Clive needed to put his threats against her and Harry into action? She suspected it might. He had never shown any interest in the child the world believed was his son, merely sneering when Xander’s name was mentioned.
“How I wish I could tell my aunts that the proud name of Sheridan will be continued by the bastard son of a Jacobite rebel and a murdering whore,” was one of his favourite comments. But Rosie knew Clive would not take kindly to a situation where it was publicly known that another man was Xander’s father. She forced her mind back to what Lady Drummond was saying.
“Alberta told me not to visit you. She will be most angry if she discovers I came anyway.”
“Why ever should you not do so?” Rosie was genuinely surprised.
Lady Drummond cast a glance over her shoulder as though expecting her sister to burst through the door at any moment. “Because of Lord St. Anton. She feels that he will do his best to have Clive sent to prison or locked away in an asylum for the insane after his attack on you. Alberta thinks I may say something to give his lordship further evidence against Clive.” She looked gloomy. “She could be right. You know how my tongue runs away with me.”
Rosie regarded her in dawning horror. “Lady Harpenden cannot seriously imagine that Clive and I could continue as we were after what has happened?”
Lady Drummond covered her mouth with her hand. “There, you see! Alberta was right. I have said too much, only to you and not to Lord St. Anton, so it is not so very bad after all. Oh, my dear, don’t you see? If Clive were to promise to mend his ways… Well, we could be comfortable again. And there would be no need for any scandal.”
Rosie was too stunned by this view of the situation to say anything in response, and the remainder of the visit was taken up with Lady Drummond’s plans for the future, in which she envisaged a chastened Clive embracing family life and restoring Sheridan Hall to its former glory. After imbibing several cups of tea, she seemed much invigorated and appeared not to notice the lowered spirits of her hostess.
“Of course, it will take some work to re-establish his reputation in the neighbourhood. You know what tradesmen are like. Always insisting on payment and most unhappy when one runs into debt. And how they love to gossip! I could not bear to be so ruled by scandal myself. These recent attacks have given the populace much to discuss, but the thought that they could in any way be connected to Clive. The very idea is preposterous.”
“Attacks, my lady?” Rosie roused herself from her abstraction.
“Why, yes. Have you not heard? ’Twas Mrs. Dawson who told me of it, just yesterday. Several businesses in Matlock have suffered over the past week, both violent attacks on the person of the owner and damage to the property. But the suggestion that those targeted are people who are owed the most money by my nephew—or that they are the ones who have been most vocal in their condemnation of him—well, that is quite nonsensical. Anyone would think Clive a common criminal instead of a gentleman from one of the finest families in the land.” Her eyes dropped to the sling supporting Rosie’s left arm, and she became flustered again, rising from her seat. “I must go before Alberta suspects I have not, as she believes, lingered overlong in Matlock. I visited several shops prior to coming here, so I have my purchases to show for my outing. I am glad to see you in such looks, child. Lud, I would give my best pearls to have a complexion such as yours. Once those bruises are healed and the roses return to your cheeks…” Her voice trailed off as embarrassment overcame her once more.
When she had gone, Rosie sat for some time in contemplation of what she had said. Lady Drummond’s words felt like steel bars closing around her. Because, if Clive really did want to make the attempt to resume their sham marriage, she had no defence to use against his wishes. He would still be able to coerce her. He would know that she would not—could not—give evidence against him. She felt the steel bars close a little tighter.
“That child is a rogue.” Jack’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I cannot for the life of me think who he takes after.”
She looked up with an attempt at a smile. “Has Xander been leading you a merry dance?”
“Yes, and he is now charming Mrs. Glover into feeding him cake.” He crossed the room in swift strides and, dropping on one knee beside her chair, took her good hand between both of his. “What has that old harridan said to bring such trouble to your face?”
“She is not a harridan, she has a kind heart.” The words were automatic. “But she and Lady Harpenden think that when Clive is found, all must be smoothed over. To achieve that outcome, I must go back to him.”
“Like hell you must. The man should hang for what he has done, but he won’t make it to the gallows, not if I get my hands on him first.”
“I think he is not in his right mind, Jack.”
“Then his aunts should be concerned that he gets the care he needs.” His eyes scanned her face. “As his wife, it will be your responsibility to ensure that happens. Is that what troubles you? That you must pursue the legal route to have him incarcerated? He is a gentleman, he’ll not end in Bedlam. His treatment will be kinder than that meted out to a commoner suffering the same affliction.”
She shook her head. “No matter what his treatment was to be, I cannot do it.”
“Nonsense. ’Twould not be pleasant, but it would be your duty. And I would be there to assist you.”
“No, you don’t understand. I cannot give evidence against him in a court of law or to have him committed to an asylum for the insane. To do either of those things would be to cause disaster, not just for myself, but for those I love.” A single tear spilled over and slid down her cheek. “And if you harm him, Jack, the end result will be the same.”
“Rosie, what is this hold he has over you? Tell me, I beg you.” His voice was urgent and persuasive. “I know I can help you if you will admit me into your confidence. You owe me the truth.”
“He is right, you know.” Harry’s voice startled them both, and Rosie turned towards the open window in surprise. Harry stepped easily over the ledge and into the room. Incongruously, Rosie recalled the times their father had complained about his habit of entering the house that way instead of using the conventional method of a door. “You owe Jack a full explanation.”
“You of all people know why I cannot. And you should not eavesdrop on a private conversation.” Heaven help me, I am beginning to sound like Cousin Martha.
Ignoring her reprimand, Harry came to sit on the sofa next to her. “I am tired of living like this. Tired of living in fear, of cowering before Sheridan. Let’s say to hell with him, sis. Tell Jack. What is the worst that could happen?”
Her lips curved into an incredulous smile. “The worst is that I will stand trial for the murder of one of the king’s soldiers, with you and Tom at my side as my accomplices and Jacobite sympathisers. If that were not enough, we will be tried as traitors for assisting Jack and Fraser to evade capture after the battle of Swarkestone Bridge.” She turned her head to look at Jack. There was no longer any point in pretending. Harry’s intervention had forced the moment. The time had come to tell all. “Jack will move heaven and earth to assist us—probably at the point of a rapier—which means at best he will be forced to flee once more, at worst he will join us on the scaffold. You will both lose your lands. Xander will be orphaned. Need I continue?”
“Don’t you think there might be someth
ing Jack could do to help us? He would do anything for you.” Harry’s young face was eager as he looked up at Jack. “Would you not?”
“Need you ask it?”
Rosie looked from Jack to her brother. It was hard to believe that the time had come at last to let go of this burden. “Very well. But this is your story, Harry, and the telling of it should be yours as well.”
Harry nodded decisively. “It was not long after you left for Scotland, Jack. After the night when Rosie accidentally shot the young redcoat officer who came searching for you and Fraser.”
“Captain Overton.” Jack came to sit on a chair placed at right angles to the sofa. “I remember it well.”
None of them would ever forget that night. It had marked a turning point in all their lives, leading Rosie and Martha to flee with Jack and Fraser across the border to Scotland.
“Yes. When the redcoats came in search of Captain Overton and his sergeant, my father and Tom stuck to the story that we had agreed upon. They said that the captain had been shot, and the sergeant overpowered by a Jacobite rebel disguised as a woman. This man, we told them, had now fled. We pretended that the highlander, a desperate ruffian”—the three of them shared a smile at the thought of such a description being applied to their friend Fraser—“had been holding us hostage. Although the sergeant tried to contradict the story, my father’s version of events was generally believed, especially as, by that time, Rosie and Martha were on their way across the border. There was no other woman in the house who could have been responsible for shooting Captain Overton.”
“And, of course, the king’s men were happy to pin every crime on the Jacobites.” Jack’s voice held a remnant of the bitterness felt by all Bonnie Prince Charlie’s followers at that time. “I remember hoping, as we set off on our night ride towards the border, that your father would be able to fool the soldiers and preserve Rosie’s good name. It seems he did?”
“Yes, so all was well. Until Sheridan came snooping.”
“Ah, I see. We had not considered him in our plans. God rot the fellow.” Jack gave a mirthless laugh. “I said those words about Sheridan at the time. Who would have believed, back then, I would still be saying them more than two years later?”
“He began immediately to question my father’s story. He had been to the house and seen you, of course. That was what prompted him to inform against us to the king’s men. He was jealous because he could see that Rosie loved you. Anyone could. But you did not fit the description we gave of the highlander who killed Captain Overton. Then he got to wondering where Rosie and Martha were when the captain was shot. When my father said they were away visiting friends, it was plain he did not believe him. He started to probe more deeply. Which friends? When did they leave? Who accompanied them? Why did they go so suddenly since Rosie had not mentioned it to him when he had seen her only days earlier?”
“I wonder your father did not tell him to go to the devil.”
A slight smile touched Harry’s lips. “That was not my father’s style. Instead, he remained quietly stubborn and stuck to his story. That was when Sheridan turned his attention to me.”
Jack’s face was sympathetic as he watched the lad’s profile. “Unless I’m wrong, Harry, you hated Sheridan as much then as you do now. I cannot see you giving your sister’s secret away to him, of all people.”
“In normal circumstances I would not.” Harry turned to face Jack. “But when he got me drunk, I told him everything.”
Rosie saw Jack’s fist clench hard on his thigh. “He got you drunk?”
Tears brightened Harry’s eyes and he hung his head. Rosie held out her hand, and he gripped it gratefully. “I had arranged to meet my friend Barney down at that ford where Fraser had shown me the best place to catch trout, but he didn’t come. I waited most of the morning then headed back along the lane. I was close to the crossroads on the Matlock to Derby Road when Sheridan rode along. He was coming from a meeting with my father, and his face was like a thundercloud. He reined in and, seeing my fishing rod and basket, asked what sport I’d had. He suddenly became most interested in me. When I said that my friend had not turned up, he asked would I care to join him for lunch at the Bull. I came up with several excuses, but he seemed most offended, and truth be told, I was desperately hungry by that time.”
Jack laughed. “You always were ruled by your stomach.”
Harry permitted himself an answering smile. “I decided if I spent an hour in his company, it would be an hour during which he was not haranguing my father. And besides, they do an excellent potted beef pie. When we arrived, Sheridan ordered the best of everything, including a jug of ale. He poured tankards for us both, and I did not quite like to explain that my father only allowed me to consume a small glass on special occasions. So I drank it. He kept refilling my glass. I remember I found it most refreshing. After a few tankards of ale, Sheridan asked if I had ever tried the landlord’s famous cognac. I did say then that my father did not permit me to drink spirits. I remember him winking and saying it would be our secret. It is about the last thing I do remember of that day.”
“Even if, in your drunkenness, you told him everything—about how your father gave refuge to me and Fraser and how Rosie accidentally shot Captain Overton—I don’t understand how he could use it against you in this way. Surely it could be dismissed as the boasts of a schoolboy trying strong liquor for the first time?”
“He wrote it down. Every word. He duped me into believing I was dictating my memoirs for posterity. In my drunken state, I put my signature to it, Jack. When he was done, Sheridan held my signed confession in his hands.” Harry’s voice broke on a sob, and Rosie felt answering tears sting her own eyes. “I had only a vague recollection of what happened. But Sheridan couldn’t wait to present my guilt to my father. He tried to blackmail him into forcing Rosie to return immediately and be married to him. That was the day my father suffered his first heart attack. I didn’t know what to do. My father was unable to speak of what had happened, and I was too scared to tell anyone of it.” His handsome young face hardened. “Or too cowardly.”
“If there is one thing I know for sure about you, Harry, it is that you are no coward.”
“Anyhow, Tom decided to set out for Scotland and see if Martha would return with him so that she could nurse my father. We did not know, of course, that the battle lines were already being drawn at Culloden. While Tom was away, I helped Mrs. Glover care for my father as best I could. He tried to convey to me that he did not blame me for what had happened.”
“Of course he did not. There was only one person to blame. Rosie might excuse his treatment of her as the result of his mental instability. But his manipulation of you, Harry… Before God, that was cold, calculated and unforgivable.” The anger that Rosie had anticipated from him darkened the blue of Jack’s eyes.
“When Tom returned with Rosie instead of Martha, I was horrified. It was playing right into Sheridan’s hands. As soon as he learned she was back in Derbyshire, he wasted no time in coming to her and laying his blackmail plot before her. Never mind that she was distraught with grief over you and worry over my father. He gave her an ultimatum. Marriage or a prison cell within a week. Her choice.” Harry’s grip on her hand tightened and his voice became husky again. “My father was dying. Rosie wasn’t going to let his last memory be of both his children being led away in chains.”
“So you married Sheridan.” Jack’s gaze scorched her face as, unable to speak as the memories came flooding back, Rosie nodded. “My God, I can almost picture the bastard’s smug expression.” She could sense him keeping his restless fury in check for her sake and for Harry’s. If possible, she loved him all the more for his restraint in that moment.
“Rosie kept her side of the bargain. Which is more than Sheridan did.”
“What do you mean?”
“He promised us that, once the ceremony was over, he would hand me
the confession so that I could burn it.” Harry gave a bitter laugh. “When the time came, he said he had changed his mind. He preferred to keep it as his insurance policy in case we should decide to plot against him.”
“Bastard.”
“That was what my father said. It was the only word he had spoken since his heart attack. It was the last word he ever said. He suffered a second, fatal attack hours later.” Harry looked up and his eyes were twin hollows of pain. “I killed my father, Jack. I stopped his heart as surely as if I had taken a knife and stabbed him through it.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You, my friend, have the look of a man who has lost a guinea and found a ha’penny in its place.” The Falcon lounged on a tree stump in the copse of trees where they had arranged to meet. No-one knew better than Jack that the mocking expression in those eyes hid a keen perception. The Falcon missed nothing.
“Make it a farthing instead of a ha’penny and you’d not be far off the mark.”
Jack had been unable to succumb to the initial rush of anger that threatened to overwhelm him when he heard Harry’s story and realised the full extent of Sheridan’s villainy. Instead, his time had been taken up with the task of trying to console Harry. The lad had been twelve when Sheridan had extracted the so-called confession from him. Jack burned anew with fury at the thought of what he had suffered for the last two years. You robbed him of his youth, you blackmailing bastard. He scanned the horizon as though hoping to discover Sheridan lurking somewhere in the rolling Derbyshire landscape. You made him believe he killed his father, but we both know where the true blame lies.
